#It’s happened before and it might happen again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inazuman · 2 days ago

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FORSAKEN BY ALL THE GODS.

info: prince!kaiser x f!reader, enemies to lovers, fantasy au, arranged marriage, eventual smut. afab reader w she/her pronouns. reader has an established backstory and is not weak, reader’s appearance is nondescript. reader calls him “mihya” as they get closer. oliver and karasu are bffs in this lol. maybe some angst if you squint. happy ending!! plot is balanced with comedic moments.

synopsis: You will be killed by the one you love most. That line from his prophecy has haunted Kaiser his whole life. Against it all, you stand before him. Will you be the one to rewrite fate itself?

word count: 14k (please don’t let this scare you, i promise my writing is efficient)

a/n: this might be my magnum opus, i promise i poured my best dialogue and writing into this and it shows. if you consider reading like so seriously i will love you forever. also the smut is huge just like his cock <3 or my heart

Kaiser has been forsaken thrice fold. First, by his parents. His mother is said to be a beautiful woman that captured the hearts of all. His father could not bear her ultimate betrayal: leaving, causing him to wither away to nothing.

Kaiser guesses that this aspect of her runs in his blood after all.

The second and third time he is forsaken happen at once.

On the night that Kaiser is, by royal decree, anointed successor to the throne, he does as tradition dictates. He approaches the golden temple at the top of a mountain and mirrors the prophet within, sitting cross-legged in front of them.

The prophet gazes into the distance. And then, like a man possessed, they speak.

Lone Emperor who covets the throne, You will be killed by the one you love most.

Kaiser swears he feels even his heart stop at that. Cold rushes through him, the chill of it colder than anything he had felt at the front lines of war.

Forsaken by all the Gods —

The prophet stops, staring into the distance with a frown.

The silence is deafening. Noa, despite tradition, interrupts the ceremony and approaches the prophet, clicking his fingers in front of their face.

“The prophecy?”

The prophet’s eyes widen with fear. “I- I cannot.”

“What, are you afraid?” Kaiser scoffs. “The prophecy is bad as it is, it can’t get much worse than that.”

“No, I mean I cannot. The — the Fates! They’ve stopped speaking to me!”

“Excuse me?” Kaiser’s scowl is evident, and Noa swears that in any other situation, Kaiser would’ve moved for his sword and set his blade ablaze.

It speaks volumes that all he does is stare right at the prophet, fear barely contained in his eyes.

The prophet grips at Noa’s hand, forcing his gaze. “My lord, please believe me. This — in the history... it has never happened before. I swear it.”

Noa whistles, and the guards outside come rushing in. “Seize them,” he commands, and they stare at each other for a moment.

To seize and capture that which is considered holy? Is that not blasphemy?

Noa cares little, almost removing his sword from his sheath to do it himself. “What are you all waiting for?”

“My lord! I swear to you!” The prophet grapples towards Noa in spite of their hands being held behind their back, the guards barely catching them from falling to their knees. “The fact that I would admit this at all shows my loyalty to you!” The prophet gasps, breath coming fast.” I could have pretended, could have given a false prophecy. I did not. That’s the choice I made. That is all the proof you need.”

It’s convincing enough that Noa hesitates, taking a deep breath in. But he sees in the corner of his eye Kaiser’s state, sitting in the kind of stillness that you see before a battle, bent over at the bottom of the altar.

At that sight, Noa makes a single motion with his hand for the prophet to be taken away.

The room clears.

“Kaiser, I —”

Whatever comforting remark Noa might have made dies in his throat, because Kaiser laughs, a bitter and broken sound, that he would in the future rarely have his walls down to ever reveal again. He hides his eyes behind his hand and he laughs.

“Of course, my prophecy would come to something like this.” He drags his hand down across his face. “Forsaken by all the Gods.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Noa says it with conviction, and it’s enough for Kaiser to face him.

“Master?”

“You will still be the successor to the throne. As is your destiny.”

“My destiny?” Kaiser jabs a thumb to the now-empty seating. “We just heard my destiny.”

“What the gods have declared has nothing to do with me. I declare you the next to rule. That is all.”

Noa presses a hand to the crown of Kaiser’s head. “No one will know what transpired here. A tragic prophecy is a given. It is meant to be a trial of sorts, after all. Mine, too, was unpleasant. Though not nearly as dire.”

“What was yours?”

Noa breathes in deeply. “A twisted rivalry with a twisted man. One that was to be all-consuming to me.”

Kaiser scoffs. “A rivalry. Just train and win.”

Noa lets the comment pass, staring out of the temple and past the mountains. “The rivalry came and went. At the time, I felt it was the worst. I could not eat, sleep, or breathe without the thought of what he would do next on my mind. But I was lucky, that it passed.”

He motions for Kaiser to take his arm, bringing him back up to standing. “Yours will pass too, I’m sure of it.”

Kaiser waves his hand, gesturing at Noa to let go of him. It’s easy to say, easy to have faith when it is not your life that balances on the precipice.

Forsaken thrice: once, by his parents. Another, by the Gods. And third, by his own future lover. Kaiser curses the Gods and the Weaver for such a fate, for something possibly worse than death is looming over him.

You will be killed by the one you love most. That line has haunted his very being to this day.

The people do not know what causes their successor to turn so cold, as biting and harsh as winter itself. His quicksilver smile rattles bones, his sword is cutting like blood in snow.

The prophecy is on a need-to-know basis, and Kaiser has never been crueler. He trains, harder than ever. Enough that when an unmovable sword is found at the rocks of the ocean, he trains until he is able to pull it from the bank, wield it with one hand. Rumor has said it might take three men to carry, or that the night sky that shimmers across it is strong enough to kill even a god. His sole retrieval of it is proof to the people of his strength and stature, but compassion and love are rarely a topic of conversation with his name.

He focuses on his work. He does not take lovers. He barely sees others as friends. And he most certainly does not take a bride.

You appear before the throne and you do not bow. The scowl on Kaiser’s face at this says enough.

“You dare-”

“You have the sword.” You ignore Kaiser entirely, setting your sights completely on Noa.

The silence that follows is as large and wide as the ocean, but your gaze is sharp and keen, never faltering once until Noa speaks.

“Water sorceress,” Noa addresses you coldly, “or that’s what you told our people.”

“Yes.”

“You are not the only sorceress of water. Yet your power is second to none.” Noa stands, stepping down the stairs with heavy, thumping footfalls until he’s standing right in front of you. “They call you the water’s mistress, in the neighboring lands.”

“They do.”

He begins to circle you, like a hunter might before striking a deer. Standing next to you, his deep voice clear right next to your ear, he eyes you curiously. “They’re all wrong, aren’t they?”

You don’t answer. Noa takes that as answer enough.

“A power like that. Do you think me stupid?” He observes you, checks you visually for weapons, watches your hands to ensure you don’t call magic forth.

“Demigod.” He about spits the word from behind you, and yet all you do is tilt your head to catch him in your eye’s view.

“You are as well-informed as they say.”

“I am as logical as they come.”

“We are the same in that regard, then. So let’s get straight to the point.”

Noa returns back to the throne, seemingly satisfied with his observing, gesturing at you to continue.

“You have something belonging to me. A sword, heavier than most. Ancient, yet sharp. It is said to look like it contains a night sky.”

“The blade you’re speaking of was found by us, it is ours to keep.”

In the short silence that follows, Kaiser swears there must be irritation on your end, but you don’t show it. Instead, you take a deep breath in.

“The blade was thrown out of the heavens and spat out into this realm during a war between Gods.”

“Is that so? And how can you prove it’s yours?”

“I can wield it, unlike your people, who do not have the means to wield a sword as such.” You state simply.

Like rose grown blue, the impossible becomes possible. You can feel the divinity and the power that comes off the sword in waves the minute it’s unsheathed, your eyes widening. The ring of it is as familiar to you as your own skin, how could you not have felt its presence sooner? But Kaiser is fast, much faster than you expected, faster than he should be with a sword of that weight, that magnitude. Before you can turn your head, cold silver kisses your neck.

“This blade, sorceress?” He comes around from behind you, stalks around you just like his Master had, sword pointed like it may just draw blood from you at any moment. When you finally see his face, his sneer is wicked.

He takes pride in your wide-eyed gaze, your sharpened attention, but the lack of fear on your part grates at him. God-killing, they had called the blade. Yet you don’t shy away at all.

“Say we return the sword to its rightful owner,” Noa calls back your attention, “what would you offer us in return?”

“Offer in return? This sword does not belong to you. It is returned, as it should be.”

“This sword, with its divinity, could harm even a god.” Kaiser presses the blade closer to your neck, gleaming metal against your skin. “It protects this nation. What if the gods forsake us? If we return it to you, what would protect us against them then?”

“For what reason would they do such a thing?”

Kaiser barks a laugh. “Of course, there would be no criticisms from one of them. Water sorceress, demigod. Tell us, who are you, truly? What do your people call you, up there? No matter.” He lowers the sword, but leaves it unsheathed, its heavy weight balanced in his palm. A threat that at any moment, he may change his mind. “Those titles mean nothing to me. I have been forsaken, demigod. So know, I trust not even the gods.”

You sigh. Foreseeing a troublesome future has its cons, you suppose. Your queen would smile if you told her such.

“You ask for something with power in equal to or more than the blade. You asked me for my titles. I shall give you both.” The sleeves of your dress shimmer as you move them, and it’s in this moment that Kaiser notices they are not sleeves but water itself, cradled around your wrists like armor. “The Gods had bestowed on me the title Sword Maiden, and I offer myself and my services to you until the end of your line.”

That shocks the room like a bucket of cold water.

You turn to Kaiser, who stands beside the throne. You step forward once, and water rushes underneath that step, descending in waves over the floor as if it goes through it, a magic they have never witnessed prior. “You say the Gods have forsaken you? Let my presence be proof to you that they still watch over you.”

Kaiser scowls, “What sort of cheap trick is this?”

“My domain is truth. I cannot lie.”

“Oh, please.”

Your eyes narrow at him. “Would it help for you to press your sword against my neck once more?”

A goddess who cannot lie. Noa’s faith lies in logic, but he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. His gaze flits between Kaiser and you before he seems to settle a decision in his mind.

“Until the end of Kaiser’s line.” Noa negotiates.

Kaiser’s gaze snaps to Noa. “You’re taking her up on this?”

You almost frown. “Fine.”

Noa quirks an eyebrow at you. “That simple?”

“Human lives move quickly.”

Kaiser eyes you curiously. “What happens when you lie?”

You blink at him. Once. Twice. Is that… almost a flustered look you have on?

He readjusts his grip on the blade. “Speak, sorceress.”

“Wh-What do you want me to say?!” You grip at your dress nervously, and that has him even more curious.

“I’m waiting here,” he sing-songs playfully.

“Before the lie can leave my voice, my neck swells up like a balloon, and chokes me.”

He smiles wickedly. “Demonstrate.”

Gods, if it wasn’t immoral, you could wring his neck right now.

You think, for even a moment, a simple lie. And in seconds, you’re almost suffocating on nothing, and Kaiser laughs. Laughs. A full laugh, bending at his knees.

“Oh gods, you’re like a pufferfish!”

You let go of the lie, taking heaving breaths. “Just because I have water capabilities does not mean I am a fish.”

In the midst of the conversation, Isagi leans against Noa’s side, a soft conversation full of worry.

“You’ll have to explain her presence to the council,” Isagi tells him, blue eyes wide with hesitation.

“Right, and your suggestion?”

“I have thought about it, considerably. If you say you hired her, with a force as powerful as her, the other nations may think you are to wage war. So… Given the heir’s… reputation,” Isagi’s gaze flits nervously between you and Kaiser. “If he is willing, she may be a good fit.”

Noa sighs. This, this exact theory, has been a conversation with the other members of his team for months. That a wife by his side would make him seem less chilling, make the transition to a new heir easier on the public, prevent outroar. It is one thing to feel that Kaiser keeps a nation safe, and another to love him as a ruler.

It’s an easy decision, but a hard conversation.

“Kaiser.”

He whips around, ceasing his antics quickly. “Master.”

Noa looks like he is about to say something to him, but hesitates, turning to you instead. Isagi nervously steps away from the dais, returning to his position.

“Goddess,” this time, there is no malice behind Noa’s words. “I accept your offer. However, your presence in this nation and in this castle must be explained appropriately. Should I bear you the title of my successor’s betrothed, would that be a title you’re willing to bear?”

Kaiser’s back straightens. “Excuse me?” he utters low.

“You do not have to bear children,” he specifies. “And you do not have to truly be wed.”

A goddess, to be betrothed to a mortal, as princely as he is, is a serious affair. Kaiser slides his gaze to Isagi, with the audacity to even suggest such. And yet, you seem to ponder it like a simple question.

“I see. As long as the sword is in my presence and protection, how you communicate with your nation is none of my concern.”

“So be it, then,” Noa agrees quickly. “I’ll have our people show you to a room.”

You nod, and are whisked away. The throne room, as if knowingly, empties quickly, guards rushing out to leave Kaiser alone with Noa.

“You made this decision for me,” Kaiser spins to face Noa, spits his words through gritted teeth. “I have been clear. I will take no brides.”

“You believe the prophecy made a choice for you.”

“The prophecy bears no mercy. Or do you wish for my death so eagerly? If so, take your sword out and do it your damn self.”

Noa lets him speak, heave his words out until there’s silence once more.

“She cannot lie,” Noa says softly. “She cannot lie to you, Kaiser. And she is a goddess, a divine being.”

“Demigod,” Kaiser corrects.

“She is divine, and she cannot lie. She is correct, to this end – that as long as she is here, the prophecy cannot come to be. For she has not forsaken us.” Forsaken you, goes unspoken. “She could be good for you, if you allowed her to be.”

Kaiser lets out a canned laugh. “Ha. How can the divine ever understand us?”

Noa stands. “You’ll have plenty of time to find out.”

Kaiser taps his hand against his sword hilt. “You really will not move on this?”

Noa shakes his head. “She is too valuable to lose, and you have a reputation for cruelty. The solution is nothing short of perfect.”

The logical comes above his feelings. Kaiser knows this, even if he hates to come face to face with it.

Noa walks out of the throne room, leaving Kaiser to his bitterness.

“Shitty master,” he mumbles under his breath to no one.

It’s jarring to all the guards, the way you don’t even stand let alone bow when Noa knocks to enter your room. But Noa cares little for things like that, if you’re truly offering what you’ve said.

“Perhaps I was too hasty, in presenting the solution before giving you the facts.” He hesitates before you in the reflection of your vanity. You don’t respond, barely even look at him as you unclasp your jewelry, laying it on the table.

“He will not love you.” Noa tells you after a breath, his surefire eyes finally meeting yours.

You give him a curious gaze. “That is likely for the best. I would outlive him, after all.”

“It is, truly, on a need-to-know basis. To tell you this-”

“The prophecy, I presume you’re referring to,” you interrupt, turning to face him.

The shock rolls quickly off him. Divinity does have its mysteries, he supposes. “You already know.”

“I asked the water, why he is so quick to believe he is forsaken. They told me that he lives under the burden of a prophetic trial. That is all I know.” You stand, moving to unzip your dress only for Noa to hastily pull a partition screen across the room and turn around.

“The water, it speaks to you?”

“It does. Though it’s worth noting that it does not make me all-seeing.” Your voice carries over the partition with the ruffle of clothing. “The queen of the Gods, who sees all fates – she is the only one who is truly all-seeing.”

You come out in a nightgown, folding the partition back. He chucks you a robe that you catch easily.

“You should learn the ways of this world if you want to pass as a simple water sorceress, especially before the banquet.”

You frown. “The prince is my betrothed, is he not? Will he not handle it all?”

The idea you present sparks in Noa’s mind. “Brilliant. I’ll have Kaiser and some of the other members of our team show you the ropes. Good night, sorceress.”

You nod to him, and the door clicks shut.

“She’s a what?”

Oliver slams his metal cup of beer down, rolling the dice once more.

“A demigod, Oliver. Gods, are you that drunk already? Keep up.” Karasu grabs at the dice as Oliver moves his pieces.

“Can you all shut the fuck up? What happened to need-to-know basis?” Chigiri slinks himself over to their table.

“We’re need-to-know.” Karasu jabs a thumb at himself and Oliver.

“They are, actually, need-to-know.” Isagi puts a gentle hand on Chigiri’s shoulder, settling down next to him. “Because she’s never been human in her life.”

“And now we’re supposed to, what, teach her to be human? Is that a thing we can do?” Chigiri twirls a strand of hair between his fingers, tapping the end against Isagi’s cheek.

Oliver snorts. “What, like a class? Some of us have never sat in one of those, you prissy little shits.”

“She can’t dance, for one.”

“Get Kaiser to teach her. Isn’t he her betrothed?”

That has Oliver almost spitting out his drink, choking on it in coughs. “He's her what?”

Chigiri scowls in his direction. “Dude, are you listening at all?”

“If she’s really his betrothed, none of us should be teaching her.” Oliver warns genuinely. “He’ll cut down everyone here, before he lets us touch her.”

“It’s just an excuse,” Isagi waves his hand, pulling out a leather-bound bind of notes. “They’re not actually together.”

“Oh, you actually got that motion to pass. Shit.” Karasu remarks admirably.

“It must be so tiring,” Bachira sighs happily, falling into place next to Isagi, “to have to actually care about what other people think.”

“The optics, Bachira,” Isagi smacks the end of his pen across Bachira’s nose, and he makes an oh! sound in response.

When Kaiser walks in, the room almost goes silent. He’s used to it, of course. Hearing only the way his footfalls come heavy, boots thumping into the stone floor as a drink is placed right in front of him immediately.

The room slowly fills back with noise as he shoulders off his coat, wrapping it around the chair before sitting. But only his table is still strangely silent.

He flits his gaze over the group. Usually, they’re the first to kill the silence in the room, yelling about the game or a duel. He looks at Isagi, specifically, who seems the most nervous. “Something you wanna say to me?”

“Uh…”

Chigiri sighs, killing the tension. “We’re deciding who gets to teach her how to dance.”

Kaiser quirks an eyebrow. “The demigod?”

Chigiri nods, and Kaiser takes a long gulp of his drink, popping it back down and twirling the top of it with his fingers. “I’ll do it.”

“What?” It’s Isagi’s turn to be shocked, sitting up straight.

Kaiser exhales audibly. “None of you could handle her. She could cut you with water the moment you accidentally step on her.”

It’s not an insult, really. They know this too. That this is Kaiser’s brand of protection, to add insult to injury just to keep others out of harm’s way. But they play his game.

“Think we can’t dodge fast enough? A bit demeaning, don’t you think?” Oliver’s grin is wicked, making straight eye contact with Kaiser, who only draws his eyebrows in at his direction.

“You think that god-killing sword is gonna save you?” Karasu asks.

“I don’t have the sword anymore.”

“What?”

It stings more than it should, he thinks. The sword that he thought chose only him, so quickly released from his grasp. But his strength is his own, he holds fast to that.

Kaiser glances at Karasu. “Those are the terms. She marries me, she gets the sword.”

Ness rests his cheek on his hand. “Man, that sounds like she wins twice.”

Chigiri scoffs at that. “She’s a demigod. Being down here is probably like being in the sewers to her.”

Kaiser stands abruptly, pushing his drink aside, his coat billowing as he wraps it over himself once more.

“Where are you going?” Isagi yells, but he doesn’t answer.

“He gone for real?” Oliver elbows Karasu. “I’m too drunk to tell.”

“Yeah, man. He’s gone”

“Great.” Oliver slaps a piece down. “I’ll bet 50 bucks right now they get married for real.”

“What the fuck?” Chigiri tilts his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling like it might give him some reprieve.

Karasu laughs, “Okay, I’ll play. I’ll bet 20 that they try to kill each other.”

“You’re just a hater.”

“Nah, I agree,” Reo leans back in the booth. “Kaiser’s a lot of things, but a loving husband is a bit much.”

“She’s a goddess. He’s literally already betrothed to her.” Oliver takes another swig. “Y’all ain’t gonna marry a goddess if she was given to you? Damn, put me in his place, I’ll do it right now.”

Kaiser trains, every morning, from sunrise to noon.

You only know because most of the rooms in the palace outlook to a self-contained field. You see him, often, because of this, even if he doesn’t speak to you. As you walk down the corridor, in your classes with Isagi about the current climate of the nations.

“It is useless for me to learn this,” you tell him. “In a few short millennia, the border of the nations will undoubtedly change. And we will have to relearn it all again. What is the use? Why war at all over something so insignificant? Just have a conversation about it.”

Isagi makes a pointed, bored expression at you for this, and then pretends like you didn’t say anything at all.

At the end of class today, you press your elbows to the open windowsill.

Kaiser is there, sparring with Ness. Ness is quick, agile, fleet-footed and runs circles around Kaiser so much so that it almost makes it difficult to keep up.

Kaiser approaches him at bone-breaking momentum, launches strike after hardened strike. He’s shirtless, bandages wrapped around the bottom of his torso, and his body is streaked with sweat. He’s strong, clearly. Broad shoulders clear now from when they were hidden under layers of clothing the first time you met him, the muscles in his arms flexing and relaxing with each step of the friendly duel, hair dipped in saltwater blue.

You know what he looks like, now. You get a sense why Fate brings you here.

He looks like a hero.

The kind that Gods covet, watch from their merry clouds. It’s no wonder that he’s burdened by a prophetic trial, with a face as cutting as his sword, his hair framing his face and flowing.

He takes one look to the side of him and his eyes find yours immediately. It must be some sort of fighter’s sense, you think. For him to have done it so easily.

You give him the space you think he might be asking for. You turn away.

He approaches you one night, just before sunset. Karasu had just finished an etiquette lesson with you, setting away forks and knives. Whatever he sees on Kaiser’s face makes him move quicker. He nods once to Kaiser, and then hastily leaves.

“You’ve been making yourself quite at home here, demigod.” Kaiser traces the lace outline of the tablemat, every ridge under his calloused finger.

“I vowed myself to your kingdom to the end of your life. I’m simply doing what is asked of me.”

“And you’re all ready for the banquet, I’m guessing?” The sentence is almost mocking as he approaches you.

“It’s just a ball, is it not? I’ve been told I’m just to stand there and make pleasantries.”

Kaiser chuckles, more bared teeth than sweet. “It is, arguably, the worst part of being so-called royalty.”

“You’re taking this much better than I thought you would.”

"To say no to a goddess' proposal would be the greatest blasphemy, no?"

"From what I've seen, you have not minded sacrilege much at all."

“Marriage means little to me. Disillusioned, perhaps, with the prophecy.” He waves his hand like he speaks of something meaningless. But you see it clearly. Before he had even allowed himself the thought of love, it was taken from him. “Your power is great, your presence ensures the continuation of myself as an heir and successor. Even I can reason with that.”

He's right in front of you now, so close you can feel his body warmth.

“Does it bother me?” He shrugs. “Sure. As far as I’m aware, you are no wife of mine. But a protector of this nation? For that, you are an indispensable ally.”

He looks out the window, towards a coming sunset. Something indescribable on his face, like grief and guilt all in one. He takes a deep breath in and out, inhaling the peace and exhaling the heaviness of his heart, before facing you again. “A war is coming. No one believes me, but I can feel it, as steady as a river’s current. Until then, I’ll make my peace with you.”

You nod. “So be it, your highness.”

That has him stepping back, more incredulous than you’ve ever seen him, body tensed and frowning. Maybe he should’ve expected it, given the way he’s just dismissed you. “Your highness? You hadn’t questioned my lineage before, but now you dare to do so?”

You stare at him blankly. “You are a prince, are you not? Isagi says that’s what princes are called.”

One side of his mouth upturns in relief, and he bursts out a bright laugh. “Is that what they teach you in those lessons Isagi gives? Oh,” a hand runs through the front of his hair, “I thought my own wife-to-be would dare insult me.”

You scoff. “I have no need for that.”

“The title ‘your highness’ doesn’t apply to this nation because strength is valued most. I am heir to the throne not because of the blood running through my veins, but because Noa deemed I the strongest — not just in body but in mind, not just in physical strength but in adaptability.” He says it proudly, like fact, like a knowing so deep within him that it turns pride into faith. “A title like that is something used by the Itoshi brothers, let’s say,” he comments airily. “Their throne is carried by a bloodline.”

He turns on his heel, only looking back when he realizes you don’t follow.

“You don’t know how to dance yet, do you?”

You lean your hip against the table. “I can dance.”

“Come, then. If you’re to be my wife, it’ll be an embarrassment if you don’t at least act like it.”

You follow him to a ballroom – a stunning, wide area with a looping chandelier, curtains that weigh down in arches over each floor-to-ceiling window.

He swoops you from your distraction with a hand around your waist, and the physical contact shocks you so greatly that orbs of water swirl in your hands.

Kaiser only raises an eyebrow at you. “This is a dance, not a duel. Or do the gods do it differently?”

For a man who was so passive to you, he holds you so close that your chest to chest, you can feel each breath he takes against you. When he steps with you, his movements are slow and deliberate, never inefficient. He moves not with fluidity, but with each sure step. Pulls you forward, then pushes you back. Circles you, spins you around.

It’s exactly like when you see him train. Like steps to a kata.

“I thought you said this was not a duel.”

“These are steps to a classic waltz, demigod.”

“You have no fluidity to you.”

Kaiser scoffs. “Should I apologize? With the prophetic curse hanging above me, I haven’t taken a dancing class.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Hm?”

“The prophecy. It doesn’t have to be a curse.”

He stops, separating himself from you, scowling.

“This session is over.”

“Kaiser-,”

“What?” He snaps. “You, of divine nature. You want to tell me how to view my prophecy?”

“I do not say this out of pity, or out of some sort of higher knowing.” You say it with conviction. “As heir to the throne, a throne that is currently being held by Fate itself, maybe I shouldn’t be saying this at all.”

“And yet?”

“To know your fate is to be able to defy it.” And maybe it’s just an effect of your divinity, but it rings like a bell, like truth itself. “Your prophecy may have made a wound, but you are the one who cuts it open. You are a man who wields a sword that cannot, should not be able to be wielded by anyone but the divine. Does that not say something? About you, about your capabilities?”

“And yet you took it from me.”

The silence that follows is thick with indecision. Kaiser lets the uncomfortableness sit, rejects every heartwarmed statement you make with a roll of his shoulders, like water off a smoothened rock, replaced with only his anger. “I trained for weeks before I could lift that sword out of the riverbank. Yet it is yours, now, simply because you are supposedly its rightful owner.”

Conflict runs through your face so clearly, he wonders that even if you could lie, whether it would mean anything at all. He watches as your hand reaches into a conjured puddle of water that floats in the air, and out comes the divine sword.

You hold it in your hand with an ease that he has spent months capturing. It strikes envy in him like a branded sear.

“My role here is technically to secure the sword. I have no need to wield it.” You hold it at the bottom of its handle, directing the top of it to him. “If you swear you won’t lose her, I can set a compromise of sorts.”

“You think I’d agree to a compromise?”

You open up your palm, and a bracelet appears. “This will help you keep the sword in a pocket dimension we can both access. If you’re willing to place it there to secure it when you’re not using it, I’ll return her to you until the end of your line.”

Huh. A safe-keeping place is a more neutral proposition than he had thought you’d come up with. To have her back kills the fight in him, and he accepts begrudgingly, testing the magic in his hands until it becomes natural.

“For the record, Kaiser, I have not always been worthy of it.”

Something about the way his name slips off your lips has him keening. “Worthy?”

“I stayed true to my course. I was given a title. And then I could wield the sword, presented to me by my queen.”

“Your queen. Heir to the throne.” He laughs bitterly, knowingly. “You’re a princess.”

“Despite your mocking tone, I’ll have you know that title of mine is of the highest regard. I don’t take it nearly as lightly as you do with yours.”

“That’s why you didn’t bow or kneel. You take what’s meant to be yours without a second thought. Not because you’re unknowing, or because of some godly pride, but because you have never been lesser.” He flicks a finger between your eyebrows. “What a spoiled thing you are. Can you even fight?”

Something in Kaiser takes pride in the way you frown more deeply, it’s almost like a pout. It’s almost…

“Well, I definitely wasn’t sitting idly in the war between Gods.”

“I’ve never seen you train.”

“That’s because you’re always on the training grounds.”

“Oh? You won’t show me?”

“I’m giving you space. I’m no wife of yours, no?” There’s a sting to it when you say it, having his words thrown back at him.

“Duel with me. Tomorrow.” He spins you, lets you out of his hold before bringing you back in.

He begins to meet you, day after day. A duel first, and then a dance. The dichotomy would be distasteful to any other, but you of divine blood do not even flinch at his request.

He may be displeased to have you, but his mouth cracked as wide and wicked as a cat’s at the prospect of a fight.

“Go on, then.” He takes a blunt, wooden sword, throwing it in your direction. “Or do you only fight with magic?” He teases.

You swing the sword, rotating your wrist with ease. “Do you forget yourself, prince? I am half divine, you will surely lose. Are you sure you want to go through with this anyways?”

His mouth widens, more teeth than smile. “Bring it.”

You know, the moment you defend against his first strike, that a singular hit from him on the battlefield must be deadly. He is surefooted, his whole weight bears down in every move. He doesn’t let you breathe once, much faster than you would’ve thought with someone of his size and height.

Kaiser was almost right about one thing, that the divine adds to your magic more than your physical strength. With enough training, in just simple hand-to-hand combat… He might have the potential to beat you.

But not today. Today, you have him pinned to the ground, makeshift blade to his throat.

“You’re awfully close,” he gasps out slyly. And it’s in this moment that you notice, too, how right he is about that, how you can feel his heartbeat underneath yours, his chest against yours with each exhale.

“What?” He grins wide, “afraid you’ll miss?”

By all the Gods, you want to knock the living daylights out of him. He notices your anger in that hesitation, your conflict between doing what is right and what you want, and flips you over, swapping your positions until his hips are pressed against yours.

Something about your shell-shocked face makes him stir.

“First rule of fighting, sweetheart,” he runs a hand through his hair before planting it next to your head, leaning into you close. “Never get distracted by your opponent.”

He’s closer than he was before, admiring the way you look under him, your hair splayed along the ground and the sweet fire of irritation in your eyes. Is the heaving of your chest from your anger towards him, or from something else entirely?

“When Gods fight, there is not nearly as much prattling.” You grit at him. He smells like the grass of the field and the winter air and the heavy musk of sweat, and when you shove him off, it feels like your hand meets the hard rock of an unruly ocean.

It is during dances that he speaks to you. Not at first, but slowly, like a river that streams into the ocean. You tell him tales about the Gods, about your friends, about wars and petty arguments. And he starts to answer you, more often than not, with every question you might have.

“I have wondered about something.”

“Hm?”

“The sheathing. It prevents even me from detecting the sword’s divinity.”

“Huh, so Nagi really wasn’t lying.”

“Nagi, who is always with Reo?”

Kaiser nods. “They say Nagi was once sought upon by a god for his talents, a god who was constantly sending him dreams. But he grew tired of it, so he found a material that prevents even the gods from finding him so he can sleep in peace.”

The conversation often leads to the prophecy, a bitterness like licorice on his tongue. Even if he skates around the topic, you don’t let him hide from it, cutting straight to the heart of the truth.

“You can live in the cold bitterness you’ve put yourself in, Kaiser,” you tell him, one of these nights. “Or you can live, and maybe even possibly die, warmed by a life you truly felt was worth living. Your own choices. Not because of a prophecy, or because of Noa, or even in spite of me.”

But despite it, he doesn’t move away. Because it is the only time he has you to himself. He sees you, always, with Isagi and Oliver and Karasu and Chigiri. How you have molded into their lives with simplicity, sit with them at meals and have easy conversation despite knowing nothing, in a way that he has never once allowed himself to enjoy. What does it say about Kaiser? That he can't stand your presence but he can't stand your absence even more? That he would rather have a biting argument with you than leave you to your own devices?

It's during duel and dance that he comes as close as he can to touching you. If he did anymore, it would become something he doesn't have the heart to name without unease settling in his gut.

On the day of the banquet, Chigiri sits you down in your vanity, braiding your hair back in his hands.

“The queen of the Gods, her lover, a friend of mine… He used to do this for me too.”

Chigiri silently appreciates that you don’t ask him why it is him that helps you with this. That divinity doesn’t hold the same notions this world does.

“He would-,” you laugh softly to yourself. You’re stunning like this, Chigiri can’t help but notice. A goddess, most casual as can be. “He would say that I was useless at it, actually. You two might’ve been good friends.”

“Me? Friends with a god?” Chigiri finishes the braid, tilting your head in his hands to admire the way the braid crowns around each side.

“Of the Fae, actually. A beautiful man he is. You would fit right in.”

That stops Chigiri, has him taking a sharp intake of breath, smiling at you through the vanity’s reflection. “Thank you, princess. Though you would do good to be more careful during this banquet to compliment anyone.”

You smile softly back. “Ah, yes, my betrothed who will not love me might get jealous. Gods are not so different than people, in this regard.”

“Is that so…”

It’s when you meet the Itoshi brothers at the banquet that you begin to understand why Isagi gave you all these lessons.

Where Kaiser is muscle and sword first, more fighter than prince, Sae and Rin are the opposite. They have a grace befitting of royalty. Instead of heavy footfalls that you can hear even in the blanket of snow, they are light-footed, conscious of it in the echoed ballroom.

Though you suspect, from the way Sae grips Kaiser’s forearm as they shake hands, from the way Kaiser regards Sae, that he is somehow just as strong of a fighter. That royalty is an illusion Sae and Rin put on, for peace’s sake.

Something indescribable flits over Sae’s face as you curtsy in front of him, but it’s gone in a moment, replaced with his nonchalance.

“The betrothed of the banquet. We are most pleased to make your acquaintance.” Sae bows his head to you, and Rin follows in his stead.

You smile, something beaming and sweet. “The pleasure is all mine.”

“Would you mind, Kaiser?” Sae’s eyes only leave yours for a glance, to check in at Kaiser’s now furrowed look. “I’d like to take your wife-to-be for a dance.”

Kaiser’s back straightens, a hardened gaze with gritted teeth. But he says nothing. You swear Sae almost grins.

“I’ll return her back to you.” He says it like a favor, and Kaiser is only held back by Karasu’s hand on his shoulder.

“It’s just one dance, Kai,” Kaiser looks at Karasu, then to you, and then back to Sae. He barely nods once.

“Are you sure?” You ask him.

He scowls. “What do I have to be worried about?”

Well, it’s not like you want to anger him further. You let Sae take your hand, leading you to the floor.

“I almost didn't think you were who you said you were, when I saw you,” Sae tells you, breaking the quiet of the dance.

You lean back so you can see his whole face, your confusion clear. “Your highness?”

“When I had heard of you, they told me that waves flowed off your dress like water itself holds you sacred. Yet here you are, as regular as can be.”

Sae twirls you away from him, then brings you back into his arms. “They say you shook the earth with a single step. Where is all that power you were said to hold?” He holds you close, watching your every reaction with his crystal gaze. “This place. They’ve placated you, tamed you.”

He brings his mouth to your ear, the body warmth of his entire chest seeping into yours. “If you were mine, I would never force you into a box you didn’t belong. I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid of Kaiser, even with his god-killing sword.” He spins you again, capturing your waist. “If you were mine, I wouldn’t be afraid to demonstrate your power to the world.”

“Sae.” He looks at you in a way that feels meaningful. You don’t know the pleasantries of this nation or his in-depth, but you know, somehow, that this feels like this is something you should shield from.

“Oh? No honorifics already? We’re that intimate, are we?”

To fight is one thing, but this is something entirely different. Being able to hurt others with a play instead of a sword, you’re not sure if you can shield others from something like that.

As the song ends, Sae takes your hand, brings it to his mouth to kiss the back of it. “Consider my proposition, princess. Before your marriage solidifies, and becomes something you can’t escape from.”

With his hand on the small of your waist, he brings you back to Kaiser dutifully. Kaiser links his arm with yours immediately, before any of you can spare a goodbye.

“What did he say to you?”

You hum. You get the sense that maybe…

“Nothing of importance,” you tell him instead.

“Hm?” He tilts your chin up to meet you eye to eye. “Is my own betrothed keeping secrets from me?”

“He said I don’t seem all that powerful.”

That makes Kaiser smile, not something sweet but with teeth bared, like a wolf. “He hasn’t seen you in action.” He pulls you in, hand wrapping to the back of your neck, a slow and deep whisper. “Do you want to show them?”

“Weren’t we both told that’s inappropriate? Isagi said the optics could make your allies scared.”

Kaiser rolls his eyes. “Isagi this, optics that. Our country has always been about the brawl and brave. Let the nations fear us, then. I, with my cruelty and a god-killing sword. You, a sorceress second to none. It’s a pretty picture, is it not?”

He straps his sword to his back and brings you to the middle of the room, and as the guests of honor, the crowd gives you both a wide berth. He circles you, just like you practiced. Makes you center stage.

“Go on then, princess.” He lets go of your hand and bows, sweeping his arm out. “Show us who you really are.”

“Kaiser,” you whisper. “We have very clear orders-”

“I make the orders, not follow them. So make your choice, princess. Wasn’t it you who said that it is worth living a life warmed by your own choices? Tell me, then. Do you want to show them? Or do you want to play nice?”

This play, to have ego and pride dive head-first into a situation, is so very human. And yet-

You let water overcast your body from your waist, let it roll off in layers like waves into the floor. Anyone who has had experience with magic can see your ultimate control over it, how the floor isn’t wet at all, how the water was conjured from nothing. Your hair is silken with dampness, framing your face like gloss. Gasps and awes from the audience makes Kaiser grin even wider.

“There we go.” Kaiser reaches behind him to unsheath his blade, and the galaxy within swirls. He spins it in his hand, and it’s almost like he’s never been happier.

In seconds, he strikes at you. Your hands move up instinctively, blocking the blade with a stream of water. The sound it makes, divinity against divinity, is like a low bell. The floor beneath you shakes with the strength of the strike, water dispersing around your feet in cascades to cushion the impact. You hear screams of shock, a glass breaking.

“Kaiser,” you grit, but all he does is widen that wicked, quicksilver grin.

And then he laughs, stepping away and sheathing the blade back. He holds one hand out to you instead.

“Next time, I want a duel in front of everyone. But this time, I guess a dance will suffice.”

You exhale gratefully, taking his hand in yours and retracting your water. “Let us dance, then.”

And with none of a prince’s grace, with movements that feel more fight than dance, he drifts along the floor with you.

Isagi collapses into the booth, a palm pressed to his eyebrows. “Our allies thought they were about to fight each other.”

“Can I cash in on my bet now?” Karasu rolls a skewer stick between his fingers. “Because they might’ve almost killed each other.”

“Nah,” Oliver leans back. “I think that’s just foreplay.”

Isagi opens his eyes to find Chigiri and Bachira standing before the booth. Chigiri’s not meeting his eyes, his mouth perching to one side in a way that squishes one of his cheeks.

“What happened?”

“They’re gone.”

“Ha?”

“We had one drink. One.”

Oliver has the audacity to laugh, hand over his mouth. “Don’t worry, Isagi,” he pats him on the back. “I’m sure they’re just fucking around.”

In another corner of the hall, royals speak in low tones.

“We can just take her if you like her,” Shidou tells Sae with the sweetest smile a man like that can muster. “No need to ask poor little Kai-Kai.”

Sae says nothing, eyeing you quietly as you step out of the hall.

You are sitting at the edge of the ocean, letting the slate-crested waves wash over you, when he finds you.

“You can dry me in a moment’s notice if I am to sit with you, right?” He says it almost reluctantly, even though he’s here anyways. He’s dropped his off coat somewhere along the way, and there’s something so naked about seeing him in just a shirt. He almost seems softer, without the harsh lines of battle-ready clothing or the fur that drapes around him, relaxed in a way he wasn’t in the banquet hall.

You smile. “I can keep you dry whilst you're sitting.”

He relents, then. Allowing the strangeness of sitting on wet sand without getting wet.

“Was the banquet up to your expectations, then, Kaiser?”

Expectations. He’s had none of a party like this. Being allowed to dream is a privilege, and privileges were not granted to him.

“You are officially my wife-to-be,” he says instead. “Shouldn’t you call me something a little more intimate?”

You gaze out into the horizon for a moment, and something in your eyes unfocuses, like you’ve gone somewhere else and then returned. “Very well. I shall call you Mihya.”

It strikes a chord in him, like a teaspoon hitting a glass. “Mihya? Where did that come from?”

“The water.”

“She speaks to you?”

“She says in another life, you are given a nickname like that.”

“Another life…” He lies down in the sand, watches the streaks of sunset in the blueing sky.

“Ask then, Mihya,” you lean over him slightly, until all he can see is the sky and the way your features soften. “The question we both know is on your mind.”

He almost wants to reach out, hold your cheek in his hand. It’s a foreign feeling to him, so foreign it almost feels like unease – to want to extend a gentleness like that to another person. “Won’t you just tell me?”

You breathe in the sea-salt air, and breathe out a heart-warmed truth. “The prophecy does not hold you captive in another life.”

Kaiser, for once, lets himself dream. Of a different life, where he is unburdened by a prophecy, and burns brightly.

“It would seem strange if you weren’t together, with all the other guests in the palace.” That’s what Oliver tells you as he gestures for you to take his arm, leading you to Kaiser’s room.

It’s both plainer and more furnished than you thought, like someone who isn’t him had chosen the furniture and the color of the walls. But the items in the bookshelves seem well-loved, items taken out and put back haphazardly, scrolls and books placed back half-way. The bathroom door opens with a flood of light.

“You’re here.” It’s rare to shock Kaiser in a way that doesn’t make him immediately reach for his sword.

You turn to look at him, taking in his half-dressed state. “Were you expecting some other woman?”

“Oh, so you’re the jealous type?”

He almost wants to laugh at the clear discomfort on your face. Gods don’t tease, he’s guessing?

The bed gives way to you as you take your place. “I hear it’s common for princes to take many lovers.”

The moonlight spills over the bedsheets as the room darkens, and you summon the sword to float right above you, looking into it. He joins you, wanting to see exactly what you’re seeing.

“It’s not a night sky.” Your voice is so soft in the blanket of night between you both.

“Hm?”

“Inside the sword. Your people say it looks like the night sky. It’s not. It’s a galaxy.”

He reaches his hand out, tracing over the glass along the middle of the weapon, a silent remark for you to continue.

“At the beginning of all worlds, the first-ever contract was made between the first-ever forces, and with it, this sword was said to be conjured out of the galaxy. And so, a part of the galaxy at the beginning of all worlds was contained in this sword.”

The stars in the sword move within like they’re responding to your words, borne witness to all the events. But instead of watching them, you turn to him.

“You have held and wielded a primordial piece of this world. It has allowed you to hold it, granted you its blessing.”

Blessed. That is not a phrase Kaiser would have ever used to describe himself. But coming from you, he can almost believe it. Almost hope to have a little more than he’s ever had.

The sword disappears with a movement of his hand, and he rolls to lean over you. Silence drops like a curtain. The only sound he knows is your breath and his.

During a fight, his feelings can almost be mistaken for adrenaline. But even under the shadow of the moon, with the cushioned silence between you both, the way you cut straight to the truth rings like a silver bell.

He can’t hide from you. Or maybe. Maybe he’s tired of hiding at all.

He is a man who has only known war and battle, was born and bred into it. War-forged, is what they call men like him. His hands know weapons, know how to kill.

He does not know if they know how to love. And yet-

He cups your face, and drinks you in.

He kisses you with caution, like you might melt from his grasp if he held too tightly. Presses his lips against yours slowly. He runs his hand gently over your hairline as he parts from you.

Is this okay? He wants to ask. But instead, he says: “Tell me what you want.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, your lips brushing against yours when you answer: “You.”

And then he kisses you like a man starved, never known by this feeling that gets caught up in his throat with every noise of yours he swallows.

“Is this… is this what you want?” You try to ask as you part from him for air, but he presses his mouth to the space behind your ear instead, laying kisses down your neck. “Is this a decision that you are making for yourself, by your own hands? That is entirely for you?”

That makes him stop. But when he looks at you with a surefire gaze…

He knows it, undoubtedly. That this, for once, is his.

“There are no lovers,” he tells you between kisses, to your shoulder, down your collarbone, to your breastbone.

“What?”

“I take no lovers.” He unclasps your bra, lets the material fall from his hands to cup your supple flesh. “I’ve never been princely, after all.”

“You- Kai-”

He runs his thumbs across both your nipples, admires how they perk up at his administrations, flitting his gaze between them and your face as he brings his mouth down over one of them.

He presses kisses down your body, cups your heat in his hand like he’s begging you to respond, like he’s saying let me have this. The inside of your thighs is soft as cream under his calloused hands. His thumb moves along the outside of your underwear, from your slit up to your clit with his fingers pressing tentatively against the fabric until you’re grabbing at his wrist.

“You’re so tense,” he teases, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Want me to take care of that for you?” He runs the knuckles of his hand over your clothed slit, bumping into your clit with his thumb until your breathing gets heavy, your hands gripping his shoulders.

“Kaiser,” you breathe, and he clicks his tongue.

“That’s not what you call me, baby. Not anymore.”

“Mihya.”

“Mm,” he slides his fingers into your panties from the side, a huff of breath leaves him at the wetness he finds. “Good girls get rewarded, you know?”

Heat coils hot deep in your stomach. He can’t take the restriction, pulling your panties down and revealing your core to the cold air. He lets his slickness pool on his fingers, collects it before bringing it to your clit. It’s like a drug, watching the way your face gives way to pleasure, how your body arches into him.

“Mihya,” you gasp again, like a chant, a prayer. Is this what the gods feel like, to be asked of?

“Let me watch,” he says it like a demand but it aches with desperation, a thing he won’t admit outside these four walls. He presses with more confidence now, slides one finger into you, then two. There’s little resistance with the way he’s riled you up, long fingers pressing into you until he reaches something that has you making a broken moan so pretty he can’t help but tilt into it again.

“I want to see it,” he tells you. This is something he makes happen to you, with his own hands, his own words, his own body that shares its heat with yours. That notion alone runs arousal straight through him. Your panting breath, the way your body shakes with each swipe against your clit.

“I want to see you fall apart in my arms.” He whispers, and you respond in kind. You always do to him, don’t you? He’s been seen too surely by you, now it’s his turn. Your body tenses entirely, tightly, gripping him as he grants you reprieve. A soft whine leaves your mouth along with something like his name, and the rough pad of his thumb circles over your clit until you crash, coming around his fingers.

He swipes a thumb over your cheek, allows himself the gentleness that he’s held back for so long with you.

“One more, okay?”

Your eyes widen. “Mihya,” this time it’s like a warning, but the way you say his name is so breathy it has him pressing a hand over his pants.

“Yeah, say my name just like that.” He shuffles down until his mouth is pressing to your stomach, just above your mound. Then again to the inside of your knee, trailing up until the inside of your thigh, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin there.

“You’re-, wait, we just- I just”

“Mm, and you’re gonna give me one more.” He kisses your clit first, like a promise, and then he laps at your core generously, from the bottom of your slit all the way to your clit, his flat tongue against the whole of you. Every drop of slick from your previous orgasm is taken in by him with each moan he makes against your core. If he had known this feeling was going to enter his life, that it would’ve felt like this, maybe he would’ve readied himself better for it. Instead, he finds himself starving at the table where it’s served. The taste of you on his tongue wraps him in a heady pleasure, but it’s every sound he takes out of you that has him pressing a little more insistently, tongue laving over you.

“Pl-please,” your words break between gasps, and it has him lapping into your clit with more pressure.

“I can never say no to you, can I?” he mumbles between your legs. And then he’s flipping you over, hoisting you onto your knees and skimming his hands over your rear and thighs before diving in again. Your face is pressed into the pillow, hands grabbing the sheets. Kaiser almost seems dazed as he moans into your cunt, swollen and wet like a siren’s call, hands wrapped so tightly around your plush thighs that it feels like it might bruise.

“Let me taste,” he mutters, mouth still lodged into your cunt, like that isn’t what he’s already doing. “Come on baby, give it to me. Let me taste it on my tongue.”

Your hole clenches and flutters around nothing as another orgasm rocks through you, your breath coming short as you break apart on his tongue with a whine.

He flips you over again, and the look on his face takes your breath away. Your slick shimmers on his mouth as he trails his tongue over his lips, like he’s addicted, like he can’t get enough. He tilts his head with a grin so cocky that if you weren’t so blissed out you might just punch him.

“There something you want, pretty?” He leans over you, hand to the bedpost, and how broad and tall he is becomes that much more obvious. You let yourself look, at the way his tattoo drapes over his arm, run your hands over the muscle of his torso down to his v-line. You hear a sharp intake of breath as your hand moves lower, running under his loose sleep pants to the base of his cock.

He grabs your hand in his, bringing it over your head and circling both your wrists. “Ask.”

“You-,” your eyes narrow and you huff at him, but it only makes him smile. “Won’t you just-”

“Nuh-uh.”

“I could cut you down here.”

He drops his pants, pumping his cock once and then sliding it along your slit. “You could. And then who’ll give you what you want?”

You want to roll your eyes, but then he has one hand tapping against your clit, the other gripping either side of your cheeks.

“You begged so pretty for me earlier when I had my mouth on you,” he rasps. “What happened to that?”

The harsh look you give him under those fluttering lashes of yours makes something stir in his gut, arousal shot through his veins, pupils wide. He plays with you, warm hands against your skin and between your legs, the soft skin of his cock sliding between your thighs until you’re gasping in his hold again, grinning like a battle won.

“Please, Mihya,” you sigh.

“Mhmm. Please what?”

“Please- please fuck me.”

He gets off on it, watching you yield to him, spreading your legs, dripping your hot slick onto his cock. He presses the head against you, petaled folds opening up to receive him as he slides into you slowly. Just the first few inches is so thick inside of you that your hands wrap around the muscles of his arms, nails digging in.

“Shh, baby, you can take it,” he hushes your little whines, tracing your hairline with such gentleness it contradicts the way he pulls out of you just slightly only to push in again.

“You’re- oh,” your body gives into him, even more so when he brings his hand down to tap on your clit, his mouth over your neck, to the side of your mouth, until he’s kissing you and taking in every noise you make. It’s almost a distraction, helps your body to relax so he can press into you deeper. You think you feel every inch as it enters you, all the way until the hilt, until the head is pressing deep inside of you and his hips meet yours.

He lets out a rough, deep moan against the expanse of your neck, breath coming short as your walls tighten around him.

“Fuck, baby. You gotta let me move.” Your arms wrap around him tighter, a whimper falling from your lips as he tilts his hips up to plunge into you again. It’s hard and slow and deep and if it wasn’t for his grip on you, you might’ve hit the headboard. But he’s careful about it – more than you might’ve thought he’d be. Pressing your body into the bed as his hips meet yours again and again.

“It feels so good,” you tell him, and it has him pressing a kiss to your cheek in return. Makes every moan you make that much sweeter, to know it’s out of your pleasure, to know it’s because of him.

“Good girl. Tell me again.”

“Feels- you’re so big, so- please, I need-” Your walls can barely clench down onto him with how he feels inside of you. Chest to chest with him, the contact of skin on skin-

“You drive me insane,” he grumbles it into your skin; a confession, exacerbated with each thrust of his hips as he picks up the speed, until he’s slamming into you with a kind of strength that has you seeing constellations behind your eyes. He wants you- needs you to feel the way he feels. Needs to have you lying in his bed, thinking only of him and how he makes you feel. Heat pools in your core until you’re arching your back, and he knows it now – knows it like the back of his hand.

“Give it to me.” It’s a command, a need, if you listen closely enough. “Come around my cock. Show me.”

“Mihya, it’s so much, it’s so so much.” It’s treacherous, the way it works through your body, being on the brink.

His thumb is slick over your clit, pressing just a little more, until your thighs are tightening under his unrelenting body. “Come for me.”

You chant his name until the words start to become nothing in your mouth, until you’re breathless, until your whole body tenses under him and his hold against you gets that much rougher and your walls clamp down and then your body shakes as you come. You almost scream, only silenced by his lips on yours. He comes quickly after that, his eyes never leaving yours, taking in how you look underneath him as his cock gets more sensitive and paints the inside of your walls. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow until he feels your body start to relax under his.

You can barely process coming down as he’s kissing you again, deeply and with force, like he’s etching the memory of you into his mind and onto your lips.

For once, he lets himself recognize – how tiring the emptiness has been, to be devoid of this feeling and instead be filled with the fear that it’ll be turned against him. For once, he lets himself feel – to have something that is wholly his. to know and be known. To give and know you will receive. Not an offering at an altar but a hand in his, not a prayer but a soft word spoken in return. Kaiser does not want something as untouching as approval or attention from the divine. But he does want your waist in his arms, your forehead against his.

“Just like this,” he whispers it, a kiss placed to your forehead. You don’t know what he means, too tired to ask.

This is exactly what he’s always wanted. Just like this.

Not unlike a parent, Noa notices the closeness of your relationship. In touch, in stolen glances, in longing. A private conversation with him over afternoon tea is not unique, but the heaviness that weighs on him is.

“As the goddess who cannot lie, I have to ask you.” The hardened look on his face makes you straighten your back, putting down your teacup. “You know, that I have to ask.”

Silence sits between you both like a shoe about to drop.

Noa yields. “Has he truly been forsaken by all the gods?”

You are strangely silent as you look at him, then away, then back.

“Answer me, demigod.”

“I don’t know.”

“What?”

“I. Don’t. Know. I have told you before, that I am not a seer, or an oracle. Water holds memory. I can see the past, I can even see other lives parallel to ours, but I cannot see the future. This is the limit of my power.”

“You are of divine nature.”

“I had said what I said at our first meeting, and that has not changed. As long as I am here, the Gods have not forsaken him. For I have not forsaken him. Is that not enough? How many Gods would travel to your realm, vow themselves to a human kingdom? Even if it is I alone that stands before you, is that not enough?”

Noa sighs, more exasperated than you’ve ever seen a serious man like him. “He deserves more, that boy. For what he has been put through.”

“All greatness comes with a price. All heroes face tragedy. He, no matter how much you may care for him, is not the exception to that.” You tilt your head, like a cat with curiosity. But unlike that sweetness, your words are cutting. “You made him a ruler. You made him a hero. So, stand by that. Or does it make you uncomfortable? To consider the role you, too, have played in his life?”

Noa, of course, has thought about this too. Had he not chosen Kaiser to rule, would he have had the prophecy weighing on him like a second shadow?

“If the prophecy holds true, you will inevitably leave him.” Noa swallows, hand flat against the table. “He will inevitably be forsaken, even by you.”

“Then why,” you ask, genuinely, “did you ask me to stay?”

In the weeks that follow, you learn exactly why. Like Kaiser had predicted, talk of battle comes.

“We suspect a neighboring nation wishes to wage war with us.” Noa looks out to the slate-blue ocean from the window of the war room.

“A man who wants control of this whole world,” Karasu huffs. “There’s never a lack of them, is there?”

“He thinks himself a god. Or that’s what Sae has told us.”

“You’re sure Sae’s information checks out?”

“Shidou and Otoya like to visit neighboring nations for uh… fun, let’s say,” Chigiri rolls his eyes, then plants his face in his hands. “He said something along the lines of “you don’t wanna know how they found out” and “Shidou sleeps with both men and women, so it’s been cross-checked too.””

“And then we asked him about war,” Isagi throws his notes down on the table. “He said, and I quote, ‘I already have more land than I know what to do with. What could another few acres give me? What a hassle.’”

“The enemy are bold to come for us first.” Kaiser frowns considerably. They are possibly the one nation blasphemous enough that would not blink at the thought of fighting a god. “There’s something we’re not seeing.”

Isagi nods in agreement. “We still don’t know the reason they’re coming here first. It could be the sword, or the goddess.” Isagi frowns. “I told you not to make a scene at the banquet.”

Kaiser gives him a curious look with a smile he fails to hide. “The point of a banquet is to wow the people. The people were wowed, were they not?”

“It could be, it could not be,” Noa kills the conflict there. “That information would have been made public regardless of the spectacle. It could even simply be the throne itself they seek. An army like ours could parade into the neighboring nations and lay waste, our people are used to much harsher weathers.”

“Or maybe he means to make a statement,” Karasu shrugs. “If he wants to be a god, maybe he means to punish the disrespect we’ve shown.”

“What do we actually know?” Chigiri taps the map of this nation splayed across the table.

“We know he wants to take control of this world, and we know his plan includes something from us.”

“He knows once he controls the world, he has to take care of it, right?” Oliver rests his jaw in his hand. “As in, it’s not just about buying the house, it’s about cleaning it too. The plan – it has to be bigger than this, no?”

“Won’t happen once we kill him here. So as far as we know, there are three things we have that he could want: the sword, the goddess, the army.” Chigiri holds up his fingers as he counts.

“So we’ll meet him with all three at the front lines. Fear does not wield us, after all. Only strength.” Kaiser says it like a mantra. You suspect it might be exactly that.

“What a pleasant surprise to see you again so soon, princess.”

As an ally, Sae arrived on the day of battle without question. He is much different from the first time you saw him, chainmail armor wraps tight and sleek around his body, clearly of a weight underneath his clothing. He stands straighter, shoulders broader, badges clipped to his outer jacket. It’s clear to anyone who looks at him, that it’s almost like he was born into them – meant for them.

“You’re both on the front lines then?”

“Idle hands,” Kaiser starts.

“Devil’s workshop.” You finish. You hear a horse galloping, then a voice.

“There’s something wrong.” The people give a wide berth as Oliver arrives, with a sleek black mare that’s obedient as can be. “The majority of the enemies’ troops are not in front of us.”

All of you turn to look, but it’s on the front lines that makes it most difficult to tell where the crowd begins and ends.

“I did a rough head count from the tower. This isn’t the count we had observed just the other day. They’ll die easily, like this, against us. And I don’t mean that from an egotistical standpoint. I think these men are here to die, meant to die. It serves to mean –”

“This is a distraction.”

Karasu appears at your side, with an utmost silence only he is capable of. “They’re headed for the main castle, from around the edge of the border.”

You and Kaiser look to each other with a whole silent conversation, and Sae sighs.

“Go on, then.”

You turn to Sae immediately, with a seriousness he doesn’t expect. “You’ll be unprotected.”

“We chopped liver to you, girl?” Shidou sneers.

Oliver drops down from his horse. “I’ll take over here.”

“Your care for me is truly touching, princess,” Sae’s voice lilts touchingly, almost revealing how much he likes it. “But you swore a vow to this kingdom, so go fulfill it.”

Even in the middle of a war, it gets Kaiser all worked up, his chin jutting as you both run back to the palace. But Sae understands duty, stands by it. It’s what makes him worthy of his own title in his own kingdom.

Oliver waits until you’re both out of sight before turning to Sae. “Did you really plan to steal her?”

“Well,” Sae shrugs. “Did you plan on letting her go so easily?”

Your water runs in cascading waves through the whole of the palace, like the ocean itself comes rushing through the walls. It knocks all the soldiers down as you and Kaiser run through, and he picks up any stragglers with ease.

“The throne room?” Kaiser slams the hilt of his sword into the guy behind him, and he collapses instantly.

“It is the safest room.”

“That makes no sense. If you knew anything about our people, you’d know we never hide ourselves there in a battle.”

“Go anyways,” you tell him, as another man gets thrown off his feet. “Go, Kaiser!”

He takes one final look at you, at the strength that you hold in your hands, and then he runs.

The man he finds sitting on the throne has black hair cut blunt to his chin, a white mask over one side of his face. Kaiser unsheathes his sword, pointed straight and true.

“That throne doesn’t belong to you.”

“It will. Along with that sword you’re holding.”

Kaiser chuckles, the kind that has madness interlaced in it. “If you wanted the sword so bad, you could’ve asked for a one-on-one combat duel. I haven’t had a satisfying fight in a long time, I’d be happy to lay the sword as a winning prize.”

What must be the man’s most elite fighters drop down from the ceiling, crowding in on all sides.

“Ah, I see,” Kaiser stands straighter, reaching behind him to unsheath his second sword. “It is your capabilities that do not match mine.”

When they come for him, it’s clear to even the heavens that he is exactly as he is fated – a force to be reckoned with. He moves like a spider-spun silken web, capturing each of them blow by blow. His swords cut like butter through them with impressive speed and strength. His breath comes fast and hard when he finishes, sweat dripping down his back.

“I see now, prince,” the man approaches him, and it’s closer up that he realizes he’s simply in a suit, no armor. “Why they praise you, despite your blasphemy. You, a prince famous for cursing divinity at a whim’s notice, are a powerful ally. Kneel before me, then, and I’ll cease this all – let you join our cause in a war against the gods, in stealing their divinity from them. I’ll even forgive this transgression of bedding one.”

“Me? Kneel?” The canned laugh that Kaiser lets out echoes. “I kneel to no god, let alone a man who wants to become one.”

“So be it, then.”

Kaiser hears something above him. By the gods, what’s with this guy and ceilings? Is that why he wants to fight here? A dust of something shimmers down, he pulls his cloak over himself-

From the doorway, you throw your water across the room, shielding Kaiser from whatever it may have been. And in the same moment, a poof of shimmer bursts over your own head and tumbles down around you.

“That’s the problem with you gods, isn’t it? You always think you’re infallible.”

You cough, falling to one of your knees. Dread fills inside of you, like a faucet you can’t turn off. You can’t move. How is that possible?

The man taps two fingers to the top of your head, and your world goes dark.

When you blink your eyes open, the first thing you’re aware of is the way your vision swims. Your mind feels clouded, stuffed with cotton. You press your palm to your head, and even that feels muted.

“I’ve made her mine now. She’ll do exactly what I say. Does that make you upset?” Is what you think you hear, through the ringing of your ears. “Let’s see you put that god-killing sword to good use then, shall we?”

“It’s. Magic.” You spit out the words as your hands press into the ground. Your legs cramp from the way you’re forcing them to stay down. “Mihya. Run, please.”

“Awh, worried about me?” Kaiser teases as he logs the odds. There is no water that swirls around you, so it begs to reason – you can’t call it. The only weapon you have is a dagger.

Kaiser tilts his head until his neck cracks. “Have some faith in me, princess. I’m not afraid, even against you.”

He breathes, in and out, until the calmness of battle seeps into him, raises his sword pointed right at you. “I’ll win, even against you.”

And then he reveals that cocky, surefire smirk. “You should worry more about not dying yourself.”

When you launch at him, it is without mercy, makes him realize how your kindness seeps into the way you fight. His weapon is bigger, larger, and he uses it to keep you at arm’s length, to wrap around towards the enemy. But he sees his problem almost immediately. Like a puppet on strings, you’re protecting the enemy.

He knows it, the moment the prophecy solidifies into place in his mind. That feeling of being lost on a path, gone with the reigning down a light. The final puzzle piece in the picture.

You will die by the hands of the one you love most. So, it truly was this feeling, after all. Love. An aching thing, something so undoing. An open wound that can only be tendered by you.

For once, the prophecy is not a curse but a guiding starlight. He corners you with strike after strike, until you’re as close as can be to the enemy. And then he approaches you with no defense, lets you strike at him. In the same breath, his sword lands behind you and takes off the enemy’s head.

None of the fight felt as clear as this moment, when your blade presses into his heart.

He collapses, right in front of the throne with you on top of him. The throne that should be undoubtedly his, belonging to him as heir. Tears fall from your face before your mind can clear. Like you know, soul to soul, as his lifeform slips through your fingers. He brings his hand to cup your cheek, as he had wanted to do when you laid like this above him in the sand.

“I did not expect a death so gentle for myself.”

His smile is so bittersweet that it aches all the way to the bottom of your heart. His hand slips down from your face as you finally come to.

“You will not die on me.” You gasp out, a statement said with so much conviction that the silver bell of truth rings in return. You call to your water immediately, a stream so fast it cuts into your skin but you don’t care.

A magic that can only be done once. You take the divine sword from the ground, aim the blade carefully at yourself – your own soul. Only this sword can make a cut like this, with the hand of the divine. You slice your wrist, and instead of blood, pure golden lifeforce pours out.

You separate your divinity from yourself, and you feed it to him. It will not turn him divine. You are only half-divine yourself, after all. What you can give is not nearly enough to turn a man into a God. But it will hold his soul in this world, let you do an unspeakable magic: an exchange of divine power for life, a process long enough for the water to heal his heart back together again. The hand you lay against his mouth shakes more and more with each second that your golden blood pours into him, but your other hand lays steady as ever over his heart, until you feel it beat once, twice. Hear him spurt out a breath.

You collapse on top of him before you can see him open his eyes.

“I see the prophecy has been completed.”

When Kaiser wakes, there’s a split second where he thinks he might’ve just ended up wherever souls go at the end of their line. There’s what must be a full-fledged goddess standing right over him. It’s only your warm body splayed across his chest that tells him otherwise. His hands are lightning quick, sitting up and moving to your neck to check your pulse, only exhaling and relaxing once he feels it.

Golden threads extend down the sleeves of the goddess’ arms. He’s seen the paintings. Fate itself stands before him.

“How could you do this?” He makes his disdain clear, lacking any respect one might give to the queen of the gods herself.

“I am sorry.” She answers immediately, and that makes Kaiser’s eyes widen just slightly. “Your grievances, you may relay them to me, if you wish. There is a bigger picture at play here, bigger than you or the water sorceress or even myself. The threads of fate are not woven selfishly.”

“You gods up in your clouds play with the lives of mortals. That has always been written in history. But to her? To one of your own?”

“She is more one of mine than most. The heir to the throne of the Gods, I would’ve entrusted her with my life. It’s why she complies with Fate in every life, without complaint.”

“So she lends you her loyalty, and you take advantage of her. And you dare put yourselves above us?”

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Heavy too, are my hands, that weave the golden threads. You and her are one of many that have suffered by my hand. For that, there is no apology I can give. What I can give, well… Would you like to hear your full prophecy, prince?”

Lone Emperor who covets the throne, You will die by the hands of the one you love most. Forsaken by all the Gods but one, Re-emerge, awaken, as the ruler you are meant to become.

In any other circumstance, he would be eager as ever to finally hear the full prophecy. But his eyes are only on you, your slumbering state as he holds you in his arms.

“What will become of her?” He asks quietly.

“She will be a water sorceress, as she had initially been.”

“She will die, then? Like a human does?”

“All things die, hero.” Hero. That’s what he is now, having been trial-passed. The title burns like bourbon down his throat. “Even the divine dies. But yes, she will die as a human, and be reborn again as the cycle permits.”

“A life of such simplicity is not befitting of a woman like her.”

“Who says it would be simple? Besides, she has gone through the trial of the divine once before. Don’t you have faith she could do it again?”

The trial of the divine. He had not known such a thing prior to you. But if anyone could pass it, it would be you.

“I will make her my wife. I care little for the words or respect of the gods, even a queen like yourself. But it is my duty to inform you. If she will have me, I will wed her as has been planned.”

“The prophecy is complete. What happens now is too inconsequential for me to put effort into. However…” she watches you, teartracks streaked down your cheeks. “I’m quite fond of her. I hope for her an easy life.”

In a blink, her form disappears.

“Kaiser!” Oliver’s voice echoes through the halls, taking big leaps with Noa to his side, skidding to a halt when he finally finds you both.

“The goddess-”

“She lives,” Kaiser cups your head into his chest. “Though she is goddess no more. A trade. Not a fair one by any means.” His thumb traces across your cheek, a state of his so vulnerable it renders Oliver speechless.

Noa approaches the threshold where Oliver does not dare. He rests his hand on the crown of Kaiser’s head. “Another chance at life is the greatest gift, and she has granted you as such. That is a debt you’ll never be able to repay her for..”

“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying, then.”

It’s only in the aftermath, that you find out how deep in you truly were.

Kaiser takes a big inhale of the winter air. It’s fresh and cold. And with him, the nation breathed a breath anew, and the trial laid in ashes under his feet.

You’re facing the horizon of the sea when he finds you.

In the catch of the light, sometimes he swears he sees the divinity that had shimmered off of you before. It’s almost hard to believe, with the ring of water that floats around you, that it had ever left you at all.

“What are you doing?” His voice is soft, as it always is with you now.

“Relearning the water.”

“What does it say?”

“That I am still its mistress. Still a sorceress,” the water around you drops into the wet sand. “That its loyalty with me is not dependent on divinity.”

He places a hand to the back of your neck, easing out the tensions there. “But?”

You smile weakly. “I have to strain to hear her now.”

“Guess we can’t do that spectacle again for our wedding.” He cracks a smile, something to ease the ache. “Water holds memory, right?”

“That, it does.”

He grabs your hand, pulling you up and towards the waves. You yell for him, but the ocean crashes loudly around you both, and he drags you into the water anyways. Once you’re deep in enough that the waves drape over your knees, he pulls you in close.

“Let her bear witness, then.” He whispers it against your lips, brushing your hair away from your face. He kisses you, deep and with so much heart you might burst from it.

A prophecy unfolded, a fate changed, a life saved.

There’s a part of you that can feel an oncoming future. A sheathing that can block even the eyes of Gods. God-killing weapons that have descended from the heavens themselves. A potion that can cause madness in the minds of the divine. A war between mortals and Gods is coming, you’re sure of it.

But not in this life. In this life, you are a water sorceress, and he is a trial-passed hero. And like in every life, you find your way back to each other, every time.

author's note: ohmygod THANK YOU FOR READING PLEASE tell me what you think!!! this is my longest fic ever so i really hope you enjoyed

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shina913 · 3 days ago

Text

A Very Patient Man | LJH

Pairing: Lee Jihoon x AFAB!Reader

Rating: M 🔞; NSFW

Genre: F2L; FWB; smut; pwp

Warnings: cussing; breast play; fingering; cunnilingus; unprotected sex; PIV sex; riding; ass smacking; dirty talk; creampie

Word count: 4.6k words

Summary: You’re frustrated because it takes you longer to reach an orgasm during sex. This has made you feel insecure, and you started to accept the fact you’d never meet someone patient enough to give you the attention you need. Your friend, Jihoon, casually offers a solution.

A/N: Idk. I slipped and fell onto my keyboard and all this horny word vomit spilled out. Thanks to @roaminginthenights for always enabling me in the DMs 🤣

This is also un-beta'd so...it is what it is.

Anyway! Here’s something filthy to end the year! 💜

It started innocently enough at Jihoon’s studio. You were sitting on his couch, venting about your dating life, and as always, he listened attentively just as you do when he shares his own experiences.

However, today’s visit was different. He’s letting you ramble on about a very specific topic.

“I feel like there’s an invisible time limit on foreplay.”

Jihoon’s chair creaks as he leans back, laughing at your incredulous claim. “No, there isn’t!”

“But I really think there is!” you argue. “My last date got visibly impatient, even though I...” you inhale through your teeth, “clearly asked him for more time down there. Instead, he just said, ‘It’s been five minutes, it’s my turn now.’” You huff in annoyance.

“Well, that sucks. Did you get rid of him?”

You grimace before replying. “Please don’t judge me. He was cute, so we still fucked. My vibrator finished the job,” you admit guiltily. “I blocked him on the app afterward though.”

He sighs, shaking his head in mild disappointment. “You shouldn’t compromise on your needs. If you want more time, say so and stick with it.”

You huffed wistfully. “I just take too long. I get all panicky when someone’s been down there for longer than 5 minutes.”

“You can’t rush pleasure,” he comments.

“I know that, but now, it makes me think—how long is too long before you come? Is there a play clock winding down on the field? Do I need to call out an audible?”

He doubles over again, laughing when you start using sports metaphors.

“How can some women summon an orgasm—” you snap your fingers, “just like that?”

His laughs subside, turning more serious now. “Don’t do that. Don’t compare yourself to other people. Everybody’s different.”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me,” you remark sarcastically.

He turns away to face his screen, adding more edits to a track he’s working on.

“I don’t know…” you mumble, shrugging in defeat. “I guess my vibrator and I are destined to spend the rest of our lives together. Might as well reserve matching burial plots.”

Jihoon snorts. “You just haven’t found the right partner. A really patient one, I might add,” he says, half-joking.

You smack him on his bicep, and your hand stings from the unexpected firmness under his oversized shirt. Has his arm always been this solid? When was the last time you touched his bicep? Wait—why are you even thinking of his bicep?

You and Jihoon have been close friends since college, maintaining a purely platonic relationship—never a hint of romance or sexual tension between you. On rare nights out, you even act as each other’s wingman, helping one another find potential dates. You two simply click on a different level—easy and no complications.

He looked up from his mixing board, turning to you with a slight smirk. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you, but I happen to be very patient.”

The lilt in his voice was unmistakable. It was the kind of tone he used when chatting up potential conquests on your nights out.

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Don’t you dare use that Joey Tribbiani move on me.”

“It’s not a move.” He keeps his face serious, looking genuinely hurt by your comment. “You’re my friend. I wouldn’t do that to you,” he says softly. “I’m just saying, if you ever wanted to try, I’m game.” He tilts his head, giving a casual shrug. “No judgment.”

You stare at him, stunned, as his offer hangs in the air. You try to laugh it off, shifting uncomfortably in your seat.

Was he seriously proposing that you two—nope! You refuse to go there. Jihoon is a great friend, and although you trust him, you’re not sure you’d be comfortable with the idea of...

You shake your head. You can’t even finish the thought. You glance at your watch for no reason at all.

“You know, I think I’m going to call it a night.”

“Oh? I thought you wanted to grab dinner?” He’s surprised and confused at your sudden change of plans.

“It’s getting late.”

Truthfully, it wasn’t that late. You feel guilty lying to your friend, but you need to escape this conversation—and this situation—as quickly as possible.

“I just got a notification from work. I need to come in early, yada-yada…You know how it is.”

He looks disappointed but doesn’t push. You gather your things, slipping your puffer jacket on, despite the room feeling several degrees warmer.

“Alright. If you’re sure—”

“Yeah,” you cut him off. That came out more tersely than you initially intended. “I’m sure,” you add with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes to try and make up for it.

He rises from his seat when you do and moves in for a hug—just like he usually does. But this time, the hug feels different; you’re suddenly hyperaware of his touch, your skin tingling all over. You return his hug stiffly, without your usual warmth, then hurry out of his studio and immediately tear off your too-hot jacket.

That night, your dreams were filled with visions—his hands tracing paths across your skin, his dark head dipping between your thighs, his intense gaze meeting yours as you hovered on the edge of unbridled pleasure. The dream felt so vivid you could have sworn you felt the warmth of his breath against your skin. It wasn’t until your alarm began blaring, leaving you trembling and drenched in sweat, that reality came crashing back.

********************************************

A couple of days passed, and you couldn’t stop thinking about Jihoon. This wasn’t your usual “hope he remembered to eat lunch” thoughts or impulse to send him funny memes that popped up on your algorithm.

After your NSFW dream about him, you started noticing little things about him you’d never paid attention to before—the adorable way he’d scrunch up his nose while concentrating on work, how his muscles moved when he reached for something, or how the warm red studio lights perfectly highlighted his features.

You shake your head. It’s not that deep. Jihoon’s suggestion was only practical. There’s no reason to go down this rabbit hole.

Still, you can’t deny the growing curiosity gnawing at the back of your mind. You hadn’t expected his offer to affect you this way, but it does.

After days of avoiding him, you decide to invite him to dinner at your place. Maybe if you discussed this with him, the dreams and inappropriate thoughts would stop.

The moment he walks through your door, everything falls apart. You become hyper-aware of his every move. You catch yourself stealing glances when you think he isn’t looking, and you flinch whenever he gets too close.

Finally, he’s had enough.

“Okay,” he says firmly. “What’s with you? Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird,” you lie, your heart racing. You reach for your drink and take a hefty gulp.

“Have I said or done something? You’ve flaked on me the last couple of times I asked you to go out, you’ve left me on ‘read’ more than you’ve responded...”

You felt guilty for avoiding him, but you needed that space to sort out your thoughts. Though you wanted to have this conversation, you couldn’t find the right moment to broach the topic.

“Then you invite me over, barely talk—” he continues to rant.

“It’s... it’s really more of a me-problem,” you stammer.

“Just talk to me! I can take it.” He throws his hands up in frustration.

You inwardly groan, before finally coming clean. “Remember the last time we were at your studio? I was whining about...something.”

He squinted for a bit, then you could see the recognition slowly dawning in his eyes before lowering his voice. “You mean, how you take a long time to reach an orgasm?”

You shut your eyes, mortified when he articulates it. “Yes…”

“What about it?”

“It’s not exactly about that, but it’s more about what you said after. You know—your offer to help?”

His face visibly relaxes, prompting you to continue. “Okay.”

Your heart feels like it’s about to beat out of your chest, but you push through. “Did you mean it, or were you just messing with me?”

He stares at you for a moment before shaking his head, the corner of his lips quirking up. “The offer still stands, if you want it.”

You sit there chewing the inside of your cheek, feeling torn. Your brain tells you to be careful—fucking your best friend could make things weird. But your body has other ideas. The warmth pooling between your legs makes it harder to think straight.

“Are you considering it?” His voice is gentle, giving you space to choose.

You deflect, buying time to sort through your tumbling thoughts. “I’m curious... have you thought about this before? About us?”

“The idea has crossed my mind from time to time.”

His candor sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “Oh,” is all you can manage to say.

“What about you? Have you thought about us...doing things?”

You draw in a shaky breath, forcing yourself to be equally honest. “I never thought of us that way before you mentioned it. But now...” you trail off, unable to verbalize how his suggestion has shifted something between you.

He inches closer, but maintains enough distance to keep you comfortable. His expression grows serious, earnest. “Listen, I would never pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to. You’re one of my best friends, and that matters more to me than anything else. If I’m out of line, just say the word and we won’t talk about it ever again.” The sincerity in his voice, the genuine concern in his eyes makes your heart ache. You’ve always known him to be considerate of your feelings.

“You weren’t out of line.” Hearing you say this was a huge relief to him. “But you can’t really un-ring that bell,” you add wryly.

You also couldn’t get past an earlier comment he made. “So…you’ve thought about us before?”

He takes a moment before answering. “Yeah. I mean, you’re beautiful. Who wouldn’t want you?”

Your cheeks flush at his compliment.

Your best friend has always had this effortless way about him—you’ve seen firsthand how easily he charms people during your nights out together.

Your resolve crumbles, and honestly, you’re tired of fighting it. “How are you so chill about all this?”

He laughs. “It’s sex, not rocket science.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Things won’t get weird afterward, will they?”

“Afterward? So...you’re saying you want to have sex? With me?” His eyebrows raise slightly.

You already knew the answer to that question the moment you asked him to come over. “I guess I do,” you say softly with a nervous smile, “for science?”

His sexy, throaty laugh echoes through the room.

********

You sit nervously on your couch facing each other. Since this is completely new territory for both of you, you know you need to take things slow and make sure you’re both comfortable. Gathering up the courage to agree to this experiment is the easy part, but actually getting into it?

“Just to be clear—this is a one-time thing, right?”

“Of course,” he confirms. “This is purely for educational purposes. And your pleasure.”

You scrunch your nose in protest. “That doesn’t seem like a fair exchange.” The idea of him seeing this as one-sided doesn’t sit right with you. “Shouldn’t this be mutually beneficial?”

“I never said I had to get something out of this. You want to experience an orgasm from foreplay alone, without mechanical assistance, right?”

You nod.

“Okay. So, let me focus on making that happen for you. You don’t need to think about anything else.”

You didn’t want to be selfish, but his offer was difficult to refuse.

“This is about you, not me,” he insists. His decision is firm and he wasn’t budging.

“Okay,” you relent. Fidgeting nervously with the hem of your shirt, you take in a deep breath and release it before muttering, “How should we do this...”

When Jihoon doesn’t immediately offer any suggestions, you think of the most natural way to start.

“Maybe we could start with kissing?”

“Right, good idea.” His voice wavers slightly, betraying that he’s just as nervous as you are despite his attempts to stay composed. Oddly, this puts you at ease—knowing you’re both on the same page, figuring this out as you go.

You both move in closer together, and time seems to slow as he leans in. Your eyes flutter shut, then his lips meet yours. They’re exactly as you’d imagined—soft, warm, and unexpectedly gentle. The kiss starts tentatively, but as your lips find their rhythm, everything feels natural.

When you break apart for a moment, you can’t help but smile. “You’re a good kisser.” You barely finish the sentence before being drawn back to his lips.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he hums, and you can feel his smile against your lips as you both laugh, the sounds melting into your kisses.

Your kisses grow more intense, your mouth sucking on his top lip while his tongue traces delicately along yours, building a warmth that spreads through your entire body. You fist at his shirt, bunching the fabric between your knuckles, while his hand cradles your neck, his thumb gently stroking along your pulse point.

Gradually, his kisses move from your lips, following a path along the curve of your jawline, down to the slope of your neck. You can’t help but giggle at the sensation.

He instantly pulls back, a worried look on his face. “Sorry, are you not into that?”

“No, no—I mean—Yes, I am into it. I’m just a little bit ticklish there, that’s all,” you explain.

“Oh... okay. Do you want to keep going?”

You nod, and as he leans in for another kiss but pauses when you place a hand on his chest. “You know, I didn’t think I’d enjoy this because we’ve been friends for so long, but I have to admit that I like it.”

“Yeah?” A smirk plays across his lips. “Tell me what else you like.” He nips at your jawline. “Or show me.”

Desire spreads through you like wildfire. This was the point of no return. You take his hands and guide them under your shirt until they cup your breasts.

“What do you want me to do?” He murmurs through your lips.

“Play with them.”

His lips capture yours again as he squeezes your breast gently.

He eases you down onto the couch, his lips trailing from yours down your neck to your sternum. When he lifts your shirt to your chest, you feel constrained and pull it off completely, tossing it aside. He follows your lead, removing his own shirt.

His skilled fingers unhook your bra and takes a nipple into his mouth while his thumb teases the other, drawing a sharp breath from you.

You run your fingers through his hair as his kisses trace down your stomach, making your back arch at the sensation against your skin.

His hands glide down your sides until they reach your jeans, where he carefully undoes the button. You hook your fingers into your waistband and start pushing your bottoms down. He helps slide them off, his touch remaining gentle but with a hint of urgency as he pulls the fabric from your legs. As the last piece of clothing falls away, the cool air against your newly exposed skin makes you shiver.

One of his hands pushed between your legs, making them fall open shamelessly. His other hand continued to massage your breasts, making them unbearably sensitive. You can’t believe how slick you’d gotten in a short span of time. To think he hadn’t done much to you yet, apart from kissing you and squeezing your tits.

His gaze traveled down your body, lingering where his fingertips teased your sensitive folds. His feather-light touches made your inner walls clench with need. This only heightened your arousal, making you squirm beneath him, silently begging for more.

He slid one finger carefully into you. Your eyes closed against the unbearable vulnerability of being spread out naked and fingered by your friend, kneeling on the floor beside you. “Don’t think…just feel.” You keened as Jihoon pulled out and thrust gently back into you with two fingers. You couldn’t hold back a moan.

It’s probably been a few minutes now, you’re not sure as you’ve completely lost track of time. You blink furiously in a mild panic and stare down at him, still leisurely finger-fucking you. What he was doing felt so good, but you weren’t even halfway to your peak yet. By this point, other partners would be coming up for air, wanting you to return the favor or just ready to stick their cock in to get their fill.

“Relax...” he cooed, pressing a kiss against your inner thigh. Each deliberate dip and languid curl of his skilled fingers inside you made you wetter, gradually coaxing your muscles to yield. “It’s not a race,” he reassured you softly, his voice thick with desire. “I’ll keep going until you come.”

His words of encouragement sent waves of arousal coursing through you, making your breath catch in your throat.

“Kiss me,” you choked out, needing to feel his lips against yours. Without hesitation, he obliged, sealing his mouth over yours in a deep kiss that made you dizzy.

Your fingers clutched desperately at the edges of your cushions, knuckles turning white from your grip as you felt that familiar sensation between your legs. “Right there. Don’t stop,” you gasped between heavy breaths, your hips bucking against his steadily thrusting fingers. The pleasure was building to an unbearable level, making you feel like you might shatter to pieces if he didn’t push you over the edge soon.

He continued to whisper the filthiest things—words you’d never heard him say to you. They revealed previously unspoken fantasies that ignited your body and overwhelmed your senses. A fleeting thought crossed your mind, wondering if this was his usual bedroom talk. But that thought slipped away as his words and actions consumed you completely. Before you realized it, you were peaking.

“I want to see what you look like when you come,” he purred. “Do you look as pretty as you do right now?” Everything tightened in your core while he kept up his ministrations in a steady, unhurried rhythm.

“Oh fuck, I’m coming…”

“Don’t hold back. Let me hear you,” he urged.

You let out a strangled cry, your mind far beyond the depths of euphoria to care about being quiet or demure about this. He was mesmerized, unable to look away at the sheer pleasure that washed over you. Before you could even process what just happened, he’d already hooked your leg over the back of the couch and covered your cleft with his mouth.

He stroked your clit with his tongue, fluttering over it, building your hunger back up again. He teased your slick folds, taunting you with the promise of another orgasm—something you thought impossible to achieve so soon, yet your body responded eagerly. When his fingers pushed inside you at the same time, you had to bite your lip to stifle a scream.

You came again, your thighs trembling, tender muscles pulsing around his touch. His growl vibrated through you. You didn’t have the strength to push him away when he returned to your clit and sucked softly…tirelessly…but now you wanted more. You needed to feel him.

You manage to sit up and squeeze his shoulder to get his attention. He peers up at you from between your thighs.

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Already?” He smiles, teasing you with painfully slow strokes of his fingers. “Pretty sure I can get another one out of you,” he says cockily.

“Lee Jihoon—I. Am asking you. To fuck. Me,” you punctuated. “Will you do it or not?”

He sits up, turning sheepish all of a sudden. “I, uhm…didn’t expect us to be doing this, so I didn’t bring any condoms.”

It’s not like he was some random guy. Although you appreciated his caution, you just wanted him inside you. “I trust you,” you tell him before pressing a kiss to him.

After he settles on the couch, you shift unsteadily to straddle his hips, pressing your bodies together. Reaching between you, you fumble with his jeans until he helps, lifting his hips in a fluid motion to pull them down just enough to free himself. Bracing yourself, you let him guide you as you slowly sink down onto him. Your lips part with an involuntary sigh that turns into a soft moan as he fills you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way.

When you begin to roll your hips, the friction sends sparks of pleasure through your core.

“Fuck, your pussy feels good,” he breathes out roughly, his fingers digging into your hips before worry suddenly crosses his face. His cheeks flush as he stammers, “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

You giggle at his compliment, causing your muscles to clamp around his length. “I’m not mad at it,” you reassure him. “You make me feel really good, too.”

“Yeah?” His brow quirks. “You like when I fuck you?”

“Yes,” you moan, dipping your head to his lips in another kiss as you find your rhythm together.

His hands roam your back, pulling you closer as you rock against him with increasing urgency. Before this, you’ve resigned yourself to never experiencing an orgasm from penetrative sex, and yet here was another brewing and there was nothing you could do but let it happen.

You gasp as his hand makes sudden contact with your ass, the unexpected sting making you freeze in place. You stare at him dumbfounded.

“What are you going to do about it?” he challenges. Before you can answer, his hand comes down again with another firm smack that rings through the room. “What?” The sound of provocation in his voice makes your pulse quicken.

You hover over him, eyes narrowing as you lean closer. Through gritted teeth, your voice emerges as a heated whisper. “Harder.”

“I thought so.” He smiles slyly before your lips crash in a fierce kiss that leaves you both breathless.

With a firm grip, he holds your hips still as he thrusts into you with deliberate, measured strokes. You clutch at him, the rhythmic sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Jihoon buries his face between your breasts, his rough groans reverberating against your flesh.

You whine helplessly, overwhelmed by the building pressure as the familiar coil of tension in your belly winds impossibly tight. Your thighs burn as you teeter on the edge of release.

“Yes...d-don’t...stop...hm...so close,” you pant.

He slows his movements to an agonizing pace, drawing out each thrust to drive you insane. He pulls out completely before sinking back into you with one deep thrust that makes you see stars. Your jaw drops, unintelligible sounds tumbling out your mouth as you come hard.

You hold onto him for dear life, your nails leaving a trail of crescent marks on his skin as he picks up the pace once again, his own rhythm becoming more erratic as he chases his own orgasm. A deep groan rumbles from his chest as your walls pulse and clench around him.

“I’m close,” he warns, his usually calm and collected face now twisted with agonizing need.

“Don’t pull out,” you manage to choke out between strained, ragged breaths.

“You…s-sure…?”

You nod eagerly. With your permission, he thrusts deeper and harder, making your neck loll in ecstasy. He draws you back into a rough, hungry kiss that muffles your shared moans as he reaches the end of his rope, his hips jerking against yours while he spurts inside.

Pressing your sweat-slicked forehead against his, you wait for your heart rate to return to normal. There’s no doubt in your mind—no previous partner could compare to Jihoon.

“Oh my fucking god,” you sigh. “We’ve been missing out all this time.”

He laughs softly, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. “It was worth the wait though!”

********

After a quick shower and a necessary trip to the pharmacy down the block, you and Jihoon return to your apartment with bags of late-night snacks. All that sexual activity had certainly worked up an appetite, and you found yourself craving something sweet. An ice cream waffle cone hit the spot for you.

“Are you okay?”

You smile, endeared at his worrying. “You know, you’ve asked me that same question multiple times now, and I’ll keep giving you the same answer—I’m fine. Great, actually!”

“I know, I know,” he responds sheepishly. “I just hope this doesn’t make things awkward between us.”

“Trust me, I don’t feel awkward about any of this at all,” you respond with complete sincerity before facing him to find out if he felt the same way you did. “Do you?”

He shakes his head, tilting the bag of Skittles into his mouth. “Nope,” he answers between chews. “To be honest, I thought that was fucking mind-blowing!”

You inhale sharply at his candid comment, nodding in agreement. “Same. Absolutely no complaints from me!”

He gets up from the couch, takes out a small box from the shopping bag to set it aside, and stuffs your discarded candy wrappers into it before heading to the kitchen to throw them away.

When he returns from the kitchen, your eyes linger on him. “Thanks, Jihoonie,” you whisper. “For…everything.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies with a wink before sinking back into the couch beside you.

This turned out to be the complete opposite of your initial fears. Not only did this one-off experiment exceed all your expectations, but it seems your friendship remained the same. Though you never would have guessed that your best friend would end up giving you the best orgasms of your life.

As you continue to enjoy your treat, you notice Jihoon’s eyes fixed on your tongue as it swirls around the chocolate ice cream. His dark eyes watching you with the same intensity as when you came undone with his touch earlier.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

You arched an eyebrow at him. “Quit staring at me like that,” you cautioned, though your tone suggested otherwise.

“Then don’t ever eat an ice cream cone in front of me,” he responds with a chuckle as he subtly adjusts himself beneath his pants.

You bite your lip, feeling a warmth between your legs again. “You know...” you clear your throat, reaching for the box of condoms he left on the coffee table, “I wonder if these things really live up to the ‘raw’ feel.”

He clicks his teeth dismissively before responding. “I think it’s false advertising.”

“You think so?”

He takes the box from you, examining the label. “I mean, we do have a perfect point of comparison,” he reasons, a smile ghosting his lips. “Should we find out?”

You stare at each other for a moment before breaking into grins and exclaiming in unison, “For science!”

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jeo9n · 3 days ago

Text

INSTAGRAM

you’ve been texting jungkook on instagram non stop ever since he opened his account as a joke. but what you didn’t expect was for him to actually text you back.

౨ৎ

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: fluff, slow burn, friends to lovers, future smut

warnings: none

wordcount: 2k

you get woken up by your alarm at exactly 6am. like everyday, you open your eyes and the first thing you do is check your phone. catching up with everything that happened while you were asleep. texting your friends back that live in a different time zone than you.

you’re tired but you get out of bed anyway. you have to get ready for work. even if your body is screaming for you to stay in bed.

the first thing you do is make your bed so it prevents from laying back down. you already took a shower yesterday night, which you thank yourself as it saves you time this morning. so all you have to do is brush your teeth and wash your face.

when you’re done with that you make yourself a coffee and start to get dressed. you keep your outfit simple with some baggy jeans and a black long sleeve top because you’d rather be comfortable than fashionable. you always make sure to never leave the house without spraying perfume everywhere on your body. you forgot to but some on one day as you were running late, only noticing when you were already at work and someone might say it’s stupid but you didn’t feel good that day, you didn’t feel like yourself without your sweet perfume. you love to smell good, you love getting compliments on your scent, you love people smelling you before they even see you.

ever since that you never forgot to put perfume on again, but carrying around a travel size bottle of your favorite perfume in your bag just in case.

you pet your cats goodbye one last time before you leave your apartment. you hate leaving them home alone but thankfully they have each other so they are not really "alone" but it still hurts you.

you’re already on the way to the small coffee shop that you work at , as you remember you haven’t texted your boyfriend (jungkook) a good morning text yet. so you pull your phone at your pocket and text him right away. the chat is filled with hundreds of your messages texting him random stuff about how your day was and occasionally sending him some memes and reels you thought were funny.

y/n: good morning jungkoookkk!!

y/n: i’m on my way to work.

y/n: you’re probably asleep but have a good day.

you smile to yourself as you double text him. your not texting him in hopes to get a text back, cause that would be crazy. i mean, that guys is crazy famous of course he’s not going to text me back. you just think it’s funny, although sometimes you think it’s actually kinda weird and you should probably stop, but you never actually do.

as you open the door to your workplace you’re instantly greeted with the delicious smell of coffee, which reminds you, you still have your empty cup of coffee in your hands which you forgot to throw away. your coworker greets you good morning as she looks up from behind the counter.

"good morning. leslie." you greet back as you throw your coffee away. "ugh i really don’t feel like working today." you tell her, while taking of your jacket. she laughs and agrees with you.

"girl, i literally stayed up all night binge watching true crime documentaries." she tells me. "look at my eye bags! i can’t even cover them up with makeup." she says as she lifts up her hand to show me her dark eye bags. "but i guess it’s my own fault. i knew i should’ve turned the tv off after the first episode." she says in frustration and it makes me laugh. i can totally relate to her. you tell yourself one more episode and suddenly the sun comes up and you finished the whole show, wondering where the time went.

happened to me one too many times.

"yea…" you say, tying your apron at you back. "been there, done that." and she smiles softly in response. "should i make you a coffee? cause you really look like you need one." you tell her as you point to your eye bags, mocking her.

she laughs and kicks you jokingly "yes please! make it extra strong."

"will do." you say in a laugh, already on your way to the coffee machine. it’s definitely gonna be a long day for leslie today.

you put the coffee down carefully, not trying to spill the hot coffee all over the counter. "here you go, extra strong for you, your highness. " you bow to her jokingly while laughing like an idiot.

"you’re so stupid." she laughs with you, bringing the coffee up to her lips, trying to take a sip.

you worked a little longer today as usual since it was busy. but you don’t mind. working extra hours means extra money and you would never complain about that.

you take you shoes off and wash your hands as soon as you get home. after that you change into more comfy close just some sweatpants and hoodie and you already feel way better. you walk to your kitchen to feed your cats, who are acting like you leave them out to starve and never feed them. after your done with that you wash your hands again and make yourself something to eat since you only had breakfast today. you decide for pizza today as it doesn’t take long to be ready. you shove it into the oven and while you wait you brows through your phone. you lean against the counter and watch some tiktok’s to make to the time go by faster.

the pizza is done in under 20 times. thankfully. you cannot wait longer or else your stomach is gonna start eating itself. you sit down on your couch with your pizza on your lap. you try to take a bite but it’s still too hot so start browsing through netflix instead to find something to watch while your eating. when you find something your pizza has cooled down already so you start eating.

after your done, you get up and do the dishes right away so you don’t have to worry about it later. after that you decide to take a bath since you haven’t done that in a while and after that hectic day today you really need it.

the warm water hugs your body as you lay down in your bathtub. you feel your body start to relax enjoying the temperature of the water. your eyes are closed as you hear the notification sound from your phone, but you ignore it. you feel so comfortable right now you don’t want to move. so you stay put, enjoying this bath maybe a little too much.

after like twenty minutes you start to get bored and the water has gone cold, so you decide it’s time to get out. you quickly wash your body and get out. you do you skincare and brush your teeth while your body dries, after that you put some vanilla bodylotion on, quickly change into your pyjamas and head to bed, your cats joining you seconds after. one sleeps on top the pillow next to you while the one sleeps between your legs.

you go to grab your phone from your nightstand, checking it one last time before you go to sleep. your just scrolling trough your notifications not thinking anything by it. you stop at one particular notification and your hearts starts to beat faster. sitting straight in your bed, rubbing your eyes to make sure your seeing correctly. you cannot believe what you’re seeing.

jeon jungkook has fucking texted you back.

not only once. he double texted you back.

is this really happening right now?

abcdefghi__lmnopqrstuvwxyz: woww! how long have you been texting me for ? there are like a thousand messages lol

abcdefghi__lmnopqrstuvwxyz: i hope you had good day at work! i just woke up.

abcdefghi__lmnopqrstuvwxyz: i saw your message and there are so many. i felt bad so i texted back. looked like your were talking to yourself haha.

wait. i cannot believes this. am i dreaming?

your hands shake and you’re not sure what to text back. should i even text back? would he text back again?

i take a deep breath. my head is going crazy right now.

after you collected yourself , you text back.

y/n: lol this is awkward.

y/n: i wasn’t thinking you would actually text back.🫣

y/n: i hope my message weren’t bothering you or anything.

you struggle sending the message back cause your hands won’t stop shaking. but can you blame me? the love of my life just texting me back and my stupid ass ignored it because of that stupid bath i took.

i bite on my nails nervously, my heart is beating so fast it might jump out of my chest at any minute.

i wait for an answer back, which is stupid, i know.

just because he texted me back one time doesn’t mean he’s going to do it again.

you know he won’t. but still, you wait.

you wait for like an hour until you realize he’s actually not responding anymore so you decide to go sleep. or try to go to sleep i should say, since your mind won’t stop thinking about what had just happened.

after a while you eventually fall asleep after what felt like hours.

the next morning you get woken up again by your alarm. this time you grab your phone a little faster than usual. scrolling through your notifications with tired but curious eyes.

you eyes widen as you find his notification again.

abcdefghi__lmnopqrstuvwxyz: haha no, you don’t bother me. i read through your messages last night.

abcdefghi__lmnopqrstuvwxyz: you’re funny haha.

abcdefghi__lmnopqrstuvwxyz: judging by the time i usually get the first message from you, i should get a message soon right?

you read the last text and it says sent an hour ago.

okay wait. he texted again? and he thinks i’m funny?

im definitely dreaming because there is no way that this is fucking happening.

your thumbs moves fast as you reply to him.

y/n: no way!!!

y/n: am i dreaming?? please tell me im not

y/n: is this really jungkook?

y/n: no, it can’t be

y/n: is someone playing with me?

someone definitely must be playing with you. because what do you mean jeon jungkook texted me back not one, but twice?

you actually cannot believe it yourself. this is crazy.

you wait a little bit to see if he’ll respond again. but nothing comes so you start getting ready for work.

how am i going get through work today, when all i can think about is him. you think to yourself.

~~~~

i hope you enjoy this chapter because im definitely excited about this fanficton ahhh

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prael · 20 hours ago

Text

Day 6: Revenge Or Fate

IOI/Gugudan Sejeong x male reader smut

words: 5,611 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

"What's that look for?" you ask with all the whimsy you can muster. "I only said that I bought your favourite popcorn. Why are you staring at me as if I just got down on one knee and proposed?"

"You did say you'd marry me someday," Sejeong jokes. Then she does that thing she always does when she's nervous—tugging at the lobe of her ear.

You roll your eyes. "Yeah. I mean when we are both in our sixties. When you have become the crazy cat lady and I the bachelor with a penchant for wine and cigarettes. It's not even close to that time yet."

"Why would you be smoking?" Sejeong wrinkles her nose. She knows you can't stand the smell.

"Because I'll be an ageing bachelor, duh," you answer with a dismissive wave of a hand as you sit by her on the couch. She's got her legs curled up against her chest, the way she always does when it's cold outside. You'd know—she's been sitting like that on your couch every winter since the beginning of time.

She lets out the softest of laughs before it quickly dissipates into silence. She's staring across the room, but not really looking at anything. Her face is painted in melancholy. You know her well enough to know that look, and you hate it. Hate everything it represents. You sigh. The first time you saw her like this was back as teenagers, after the dog she grew up with had been hit by a car. It still hurts your chest.

"You've got that look again," you tell her. "Like there's a million and one things in your mind and none of them particularly good."

"I'm okay. Just tired." Sejeong's smile doesn't quite convince you.

"I wasn't going to say anything. I thought you'd tell me if you wanted me to know, but it's been months since you asked me to come over on a Friday night, so something has happened. I haven't seen this much annoyance behind your eyes since the end of Game Of Thrones. What is it?"

"I'm just feeling overwhelmed, that's all. I wish you weren't so observant."

"You should be used to it by now."

Sejeong flashes a half-hearted smile and takes hold of your hand as she used to do when you were kids. You feel guilty for the way your stomach flutters.

"I guess we have always known each other better than anyone else," she admits, her hand still clasped around yours. It's warm and familiar. You feel the urge to push away, but how can you? It would give far too much away. She has always had this effect on you—you could never distance yourself from her warmth. "He's an asshole."

"You don't need to tell me twice," you chuckle. Then: "Tell me what happened."

"I think he might be cheating."

The air escapes from you at once. The way Sejeong said it is so casual, almost as if she'd resigned herself to this fate a long time ago. And here you are, trying your best to keep your anger under control, like always. But not for her sake—rather, for yours. You know where your feelings belong, and they have no place in the situation at hand. Not today, and definitely not ever. You take a deep breath and look her square in the eye.

"What did he do?"

"I shouldn't have mentioned it," she laughs nervously. She doesn't want to put any more weight on your shoulders than she already has, because that's who she is, you suppose. But how can she expect you to ignore it when she looks like a sad dog staring into the rain on someone's front porch?

"We're best friends. I want to hear everything," you insist.

"He's been acting differently lately." Sejeong pauses. "Distant. Like there's something he isn't telling me."

"Do you think there might be?" you ask carefully.

"It's always something with work. Or a friend that really needs him. Or a family member or—fuck. I don't know."

"I'm sorry."

Sejeong sighs and runs a hand through her hair. There are unshed tears in her eyes. This bastard is making her cry. You want to smash something, preferably his head.

"I don't wanna bother you with this shit," she whispers. She sounds exhausted.

"Don't say that," you retort softly, squeezing her hand in yours. It's clammy. "Don't ever say that again."

She gives a curt nod.

"God knows I've told you enough about my romantic misadventures over the years," you joke. Your chest tightens when Sejeong lets out the tiniest of laughs. Maybe you can still make this right, whatever this is. "Misery loves company."

"You know," she begins, pausing to look at you properly. There is something unreadable in her gaze, something that you've never seen before. It makes you hold your breath in anticipation of whatever is to come. "If there's one person I could choose to be miserable with, it would be you."

For a brief second, you forget that time exists.

"Well, I'm very honoured," you reply eventually. There's another pause where you ponder what to say next. Then, simply, because that seems like the easiest answer: "Do you want me to go beat him up?"

Sejeong laughs and punches you in the arm.

"I thought you were a pacifist?"

"Yeah, but exceptions must be made sometimes."

She raises an eyebrow at you. You can't tell what she's thinking. "For me?"

"Yes."

It feels like standing on a cliff. You want nothing more than to jump, to feel freefall in your whole body. The only problem is that you'll most certainly die. The ground below is made of jagged rocks and bad ideas. Yet, here you stand, willing to do anything in the world for the beautiful girl next to you. Even if it means lying broken beyond repair.

Sejeong breaks your trance when she explains, "There's this girl he works with. We had dinner together with some people from their office two weeks ago, and... I don't know. They just seemed off. She kept looking at him. You know that look? The one where they linger on someone just a bit too long."

"So that's what gave it away?"

"Well, that and the rumour. They had a thing before he met me. It's over now, or it was." A single tear rolls down her cheek. She wipes it away quickly, seemingly irritated at herself. You frown. Sejeong has no reason to be ashamed of being hurt. She should be allowed to shed tears, even buckets full if necessary. You wouldn't judge. "At least that's what he said. He promised me it was over. But... God."

You reach forward to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Her lips tremble, so you quickly move your eyes back up. Staring at her lips is dangerous territory.

"You don't deserve this shit," you say resolutely.

Sejeong chuckles sarcastically. "Then why do I keep ending up here?"

That question stings. Not because it's directed at you—it isn't—but rather because you know the answer. Sejeong has been in this kind of position too many times to count. She attracts guys like honey does flies; every single time, with no exceptions. Only the worst seem to make it past the rest. Sejeong gets caught in their deceitful net time and time again, only to inevitably break her heart after months and months of manipulation disguised as devotion.

"Want my honest answer?"

"Yes."

"I think it's because you're the sort of person that believes the best in everyone. And that is a beautiful trait. I love that you do that. I really do. But sometimes..." you trail off, not quite sure how to continue without sounding accusatory.

"Sometimes I get screwed over," Sejeong finishes. You nod in response. "You're right. I guess it's my fault for trusting too easily."

"No," you shake your head. "It's not your fault. That part is absolutely wonderful. It's just..." You're suddenly hesitant. What if Sejeong takes this the wrong way and shuts you out?

"What?" she probes.

"Have you ever heard the expression 'you can't see the tree for the woods'?"

"Sounds stupid."

"It means you can't see what's right in front of your nose," you explain.

Sejeong stares at you for a long time. You think she understands, but it's impossible to know. It would probably be better that way—if she understood and did nothing about it. You aren't supposed to feel this way about her. How many times haven't you imagined what it would be like if things were different? If circumstances were perfect, if her current guy hadn't appeared out of anywhere and swept her off her feet before you'd even realised what was happening.

But that's just your luck.

"Thank you," Sejeong whispers. "Can we, um, watch something? I don't wanna think about this right now."

You let out an awkward cough. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. Do you remember when you forced me to watch Twilight, and I spent the entirety of the movie complaining about how terrible it was?"

"You still watched all of them with me." A tiny grin appears on her face. Thank God.

"That was truly the highest form of torture," you joke. "I hope you brought something better today. Please don't tell me you downloaded another movie about sparkly vampires."

Sejeong punches your arm. "I'll have you know I am extremely cultured nowadays."

"Yeah? Show me then."

A couple of hours pass and everything feels decidedly normal. You rest against the arm of the couch and Sejeong rests against you. You make jokes at the expense of the film as you always do and she laughs that soft, carefree laugh of hers. The credits roll and Sejeong sits up, stretching her limbs like a cat after a nap. You smile at the familiarity of it all. For a moment it doesn't matter what she has—or hasn't—been crying over.

"I'm tired," she says. She blinks slowly as if to prove it to herself. It's quite endearing, actually.

"Yeah?" you ask nonchalantly.

"Will you let me stay here tonight?" Her voice is small, unsure. But why? It's not the first time she has stayed here. This place is practically a second home to her.

"Like you need to ask," you retort lightly as you stand up and look down at her.

She opens her mouth to speak, but that's when her phone rings. When she sees his name flashing across the screen, she visibly freezes. Annoyance seeps into you like acid rain. His nerve—to call at such an hour, and expect her to pick up. Sejeong just watches, almost paralyzed, until eventually, she does pick up.

"Hey," is all she says. The reply is much longer. You can't make out the words he's saying but the tone tells you all you need to know.

"I was going to," Sejeong replies tersely. Silence. Then: "I told you already, I went over to—" Pause. She swallows thickly. "You didn't tell me you were going out." A longer stretch of silence, during which his voice gradually increases in volume. Suddenly Sejeong sits bolt upright. Her eyes grow wide with confusion and disbelief.

"Me!?" She shouts. "He's my best friend! I wouldn't—" Another pause. She takes a deep breath. "No. No, that isn't fair. You can't—"

It sounds like he hangs up. Sejeong doesn't move. Her hands are shaking violently.

"Do I even wanna know?"

"I should go home," she murmurs flatly.

"To him? To the guy who's probably just fucked his co-worker?"

Sejeong turns to glare at you, eyes cold as ice. You immediately regret your words.

"I'm sorry," you quickly amend. "That was uncalled for. It's none of my business. I shouldn't have said that."

"Why?" she asks bluntly. Your heartbeat picks up in a hurry. There's anger in her eyes. Anger that could turn against you so quickly.

"Why what?" you reply defensively.

"Why don't you wanna be with anyone? You've rejected every single person who's tried to get close to you since we were sixteen. There's got to be a reason."

The world grinds to a halt. Time, space, and life itself stop existing for a minute while you consider your options. On the one hand, you could lie; come up with a suitable excuse and maybe she won't push for more. On the other hand, you could simply admit to the truth that's haunted you for years.

You open your mouth. Close it. Fuck.

Sejeong stands up, wading in the silence towards you. You can't help but take a step backwards. In that split second, you're sure she knows—and yet you cannot tell.

"Have you ever loved anyone?" Sejeong demands to know.

Your heartbeat roars in your ears. "I don't understand why you're asking me this," you choke out. A part of you wishes you were back there on the cliff. At least then you could've jumped off of your own accord, with a little dignity left intact.

"I need to know," is all Sejeong says. Her gaze is relentless. You hate it. It makes you want to claw your own skin off—and there are truths under there that you plan to take to the grave.

"Why?"

"Because I need to know if what I'm going to do next is the right thing."

She stands beside you now. On the edge of that cliff, though it's starting to feel more like you're on the roof of your car. Staring up at the stars on some forgotten summer night. The jump seems more like a flight.

"I have," you admit. Somehow it seems easier than to try and fight whatever force is controlling the both of you. It feels strangely liberating.

"But you won't allow yourself to do anything about it." You know her well enough to discern a question from a statement, no matter how carefully she might try to veil them as the latter.

"It's complicated," you say quietly. She's so close to you now that you can hear the hitch in her breath. Why is she pushing this? "Why are you doing this?"

Her eyes flit from yours to your lips, then back again. So quickly. One, two. But you saw it. And your entire body tingles in anticipation. You'll dare move away—not now, not when the leap of faith feels more like a hop.

She doesn't say anything else. One more small step and her body collides with yours. Lips press against lips and suddenly, all thought scatters. Sejeong tangles her fingers through your hair and pulls. A gasp escapes you before you regain control and kiss her properly. It's frantic, rushed. Years of pining bleed out with every touch. You grab her, pull her as close to your body as possible, and lose yourself completely. Something is swelling inside you. A feeling so large and uncontainable that you think your chest is going to explode any second.

It is indescribable.

All of it—the sensation of kissing her, holding her—surpasses description. You're falling from that cliff, but she's holding you, and before you can hit the rocks she's dragging you to the couch and climbing on top of you.

It feels unreal. The entire world disappears as your lips find hers again and again and again. You don't care to question what happens after. This moment is yours, forever branded in your memories, and nothing can take that away from you. Even if it ends here—even if she were to walk away now—it would've been worth it. Completely and irrevocably.

When you finally part to catch your breath, you can't help but stare at her in awe. She's so beautiful. A masterpiece. Your hand moves to her cheek almost automatically. Sejeong lets her head fall against it with a soft sigh.

"Wow," she whispers.

"Yeah," you croak.

"Please don't regret this in the morning." Her voice is so quiet, filled with so much pain, that it breaks your heart. Your own fears are secondary.

"I never could," you breathe. Then you lean in to kiss her again, slower this time, savouring every sensation as if it might be the last. By some miracle she responds eagerly, fingers wrapping around the collar of your shirt as she holds you steady. You have no idea where this leaves the two of you, but you want her closer—now. You reach around and slide your hands under her thighs, pulling gently upwards. She follows your lead, settling against your lap in a way that makes the situation undeniably real.

As you kiss, her hips start moving back and forth. Soft, shallow movements. Little whimpers escape her throat and fall directly into your mouth. Fuck. She moans—actually moans—into the kiss and a violent shiver travels through your whole body. You break away momentarily to look at her face, flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes staring back at you.

"Do that again," you whisper against her lips.

"Make me," she pants.

The next kiss is searing, open-mouthed, and accompanied by Sejeong grinding her hips against you. Harder now. Unrelenting. Your hands travel up her waist, slipping beneath her blouse to feel warm skin underneath. You feel every tremble of her body when your fingernails drag lightly across her flesh. A gasp—then she leans backwards, with her arms outstretched and clinging behind your neck, to look you dead in the eye as she continues moving her hips against you.

"Sejeong... What are we—"

"Shh."

Your hands snake further up her shirt. Her back arches in response as she grinds down hard, moaning loudly. Your eyes flutter shut briefly to enjoy the sensations—the sounds—coming from her. You force them open once more because you can't miss this show for anything. You push the shirt up and over her chest. Her hands slip from behind your neck momentarily so that you can get the garment over her head. And then she is there before you, bra and sweatpants-clad, panting softly and waiting.

"Sejeong—"

"Fuck me." It is barely more than a whimper, but it rattles the very core of your being.

"What?"

She lunges forward and kisses you forcefully. There are tears in her eyes—tears you didn't notice until now. Her desperation bleeds through.

"Please," she whispers into your mouth, her voice breaking slightly. "Please."

You can't deny her. How could you? You're unfastening the clasp of her bra and your hands are everywhere on her. Pulling her closer, exploring every inch of bare skin you can get your hands on. Her fingers start unbuttoning your shirt—clumsily, but getting the job done. Once open, her nails dig into your bare shoulders, as if testing out whether you're really here, tangible and real. As if you could disappear at any moment and leave her stranded. A loud groan escapes her when your fingers brush against her nipples.

"You're so fucking beautiful," you murmur into her ear. She whines at the words, nails digging deeper into your skin.

The friction between your legs is driving you mad. You've got the burning urge to pick her up and slam her into the nearest wall, but you savour what you have. First, you kiss her neck, then it's a trail down her collarbones. Your teeth nibble playfully at the skin until she moans, begging you to do something. You obey, leaning in to flick your tongue across a nipple before swirling it around the bud. Her fingers fly into your hair and hold you against her breast.

"Holy shit."

Your mouth latches on tighter. Sucking. Biting. The heat pooling between you grows more intense. Eventually, you detach and move on to the next, eliciting more delicious sounds from the girl above you. All those nights spent fantasising about exactly this don't come close to the real experience. You're supporting her, around the waist and the small of her back, while she leans back in your lap, presenting herself to you.

You appreciate every inch of her slender figure. By eye and then by tongue. You draw constellations along her skin, your touch is feather-light. Across her toned stomach to her hips, then right up the side of her body. She throws an arm above her head and giggles lightly as you lick all the way up underneath it. You follow a path to her armpit. Sejeong giggles more when you begin to nibble there too. When you raise your eyes to meet hers she blushes fiercely.

"Weirdo."

"Just appreciating you," you murmur, pressing soft kisses against her shoulder and up to her neck.

"Mm. I like it," she replies hoarsely.

So you spend some time like this. Appreciating her bare body and making her squirm. Kissing, licking, and biting everything that you can possibly reach until her writhing becomes borderline violent. Then she grabs a hold of your jaw, looks you deep in the eyes, and utters the most sinful words you've ever heard her say.

"Enough teasing. I want to ride your cock now."

Every inch of you lights on fire. From your forehead to the tips of your toes, you feel flames lick at your insides. Sejeong climbs off you without another word and starts pushing her sweats from her hips. You watch, spellbound, as she wiggles out of them. Her panties follow suit.

Then she turns to face you. Standing fully nude, absolutely breathtaking in every sense of the word. A goddess. Every bit as perfect as you had imagined. Even your fantasies weren't this good; nowhere near as intoxicating as this moment right now.

"You have ten seconds before I sit on your face instead," she deadpans, you both laugh. At least she hasn't lost her humour.

You unbuckle your belt and shuffle them down as best you can while still seated. Enough that she can reach down and pull your cock free from its confines. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull when she wraps her slim fingers around it. Pumping up and down. You're hard already, unbelievably so, and when she drags her thumb across the head of your dick it actually twitches. You suck in a deep breath, willing yourself to focus.

And then she sits on your lap, sliding along the length of your cock. Fuck. She repeats it a few times. Back and forth, slicking your cock with her wetness.

"I always pictured this," she admits.

"Really?" you croak.

"God yeah, I remember back in college. I must have rubbed one out to you more times than I can count." She smirks at you then—a wicked smirk that makes your entire body shiver. A filthy admission to you and you only. She does it again, drags her wetness along you. How on earth are you supposed to remain composed when she says things like that and does things like this? You wrap an arm around her back and pull her closer, staring at her as if seeing her for the very first time.

"You can't say things like that, I'm gonna—"

She cuts you off with her tongue in your mouth. Kissing you like it's the last thing she'll ever do, and your lips the only form of sustenance she'll ever need. It gives way to her frantic little moan, desperate and unrestrained. For the life of you you can't comprehend what is happening, only react, and fuck if it isn't the most incredible experience you've ever had. Her skin is burning against yours, hungry and yielding to your every touch.

Sejeong shifts slightly and grabs a hold of you properly. Your eyes widen when the tip of your dick brushes against something wet, warm, and soft. The very centre of her. She repositions herself, now holding you carefully against her, and then... slides down the length of your cock, pausing halfway down. The pleasure is so acute that you cannot control the way your back arches off the couch, and neither do you control the profanities that spill out from your lips.

A sinful grin spreads across her face. As her legs are pinned around your waist, you cannot move, but Sejeong certainly can. And boy, does she know how. She starts bouncing herself up and down, riding you so expertly and looking so good doing it. You've thought of this so many times—having sex with your best friend, of all people—but you did not picture it like this.

"This okay?" she murmurs in your ear. You hear the smile in her voice.

You utter the only word you can muster: "Yes."

She laughs airily, placing a kiss on your temple as she continues her rhythm. When she moans—a long, drawn-out moan, half-pained, half-pleasured—and throws her head back, you stare up at her, eyes drinking in the beauty that is in a position so incredibly vulnerable yet completely in control. How you long to capture this moment and keep it somewhere safe forever. She looks down at you now. Her heavy-lidded eyes pin you to your spot as much as the physical manifestation of her pinned against your skin. She traces her fingers down your jaw, your neck, and the top of your chest.

"I wish he could see me now," Sejeong hisses, anguish evident in her voice.

"You look so fucking good."

"He doesn't know what he had," she laughs bitterly. "Fuck him."

"Fuck him," you echo. Sejeong smirks and moves her hips more fluidly. Goddamn. Her tight little cunt feels so perfect clenched around your cock.

She watches your face closely as she keeps riding you. As you keep clutching her hips and help her along, grinding deeper. Groaning when she throws her hips forward faster and faster. Her cunt is so hot and tight. She sucks at the life seeping out of your pulsating cock and squeezes it with her inner muscles in ways that no one has ever done before. Sometimes she pulls completely off you, her breath shuddering as you twitch, only to take you deep inside her again.

Your hands have a mind of their own, sneaking upwards to grip her neck. You give it a gentle squeeze, just enough to get her attention. All the while you're staring intensely into her eyes. They've become glassy, intoxicated, more than just wanting but longing for it. Her voice is hoarse, strained, as she says, "How have I been so stupid? All this time—you're right here, and I never—"

"It doesn't matter. None of that matters."

"You're so—fuck."

Her body trembles and she falls forward onto you. She's gripping your arms, nails sinking into your flesh. Sejeong's breath grows increasingly laboured. After a long string of expletives, she lets her head rest on your shoulder as you snake an arm around her back and support her. Her whole body is rigid, teetering on the edge of an orgasm.

"Never felt this good," she forces the words out amid moans as you buck your hips up into her, picking up the slack as she begins to falter. The rhythm is quick now, urgent, filled with unbridled passion and everything left unspoken for too long.

When Sejeong cums, you feel it all around you—her pussy quivering, leaking her arousal around you, dripping down your thighs and saturating you, almost drowning in the intensity. It makes her moan into the crook of your neck and rock her hips, fucking herself while trying desperately to quiet the sounds of her ecstasy against your body. But that is unthinkable, to silence someone like that, and you tell her so. Whispering the filthiest things in her ear as she throbs around your cock, dragging out the last tremors of pleasure of her orgasm as much as you possibly can. She spills everything out into your shoulder, every word, every whimper. Until at last, you can feel her sagging in your lap, breathing heavily and spent.

"Keep going," she pants, tightening her grip on your arm. "Don't stop."

She throws herself to the side, pulling you with her, and somehow lands flat on her back with your body on top of her. You wince at the sudden shift. But not for long. Because Sejeong opens her legs wide, hooks her calves around your hips, and tells you again not to stop.

You smirk and lean forward, trapping her beneath your body and capturing her lips in a sensual kiss. It is deliberate, lingering. Her arms fly up and tangle themselves through your hair, locking you together. When your tongues meet, you sigh deeply against her. There is a warmth settling over you. Languid, dream-like. Like you're both floating through clouds, carried away by the sweetest of breezes.

There is nowhere else in the world that you would rather be than right here, between her legs.

You rock into her, once, then twice, each time more intense than the last. The angle is entirely different. You grab a hold of one of her legs and hitch it up a bit, allowing yourself to thrust deeper inside her.

"Are you okay?"

"Mm. Move slower. Nice and slow," she instructs.

And you do. Eventually, a hand comes up to cup the nape of your neck. Sejeong stares into your eyes and your breath catches. Then you're kissing, again and again, but there is not so much desperation and anger anymore, but something else. It is the feel of her hips meeting yours, the way you press your bodies together, the softness of her lips and the taste of her mouth. Her breaths rush from her lips to yours, from hers into you.

Sweat starts to bead at your temples as you rock into her. Slow, deep, patient strokes. It is not desperate fucking anymore, or an attempt to pour all of your heartbreak into some meaningless action. It's almost reverential—the way you're holding each other, soft and sure. A sweet torture, a sublime suffering, for as long as time allows.

You don't talk. Your mouths say nothing, at least. With your bodies, however, your fingertips whisper praise against her skin. Spirits float free and serenade each other. Sounds escape her that you haven't even dreamed of. Broken, wanton, as if wrenched out of her. They rise above and meet in a higher plane of reality, where two minds are one.

It takes time. A slow build to the crescendo. You know when you've struck the final note by the way she cries out, over and over again, her pretty little hole convulsing, spasming around your cock. She wants to squirm away but has nowhere to go. You refuse to let her. You smile against her neck and sink your teeth into the skin there.

Soon you follow, groaning her name into the warm flesh. It's a flood—your insides are melting, pouring out from your loins and into her heat, her insides contracting, trapping every ounce inside. Hot, sticky, yours. This feeling. It is as if your heart has grown wings, a phoenix born anew from the ashes of who you used to be. You don't have to be lost anymore. She will carry you, always, her fingernails tracing patterns in your damp skin. There is nothing to fear.

Sejeong whines and moans softly as you fill her. One more careful thrust and you still, collapsing on top of her as the waves subside. All the while she is there, stroking the back of your neck and quietly reciting every piece of filth that she can think of.

You wonder whether this will last longer than the night.

God. Would you be okay with that?

When you eventually move back to look at her, to make sure she's okay, there are tears in her eyes. Uncertainty overwhelms you. Before you can react, before you can ask what is wrong, Sejeong cups your cheek. "Thank you," she whispers, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that takes your breath away. This girl. All these years. All the wasted time. It feels right being with her; everything is finally where it should have been all along.

"You were worth the wait," you breathe. You place a kiss against her brow before rolling off and settling next to her.

"Do you..." Her voice fades. She runs a finger along your collarbone, eyes anywhere but yours. "Do you want this to be a one-time thing?

"No," you answer without hesitation. You catch her hand in yours, entangling your fingers, willing her to understand everything that you're unable to tell her.

Sejeong smiles. Genuine, unapologetic. For the first time in months, she looks happy. Fuck him, indeed. "Good," she says with a soft laugh that evaporates any of her lingering doubts. Her eyes flick to your lips and she whispers, "So, uh, we've got some lost time to make up for."

"Yeah?" you whisper while rolling her back over and climbing over her. "If there's a debt to be paid..." You start trailing kisses down her neck, down her sternum, grinning at the tiny shivers it elicits. "What better time than now?"

Your kisses lead you over her toned stomach. Once you reach the juncture between her thighs, you pick up her leg and set it over your shoulder. Sejeong is already squirming, anticipating what is to come. You take a look at her—mussed hair and flushed cheeks, mouth slightly open, beautiful, tempting. It feels almost gratuitous—that you're able to see her like this. It makes you pull her even closer, and stick your tongue into her center. Her upper body lifts almost immediately and her eyes fly open. A shaky whimper leaves her lips.

She's right. There is a lot of catching up to do. Luckily for her, there's still the whole night ahead of you and a lot more you'd like to show her.

#Sejeong smut #Gugudan smut #ioi smut #male reader #kpop smut #m reader #Sejeong x reader #praelmas #smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction

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thewritergx · 2 days ago

Text

Caught in the Act: Stepdad!Joel Miller X F!Reader

Summary: Joel catches his stepdaughter with her boyfriend and decides to show her who’s really in charge.

Warnings: Unhappy marriage, mommy and daddy issues, drinking. Smut Containing: Age Gap (Reader is 18+ with undisclosed age, Joel in late 30s), Joel is your stepdad (don't read if your not into that), Daddy Kink, Breeding Kink, Caught in the Act (Reader with secret boyfriend), Jealousy, Cheating, Spanking, Fingering, Kissing, Oral (F!Receiving), Unprotected P in V, Creampie, Pet Names: Darling, Baby girl, Little girl, Daddy.

Word Count: 4.5K

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Please feel free to like and repost. Click here if you’d like more stories from me. Text divider from @cafekitsune. Free color text generator. If you'd like more Joel Miller stories, please go check out @pearlessance.

In the beginning, Joel Miller had hoped he would make a great stepfather. He hoped he would get along with you, find ways to make you laugh, get to know all your interests, and maybe help with schoolwork. He had been a father before, after all. He was sure he could do it again, even if you were already a teenager with your own life. He could guarantee you were safe, loved, and had a warm bed to come home to.

But, it turned out, you were completely different than what he had experienced with his daughter, Sarah. She was grown now, off to a big city hours away from him. Joel always thought she was easy to raise, but after living with you for the past two years, he was one hundred percent sure being a stepdad was nearly impossible. Now, he would settle to know he was a ‘kinda okay’ stepfather.

Joel knew that you hadn’t really done anything wrong. You were a good girl, always coming home before curfew, making all A’s in your senior year, and never bringing around any shitty dudes. But fuck, if you weren’t slowly ruining his life with your little outfits and teasing glares. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, the way your eyes lingered on him, but he could feel you in the back of his mind all the time.

Maybe it would have been easier for him to manage if it happened slowly, the gutted feeling he got when looking at you. But it came on fast, like a truck traveling ninety miles per hour into a brick wall the day you moved in. He hated to admit it, but a part of him deep down in the darkest pits of his decaying soul, loved it. A kind of unimaginable pain he craved constantly, like when you get a small bruise and can’t help but press into the discolored skin. You know that icky, repulsive feeling you get when you touch wet food in the sink? That was how he felt every time he looked at you, his skin recoiling into itself as you hugged him goodbye, your arms wrapped loosely around his waist.

The fantasies were the absolute worst, haunting him like an uninvited spirit watching in a dark corner of every room. He would imagine the most ghastly, devilish images when he was alone. Ones where you would be all spread open for him, letting him devour your swollen pussy while he pumped his fingers in and out of you. Ones where you were waiting on your knees at the front door, a perfect set of lingerie displaying your tits as you sat with your mouth open, waiting for him to come home from work and fuck your little throat. Ones where you were screaming into your pillow as he stretched you open with his thick cock, pounding you into the mattress until you were begging him to stop. It was driving him insane. Insane like he couldn’t control himself. Insane like he wondered if he might have needed to get some serious professional help.

There was a time when he had truly loved his wife. At least he thought he did, hoped it. But she was always so busy, traveling out of town for some important work conference or meetings. He hated being lonely in his own home, hated that he fell asleep knowing you were right down the hall, no one stopping him from sneaking into your room and taking you like a dirty little whore. You didn't deserve it. He knew you were a good girl, an intoxicating innocent clouding his mind. It was exhilarating but left a bad, sour taste in his mouth, sort of like biting into a rotten piece of fruit. His wife was becoming more of an annoyance, her body never helping ease the pain of you. He would try, truly he would. But every time her hands landed on his skin, he thought of you, sleeping alone down the hall.

“Joel?” Tommy waved his hand in front of his face, “Joel?”

Joel shook his head, eyes darting to his brother and thoughts snapping back to reality. “Huh?” Joel pitched the bridge of his nose before running his hand through his hair. “Sorry. Uh, what were you sayin?” He sat quietly across from Tommy, his broad shoulders pressed lazily into the small booth, red vinyl sticking to his back.

“You okay? You haven't listened to a word I’ve said.” Tommy laughed, taking a swig of his beer and eating stale french fries.

“Actually, I ain't feeling very good. Think I might be sick,” Joel muttered his words, hoping he was putting on a believable show. He felt fine. He just wanted to be back home. Back with his girl. As much as he loved his brother, he was begging to be close to you, not in some shitty dive bar avoiding the flirty glare from the bartender.

“You should get home, rest.” Tommy stood, throwing down a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket.

“Yeah, it's getting late anyway”. Joel dragged his body from the booth, slamming down the rest of his drink and grabbing his keys.

It took everything in Joel’s body not to sprint to his truck, his boots stomping across the gravel parking lot. He jumped into the truck, the engine rowing to life. His jaw was clenched, music vibrating through the speakers as he gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white and tight against the worn out leather.

He stumbled into the house, shoulders dropping and his eyes falling to the cold hardwood floor as he walked inside. The house was eerily quiet, the living room dark and empty. He had expected you to be in your usual place, sitting on the couch, wearing a tiny pair of shorts and a crop top that somehow showed way too much and nothing at the same time. His hands rested at his sides, eyes darting to your bedroom with a slight frown.

You knew it was wrong, the way your panties instantly soaked in a pool of arousal anytime you were alone with Joel Miller. It was happening at an alarming rate lately, your mother always gone on work trips or fancy dinners. It was agonizing, your skin constantly on fire for a man you could never touch. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact day or even moment when you started pinning for the man. He was just always around, messy hair always falling in his eyes in the morning, eyes sparkling in the sun as he mowed the grass, and the way he rolled his sleeves up, the material hugging his toned shoulders as he washed the dishes. He was a goddamn masterpiece waiting for you to fall apart and end up in arms. It was wrong on every account. He was rough, older than you by a good fifteen years. Not to mention, he was married to your mother.

You relished in the fact you were finally home alone, the perfect opportunity to get yourself some type of release from the constant yearning. Joel didn't like leaving you alone. Your mother was already gone all the time and he wasn’t going to be another person in your life too busy to show up when you needed him. As much as you loved being around him, feeling his gaze from across the room, you needed a night to yourself. You knew you shouldn’t. You wanted to respect Joel and his house, but it wasn’t nearly enough to stop you.

You laid on your bed, a loose t-shirt hanging off your shoulders, goosebumps rising over your body. You had been seeing a guy for a few months, keeping him a tightly wrapped secret. He was sweet, tall, and smart. The boy hovered over you, his hands falling to your hips as you grind into him, lips lightly parting and panting breaths flowing from you. His fingers grazed the hem of your red panties, the material hugging your waist. He brushed his lips over ours, pulling you into a gentle kiss. Not enough to send any sparks but enough to leave you whining and body raving. His hands traveled lower, dipping just inside your panties. You gasp, bucking your hips into his hand for any type of friction. You were so close to a release, hoping it would help settle the growing need for Joel. You had to stop yourself from imagining him, stop yourself from moaning his name as the boy dipped a finger inside you.

Joel stood in the living room, debating on whether to knock on your door. Maybe you were hungry? Maybe you needed help with that new anatomy project? He lingered towards the door, hand hovering over the handle when he heard a quiet whimper. He listened for a moment longer, the sound of small moans reverberating on the other side. He should knock, he knows that. But in a second of impulse, he was swiftly throwing the door open.

“What the fuck?” Disdain dripped off his tongue, his broad shoulders standing in your doorframe as you lay on the bed, legs spread open. The boy’s hands roamed over your body, kissing your neck and palming at your panties.

“Joel, oh my god! Get out,” you yelped, quickly pushing the boy off of you. You watched as the muscles in Joel’s jaw tightened, the veins in his throat contracting as he swallowed a huff of air.

The boy stood in front of you, helpless fear written all over his face. “I’m uh...I-I’m gonna go,” he muttered, quickly throwing on a pair of Nike Sneakers. God, he looked pathetic. Weak and small next to the man you had really been longing for.

“Yeah. You do that.” Joel cut his eyes at the boy, begging him to give Joel a reason. Joel wanted nothing more than to throw that kid against the wall and fuck him up so bad the cops would have to drag him out. But, he held back, hands crossed around his chest, the muscles in his shoulders flexing against his body. The boy awkwardly slipped through Joel, his eyes on the floor and shoulder shrugging. He squeezed himself between Joel’s large frame and the doorway, quickly leaving with a slight slam of the front door.

You felt your body trembling, the edge of euphoria quickly fading and leaving you feeling empty. You felt your throat go dry, fingers shaky as you looked at Joel, your eyes darting between him, the floor, and your quivering fingers.

“Who the hell was that?” Joel stepped into the room, scanning the way your bottom lip pouted, eyes full of regret and fear. It was cute, the way you were avoiding looking at him, but he needed to see the look in your eyes when he was talking to you.

“No one,” you whispered, voice barely audible over the sound of Joel’s hitched breaths.

“No one? You let…no one touch you like…that?” Anger rose higher, Joel’s voice thick with venom and a hint of disgust.

“N-No. I-I.” You shifted in your bed, sitting on the mattress with a ‘thud’. “He’s just some guy I’ve been talking to”.

“Does this ‘guy’ have a name?” Joel stood at the foot of your bed, his feet planted in the carpet. His eyes filled with darkness.

“R-Ryan.” You spoke matter-of-fact, skin growing hot with embarrassment.

“Ryan?” Joel sucked his teeth, his tongue pressed against his lips as he repeated the boy's name. Stupid and plain, he thought. He wasn’t even hot. He looked like a fucking nerd. Were these the kind of guys you actually liked? He definitely wasn't good enough for you and Joel could guarantee whatever he was about to do with you would have been over in five minutes. You deserved so much more than that. Deserved a real man. A man who could give you everything you needed, leave your body exhausted and voice raspy from screaming. “And what were you and ‘Ryan’ doin’?”

You somehow mustered up the courage to look up at Joel, your cheeks flustered and on the verge of tears. “Nothing,” you mumbled again, eyes quickly falling down Joel’s body.

“Didn’t look like nothin’. Looked like you were about to spread those little legs for him. Were you gonna let that kid fuck you?” Joel stalked towards you, his large frame lingering over you like a lion stalked its prey.

You cringed at his words hating the way it made your body all hot. “N-No! I swear. I wasn’t. I just…” You shifted again, pulling your shirt down in hopes of hiding the wetness formed in between your thighs.

“Just what? You were just under him, lettin’ him rub your pussy and you weren’t gonna fuck ‘em?” Joel grabbed your chin, his calloused fingers pulled at the soft skin, forcing you to look up and meet his gaze as his thumb stroked your cheek softly.

“I-” You tried to speak, words harshly cut off.

“Were you gonna suck his dick?” Joel dragged his thumb across your bottom lip, pressing into the soft skin. “Think that kid could actually give you what you need?”Joel chuckled, a sinister vibration shuddering through you. “You need to learn some goddamn respect, sweetheart. Bringin’ a boy like that into my house”.

“I-I’m sorry, Joel. Please, I-I thought you would be gone longer.” Every nerve on your body is electrified with the soft touch of Joel's callous hands, a heavy contrast between his words. He was so close, the smell of whisky on his breath wafting between you.

“You’re sorry?” Joel huffed, “I don’t think you’re sorry, darlin’. Think ya’ liked it. Think ya’ wanted more, huh?”

You stared up at Joel. You hesitated but voiclessly shook your head yes. There was no point in trying to hide it, not with your flustered cheeks and glossed-over eyes.

“Think I need to teach a lesson about what happens to little girls like you.” Joel sat next to you, his chest expanding with each breath as he pulled your arms, directing your body until you were all sprawled out, ass in his lap and face in the blankets. He tugged at the bottom of your shirt, bunching the material at your waist to finally reveal those tiny red panties, your cunt swollen and outlined under the lace.

“Look at these fucking panties. Got all dressed up for him, huh?” Joel’s fingers travel to the thin material between your legs, hooking at the fabric before letting it go with a loud ‘pop’. He caressed your skin, calloused hands squeezing at the fat of your thighs.

You flinched, your skin begging for more of him. Goosebumps rose across your body and your breath hitched in your throat, waiting as Joel’s hands lingered on your ass.

“Joel, What are you-,” A loud slap echoed across the room, Joel’s strong hands striking the curvy fat of your ass cheek hard. Your body rejected the sensation, causing you to stur against him, hips writhing in a stinging pain.

“Stay still,” Joel demanded, his words rushing through you like lightning strikes a metal pole. He struck you hard again, hand lingering on your skin a moment too long, caressing you before he spanked you again.

“Ow!” You immediately cried out at the unexpected impact. Your skin stung, and a red handprint started to form.

Joel ignored your plea, slapping you again. This time, harder, enough to almost make you cry.

“Joel, ow!” A tear formed in your eye and your back arched with each impact. “I’m sorry, Joel. Please, I’ll be a good girl”.

“Don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet, darlin’,” Joel hit you again, fingers traveling down to your panties for the second time.

“Look at how fucking wet you are. You're dripping all over my lap, sweetheart.” You moaned at his words, his hands palming at the sensitive skin, panties adding a rough sensation as he rubbed small circles on your clit. “This all for me or did that dumb boy do this?”

“Fuck, Joel. P-please,” You bucked your hips, ass on fire but begging for more.

“Answer me,” Joel growled, striking you again. His fingers moved just slow enough to work you up, but leave you whining for more.

“Ahh! J-just y-you. I don’t e-even like h-him,” you yelped, cold air hitting your body as Joel reached for your top, swiftly pulling it over your arms and past your head.

“Ya’ don’t even like him? Then why was he in my house? Why were you lettin’ him touch what’s mine?” His fingers returned to your cunt, settling on your soft skin and tugging on the lace. Finally, he was pulling the fabric down your legs, exposing that glistening pussy he had been craving for an eternity.

“I’m sorry, daddy.” You swallowed hard, mouth going dry as you laid completely naked over him. Your ass stung and your pussy was crying.

Joel spread your swollen lips, using two fingers to expose the arousal leaking from your tight hole. “Look at that,” Joel whispered, his fingers softly rubbing the outside of your soft lips, gathering your arousal thick on his fingers. He moved slowly, expertly rubbing your clit in a figure eight motion. You shuddered, the feeling just enough to add a sense of pleasure under the pain of your abused skin. You bucked your hips back into his hand, little moans falling out of you.

His free hand traveled lower, lightly circling the soaking skin of your cunt, tight and swollen as he pressed his finger gently inside.

“Oh god,” you squealed, Joel’s finger pressing right against that sweet spot.

“So responsive. This is what ya’ like, huh?” He curled his finger up, his other hand still massaging your clit. “Like makin’ a mess on your stepdaddy's fingers?” He whispered, quickly adding a second finger to pump into you. “I know you do. You’re fuckin’ drippin’, baby girl”.

Every muscle in Joel’s body was flexing, his toned arms stiff as he hits that sweet spot over and over again. The sensation is almost too much, your stomach tightening as he stretches you out.

“Fuck, daddy. Please”, you cry, your mouth falling open as Joel ignores all your pleas for mercy. That tight feeling in your stomach grows, and shaky legs cause your hips to falter.

“I know you're close, baby girl. Cum on your daddy’s fingers. It’s okay.” Joel struggled to keep you from sliding off his fingers, your walls tightening around him as his fingers press into your velvet skin.

“Joel!” You’re practically crying, eyes gripped close as a rush of euphoria flows through you. Everything in you relaxes, that sweet sensation leaving you vibrating with pleasure.

“Good girl,” Joel mutters, eyes locked on the way your body is sucking his fingers in, your juices running down his hand. Joel hesitates for a moment. He thinks about fucking you with his fingers until you're a burning pile of ash under him. Reluctantly, he decides to show some type mercy, gently helping you lay back on the bed.

He positions you on your back, your knees bent so your feet lay flat against the blanket. Before he can think, before he can force himself to get up and walk out the door, he is sinking to his knees and wrapping his arms around your thighs.

“Let me clean you up, darlin’,” Joel mutters, placing gentle kisses down your stomach.

He settles on your thighs, lightly biting at the skin and sucking harsh red marks. He spreads your legs wider, hovering his face above your core. He can guarantee your little boyfriend was not planning on doing this.

Jole’s breath lands on your pussy, hot and slow as he licks a long stripe through your folds. Fuck, that’s the taste he had been dreaming of, like heaven oozing out of you and onto his tastebuds. He uses the tip of his tongue to tease your clit, flicking it up and down against you. Your hands fall to his thick hair, tugging at the loose strands that fall down his forehead. Joel hums, sending a vibration through you as his spit mixes with your wetness.

His tongue traces every part of your core, settling back on your clit. This time harsher, like he's on a mission. His teeth graze the gentle skin, fingers digging into your thighs as you fuck his mouth. You're a mess under him, bucking your hips into his mouth as he sucks at the plump skin.

“That’s it. Just like that. Cum on your daddy’s mouth, little girl”. Joel’s words echo through you, his tongue ripping another orgasm through you like a hot blade cuts through rubber. It's gentler but just powerful, leaving your mind foggy and breathless.

“Such a good girl,” Joel growls, quickly forcing himself to stand. Finally, he gets a real look at your body. Your hair is already messy, red strands falling down your shoulders. Your nipples are swollen, the dark pink buds standing on edge. Fuck, you were breathtaking.

Joel knew this was the moment that he truly couldn’t come back from. Maybe there was nothing wrong with just helping his girl get off. It was safer with him, he thought. But actually, fucking you? It would be too much. He should leave. He taught you a lesson. Taught you who you really belong to, right? He thought it would be easier. Thought he could stop whenever he was getting too close to crossing that line of no return, but his feet were planted in the ground and his cock was throbbing against the zipper of his jeans.

Your eyes pleaded up at him, pupils dilated as you watched in silence. You didn't look scared and he found no hint of regret in your eyes. You looked happy even, a slight smile on your face.

“Think you can take your daddy’s dick?” He stood above you, watching your pussy dripping with his saliva.

You nodded your head, arms grazing the soft skin of your stomach. He shouldn’t fold this easily. He should’ve made you say it, how much you wanted him. But that little nod was all he needed to kick off his boots and pull the zipper of his blue jeans down.

“Just, fuck…Your mom can never know”. Joel pulled at his shirt, swiftly throwing it up over his head. His broad shoulders were finally on display, the muscles in his arms all toned. You had never seen him like this, his chest sprinkled with greying hair. He was like a Roman painting, his stomach firm but with a little bit of extra fat to grab onto. A true dad bod, you thought.

“I know. J-Just want you. All of you,” you muttered, sitting up on your forearms as you watched him pull his jeans down his legs, leaving him in a pair of dark briefs. You could tell from here just how hard his cock was, the fabric strained and tight against him.

“I know, baby girl. Think I don’t see it? The way you're always watchin’ me? Or the way you grab my arms when ya’ laugh? Fuckin’ drives me crazy, ya know.” Joel stepped closer, his heart pounding in his chest. God, he really was about to fuck the little girl he was supposed to be helping raise. I mean, it’s not like you shared blood or anything. He wasn’t actually your dad. He was just a guy…married to your mom.

“Just let me know…if gets to be too much,” Joel groaned, closing his eyes as he swallowed. He cursed himself for this, pulling his boxers off his hips. As much as he hated it, his cock sprang free, dripping with precum as he dragged his body to hover over you. It was a sweet relief, the air hitting him as he pumped his hand up and down his dick.

Joel spread your legs wider, his hips falling over yours as pulled you into a hungry kiss. His lips meet yours with a subtle taste of whiskey and you. His tongue slowly licks at your lips, his hands gripping your hips as he lines himself up to your entrance. You open your mouth a bit, letting him trace his tongue against yours, exploring every crevice of your mouth. The tip of his cock brushes against your clit, his large member teasing you and gathering your wetness.

“Please,” you whine. Your arms fall down Joel’s shoulders, meeting his eyes as he gently presses his tip past your folds.

“Fuck, baby. So fuckin’ tight.” Joel growled, pushing himself inside you with a sweet burning stretch.

“Oh, Joel!” You moan, your throat tightening around your words as he sinks deeper inside you. You're taking half his cock now, so much bigger than the boy you had been seeing.

“I got you, baby. Doing so good.” Joel’s head fell into the crease of your neck, placing hot kisses as he hit the back of your pussy. He stayed like this for a moment, letting you get used to the feeling of him before he pulled back. “That’s a good girl. Takin’ her daddy so well.” Joel dragged himself out, leaving the tip inside before falling completely back into you, brushing against your g-spot like a pro.

“Feel so good,” you whine, your nails dragging down his back as he picks up speed.

“God, baby girl. Fuckin’ doing so good.” He tries to hold back, hips growing just slightly rough as he fucks deep into you.

Your body is trembling again, your heart sinking with every thrust and a single tear runs down your cheek. He was so big, hitting your cervix over and over again.

That feeling was quick to creep back, your chest tightening as he pounded into you, cock pumping in and out faster and rougher.

“Daddy, please,” You cried, your body fighting off the euphoria as Joel pressed his weight against you.

“It’s okay. Cum on Daddy’s big dick,” Joel growled, no longer stopping himself from making a complete mess of you. He watched your eyes flutter close, your back arching off the bed and your hands digging into the blankets. He snapped his hips, a loud echo ringing out across the room and you clenched around him, thick white cream coating the base of his cock.

Just like that, you were crying out his name and shaking uncontrollably. Your orgasm ripped through you, hard and undeniable.

“Daddy! Fuck yes!” You screamed, your hips bucking into him as you bit into his shoulder.

“Fuck, that’s it.” Joel ground against you, hips never faulting as you withered under him. “Like Daddy’s cock, huh?” He growled, his own high building as he watched you shudder at his touch.

“I love it, daddy. Love your dick so much,” You whined, forcing your walls to open up for him.

“Yeah? Wish I was fucking you a long time ago baby. Wanted to since I met ya’.” Joel’s rhythm grew messy, hips slapping into you at an unprecedented pace. “Gonna let your daddy cum inside your little pussy?”

“Yes, please Daddy. Want your cum,” You stuttered, your voice all raspy and barely audible.

Fuck. Joel couldn't stop himself and he was thrusting as deep as he could, sinking all the way inside you until his balls landed on your clit. You were so beautiful, so tight around him that his mind was all clouded and drunk.

“Goddamn. That’s my good girl. Lettin’ her daddy get her pregnant. Want to carry my baby huh? Get all swollen while your mom’s out of town. Bet she wouldn’t even notice.” Before he could stop himself, he was painting your walls white, fucking every drop of his cum deep inside you with a painful need.

“Yes, Daddy!” You whined, watching as Joel slowly pulled out, his cum dripping down your leg. He dragged himself off of you, hitting the mattress with deep panting breaths.

“Love ya’, sweetheart. Always have.” Joel muttered, his words spread out and uneven as he pulled your back against his chest. His mind was racing, the reality of what he had just done weighing on him like a ton of bricks.

He should have knocked.

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whore4mattsturniolo · 3 days ago

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𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝑺𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 ♡︎ 𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒌

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: you get bored and mess with chris while he's on stream

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: SMUTTTTTT, blowjobs, praising, degrading, slapping, semi public sex(?), almost getting caught, reader is obsessed with chris' hands

𝒂/𝒏: my first time ever writing and posting smut !! not all the way proofread cuz i get shy😣 this might not be the best but i definitely had fun writing it so i hope yall enjoy

Chris had been streaming for God knows how long, the only thing illuminating his dark bedroom was the bright screen of his monitor. It was at least 2 in the morning, and you were starting to get bored. Very bored.

There was something about how aggressive Chris got when he gamed. The way his jaw clenched whenever something he got frustrated, the way he cursed and swore, the way he muttered under his breath. It was one of the most attractive parts of him, especially because of how rarely it happened.

As the game continued, you felt a familiar feeling in your stomach, paired with a pooling in between your thighs. You were desperate for any attention, and Chris refused to give it to you.

"What the fuck you doing?" Chris shouted at a random player, his fingers rapidly pressing the buttons of his controller. "Fucking stupid," he cussed under his breath.

Your imagination began to run wild, thinking of what his long, slender fingers could be doing instead as you squeezed your legs together. You were obsessed with him, your body begging for the smallest bit of his attention.

He kept playing the game, kept ignoring you, and your desperation continued to grow. No matter how much you squirmed around, or scrolled aimlessly through your phone, the growing wet spot in your panties was becoming too much. The feeling wouldn't go away.

"Baby," you whined from your spot on the bed, scooting to the edge. But Chris kept ignoring you, his eyes not leaving his monitor, his attention not leaving the stupid video game.

You bite your lip, trying to find a way to get his attention, before a lightbulb goes off in your head.

You get off the bed, crawling on the floor towards Chris' desk, careful not to be seen by the thousands of watchful eyes of the Twitch stream. The cold, wooden floor cools your body down, as you look up at Chris.

He was beautiful. His blue eyes glued to the screen in front of him, his brown hair messy and disheveled under his headphones. His black shirt fit him perfectly, the short sleeves barely covering his biceps. Your eyes trailed down his body, focusing on his gray sweatpants, staring at the visible print of his cock.

You tap his leg, finally breaking his attention from the game. His eyes meet yours, seeing you on your knees by his chair.

"What are you doin' down there, kid?" He asks, looking back up at his monitor.

"I need you so bad baby," you whine. "It's been hours. M'goin' crazy over here."

"Be right back chat," Chris says as him, Matt, and Nick wait in the Fortnite lobby. He mutes his mic, ripping off his headset.

"Y'serious right now? I'm on stream and you're doin' this shit." He grunts.

"Please?" You pout, looking down at his print once again. "I'll be good. Just wanna taste you. You won't have to do anything."

Chris scoffs in disbelief. "Such a fuckin' slut. Beggin' me to suck my cock while I'm on stream. You're beggin' to get caught aren't ya?"

His words only turn you on further, as you nod, looking up with wide eyes.

He sighs, "Get under the desk. Don't make a fuckin' sound. Got it?"

You smile, biting your lip in excitement as you shift under the desk. Clearly Chris was excited about this too, his dick becoming more visible under his sweats. Even through pants, he was still huge, and you felt your mouth watering at the sight.

"Fuckin' Christ," he mutters, putting his headphones back on. "Chat, I'm back. Are we ready?" he continues the game, ignoring the sight of you pulling his sweats down.

Here he is, fully exposed, cock standing upright. His tip is red and angry with beads of precum leaking down his shaft. You look up at him again, spitting your hand before as you began to pump him slowly.

The intoxicating sight was enough to draw a moan from Chris' lips, barely covering the sound with a cough.

"Chris, you alright?" Nick asks through the headset, laughing along with Matt at the violent sound.

"M'good, man," Chris attempts to compose himself. "Water went down the wrong fuckin' pipe."

His breath hitches as he feels your hand on his dick, growing flushed as he continues to play. He knew the next noise he made would be a groan, so he kept quiet.

A shiver runs down Chris' spine as you continue to tease him, taking advantage of the fact that he had to stay quiet.

Taking your hand off his dick, you gathered spit from your mouth, continuing to pump his length with quickness. The sight garnered another groan from Chris.

You smirked, rubbing your thumb over his sensitive, throbbing tip, dripping with precum and saliva, his body involuntarily shivering. Getting too cocky, you were met with a light slap to the cheek, Chris looking down at you warningly.

You knew what he wanted, and you were eager to give it to him. You take him into your mouth, feeling each vein as his cock made its way down your throat. Hollowing your cheeks, you move your head up and down at a medium pace, swirling your tongue around his shaft

"Fuck!" Chris grunted, fumbling to turn the music up in an attempt to drown out his moans.

His gameplay was worsening, his hands shaking as he gripped the controller tightly. His knuckles were turning white while he ignored the sinful view under him.

You bob your head up and down quickly, saliva dripping down your chin as tears pricked your eyes. Chris suddenly bucked his hips up into your mouth, making you gag.

"Chris, what the fuck is that sound?" Nick's voice rang in Chris' ears through his headset.

"Uh, I dunno. I didn't hear anything," Chris lies, looking down into his lap into your wide, tear-filled eyes.

"I'll be back, chat," He turns his camera off. "Drank a shit ton of water today."

Going on mute once again, he slaps your cheek, harder this time. "Fuckin' slut," he spits, gripping your hair into a makeshift ponytail. "Didn't I tell you—fuck—not to make a fuckin' sound?" He sets his own pace, pushing your head down on his achingly hard cock. "Tryna get us fuckin' caught," he says through breathless moans, bucking his hips into your mouth.

"Look at you," he smiles, admiring your red cheeks and puffy eyes, wiping the tear stains on your cheek. "Takin' me so well. Such a good fuckin' girl f'me," he pushes your head down further, your nose grazing his stomach. "That's it—shiit...Just like that...All the way down. Thaaat's a good girl." he finally pulls your head back as you gasp for air. "Shh, s'alright," he pushes you back down. "You can take it...takin' me like a champ."

The obscene sounds of slurping and gagging fills the room behind the loud music and gameplay. Chris has long forgotten about the livestream, his vision going blurry as he throws his head back in his chair, his hands not letting go of their tight grip in your hair while he fucks your face.

"Fuckin' God," Groans leave his parted lips as he continues to thrust his cock down your throat. "Gonna fill up this pretty mouth. You gonna let me do that?" He coos, holding your head up to look at him. "You gonna let me cum down your throat mama?"

You nod frantically, as Chris pushes your head back onto his cock. Your hands make their way around his shaft, stroking him up and down in rotating motions as his cock starts to twitch in your mouth.

"Fuck baby...shiit—" his hips thrust upwards, ropes of warm, sticky cum shooting down your throat. "Swallow it. Swallow that shit—fuck—that's it. Just like that.

Chris comes down from his high, his breath slowing down as his hands let go of your hair. "Open up, let me see."

You stick your tongue out, showing the white, sticky fluid splattered all over your throat and tongue, before swallowing.

"Good shit," he slaps your cheek again playfully. "Good job, princess," you smile at his words, moving from under his desk to back on the bed, as he throws his headset back on, tucking his dick back in his pants.

"I'm back, chat," he smirks, his brothers, and the chat, blissfully unaware of the sinful events that happened just moments prior.

send requests for other fics/drabbles <3 !!

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔: @yourmother29 the love of my life 💕

#Spotify #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolos #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo fanfic

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the-haunted-office · 3 days ago

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Me me me!

Considering I don't rp smut at all...

It makes me uncomfortable, for one, but mostly why I don't rp it is because I don't want it to become the focus of a ship. I've had this happen before in the past, back when I did rp smut - too many people wanting to rp smut all the time and nothing else and it frustrated me, and just got boring to me, so I don't want to rp it at all anymore. :/

I don't mind discussing our muses' sex lives and talking about how things might have gone during like, their first time together and things like that, sending Sunday memes in to each other, that's all fine, it's just the actual roleplaying of smut, writing it all out step-by-step that I don't want to do. It's tedious and boring to me and I just... don't want to get trapped in that whole "our ship is going to be nothing but smut from now on" thing again.

Plus I had some people a long time ago become personally attached to me over it and that was really uncomfortable, so I've just decided to say no across the board to it.

But everything else? I'm all for it and I'm here for it! Bring on the fluff and angst and character growth and everything else! x3

I don’t just ship for smut.

When I say ’ I ship this ’, It’s not due to the fact I want to see yaoi or any form of smut between the pair. It’s for all the other great things. I like to build relationships. bonds, trust. And hey, the heart wrenching stuff too! That trust can be broken within seconds, shit can hit the fan, and hey let’s throw in some angst in there that will initially make our ship stronger. Sure, smut makes any roleplayer go Ajdjsdshksdjhjf but I like everything else that comes with it, the fluff, the simple moments. Tagging things that remind me of that ship, sending sweet asks or just even normal asks to build on our own characters as well as their relationship.

That’s how I define my ships.

#psa

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lqveharrington · 2 days ago

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steve harrington - you are in love <3

congrats on 2k!

You Are In Love | S.H.

summary: you and steve have been best friends forever, but overtime, you both realize that there's something more to your friendship than you both thought there was.

pairing: steve harrington x hopper!reader

includes: fluff, minimal usage of Y/N, oblivious idiots, kissing, el and reader are siblings, robin and max play match maker

a/n: cutie patootie stevie! (rules for celebration here!)

Steve Harrington was the type of man girls would go crazy over. From the way he behaved to the way he dressed, they would do anything to get his attention. Luckily for you, he deemed you to be his best friend since childhood. When Tommy and Carol whined about you always hanging around them in high school, Steve would swiftly change the subject. He really only liked hanging out with you anyway.

When you both graduated, something shifted between the two of you. Without the hindrance of Tommy and Carol, you and Steve were free to do whatever you wanted. Whenever you would hang around him, it felt like time would stop. He kept you on your toes despite knowing him for so long.

Weekly dinners around Hawkins during the year would soon become a tradition between the two of you. In your eyes they were friendly dates, but to the kids, you were practically dating. From the whispers as you hung back with him when taking the kids around the mall to the silver necklace he bought you during the summer — they saw something you and Steve couldn't.

They had to do something about it. Fortunately for them, you both made it quite easy.

"Harrington, are you taking me to dinner today or should we reschedule?" You hop onto the counter of Family Video, crossing your legs and smiling brightly at him. "Henderson told me you might have to drive him home after his DND thing or whatever."

"First of all," He started and pulled your legs to the side, sending you a bored look. "I'm at work and you can't bother me." You jokingly pout and follow his movements, watching him restock the bowl of candies at the front. "Secondly, we're still on for dinner. Dustin can get a ride from Munson."

You throw your head back and laugh, "Ah yes, the shared custody of your child."

He rolled his eyes and looked past your head, narrowing his eyes at Max and Eleven. "Why did the girls want to come here again?"

"Uhm, they said they were checking out a new movie that came out." You shrug and slide off the counter. You look in their direction to find them giggling and whispering about something you almost wanted to know about. Almost. "Anyway, don't miss me too much. I'll see you in a few hours, Harrington."

Steve pressed a kiss to the side of your head and pushed a stray piece of hair away from your face. "I'll see you in a bit, Hopper."

You grinned at him and sent him one last wave before rounding up the girls, dragging them back to your car. Before you could even ask them to buckle up, they began hounding you with questions you never expected them to ask. One of the more odd questions sticking out the most.

"Have you ever slept with Steve?" Eleven asked, making you whip around with wide eyes and mouth agape. Her own eyes widened in fear and looked at you with concern. "What?"

Your face flushed a dark red and you began to stutter over your words, unsure of where the question even originated from. "Well, I— No, I haven't but I'm— I'm sorry? What's happening? Do you even know what that means?"

"That you sleep in the same bed as him." She tilted her head and giggled at your red face. "Is that not what that means?"

Max shook her head but found it all amusing, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows at you. "You seem a little flustered, Hopper. What's up with that?"

"Nothing." You glare at her from your rear view as you pull out of the parking and begin the drive to her house. When Eleven still stared in confusion, you sighed and ran your fingers through your hair. "Yes, I have slept in the same bed as Steve before. And not like that, Mayfield."

"What?"

You shake your head and follow the road down, eyes occasionally flickering up to look at the girls who were still giggling. You didn't understand what they were trying to get at. You've always been able to sleep in the same bed as Steve since an incident years ago, but that was the extent of it all. Sure, you would occasionally sleep in one of his shirts and he would make you breakfast in the mornings, but that was it.

"Have you ever been on a date, Y/N?" Eleven asked again and fiddled with the ends of her sweater, eyes meeting yours in the mirror. "Like the ones me and Mike go on?"

"Uh," You signal and stop at a red light, fingers tapping the steering wheel in an effort to keep your cool. "I have, but it's been a while since I've been on a date."

As you turn, Eleven makes another comment that nearly makes you swerve right off the road. "I thought you and Steve were dating."

You choke on your spit and grip the wheel harder, face redder than Max's hair. Although you knew your sister's words were somewhat innocent, you knew the other girl was behind all the questioning. Steve was nothing but a friend to you. Your best friend. It would be weird to think of him as anything other than that, right?

Since childhood, he was nothing but your best friend. Sometimes you couldn’t help but think what would happen if anything else came out of it, but only in your dreams. When you realized how quiet you were, you silently cursed yourself for staying silent for too long as the girls came to their own conclusion.

"He kisses you a lot." Max drawled and bit back a smirk when your face reddens again, the sight nearly making her laugh once more. "Like more than you study for your exams in college—"

"What will it take for you two to be quiet for the rest of the ride?" You continue to glare at the red-head in the backseat and squint when she opened her mouth. "And your answer will not be money."

Max sighed and looked at Eleven, their eyes meeting and silently communicating with each other. They grinned wickedly and looked over at you, tone overly sweet when they answered your question.

"Admit you're in love with Steve Harrington."

"Oh, Stevie!" Robin grinned widely as she sauntered back in from the break room, leaning back against the counter. She met his confused eyes and tilted her head, still wearing a mischievous grin. "I have a tiny, little question for you."

Steve dug through the boxes underneath the table and waved his hand, barely listening to the girl. "Which is?"

"Could I just — I dunno — take a peek at your wallet?” She asked and pursed her lips to stop from laughing when she saw his incredulous expression peek from underneath the counter. “I just want to make sure my assumptions are right.”

"About what?" Steve sighed in exasperation and ran his fingers through his hair, praying that his hair still looked perfect after how many times he had done it.

"Just give me your stupid wallet." Robin huffed and snatched the leather from his hands. She scrunched her nose at him before opening the wallet, gasping when she found what she was looking for. "Oh my gosh."

Steve creased his brows and looked at the contents of his wallet. There was nothing but cash, his license, cards, and picture he’s had since high school. If Robin was planning on stealing, she picked the wrong day.

"What?"

"You do have a picture of Y/N in your wallet!" Robin all but squealed like a child, causing the customers in the store to look over at the commotion.

Steve sent them a strained smile before grabbing his wallet back from Robin and tucking it away, muttering quiet obscenities to the girl. Robin rolled her eyes, but the smirk that curled her lips overtook her emotions. He knew that some kind of electricity between the two oblivious idiots.

"You like her!" She spoke in a sing-song voice, lightly punching his shoulder. Robin laughed in excitement and shook her head before pausing, turning to look at Steve like a behavioral analyst. "Unless it's something more."

He looked to his left and to his right before raising a brow at her. He would never admit it out loud, but somewhere along the line he fell for you. Hard. From summer car drives to coffee at midnight — you were the one for him. Yet he didn’t want to ruin what the two of you had.

When Steve stayed silent for too long, she started to punch his shoulder in excitement again. It was the silence between asking about love that seemed to trigger everyone today.

"Oh, you're in love! Steve 'the hair' Harrington finally falls in love with his one true love!" She dramatically put a hand to her forehead and leaned back on the counter again. "I thought I would never live to see the day that happens."

He huffed and lightly shoved her, rubbing his hand over his face. "She's my best friend."

"And?" Robin pushed him back and continued to smile, clearly finding his reaction amusing. It wasn’t rare for her to tease him about his dates, but knowing that he was deeply in love with you made it so much more fun. "She clearly likes you too."

"She does?" Steve perked up and rolled his eyes when she winked at him. He flipped her off and pretended to be busy again. “You’re so annoying.”

"Stevie is in love!" She laughed again and sighed softly, tapping her fingers against the counter. "You're going to dinner with her tonight, right?"

He sent her an odd look and nodded, brows furrowing in confusion. "Yeah, what does that—?"

"Confess tonight! I'm sure she loves you too, Harrington." She slammed her palms down onto the counter, once again attracting the customers in the store. Steve sent them another apologetic look before turning his head to glare at the girl. By the end of the day, he swore that they would get a complaint about Robin.

Robin put a hand up to his face when she saw he was going to speak. “And before you back out, the girls and I already made a plan so nothing becomes awkward between the two of you if it fails."

Steve’s eyes widened and pushed her hand out of the way, mind reeling at all the knew information. "Wait what?"

"Nothing!"

After dinner, you both decided to take a walk around the neighborhood. The temperature was perfect and you and Steve had plenty of calories to kill before heading to bed. Besides, you both had unspoken words to say to one another.

"Are you okay? You've been acting strange since you picked me up." You nudged your shoulder with his and tilted your head, eyes worried with concern.

As you walked through the neighborhood, the orange lights from the posts began to flicker on as the sun set in front of you. On instinct, you moved closer to Steve, accommodating to the warmth you were losing. He hid a small smile and pulled you close by the shoulders.

Steve shrugged and kissed the side of your head again. The gears in his head were loudly turning and he wasn’t sure how to make them stop. He met your eyes and smiled softly when you smiled up at him.

"On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate the new diner?" He nudged his head back toward the diner.

You hummed and tapped your chin in thought, snapping your fingers when you figured out how to put it. "A solid six and a half. They threw us a dirty glare for being too loud, but their milkshakes were perfect."

He raised his brows and chuckled softly when you rolled your eyes at him. You were always such a sucker for strawberry milkshakes. "Yeah?"

"Yes, Harrington.” You send him a teasing smile before extending your arm and flashing him your left hand adorned with the wrapping from the straw wrapper. “I even got to make us our paper rings."

You turned to face him properly and grabbed his left hand, lacing them together to show the matching rings. You went to say something else when you found him already staring at you, making your mind instantly blank.

Steve swallowed and squeezed your hand, taking a step closer to you. "Y/N?"

"Yeah?" You murmur and take your own step closer until you were chest to chest.

His gaze dropped to your lips before looking back into your eyes, eyes filled with so much emotion. You gave him a curt nod and let him cup your cheek, shutting your eyes when he leaned in.

Your lips met and for the first time, you really believed time truly stopped. It was just you and him on the sidewalk of Hawkins, Indiana. Your own hands came up to grab the lapels of his denim jacket, deepening the kiss when he pulled you impossibly closer.

When you finally pulled away, your mind was still blanking and the first thing you could say was —

"Oh, my strawberry milkshake." You whisper out before groaning, hiding your face in his shoulder. "Now the thing I say after we first kiss will always be strawberry milkshake!"

Steve kisses the top of your head and gently squeezed your waist. "You're cute."

You scoff before looking up, playing with the buttons on his jacket. "Did Robin put you up to this?"

"Yep." He chuckled and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, narrowing his eyes at you when he realized what Robin meant. "Did the girls?"

"Yep." You sigh and push up on your toes to give him a quick peck. You tilt your head when he smiles, "We're not going to tell them about this and make them feel bad, right?"

"Of course not.” He laced his hands with yours and began the trek back to his car. "We're only best friends after all."

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godsfavdarling · 1 day ago

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yellow

+18

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader words: 1,7k summary: You find yourself feeling a little anxious while having sex with Spencer. warnings: smut, bondage, dom!spencer, edging, overstimulation, use of safe word, aftercare a/n: so this actually was the very first one-shot I posted but I accidentally deleted it. I don't wanna talk about it... I reread it and it's honestly kinda good so I thought I might as well just post it again. I'm sorry if you've seen it before (it had like 1000 notes. I'm grieving)

You and Spencer have been dating for a few years now, and somewhere along your sexual journey, you both admitted that exploring rougher sex is something you'd like to try. Things started out easily with activities like blindfolds and tying you up, while still maintaining a sense of tenderness and love.

From there, you experimented with choking, which you enjoyed, and found even more pleasure in having your hands around Spencer's neck. Your boyfriend was also very eager to explore the world of edging and would often have you begging and crying for release before finally letting you cum. And he was also more than happy to let you have him wrapped around your finger.

You didn't understand how he was able to do it. How was he able to hold himself back from giving you what you wanted? He was patient yet greedy. If he wasn't edging you for what felt like an eternity, he was on a mission to overstimulate you. Using not only his mouth and fingers but also toys, he'd have you shaking and crying, begging for him to stop.

In order to ensure both of your safety, you always discussed everything in detail and established safewords or signals for when communication might be difficult. You settled on the simplest system of colors: green if you wanted to continue and everything was good, yellow if you wanted to pause or change what you were doing, and red if you wanted to stop completely.

None of you had ever used the safewords, except for green. Spencer often asked for you to check in and confirm that everything was okay.

One night, when Spencer returned from a very long and tough case, he wanted both of you to indulge in one of his favorite activities: tying you up. You were more than happy to participate and help him take his mind off work. You loved making him feel better and enjoyed seeing him lose himself while he had complete control over you.

As soon as he came back home you both discussed what he wanted and you said that you were okay with everything. He tied you up like that before and you enjoyed every moment. You couldn't wait to repeat that night.

He asked you to get naked and sit on the bed, and you complied, awaiting his plan. He entered the bedroom with a couple of ropes in his hands and skillfully began to wrap them around your body. He positioned your hands behind your back, securing them with the ropes around your breasts to ensure you couldn't move them.

"Is it too tight?" he asked.

"No, it's okay," you confirmed, and he continued. He instructed you to kneel on the bed, and he proceeded to tie your legs together. You could feel yourself getting wet, with him still in his suit and you completely naked before him. His tender yet confident touch drove you insane, even though nothing had happened yet.

"Now, lay down on the bed, face down, ass up," he said sternly, and you obeyed.

Your face pressed against the sheets while your center was up and waiting for him. You tried to shimmy your hips, seeking some friction, but he quickly intervened.

"Stop that," he commanded.

"Sorry," you replied.

"It's okay. Someone's needy."

For a few minutes, he simply stood there, his gaze fixed on you, taking in every inch of your body. Despite his lack of action, your inner walls were already clenching with anticipation, and your breathing grew heavier with each passing moment. You felt an overwhelming need for his touch like never before.

As he stood beside you, you noticed the tent forming in his pants. He was likely just as affected by the situation as you were, yet he showed no outward signs of it.

Suddenly, his hand was on your back, trailing lightly down to your ass and then your thighs. His caresses elicited a moan from you, causing you to instinctively squeeze your legs together. He undoubtedly noticed but chose to ignore it.

Next, he firmly grabbed your ass, squeezing each cheek a few times.

As he finally gave in and stroked your wet folds with only one finger, you couldn't help but whimper.

"So wet for me," he whispered, his gaze fixed on your pussy. He sat beside you, continuing to stroke your heat lightly and slowly, his touch moving from your entrance to your clit with barely any pressure.

"Please," you pleaded, your desire clouding your ability to articulate your wants.

"Please what?" he asked, his voice teasing.

You whimpered again, unable to express your desires clearly. All you knew was that you wanted to climax, and you wanted him to be the one to bring you there.

He began to play with your entrance, teasingly circling the tip of his finger before pushing it a little further inside and curling it. Adding another finger, he placed his thumb on your clit, still maintaining his gentle touch, yet you felt like you were on the brink of falling apart at any moment.

But just as you were on the edge, he stopped and pressed his face against your center, giving it one long lick with his tongue.

"F-fuck," you moaned, your voice trembling with need.

He placed both hands on your ass, squeezing more firmly now as his hot breath washed over your folds. Watching how wet and desperate you were for release, he took a few deep breaths, the contrast of hot and cold air only fueling your hunger as he teased you with his slow pace.

Finally, he put his mouth on your clit and sucked, causing you to moan in ecstasy as the vibrations ran through your body. His tongue danced skillfully over your nub, sending shivers down your spine as you felt yourself nearing the edge. The knot tightened in your stomach, your moans becoming shorter and more urgent, signaling to him just how close you were.

You prayed silently that he would let you cum in his mouth, allowing you to ride out your orgasm against his face, feeling his lips against you as you reached the peak of pleasure. You longed for him to lick up every drop of your release and then kiss you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

But just as you were on the brink of ecstasy, he stopped abruptly, leaving you groaning in frustration. How much longer was he going to keep you waiting?

Before you could gather your thoughts, he unzipped his pants, releasing his throbbing erection, desperate to finally feel you. He wasted no time, standing behind you and filling you completely. As he slid in effortlessly and your walls clenched around him, he moaned in pleasure, relishing the sensation of being completely engulfed by you.

Pulling out and thrusting back in with a quick pace, he leaned in to kiss your spine, his arms wrapping around your waist as he maintained a steady rhythm. "You feel... so... good..." he murmured against your skin between gentle kisses, his hands finding yours, still bound behind your back.

"Spencer," you moaned, sending a shiver of pleasure down his spine. He grunted and gasped, his hands tightening on your hips as he buried himself deeper in your core, grinding against you.

But suddenly, a surge of emotions overwhelmed you. It all felt like too much, and you struggled to catch your breath, not in a good way. Tears welled up in your eyes as you whispered his name, your voice trembling with unease. "Spencer..."

"Yellow" you whispered, and he immediately pulled out, concern etched on his face as he appeared before you.

"Is everything okay? What is it? Do you want to stop?"

Tears streamed down your cheeks.

"Hey, it's okay," Spencer said, gently wiping your face. "I'll untie you, okay?" You nodded and allowed him to guide you to a sitting position. As you sat on your heels, he skillfully worked the ropes around your body, your breathing evening out as you tried not to feel foolish for interrupting.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

"About what? You have nothing to be sorry about. I'm glad you told me," Spencer reassured you.

"Yeah, but I was feeling good... before... earlier, and then just... I don't know what happened."

"It's okay. I just want you to feel good. I'm happy you told me that it didn't feel right anymore."

With your hands now free, you hid your face in them while Spencer gently helped you to sit on the edge of the bed and untied your legs. Then, he inspected your skin for any signs of marks from the ropes.

Once he was satisfied, he cupped your face and whispered, "I'll bring you some water." You nodded and curled up on the bed, glancing at your wrists and ankles - relieved to see barely any signs of the ropes. Thankfully, Spencer knew what he was doing, and you hadn't been tied up long enough to leave big marks.

When he returned with a glass of water, he handed it to you and draped a blanket around your shoulders. You took a few sips while Spencer undressed, discarding his clothes and throwing on a T-shirt.

Sitting beside you, he wrapped his arm around you, offering his comfort and the warmth of skin-to-skin contact. You sat together like that for a while, his hand resting on your knee, silently reassuring you that he was there for you and would do anything to make you feel better.

"I'm sorry," you whispered again.

Spencer looked at your face. "I'm not upset... or mad, okay?"

You nodded. "I don't know why I said yellow. I thought maybe... I don't know."

"Did you maybe get overwhelmed?"

"Yeah... I think so..."

He kissed your temple and hugged you tighter. "I'm glad you told me to stop. I always want you to tell me if something is wrong. I'll never get upset. I promise you that."

"Okay... thank you."

"How about a bath? To clean you up and maybe help you feel a little better? And if you said yellow because you still want to finish tonight, we can continue later, only if you'll want to, okay?"

"Okay. A bath does sound good," you smiled softly.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #dom spencer reid #soft dom spencer reid

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defmaybe · 1 day ago

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Challengers

12 Days of Christmas: Day 6, December 30th, 2024

ILLIT’s Noh Yunah x Reader

0.8k words

Christmas Masterlist

Enemies to lovers, what a fucking trope.

The gap between you and Noh Yunah is somewhat large. You’ve never beaten her in a professional game. That “friendly” match didn’t count. She said she didn’t put in much of an effort. Still, the frequent match-ups are enough to spark a rivalry between you two.

You just lost to her by quite a margin (it was 0-6, 1-6, the rift is that bad). Her backhands were flawless against you. You could’ve done better, but any regard is thrown out of the window when your head is buried deep in her sweat-slicked thighs in the women’s sauna room, eating her pussy with reckless abandon.

“Fucking cuntslut,” she sneers. The red hue on her face gives another perspective to the situation.

You pause your act for an objection. “That’s not a real word, Yunah.” Can’t let this slide, after all.

“I just beat your ass on the court. I think I earned my rights to invent a new word today.”

You only shrug before diving back into her cunt again. A moan escapes her lips. Her thighs wrap around your head tightly. It’s an almost crushing pressure.

“F–Fucking bitch,” she lets out another condescending word. That only spurs you on even more. You double your efforts on her clit, making her grip on your hair tighter. It hurts, but it can’t compare to the joy of being pushed into Noh Yunah’s smooth, glistened thighs like this. She moans and moans. It's music to your ear, really. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

Her sweat from the inner of her thighs paints your cheeks wet. You’re even happier, being smeared in her fluid like this. Her musky scent after the match is making you feral. It’s raw. It’s intense. You love it.

Your body is melting under this heat. Fuck, it’s so hot, it’s making you sweat, but that can’t compare to the fiery act you’re doing with Yunah’s slick wetness. She tastes so damn good. And those angelic moans only push your arousal higher.

“H–How do I t–taste, cuntslut?” she asks. Any resolve left is faltering now.

You chuckle, head remains stuck to the space between her legs. Yeah, she tastes good. You love it. “Pretty good.”

“P–Pretty good my ass, I know y–you’re loving it, don’t you?” she hisses, shaken, pressing your head deeper into her core.

You let out another chuckle. “Never had anything better in my life, Yunah.” Before you go back to eating her cunt, rewarding you with an airy moan.

“S–Suppose so–ah!” she rasps as you give her plump ass a squeeze. They feel so soft in your hands. You watched them jiggle during the gruelling match, and now you get to touch it. God, what a day.

You quicken your pace, licking her wet pussy even faster. Your tongue must’ve been full of her slick juice at this point. She lets out stuttered whimpers at your mercy. Finally, a lead against her in this heat, surrounded by her slick thighs. You couldn’t care less about what happened on the court anymore.

“Fuck, g–gonna cum,” she utters. Her muscles clench. Her grip on your head becomes tighter and tighter. It hurts, but her taste is helping with the scraping nails.

Her victorious scream on top of you might be one of the best things you’ll ever hear. Her body spasms around your head. Her wails come out raspy and uncontrolled. She fucking loves this—this whole power dynamic, this little rendezvous—but she doesn’t dare to admit it.

“Fuck! Shit!” she shouts. Let’s hope that the wall is thick. Her nails are digging into your hair so deep they can draw blood. You watch her pussy contract in the wake of her orgasm, as you continue to eat her out with no abandon.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally comes down from the mind-breaking orgasm from her number-one enemy. She’s struggling to catch her breath. You can feel it. Her whole body is flushed. Her small chest heaves in exhaustion. A small part of you says that she looks so ethereal like this, but that’s the topic for the other day.

“D–Don’t get ahead of yourself, cuntslut,” she mutters, still lost in the ecstasy you just gave her. She’s avoiding your eyes. Of course, she loves this.

A chuckle escapes your lips as you recompose yourself and stand up against her. Your aroused core rests in front of her face. She’s probably using all of her willpower to not just pull your towel down and get a taste of you.

“Until the next match?” you ask, looking down at her sitting. She’s flushed. A smile is painted on your face.

“Until the next match.”

And that’s how you snatch a win from Noh Yunah.

—

#yunah #illit #yunah smut #illit smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

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thewertsearch · 2 days ago

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The heroes chose to accept this bargain, and scratched their session. In doing so they jumpstarted the reality in which the twenty-four figures of legend would together be created - and I as well - and then sent back in time to take our places in history. Though I was delivered well before history even began, before the dawning of life on their planet. This time around, I would oversee its development, and thus fulfill the mother's promise of an aggressive, ruthlessly prepared group of heroes. One that would not rest until victory was secured.

It sounds like Scratch's changes weren't really about combat ability at all. Instead, he was more concerned with ensuring the trolls were psychologically prepared to face the game. We don't really know what made the pre-Alternians so bad at Sgrub, but Scratch solved any and all such problems by replacing them with a group of belligerent power-gamers who sought to conquer the universe they made. Thanks, Doc!

Also – this might be a little pedantic, but did the post-Scratch session really count as a victory? I mean, when your frog is terminal, your universe is sealed off, and your species is almost extinct, can you really say you won?

The pre-Alternians might have grounds to sue, is what I’m trying to say.

The young twenty-four would again be scattered in two groups, twelve modern contemporaries, and twelve ancients. But in addition to losing their memories of everything that had happened before the scratch, there was another catch for the failed heroes. In the new reality, they would not serve as the heroes. They would mature to become the ancestors of the twelve they formerly regarded as theirs, and this twelve would be chosen for glory.

...the Ancestors were Alternia's original Players.

I speculated that the kids might change Guardians after the reboot - but for some reason, I never even considered that a Guardian could become a Player. If this is how a Scratch actually works...

This... this changes everything. This is Act 6's hidden twist - the fact that we're not going to be getting our kids at all. Homestuck's new heroes, the next session's champions, are Joan Egbert, Roxy Lalonde, Dale Strider, and...

and...

PEN-PAL IS THE SCRATCHED VERSION OF GRANDPA.

Jesus christ, everything fits. He's a child with Grandpa’s mannerisms because they’re time-duplicates, and it's looking increasingly likely that memories can bleed between the two. He recognizes Jade as his 'grandmother' because in his timeline, Jade arrived before he did, and became the new matriarch of the Harley family. He knows about Earth culture because he grew up on another Earth. His access to the bunny's endgame weapons... is still a little confusing, actually, but this fits literally everything else. I am absolutely, 100% confident that this is the answer to Homestuck's most maddening riddle.

I can't fucking believe what I'm reading. Literally every prediction I have about Homestuck's future is going to have to change.

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5.2 #4053 #s172

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scribblesandink · 2 days ago

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"Nightmares, as always. I might put Phoebe back into her crib though"

"Are they always bad? "

"Not.... Always. Sometimes they are just.... Upsetting. Then I have to deal with that all over again"

"Can I ask what they are about? "

"...... Usually my ex. Hyacinthus. He.... He was murdered"

"You saw it happen? "

"Yeah. I was standing right next to him, dead before he hit the ground. Or my ex girlfriend, Daphne. She committed suicide"

"..... I'm so sorry"

"Both were several years before I met Audrey. A big conflict point in my relationship with Dio was he kept thinking that he couldn't live up to my past relationships, specifically Hyacinthus"

"Did you love him? "

"Hyacinthus? "

He nodded

".... More than anything. I was convinced I'd marry him, I'm still sure I would have if he'd not been killed"

"And you never stopped loving him"

It wasn't a question, and Apollo looked away

Do you think covid existed in the Season? Do you think that for 2020-2021 Zeus couldn't host two Seasons. He had to wait until 2022 when restrictions finally lifted?

I'm gonna assume that covid didn't exist for my own sanity

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 15 hours ago

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Neighborly

mdni

Masterlist

Soap x reader x Ghost

Summary: You didn't know hate until Johnny MacTavish. (Or a really big build-up to cuddles and smut).

Warnings: Implied anxiety disorder/depressive disorder, self-isolation, language, incredibly shitty communication and social competence.

It was supposed to be a one-shot.

You didn’t know hate until Johnny MacTavish.

He bought the only house within half a mile, the one you expected to stay silent and empty ‘til death did you part. So, you had reason to dislike him from the start. But you were raised right, and you pushed down the snarling hermit in your soul to be a good, friendly neighbor.

The first meeting was fine, even if he was a boombox of a human being.

“Neighbor? Oh, aye! The hermit? Sorry. Heard about you when I toured the place last month.” His eye lands on the plate of cookies you’ve brought to welcome him. “Those all for me?”

You made small talk at the door, swapped names, and set the groundwork for a reliable, limited relationship as polite people who just happened to live in close proximity.

Then the first snow fell.

You spied him outside, shoveling the shared drive that led up the hill. He cleared it all, which was kind, if a little stupid. The weather system promised another two inches by midafternoon, so everything would be solid white again before sunset. Still, not your problem.

But. He was shirtless. Ripped as fuck and shirtless.

As the wind flung each shovelful of snow back in his face, the powdery flakes stuck and melted on steaming skin. Muscles flexed as he made a spectacle of himself, and your thoughts turned to strategy and available resources.

You wrapped your palms around your ugly, handmade mug and sighed, sipping hot chocolate and wishing you’d gotten a neighbor with at least two scoops of common sense.

When he didn’t appear with his shovel the next morning, you knew your foreboding prophecy had come to pass.

You brought out the stock pot, fished out packs of frozen produce harvested from your garden, and sacrificed your last bag of chicken breasts. The skeleton saved from an old rotisserie bird joined the ingredient army. Might as well go all-in. A man with that many muscles needed bone broth to recover.

Since you didn’t know if he was a picky eater, you minced the garlic and onions small, even when your eyes burned to the point you had to stop for a break. You let the aromatics brown, added celery, carrots, potatoes, and fistfuls of fresh herbs. The precious seasonings survived the winter under grow lights and protective sheeting on your dining room table.

You doubted your neighbor would appreciate this gift for everything it was, but whatever he did as an idiot neighbor would be leagues better than the presence of a rowdy ghost.

When the chicken was tender and the broth tasted like home, you poured it into individual portions and packed them in a canvas bag with a loaf of bread, a box of tea, a jar of local honey, and a thermometer. It wasn’t terribly heavy, but the cold froze your fingers through your gloves. Your hand was cramping by the time MacTavish answered the door, red-nosed, pale, and bleary-eyed.

He let you in, mumbling a scratchy-voiced welcome, and if you’d known what that conversation would incite, you would’ve let him waste away like the families you failed playing Oregon Trail.

“Eat one now and keep the rest in the fridge.” You stack the single-serve containers in the fridge as you speak, sure he won’t remember the minutiae of your instructions. The last you pop in his microwave. He’s staring at you with feverish eyes, confused and helpless like a sick dog left on the side of the road.

Everything comes out of the bag, lining his counter so he can see them – and hopefully remember he has them. The thermometer comes out last.

“If your fever is over 104 in the morning, call the doctor. I’ll drive you if you need me to.”

That glassy stare isn’t shifting. The man doesn’t even blink.

“Did you get all that?”

He clears his throat. The action and sound are both strangely slow in his exhausted state, and you’re determined not to feel bad for him.

“Aye.” Finally, he blinks. “Eat the soup. Watch for 104.”

Good enough.

“Okay.”

The microwave beeps, you pull out the soup, leaving him to fetch a spoon from wherever the hell he keeps them. You don’t wait for him to show you out. “Take care of yourself.”

He didn’t call for help, and you took your turn shoveling the drive with proper protection after the last wave of flurries passed.

The next time he saw you in passing – you were returning home and he was just leaving – he let you know your soup was delicious, that the bread was amazing, and the honey did wonders for his throat. He never returned your containers.

Ah, well. They were replaceable.

Then the next snow came, and the dumb bitch went shoveling shirtless again.

It wasn’t as much snow, and it didn’t take him half as long, but you steamed, glaring from the safety of your kitchen window. You refused to replace your meal prep supplies again. And local honey was expensive. The brat could freeze and die. Something about taking a horse to water and all that shit.

You drank your coffee black that morning, just to make a point to no one in particular.

The man didn’t know how to take care of himself, and he had no idea how to winter-proof his home.

His pipes froze. You brought buckets, old towels, bottled water, and the number of an excellent plumber. Then you explained why he should pay attention to the forecast and let faucets drip to keep the water moving. You told him to open the cabinets under sinks so heat could combat the chill along exterior walls.

His truck’s battery succumbed to the cold. You gave him a jump and escorted him to town to make sure he didn’t get himself stranded.

When he didn’t keep things stocked and tried to panic-shop before a big storm, discovering that small town shelves couldn’t meet demand, you shared staples from your pantry.

He didn’t have more than two cheap blankets in his living space, so when the holidays rolled around you gave him your latest assemblage of granny-squares. And a scarf.

He gave you burnt cookies – “Biscuits” – in return.

(And a half-empty bottle of whiskey.)

He never remembered to drag his trash down to the main road.

And gods help you if the power went out, because the man had no generator, very little in his pantry, and rarely more than a quarter tank of gas in his ride.

He was careless. Clueless. Nearly helpless.

What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t leave him to his fate. It was unneighborly and inhumane.

He made you angry. But you didn’t hate him until his friend moved in.

A few months into his residence, you went to Johnny’s door to ask if he needed anything from town before the next storm shadowed the forecast, and a stranger came to the door.

A hulking monster with a skull painted over his balaclava.

The doorway shrank around his broad shoulders, and he ducked when he stepped out. You weren’t sure if he entirely needed to, but you understood the urge – like an adult stepping out of a child’s playhouse. Scarred knuckles wrapped around the doorknob, and you knew his grip would swallow you whole by the way it engulfed the brass handle.

Animal instinct jarred you. Every hair from the base of your skull to the end of your spine stood on end as you tried to smell the air, listen to the wind, spot the predator’s intent before it was too late.

You didn’t have a problem with people balaclavas. You’d worn one the other day when you were shoveling the drive, but this looked less like protection and more like a threat.

Was he robbing your neighbor? Had a serial killer come to town? Oh, fuck.

You took a step back, reaching for your phone because you didn’t carry a weapon, especially not on a grocery run, and it was the closest thing you had to help.

“You the neighbor?”

He asked so casually, vaguely irritated, but relaxed. It wasn’t the voice of a man who’d just been caught committing a felony, and you took a second to look beyond the stranger’s mask (and size). There was a mug in his hand, and he wore a t-shirt with sweats. His socked feet lingered on the front step, just shy of the blue road salt and crisped ice. Not robbery gear. More like a… houseguest?

Your neighbor never had guests before.

It caught you so off guard your brain short circuited. He had always been a lone, helpless figure. Made sense he’d have friends, though. You couldn’t imagine he’d survive anywhere long without someone looking out for him.

You were still a little irritated that your neighbor had invited his own friend to his own house on his own property without informing you, but that was just the recluse inside snarling at a new face. Or half of one.

And – well – manners.

Holding out a mittened hand, you introduced yourself, adding, “I stopped to see if Johnny needed anyth-”

“No.” He shut you down so fast you reeled another step back. “Don’t need anything.”

He closed the door and that was that.

Sun glittered on the season’s collection of snow, a frozen fairyland that wouldn’t entirely melt until spring. Then there would be roads washed out, and mud, and you’d need to teach Johnny flash flood safety and…

It didn’t compute. Johnny was still home, so surely he’d pop out with an explanation.

You waited.

But he didn’t.

The absolute fuck?

Your spinning thoughts kept you trapped in your head for a solid minute, processing what had happened, what was implied, and what that meant for your neighborly relationship. Even when you managed to move, drive to town, and run your errands, the interaction prickled in your mind like a splinter.

You must’ve done something wrong.

Aged fluorescent lights strobed out of time with your cart’s shrieking wheels. You discovered your list wasn’t in your pocket. It waited at home, next to a pen to add Johnny’s requests. You’d already added things you doubted he’d think to ask for, and it would take time to pick apart your needs. The list wouldn’t have saved you, even if you’d remembered it.

Three bags of flour went into your cart. That was fine. They’d keep, and baking was a good way to combat cabin fever (it warmed the house as a bonus).

Two gallons of milk.

Wait.

No.

You put one back, self-conscious. A young mother with her baby stood just behind you, and an old woman was reviewing her coupons across the aisle. You refused to make eye contact, convinced you’d catch them watching. Did they see? Were they worried about your germs on the product you put back? Did they think you were too broke to buy what you needed? Maybe they thought you’d just broken up with your boyfriend or something.

You counted the squares in the linoleum as you marched away from the refrigerators’ humming. One less source of white noise. It didn’t help as much as you’d hoped. The real buzzing roared inside your skull.

Johnny was a pain in the ass, but at least he was friendly. He wasn’t considerate, but he always thanked you. His friend was a whole different beast. Unfriendly. With a spare set of teeth snarling at the world.

The stranger hadn’t even introduced himself. Was he staying long? Moving in? What was he to Johnny? That question alone would answer so many others.

Because you’d never seen him interact beyond basic business with the mechanic, you realized you had no idea of his sexual orientation. Was he gay? Bi? Pan?

His shirtless shoveling shenanigans annoyed you, yes, but you’d unconsciously granted him a little leeway, assuming it had to do with misguided masculine showmanship. The rooster strutting where the hen could see. The dumbass alpha male proving he was a good, strong provider who was also quite nice to look at.

Clearly you were wrong, and in retrospect, you couldn’t see him as anything but a narcistic dipshit in need of training wheels.

You’d thought, maybe, he even liked you. As a friend? A comrade against the cold? As something.

But you were just a stop-gap. Useful.

Convenient.

Until his real friend joined him.

You found your attention unraveling like a cheap sweater. No matter how hard to you dried to darn the holes, you couldn’t keep up with the loose thread undoing all your conscious measures. It was quickly becoming one of those days when you convinced yourself your therapist had lied about everything.

When you messed up, even in your head, everyone knew.

If they didn’t say otherwise, you were annoying everyone in the room. If they did say otherwise, they were just being polite.

You weren’t likeable, not loveable, and the minute you weren’t useful you should make yourself scarce. Otherwise, things would get awkward, and no one wanted that. You could be the adult. You could hack off a limb and smile about it.

It didn’t hurt, and even if it did, it shouldn’t, because you didn’t have a right to that feeling.

Alright. Fine.

You realized, just as you joined the line for the cashier, that you’d forgotten matches and sugar. They’d been on your list. But someone joined the line behind you, and unspoken social rules that probably didn’t exist shackled you in place. Too late. You’d look stupid. You’d bother someone. Oh well. You’d just have to make another trip. Soon. But not too soon. Now there were two sets of eyes watching you from the connecting drive, and you didn’t want to give them reason to gossip and laugh and assume…

Your pile of groceries looked too small on the conveyor belt. Roughly half what they’d been lately. Would the cashier notice? You were sure she did. The way she recited your total sounded disappointed. Was she counting on you buying more? Were you hurting the employees’ holiday bonus? Shit. Fuck.

The bags felt too heavy. Too light. You forgot your reusable sacks at home, and the plastic dug guilt and accusations into the crease of your palms. On top of everything else, you were killing the planet.

You drove home.

Along the river. Through the trees. Up the hills to your corrupted sanctuary.

At least you didn’t need to make a second trip to bring in all the shopping. Your haul landed on the counter, you threw the damned milk in the fridge, and you realized, as you opened the pantry, that you already had four bags of flour. Two all-purpose, two for bread. Because you’d planned to bake for two.

The flour hadn’t been on your list.

And there was no room for it.

Your lip wobbled, and you bit it ferociously, chewing it until the texture changed and bits of skin started peeling.

It wasn’t a problem. You liked being prepared. You’d dump it in one of the emergency storage totes you kept in the hall closet and be ready when something went wrong.

You did just that, popping open the plastic lid and layering the flour over dry lentils, black beans, and shelf-stable cartons of broth. You decided to add more baking supplies to the list. Even if the power went out you could use the wood-burning stove in the living room to make griddle cakes. Maybe even soda bread.

There. Yeah. That wasn’t so bad. A silver lining.

As you returned to the kitchen, brainstorming ways to atone for the plastic bags you’d used, the scent of coffee wafted down the hall. Which was strange. Because you hadn’t put the moka pot on. You rushed in, frowning.

The old drip machine you only used for company burbled in the corner, and the groceries sat precariously on the corner, shoved aside by the beast who’d wandered through your unlocked door.

A tall, mohawked figure groped, shoulder-deep, in your cabinets.

MacTavish.

The Scottish mumbling would’ve tipped you off even if you weren’t so familiar with his figure (and hair, and limited wardrobe).

Your angst tasted bitter as you swallowed it down. You needed space for the feelings popping like firecrackers in your chest.

Relief. Hope. Dread.

He was in your space without invitation, and with the morning you’d just had, you felt anything but comfortable. Either you’d jumped the gun, or he was bringing a delayed apology for his friend.

“Johnny? What are you doing here?”

He smiled over his shoulder as he pulled two cups down from the shelf. One with your college logo and your prized ugly mug.

“Hello, neighbor!” He cackled, laughing at his own joke. “Wanted to give you a heads up and have a chat. My friend’s come to stay with me.”

Friend? What flavor of friend?

“I know. We met this morning.”

“Aye. Real barrel o’ sunshine, isn’ he?”

“If you say so.”

You wanted to be nice. You wanted to be his friend, too. But you weren’t, and you’d worked so hard to be a good, reliable person he could depend on in a new town – you were drained.

“His name’s Ghost.”

Most people grew out of their edgelord status by their early twenties. Ghost –with his skull balaclava and gruff voice – seemed better fit for the emo table of a suburban high school cafeteria than the adult world.

Johnny kept prattling, making an introduction for someone who wasn’t even there. “Told him all about you! He was impressed. Smacked me over the head about the pipes and said we’d go into town for a generator before the next big snow.”

“Hard to predict the next big snow.”

“Aye. He said that, too.”

If Ghost could keep your insights out of his mouth, you would appreciate it. It felt like he was stealing something from you, and you found yourself shifting from foot to foot, arms crossed, waiting for something terrible to happen.

And it did.

Gesturing as he described his old buddy and new housemate, his elbows danced around your kitchen like battering rams. First, he struck a cabinet, which hurt him more than the wood. He laughed it off. Kept talking. You didn’t need to say a word. By that point, you probably couldn’t even if he left space to speak.

For the life of you, you couldn’t riddle out what his visit was for. It was exhausting. He never chattered so much when you brought food or showed him how to keep his home in one piece. Ghost must make him very happy. His joy made you anxious.

His arm wide, indicating the views he’d fallen for and not the practical considerations of living in the goddamn woods on a goddamn mountain, and you watched in slow motion as his forearm caught your ugly mug’s handle.

It spun, wobbling to the edge of the counter, and before you could move, it plummeted.

A bad day instantly became your worst in years.

It must’ve made a sound when it hit, but you didn’t hear it. Or didn’t remember it. You didn’t remember going to the floor after it, either.

Your mug was in pieces, and when you pulled them to safety, wrapped tight in your fist, the glazed edges cut deep. It was such an ugly little thing. Your ugly little thing. You’d made it in one of those sip-and-spin pottery classes with your pals before you stopped going to see people face-to-face.

The mug wasn’t a friend. It was all of your friends. It was the fun you, the one who went out and did things, and moved through life like a real, entire person.

It practically exploded when it hit the tile. Some pieces were bigger than others, but there were dozens of them. Glittering chips and flecks that you knew you’d be finding with your feet through the rest of the winter.

There was no fixing it. It hurt. You were bleeding. Red oozed up between your knuckles and snaked down your wrist.

“Oh, shite! Shite, shite, shite. Are you alright? Here, let me –”

You didn’t want him to touch it again. Didn’t want him to touch you and act like he gave a fuck. This was a big, ugly feeling bubbling up inside, and if he didn’t dislike you yet, he would when he saw all the tears and snot.

A pretty crier you were not.

And no one wanted to see that, or deal with it, or cope with someone else’s messy emotions.

“It’s fine. I’m okay.” You grit your teeth and smiled through them. “But I need to clean this up, and I still have groceries to put away. How about you get your friend settled and we can talk another time, okay?”

“Are you sure?” His attention was fixed on the blood. Bright red was such an alarming color. You could understand.

“Yeah. Just a little scratch. Promise. But I can’t play host and clean myself up.”

His neck went stiff, and his eyes flicked from your face to the floor. Several times. Like he was having an argument with himself. But in the end, he listened, nodded, and got back on his feet from where he’d knelt in front of you.

“If you insist. But we’re right over there if you need anything, aye?”

“I know.”

Finally, he left.

You got up and locked the door behind him. If you’d taken time to do that before you put away the groceries none of this would’ve happened. You would still have your mug and you wouldn’t be on the floor, crying and cradling the remains of something that mattered to you.

-----------------------

He kept coming over when he needed things. Usually after Ghost’s truck rumbled down the drive. Sometimes he wanted advice. Sometimes he needed help. Usually he took tools and supplies he should’ve bought for himself.

You put your curtains to good work. You couldn’t remember a time you drew them so often. If he knocked, you’d answer, but the curtains were a good deterrent. Not foolproof, but something that gave you a little more power over your privacy.

Long jaunts into town have become escapes from your own home. Better the eyes of strangers – fleetingly painful – than the paranoia of sitting under glass where your neighbors might read your habits and foibles by the way the lights turn on and off through the night, might judge your messy hair through the kitchen window as you wash the dishes. Might, might, might. There were terrible possibilities in all that potential.

They were always there. One ready to freeze you out, the other hanging on your apron strings like a teenager who just got his first place. The conflict rubbed over your nerves like a match on a boot heel. Too much, too fast, and you’d combust.

So you found a lot of reasons to go into town. You remembered how much you liked the library, the joy of a cinnamon roll someone else baked, and hot coffee that didn’t come with a side of flashbacks.

The forecast predicted heavy snow overnight, and you made a day of grocery shopping, collecting novels from the library, and avoiding your neighbor’s last-minute requests.

You barely noticed the teens rushing out of the parking lot as you left your final stop, canvas bag loaded with enough media to keep you entertained through the storm of the century. No windows were broken. No key marks scuffed the paint. If they committed any mischief, it was minor.

Gas theft didn’t cross your mind until your engine quietly gave out and your car rolled to a stop between Nowhere and Nothing.

Understanding dawned with grudging revulsion. Like looking at the toilet and realizing it wouldn’t flush.

The little shits had siphoned your tank.

You smacked the steering wheel, cursing.

So much for the benefit of the doubt. You couldn’t escape. Everyone everywhere just wanted to use you.

But it was fine. Everything would be fine. You were always prepared in case someone fucked you over. Your wellbeing was your responsibility, after all.

Climbing out of the warm cabin, you headed to the back and pulled out the emergency gas can.

The red plastic was shockingly light. You didn’t realize until you’d already thrown your weight into the yank. Unbalanced, you tottered, and your heel skidded over ice.

The snow cushioned your fall, and you stared blankly into the white limned branches overhead as you tried to process the last five seconds. Things like this happened to idiots. They did not happen to you. Careful, cautious you with your backup plans and reserves.

You had simply made a mistake. Somewhere. Somehow. You’d find an explanation.

When you sat up, still in a state of shock, you examined the can, expecting signs of a mouse, or a crack, or…

An I.O.U. was taped to the back.

You knew the handwriting all too well.

That shitting little…

The snow arrived. Silence swallowed the mountain, and the gloaming snuffed the last of the sun’s warmth.

You sat alone on the side of the road, well aware that no one would come up this way for hours. Days maybe.

You had made a mistake.

You made your neighbor chicken soup.

Your nose burned, and you sniffed. Hot tears rolled down your face, burning as they went, and you wiped at them furiously. The wool of your mittens chafed your cheek. Your lip wobbled, and you hurled the empty can into the woods.

Fuck Johnny MacTavish.

Fuck Ghost.

Fuck your life.

#fic: neighborly #john soap mctavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #soap x reader x ghost #soap x ghost

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dollgxtz · 2 days ago

Text

His Watchful Eye Pt.15

Word Count: 25.5k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, forced pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, tw if u have tokophobia, pet names like kitten, sweetie, honey, xavier appears, attempted murder, threats, suicide threats

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh @eliasxchocolate @nozomiaj @xmiisuki @sylus-kitten @its-regretti @ve1vet-cake @letgobro @starkeysslvt @yarafic @prince-nikko @connorsui @iluvmewwwww75 @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer @someone-somewheres-stuff @zaynesjasmine1 @honnylemontea @altariasu @sorryimakira @pearlymel @emidpsandia @angel-jupiter @hwangintakswifey @webmvie @housesortinghat @shoruio @gojos1ut @solomonlover @mysssticc @elegantnightblaze @mavphorias @babylavendersblog @burntoutfrogacademic @sinstae @certainduckanchor @ladyackermanisdead @sh4nn @milkandstarlight @lilyadora @nyumin @kiwookse @anisha24-blog1 @weepingluminarytale @riamir @definitionistato @xxhayashixx @adraxsteia @hargun-s @cayraeley @xxfaithlynxx @palomanh @spaceace111 @euridan

AN: This is on A03! Pls heed the tw!! This is an intense chapter and its okay to put it down and come back later. Take care! <3

Check my masterlist for the other parts!

“I did all of this. For you,” Xavier said, his voice breaking under the weight of his emotions. He stood frozen, his shoulders tense, his fists trembling at his sides as he stared at you. “You left with me. You wanted to kiss me too… in the cabin.” His tone grew quieter, almost disbelieving, as though he couldn’t reconcile what had just happened with what he thought you shared.

Xavier’s voice cracked again, barely above a whisper. “Tell me. Was it really a lie?”

Sylus wasn’t a stupid man. In fact, he prided himself on his ability to see through others, to read them like open books no matter how tightly they tried to shut their covers. To know even their deepest desires. And today, you had been an especially transparent read. The slight changes in your tone, the fleeting glances you cast around the mall, the way your fingers twitched nervously when you thought he wasn’t looking—it all painted a clear picture. You had been planning something from the moment you stepped foot outside the car.

Still, he had allowed it to play out. Part of him had hoped, against better judgment, that you might surprise him. That for once, you might set aside whatever fire still smoldered inside you and truly appreciate the lengths he had gone to for this day. The shopping trip, the presents, the brief taste of freedom—it had all been for you. A chance for you to feel a semblance of normalcy before the baby arrived, a chance to understand the life he was building for you and your daughter.

But you were predictable, as always. He had given you an inch, and you had taken a damn mile.

As he stood by the railing outside the store, watching from a distance, he felt no anger. At least, not the fiery kind that consumed lesser men. No, Sylus’s anger was a cold thing, methodical and patient. He had learned long ago that rage blinded the mind, and he preferred to see things with perfect clarity. And now, as his sharp crimson eyes followed you across the store, clarity was all he felt.

There you were, running straight into the arms of him. The ash-blond man with those annoyingly sincere blue eyes. Xavier.

Sylus watched as the two of you embraced, your body trembling as you clung to him like a lifeline. Xavier’s arms wrapped around you with a possessiveness that made Sylus’s jaw tighten. It wasn’t just the embrace that irked him—it was the look in Xavier’s eyes. The way they softened as he gazed down at you, as though he had every right to hold you like that. As though Sylus hadn’t already claimed you.

The sight should have infuriated him. And yet, Sylus remained calm. He couldn’t bring himself to feel the boiling rage that others might have in his place. No, this wasn’t anger—it was confirmation. Proof that Xavier had to be dealt with, once and for all.

The faintest smirk tugged at Sylus’s lips as he watched Xavier grab your hand, his movements hurried and frantic as he led you out of the store. Sylus knew exactly where the two of you were headed. The parking lot. Of course. It was laughable, really—this desperate attempt to run, as if Sylus didn’t already have his web spun tightly around you in more ways than one.

How quaint.

Sylus turned, his steps measured and deliberate as he began walking toward the mall’s main entrance. He reached into his pocket and retrieved his phone, dialing without hesitation. The line clicked almost immediately.

“Have the car ready,” Sylus said, his voice calm and smooth, though there was an unmistakable edge to it. “We’ll be leaving soon.”

“Yes, sir,” came the twins’ simultaneous reply before the line went dead.

Sliding the phone back into his pocket, Sylus continued toward the glass doors, the faint hum of mall activity buzzing around him. He passed by the bustling food court, his mind turning over possibilities with calculated precision. What would Xavier’s next move be? Would he drive you straight out of the city? Find a safe house? Attempt to flee beyond his reach?

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. You could run as far as you'd like, he would find you. He had proven that before, and he would prove it again.

His thoughts drifted to you, to the desperation in your eyes as you’d clung to Xavier. Did you think this was freedom? Did you truly believe that running to another man’s arms would save you? Sylus’s chest tightened as he imagined the way you must have felt—hopeful, relieved, like a bird released from a cage. But you hadn’t escaped anything. Not really.

“My little dove,” he murmured to himself, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Fly as far as you like. Your cage will always be just behind you.”

The glass doors of the mall slid open as Sylus stepped outside, the cool evening air brushing against his skin. He paused for a moment, glancing around with a faint smirk. His car was already idling by the curb, the twins standing attentively by the doors, their bodies relaxed but ready. He made his way toward them with the same unshakable composure he always carried, his mind already working through the steps ahead.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Sylus climbed into the car, leaning back against the seat as he stared out the window. His fingers tapped lightly against his knee, his eyes glinting in the bright light. The game had shifted, and the hunt was on. But he wasn’t worried.

Because he always won.

You flew into Xavier’s arms, clinging to him as though letting go would rip him away forever. Your body trembled uncontrollably, tears streaming down your cheeks in hot, unrelenting waves. Every ounce of strength you’d used to hold yourself together for months crumbled in an instant, leaving nothing but raw emotion in its place. His arms wrapped around you tightly, grounding you in a way you hadn’t felt in what seemed like an eternity. His warmth, his scent—everything about him screamed safety, familiarity, home.

It was real. This had to be real.

Your shoulders shook as you sobbed into his chest, your fists gripping his shirt with a desperation that felt primal. “This…isn’t a dream, right?” you whispered, your voice broken, barely audible between your gasping sobs. “You’re real?”

Xavier’s arms tightened around you, his voice low and steady, a soft balm against your chaos. “I promise I’m real, my love,” he murmured, his breath brushing against your hair. “I’m here now. I’ve got you.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and the tenderness of it made your heart clench painfully.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your face pressed against the fabric of his shirt. You could feel the faint thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek, steady and reassuring, a rhythm you had yearned for but feared you might never hear again. For months, you’d clung to the fragile hope that you’d find him, but now that he was here, holding you, it felt like an impossible dream.

But the dream crashed into reality when you felt a sharp kick from your belly. You froze for a moment, the sensation pulling you back to the present. Your daughter moved again, a firm reminder of her presence. You shifted slightly, and Xavier stiffened, his body instinctively adjusting as if to shield you. His gaze dropped, and you knew he felt it too—the undeniable proof of your pregnancy.

His hands loosened slightly, giving you space as he stepped back just enough to look down at you. His blue eyes widened as they flickered to the swell of your stomach, his expression shifting from relief to surprise, then to something gentler—something you couldn’t quite read.

The shame hit you like a tidal wave. Heat rushed to your face as your tears faltered, and you quickly averted your gaze, unable to bear the silent question lingering between you. You opened your mouth, scrambling for words, for a way to explain what couldn’t be explained. “This…this isn’t what it looks like,” you stammered, your voice trembling. “I didn’t willingly—”

“Shh.” Xavier’s voice cut through your spiraling thoughts, calm and firm yet full of compassion. His hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that still clung to your skin. “You don’t have to explain,” he said, his gaze locking with yours. “I know. I know.”

His words sent a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you, but there was no time to dwell on it. His grip on your hand tightened, and the softness in his expression hardened into sharp focus. His eyes darted toward the entrance of the store, scanning the area with practiced precision.

“We can’t talk here,” he said quietly, urgency lacing his words. “There’s no time. He’s not dumb. He’s probably already realized you’re not coming back.”

Your stomach churned at his words. He was right. Sylus was many things, but careless wasn’t one of them. If he hadn’t already figured out what was happening, it wouldn’t be long before he did. You could practically feel the weight of his presence, the intensity of his gaze, even though he wasn’t anywhere in sight.

Xavier’s hand on yours kept you steady as he began guiding you out of the store. His movements were purposeful, each step measured but swift. Your heart pounded in your chest, so loud you could barely hear the ambient noise of the mall around you—the faint murmur of shoppers, the echo of footsteps on polished floors, the distant hum of escalators.

Your eyes darted around nervously, scanning for any sign of Sylus. Every passing shadow, every sudden movement made your pulse spike. The fear that had been simmering in the back of your mind now roared to life, a suffocating weight pressing down on you.

“Keep moving,” Xavier whispered, his voice barely audible but commanding. He cast another glance over his shoulder, his body tense, ready for anything. “We’re almost there.”

The two of you weaved through the crowd, the press of bodies both a comfort and a curse. On one hand, they shielded you, made it harder for anyone to track you. But on the other, every stranger’s face felt like a threat, every curious glance like a dagger aimed at your heart.

As you approached the mall’s glass doors, the cool evening air beyond them became a beacon, a promise of freedom. You focused on that sliver of light, letting it guide you, letting it fuel the hope that was slowly beginning to grow.

But your legs felt heavy, like they might give out at any moment. The adrenaline that had carried you this far was starting to falter, leaving behind the exhaustion of months spent holding everything together. Your breaths came in shallow gasps, but you forced yourself to keep moving.

Finally, the two of you reached the doors, and Xavier pushed them open with one hand, keeping the other firmly on yours. The cool air hit your face, a sharp contrast to the stifling tension inside. For the first time in what felt like forever, you took a deep, steadying breath.

But it wasn’t over yet. You weren’t free yet.

“Stay close,” Xavier said, his tone protective as he led you toward the parking lot. His grip on your hand was firm but gentle, a tether that kept you grounded as the world spun around you.

You nodded, unable to form words as your mind raced with a hundred possibilities. What if Sylus was already out here? What if he was watching, waiting? You couldn’t afford to think about it. Not now. Not when freedom was so close you could almost taste it.

The two of you moved quickly, Xavier’s steps confident and unrelenting as he navigated through the rows of parked cars. You couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder, half expecting to see Sylus’s crimson eyes cutting through the air. But the parking lot was quiet, the only sounds the distant hum of traffic and the occasional chirp of car alarms.

As Xavier reached into his pocket for his keys, you couldn’t stop the question that slipped from your lips. “What now?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Xavier turned to you, his expression both determined and gentle. “Now, we get you out of here. Both of you.” His hand rested briefly but hesitantly on your belly, his touch reassuring. “And then we figure out where to keep you so your safe. For good this time.”

His words sent a shiver through you—not of fear, but of hope. For the first time in months, you felt like escape wasn’t just a dream. It was a possibility.

As Xavier opened the car door and helped you inside, you cast one last glance at the mall behind you. The faint flicker of lights, the bustling crowds, the life you were leaving behind.

And somewhere in the shadows, you knew Sylus was watching. Waiting.

But for now, you were free.

The hum of the car engine filled the heavy silence, a low and constant reminder of the miles slipping by. Outside the windows, the scenery blurred into a muted palette of greens and grays, the fading light of morning casting long shadows across the road. You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, your mind racing with thoughts that felt too big to untangle.

Xavier hadn’t said much since you climbed into the car. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles pale against the leather. His jaw was clenched, his eyes focused on the road ahead as if the act of driving required every ounce of his attention. The silence between you was suffocating, thick with unspoken words and the weight of everything you’d both endured.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Why didn’t you come for me sooner?” you asked, your voice quiet but sharp, cutting through the stillness like a blade. You didn’t mean for it to sound accusatory, but the question had been burning in your mind ever since he had come for you.

Xavier flinched slightly at the words, his shoulders tensing as he exhaled through his nose. For a long moment, he didn’t respond, and you thought he might brush the question off entirely. But then, he spoke, his voice low and steady, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place—regret? Shame?

“He blackmailed me.”

You blinked, startled by the admission. “What?”

Xavier’s grip on the wheel tightened further, his gaze fixed on the horizon as he continued. “Sylus. He blackmailed me. He made it impossible for me to act without risking everything.”

Your breath caught, confusion and disbelief swirling in your chest. “What do you mean? Blackmailed you how?”

Xavier hesitated, his jaw working as if he were weighing the words before saying them aloud. “It started after you disappeared,” he began, his voice quieter now, almost reluctant. “I was looking for you. I left no stone unturned, no lead unexplored. I didn’t care what it took—I was going to find you. But Sylus…” He shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “He made sure I couldn’t.”

The weight of his words sank into your chest, leaving you breathless. “What did he do?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

Xavier finally glanced at you, his blue eyes dark with a mix of anger and guilt. “He threatened to hurt you if I kept looking. To hurt people who had nothing to do with this too."

Your stomach twisted as the pieces began to fall into place. You’d known Sylus was ruthless, manipulative, but hearing it from Xavier made it all feel more real. “He…he threatened to hurt me?” you whispered, horrified. You almost couldn't believe it.

Xavier nodded stiffly, his hands flexing on the steering wheel. "He had his eyes everywhere, his reach in places I didn’t even know existed. He made it clear that finding you would come at a cost—and not just to me.”

A wave of guilt and sorrow crashed over you, rendering you speechless. You turned away, staring out the window as you tried to process what he was saying. The silence returned, heavier now, laden with the weight of his confession and the reality of what Sylus had done to both of you.

You felt like you should say something, offer some kind of comfort, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you sat there, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts that refused to settle.

“I didn’t stop looking for you,” Xavier said after a long moment, his voice breaking the silence again. There was a quiet desperation in his tone now, a need for you to understand. “I couldn’t. But I had to be careful, deliberate. Every step I took felt like walking a tightrope, and I knew one wrong move could…” He trailed off, his throat working as he swallowed hard. “I hated it. Every second of it.”

You nodded slowly, though your gaze remained fixed on the passing trees. “I didn’t know,” you murmured, your voice shaking. “I didn’t realize he…” The words failed you, leaving you to sink further into the silence.

For the next few minutes of the drive, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the low hum of the engine and the faint rhythm of your breathing. But the tension in the car was no longer suffocating—it was raw and open, a quiet acknowledgment of everything that had been stolen from both of you.

"You know…he blackmailed me too kinda," you said softly, breaking the silence that hung heavy in the car. Your voice was tentative, almost drowned out by the faint hum of the engine. You kept your gaze on the road ahead, unable to meet Xavier’s eyes as the weight of your words settled in the confined space.

Xavier glanced at you, his blue eyes earnest and filled with quiet concern. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready,” he said gently. His voice was steady, warm—a stark contrast to the turmoil raging in your chest.

You shook your head slowly, your hands trembling as they rested on your belly. “No,” you whispered. “It’s fine. I want you to know. You deserve to know.”

He didn’t push, didn’t press for details. Instead, he waited, his silence giving you the space to gather your thoughts. The words felt heavy, lodged in your throat like stones, but you forced them out anyway, each one cutting into the fragile peace that had momentarily settled between you.

“He said if I ever spoke your name…he’d kill you,” you said, your voice cracking on the last word. Your fingers tightened around the fabric of your dress as you glanced down at your stomach, your shame and fear twisting into an unbearable knot. “He also said if I didn’t feed the baby…” You swallowed hard, the memory still as sharp and raw as the day Sylus had first uttered the threat. “He’d kill you then, too.”

The confession hung in the air like a dark cloud, oppressive and suffocating. The only sounds were the faint rumble of the car and your own unsteady breathing. Your heart raced as you waited for Xavier to respond, your mind spiraling into a hundred different worst-case scenarios. What if he was angry? Hurt? Or worse, what if he couldn’t look at you the same way after hearing it all?

Xavier didn’t say anything right away, but the tension in his jaw told you he was processing it. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white, but his face remained calm. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and measured. “I understand,” he said, his tone careful. He paused, glancing at you again before asking hesitantly, “Are you…are you keeping it?”

The question hit you like a slap, not because it was inappropriate, but because of how much weight it carried. You knew what he meant, but even so, the word “it” stung. Xavier must have realized immediately, because he winced and quickly corrected himself. “Ah, sorry. Not ‘it.’ I don’t know the gender.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his awkwardness, and for the first time in what felt like hours, a small laugh escaped your lips. It was faint and fleeting, but it was there—a fragile spark in the sea of tension.

“The baby is a girl,” you said, your voice softening. “It’s okay.”

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze shifted back to the road, his jaw tightening again as if bracing himself for whatever came next.

“And…I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice wavering. “Just a day ago, I was preparing to accept my new life as a mom. I told myself I had to. That I didn’t have a choice.” You paused, taking a shaky breath as your hand moved to your belly, tracing slow circles over the fabric. “And now…now my brain is all over the place. I just want her to be safe. To grow up happy.”

Silence enveloped the car again, heavy and suffocating. You stared out the window, the glow of sun illuminating the streets. Your daughter kicked again, and you pressed your palm against your stomach, trying to reassure her even as your own fears consumed you.

When Xavier didn’t respond, your chest tightened with a fresh wave of anxiety. Was he regretting this already? Was this too much for him? The thought was like a dagger, sharp and cold, and before you could stop yourself, the words spilled out.

“I understand if this is a lot,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. You turned your head slightly, your eyes searching his face for any sign of his thoughts. “If you don’t want me anymore…”

The moment the words left your lips, Xavier’s head snapped toward you, his blue eyes blazing with intensity. His expression was equal parts shock and disbelief, and for a terrifying second, you thought you’d made a mistake.

“Don’t,” he said sharply, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think that.”

You flinched at the firmness in his tone, but before you could retreat into yourself, his hand left the wheel and reached for yours. His palm was warm, his grip steady as his fingers laced through yours. The gesture was grounding, a lifeline in the sea of doubt.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice softening but losing none of its conviction. “This is a lot. I won’t lie to you about that. But it’s not too much. Not for me.”

Your breath caught as he continued, his blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. “Do you really think I’d give up now?” he asked, his voice almost breaking. “After everything? After months of looking for you, of fighting to get to this moment?”

Tears welled in your eyes, spilling over as his words wrapped around your heart like a protective shield. You tried to speak, but the lump in your throat made it impossible. Instead, you nodded, the motion small and uncertain.

“I don’t care about the circumstances,” Xavier said, his voice steady. “You’re still the woman I love. And that little girl you’re carrying?” His gaze flickered briefly to your belly before returning to your face. “She’s part of you. That’s all I need to know.”

The dam inside you broke, and the tears came freely now, your shoulders shaking as the weight of everything you’d been holding finally crashed down. Xavier didn’t flinch, didn’t let go. If anything, his grip on your hand tightened, his thumb brushing small, soothing circles over your knuckles.

“You don’t have to figure this all out today,” he said softly. “We’ll take it one step at a time. Together.”

His words hit you with the force of a tidal wave, overwhelming and comforting all at once. For the first time in months, the crushing weight on your chest eased just enough for you to take a full breath. You nodded again, your hand squeezing his as you leaned back against the seat.

For now, you didn’t need all the answers. For now, it was enough to know that you weren’t alone.

You didn’t remember falling asleep. The last thing you recalled was the rhythmic hum of the car’s engine, a soothing lullaby against the backdrop of a long and emotional day. Now, you woke to the soft crunch of gravel beneath tires, and the faint thud of a door shutting pulled you fully back to consciousness. Blinking groggily, you rubbed your eyes, the world outside the window coming into focus—or not. Darkness enveloped everything, the trees standing like silent sentinels against the faint glow of the moon.

The realization hit you quickly: this wasn’t home. Your heart skipped a beat as unease crept in, sharp and unwelcome. Before you could dwell on it, the passenger door opened, and cool night air rushed in. Xavier leaned into view, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the car’s overhead light. His expression was calm, reassuring, but you couldn’t ignore the flutter of anxiety in your chest.

“Where are we?” you asked, your voice thick with sleep. Your fingers curled around the seatbelt instinctively, holding you in place.

Xavier offered his hand, waiting patiently for you to take it. “Someplace safe,” he said simply. When you didn’t immediately move, he crouched slightly, his eyes meeting yours. “I know this is sudden, but I need you to trust me. It’s too dangerous to go back to the apartment right now. He knows where we live.”

The mention of Sylus sent a shiver down your spine. Logic told you Xavier was right, but fear still gnawed at the edges of your thoughts. Hesitantly, you unbuckled your seatbelt and allowed him to help you out of the car. The ground was uneven beneath your feet, the faint crunch of dirt and leaves the only sound as you stood there, blinking into the darkness.

“I thought we’d go back to your place,” you murmured, your voice wavering. Your gaze flickered around nervously, trying to take in your surroundings, but the dense forest offered no clues. “Why…why here?”

Xavier’s hand tightened around yours, his warmth grounding you. “I know it’s a lot,” he admitted, his tone gentle. “But I needed to bring you somewhere Sylus wouldn’t think to look. This cabin—it’s not much, but it’s off the radar. Trust me, it’s safer.”

Despite his reassurances, unease still prickled at the edges of your mind. You weren’t sure if it was the unfamiliar surroundings, the memories of Sylus’s threats, or the sheer exhaustion weighing on your body, but something about the situation left you unsettled. Still, you nodded, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. Xavier wouldn’t hurt you. He wouldn’t put you in danger.

“Come on,” he said softly, tugging your hand. “It’s not far.”

The walk to the cabin was short, but every step felt like a battle. Your feet ached fiercely, the swelling from the pregnancy making each movement a painful reminder of your body’s limits. By the time the faint outline of the cabin came into view, a soft grunt of pain escaped your lips, and you winced, trying to mask it. Xavier stopped abruptly, turning to face you.

“You okay?” he asked, his brows knitting together in concern. His gaze dropped to your feet, his expression softening when he noticed your discomfort.

“It’s just a pregnancy thing,” you muttered, embarrassed. “My feet… they’re swollen. And they hurt.”

Xavier frowned, his concern deepening. “We should’ve stopped sooner. I’ll see if I have anything at the cabin to help with that.” His voice carried a mix of determination and regret, as if he felt guilty for not noticing sooner.

You nodded, grateful for his thoughtfulness but unable to shake the wave of shame that washed over you. He was doing so much already—too much. This wasn’t his responsibility, no matter how much he claimed to care. As he guided you the last few steps to the cabin, you couldn’t help but wonder if he really meant what he’d said earlier about the baby. Did he truly believe what he’d said, or had it been an attempt to comfort you in the moment?

The cabin was modest, its wooden beams gleaming faintly in the moonlight. When Xavier pushed open the door, the soft golden glow of the interior lights spilled out, revealing a small but cozy space. There was no clutter, no decorations—just a bed, a wood-burning stove, and a small kitchen tucked into one corner. It was practical, not personal, and the emptiness made your chest tighten.

“Sit down,” Xavier said, his tone gentle but firm as he guided you to the bed. “I’ll get some water and find something for your feet.”

You sank into the mattress, relief washing over you as the pressure on your swollen feet eased. As Xavier moved around the cabin, his actions quick and purposeful, you watched him, your emotions a tangled mess of gratitude and guilt. He shouldn’t have to take care of you like this. He had no obligation—not to you, and certainly not to the baby.

When he returned, he knelt in front of you, setting down a bowl of warm water and a clean towel. “It’s not much,” he said, his voice apologetic, “but it should help.”

You stared at the bowl for a moment, your throat tightening. His kindness was overwhelming, and before you could stop yourself, the question you’d been holding back tumbled out.

“Do you really mean it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Xavier paused, his hands stilling over the bowl. He looked up at you, his blue eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Mean what?” he asked softly, his tone careful.

“What you said earlier. About the baby,” you clarified, your voice trembling. “That it doesn’t matter to you…that she’s part of me, and that’s all you need.”

His expression softened, and he reached out, taking your hand in his. “I meant it,” he said, his voice steady. “That doesn’t mean this isn’t a lot to take in. It is. And I won’t pretend otherwise.” He paused, his gaze searching yours. “But none of that changes how I feel about you. Or how much I want to be here for you—whatever you decide.”

Tears welled in your eyes as his words sank in, wrapping around your heart like a warm embrace. “Whatever I decide?” you echoed, your voice breaking.

Xavier nodded, his thumb brushing gentle circles over your knuckles. “If you want to keep her, I’ll be here for you both. If you decide adoption is the right choice, I’ll support you. This is your decision. Your future. But whatever you choose, I’m not going anywhere.”

The tears came freely again as the weight of his words settled over you. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. If anything, his grip on your hand tightened, his presence grounding you in a way nothing else could. He truly was the man you loved and continued to be despite everything.

Your stomach rumbled loudly, the sound startling in the quiet cabin. It was as if your body had finally caught up with everything else, demanding attention you didn’t feel ready to give. You let out a nervous laugh, instinctively placing a hand over your belly as another tiny kick pressed against your palm. Your daughter was restless, rolling and kicking as if in protest.

“I guess we’re both starving,” you said softly, your voice carrying an edge of self-consciousness.

Xavier glanced towards the small kitchen area, his face softening. “There’s some canned food in the cupboard,” he said, already moving and pulling open one of the creaky wooden doors. “I’ll cook something for you. It won’t be fancy, but it’ll do.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, though the words felt small in comparison to what he was doing for you. As you watched him move around the kitchen, his slightly broad shoulders slightly hunched in concentration, guilt gnawed at the edges of your thoughts. He was doing so much for you—for both of you. And yet, no matter how much he reassured you, that persistent question lingered: how long could this last? How long until it became too much for him?

You shifted on the bed, your hand still resting on your belly as your daughter continued her acrobatics. Your thoughts spiraled, each one more overwhelming than the last. What were you going to do? The question haunted you, clawing at the edges of your mind. Once Sylus was no longer a threat, you’d still have to make a decision about the baby.

Would it be better to give her up? The thought made your chest tighten painfully, but it felt like the only logical choice. If you kept her, Sylus would find her. He always found a way. But giving her up didn’t guarantee safety either. What if she ended up closer to his reach, easier for him to manipulate and control? Your head swam with possibilities, each one more suffocating than the last. You closed your eyes, willing the torrent of thoughts to stop, but it was like trying to hold back a flood.

“Xavier…” you began hesitantly, your voice barely audible over the faint sizzle of something on the stove. He turned slightly, his head tilting to show he was listening, but his hands didn’t stop moving as he stirred a pot. “Shouldn’t we go to Captain Jenna? The police? I mean…I’m technically still missing, aren’t I?”

Xavier stilled for a moment, the rhythm of his stirring coming to an abrupt halt. The tension in his shoulders was subtle, but it was enough to make your stomach churn with unease. Slowly, he resumed stirring, his back still to you. “You’re not legally missing,” he said finally, his voice careful. “Sylus made sure of that.”

Your breath hitched, your heart sinking. “What do you mean?” you asked, though you weren’t sure you wanted to hear the answer.

Xavier turned down the heat on the stove, his movements deliberate as he picked up a plate and began serving the food. “He made me spin a story,” Xavier explained, his tone clipped. “According to me, you announced that you were leaving the country. Made it seem like a planned move.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, leaving you momentarily breathless. Of course Sylus had thought of everything. He always did. Every possible angle, every potential loose end—he’d tied them all up neatly in a web of lies. “What?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “But…that doesn’t mean we can’t tell someone what really happened, right?”

Xavier didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he poured the steaming vegetables from the pot onto the plate, the vibrant mix of greens, oranges, and yellows standing out against the plain white dish. He carried it over to the small coffee table in front of you, setting it down gently. The aroma of cooked pork and seasoned vegetables filled the air, but you barely noticed. Your eyes were fixed on him, searching for some kind of reassurance.

“It’s best not to get anyone else involved,” he said finally, sitting down across from you. His voice was measured, careful, but there was an underlying tension that made your stomach twist. “Sylus is dangerous. The people you’re thinking of going to—Captain Jenna, the police—they can’t protect you from someone like him.”

“But—” you began, desperation creeping into your voice.

“Besides,” he cut in gently but firmly, his gaze meeting yours, “you’re pregnant. If we try to explain this now, all it’s going to look like is you ran off for a fling. That’s how Sylus has framed it, and it’s the story people will believe.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a heavy blanket, suffocating and inescapable. You wanted to argue, to shout that it wasn’t fair, but the truth of what he was saying kept your protests lodged in your throat. Sylus’s lies were insidious, and the world was all too quick to believe the worst about people. Even if you tried to explain, who would believe you?

Xavier leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched you. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear,” he said softly. “And I know it’s not fair. But the most important thing right now is keeping you and the baby safe. That’s all that matters. Once I can secure a better place for you, I'll move you both out from this cabin.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening as tears threatened to spill. “I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I keep thinking about the baby… about what’s best for her. I don’t even know if keeping her is the right choice. But giving her up…what if that puts her in even more danger?”

Xavier’s gaze softened, and he reached out, his hand covering yours. His touch was warm, grounding, but it didn’t erase the storm raging inside you. “I don’t have all the answers,” he said honestly. “This is your decision. And it’s not an easy one. But whatever you choose—whether you keep her or give her up—I’ll be here to help you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“How can you say that?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “She’s not even yours.”

Xavier didn’t flinch. His grip on your hand tightened slightly, his thumb brushing small, soothing circles over your knuckles. “I know,” he said simply, his voice steady. “But regardless, I love you. If you keep her, I want to be involved with everything to do with you."

The sincerity in his voice left you breathless, your chest aching with a mixture of gratitude and overwhelming emotion. The enormity of everything still loomed over you, but Xavier’s words felt like a lifeline, anchoring you to something solid amidst the chaos.

You nodded slowly, wiping at your eyes as you reached for the fork. The first bite of food was warm and comforting, easing some of the tension in your chest. It was nothing compared to the lavish meals Sylus would feed you, but for the first time in a long time the food was truly delicious. Xavier watched you silently, his presence steady and unyielding. The crushing weight of fear and uncertainty seemed to lift—if only just enough to breathe.

Tomorrow would bring more questions, more decisions. But for tonight, Xavier’s quiet support was enough to keep the darkness at bay.

The hours stretched on, the crackle of the wood-burning stove providing a soothing backdrop as you and Xavier talked. At first, it was about the kidnapping, the things you had endured, and the horrifying grip Sylus had over your life. Xavier was angered to learn Sylus had physically cut out your birth control himself. And you were saddened to learn you no longer had an apartment. But as the tension began to ease, the conversation shifted. Xavier told you about what he’d gone through to find you, the lengths he’d gone to prepare for what felt like an impossible rescue. Every word felt surreal.

“So… you’re part Polar Wyrm now?” you asked, your tone incredulous.

Xavier nodded, leaning back a bit, his broad shoulders catching the warm glow of the stove’s firelight. His lips quirked into a half-smile, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah. It’s…complicated. I didn’t have a choice, not if I wanted to be strong enough to face him again. I thought—” He paused, his blue eyes flickering with something unspoken. “I thought it would give me a better chance to bring you back.”

You stared at him, trying to process the enormity of what he had done. Polar Wyrms were no ordinary Wanderers—powerful, ancient, and dangerous. To think Xavier had willingly taken on that kind of burden for you made your chest ache with a mix of gratitude and guilt.

“I didn’t ask you to do that…” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

His eyes softened as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You didn’t have to,” he said quietly. “I would’ve done anything to find you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you looked away, unable to hold his gaze. “I’m sorry,” you said for what felt like the hundredth time that night. The words tumbled out of you in a rush, fueled by the weight of everything you’d been carrying. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that. I’m sorry I wasn’t stronger—”

“Stop.” His voice was gentle but firm, cutting through your apologies. He reached out and placed a hand over yours, his touch warm and grounding. “You have nothing to be sorry for. None of this was your fault.”

You nodded hesitantly, though the guilt still lingered, a heavy presence in your chest. It wasn’t something that would go away overnight.

Eventually, the conversation turned lighter. For the first time in what felt like forever, you caught glimpses of the man you missed and dreamed of, the one who could make you laugh, who made the world feel less daunting. When he brought up baby names, it caught you off guard.

“I always thought that if I had a daughter, I’d name her Evia,” he said, his voice thoughtful. He leaned back, his gaze distant as if imagining the life he once thought he might have. “It means ‘life’ or ‘to live’ in Hebrew.”

You were lying on the bed by then, exhaustion tugging at your body despite the lively energy of your daughter, who seemed intent on keeping you awake with her constant movements. Your fingers traced idle patterns over your belly as you considered the name.

“Evia,” you repeated, the sound delicate and full of promise. “It’s such a pretty name.”

The idea stirred something inside you—a flicker of hope, fragile but persistent. Could this be a fresh start? If you named her something Xavier had chosen instead of something Sylus would have controlled, it might mark the beginning of a new chapter. A life where you weren’t constantly looking over your shoulder, where your daughter could grow up without fear.

Xavier must have sensed the shift in your mood because he gave you a small smile, the kind that lit up his face and reminded you of how much you had missed him. “Of course, if you wanted something different, it’s your choice,” he added quickly, his tone light but sincere.

Your heart fluttered at his words, at the way he seemed to effortlessly put you first, even now. How you’d missed that smile. His voice. His eyes. This wasn’t just love—it was something deeper. Something that had endured pain, separation, and fear, only to emerge stronger.

“Xavier…” you whispered, his name barely more than a breath as it passed your lips. It felt strange to say it now, after all this time, after everything that had happened. Yet it grounded you, tethering you to the moment as you turned toward him on the bed.

He was kneeling beside you, his arms resting on the edge of the mattress. The warm light of the fire danced across his face, casting shadows that made his features seem sharper, more defined. But his eyes…they were soft, steady, filled with something that made your chest tighten and your pulse quicken.

He tilted his head slightly, a quiet hum of acknowledgment escaping his throat. His blue eyes flickered down to your lips, lingering there for a heartbeat, before lifting back to meet your gaze. The unspoken question in his expression sent a shiver through you.

Your heart pounded, the sound of it filling your ears as if it were echoing in the quiet cabin. The warmth of his breath brushed against your skin, subtle but enough to make you hyperaware of just how close he was. You could see the faint line of eyebags on his face, the way his lips parted slightly as though he wanted to speak but didn’t.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The space between you felt electric, charged with an intensity that made the air in the room seem heavier. Your stomach fluttered—not with the restless movements of your daughter, but with something else. Something thrilling and terrifying all at once.

Slowly, as if drawn by an invisible force, you leaned forward. The fabric of the bed shifted beneath you, and your hand pressed against the mattress for balance as you closed the distance between you. Xavier mirrored your movement, his posture rigid at first but softening as he leaned closer. His eyes never left yours, flickering with emotions you couldn’t quite name but felt in your core.

You could feel the heat radiating from him now, could see the way his chest rose and fell with slightly uneven breaths. The faint scent of him—something clean, with a hint of the woods—filled your senses, making your head spin. Your lips were so close you could almost feel them brush against his, the space between you impossibly narrow.

His hand moved, hesitating for a moment before coming to rest lightly against your jaw. His touch was warm, his thumb barely grazing your skin as though he were afraid you might pull away. The gentle pressure made your breath catch, your eyes fluttering shut as the anticipation built to a dizzying crescendo.

And then the doubt crept in.

Your eyes snapped open, and you pulled back slightly, your chest tightening with the weight of your insecurities. How could you let yourself get lost in this moment when everything about you had changed? You were pregnant. Your body wasn’t the same, marked and reshaped by the life growing inside you and the things you had been through. How could he still want you like this?

“Never mind,” you muttered, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. You started to lean back, but Xavier’s hand moved quickly, capturing your wrist with a firm yet gentle grip.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice low, almost pleading. His thumb brushed over the delicate skin of your wrist as he held you in place, his touch both grounding and electrifying.

His free hand lifted to your cheek, tilting your face back toward him. The way he looked at you made your heart skip—an unguarded, almost raw expression of longing and determination. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. The words trembled with vulnerability, as though he wasn’t certain you’d say yes.

Your lips parted in surprise, your pulse racing as you searched his face for any hint of doubt. There was none. His eyes were locked on yours, unwavering, filled with a quiet intensity that made it impossible to look away.

“You still...want to do that?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Even if I’m like this?”

His brows furrowed slightly, as though he couldn’t understand why you would even question it. “Always,” he said simply, his voice steady and sure.

The sincerity in his tone sent a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you. Your chest ached, your breath hitching as you realized just how much you had missed him—his touch, his presence, the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world.

Slowly, you leaned in again, your movements tentative at first but growing bolder as you closed the distance between you. Xavier met you halfway, his hand still cradling your face as his thumb traced a slow, soothing circle against your cheek.

Your eyes fluttered shut again, and you tilted your head slightly, your lips just a breath away from his. You could feel the faintest brush of his mouth against yours, featherlight and tantalizing, and your heart leapt in anticipation.

And then, a sharp, piercing “CAW!” shattered the moment.

Your eyes flew open, your head snapping toward the window. Outside, silhouetted against the moonlight, was the unmistakable shape of a crow. Its black feathers gleamed in the dim light, and it perched on a gnarled branch just outside the cabin.

“No…” you breathed, the sound barely audible as a chill ran down your spine. The crow let out another sharp cry, its beady eyes fixed on the cabin, unblinking.

“Mephisto...” you said, the name tumbling from your lips in disbelief as you sat up abruptly, your heart racing.

Xavier frowned, his hand still on your wrist as he followed your gaze to the window. “Who’s Mephisto?” he asked, his voice low and cautious.

Your mind raced, a storm of thoughts and memories flooding in all at once. Mephisto wasn’t just a crow. He was Sylus’s crow. A creature bound to him in ways you still couldn’t fully understand, serving as his eyes, his ears, his shadow.

If Mephisto was here, it could only mean one thing.

“We have to go,” you said urgently, your voice trembling. “Now.”

Xavier didn’t question you. His expression hardened, his movements quick and efficient as he rose to his feet and grabbed the car keys. The easy, tender atmosphere of moments ago was gone, replaced by a tension so thick it was suffocating. You couldn't go back. You had just gotten a small taste of true freedom again and he was coming to rip it all away.

As you scrambled to your feet, your hand instinctively went to your belly, your daughter’s frantic movements mirroring the fear coursing through you. You cast one last glance at the window, but the branch was empty now.

Mephisto was gone.

The urgency was palpable as you and Xavier bolted toward the car, your heart hammering against your ribs. The cabin, once a sanctuary, now felt like a trap. Every sound—the snap of a twig, the rustling of leaves—set your nerves on edge, each one magnified by the oppressive darkness surrounding you.

“Come on,” Xavier urged, his voice low but firm as his hand closed around yours, pulling you along the uneven path.

Your swollen belly made it hard to keep up, each step sending a jolt of discomfort through your body. The terrain seemed to conspire against you—rocks and roots threatened to trip you, the soft soil beneath your feet feeling like it was pulling you down. Your breaths came in shallow pants, and your free hand pressed against your abdomen as though to steady the restless movements of your daughter within.

“I…I can’t run like this,” you panted, your voice shaky with fear and exertion.

Xavier slowed immediately, his grip on your hand tightening as he wrapped his other arm around your back to steady you. “I’ve got you,” he said, his voice softening despite the tension etched across his face. He guided you forward, his movements careful yet urgent. “We’re almost there.”

The car came into view, its dark shape barely discernible against the shadows of the forest. Relief surged through you, momentarily easing the tightness in your chest. The two of you reached the vehicle, and Xavier opened the passenger door in one swift motion, helping you inside.

“Lock it,” he said firmly, his blue eyes meeting yours through the glass before he hurried to the driver’s side.

With shaky hands, you reached for the lock, the click of it sliding into place offering a fleeting sense of security. The cabin lights dimmed as Xavier climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car. The engine roared to life, and for a moment, your pounding heart began to slow.

But the moment shattered as the car lurched forward an inch before stopping abruptly, the tires spinning uselessly against the ground. The engine growled in protest, but the vehicle refused to budge.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, your voice trembling as dread crept back in.

Xavier’s brow furrowed as he shifted the car into park and back to drive, trying again. The tires spun helplessly, the grinding sound sending a chill down your spine. He muttered a curse under his breath, slamming the gearshift back into park as the car remained stationary.

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice tense. “Stay here. I’m going to check it out.”

Panic surged through you as he stepped out of the car, the chill of the night air rushing in before he shut the door. You watched as he crouched near the front tire, his movements quick and precise. Every second felt like an eternity as you sat there, clutching your belly protectively, your daughter’s frantic movements adding to your unease.

When Xavier finally returned, the grim set of his jaw sent a fresh wave of fear through you. He climbed back into the driver’s seat and closed the door firmly, exhaling through his nose as he gripped the steering wheel.

“Don’t panic,” he began, though his tone did little to reassure you. He turned to you, his blue eyes steady but shadowed with tension. “The tires are all slashed.”

The blood drained from your face. Your stomach churned as the implications sank in. You didn’t need to ask who had done it; the answer came to you instantly, chilling and absolute. “It was them,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “The twins.”

Xavier’s jaw tightened at your words, his eyes narrowing. “The twins?” he repeated, his voice sharp with concern. “Who are they?”

“Sylus’s henchmen,” you explained quickly, your words tumbling out in a rush. “They’re basically his…his shadows. If Mephisto was here, then they can’t be far behind. They always work together.”

Xavier’s lips pressed into a thin line as his gaze flickered toward the dark forest outside. The air in the car felt suffocating now, thick with the weight of unspoken fears. “So they were watching us this whole time,” he said grimly, his tone more a statement than a question.

You nodded, your hands trembling as they gripped the edge of the seat. “They had to have been. They’re not just criminals—they’re smart. Calculated. If they wanted us stuck here, then—”

“Then this was planned,” Xavier finished, his expression hardening. He rubbed a hand over his face, his fingers briefly tugging at his hair before dropping to his lap. “Damn it.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the reality of the situation pressing down on you. The car was useless now, and the forest outside felt more menacing than ever. Every shadow seemed to shift, every sound amplified as though the trees themselves were conspiring to hide your pursuers.

“What do we do now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The fear in your chest felt suffocating, your breaths shallow and uneven.

Xavier’s gaze snapped back to you, his expression softening slightly. “We’ll figure something out,” he said firmly. “But first, we need to stay calm.”

The sound of a branch snapping in the distance made you flinch, your heart leaping into your throat. Xavier’s head snapped toward the noise, his body tensing as his hand instinctively went to the knife strapped to his belt.

“They’re out there,” you said, your voice trembling. “Aren’t they?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his eyes scanning the darkness outside the window. His posture was rigid, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring. “Maybe,” he admitted finally, his voice low. “But if they wanted to come in guns blazing, they would’ve done it already. They’re waiting.”

“For what?” you asked, though you weren’t sure you wanted to know the answer.

Xavier shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “For us to panic. To make a mistake.” His hand moved to yours, covering it with a gentle but firm grip. “Listen to me. I won’t let them take you and the baby. Do you understand?”

You nodded, though the fear in your chest didn’t subside. Your mind raced, every scenario more terrifying than the last. The car was no longer an option, and the cabin behind you suddenly felt like the least safe place in the world.

Another sound echoed through the forest—a low, distant rustling that sent a fresh wave of terror coursing through you. Xavier’s hand tightened around yours as his gaze snapped back to the window.

“We need to move,” he said, his voice firm. “But not yet. We’ll wait until the timing is right. They’re trying to force us into running blindly. We won’t give them that.”

The seconds stretched into minutes as the two of you sat there, waiting, the oppressive silence broken only by the sound of your unsteady breathing and the faint rustle of leaves outside. Your daughter stirred again, her movements frantic, as if she could sense the danger surrounding you.

You pressed a hand to your belly, whispering a silent promise to her: you would find a way out of this. That neither of you would have to go back.

The forest was quiet, the kind of quiet that thrummed with anticipation. Sylus stood at the edge of the clearing, his sharp eyes fixed on the distant glow of the cabin windows. The cool night air brushed against his face, but it did little to soothe the fire raging beneath his calm exterior. His hands, gloved in soft leather, clenched and relaxed rhythmically as he waited.

Mephisto broke the silence, swooping down from the shadows above and landing neatly on Sylus’s shoulder. The crow’s claws dug lightly into the leather, but Sylus didn’t flinch. Instead, his lips curled into a faint smirk as his mind reached out to the familiar connection, letting the images Mephisto had captured flood his vision.

What he saw made the smirk vanish instantly, replaced by a cold, volatile fury.

There you were—his woman, his fiancé—lying on a bed, your face lit with an expression of vulnerability and longing that twisted something deep in his chest. And then there was Xavier, that thorn in his side, that meddling pest, kneeling beside you. Xavier leaned in close, his face hovering near yours, your breaths mingling in a way that made Sylus’s blood boil.

The calm he had maintained so carefully shattered, his pulse pounding in his ears as the next images unfolded. Xavier’s hand brushed against your cheek, his gaze locked onto yours with a tenderness that made Sylus want to rip him apart. Then, you leaned in, your lips parting slightly as if to meet Xavier halfway.

A sharp intake of breath escaped Sylus as he clenched his jaw tightly. How dare he? How dare that pathetic little knight touch you, try to kiss you, as if you weren't already marked by another man’s seed? His seed. You carried his child and yet Xavier had the audacity to act as though he still had any claim to you? The very thought made Sylus’s hands curl into fists, his nails digging into his palms beneath the leather gloves.

The next moments in Mephisto’s broadcast showed the two of you scrambling to your feet, startled by the crow’s sudden cry. Your panic was clear, your hand instinctively going to your belly. Sylus’s chest tightened at the sight, a twisted mixture of anger and possessiveness flooding his veins. Even in your fear, you looked radiant. Fragile, yes, but his.

A voice crackled in his ear, snapping him back to the present. “Boss,” came the low, gravelly voice of Luke, one of the twins. “Tires have been slashed already. They’re sitting in the car, looking pretty spooked. Let us know when you want us to move in.”

Sylus closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting out a slow exhale. He rolled his shoulders, his jaw tightening as he composed himself. When he opened his eyes again, they were steely, his expression hard yet laced with a faint, unsettling smirk.

“Don’t do anything rash before I get there,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “He’s mine for the kill.”

Luke’s voice came back immediately. “Understood.”

Sylus allowed himself a moment to flip a coin absentmindedly, his mind racing with plans. Every fiber of his being demanded action, demanded that he tear Xavier limb from limb for daring to touch what was his. But he wasn’t a man who acted without precision. No, Xavier would pay, but it would be on Sylus’s terms. And you…you would see that no one could love you the way he did. No one could protect you, provide for you, the way he could.

His gaze flicked toward the cabin again, his expression softening just slightly as he thought of you. You had been his obsession, his guiding star, for far too long. The thought of you with another man—especially one as undeserving as Xavier—was unbearable. It made his blood seethe, his mind cloud with thoughts of retribution. But beneath it all, his love for you burned brighter than his anger.

“She’ll understand,” he murmured to himself, his voice low and reverent. “Once that pest is gone, she’ll see it was always meant to be me.”

Mephisto cawed softly, tilting his head as if to mirror Sylus’s thoughts.

“Let’s move,” he murmured, his voice low and sharp, carrying the weight of his resolve. His fingers brushed over Mephisto’s feathers as his lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile. “It’s time to bring her back where she belongs.”

With one last glance toward the cabin, Sylus turned and disappeared into the shadows. His movements were precise, deliberate, like a predator closing in on its quarry. Tonight, he would end this charade. Xavier’s interference would be silenced for good, and you would finally see—you had always been his.

Sylus materialized in the clearing with a flash of red mist, the energy dissipating into the night as quickly as it had appeared. He stood among the trees, his presence shrouded in shadow, but his vantage point offered a clear view of the car and the unfolding scene. The twins had closed in, their movements deliberate, like wolves circling prey. Xavier, bold as ever, had stepped out of the car, his posture taut with readiness.

Sylus raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. Bold choice, Xavier. He leaned casually against a tree, his arms folded as he watched, curiosity piqued. This could prove entertaining.

“Long time no see, my old friend!” Kieran called out, his voice carrying a mockery that grated against the stillness of the night. He stepped closer, his confident strides deliberate, rife with mischief.

Xavier’s entire body went rigid, his arm snapping out as if on instinct. In a flash of shimmering light, a massive blue sword appeared in his hands, its surface glowing with a brilliance that contrasted sharply against the night. He held it out in front of him, its weight steady in his grip, the tip pointed menacingly at Kieran.

Sylus tilted his head, his smirk widening. So, Dr. Merill wasn’t kidding. The bastard really is working with EVER. His eyes flicked to the weapon in Xavier’s hands, taking in its construction and energy signature. Impressive. But not enough. He chuckled quietly to himself, staying hidden among the shadows.

“Get back if you know what’s good for you,” Xavier warned, his voice low and edged with fury. His glare was sharp enough to cut, but Kieran seemed unfazed.

“Woah, woah, calm down,” Luke interjected, his hands raised in mock surrender as he approached from the other side. “We’re not here for you. Just picking up what belongs to the boss.”

Luke gestured lazily toward the car, his grin widening. “If you just let her go, we’ll all get out of here unscathed. Well,” he added with a shrug, “she will either way. But you know what I mean.”

The tension snapped like a coiled spring as Xavier lunged forward, his blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. Luke narrowly dodged the strike, his reflexes sharp, but not sharp enough to escape unscathed. A thin piece of his hood fluttered to the ground, the fabric severed by the glowing blade. Luke glanced at it, then laughed, the sound rough and full of derision.

“Woah, you actually managed a hit this time!” he said, his demeanor twisting into something darker. “Time to get serious then, eh?”

The fight erupted in a blur of motion.

Xavier pressed the attack, his blade a streak of blue light as it arced through the air. Luke countered, twisting and dodging with practiced ease, his movements fluid as water. Kieran joined the fray, his twin daggers gleaming wickedly as he darted in and out, testing Xavier’s defenses. The two moved in perfect synchronization, their coordination seamless, but Xavier held his ground, his blade a glowing barrier that kept them at bay.

Sylus watched with mild interest, his gaze shifting between the clashing figures. Every strike, every dodge, was a calculated move, and yet…his focus drifted.

His eyes found you in the passenger seat of the car, your face fear stricken and drawn, your hands trembling as they clutched your belly. Even from this distance, he could see the anxiety etched into your features, the way your shoulders shook with barely contained sobs. His chest tightened, a pang of something tender cutting through his fury. Poor thing. Terrified. This isn’t good for your heart-or the baby’s.

How he longed to end this now, to sweep you into his arms and whisk you far away from all of this chaos. To hold you, to remind you that you were his, that you were safe as long as you were in his arms. But it wasn’t the time. Not yet.

A flash of blue light snapped his attention back to the fight. Xavier had unleashed a wave of energy from his blade, the force slamming into the ground and sending a shockwave through the clearing. The twins scattered, their footing faltering for a moment before they regained their composure.

Kieran darted back in, his daggers flashing as he aimed for Xavier’s flank. Xavier pivoted, his sword meeting the strike with a deafening clash of steel. Luke moved in from the other side, his strikes precise and unrelenting. The three danced a deadly rhythm, the clash of their weapons ringing through the night.

And then it happened.

Xavier unleashed another wave of blue energy, this one larger, more unstable. The force of it shattered the window on the passenger side of the car, sending shards of glass raining down. Your scream pierced the air, high and raw, the sound cutting through the chaos like a knife.

Sylus’s composure shattered.

His eyes locked onto the broken window, his breath catching as he saw you huddled inside, your arms wrapped protectively around your belly. Fear radiated from you, palpable even at a distance. The sight made his blood run hot, his fury igniting into something all-consuming.

“Enough,” he growled, the word barely audible over the pounding of his heart.

In a blur of his Evol, Sylus stepped forward, emerging from the shadows with deadly intent. The twins faltered for a moment, sensing his presence before they saw him. Xavier froze, his glowing blade still raised, as Sylus appeared at the edge of the clearing.

“This ends now,” Sylus said, his voice low and sharp, each word dripping with authority. His eyes burned with a mix of fury and possession as they fixed on Xavier. “Step away from her, or I’ll make you regret ever coming near what’s mine.”

The clearing fell into an uneasy silence, the tension crackling like a storm ready to break.

Sylus had entered the fray, and there would be no escape.

"Ah, look, the man of the hour," Xavier said through clenched teeth, his voice laced with venom. But his gaze wasn’t on Sylus. It wasn’t on the twins, who had stepped back to watch the show unfold. No, his focus was entirely on you, huddled in the passenger seat of the car, your body shaking as sobs wracked through you.

Sylus followed his line of sight, his own jaw tightening as he took in the scene. You were crying—crying because of him, because of this idiot who had dragged you into a situation you were never meant to endure. His vision blurred with rage, and his hand clenched at his side, crimson energy crackling around his fingers. How dare he look at you. How dare he make you cry.

Your tears belonged to him and him only.

“Eyes on me, Xavier,” Sylus growled, his voice low and cold. Without waiting for a response, he sent a sharp burst of red energy hurtling toward him.

Xavier moved quickly, throwing himself to the side just as the energy blasted through the space where he had been standing. The ground shook from the impact, a cloud of dirt and debris rising into the air, but Xavier recovered almost immediately, his glowing sword at the ready.

“You missed,” Xavier taunted, though the strain in his voice betrayed his nerves.

Sylus smirked darkly. “Never twice.”

The second wave of crimson energy struck true, slamming into Xavier’s chest and sending him hurtling backward. He crashed into a tree with a sickening thud, the bark splintering under the force. The impact was enough to send a gasp of pain from Xavier, but to Sylus’s annoyance, the man was already on his feet again, the blue glow of his sword flaring brighter.

“Persistent as ever,” Sylus muttered, his tone dripping with disdain. "Should I break the rest of the bones in your body?"

Xavier didn’t waste words. With a determined cry, he lunged forward, his sword slicing through the air with deadly precision. Sylus sidestepped effortlessly, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’re still not enough,” Sylus said, his voice calm, almost bored. He ducked beneath another swing, his movements fluid and precise, like a predator toying with its prey. “Not for me. And certainly not for her.”

The jab hit its mark. Xavier’s face twisted with anger, and he pressed the attack, his strikes coming faster, harder, each one designed to break through Sylus’s seemingly impenetrable defenses. But Sylus was faster. He weaved through the onslaught with practiced ease, his body moving with an unnatural grace that made it seem as though he were barely trying.

“You really thought this would end differently?” Sylus sneered, blocking a particularly aggressive strike with a burst of red energy that sent Xavier staggering back. “After everything you’ve seen, everything you know about me, you still thought you could win?”

“I don’t need to win,” Xavier spat, his chest heaving as he steadied his grip on the sword. “I just need to buy enough time to get her away from you.”

Sylus’s smirk vanished, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Get her away from me?” His voice was low, deadly quiet. “You mean my woman. The mother of my child.” He advanced on Xavier, his crimson energy pulsing with every step. “You think you have any claim to her? That you can just erase the mark I’ve left on her body, her soul?”

Xavier lunged again, this time aiming for Sylus’s side, but Sylus deflected the blow effortlessly, the clash of energy and steel ringing out like thunder. Their fight became a blur of movement—Xavier’s sword glowing brilliantly as it carved through the night air, Sylus’s crimson bursts lighting up the clearing like flashes of lightning.

“You’ve always been a pest, Xavier,” Sylus taunted as he dodged another strike, his tone dripping with mockery. “An irritating, self-righteous thorn in my side. But now?” He parried with a burst of red energy that sent Xavier skidding backward. “Now you’re just embarrassing yourself.”

“Better than being a monster,” Xavier shot back, his voice filled with defiance. “She deserves better than you.”

Sylus laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. “Better than me? Let me make one thing clear—there is no better than me. You’re a cheap imitation of a savior, playing hero while I’ve given her everything. Protection. Security. A future.” His eyes gleamed with malice. “And let’s not forget who put that life inside of her.”

The words struck a nerve. Xavier roared in fury, his blade flaring brighter than ever as he charged forward. Sylus met him head-on, their energies colliding in a dazzling explosion of red and blue energy. The force of the impact sent shockwaves through the clearing, the ground trembling beneath their feet.

The fight reached a fever pitch, each strike more desperate, more vicious than the last. Their breaths came in ragged gasps, their bodies moving on instinct as they sought the final blow. Sylus’s crimson energy swirled around him like a storm, each burst pushing Xavier closer to his limit. But Xavier held his ground, his sword a beacon of determination as it clashed against Sylus’s unrelenting power.

And then, just as they both prepared to strike again, a scream tore through the night.

“Stop! Stop! I love him!”

The sound froze them both in place. Xavier’s sword wavered, the light flickering as his gaze snapped toward the car. Sylus’s red energy dimmed, his breath catching as he turned to face you.

You were standing outside the car now, your body trembling as tears streamed down your face. Your hands were pressed protectively against your belly, your voice cracking with desperation as you continued, “I love him. Please, stop this.”

The clearing fell silent, save for the sound of your sobs. Sylus’s chest tightened as he stared at you, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. Anger, confusion, jealousy—all of it warred with the ache in his chest at the sight of you so distraught.

“She doesn’t mean you,” Xavier said, his voice quiet but filled with a quiet certainty. His sword lowered slightly, but the fire in his eyes remained.

"Please," you sobbed, your voice breaking with raw emotion. "I love him."

Your tear-stricken face was illuminated by the faint glow of the shattered car window, your trembling figure standing between the two men like a fragile barrier. Sylus’s gaze softened for a fraction of a second as he looked at you, his crimson energy dimming completely. For a moment, he seemed to falter, his lips parting as if to speak.

But before he could say a word, you closed the distance between you, your movements shaky yet determined. Your hands rose, cupping his face as your lips pressed against his in a desperate, trembling kiss.

Sylus froze, his entire body stiffening in shock. His hands hovered uncertainly at your sides, his breath catching at the unexpected intimacy. The warmth of your touch, the softness of your lips, overwhelmed him, sending a jolt of emotion coursing through him. Slowly, he began to relax, his arms coming around you tentatively at first, then tightening as if he were afraid to let go.

The world seemed to vanish around you both, the tension of the fight dissolving into nothingness. For a fleeting moment, there was no Xavier, no fight, no fear—just the two of you. Sylus’s eyes fluttered shut, his grip on you firm but reverent, as if he were holding something he had thought lost forever.

When you finally pulled away, your hands lingering against his jaw, Sylus’s eyes opened slowly, searching yours for meaning. His breaths were uneven, his usually sharp features softened by something unguarded, something vulnerable.

But as his gaze shifted, it landed on Xavier.

Xavier stood frozen, his glowing sword lowered but not extinguished, his expression a mask of disbelief. His eyes darted between you and Sylus, the realization of what he had just witnessed spreading across his face like a storm cloud.

Sylus’s lips curved into the faintest smirk, his arms still encircling you as if to stake his claim. But behind the smug satisfaction in his expression was something deeper—a glint of triumph, yes, but also tenderness as his attention returned to you.

For Sylus, this moment was victory enough.

He was going to kill him.

You could see it in Sylus’s relentless movements, the sharp precision of his strikes. Every motion was calculated, each blow aimed to end the fight with finality. You had seen Sylus survive the unimaginable—a gunshot to the heart, wounds that would leave any other man lifeless. He wasn’t just strong; he was unstoppable. And Xavier, despite his determination, was still part human. Mortal. The inevitable loomed before you like a shadow, suffocating and cold.

As you watched them clash, glass crunching beneath their feet and bursts of light illuminating the clearing, you could feel your world spiraling out of control. The thought of Xavier bleeding out, his lifeless body crumpled on the ground while you stood by and did nothing, was unbearable. Your daughter kicked violently within you, as though mirroring the chaos outside. One hand clutched your stomach, trying to soothe her, while the other shook at your side. You had to stop this.

Luke’s voice startled you as he opened the car door. “Miss,” he said, his tone calm and measured, “it’s better if we take you over there. It’s safer.”

His hand reached for your shoulder, firm but not rough, intending to guide you away. The thought of leaving the fight—leaving Xavier—ignited something desperate within you. Without thinking, you jerked away from Luke’s grip, your breath coming in shallow gasps.

“Miss—hey!” Luke called after you as you stumbled out of the car, but you didn’t stop. Your feet carried you forward, your chest heaving as you approached the fight. The chaos of the battle was deafening—the clash of Sylus’s crimson energy colliding with the brilliant blue glow of Xavier’s sword. The two men were locked in a brutal dance, their movements fast and unrelenting, and you knew there was only one way to stop it.

You drew a deep breath, your voice breaking as you screamed, “Stop! Stop! I love him!”

The words seemed to pierce through the clamor, freezing both men mid-strike. Sylus’s crimson Evol dimmed as he turned to look at you, his expression unreadable, while Xavier’s glowing sword lowered slightly, his face contorting with confusion.

Tears streaked down your cheeks as you stumbled closer. “Stop… please don’t hurt him,” you sobbed, your voice cracking. “I love him.”

Their reactions couldn’t have been more different. Sylus’s crimson eyes narrowed, his brows furrowing as though trying to process your words. Xavier, on the other hand, stood frozen, his sword wavering in his hand, the light dimming as his disbelief deepened.

Before Sylus could respond, you closed the distance between you and him, your legs trembling beneath you as you took each step. The weight of what you were about to do crushed you, but there was no other choice. You couldn’t let Xavier die.

You reached up, your hands shaking as you cupped Sylus’s face, and pressed your lips against his.

Sylus froze beneath your touch, his body stiffening in shock. His Evol flickered, dimming entirely as the kiss lingered. Then, slowly, he began to move, his hands coming up to your waist as he leaned into the kiss. His embrace was firm, possessive, pulling you closer as though to confirm what he couldn’t quite believe.

Your stomach churned, your heart splintering into pieces as you allowed it to happen. You didn’t mean it—not any of it—but this was the price you had to pay to keep Xavier alive.

When you finally pulled away, your breath came in ragged gasps, tears streaming down your face. Sylus’s crimson eyes searched yours, his features softening as though he had found something he had been searching for all along. You couldn’t look at him for long. Slowly, reluctantly, you turned toward Xavier.

The sight that met you shattered what was left of your heart.

Xavier stood a few feet away, his sword now lowered completely, the glowing blade extinguished. His chest rose and fell heavily, his breaths uneven as he stared at you. His eyes, usually so strong and full of fire, were wide with disbelief and hurt. A tear slipped down his cheek, catching the faint light, and his lip trembled as he tried—and failed—to speak.

“You’re lying,” he said finally, his voice a strained whisper. His body leaned forward slightly, as though he were about to take a step, but he stopped himself, his fists clenching at his sides. His eyes pleaded with you, searching your face for some sign that this wasn’t real.

You wanted to run to him, to throw your arms around him and tell him the truth. To tell him that it wasn’t real, that it was a lie, that you loved him and only him. But you couldn’t. This was the only way to save him.

“I do,” you said, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. “I do mean it. I love Sylus, Xavier. Please, let’s all just stop this now.”

Xavier flinched as though you’d struck him, his entire body trembling. His lips parted, and for a moment, it seemed like he might argue, might demand the truth. But then you continued, your voice trembling as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks.

“I’ll go back with you,” you said, turning to Sylus, your tone pleading. “Just don’t kill him. Please. I don’t want anyone to die because of me.”

Sylus’s expression softened instantly, the edges of his fury melting away as he reached up to brush your tears from your cheeks. “You don’t have to cry, honey,” he murmured, his voice low and tender. “I won’t.”

He wrapped his arms around you, his hold firm but comforting. His warmth surrounded you, and you felt yourself crumbling inside. You hated his touch, hated the way your body betrayed you by finding even the smallest sense of safety in his embrace. You hated that this was what you had to do to protect Xavier.

Behind you, a broken voice called your name.

You turned, your heart lurching at the sound, and what you saw next almost brought you to your knees.

Xavier’s face was streaked with tears now, his strong shoulders shaking as he tried to hold himself together. His lips quivered, his eyes full of unspeakable pain as he stared at you, the depth of his betrayal etched into every line of his expression. Another tear fell, rolling down his cheek before dripping to the ground.

You wanted to run to him, to fall to your knees and beg him to understand. But all you could do was watch, trapped in Sylus’s arms, as the man you loved shattered before your eyes.

“I did all of this. For you,” Xavier said, his voice breaking under the weight of his emotions. He stood frozen, his shoulders tense, his fists trembling at his sides as he stared at you. His words came slowly, as if each one cost him something. “You left with me. You wanted to kiss me too… in the cabin.” His tone grew quieter, almost disbelieving, as though he couldn’t reconcile what had just happened with what he thought you shared. “Are you saying that was all a lie?”

The air seemed to leave your lungs. Each syllable he spoke cut into you, deep and unrelenting, making it harder to breathe. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer, your heart screaming no, no, no, but your lips refusing to move.

Xavier’s voice cracked again, barely above a whisper. “Tell me. Was it really a lie?”

Your chest tightened, and you felt your knees threaten to buckle. How could you answer? How could you stand there and tell him the truth when Sylus was mere steps away, watching every move, waiting to retaliate at the slightest provocation? The truth would get Xavier killed, and that was something you couldn’t bear.

You wanted to scream the truth at him, to tell him it wasn’t a lie, that everything in the cabin—the kiss you almost shared, the way you trusted him with your fears—was real. But you couldn’t. You had to protect him. The lie sat like poison on your tongue, burning as it fought to escape.

Finally, trembling, you forced the words out, your voice hollow and shaking. “Yes,” you said, barely audible at first, but then louder, steadier, as though repeating the lie could somehow make it more convincing. “I was just mad at Sylus. I’m sorry.”

The words fell like stones between you, heavy and suffocating. You saw the light in Xavier’s eyes dim as though you’d extinguished it yourself. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, his jaw tightening as he fought to process what you’d just said. His gaze locked onto you, his eyes searching desperately for some crack in your resolve, some sign that you didn’t mean it.

But there was nothing you could give him. Your body was frozen, your voice gone, leaving you to stand there in silence as the man you loved broke before you.

Xavier took a step back, his lips parting as though to protest. He looked at you with the same disbelief that had first crossed his face, only now it was mixed with something far more devastating—pain, betrayal, devastation. His voice came again, barely above a whisper. “That wasn’t real to you? Any of it?”

He took another step forward, his hand rising slightly as though he might reach for you, but it faltered in mid-air. “You wanted to kiss me. You stayed with me because you wanted to. Are you saying none of that mattered?”

Your mouth opened, but no sound came. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. Your heart screamed at you to tell the truth, to let him see what you were truly feeling, but your voice wouldn’t obey. Tears welled in your eyes as your silence stretched on.

Xavier’s hands dropped to his sides, clenched into fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He looked as though he wanted to say something more, as if he was still clinging to the hope that you might tell him it was a lie. But before he could, Sylus stepped in front of you, his presence commanding and deliberate.

“You heard the lady,” Sylus said, his voice calm but carrying a dangerous edge. His eyes narrowed as they fixed on Xavier, his lips curling into the faintest smirk. “I’m being merciful because that’s what she wishes.”

Sylus took a step closer, placing himself between you and Xavier completely, his hand brushing against your waist in a possessive gesture that made you flinch. His voice dropped lower, colder, as he added, “But don’t mistake that mercy for weakness. You’d be wise not to test me again.”

Xavier’s eyes snapped to Sylus, blazing with barely contained fury. His body trembled with the effort of holding himself back, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to remain still. But his gaze quickly flicked back to you, the fire in his expression dimming as he took in your tear-streaked face.

“Is this really what you want?” Xavier asked, his voice breaking completely. The question wasn’t for Sylus—it was for you and you alone. His tone was raw, desperate, filled with so much pain that you felt your heart crack under the weight of it.

You wanted to scream no, to tell him this wasn’t what you wanted, that none of this was real. But Sylus’s presence loomed over you, a silent reminder of what was at stake. You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it impossible to speak for a moment.

“Yes,” you whispered, the lie barely audible. But it was enough.

Xavier flinched again as though you’d physically struck him, his entire body sagging under the weight of your words. His eyes glistened, tears slipping free despite his best efforts to hold them back. His lips quivered, his hands shaking as he struggled to find something to hold onto—some reason not to believe what he was hearing.

But there was nothing you could give him that wouldn't put him in more danger.

Another tear slid down Xavier’s cheek as he turned his head away, his shoulders shaking as he struggled to contain the sob that threatened to escape. Without another word, he stepped back into the shadows, the faint glow of the fight long gone.

And just like that, the man you loved disappeared into the night, leaving you behind with a man that had changed everything.

You crumbled to your knees, your sobs breaking through the stillness of the night like jagged shards of glass. The weight of the moment bore down on you, crushing your chest, making it nearly impossible to breathe. The day you’d spent with Xavier flashed before your eyes—the way he’d smiled at you, held you, made you feel human again, even if just for a fleeting moment. For months, you had known nothing but fear and dread, but with him, you’d felt something you thought you’d lost forever: hope.

And now it was gone.

The realization tore through you, raw and unrelenting. Xavier was gone, his pain etched into your memory, and the hollow ache in your chest was unbearable. All hope of being with him, of building a life together, had vanished. You’d given it up. Given him up. You had to, or Sylus would have killed him. Trying to hold onto him, yearning for him, would be his end.

But knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.

You longed to run after him, to throw yourself into his arms one last time, to bury your face in his chest and tell him the truth. You wanted to see his eyes again—those eyes that had looked at you with such unwavering love—just once more. But your body betrayed you, too heavy with despair to move. You collapsed further onto the ground, clutching your stomach as your daughter kicked violently, her tiny movements only adding to the chaos inside you.

“Shhh,” Sylus’s voice sliced through the haze, low and soothing, dripping with false warmth. “Come now, my love. It’s over."

You felt his arms slide beneath you, lifting you effortlessly from the ground as though you weighed nothing. His touch was gentle, yet his strength was undeniable, a reminder of the control he had over you. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, cradling you against his chest as though you were something precious. “You don’t need to cry anymore.”

You flinched at his touch, disgust curling in your stomach, but your body was too drained to resist. Your sobs turned to quiet gasps as he carried you toward his car, his lips brushing your hair in a mockery of tenderness. The scent of him—warm, sharp, and faintly earthy—made your head swim.

“Lets go home,” he murmured into your ear, his voice a soft hum that made your skin crawl.

The twins followed swiftly behind, their movements efficient as they climbed into the driver and passenger seats. You barely registered them. Everything felt distant, muted, like you were drifting underwater. Sylus placed you carefully into the car, fastening the seatbelt over your trembling form before sliding in beside you. His presence was suffocating, his warmth oppressive as he leaned closer, his eyes fixed on you.

“Say it again,” he said suddenly, his voice breaking through the fog in your mind.

You blinked, your tear-streaked face tilting toward him in confusion. “Wh-what?” you stammered, your voice hoarse from crying.

“Say it again,” he repeated, his crimson eyes boring into yours, intense and unyielding. His hands reached for your face, cradling it gently, almost reverently. “Say you love me.”

Your stomach twisted violently, the bile rising in your throat as his words registered. The sheer audacity of the request—no, the demand—made your breath hitch. His gaze was burning, his expression raw with yearning and something darker, more possessive. It wasn’t just a request. It was a need, a hunger that radiated from him like a physical force.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you tried to pull away from his grasp. “I can’t. It was a lie. I don’t love you.”

You braced yourself for his anger, for his retaliation. You’d seen him unleash his fury before, had witnessed the cold, ruthless man he could become. But to your shock, Sylus didn’t lash out. Instead, his lips curved into a small smile, one that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t care,” he said softly, his voice steady, almost amused. “You already chose me. I just want to hear it again.”

Before you could react, his gaze dropped to your lips, and he leaned in, capturing them in a kiss so intense it left you breathless. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that was almost overwhelming, as though he wanted to consume every part of you. His hands tightened on your face, holding you in place, his warmth pressing against you until it felt suffocating.

When he finally pulled away, his lips didn’t linger far, trailing a deliberate, heated path down to your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, each exhale brushing against the sensitive curve of your throat and sending a shiver racing down your spine. His movements were slower now, almost maddeningly so, as though he was savoring every inch of you. His lips pressed lightly, his touch deceptively soft as his presence loomed over you, suffocating and consuming.

“Say it,” he whispered against your skin, the word vibrating through you like an electric current. His tone was lower now, husky, his lips brushing against the delicate pulse point in your neck as he spoke. “Please.”

The word stopped you cold. You froze, your breath catching as his plea registered. Please. Sylus had never said “please” before. The sheer vulnerability in the word felt so alien, so at odds with the man who had destroyed and controlled everything in your life. His dominance was still there, suffocating and unrelenting, but beneath it, you could hear a strange desperation, a yearning that twisted your stomach into knots.

Your body betrayed you, the proximity of him igniting a sensation you couldn’t suppress. The heat of his breath, the faint brush of his lips against your skin, sent an unwelcome tingling sensation spreading through you. It was subtle at first—a faint, involuntary reaction to the closeness, to the warmth—but it grew stronger with every second he lingered, every featherlight graze of his lips against your neck.

Was it desire? Was it longing? Or was it just a physical response you couldn’t control? Whatever it was made you feel sick. Your skin tingled with an unwanted awareness of him, the sensation making you hyperconscious of the way his fingers lightly pressed against your jaw, the way his breath fanned out across your throat.

You hated it. Hated the way your body responded against your will, the way the sensations made it harder to focus, harder to think. Every nerve felt raw, heightened, betraying you in ways that made your chest ache with anger and despair. You wanted to pull away, to scream, to tell him to stop, but your body was frozen, caught between the weight of his presence and the sharp, pulsing awareness of every point of contact between you.

“I won’t,” you finally managed, your voice trembling but resolute. The words came out more as a breathless whisper than the firm refusal you wanted them to be. You turned your head sharply, breaking the connection between his lips and your skin, your tears spilling freely as you struggled to regain control of yourself. “I won’t say it.”

His low chuckle rumbled against you, sending another unwelcome shiver down your spine. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice carrying an infuriating amusement, as though your resistance only intrigued him further. “Have it your way, then sweetie.”

You hated him. Hated the smugness in his voice, the possessiveness in his touch. You hated the life growing inside you—not your daughter, never her—but the circumstances that bound you to Sylus. You hated everything he had taken from you—Xavier, your freedom, your hope.

The ache in your chest grew sharper, hotter, until it felt like your heart was being squeezed by an iron fist, crushing every beat into a strained, painful rhythm. It wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, a maelstrom of grief, despair, and rage all colliding in a storm you couldn’t contain. Your lungs tightened, each breath coming in short, shallow gasps that left you lightheaded. Your hands trembled violently as you clutched at your chest, your nails digging into the fabric of your dress as though you could physically tear the pain away.

Your vision blurred with tears, the edges of the car around you becoming indistinct smudges of darkness. The warmth of Sylus’s presence beside you felt suffocating, his closeness amplifying the weight pressing down on your ribs. You felt as though you were being crushed under the enormity of it all—your betrayal of Xavier, your surrender to Sylus, your complete and utter loss of control over your life.

Your sobs wracked your body, uncontrollable and raw. Each gasp for air was a battle, your chest heaving as if it were trying to force the pain out with every broken breath. Your skin burned, clammy with sweat that made the night air feel colder than it should have.

“It hurts,” you gasped, your voice trembling, barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing. Tears spilled freely down your cheeks, soaking into the collar of your shirt as your body shook. “It hurts so much…”

The ache radiated outward, stabbing through your arms, your neck, your back, until it felt as though your entire body was rebelling against you. Your heart pounded erratically, each beat sending a sharp, searing pain through your chest. Panic flooded your senses, drowning out reason, making it impossible to focus on anything but the relentless, suffocating pain.

Your mind spiraled, disjointed thoughts flashing through the haze of agony. Is this what heartbreak feels like? Is it my heart—my actual heart? Oh God, what if something’s wrong with the baby? The thought sent another wave of fear crashing over you, your hand moving instinctively to your stomach, trembling as you tried to feel some sign of reassurance, some movement that would tell you everything was okay.

But the kicks you’d felt earlier were gone. Or maybe they were there, and you just couldn’t sense them through the overwhelming fog of pain. The uncertainty made your sobs grow louder, more desperate. You tried to call out, but your voice failed, the words catching in your throat as your chest tightened further.

The edges of your vision darkened, your head spinning as though the world itself had tilted off its axis. You could hear Sylus’s voice beside you, sharp and urgent, but the words didn’t register. Everything was slipping away, your senses fading one by one, until all that remained was the unbearable, unrelenting ache in your chest.

Your vision blurred, your body trembling violently as the pain in your chest became unbearable. The edges of the world grew darker, the sounds around you fading to a dull hum.

“Luke, drive faster,” Sylus barked, his voice sharp and commanding. “Kieran, call Dr. Merill. Now!”

The last thing you registered was the sound of tires screeching, Sylus’s arms tightening around you as his voice grew distant. The pain eased into a strange numbness, the darkness swallowing you whole. Then, nothing.

The forest swallowed him whole.

Xavier moved through the dense shadows like a ghost, his steps heavy and unsteady, each one dragging him deeper into the dark. The clearing, the fight, your face—they all faded into the background, but they lingered in his mind like haunting echoes. The cold night air bit at his skin, but he didn’t feel it. The ache in his chest was too overwhelming, too consuming to notice anything else.

His vision blurred, but not from the darkness. Hot tears streamed down his face, dripping onto the ground as his breaths came in short, ragged bursts. He stumbled over a root, catching himself on a nearby tree, his palm scraping against the rough bark. The pain was sharp, but it was nothing compared to the searing agony in his chest. His heart felt as though it had been torn apart, the raw edges twisting with every step.

She chose him. She said she loves him.

The words repeated in his mind, relentless and cruel. They rang louder than the crunch of his boots against the leaves, louder than the faint rustle of the wind through the trees. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as he forced himself to keep moving. But the ache wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t relent, and neither would the tears.

Tears. He hadn’t cried in years. Not really.

As a child, maybe, he had shed a few tears when the world became too big or too frightening to handle. But after that? He had learned to swallow his pain, to bury his emotions deep inside where no one could see them. Tears were for the weak. He had told himself that for so long, believed it so fiercely, that he’d come to think himself immune to them.

But now? Now the dam had broken, and he couldn’t stop. The sobs wracked through his chest, guttural and raw, tearing free from a place so deep he hadn’t even known it existed. You were the only person who could bring him to such a state. He staggered forward, his hand gripping the trunk of a tree to steady himself as the weight of his grief crushed him.

“I love him.”

Your words felt like a knife twisting in his chest, each syllable cutting deeper than the last. He wanted to scream, to curse, to deny it, but all that came out was another broken sob. He slid to his knees, the cold, damp earth biting against his legs as he buried his face in his hands. His shoulders shook with the force of his cries, his breath coming in short, shuddering gasps that left him dizzy.

Why? Why would you say that?

Xavier lifted his head, his tear-streaked face turning upward toward the canopy of trees. His fists clenched, his knuckles white as he pressed them against the ground. “Dammit!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the stillness. “Dammit, dammit, dammit!”

He slammed his fist against the dirt, over and over, each strike a futile attempt to expel the rage and anguish coiled in his chest. But it didn’t help. Nothing helped. The pain was still there, sharp and unrelenting, twisting like a vice around his heart.

“She’s lying,” he muttered, his voice shaking. He sat back on his heels, his hands trembling as they fell to his sides. “She has to be lying.”

But even as he said it, doubt crept in, insidious and cruel. What if you weren't lying? What if you truly had chosen Sylus, had willingly gone back to him? The thought made him sick, his stomach churning as fresh tears blurred his vision.

He clenched his jaw, shaking his head as if to banish the thought. “No,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “No, she wouldn’t…”

But the image of you in Sylus’s arms burned in his mind, seared into his memory like a brand. The way you had looked at Xavier, your tears streaming down your face, your voice trembling with those words—it haunted him. And the way Sylus had held you, his eyes gleaming with triumph, his hand possessively on your waist—it made Xavier’s blood boil.

“She left with me. She…she wanted to kiss me,” he muttered, his voice trembling as he tried to make sense of it all. His thoughts were disjointed, fragments of memory colliding with the present. “That meant something. It had to.”

The tears came harder, the cold, damp earth biting against his skin. He doubled over, his forehead pressing against the dirt as his shoulders shook with silent sobs.

With the weight of her choice crushing him, he couldn’t stop. The sobs wracked through him, raw and uncontrollable, each one tearing free from the depths of his chest.

His thoughts turned to the cabin, to the way you had looked at him, the way your voice had trembled when you told him your fears, the way you had leaned in, so close to kissing him that he could still feel the ghost of your breath. That wasn’t a lie. That wasn’t fake. It couldn’t have been. You had even wanted him to father your baby. It couldn't have been...

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice trembling as he spoke the words into the void. He lifted his head, staring into the darkness as tears streamed down his face. “I love you too, Evia. Though we'll never meet.”

But you both were gone. And Xavier was left alone in the dark, his heart shattered, his tears falling freely for the first time in a long time.

The world came back to you slowly, like waking from a deep, fevered sleep. At first, it was just a faint hum—a low murmur of voices that seemed distant, like they were coming from the other end of a tunnel. Your body felt heavy, almost detached, as though the weight of the world had pinned you down. Each breath was a shallow struggle, your chest rising and falling weakly. When you finally blinked your eyes open, the soft glow of dim lights stung, making you wince. You knew this place immediately. The pristine decor, the faint scent of cedar and leather—it was unmistakable. You were back in Sylus’s house.

The first thing you registered was the cool sensation against your stomach. Turning your head slightly, you saw Dr. Merrill seated beside you, his expression focused as he maneuvered an ultrasound wand over your belly. The sight of it brought a brief flicker of awareness. Your daughter. The rhythmic beeping of a nearby machine was faintly reassuring, though you weren’t entirely sure why. Merrill’s attention was on the monitor, his sharp gaze scanning the screen as he spoke to someone just out of view. His voice was steady, clinical, but you caught the faint undertone of concern in his words.

“Sylus,” Dr. Merrill said, his tone low but firm. “She seems stable, but there’s still a risk of—”

A soft groan slipped from your lips as you shifted slightly, the effort sending a dull ache through your entire body. Both men turned toward you instantly, their conversation halting mid-sentence. You could feel the weight of their gazes, sharp and assessing, as though waiting for a sign that you were truly awake.

“I knew it wouldn’t be long before she awoke,” Dr. Merill said, offering a small, measured smile as he set the wand down on a nearby tray. His voice carried a practiced calm, but there was something calculating behind his eyes, as though he were studying you. “How are you feeling?”

You tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. Your throat felt raw and dry, your tongue heavy in your mouth. The truth was, you felt terrible—your head throbbed, your chest ached, and your entire body felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry. But all you managed was a faint, pitiful whimper. The effort alone left you exhausted, your head sinking back into the pillow.

Sylus was at your side in an instant. His eyes searched your face with an intensity that made your stomach churn, his worry palpable as he brushed a hand across your forehead. His touch was warm, lingering as he frowned. “She’s burning up, Merrill,” he said, his voice tight with concern.

“I’ll get an ice pack,” Dr. Merrill replied briskly, already turning to rummage through his medical bag. His movements were precise, his hands steady as he searched for what he needed.

Sylus didn’t move. His other hand came to rest lightly on your arm, his thumb brushing against your skin in a gesture that was meant to be soothing but only filled you with dread. His gaze never left your face, his expression softening slightly as he leaned closer. “You’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “I’ve got you. Just rest.”

You wanted to turn away from him, to shrink from his touch, but your body felt like it was weighed down by lead. Your mind was too hazy, too heavy with exhaustion and something else you couldn’t quite name. The pain in your chest had lessened, but the ache lingered, a reminder of everything that had brought you here.

Dr. Merrill returned, pressing a cool ice pack against your forehead. The sensation was immediate, cutting through the feverish heat clouding your senses and bringing a small measure of relief. “She’ll be fine,” he said, his tone firm and professional as he looked toward Sylus. “Her Protocore Syndrome flared up—too much stress, combined with her advanced stage of pregnancy. Her heart simply couldn’t keep up.”

Sylus’s jaw tightened, his hand lingering on your arm as his gaze flicked to your belly, then back to Merrill. “And the baby?” he asked, his voice clipped, as though he was bracing himself for the answer.

“The baby’s fine,” Merrill reassured him, gesturing to the monitor. “Strong heartbeat, no signs of distress. But,” he added, his tone growing sterner, “she needs rest. No excessive movement, no stress, nothing that could exacerbate her condition. She’s nearing the end of her term, so I recommend daily walks outside to keep her circulation steady—but only in moderation.”

Sylus nodded curtly, his expression unreadable, though his eyes remained fixed on you. There was a strange mix of emotions in his gaze—possessiveness, concern, something darker you couldn’t quite name. His hand moved to brush your hair back from your face, his touch careful, almost tender, though it made your stomach churn. “I’ll make sure of it,” he said simply, his voice carrying a quiet finality.

You barely registered their words. Your mind was far away, trapped in an endless loop of memories and pain. Xavier’s face was burned into your thoughts, a constant, inescapable image. The way he had looked at you—his heartbreak, his disbelief, the tear that had slipped down his cheek. It replayed over and over, a cruel reminder of what you had done, of the man you had destroyed to save him.

You have to let him go, you thought, the words like a knife in your chest. You have to shove him down, bury him so deep he can never surface again. But the harder you tried, the more his face rose to the surface, vivid and all-consuming.

“She’s disassociating,” Dr. Merrill said softly, his voice breaking through the haze of your thoughts. His perceptive gaze fell on you, his tone calm but laced with subtle concern. “Her body may be recovering, but her mind isn’t. She needs time.”

Sylus’s hand tightened slightly against your arm, his touch grounding but heavy. “She’ll have all the time she needs,” he said firmly, his voice low and protective. “I’ll see to it.”

You turned your head slightly, your eyes meeting his. His expression was resolute, his gaze steady as though daring you to challenge him. But you couldn’t. You simply nodded faintly, closing your eyes as the weight of exhaustion and heartbreak pulled you back under.

And as the darkness crept in, Xavier’s tear-streaked face lingered in your mind, unyielding and inescapable. No matter how deep you tried to bury him, he refused to let go. And somewhere deep inside, you weren’t sure if you wanted him to.

The days blurred together as you spent them confined to Sylus’s bed. It wasn’t confinement in the strict sense—there were no locks on the door, no chains tethering you to the room—but you might as well have been imprisoned. Sylus’s presence loomed constantly, his gaze watching your every move with a vigilance that made your skin crawl. Ever since the scare with your heart, he had taken it upon himself to monitor you closely, doing everything in his power to keep you "comfortable."

He did almost everything for you. Too much, in fact. He brought your meals, adjusted your pillows, even attempted to spoon-feed you once. That particular moment had tested what little patience you had left. You’d snatched the fork from his hand with a sharp glare, refusing to meet his amused smile as he murmured something about how stubborn you were.

But even with Sylus hovering and managing every detail of your physical care, your mind remained your own battleground. Xavier haunted you, his face a constant presence in your thoughts. The ache in your chest didn’t ease—it had simply settled into a dull, persistent throb that you carried with you everywhere. What is he doing? Where did he go? Is he still alive?

No matter how hard you tried to push the questions away, they always returned, stubborn and relentless. The moments when Sylus wasn’t in the room were the worst, the silence amplifying your thoughts until they were deafening. Still, you didn’t cry. You had cried so much over the past several months that the tears felt meaningless now. They hadn’t helped you before, and they wouldn’t help you now. There was no catharsis to be found in them, no solace. It was time to accept your circumstances, even if the acceptance tasted bitter on your tongue.

You had fought. You reminded yourself of that every time the despair threatened to pull you under. You had fought with everything you had, and you had lost. But at least you could tell yourself it wasn’t for nothing. Xavier was alive—somewhere—and that had to mean something. At least your loss had bought him time, bought him freedom. That small, fragile victory was all you had to cling to.

And in the quiet moments, you reminded yourself that things could be worse. Sylus could have been cruel in ways that made your skin crawl just to imagine. He could have beaten you, starved you, locked you away in a cage like an animal. But he didn’t. Not physically, at least. His punishments were subtler, his control over you no less suffocating for its lack of physical violence.

It surprised you, though, that Sylus hadn’t punished you at all for running away with Xavier. You had expected fury, retribution, but instead, he had been calm. Gentle, even. It didn’t make sense, and that unsettled you more than if he’d lashed out. Sylus was unpredictable in ways that made it hard to breathe when you were near him.

Your sadness wasn’t just for yourself anymore. It extended to the tiny life growing inside you, to the daughter who had no say in any of this. She would grow up in a world you couldn’t protect her from, tied to a father you couldn’t shield her from. You hated that you couldn’t give her the life she deserved. You hated that you couldn’t even summon excitement for her arrival, though you tried. Coping was all you could manage—coping and surviving.

Eventually, Sylus allowed you to move around the house, though his watchful gaze followed you even then. One night, you found yourself in the nursery, a room you hadn’t spent much time in until now. The soft glow of a lamp lit the space, casting warm shadows over the pale walls and the carefully arranged furniture. A crib stood in the corner, draped with a delicate mobile of stars and clouds, and shelves lined with toys and books hinted at the life your daughter would one day have.

You sat on a small chair by the window, a basket of freshly laundered baby clothes at your feet. Onesies and tiny socks were scattered across your lap, their pastel colors bright against the dim room. Your hands moved automatically, folding and smoothing each piece as you tried to distract yourself with idle fantasies. What will she look like? What will her voice sound like? Will she laugh easily? Cry often?

You weren’t particularly excited, but in these quiet moments, you allowed yourself to wonder. Even if it hurt, even if you felt like you were building castles in the sand while the tide crept closer.

The sound of a voice startled you, and you jumped, the onesie in your hands slipping to the floor.

“You look peaceful,” Sylus said, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the quiet like a blade.

You turned sharply, your heart racing as you saw him leaning casually against the doorframe, his eyes fixed on you. He didn’t move, but his presence filled the room, oppressive and inescapable.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I was just… folding her clothes,” you said, your voice weaker than you intended.

Sylus’s lips curled into a faint smile as he stepped inside, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking prey. “You’re up later than usual,” he said, his tone almost amused. “I wasn’t sure you’d adjust so quickly.”

Your hands clenched into fists around the fabric in your lap, the forced calm of his words grating against your nerves. You didn’t respond. What was there to say?

Sylus reached your side, his fingers brushing against the chair’s backrest as he loomed over you. “You’ll be an excellent mother,” he said softly, his gaze dropping to your belly. “She’ll be amazing. Just like you.”

His words felt like a vice tightening around your chest, the weight of his expectations pressing down on you. You couldn’t meet his eyes anymore, your gaze dropping to the onesies scattered at your feet as your stomach churned.

“Why are you here?” you asked finally, your voice strained.

Sylus tilted his head, his smile deepening. “Because I wanted to talk,” he said simply. And somehow, that answer felt worse than anything else he could have said.

“What’s there to even talk about?” you asked, your voice subdued but tinged with quiet frustration. You kept your gaze on the tiny clothes in your lap, your hands moving aimlessly as you tried to ignore the weight of Sylus’s presence behind you.

“The penthouses,” he said smoothly, as though the answer should have been obvious. “I wanted to know if you’d made up your mind about which one you’d like to move to.”

You sucked in a breath, the mention of it sending a jolt through you. Of course. How could you forget? A larger prison was waiting for you, dressed up as luxury, right after you gave birth to a child you weren’t even sure you could raise or love properly. The thought sat heavy in your stomach, twisting into an ache that threatened to rise to your throat. But you couldn’t let it show. You couldn’t let him see.

Keeping your voice as even as possible, you replied, “Ah. Sorry, it slipped my mind, love. I’ll take a look at them again in the morning, okay?”

You didn’t turn to look at him, your focus firmly planted on the onesies in your lap. The word “love” felt foreign and bitter on your tongue, but you said it anyway, hoping it would keep the moment from escalating. For a moment, the room was silent except for the soft rustle of fabric.

But Sylus wasn’t the type to be brushed aside so easily.

Sylus leaned down next to your head, until you could feel the heat of him breathing next to your ear. His voice was lower now, more commanding as he said, “Look at me.”

The tone of his words left no room for refusal. Your body tensed instinctively, but you obeyed, turning your head slowly to meet his gaze. His eyes locked onto yours, intense and searching, as though he could see every thought, every secret, every feeling buried deep within you. The weight of his stare made your chest tighten, your breath catching as you waited for him to speak.

He didn’t, not at first. The silence stretched on, thick and oppressive, as he simply studied you, his expression unreadable. Finally, he broke the quiet, his voice softer now but no less penetrating. “Are you doing okay these days? You’ve been very quiet.”

The question threw you off balance. His tone carried an air of genuine concern, but you didn’t trust it. Not fully. How could you possibly be okay with everything that had transpired? With everything you’d endured? You swallowed hard, your throat dry as you struggled to find an answer that wouldn’t tip the balance.

“I honestly…don’t know,” you said finally, your voice faltering. The admission felt dangerous, like exposing a raw nerve, but the words slipped out before you could stop them. “Everything’s happening so soon and yet so fast at the same time. And sometimes…”

You hesitated, unsure if you should continue. The rest of the sentence hung on the tip of your tongue, heavy and uncertain. Sylus tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing as he leaned closer, his expression shifting to one of curiosity. “Sometimes?” he prompted, his voice low and coaxing.

You sucked in a nervous breath, your fingers twisting the fabric of a onesie in your lap. The words felt fragile, as though saying them aloud would make them too real, but the look in his eyes made it clear he wouldn’t let it go. Finally, you forced yourself to speak, your voice trembling as you said, “Sometimes I wonder what things would have been like if we had met…y’know, normally.”

His reaction was immediate. His crimson eyes widened slightly, the flicker of surprise unmistakable. For a man who seemed to pride himself on being unreadable, he wasn’t prepared for your words. He blinked once, his lips parting as though he meant to say something, but no sound came out.

Finally, he exhaled slowly, his expression shifting to something contemplative. “That’s…an interesting thought,” he said, his voice quieter now. He straightened slightly, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he seemed to draw closer, his gaze softening as he studied your face. “I’ve thought about it too.”

The admission sent a ripple through you, unsettling and confusing all at once. The idea that Sylus, the man who had orchestrated so much of your suffering, had entertained thoughts of a different life was difficult to reconcile. “You’ve thought about it?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop yourself.

He nodded, his lips curving into a faint, almost wistful smile. “More than once,” he admitted, his tone quieter, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it. “I wonder…if we’d met under normal circumstances, if I could have shown you the kind of man I wanted to be, instead of the man I had to become.”

The weight of his words settled over you, heavy and unexpected. There was something raw in his tone, something almost regretful, and it left you feeling off-balance. You didn’t know how to respond, so you didn’t. Instead, you looked down, your hands fiddling with the baby clothes as the silence stretched between you.

Sylus let out a soft sigh, stepping closer until he was right beside you. He knelt down, lowering himself to your eye level as his hand reached out to brush against your cheek. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant, as though he was afraid you might flinch. “I know I’ve made your life… difficult,” he said, his voice steady but laced with a rare vulnerability. “But I want to be a better man for you both."

His hand moved to rest lightly on your belly, the gesture both grounding and suffocating. You swallowed hard, your chest tightening as you struggled to process his words.

“Do you hate me?” he asked suddenly, his voice soft but unyielding.

The question hit you like a punch, and your breath caught in your throat. You looked at him, startled by the rawness in his expression. For once, there was no smugness, no calculated charm—just an earnestness that made your heart twist.

“I…” The word stuck, your mind reeling. Did you hate him? You wanted to. You felt like you should. But the emotions tangled inside you were too complex, too messy to pin down. “I don’t know sometimes,” you said finally, your voice barely audible.

Sylus nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. “I can live with that,” he said softly. “As long as there’s a chance for something more.”

He lingered for a moment longer, his hand brushing against yours before he semmed to ponder something. “You don’t have to decide anything about the penthouses, tonight,” he said, his tone returning to its usual steadiness. “Just…think about it.”

But , he didn’t leave. Instead, to your surprise, he leaned beside the basket of baby clothes at your feet, his crimson eyes scanning the scattered onesies and socks as though considering them for the first time. Without a word, he reached for one—a pale yellow onesie with tiny embroidered stars along the collar—and held it up between his fingers.

For a moment, the sight of him holding something so small, so innocent, caught you off guard. It was almost surreal to see Sylus, a man who wielded power with such ease and ruthlessness, gently smoothing out the fabric of a baby’s outfit. His expression softened, and he glanced at you with an almost shy smile.

“These are…smaller than I imagined,” he said quietly, his tone thoughtful. “It’s hard to believe she’ll be wearing this soon.”

You blinked, momentarily disarmed by the gentleness in his voice. “Yeah,” you said softly, your hands stilling on the onesie in your lap. “I guess it’s hard to picture. The size of your hands probably don't help much for comparison though.”

He nodded slightly, his fingers brushing over the fabric before he began folding the onesie carefully, his movements precise but unfamiliar, like someone mimicking an action they’d only ever seen. You watched him silently, unsure of how to process the sight.

When he finished folding, he placed the onesie neatly on the growing pile of clothes and reached for another. “I’ve never done this before,” he admitted, glancing at you briefly. “I’m probably terrible at it.”

A faint, involuntary smile tugged at your lips. “You’re…actually not bad,” you said, your voice softer than you intended.

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly at your words, a faint glimmer of satisfaction in his expression. He picked up a pair of tiny socks next, holding them up with a bemused look. “These are very tiny,” he said, almost to himself. “Will they even fit?”

“They will, at least for a little while” you replied, reaching out to take the socks from him. Your fingers brushed against his briefly, and you pulled back quickly, focusing on folding the socks and setting them aside.

Sylus seemed to notice your reaction but didn’t comment on it. Instead, he continued picking up the clothes one by one, his focus now fully on the task at hand. The silence between you was no longer heavy or strained—it felt almost…normal. The rhythm of folding, smoothing, and stacking clothes became a strange sort of peace, a momentary reprieve from the weight of everything else.

As you worked together, Sylus spoke again, his voice quiet but steady. “I’ve been thinking a lot about her,” he said, his gaze dropping to the clothes in his hands. “What kind of father I’ll be. What kind of life I can give her.”

His words surprised you, and you glanced at him cautiously, unsure of where he was going with this. “And what did you decide?” you asked tentatively.

He paused, his fingers lingering on a pale pink onesie with tiny hearts on the sleeves. “I decided that I want to do better. For her. For you.” His crimson eyes lifted to meet yours, his expression unusually vulnerable. “I know I can’t change the past. But I can change what happens next.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. The sincerity in his voice left you speechless, leaving you struggling to find the right words. Instead, you nodded slightly, your hands moving automatically as you folded another onesie.

Sylus seemed to sense your hesitation, but he didn’t press you. He simply continued folding, the two of you working in quiet companionship. It was a strange moment—so ordinary, yet so weighted by the complexities of your relationship. You didn’t know if you could trust his words, his intentions, but for now, you let yourself focus on the simple, tangible task in front of you.

Because for now, it was all you could manage.

“You’re leaving again?” you asked, your voice edged with disbelief, though you tried to mask it. You watched Sylus move briskly around the room, the scent of his shower lingering in the air—a mix of cedarwood and something faint that seemed uniquely him. Water still clung to the ends of his hair, wet and glistening as he combed it back with quick, practiced strokes. He was buttoning up a crisp red shirt, the tailored fabric clinging perfectly to his broad frame, his every movement purposeful and efficient.

“How long this time?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, your arms folding instinctively over the curve of your belly as you tried to steady yourself. The weight of your pregnancy, both literal and figurative, made his sudden departure feel heavier, more precarious than usual.

Sylus paused, his crimson eyes flicking to meet yours briefly before returning to his task. There was something in his expression—regret, maybe, or something close to it—but his voice was steady when he spoke. “Not long. As much as I hate to leave you, this isn’t something I can ignore.”

The words felt rehearsed, polished, as if he’d already prepared for this conversation in his mind. He moved toward the dresser, fastening a sleek watch around his wrist, the faint metallic click of the clasp echoing in the quiet room. His calmness only unsettled you further.

You shifted uncomfortably, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the curve of your belly as you took in his explanation. “The twins are staying behind to watch you,” he added, his tone matter-of-fact, as if that solved everything. “If anything changes—or your water breaks—they’ll let me know immediately.”

You blinked, absorbing his words. The twins. Of course. They were always his solution when it came to you, a pair of silent shadows who loomed wherever Sylus directed them. It wasn’t exactly reassuring. The thought of those two watching your every move, reporting back to Sylus, made you feel more like a caged bird than ever.

“And this couldn’t wait?” you pressed gently, trying to keep your voice neutral. Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, your heart pounding as you braced for his response.

Sylus turned back toward the mirror, running a hand through his damp hair as he grabbed a small vial of cologne and dabbed it at his neck. The scent mingled with the steam still clinging to the room, rich and sharp. He exuded control, a man preparing for something important. You couldn’t help but wonder where he was going—and why it seemed to demand such attention to detail.

The thought gnawed at you, spiraling into an uncomfortable suspicion. Why does he need to look this good? You didn’t want to voice it, didn’t want to add fuel to the fire, but Sylus must have noticed the flicker of doubt in your expression.

He let out a low chuckle, crossing the room in a few long strides until he stood directly in front of you. “This isn’t to see some other woman,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. His crimson eyes softened slightly as he leaned down to press a swift kiss to your lips. “Calm down.”

Your cheeks flushed, heat rising to your face. “I wasn’t—” you started, but the words died in your throat as Sylus knelt in front of you, his attention shifting entirely.

He placed his hands lightly on either side of your belly, his touch firm but gentle, and leaned in to press a featherlight kiss against the taut skin. The gesture sent a jolt through you, the intimacy of it disarming you entirely.

“Don’t make your mommy too sick while I’m gone, okay, little dove?” he murmured, his voice lower now, carrying a warmth that felt almost too genuine to bear.

Your heart twisted, conflicted by the tenderness of the moment. Sylus had a way of doing this—disarming you, leaving you unsure of where you stood or how to feel. One moment, he was the man who had torn your life apart, and the next, he was murmuring to your unborn child with a warmth that almost seemed genuine.

Your daughter responded with a faint kick, and your hand moved instinctively to the spot. Sylus noticed, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “She’s awake,” he said softly, his hand brushing yours for the briefest moment before he straightened.

You exhaled slowly, trying to steady your racing heart. “Just…don’t be gone too long,” you said finally, your voice quieter now, almost resigned.

Sylus reached for his jacket, sliding it on in one fluid motion. His movements were quick, efficient, but he paused as he grabbed the doorknob, glancing back at you. His gaze lingered, his expression unreadable for a moment before it softened again.

“I won’t be,” he said, his voice steady but not entirely convincing. “And remember—you’re in good hands.” His eyes flicked briefly toward the door, a silent reference to the twins.

You nodded faintly, your hands moving back to your belly as you tried to ground yourself. “Safe,” you murmured under your breath, the word feeling hollow in the air between you.

Without another word, Sylus opened the door, the cool air of the hallway brushing against your skin as he stepped out. The sound of his shoes echoed faintly as he disappeared down the corridor, leaving you standing alone in the quiet room, your thoughts louder than ever.

You let out a shaky breath, sinking back into the chair by the window. The weight of his absence settled over you, but it was quickly replaced by something else—an unease, a gnawing feeling that refused to let go. You didn’t know where Sylus was going, or why it felt like this time was different. But the thought of him leaving so close to your due date filled you with a quiet, gnawing dread.

The twins weren’t so bad. They were entertaining to watch, at least. They were as attentive as Sylus in some regards, albeit a bit clumsy. While Sylus always carried an air of control, the twins sometimes felt like they were figuring things out as they went along. It was endearing, in its own way—though you’d never admit that to their faces.

You often found yourself watching them out of boredom, your days stretching endlessly in the quiet house. They didn’t talk much unless they had to, and when they did, it was usually to argue with each other in low tones. But their constant presence, though stifling, offered a strange sense of consistency in a life that felt increasingly unsteady.

One morning, you found yourself restless. The nursery had already been organized and reorganized, the house was spotless, and you couldn’t stomach the idea of lying in bed another second. You wandered into the kitchen, the idea of cooking something—anything—suddenly appealing. The smell of vegetables sizzling on the stove, the sound of a knife against a cutting board… it was something tangible, something normal. Something that was yours.

But as soon as you began pulling ingredients from the pantry, the twins appeared. Luke leaned casually against the doorway, his features hidden behind his mask as he watched you. “What are you doing?” he asked, his tone skeptical.

“Cooking,” you replied simply, setting a carton of eggs on the counter.

“Cooking,” he repeated, tilting his head. “You sure you don’t want us to just order something? Less dangerous that way.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling a few vegetables from the fridge. “I’m sure. And if you’re going to hover, you might as well help.”

Luke laughed softly, shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s in my job description.”

Kieran, who had been silent until now, stepped forward, his head shifting between you and the array of ingredients on the counter. “What are you making?” he asked, his voice calm.

“Stir-fry,” you replied, grabbing a knife and starting to chop. “Nothing fancy.”

Kieran nodded, moving to the sink to wash his hands. Luke, on the other hand, stayed planted in the doorway, watching with mild amusement.

“You’re actually helping?” Luke asked, incredulous.

“She shouldn’t be standing this long,” Kieran replied simply, taking a carrot from the counter and slicing it with precise, mechanical movements.

“I’m right here, you know,” you muttered, shooting him a glance.

Luke chuckled, finally stepping into the kitchen. “Fine. But if I burn something, it’s on you.”

The three of you worked in an awkward sort of harmony—Kieran slicing vegetables with military precision, Luke fumbling with the stove controls, and you guiding them both with a mix of amusement and exasperation. Despite Luke’s earlier protests, he eventually started to take the task seriously, though his grumbling never entirely ceased.

When the food was finally done, you all sat at the kitchen table, the tension between you lightened by the mundane simplicity of the moment. For the first time in days, you felt a flicker of normalcy.

That sense of normalcy didn’t last long.

It was the middle of the night when you woke to a sharp, tightening pain low in your belly. You gasped, your hand flying to your stomach as panic set in. Was this it? Was she coming early? The room felt too warm, too quiet, and you called out instinctively.

“Luke? Kieran?”

The door flew open almost immediately, Kieran stepping inside first with his usual calm intensity. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his head scanning you quickly, assessing the situation.

Luke appeared behind him, looking far less composed. “Is it the baby?” he asked, his voice tight.

“I-I don’t know,” you stammered, your heart racing. “It hurt. I think… I think it’s starting.”

Luke grabbed his phone, muttering something about calling Sylus, while Kieran moved closer, crouching beside the bed. “Breathe,” he instructed, his tone steady but not unkind. “Tell me exactly what you’re feeling.”

You tried to describe the sensations, your words tumbling over each other as another wave of discomfort rolled through you. But just as quickly as it had started, the pain subsided, leaving you feeling exhausted and embarrassed.

“I don’t think it’s labor,” you said finally, your voice shaky. “Just… Braxton Hicks, maybe?”

“Braxton what?” Luke asked, still clutching his phone like a lifeline.

“False contractions,” Kieran supplied, his attention still on you. “It’s common.”

Luke groaned, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “I was scared shitless that I was about to deliver a baby” he muttered, though his voice carried more relief than frustration.

Despite the scare, you managed a faint smile. It was almost comical, seeing these two hardened boys thrown off balance by something so mundane.

The next day brought more excitement, though of an entirely different kind.

You were sitting in the living room when the house alarm blared, its piercing wail sending your heart racing. The twins appeared almost immediately, Kieran with a knife in hand and Luke wielding a gun.

“Stay here,” Kieran said sharply, his voice leaving no room for argument.

You nodded, clutching your belly as you watched them disappear down the hallway. Your mind raced with possibilities—an intruder, an attack, something that Sylus would undoubtedly be worried about. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours before the twins returned.

Kieran was carrying something in his arms—a small, scruffy cat. Its fur was matted, its eyes wide and curious as it squirmed in his grip.

“Seriously?” Luke muttered, silencing the alarm. “A damn cat?”

“It tripped the door sensor,” Kieran said evenly, though his grip on the animal suggested he wasn’t thrilled about the situation either.

You blinked at the sight, the absurdity of it cutting through your lingering fear. “So…no intruder?”

“Unless you count this thing,” Luke replied, gesturing at the cat.

Despite yourself, you laughed softly. “What are you going to do with it?”

Kieran looked down at the cat, then at you. “What do you want to do with it?”

For a moment, you considered keeping it. The idea of a companion, even a scruffy stray, was tempting. But the reality of your situation hit quickly, and you shook your head. “Let it go. It’s probably just lost.”

Kieran nodded, carrying the cat to the door and setting it outside. As he returned, Luke clapped his hands. “Well, that was the most excitement we’ve had all week.”

For once, you couldn’t disagree.

A week had passed, and the weight of your thoughts seemed to get heavier with each passing day. Sylus’s absence felt more oppressive than ever. Though he checked in regularly, his vague answers only left you with more questions. You could tell he wasn’t being completely honest with you, but there was little you could do about it. The twins were always around, their watchful eyes following you from a distance. It wasn’t comforting, but it was better than being completely alone.

You did your best to keep yourself occupied—books, music, TV, whatever you could to keep the crushing weight of your thoughts at bay. The daily walks outside helped too, though even those were becoming more difficult. Your belly was undeniably huge, the weight making even the simplest movements feel like monumental tasks. At 36 weeks, you were well into your ninth month, and the pressure on your body was relentless.

You had to grip Kieran or Luke’s shoulders sometimes to keep your balance, and even then, it felt like you might topple over at any moment. You could only mutter to yourself, “Just a few more weeks…” as you breathed in the cool air of the N109 Zone. The breeze hit your face, refreshing but fleeting, before it was replaced with the growing ache in your lower back.

Luke and Kieran were chatting behind you, laughing softly over some trivial conversation, both of them sipping cans of soda. It was funny they had to life their masks to do so. You didn’t want to slow them down, so you walked ahead, trying to ignore the heaviness in your belly and the increasing tightness in your abdomen. But just as you were about to wave them off, a sharp, searing pain shot through your lower stomach. Another Braxton Hicks contraction.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as your hand instinctively moved to your belly. The pain passed quickly, but the sensation left your heart racing. You turned to stop the twins but before you could get the words out, Luke collided into you from behind. The impact caused him to spill his entire can of soda all over the front of your shirt, a cold, sticky mess.

“Ah! Miss! I’m so, so sorry!” Luke’s voice cracked in panic, genuine shock evident in his movements. “I—uh, I didn’t mean to—”

Before you could respond, Luke’s hands were frantically pulling his coat off. “Here! Take it!” he said, draping it hastily over your shoulders in an attempt to hide your bra. “I—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

You sighed, your voice strained but calm. “It’s alright, Luke. It was an accident. But I’d really appreciate a towel…I don’t feel like going all the way back into the house.”

“Yes, ma’am! Right away!” Luke practically sprinted back to the house, leaving Kieran standing behind you.

Kieran’s sharp gaze lingered on you, his expression unreadable as he watched you shift, trying to keep your composure despite the discomfort. “Are you okay?” he asked, his tone cautious but steady.

You nodded slowly, leaning against the statue in front of the house for support. “I’m fine. Just…a little uncomfortable. Nothing to worry about.”

Kieran didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he said nothing, hovering near you as if he was nervous. You absentmindedly slid your hand into the pocket of Luke’s coat, the fabric thick and warm against your cold skin. Your fingers brushed against something cold and metallic, and a strange jolt ran through you.

Wait. Is that...?

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. The shape was unmistakable, the hard, smooth surface of a handgun. Slowly, your fingers curled around its grip, the coolness of the metal biting into your skin as you pulled it out. The weapon was compact but weighty, its matte black finish glimmering as you turned it. The barrel was short and blunt, the kind of design meant for concealment and close quarters. It felt foreign in your hands, the ridges of the grip pressing into your palm like a warning.

The safety was off. You saw the small red dot near the trigger, glaring at you like a silent alarm, and the realization sent your heart into overdrive. This wasn’t a precautionary tool; it was ready to fire, lethal and unforgiving. A faint scratch along the slide spoke to use, the weapon far from pristine but well-maintained—a stark contrast to your trembling, inexperienced hands.

Your pulse spiked as you stared at it, your breath quickening. A faint smell of oil and metal clung to the gun, sharp and distinct, mingling with the earthy scent of the dirt around you. The weight of it felt heavier with every second, its presence as real and pressing as the danger it represented.

What the hell?

“Miss, put that down,” he said, his tone colder, sharper than you’d ever heard it before. His body immediately stiffened, his hands rising slowly in a placating gesture. His usually calm demeanor was replaced with something taut and tense, his gaze seemingly locked onto the weapon with unflinching precision.

“You don’t want to do this,” he added, his voice steady but carrying a note of urgency, as though he were trying to reason with a cornered animal.

But his words barely registered. The gun felt like a live wire in your hands, humming with possibilities both terrifying and exhilarating. For the first time in what felt like forever, you had control—real control—and the realization sent a jolt of adrenaline through your veins.

Your hand shook, but you held the weapon steady, pointing it directly at Kieran’s chest. “Stay back,” you warned, your voice trembling with raw fear. But there was something else in your chest—something fiercer, something that burned like a fire. This was your only chance.

Kieran’s expression hardened, his hands still raised, but his eyes flickered with hesitation. “Miss, please, don’t—”

“Shut up!” you screamed, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. You could feel the blood rushing in your ears, the adrenaline fueling every shaky breath you took. The gun felt heavy in your hands, but it was also the only thing that offered you control—control over this situation, over your own fate. “Move any closer and I’ll shoot.”

Kieran froze, his body clenched, clearly unsure of what to do. He took a small step back, his head darting between you and the weapon.

You heard footsteps approaching quickly, and you didn’t need to look to know that Luke was back with the towel. He entered the yard, his demeanor shifting to shock as he saw you holding the gun, pointing it at Kieran.

“Shit…Miss, just put it down. No one has to get hurt.” Luke’s voice was strained, full of disbelief as he held up his hands in surrender. “Please. Just…put it down.”

“I said stop!” you yelled, swinging the gun between the two of them. They both froze for a moment, their gazes locked on the trembling barrel, but then Luke gave a slight nod to Kieran. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

You watched, heart pounding, as they began moving again—slowly, cautiously, closing the distance between you step by step. “Stop! Stop moving!” you screamed, your voice growing more frantic, but they didn’t listen.

They won’t stop. They’re not afraid of you.

Panic surged in your chest as your mind raced. Think. Think. If the threat isn’t towards them…

Your breath caught as the realization hit you like a lightning bolt. But if it’s towards me and the baby…

Your hands trembled as you turned the gun, the cold barrel pressing against your temple. The metal felt like ice against your skin, grounding you in the chaos of the moment. The twins froze instantly, their expressions shifting from caution to shock.

“Move any closer, and I’ll shoot,” you said, your voice trembling but firm. The fear in their eyes mirrored your own, their hesitation palpable as they exchanged a quick, uncertain glance.

“Miss,” Luke began, his voice low and steady, though it wavered slightly, “I understand you’re upset, but this is no way to—”

“Shut up!” you screamed, your finger brushing the trigger. Your heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst, each beat echoing in your ears. “Don’t try to talk me down. Just move out of my way!”

For the first time, they stopped. Completely. The tension in the air was suffocating, their eyes glued to you as though you were a fragile bomb about to go off. And maybe you were.

This was your one chance, and you weren’t going to waste it. “Move,” you repeated, your voice shaking with desperation. “Move, or I swear I'll blow my brains right here.”

“Miss…the baby,” Luke began, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Think of the baby. She deserves a chance to live at least, right? Just a few more weeks, maybe we can try and talk to Sylu—”

Before he could finish, you raised the gun and fired two sharp, deafening shots into the air. The sound shattered the quiet, echoing through the trees and startling birds into flight. Both twins flinched, their gazes snapping back to you with widened eyes.

“Out of the fucking way, Luke!” you shouted, your voice hoarse but unyielding. “I won’t ask again!”

Your hands trembled as you leveled the gun back toward your own head, the adrenaline pumping through your veins making your vision sharpen, your focus narrowing to the two figures in front of you. The raw power in your voice surprised even you, but you didn’t let yourself falter. Not now.

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The wind stilled, the trees silent, as if the earth itself was waiting to see what would happen next. Luke and Kieran exchanged a quick glance, their expressions unreadable but tense. It was Kieran who moved first, his hands still raised as he took a deliberate step to the side. Luke followed, his shoulders slumping slightly in defeat.

You didn’t wait to see if it was a trick. The second the path cleared, you bolted. Freedom felt so close you could taste it, and nothing—not the twins, not Sylus, not the aching weight of your belly—was going to stop you.

You dodged past them, your movements unsteady but fueled by sheer determination. The gun felt like an anchor in your hands, but you kept it close, your finger hovering over the trigger just in case. Each step felt like a small victory as you made your way toward the front gate.

“Miss, don’t—” Luke started to call after you, but his voice faded into the background, drowned out by the pounding of your heart.

The front gate loomed ahead, its black iron bars glinting in the sunlight. You reached it, your hands fumbling with the latch before swinging it open with a force you didn’t know you had. The hinges groaned in protest, but the gate gave way, and you stumbled forward onto the gravel road beyond.

Keep moving. The thought roared in your mind, drowning out everything else. You needed to find a car, something fast, something that could put as much distance between you and this nightmare as possible.

Your breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, your chest heaving as you pressed on. You didn’t even feel the strain of your belly anymore, the adrenaline numbing everything but your will to escape. The gravel crunched beneath your feet, each step carrying you farther and farther away.

The reality of your situation gnawed at the edges of your mind, but you shoved it aside. The twins would already be calling Sylus, alerting him to your escape. You had no illusions about how quickly he’d come after you. But for now, for this fleeting moment, you were free. The chains that had bound you—physically, emotionally, mentally—were broken, and the rush of it was almost overwhelming.

You glanced over your shoulder as you reached the end of the drive, half-expecting to see Kieran or Luke chasing after you. But they hadn’t moved from their spot by the gate, their figures still as statues as they watched you go. It was almost unnerving, the way they stood there, as though they were waiting for something.

But you didn’t have time to wonder what. You turned your gaze back to the road ahead, your mind racing with plans and possibilities. Get a car. Cover as much ground as possible. Don’t let this be like last time.

The thought burned in your mind like a mantra as you pushed forward into the eternal night once more, the taste of freedom bitter but intoxicating on your tongue. Whatever happened next, at least for this moment, you were free.

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