#Waking in the Dark by Only the Poets | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dollgxtz · 5 months ago

Text

His Watchful Eye Pt. 5

Word Count: 11.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How could you have been so naive?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I promised them a girl.”

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

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

Promised them a girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"By who?" he demands harshly.

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

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

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

The metal handle of the hatch begins to turn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were going to harvest your organs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You trusted him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thought what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was time to accept this.

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

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

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

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

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

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of tearing plastic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The seconds stretch unbearably long.

But the pain never comes.

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

"Is that anyway to talk to a lady?"

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

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

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

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

Then you see him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mephisto.

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

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

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

He knew. He always knew where you were.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look at him, your voice cold and unwavering.

“Go to hell, Reese.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#umi writes ♡︎#love and deepspace #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace smut #sylus #sylus x reader smut #l&ds smut #lads #love and deepspace x reader #love and deep space x reader #loveanddeepspace #lnds #l&ds #love and deep space smut #lads smut #love and deep space sylus #l

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satoruhour · 2 years ago

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UNDERCUT

a/n: based off a tweet that said gojo would purr if u touched his undercut. listened to peace piece while writing ✶

there is something about lying on sheets that match gojo satoru’s hair, while the gentle breeze of the autumn morning filters through your blinds. there are both birds singing in the trees and butterflies in your stomach from merely having your lover close to you; it’s second nature to wake up and crave his warmth.

undercut’s getting long. we’d have to trim it soon.

and when your silence and thoughts are interrupted by someone’s morning groans and hums from the glare of the tokyo sky, a smile naturally graces your lips. even now, your hand hasn’t stopped brushing through his locks.

“good morning, my love,” the expression he gives matches yours exactly: his chest immediately feels tight when he sees you, morning breath and all, he gets giddy and tingly and wants to kiss you all over. you’re wondering why he hasn’t done it yet.

slow like the morning, slow like these words, satoru props himself up with his elbows, easily reaching for your face before you both sink into a gentle, slow kiss. it’s so sweet that you’re sure it could turn (faux) insult into ardour and you don’t even notice you need air until the both of you break away and giggle softly at your flushed faces.

“your undercut is growing fast, y’know. we’d have to cut it soon,” the tips of your fingers run over the short strands of hair subconsciously, mouth gaping open a little when satoru closes his eyes and hums at the feeling.

“do it again.”

you laugh, “okay,” and you do, softly guiding your hands over the fuzzy hairs and gaining content sighs and soft moans from the man. gojo has to hide in your stomach, needing to be closer to you as you continue your hypnotising gesture.

“like it when your hair’s touched, huh?” the other hums yet again.

“only when my baby’s doing it.” there’s a ghost of a smile in your stomach, possibly from hearing the flutters of the butterflies in your tummy.

his embrace tightens around you when he sits up, towering over you now as the sky turns dark for a morning shower. fickle-minded weather, satoru would say, click his tongue and shake his head and you grin harder imagining it; your lovers asks why.

“nothing, just thinking.”

“of me? you better be, darling,” gojo thumbs your waist under the shirt you’re wearing, sleep still evident in his voice in the way he slurs his words — it could also be that he’s terribly, deeply in love with you and is simply high off of your presence.

and if that wasn’t the case before, it is now when he leans in again for a rougher kiss, moaning into your mouth as you continue to stroke his undercut. he can taste the sun on your mouth and the imminent rain to come all on you.

“i love you like how poets write,” satoru whispers against your lips in between kisses, and he runs hot, the back of his neck heating up from how much he adores you; it almost burns like flames licking at paper. “how the rain chases the sun.”

gojo tears a little because how the fuck would he have gotten this much love under the home of one of the most powerful clans? essentially nothing — and now he has the closest resemblance of a deity in his arms who knows exactly how many spoons of sugar he likes in his tea and how kikufuku is made from one of his rambles.

“you’re okay, i got you.” you mumble, fingers prepared at his eyes (you heard him sniffle). “i love you too.”

gojo’s heart is full when you reply to his confession, kissing you again (favourite thing in the world) and stifling smiles as the rain makes its first fall in the serenity of your room. he thinks of declaring his love, but is certain his love would overflow later at breakfast, at reading hour, at movie night.

satoru merely settles for calling you his sweet, sweet girl in between saccharine pecks and making sure he loves you louder than that morning downfall and every other downpour that’s sure to come.

if you know me i think you’ll know i have a problem with this gojo obsession

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countingdots-tc · 1 year ago

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TEACHER/STUDENT BOOK RECS

*if you want me to add a forbidden romance list, let me know*

𓃠 This is a list with hyperlinks to books that have teacher/student, age gap, and experienced/less experienced themes that I have read! These are in order from most recommended to least recommended based on my opinion.

𓃠 This will be updated as I read more! Think something should be added to the list? then let me know!

𓃠 Happy reading!

⭐️= highly recommend/changed my life

😇= no smut

🌶️=contains smut

💦=read to really get your rocks off

highlighted=warning

PROFESSOR/COACH BOOK LIST

The Unrequited by Saffron A. Kent-⭐️😇

ProfessorxStudent & mental health themes

Cute little poet embarrassingly falls for her grumpy professor. Beautiful slow burn and perfectly describes what it feels like to want someone and not feel enough for them. She is such a realistic female lead and reminds me a lot of y’all 😂. This is THE teacher crush community book. If you don’t read anything, read this!!

The Professor by Invi Wright-⭐️🌶️

ProfessorxStudent

Cute romance by young, new, and self published author. Very relatable female lead. If you enjoyed The Unrequited, you will like this book for all of the same reasons. Quick and easy read, only 240. She isn’t perfect, she’s clumsy, and I wouldn’t even say she’s socially awkward, she’s just a normal college student in her early 20s. She’s a fun narrator. This author has a lot of potential and her writing will only get better.

Gabriel’s Inferno by Slyvain Reynard-⭐️😇

ProfessorxStudent

Such a good dark academia book. Beautifully written and actually has a movie adaptation. I would definitely recommend this if you want a realistic couple but a bit more serious. Characters have so much depth

Off Balance Series by Lucia Franco- 💦

CoachxStudent

Warning: female lead is age of consent NOT legal age.

If you want something really forbidden and fucked up, read this. If you want the MOST insane sex scenes, read this (MINORS STOP). I really don’t even want to add this series to this list but for the girls who wanna go there, have fun. I started this when I was still in high school, read the 3rd one as an adult, it’s not as easy to read now. Take that info as you please. With that being said, it’s one of the best writing and plots I’ve ever read. Lucia Franco’s other work is 😍

The Professor by Skye Warren-🌶️

ProfessorxStudent

Also an ex-boyfriend’s dad book! This book was amazing! Read it in a day and immediately pre ordered the second. The plot twist in this book made me throw my phone! Narrator/FMC is a bit less relatable for me. Has a secret society plot! Potentially brooding Professor

The 4th Degree by Nikki Castle- 💦

MMA CoachxStudent

Warning: parent death & parent w/ chronic illness

Coach is so broody but has a big heart, he just doesn’t like to show it. FMC has so much depth and is really mature for a 19 y.o. Coach is a quiet character with a dirty mouth. Doesn’t talk much but when he does??? The tension between them is chefs kiss. Not too much a a slow burn. “Will they, won’t they, will they, won’t they” vibes.

Lessons In Sin by Pam Goodwin-🌶️

TeacherxStudent with 18 Y.O female lead

Troubled rich girl gets sent off to a catholic boarding school and falls for the asshole Dean of the school. Smut is pretty good, plot works. I’m not going to say it’s bad, I think whether or not it’s enjoyable depends on the person. It wasn’t bad, I just wasn’t obsessed. If you’re just trying to live vicariously through her (aren’t we all), then it works!

Teach Me by L. L. Ash-🌶️

ProfessorxStudent

Really good start, and I do mean GREAT start… I just feel like the sex scene came too soon (Ch. 9/32) and it threw me off but I also like SUPER slow burns. It’s still a good book. I enjoyed the male love interest, Professor Harlo. They’re cute together. Grump and Sunshine.

Waking Olivia by Elizabeth O’Roark

CoachxCollege Athlete & mental health themes

Great concept! Rare that you see two moody & broody MCs… not my favorite execution of it. It’s not so bad that i think it’s objectively bad. I could see where someone else likes it. But I don’t. Why are they grumpily ogling each others bodies by the 3rd chapter? If you just need ur fix, it works. Has potential

Dark Notes by Pam Goodwin-

TeacherxStudent & themes of abuse

Probably DNF-ing

AGE GAP BOOK LIST

Something In The Way Series by Jessica Hawkins-⭐️😇

Sister’s Boyfriend/Husband & “I saw him first”

Most beautiful romance series I’ve ever read, best written books by Jessica Hawkins. I recommend all of her other books. Lake is 16 when she first meets Manning but nothing sexual happens between them for another 3 books until she’s in her 20s. Beautiful slow burn with characters full of depth.

Sinner by Sierra Simone- ⭐️💦

Brother’s Best Friend & religious themes

Amazing character creation and mapping. These characters feel real! This book is about “teaching” a girl about sex before she becomes a nun. It’s not just a bang bang, hump hump book. It has heart and it really good. If you enjoy religious themed romance, you may enjoy Priest by Sierra Simone too. I didn’t 💀

Birthday Girl by Penelope Douglas- 💦

Ex’s Dad

Most popular forbidden romance so whatever you’ve heard about it, dump it. This might be the most tame book on this list. Pacing is good, well written main character. Insane amounts of smut but it doesn’t drive the story forward so feel free to skip it if you get tired.

Love Unexpected by Q. B. Tyler- 💦

Ex Stepdad & parent death

This book is HOT! However after the first few scenes, I got a bit tired of the smut. Well written enough female lead with a rushed ending. However if you just need something to read and not despise it, it’s good enough.

Strictly Off Limits by Jessica Hawkins-🌶️

Dad’s Best Friend

Jessica is my favorite author so I’m a bit biased but she definitely isn’t a smut writer. This novella would’ve been better without smut however it isn’t super present and doesn’t really drive the story forward so don’t feel like you’re missing anything if you skip the smut!

The Doctor by Nikki Sloane- 💦

Ex’s Dad

personally didn’t care for this book, smut starts off way too quick and I’m more of a slow burn girl. It is a novella yet, it was still too quick. However! You may love it <3

𓃠 If I’m not reading fast enough for you and you want to see what I will be reading in the future here is my Amazon TBR, have at it!

𓃠 If you want to see a more organized bookshelf of what I’ve read, here is my Goodreads!

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speaknow-sw · 1 month ago

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THE POET AND THE ROSE

Content : mdni, smut, pussy eating, PiV.

A/N : erm…8.2k words guys ??? Is this too long ? Idk but this chapter is very Shakespearean I reckon…anyway here’s your smut @anisangeldust try not to cheer too loud, you’re gonna wake the kids up.

꧁ Chapter 4 : Letters in the Dark ꧂

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

The ink whispers secrets the tongue cannot bare,

A fragile bridge between despair and care.

In shadows, hearts awaken to yearn,

Letters ignite what words cannot discern.

The mist clung to the rolling hills, softening the edges of the battlefield that had been marked by blood and valor. Anakin Skywalker stood at the crest of a hill, his dark cloak brushing against his boots, a sharp contrast to the pale light of dawn. The air was still, thick with the aftermath of war and the unspoken tension of what was to come. He waited, hands resting loosely on his belt, his sharp gaze scanning the horizon.

A lone figure emerged from the fog, his steps deliberate and his broad frame unmistakable. William Wallace, the Guardian of Scotland, approached with the bearing of a man who carried the weight of his people’s dreams on his shoulders. He wore no armor, only a simple cloak, the fabric frayed but dignified. His weathered face bore the scars of countless battles, his blue eyes sharp and unyielding.

When they met, there were no guards, no banners, no intermediaries—only two men who had come to speak plainly in the fragile quiet of dawn.

"You came alone," Wallace said, his voice rough but not unfriendly.

"As did you," Anakin replied. "It’s the least we could do, given the blood that’s already been spilled."

Wallace nodded, his gaze sweeping the hills. "Aye, too much blood. And for what? Kings with greed in their hearts and chains for their people."

Anakin’s jaw tightened. "I didn’t come here to defend my king, nor to apologize for the crown I serve. But I agree—wars are seldom fought for noble reasons, even when noble men die in them."

Wallace turned to face him fully, his towering presence unyielding but calm. "Then why do you fight, Skywalker? You’re no tyrant’s lapdog—I can see that much. So why march under his banner?"

Anakin hesitated, the weight of the question settling on him. His hand brushed against the hilt of his sword, not out of threat but as if seeking an anchor. "I fight for the men who follow me. For the farmers turned soldiers who trust me to bring them home. For the people who want nothing more than to live without fear."

"And yet, you march into Scotland, where those same people bleed for their land," Wallace countered, his voice steady but laced with quiet fury. "Do you see the irony in that, General?"

Anakin met his gaze, unflinching. "I do. But if I laid down my sword, another would take my place—one who cares nothing for mercy or reason. At least I can temper the madness."

Wallace studied him for a long moment, the silence between them heavy with understanding. "You’re a good man caught in a bad war," he said finally. "But no amount of tempering will change the truth—Scotland will never bow to England. We’ll fight until there’s nothing left of us, because freedom is worth more than our lives."

Anakin’s voice softened, a trace of respect in his tone. "You fight for freedom. I fight for peace. And yet, here we are, enemies on the same field."

"A cruel jest by the gods," Wallace said with a bitter chuckle.

They stood in silence for a moment, two warriors bound by the same honor, the same burden of leading men into battle.

"Do you ever wonder," Anakin said quietly, "if all of this will be remembered? If the men who die for us, the families torn apart—if any of it will matter in the end?"

Wallace’s expression hardened, but his voice was tinged with sorrow. "Aye, I wonder. But I’d rather die fighting for something than live on my knees for nothing."

Anakin nodded slowly, his respect for the man before him deepening. "I wish we’d met under different circumstances, Wallace. Perhaps in another life, we’d have fought side by side instead of against each other."

Wallace smiled faintly, the expression fleeting but genuine. "Aye, perhaps. But in this life, we fight. And if I fall, I’ll fall knowing I stood for what mattered."

The sun began to rise, its light breaking through the mist and casting long shadows across the hills. The moment of fragile peace between them passed, the inevitability of their roles pulling them back into their separate paths.

"Until the next battle," Wallace said, turning to leave.

"Until then," Anakin replied, watching as the Scottish leader disappeared into the mist.

As the first rays of sunlight warmed the earth, Anakin stood alone on the hill, the words of their conversation echoing in his mind. A good man caught in a bad war. And for the first time in years, he felt the weight of those words press against his soul.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

Chains may bind the flesh, but not the fire,

A dream that climbs, relentless, higher.

Through blood and stone, through ash and pain,

Freedom is the breath we fight to regain.

Anakin sat at a rough-hewn table in his tent, the candle’s weak flame flickering against the soft night breeze that crept through the seams of the fabric. The clamor of the camp had begun to fade, soldiers retreating to their bedrolls after another day of skirmishes and hard marches. Yet for Anakin, rest remained elusive.

His armor lay discarded in the corner, the dented metal a testament to the brutality of recent battles. Dirt and blood clung to his hands, faint smudges smearing across the blank parchment before him. He hadn’t written a letter in years—not since his mother passed. Words weren’t his craft; they never had been.

And yet, here he sat, quill in hand, staring down at the blank page as though it were an adversary.

The faintest image of you surfaced in his mind—the way your fingers had moved over your canvas as if weaving life into color, the soft arch of your brow as you’d stolen glances at him when you thought he wasn’t looking. He shook his head, willing the memory away. But it clung stubbornly to him, just as your presence had lingered in the halls of the castle long after he’d left.

With a sigh, he pressed the quill to the page. The first words came haltingly, their formality feeling both a shield and a chain.

“My rose, I trust this letter reaches you swiftly and in good health.”

He stared at the words, his jaw tightening. Too cold, too distant. But wasn’t that safer? Still, something inside him rebelled against leaving it there.

“The days here are long and unforgiving, but it is the nights that weigh heaviest. When the fires die and silence falls over the camp, my thoughts stray to the castle—to you. It is a strange thing, for I have spent my life carving paths through stone and steel, yet now I find myself wondering what might lie beyond them.”

Anakin paused, his brow furrowing. He had always been a man of action, not introspection. But the words seemed to pour from a place within him he didn’t fully understand.

“I am no poet, nor a man given to sentiment. Yet, as the days pass, I find myself curious. You are not what I expected. Your quiet strength is a balm I did not know I needed, though I lacked the grace to see it before I left.”

The quill hovered over the page, its tip trembling as he fought against the vulnerability clawing its way into his chest. He thought of the way your eyes had flickered with defiance during the wedding reception when Count Aulbry had dared to slight him. The memory stirred something deep within him—a flicker of admiration and something else he dared not name.

“Perhaps you see me as a hard man. I would not blame you for it. The battlefield has no room for softness, and I have worn that truth like armor for many years. But in the quiet moments, I begin to wonder—what might a life beyond war look like? What might it be to know peace? To know you?”

Anakin leaned back, running a hand through his disheveled hair. The words felt foreign, almost too raw, but there was no taking them back now.

“When the fires die and silence falls over the camp, my thoughts stray to the castle—to you. It is a strange thing, for I have spent my life carving paths through stone and steel, yet now I find myself wondering what might lie beyond them.”

He glanced at the folded leather notebook lying on the edge of the table, the same one he had taken to scribbling in after long days of battle. It was filled with fragments—half-formed thoughts, lines of poetry he would never dare to share. He briefly considered copying a verse into the letter but shook his head. That would be too much.

Instead, he signed the letter with practiced precision.

“Yours sincerely, General Anakin Skywalker”

He folded the parchment carefully, sealing it with his family’s insignia. As he handed it to his most trusted messenger, his voice was low and firm. “This is for Lady Skywalker. Ensure it reaches her swiftly and safely. Do not linger.”

The messenger saluted and disappeared into the darkness. Anakin stood alone in the dim glow of the tent, staring at the candle’s flame as it danced and sputtered.

Why had he written to you? He wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was guilt for the way he’d left, or perhaps it was the way your painting had lingered in his mind’s eye, haunting him with its quiet beauty. Whatever the reason, the act of putting his thoughts to paper felt like loosening a knot in his chest.

He reached for the notebook and opened it to the last page, where a half-finished poem lay scrawled in his uneven hand. The words seemed to taunt him, unfinished and raw, but they felt truer than anything he had spoken aloud.

“Beneath the armor, beneath the steel, Lies a yearning I dare not reveal. For peace, for light, for a hand to hold, In her gaze, I find my soul.”

Anakin snapped the notebook shut, tossing it onto the table. His gaze lingered on the shadows dancing across the walls, his thoughts torn between the battlefield before him and the woman he had left behind.

The letter arrived two days later, just as the sun was setting, its light spilling through the tall, narrow windows of your chamber. You sat at your desk, your brush poised above the unfinished painting of Anakin, the colors of his armor muted and incomplete. The messenger bowed as he handed you the parchment, sealed with the unmistakable insignia of House Skywalker.

Your heart stumbled. Anakin had never written to you before.

The wax seal broke easily under your trembling fingers. You unfolded the letter, your eyes scanning the elegant but reserved handwriting. The first words were formal, distant even, but as you read on, the tone shifted. Subtle hints of longing emerged between the lines, soft admissions cloaked in restraint.

A breath caught in your throat. You reread the words, each line piercing through the defenses you had built around your heart. There was something unspoken here—something fragile.

The letter ended simply: “Yours sincerely, General Anakin Skywalker.”

The parchment fluttered slightly in your hands as you set it down, the weight of his words pressing against the knowledge you carried. Your father’s betrayal.

The intercepted letter was still hidden in the bottom of a chest in the corner of your room. Its contents had unraveled the delicate threads of trust you had begun to weave with Anakin. Your father had plotted to manipulate both sides, using your marriage as a pawn in his schemes. If Anakin knew, would he believe you complicit?

You rose from the desk and began to pace, your gown brushing softly against the stone floor. The walls of your chamber seemed to close in around you as the dilemma clawed at your mind.

Anakin’s words lingered. “I begin to wonder—what might a life beyond war look like? What might it be to know peace? To know you?”

Could you risk breaking this fragile connection by telling him the truth? Would he see you as a spy for your father, as another piece in a game of politics and power? The thought of losing whatever tenuous bond was forming between you left a hollow ache in your chest.

But silence, too, was its own betrayal.

You moved back to your desk, reaching for a fresh sheet of parchment. The candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows across the room as you dipped your quill into the inkwell.

“Dear Husband,” you began, the words coming slowly, each one weighed with care.

“Your letter reached me as the sun was setting, casting the castle in hues of gold and crimson. I find it fitting, for your words carried a similar light—unexpected and strangely warming.”

You hesitated, your quill hovering above the page. How much could you reveal without unraveling everything? How much of your heart could you show?

“You speak of carving paths through stone and steel, of wondering what might lie beyond them. I, too, have wondered. Perhaps we are not so different in this—both searching for something that feels just out of reach.”

The quill paused again. You closed your eyes, picturing Anakin as you had last seen him: the determined set of his jaw, the shadows under his eyes, the unspoken weight he carried.

“I hope this letter brings you some measure of comfort, as yours has brought me. Though we are apart, know that my thoughts are with you. May the stars guide you safely home.”

You signed the letter with a simple “Yours,” leaving the rest unspoken.

As you sealed the parchment, the weight of the intercepted letter still loomed in the back of your mind. The decision to remain silent gnawed at your conscience, but for now, you pushed it aside.

The messenger was summoned again, his footsteps echoing through the corridor as he carried your words back to the man who haunted your thoughts.

You returned to your desk, your gaze falling on the unfinished painting. The armor was only half-complete, the strokes hesitant, as if you feared finishing it would solidify the distance between you. You reached for your brush, but your hands trembled too much to paint.

Instead, you turned to the window, staring out into the growing darkness. Somewhere out there, Anakin was reading your words, just as you had read his. And somewhere within that exchange, a fragile thread of connection began to form, even as shadows of doubt lingered on the edges.

The first letter had been cautious, a measured exchange of pleasantries cloaked in formality. But as weeks turned into months, and the battles stretched endlessly across the rugged Scottish terrain, the tone of the letters began to change.

“Lady Skywalker,

The campaign against Wallace progresses steadily. Though victory is within reach, the cost has been high. I trust the castle remains secure and that you are well.

Yours,

Anakin Skywalker”

The letter had been brief, almost impersonal, yet it was the first time he had reached out since departing. It stirred something in you, a faint flicker of hope. You responded in kind, careful not to reveal too much of yourself.

“General,

The castle remains quiet, though I must admit its halls feel emptier in your absence. I hope the tides of battle turn in your favor soon. Yours, Your Wife”

The next letter came weeks later, its tone slightly warmer. His words hinted at exhaustion but carried a thread of something more personal.

“My Lady,

The battles are fierce, and the Scots fight with the desperation of men who have nothing left to lose. There is an honesty to their resistance that I cannot help but respect, though it makes victory no less bitter. In the quiet moments, I think of the castle—of its stillness and the sanctuary it must offer. I hope you find peace within its walls, even as I find none here.”

His words lingered in your mind long after you read them. You wrote back that night, pouring a small piece of yourself into the ink.

“My Dear Husband,

The castle is peaceful, though it is a hollow peace. The roses have begun to bloom again, their petals bright against the gray walls. They remind me of you—unyielding, even amidst hardship. I hope you return soon to see them for yourself.”

The letters became a lifeline, weaving an intimacy neither of you had anticipated. Anakin began writing more frequently, his words shedding their rigid armor. Each letter revealed a man wrestling with the weight of his role, his responsibilities, and the yearning for something he could not name.

“My Rose,

The days are long, the nights longer still. In the quiet hours, I find myself thinking not of the battles but of the life I might have had—one without swords or blood. It is foolish, perhaps, but I wonder what such a life would have looked like, and whether you might have been part of it.”

You read his letters with trembling hands, your heart caught between longing and fear. His vulnerability was disarming, his words a window into the man hidden beneath the hardened general.

Your responses grew bolder, though you still held back the secret of your father’s betrayal. That knowledge weighed heavily on you, a dark cloud over your growing bond with Anakin. Yet in your letters, you allowed yourself to dream, to share pieces of a future you knew might never come.

“Anakin,

Your words are not foolish. I, too, wonder what our lives might have been if the world were kinder. I see glimpses of that life in your letters—in the tenderness you try to hide, in the dreams you dare to share. Perhaps there is a part of us that can still claim it, even amidst the chaos.”

In the heart of the Scottish highlands, Anakin read your letter beneath the dim light of a lantern in his tent. He traced your words with calloused fingers, his chest tightening. For years, he had buried his softer inclinations beneath layers of duty and discipline. Yet your letters stirred something he had thought long dead: hope.

One evening, his letter arrived with a small addition—a fragment of poetry hastily scrawled at the bottom of the page.

“I do not know if these words are worthy of your eyes, But they carry the echoes of nights I cannot sleep. In their frailty, they whisper of the stars, And of a face I see in every dream.”

You read those lines over and over, your heart pounding. His words were unpolished but raw, a glimpse into a side of him he had kept hidden even from himself.

Anakin’s words grew softer, more unguarded, like sunlight breaking through heavy clouds. Each letter carried with it the weight of exhaustion and longing, but also a vulnerability he hadn’t shown before.

"The days blur into one another—steel clashing, men falling, the air thick with smoke. Yet amidst it all, your image anchors me. Your words remind me there is a world beyond this chaos, a reason to hope."

You read his letters in the quiet of your chambers, clutching the parchment like it was a lifeline. Each line drew you closer to the man you had once seen only as a distant, stoic general. In his words, you found a soul searching for meaning amidst the violence, a man yearning for something gentler, even if he didn’t know how to name it.

Your own responses began to mirror his, shedding the formality that had first marked them. Where his letters spoke of the horrors of war, you offered solace, painting images of the castle’s gardens in bloom, of the birds nesting in the eaves outside your window, of the peaceful moments you dreamed of sharing with him.

“I wish you could see the roses this spring—they climb higher than ever, their petals like drops of blood against the gray stone. I think of you when I walk among them, wondering if you are safe, if you feel the warmth of the sun through the armor you wear.”

Anakin's next letter arrived on a rain-soaked evening, its ink slightly smudged but his words unmistakably clear.

"You write of roses, and I think of the ones that grow wild near the fields we fight on. They are stubborn things, surviving against all odds. I wonder if that is why I thought of you, unyielding in your strength, even in a place where others might falter."

You traced the words with your fingers, your heart tightening at his unexpected tenderness. Each exchange stripped away another layer of distance between you, revealing the raw humanity beneath.

As the weeks wore on, the letters grew bolder. Anakin began sharing fragments of the poetry he wrote in his leather notebook, words he had once kept hidden from everyone, even himself.

"I do not know if these words are worthy of your eyes, but they have been my solace on nights when sleep refuses to come. Perhaps you will find in them some small measure of the man I wish to be, rather than the one I am."

His poetry spoke of the stars, of fleeting dreams, of longing that burned like a fire too fierce to contain.

"You haunt me in sleep—your eyes in a thousand forms, your voice a melody that slips through my grasp. I am a fool to cling to such visions, yet they are the only peace I know."

Your letters in return began to echo his vulnerability, though always with a touch of guardedness. You had not yet told him of your father’s betrayal, the weight of that knowledge still pressing against your chest.

One evening, you sat by the fire, Anakin’s latest letter spread before you. The castle was quiet, the servants retired for the night. You dipped your quill into ink and wrote with a courage you hadn’t known you possessed.

“There is a line in your last letter that has stayed with me: ‘Perhaps you will find in them some small measure of the man I wish to be.’ I want you to know that I do. In your words, I see someone who yearns for more than war and bloodshed, someone who carries the weight of others' burdens yet still dreams of a gentler world. That man is already worthy, though he may not yet believe it.”

You hesitated, then added a final line: “I, too, dream of that world, though I am not sure I will ever know it.”

As you sealed the letter, you felt the sting of unshed tears. For the first time, you wondered if you and Anakin might have been different people, had the world been kinder.

The letters continued, carrying your words back and forth like a bridge over an unspoken chasm. Though you remained separated by miles, the distance between your hearts began to shrink. In the ink-stained pages, you found something you had both longed for, though neither dared to name it yet: connection.

The castle was bathed in the faint hues of dawn when the sound of hooves echoed through the courtyard. The guards rushed to the gates, startled by the unannounced arrival of riders cloaked in frost and exhaustion. At their head was Anakin Skywalker, his armor dulled by battle and travel, his features shadowed by fatigue.

The news of his return spread quickly through the castle. You were still in your chamber, seated at your easel, a brush poised over the canvas. The unfinished painting of Anakin stood before you, a labor of longing and frustration. You had been adding the slightest details to his eyes, trying to capture the sharpness and sorrow you remembered, when the knock came at your door.

"My lady," a servant announced, "the general has returned."

The brush slipped from your fingers, leaving a streak of paint across the edge of the canvas. Your heart leapt and then sank. You hadn’t expected him back—not yet, not like this. A thousand emotions surged through you: relief, excitement, fear. How would he look at you after all these months? Would the intimacy of your letters translate into the flesh, or would the distance you had felt before his departure return?

You stood, smoothing your gown and composing yourself as best you could. When you descended to the great hall, Anakin was already there, speaking in low tones with his second-in-command. His presence was magnetic, as always, drawing every eye in the room.

For a moment, you hesitated at the edge of the hall, watching him. His face was sharper, leaner than when he had left, and there was a new weight in his gaze. Yet when his eyes found yours across the room, something shifted. His stern expression softened, just for an instant, before he turned back to his conversation.

When he finally approached you, he gave a slight bow. “My lady,” he said, his voice formal but warm.

“General,” you replied, feeling the strange distance of titles again.

“I trust you have been well?” he asked, searching your face.

You nodded, unsure what to say. His presence was overwhelming, and you couldn’t reconcile the man standing before you with the one whose tender words had filled your letters.

"I must speak with the king," he said after a pause, his tone turning serious. "There are matters of unrest in the kingdom. Whispers among the courtiers, rumors spreading like fire. I sense that something is brewing in the shadows. It is not just the threat of external enemies; it's the court itself that is beginning to fracture."

His words sent a chill through you, and the weight of them lingered. Anakin’s sharp instincts had always been his strength. He was never one to ignore the subtle stirrings of danger.

“I will find out what is happening, my lady,” he continued, his gaze hardening. “But for now, I must meet with the king. I trust you will be well while I’m away?”

You nodded again, though your mind was already swirling with thoughts. What did this unrest mean? Could your father’s machinations already be coming to a head?

Anakin hesitated, then stepped closer. “Later, we will talk,” he said quietly. “I’ve missed you.”

He turned and walked briskly toward the king’s chambers, leaving you standing in the hall, torn between the need to understand his sudden tension and the fear that you might already be too late to prevent the kingdom’s ruin.

Later that evening, after he had met with the king and addressed the court, Anakin wandered through the castle, finding himself drawn to the tower where your chambers were. He had meant to wait, to give you time to adjust to his return, but something pulled him forward.

The door to your chamber was slightly ajar, and he hesitated before stepping inside. What he saw stopped him in his tracks.

The room was filled with paintings—of landscapes, of still lifes—but most prominently, of him. There were sketches of his profile, studies of his hands, and in the center of it all, the large, unfinished portrait.

It was him as you remembered him, clad in his armor, his expression resolute yet touched by something softer. The details were painstaking: the curve of his jaw, the strands of his hair, the sharp focus in his eyes. But it wasn’t complete. His gauntlets were left as rough outlines, and the background faded into blank canvas.

Anakin moved closer, his breath caught in his chest. He reached out, his fingers hovering over the painted surface as if afraid to disturb it.

Behind him, you entered the room quietly, startled to find him there. “Anakin?” you said softly.

He turned, his eyes meeting yours. “You painted these,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, stepping closer. “I... I wanted to keep you close, even when you were far away.”

He looked back at the painting, his expression unreadable. “You see me differently than I see myself,” he said after a long pause. “In your eyes, I am... more than I feel I am.”

“You are more,” you replied without hesitation. “You’ve carried so much, fought so hard. I see it in every line of you.”

His gaze flickered to you, and for a moment, the stoic mask he wore fell away. “Your letters kept me alive,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “And now this... I don’t know if I deserve it.”

You stepped closer, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “You do.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then, as if breaking from a trance, Anakin straightened. “I should let you rest,” he said, his voice once again guarded. “Thank you, my lady.”

He left before you could stop him, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. Yet as he walked away, you saw him glance back, his eyes lingering on the painting one last time.

The weight of the day’s events hung heavily between you, the silence stretching longer than either of you was comfortable with. Anakin had returned to the castle, but the shadow of the kingdom’s unrest still loomed over him, and the tension in the air was palpable. He had been gone for so long, and now, with the sharp edges of his absence still fresh, it was difficult to reconcile the man before you with the man who had filled the pages of your letters.

You watched him from across the room, his back to you as he examined a map of the kingdom, his fingers tracing the contours of the land, drawing lines of strategy and war. There was a distance between you now—one that you both seemed to carry, unspoken but undeniable.

You couldn't bear it anymore. Not the cold, not the distance, not the gnawing feeling in your chest that kept you awake at night. You couldn’t stand to watch him walk out again, leaving your heart behind. Without thinking, you pushed yourself off the chair and crossed the room, stopping just behind him. Your breath caught in your throat, but you forced yourself to speak.

“Anakin,” you said softly, the name slipping from your lips like a plea. His head turned slightly, eyes narrowing as he saw the resolve in your face. It was as if he had already known what was coming, and yet he was unwilling to acknowledge it.

“I cannot let you leave again,” you continued, voice trembling with something you could not name. “Not like this. I… I have missed you. Every day, every moment you were gone, I felt it.”

He took a step closer to you, his eyes searching your face, his expression unreadable. “I know you have, my lady. But there is much that must be done—there is unrest in the kingdom, and there are threats that must be confronted.”

“I understand that,” you whispered, “But I—” You hesitated, unable to say what you truly felt. Your heart felt torn between the loyalty to your father, who you still feared, and the love that had slowly, painfully, bloomed in the cracks of your isolation. You had learned so much during his absence, and yet you felt as though your trust was slipping through your fingers like sand.

He reached for your hand, his touch sending a jolt of warmth through you. “You don’t have to explain,” he murmured. “I know. It’s never easy, being torn between duty and love.”

“I can’t,” you said quickly, almost pleading with him. “I can’t lose you, Anakin. Not now, not after everything that has happened. But I—I don’t know if I can trust anyone anymore. Not even my own blood.” You let out a shaky breath, the confession more difficult than you had imagined.

Anakin stepped closer, his hand lifting to gently cradle your cheek. “Trust is fragile,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against your skin. “But love… love is built on it. And I want you to know, whatever happens, I am here. I will stand by you. But you must be honest with me, Aurelia. All of it. No more hiding.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek, and you closed your eyes, unable to hold it back. “I don’t know how to tell you,” you whispered, “What if you look at me like I’m just another pawn in this cruel game? What if you—”

He placed his fingers against your lips, silencing your fears. His voice was low, filled with a raw tenderness that cut through the tension. “You’re not a pawn. You’re the woman I’ve come to love. And nothing will change that.”

For a moment, you stood there in the silence, the weight of his words settling over you like a blanket, warm and secure. And then, as if the storm inside your chest had finally subsided, you closed the distance between you. Your hands reached up to pull him close, your lips finding his in a kiss that was both desperate and tender.

Anakin's eyes widened in surprise for a moment before he melted into the kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against him. He held you tightly, his fingers splaying across your back as he deepened the kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim you with a hunger that stole your breath away.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you lost yourself in the sensation of his lips on yours, his body pressed against your own. The world fell away, the weight of the day's revelations and fears momentarily forgotten as you lost yourself in the taste and feel of him.

Anakin's hands roamed over your back, tracing the curve of your spine before settling on the swell of your hips. He pulled you impossibly closer, his hips rocking against your own in a slow, sensual rhythm that sent molten heat coursing through your veins.

When he finally broke the kiss, you were both breathless, your chests heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. Anakin's eyes were dark, filled with a desire that made your heart race and your skin flush with heat.

"My rose…" he murmured, his voice rough with want.

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that clung to your cheeks. "I know the path ahead will not be an easy one. But I swear to you, here and now, that I will stand by your side. Through whatever trials and tribulations may come, I will be your constant companion and your fiercest protector."

His gaze bored into yours, intense and unwavering. "And I need you to trust me, my love. To be honest with me, always. Hold nothing back, no matter how painful or frightening it may be. We can withstand anything - but only if we face it together."

You nodded, your voice thick with emotion as you spoke. "I trust you, Anakin. With my life, with my heart... with everything I have. I know the road ahead is uncertain and fraught with peril, but I choose to walk it with you. Always."

Anakin's hands roamed your curves, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your gown to caress the smooth skin beneath. He tugged at the fastenings of his armor, impatiently loosening the straps and buckles until the heavy plates fell away, clattering to the floor.

His lips trailed down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point as he nipped and sucked at the sensitive flesh. You arched into him, your head falling back to grant him better access as a breathy moan escaped your lips.

Anakin's hands slid lower, his fingers splaying across your lower back before gripping the globes of your rear. He lifted you effortlessly, his strength evident in the way he positioned you on the edge of the strategy table, the maps and parchment crinkling beneath you.

He stepped between your parted thighs, his hips nestling against your core as he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue delved deep, tangling with your own in a dance of passion and desperation.

Your husband’s hands roamed your body with reverent fervor, his touch a balm to your weary soul. He traced the delicate lines of your face, marveling at the beauty he found there. "My rose," he whispered, "a bloom of purest grace, your beauty far outshines the fairest flower's face."

His fingers trailed down your neck, skimming over the delicate curve of your collarbone. "These hands, once stained with battle's crimson hue, now tremble to unbind the silken threads that cloak your tender form. A sacred trust, a privilege I've earned by love's own code."

Anakin's gaze smoldered with adoration and unspoken promises as he slowly peeled away the layers of your gown, revealing the creamy skin beneath. "As I lay bare your flesh, I swear to lay bare my heart, to open wide the chamber where it beats for you alone."

He leaned in to press fervent kisses along your shoulder, his lips a brand of branding love upon your skin. "Behold, I am the thorn entwined within your stem, the guard and shield that shall defend you evermore. My life, my honor, my eternal troth, I pledge in this moment to love's eternal shore."

Anakin's hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over the hardened peaks. "These buds of beauty, tender and unrivaled, shall be my constant stars, my north and south in life's vast sea. I'll cherish them, as I shall cherish you, until the end of days, our hearts entwined as one eternity."

As he lowered his head to worship at the altar of your flesh, his voice rumbled with solemn vows. "Fair lady, my sweet rose, I am your loyal knight, your champion, your eternal friend. With every breath, with every beat of this heart that beats for you, I vow to love you, honor you, and stand by you, forevermore. Let no foe, no fate, no force on heaven or earth sunder the bond that joins us now and evermore."

His hand pressed gently on your stomach lowering you on the table as he send sweeping all his strategy papers off. “Wait…your plans…” you whispered trying to stop him.

Anakin paused, his hands stilling on your waist as he sensed your gentle protest. He looked up at you, his gaze intense and filled with a fierce, burning love. A slow, sensual smile curved his lips as he took in your flushed cheeks and heaving chest.

"My rose," he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion, "No strategy, no plan, no matter how carefully crafted or vital to the kingdom's fate, could ever be as precious or as worth the sight of my beloved wife laid out before me like a feast for the senses."

Anakin's hands slid up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the last remnants of your tears. "I would gladly burn my maps and scatter my plans to the wind, if it meant I could hold you like this for eternity. You are my everything, my reason for living, my love."

He leaned in to capture your lips in a searing kiss, pouring all his ardor and desire into the caress. "Let the world wait, let the kingdoms crumble, let the wars rage on," he declared fervently. "For in this moment, with your sweet body beneath me and your loving heart entwined with my own, I have found paradise. And I will cherish it, and you, above all else."

Anakin knelt between your parted thighs, his gaze locked onto your glistening sex. The flickering candlelight cast a dance of shadows across your curves, illuminating the way your chest heaved with each ragged breath.

"Beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "I could spend a lifetime exploring every inch of you."

Slowly, reverently, he leaned forward, his breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh. The first touch of his tongue was electric, a bolt of lightning that shot straight through you.

"Anakin!" you gasped, your fingers fisting in his hair.

He hummed against you, the vibrations adding to the pleasure that already threatened to overwhelm you. His tongue delved deeper, stroking along your slit, teasing your entrance.

"What do you want, my rose?" he asked, his voice low and intimate. "Tell me what you need."

His fingers teased your thighs, his thumbs brushing against the tender skin of your inner thighs. He could feel your muscles quivering, your body coiled tight with anticipation.

"Please," you whimpered, your hips rocking slightly as you sought more of his touch. "Please, Anakin..."

He smiled against your flesh, the action sending a new wave of sensation crashing over you. "Please what, my love? I need you to tell me."

His fingers slid higher, brushing against your sensitive clit. The touch was fleeting, a promise of more to come.

"I want...I want you to make me come," you gasped out, your cheeks flushing hotly at your own boldness. "I want to feel your mouth on me, your tongue inside me, your fingers filling me...please, Anakin, make me come."

Anakin licked a long, slow stripe up your dripping slit, savoring your essence on his tongue. At the top, he found your sensitive clit, swollen and throbbing with need. He flicked his tongue over the tender bud, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

"Anakin!" you cried out, your fingers tightening in his hair as pleasure sparked through you.

Emboldened by your response, Anakin sucked your clit between his lips, his tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh. He could feel you trembling beneath him, your body winding tighter and tighter.

As he pleasured you with his mouth, Anakin tugged down his trousers, freeing his aching cock. It sprang forth, long and hard, the thick length pulsing with each beat of his heart. The sight of his manhood, so powerful and ready, sent a fresh surge of arousal coursing through your veins.

Anakin's hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking himself as he continued his ministrations between your thighs. His tongue delved deeper, thrusting into your entrance, fucking you with his mouth.

The dual sensations of his lips and tongue on your most sensitive spots, combined with the erotic sight of him pleasuring himself, pushed you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

"Anakin, I'm...I'm going to..." you panted, your body tensing as your climax approached.

He could feel your walls fluttering around his invading tongue, your body desperate for release. With a low groan, he suckled your clit harder, determined to bring you to your peak.

"Come for me, my love," he growled against your sex. "Let me feel you come undone."

He thrust two fingers deep inside you, pumping in and out, as his tongue and lips worked in tandem to drive you wild. The combined stimulation was too much, and with a scream of his name, you shattered in his arms.

Anakin held you close as you rode out the waves of your intense climax, your body trembling and quaking against his. He gentled you through it, his strong arms wrapped around you like a protective cocoon.

"Shh, I have you," he murmured, his voice a soothing rumble in your ear. "You're safe with me."

As your trembling subsided, Anakin pressed soft kisses along your neck and collarbone, his touch reverent and tender. He could feel the pounding of your heart, the way your skin glistened with a sheen of sweat.

"Beautiful," he breathed, his eyes shining with admiration and desire. "You're exquisite when you let go."

His hand slid up your side, cupping the curve of your breast. He could feel the soft weight of it in his palm, the way your nipple pebbled beneath his touch.

"Tell me, my rose," he asked softly, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak. "Did that feel good?"

He knew the answer, of course. He could feel the way your body had responded, the way you'd cried out his name in ecstasy. But he wanted to hear it from your own lips, wanted to cement the connection that had begun to blossom between you.

Anakin's own need was a throbbing ache, his cock hard and heavy against your thigh. But he held himself back, determined to focus on your pleasure first. This moment was about you, about the trust and intimacy you were building.

He waited, his heart pounding in his chest, for your response. Whatever you said, whatever you chose, Anakin knew he would follow. This was your journey now, as much as his own.

“Anakin….please…take me…”You whispered, clinging to his strong back. You probably left crescent marks in his shoulder but he didn’t care. He wanted you to brand him with every single part of your body.

“Anakin, ”you cried out his name, your voice resembling a divine plea in his ears “Don’t stop…” you gasped.

Anakin's heart swelled at the desperate, needy sound of his name falling from your lips. With a primal growl, he redoubled his efforts, his hips slamming against yours with increasing force and speed.

"Never, my love," he rasped, his voice strained with exertion and desire. "I'll never stop. I'll take you again and again until you're fully satisfied."

His fingers continued their relentless assault on your clit, rubbing the sensitive bud in tight, rapid circles. The combination of his thick cock driving into you and his fingers stroking your most sensitive spot pushed you closer and closer to the brink of another shattering climax.

Anakin could feel your walls starting to flutter around his plunging length, your body tensing as your peak approached. He leaned down to capture your nipple between his teeth, biting and sucking the hardened peak as he fucked you with abandon.

"That's it, my rose," he urged, his hot breath washing over your skin. "Come for me. Scream my name as you shatter. Let all the world hear who you belong to."

His words, rough and raw with passion, sent a fresh surge of arousal coursing through you. You could feel your orgasm building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

"Anakin!" you cried out, your voice echoing off the stone walls of the chamber. "Oh God, Anakin!"

Your body convulsed beneath his, your inner muscles clenching and rippling around his pistoning cock. The sensation was exquisite, your silken heat gripping him like a velvet vise.

"Yes, my love!" Anakin roared, his own release fast approaching. "Milk my cock. Take every last drop of my seed."

With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you. His cock jerked and throbbed as he spilled his hot, thick essence deep within your spasming channel. He continued to grind against you, working you through the aftershocks of your shared climax.

Anakin collapsed against you, his weight pressing you into the table as he struggled to catch his breath. His heart pounded in his chest, his skin slick with sweat from the exertion of their lovemaking.

He could feel your nails raking down his back, the slight pain only heightening his pleasure. The marks you left on his skin would be a badge of honor, a reminder of your passion and desire.

"My love," he murmured, his voice rough and sated. "That was...transcendent."

He propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at you with a satisfied smile. Your cheeks were flushed, your eyes glazed with post-coital bliss. The sight of you, disheveled and glowing, filled him with a profound sense of masculine pride.

Anakin leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. It was a kiss of thanks, of gratitude, of deepening affection. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and you granted it willingly.

As they kissed, Anakin's hand slid down your side, tracing the curve of your hip, the flare of your waist. He marveled at the softness of your skin, the way you yielded beneath his touch.

"You're exquisite," he whispered against your lips. "A goddess, made of flesh."

He knew he was being overly sentimental, but he couldn't help himself. In your arms, he felt a sense of peace, of belonging, that he had never known before. It was a feeling he wanted to hold onto, to nurture, to let grow.

Anakin's hand slid lower, cupping the rounded globe of your buttock. He squeezed gently, pulling your hip forward to grind against his own. Even in the aftermath of their lovemaking, he could feel his spent cock beginning to stir, to harden once more.

"Again?" you asked, your voice breathless with surprise and a hint of trepidation.

Anakin smiled, a wicked glint in his eye. "Is that a challenge, my rose?" he teased, his voice low and intimate. "Because I assure you, I'm up for it."

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

In your eyes, the heavens rest,

A goddess clothed in love’s caress.

You walk the earth with light divine,

And in your heart, the stars align.

#hayden christensen #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin smut #anakin x reader #evie writes

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llamagoddessofficial · 1 year ago

Note

The times you write about Dream is so cute, are you free to write romantic headcanons of him?

HOHOO I'm glad you like my spin on Dream! Here's some headcanons about him.

Elegant, polite, serene, refined. Early morning sunshine and clear freshwater lakes. He's a prince for sure, and he'll make you feel like royalty with the way he courts you.

He's got a way with words; his brother's an artist at heart, but he's always been a poet. He knows how to make you melt, how to weave sonnets that leave you sputtering and swooning.

(You'll know you're the one for him, because you're the only one that can leave him speechless~)

He likes nature. He doesn't often actually get to see the things that he works so hard to save from his brother. Flowers, animals, even just looking at the clouds in the sky can bring him peace - he'd be a good walking partner.

He's terrible at gardening though.

Sometimes he needs comforting. It's so hard. He's so tired. Your arms are the only place he gets any rest, anymore.

He's an excellent musician! Very adept at multiple instruments. He'll serenade you with delicate verses, if you'll only let him.

He doesn't particularly like using his abilities to make you feel positive emotions. He will, however, soothe aches and pains for you, and if you wake up in the night he'll be more than happy to dispel bad dreams and help you back to sleep.

All that being said...

... He does have something of a superiority complex. When you're literally a God, it's hard not to. He hides it very well, because he knows it's not acceptable, but it's not always easy to mask. You're his darling, the light of his life, you and him are simply 'better' than the simpletons of the other aus. Sometimes it slips through.

That's not all, either.

... A lot of Dream's gentlemanly behaviours are his ways of dealing with very dark thoughts and desires. He and Nightmare are cut from the same cloth, after all. The only difference between the brothers is Nightmare chooses to indulge at the expense of others - and Dream knows that. He knows he's only a few bad deeds away from becoming his brother. He's compensating by acting extra good and kind.

Just like Nightmare, Dream is prone to jealousy and possessiveness. It's extremely hard to tell when he's jealous because he masks it with even more politeness and kindness. He already lost one person dear to him, he deeply fears losing you as well. When his smile is just that bit wider and his fingers wrap around your shoulder with just a little too much deliberateness, it might be time to go home.

He claims he never uses his emotion powers because they're draining for him. That's not the truth.

He won't tell you, but the reason he resists using them on you is he fears what he might do when he feels how easy it is to stop you from leaving him.

#llamagines #sometimes burying your bad feelings isn't a good thing #sometimes it makes them worse

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strawberrygummiess · 5 months ago

Text

pink in the night.

malleus x gender neutral! reader 1k words cross posted on ao3 "At one point, Malleus believed he woke up to see the night sky. But now he was convinced he woke up to see you."

Malleus believes he wakes up to see the stars.

The night sky was truly a gift from Mother Nature herself. She throws a blanket of darkness over the scenery of Night Raven College, with speckles of starlight peeking through, almost like a homemade, crocheted quilt. She tucks in her children with chaste kisses of the night breeze and leaves a little moonlight to ease their fears of the unknown. It was a tranquil showcase of her love for the world and Malleus couldn’t help but mischievously sneak out of bed to see the beauty in her work.

"Ever the poet," Lilia would always remark. Malleus never really agreed. The poetry wrote itself; he only verbalized what he saw. He wasn’t the creative type, he decided. It wasn’t that he sought and found beauty in unconventional places, like a certain Pomefiore Vice Houswarden, it’s only that he recognized what was clearly in front of him. Although, the presence of the Ramshackle Prefect made him consider singing sonnets from the rooftops.

You had been a surprise for him on his nightly walks. He had come to expect the usual landmarks on campus, broken up by the occasional scurrying creature. But you- you were something completely unexpected. A new student, naively curious. Kind, warm, fearless. You were ignorant of who he was; being from another world (how lucky for him!) left him with endless possibilities. With you, he was no longer Malleus Draconia, the crown prince of Briar Valley, and one of the most powerful mages in the world. He was-

“Tsunotarou! Or Hornton. Your choice… never mind, I’ll just use both.”

Malleus replayed that night over and over. How could he not? This was it. A friend. He wasn’t being presumptuous, it was you who gave him a nickname (not that you had a choice of course, but you gave him two) you who joined him on his walks, you who listened to his rambles, you, you. Clearly, you wanted to befriend him. Who else would be this forward?

At one point, Malleus believed he woke up to see the night sky. But now he was convinced he woke up to see you.

This was the conclusion he came to after tonight’s walk with you. You led the conversation this time. You spoke about the adventures you were dragged into; your frustrations with your feline companion and Headmaster Crowley; and how much you enjoyed the night walks with him.

Wait, what?

“Tsunotarou? Hello?” You dragged out the “o” in an endearingly casual manner, stepping in front of him as you tried to ground him back into the moment.

“You in there? Were you listening to me?” You teased, crossing your arms and smiling. You tilted your head to the side as you tried to read his face. He felt entirely exposed; like you could hear his beating heart and see how enamored he was by you. You, however, wished he’d give you a clue about how he was feeling.

“Of course I was, Child of Man,” He responded calmly. He hoped his butterfly-filled stomach didn’t betray his voice. Your favorite part of the day was the walks with him. He’d never been so ecstatic. “I always listen to you,”

You don’t say anything. You continue smiling and narrow your eyes, still looking for something else. Your expression mirrors one Lilia would use before he scolded him. Were you truly mad at him? He could (and would, if you asked) recall everything you said in the past half hour. He would prove that he was listening, deserving of your presence, a good friend- more if you let him. Malleus would literally move mountains if you asked.

“Hey! You’re doing it again, Hornton. Get out of your head.”

Your touch is electrifying. It almost burns. He hears you exclaim about “how cold” his skin is, but only vaguely. What he did notice, was how your hand was holding his face. A concerned look replaced your teasing smile as you studied him. You mumbled again about how cold he was, and pressed your other hand to his forehead, brushing under his bangs.

“If you were sick, why did you walk over here? Now you’ve made it worse!” You scolded, bringing him closer to your height as you gently rubbed his cheeks, attempting to warm him up. “At this rate, you’ll freeze. I mean seriously, you’re as cold as ice!”

Malleus had half a mind to tell you that he was completely fine. He wasn’t sick at all, fae just ran a bit cold. Colder than what a human could stand. Yet he decided to entertain your doting, smiling slightly.

“I apologize, Child of Man. I didn’t want to ruin your favorite part of the day. Do forgive me,” It was his turn to tease. Just a little. It wouldn’t hurt to indulge in your attention. You click your tongue, before releasing his head and declaring the walk “over”. Pity. He was hoping you’d hold him for a bit longer. He usually wasn’t very tolerant of the heat, but he was happy to withstand it if it meant you held him longer.

“C’mon Tsunotarou,” You announce, walking back in the direction you came. “We gotta go back to my dorm. I’ll wrap you in a blanket burrito and feed you some tuna soup…” you cringe. “It tastes better than it sounds, promise.” You clarify, before decisively grabbing his hand and gently tugging him forward.

He listens to you explain different ways you’ve learned to transform canned tuna because of Grim, to varying success. You once again reassure him that the soup is one of the better creations, before continuing your rant about “missing regular meat,” and “tuna isn’t even the best fish!” but at this point, Malleus can only focus on the warm grip of your hand on his and the constant hammering of his heart.

Oh, the poems he’d write about you. They’d feature tales of fish and ice, comparisons to the peace of the night, and love letters from the starry sky. But really, he wouldn’t be doing much work. He only verbalized the beauty he saw, after all.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #disney twst #twst malleus #malleus draconia x reader

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itmeblog · 1 year ago

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It's Black History Month

(Over here in the US of A) So here are some podcasts to check out.

Absolutely no Adventures - a fantasy (un)adventure story that follows Sig, the owner of Signature Eats bakery, as he aggressively avoids becoming embroiled in any daring quests or chosen one shenanigans even though the universe really seems to want him to do just that. This is a story about cutting Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey off at the knees to chill with friends and staying far, far away from the slightest whiff of adventure. And also baking. This is also a story about baking.

Afflicted - Lovecraft Country meets True Blood in this new series from award-winning producers Tonia Ransom and Jen Zink. In season one, a small East Texas town suffers supernatural disasters caused by a demonic book bound in human flesh…and only hoodoo can save the town from its affliction.

Apollyon - In the early 22nd century, the Apollyon virus wiped out 75% of the world’s population, and now most of the world is governed by the International Conglomerate of Research Scientists. Dr. Theo Ramsey is an ICRS research scientist who may have just discovered an effective vaccine for Apollyon, but the stakes to get the vaccine to the public are higher than she ever imagined.

Between Heartbeats - Tan immersive Urban Fantasy about the hurt, the powerful, and their growth within a broken world. We follow Sundiata, a guilt-ridden time manipulator with a knack for unemployment, and Nadia, a moralistic telepath determined not to lose control, as they balance frayed mental health against an unsympathetic police state. But when a malevolent presence rears is head, their neuroses become the least of their problems. Can our heroes make the most of their abilities before the option is taken from them?

Fan Wars: The Empire Claps Back - Two passionate Star Wars fans on opposite sides of the Last Jedi debate argue via Skype after their favorite forum closes down. If you love Star Wars (or call yourself a proud member of any fandom), you’ll love this romantic comedy told via

Harlem Queen - a Black historical fiction audio drama based on the life and times of Black, woman, "gangster" Madame Stephanie St. Clair during the Harlem Renaissance.

His Royal Fakin' Highness - What if Ophelia helped Hamlet get his throne back? This modern day, romantic comedy re-imagining of Shakespeare's Hamlet asks just that. As they stage an engagement in the wake of the king's death, these childhood frenemies must decide between duty and love.

InCo (This one's mine :D) - A Sci-Fi story about a disgruntled information seller, a mysterious space boy, and an android doing her best.

Janus Descending - a limited series, science fiction/horror audio drama podcast, follows the arrival of two xenoarcheologists on a small world orbiting a binary star. But what starts off as an expedition to survey the planet and the remains of a lost alien civilization, turns into a monstrous game of cat and mouse, as the two scientists are left to face the creatures that killed the planet in the first place.

Lady Lucy - Lady Lucy is an audio drama inspired by Shakespeare's "Dark Lady" Sonnets, 127-154. Between running her brothel, fighting the Church, murdering her friends' abusive husbands, and pretending to be a poet, the last thing Lucy needed back in 1586 was a surprise visit from her former flame... Will Shakespeare.

Liars and Leeches - Tonya Wright felt it all after the tragic murders of her sister and brother-in-law in a random act of gun violence. Struggling to travel outside of her home, she now lives constantly on edge about perceived threats that seem to surround her.

Nightlight - Multi-award winning horror podcast featuring creepy stories with full audio production written by Black writers and performed by Black actors. So scary it’ll make you want to leave your night light on.

Null /Void - a science fiction audio drama about a young woman, Piper Lee, whose life is saved by a mysterious voice named Adelaide. Piper soon uncovers a malicious plot by a monopoly of a tech company and must work with her friends and an unusual ally to help foil their deadly plot.

Out of Ashes - (currently remastering season 1) Follow a group of survivors as they navigate the ruins of modern civilization and battle against demons, ghosts, monsters and the looming threat of extinction from an ancient power.

Small Victories - A recently recovered drug addict tries to start her new lease on life, too bad life has it out for her. This dramatic comedy follows Marisol through the ups and downs of her life.

The Courtship of Mona Mae - In the 1870s, pioneers Mona Mae Christophe and Zekial Montgomery search the American West for Mona Mae's mother, Clara. Mona must recall a past, long forgotten in order to survive, so that she can find her mother, love and create a way of life for herself.

Vega a Sci-Fi Adventure Podcast - In a fantasy futuristic world, Vega Rex is employed by her government to kill off the world's worst criminals. She's never met a criminal she couldn't catch…until now. Join Vega as she journeys through a world of bumbling apprentices, powerful technogods, and her biggest challenge yet. Hosted by Ivuoma Hall.

Witchever Path - is an anthology series where your decisions effect the story. Our stories are based in America’s NorthEast, featuring characters finding themselves in the thick of the unknown while tackling issues like queer identity, gender, race, and spirituality. Stories often focus on the communities not typically seen in stories taking place in New England, and giving voice to the perspectives of those communities while uniting under some universal themes. And the supernatural happens. A lot.

(All descriptions were taken from websites)

If you want to find more and there are way more there's a directory :D

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galamalion · 1 year ago

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𐕣. 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐙𝐄𝐍 𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐒

summary. you attempt to enjoy the peaceful snowfall on your own, but aren't these beautiful moments meant to be shared?

⤷ contents. yandere!chrollo lucilfer x fem!reader, yandere themes, imprisonment, unhealthy relationships // wc. 1.6k

⤷ notes. thank you to @ddarker-dreams who inspired me to write something for chrollo, she's written some deplorable things for this man <3 i'm still only writing for one piece, this is something i just really wanted to write!

Snow had been falling for the last hour, painting the city below in a thin sheet of pure white, only the dark speckles of countless heads walking to-and-fro disturbing the peacefulness below. The windowsills and balcony were also beginning to pick up a layer, growing steadily with each tiny flake that joined the pile. A beautiful sight slowly being constructed, irreplaceable and inimitable by mankind.

But what is a beautiful thing, if not to be held and marveled?

You gazed solemnly out the window, fingers splayed against the chilled glass. A similar feeling no doubt to the snow that was just out of reach. God, how long had it been since you’d touched snow? Felt that freezing, yet warming sensation dance across your nerves, sending confusing signals to your brain.

Three years inside a luxury penthouse gave you time to organize your thoughts more poetically.

Well, to say you’d been here for three years would be inaccurate. Two years and five months inside this home. Chrollo must have been anxious for the first seven months he had you, either keeping you by his side or stashing you in rich hotels, if only for a single night.

Perhaps he had become more comfortable, or maybe he was working on a long job, seeing as you’d been here for so long. The fact that you were unsupervised made you lean towards the former, in addition to his unbeatable strength that made resistance futile. But you knew your limits, and slowly you’d been learning Chrollo’s over the course of these three years. Carefully tip-toeing the line between admonishment and punishment; you’d never get the last word but always make a sharp jab, leaving the oh-so generously gifted—and probably stolen—jewelry and makeup untouched, and, perhaps your favorite, ignoring his first call of your name, but always coming on the second.

Pretending to not have heard Chrollo was your favorite pastime after learning that there was little he could do except implore you to open those poor little ears of yours. And it was a joy asking him to repeat himself, enjoying the twinge of annoyance that you could make out in his voice.

However, as was normal in your new life, Chrollo had made himself scarce for an extended period of time. It wasn’t strange, in fact it was a much needed relief of his soul-scathing presence. He was most likely on a job, having found some ancient book or enchanting onyx necklace that he just had to have. Or, more accurately, another rotting memoir of a dead pompous poet that you would have to listen to Chrollo gush about, and another piece of jewelry for you to throw in the box and forget.

Maybe he’d get creative and bring you a fun hat this time.

At the end of the day, Chrollo wasn’t here, leaving you alone with your own thoughts. It was refreshing, not being alert at every waking moment, though that freezing fear had most certainly dulled with time. You had time to read, maybe start on a puzzle before you became too tired—coffee had been upgraded to a privilege in the last month, and something that Chrollo was only allowed to make, leaving you to rely on your own body’s performance to remain awake for longer. But puzzles left a sour taste in your mouth ever since Chrollo exchanged your fun scenic sets for Renaissance paintings.

And so you settled on reading, the only other thing to do in this godforsaken prison. Chrollo never liked it when you called it that, reminding you that ‘prisons didn’t have fresh produce or fireplaces.’ But even a golden cage is a cage, something you’d remind him of. He took away the remote after that spat.

You abandoned your window gazing and skipped over to the imposing bookshelf and the expansive collection of tomes that awaited you. Half were unreadable, written in dead languages you couldn’t begin to comprehend. The other half were plain boring, a collection of classics that Chrollo had most likely stolen over the years. But a handful were bearable, or at least interesting enough to keep you reading. You had offhandedly mentioned to Chrollo that you preferred mysteries, and the very next day a complete vintage series of Sherlock Holmes appeared. You tried to hint at adding more diverse genres, but so far there have been no new additions to the bookshelf.

After peeling the first book from the shelf and giving it a light shake to remove any lingering dust, you fled to the comfort of the window nook. It was a remarkable spot—one you knew Chrollo hated, since he could not sit next to you. You thumbed through the book to the first page, laying eyes upon the old and yellowed paper.

“In the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine of the University of London, and proceeded to Netley to go through the course prescribed for surgeons in the army.”

“Already a far more interesting life,” you muttered, “wish I could be a doctor.”

“Having completed my studies there, I was duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as Assistant Surgeon. The regiment was stationed in India at the time, and before I could join it, the second Afghan war had broken out.”

“Oh, to travel the world. How I envy you, Watson,” you sighed, bleakly turning towards the window.

The snow hadn’t quit, continuing to stain the buildings in white, a gorgeous scene to behold. It was not to be enjoyed for long, however, as you caught a despicable glimpse in the reflection behind you.

Walking ever-so slightly closer was your captor, Chrollo Lucilfer, in the flesh. Although he seemed to immediately realize he’d been spotted, ceasing his silent movement before you swiveled your head around to face him.

“Please, don’t let me interrupt your commentary,” he gave an innocent smile, “it’s always a treat to hear your dulcet voice.”

“I’d rather keep my thoughts to myself, thanks,” you spat, sending a glare his way before turning back to your book.

“If you’d like to travel the world, I could certainly take you,” he continued.”

“I’ll pass, Chrollo.”

“What ever happened to our little nicknames, my dove? I seem to recall you had quite the attachment to calling me Mephistopheles,” he noted, resuming his gait towards you.

You rolled your eyes, “I’ve since concluded you rather enjoy being compared to the devil, whereas I am not your dove, nor any bird you refer to me as.”

“I’m terribly sorry, my dear,” he cooed.

“I am not yours.”

“You seem to have forgotten that I have stolen you, therefore you are mine.”

“Ah!” you cried out, “I believe you’re forgetting the special word for stealing another person. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? It’s called kidnapping.”

Chrollo smirked at your words, now leaning against the wall beside you, staring down at your piece of literature.

“Believe me, treasure, I am well aware of the crimes I commit.”

“Feel free to list them,” you turned the page of your book, “I assure you, I’m listening.”

He easily plucked the book from your hand.

“Company is meant to be enjoyed, not tolerated,” he teased, returning it back to its place on the shelf. “Besides, the snow outside is stunning, is it not?”

“Of course,” you sneered. “Here, let me put on my cap and scarf, and then we can go frolic in this wonderful weather!”

“Now, now, there’s no need to get smart with me.”

“I wouldn’t dare dream of it.”

Chrollo went quiet and gave you a look, a sign for you to shut your mouth before you ruined tonight.

“I am more than willing to put on a movie tonight, given that your attitude improves,” he spoke softly, moving back towards you.

There was hidden, unspoken meaning behind his words, something you’d grown to adjust to with your snarky attitude. Behave, or you get nothing.

“...What movie do you have in mind?” you responded, taking in a deep breath in an attempt to cool your soured mood.

“I’ll give you the choice, but I’m feeling partial to a select couple. Perhaps Romeo and Juliett? Or Pride and Prejudice?”

Someone’s in a mood tonight, you thought, folding your arms.

“Pride and Prejudice is fine,” you concluded, not wanting to hear Chrollo wax on about what Shakespeare meant or didn’t mean.

“Wonderful,” he smiled, walking over to the kitchen. “Now, would you like a cup of hot chocolate, my dear? I believe it would be fantastic on such a cold day.”

“That would be nice, thank you,” you answered as politely as you could manage, well aware that a simple ‘sure’ would not be enough to earn you any specialties.

You stood from your window alcove and walked quietly towards the bedroom, attempting to do so casually and without drawing his attention.

But it was impossible to slip anything past Chrollo Lucilfer.

“Dear,” he called out, still focused on his work at the counter.

You wordlessly turned around, staring emptily at the back of his head.

“There should be a dress, a black one, on the far right of your wardrobe,” he instructed, “be a doll and put it on.”

“...Alright.”

A black dress, probably too short to be comfortable in either direction. Chrollo’s favorite pastime, of course, was getting a glimpse of the body you’d refuse to show. But this was Chrollo’s night, not your own. Never your own.

So you’ll put the dress on, just like you’ll watch the movie that Chrollo wanted, right next to him—too close to him—on the sofa. And who knows, maybe you’ll do a puzzle with him at the end of the night.

But wasn't the snow just stunning?

#chrollo lucilfer x reader #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer x reader #yandere chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo #yandere x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh x reader #mdni

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runningfrom2am · 1 year ago

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cold nights // part nine

summary: may the odds be ever in your favour.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.6k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, r is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: this is the teaaaa guys,, also should i post the playlist tn?? i feel like its almost ready 0.0

series masterlist // playlist

"You should go home. You can't save her by just hoping she comes out of her little tunnels again..." Coryo turns his head at the Dean's voice on his left. "She could be dead in there. You wouldn't know."

Your friend sighs, rolling his eyes and redirecting them to the screen ahead. Just in case.

"What are you reading?" He points to the open book on Coryo's desk in front of him as the boy quickly closes it, pulling it down onto his lap.

"Just a book." He mumbles.

The Dean gets closer, leaning over to read the cover as Coryo flips it over. "Just a book?" He probes it more, raising an eyebrow at him. "The very same one your poet was reading in all the live feeds of the zoo over the last few days. That's sweet."

"It's interesting. That's all. She asked for it, I wanted to know why." Coryo brushes it off, holding the paper tighter in his grip.

"What do you want from that girl?" He asks, leaning against the empty desk next to him.

"Nothing." Coryo insists. "I want her to live."

Dean Highbottom hums, giving a slight nod. "And the Plinth Prize would be a happy coincidence, I suppose."

Coriolanus smiles bitterly, thinking over what his best response would be. "I believe I'd be entitled to it."

"Of course you do." The Dean nods, flashing him a fake smile of encouragement. "Of course you do. The prize, the girl. Hm. How convenient you don't have to choose between them."

Coryo tucks the book under his leg at the statement, choosing not to grace his superior with any kind of response.

"Who do you think makes that final decision for the prize you so covet, Mister Snow? Wake up. Even if she somehow wins it all, I will do everything in my power to ensure that you don't see a dime." Dean Highbottom spits, looking up at the screen as well as Coryo slowly looks over at him. "So, ask yourself, how much do you care if she wins now?"

Coryo listens to the man's footsteps as he walks away, pretending to focus on the screen again. If he truly had no shot at the prize, would it be best for him to go home now and sleep like many of his classmates already had? Should he even bother to watch the cameras hoping that you'll reappear in the dark arena at some point tonight? Should he even come back? Of course he would. He couldn't live with the idea of you coming out, in desperate need of something only he could give you, food or water, and knowing that at some point you would realize he had lied to you. That he wasn't with you anymore. He would have to watch your heartbreak in holiday reruns for the rest of his life. Even if you died in that arena all alone, would you realize that he didn't care about you at the end? He couldn't take the idea of it.

As he returns to the book that he's pulled back onto his lap, he hopes you still remember.

It's another slow hour before you show your face again, slowly, carefully opening the vent across the arena as the motion cameras pick up on it, allowing Coryo to watch the closest one to you. It's a moment before he looks up, entranced in your book when he sees the movement in his peripheral vision. He was the only one there, now, and he knew it likely wasn't you that the cameras picked up so it took him a moment to even tear his eyes away from the desk, slotting the dried-up flower between the pages. When he does see it's you, he sits up quickly. Watching, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it didn't come, there was no one else. It's just you.

Your eyes scan the arena in search of the nearest camera after seeing that there are no other tributes out in the clearing besides Lamina, where you left her on the beam. You crawl out, leaving the vent open behind you for a quick retreat. You find the camera, looking into it. You were covered in dirt head to toe, but even through that Coryo could see it when you tried to communicate with your gaze. With him.

You give a small wave to the camera, eyes flitting up with the sound of birds in the crumbled rafters above you.

He wasn't sure what you wanted, but he was grateful you listened. Tapping through his communicuff, he quickly finds water and hits send. Hopefully, it makes it to you instead of breaking like Lamina's did.

You stand up in front of the vent, stretching out your limbs from being curled up and crawling around in the vent system for so long. You wanted to explore as much of it as you could, but it was hot in there, and you desperately needed water so you could clear out the dust in your throat.

A smile falls onto your face briefly as you see the drone come in, carrying your water bottle. Coryo. He is watching. You hold your hand out, prepared to try and catch it before it crashes loudly into the stands just behind you. From watching what happened with Lamina's, you know you have to be careful. The blades aren't well covered, and they come flying in fast. Straight toward you. When it gets too close you bail, ducking down as the fast-moving drone flies straight past you and into the vent. You cringe at the loud banging that follows, echoing throughout the arena due to your beloved vent system. You stay hidden for a moment, making sure no one is coming after you before standing up and looking around. Satisfied that no one was coming besides Lamina who just stirred on her beam, you held your finger up toward the camera, signaling for Coryo to wait as you crawled back in.

He chews on the inside of his cheek as he waits, relieved when you emerge a minute or so later with an unbroken bottle in your hand as you kneel on the ground in front of the opening. You hold it up, shooting the camera a small smile before opening it and taking a sip. Or, you intended to, but you were so thirsty you downed almost the whole thing in one go.

You wipe your chin, take a deep breath, and close your eyes. It felt so good. Coryo is watching you intently. You don't look cold, which is good. Maybe even a little sweaty, if the hair that's clinging to your forehead is proof of that. You're probably hungry. And with that, he's sending you an apple. If you weren't hungry, it wasn't a lot to eat, but if you were, he would be able to tell by how you ate it.

You hear the distant whir of another drone, quickly standing up and stepping away from the vent. You want to avoid that loud echoing as much as you can. You brace yourself and duck beneath the seat in front of you, hiding behind the railing so it wouldn't hit you.

It crashes into the front of the stands, and you can hear it falling down onto the floor. You stand up slowly, looking over the edge. You were so hungry, now that you saw the apple there, that you hopped down over the side and walked along the edge of the railing before sliding down where it was safest. You watch your steps as you make your way over to the broken drone and the battered apple that was attached to it.

You scan the ground, looking for that delicious flash of red which you pick out quickly. You pick it up and wipe it off on your dress, taking a bite before you're even fully stood up again. You could moan just at the taste of it. You had missed fruit so much- occasionally Coryo and Sejanus had brought you some in the zoo, but now it was something else entirely. Every bite could be your last, and you try to enjoy it as best you can.

You track the arena again from the floor, looking around again for the nearest camera. You turn when you see it's pretty much directly above your head. You wave again, giving Coryo a grateful smile, weakened by the stress of the day's events, and by your inevitable death. Nevertheless, you tried to keep on a brave face; you didn't want him to view you as careless or ungrateful. "Thank you." You say, unsure if there is even a microphone.

You tilt your head at the camera, confusing him as you squint. "Can you hear me?" You ask and he nods, alone in the large room.

"I can hear you." He whispers back to the open air, watching as you swiftly turn around, facing away from the camera.

"If you can hear me, send..." You think about it. What is something they would definitely have available but obscure enough that you would know he heard you? "Send in something odd. Something you're surprised is even an option."

He flicks through the pages and pages of options, unsure what to pick. Bread was too basic, no apples, water, no. Milk? That's weird, and gross. It's perfect. He hits send and watches as you eat your apple, looking up at the opening at the top waiting for something else to come.

You smile as you see it coming in, looking back at the camera briefly before bracing yourself to dodge the flying gift. You wait until the last second, jumping out of the way as it smashes into the wall behind you, the bottle shattering and spraying the surface in milk. Coryo cringes just at the sight of it as you turn and look.

You scrunch up your nose and get closer, running your finger through the dripping liquid to try and identify it. "Milk?" You ask, looking up at the camera.

He smiles to match yours as it grows on your face and you start to laugh quietly. "That is odd, indeed." You giggle, shaking your head. "Well, thank you, dear Coryo. At least I shall have someone to talk to." You take another bite out of the apple in your hand.

"I hope you had a good day." You hum, covering your mouth as you chew. "But you should be getting home soon. I think it is late."

It's so you to be so caring, even finding yourself within the games you're still worried about him. He smiles to himself, shaking his head. He continues to click through the communicuff in the silence that follows, just to get a better idea of all your options, when he finds something better.

Finally, the keyboard makes sense. He quickly types the note out to you and hits send. It's pricey to send a note, putting a dent in your donations, but you had so many it wasn't really a concern at this point. After all, he was your mentor. It only made sense that he would kind of be able to communicate with you.

You perk your head up at the sound of another drone, ready to play this game again. You dodge it more smoothly this time, with a spin that puts a smile on your mentor's face before picking up the small container clipped on the bottom of the drone and prying it open.

You smile when you see it's just a piece of paper. "I'm not leaving. -C" You read, looking up at the camera.

"Well then," You grin. "Let's talk! It is not day."

He remembers that one. You've said that one to him before- you said it was Romeo and Juliet. He's actually sure he just read it. If the book belonged to him, he would be highlighting and annotating every line you have recited to him over the last couple weeks just like he does in his textbooks.

"That's Romeo and Juliet, if you remember." You remind him, assuming that he wouldn't know it yet. Even if he had started reading it, which he shouldn't have considering you know he's been busy, it was unlikely he'd get that far in under a day. You didn't know that he was inhaling every word on the page in the moments you were off-screen, devouring every blank verse as if it were sacred. To you, and now to him, it almost was.

You look around as you chew on your apple, stopping when you look at Marcus again. You sigh, sadly, seeing the birds now crowding his body as you quickly begin to make your way over. Lamina sits up as you approach, looking over the edge of the beam. "Just me." You whisper, reassuring her before you shoo the birds away as she lays back down.

You crouch down next to the boy, gently rolling him onto his back. You hadn't the chance earlier, too rushed by the daylight to get back into hiding, but now was as good a time as any. You gently cross his arms over his chest and close his eyes.

You sit back, carefully adjusting his clothes before getting up, as satisfied as you could be with the makeshift burial.

You take a few steps back, retreating quietly to the edge of the arena to get back to your vent. You climb up into the stands just as you hear another drone coming, quickly climbing the stairs so it doesn't fall back down into the ring. You grab it when it's settled, smiling to yourself when you see it's another note.

"No cameras in the vents. Only come out if you need anything. -C"

"Thank you, Coryo." You whisper, looking up at the camera and nodding before retreating inside, closing the fan quietly behind you.

You curl up just past the entrance to the vent, hoping to get some sleep near the fresh air. The exhaustion kicks in quickly after you eat the entire core of the apple, knocking you out in the darkness of the tunnel.

When you wake, it's still dark. You sit up quickly, realizing where you are. Rubbing your eyes, you look out of the vent to see the source of the sound that woke you. You quickly spot a figure kneeling over Marcus's body, blinking to try and see who it is through the sleep still in your eyes.

You should stay hidden, you know that, but from behind at least, it doesn't look like another tribute.

"Sejanus?" You whisper, the vast space carrying your voice to his ears and he quickly turns. You were lucky it was him, but you were able to make a quick escape if it turned out to be someone else. "Sejanus, it's just me." You continue, and as you ease yourself down the debris piled up against the wall he just turns back to Marcus.

You take careful, nearly silent steps as you walk up behind him. "Sejanus?" You say again, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He shakes his head slightly, looking up at you. Tears filled his eyes and stained his cheeks, and you very quickly felt the tears building up in your own eyes as well. "Oh..." You quickly kneel down next to him, pulling him into a hug which he gratefully accepts. "Oh, Sejanus I'm so sorry... I wanted to save him, I did..." You choke on every word as you apologize.

"It's not fair." He sniffs, shaking his head gently under your grip as you soothingly rub the back of his head.

"I know... He didn't deserve that." You agree, ignoring the tears dripping down to your jaw and tickling your skin. "But I want you to know I told him how loved he is, and how sorry we all are. He knew. In his final moments, he knew..."

He tenses under your hold. "It... it was you?" He mutters, pulling away.

"No! No, I-" You quickly defend yourself, head shaking as your arms drop from around him and he looks over at you, understated anger beginning to shine through. "Sejanus, I didn't..."

Any trust he had in you was seemingly gone at that moment. You were worried you flipped a switch you couldn't unturn, that any relationship you had built with the boy had died and been replaced with the thought that maybe you were no better than the game makers themselves. Marcus was defenseless, and it felt like Sejanus thought you took advantage of that.

Your thought process proved to be correct. "He was defenseless! Innocent!" You could tell he would shout if you weren't both so worried about staying quiet. His anger quickly reverted back to hurt. "How could you?"

"I promise, it's not what it sounds like-" You try to correct him, to get him to forgive you as your chest constricts around your lungs. One of the two friends you made in your final days; gone. Just like that.

"Hey!" Another voice startles the both of you, already just a few feet away. You didn't realize how vulnerable you were while you were fighting to prove yourself. You scramble to get up, standing just in front of Sejanus as he knelt on the ground, making no attempts to move. "Y/N. Get out of here." Coryo instructs you, still in his academy uniform.

"Coryo, I-"

"Go hide. Now. It's not safe for you out here." He insists, eyes cold and serious.

"No, not until-"

"I said go. I can't be talking to you, we'll both be punished. Go."

God, he wanted to talk to you. He wanted to do more than talk to you. He wanted to hug you for the first time unimpeded, to grab your hand and pull you outside to where you would be safe, but he knew that neither was an option. You're safer in the vent than you would be in the hands of Dr. Gaul after he was seen talking to you, that's for sure.

He has to bite his tongue to keep from asking you to stay while you scurry off to do as he said and climb back into the vent, his mother's scarf still tied securely around your waist. He hated that this could possibly be the last time you saw him, but he had no choice.

"Sejanus, let's go." He whispers to his friend, once he is satisfied that you are really going.

"She killed him..." He mumbles in response.

"She didn't kill him." Coryo quickly corrects him.

"She said-"

"He begged for their help, and she held his hand while she," He points up the beam where a now sleeping Lamina lay quietly, "did it. Now let's get out of here."

He urges him on and Sejanus looks up at him. "He asked them to." Coryo hisses to iterate his point. "Y/N couldn't do it even then."

Sejanus looks up to the vent just as the door creaks closed behind you. "I just wanted to help..." He says softly, eyes watering.

"If you want to help, the best thing you can do is come with me."

"No, I had to be where the cameras are, I need to show them-"

"Do you think anyone is watching this?" Coryo asks as his friend finally stands up. He was making progress, but slowly. This needed to move faster. "Gaul cut the feed. Come with me now, or-"

"But you said-"

"You can't help them if you die in here and become another body in Gaul's war." Coryo cuts him off. There was very little time for arguments, and that timer was rapidly ticking down. "Go home, spend your father's money, do some real good. And don't blame her. She's just as innocent as Marcus was and you know that. Who do you think shut his eyes? Posed him like that? She sobbed for an entire hour after holding his hand while he died!"

Sejanus is speechless, staring down at his tribute's body.

"I watched it all! She's alone in here. She has no one!" He whispers in his ear. "We are all she has. Me and you on the outside, and if you want to help that girl and all the tributes after her, we have to go right now or neither of us will see the light of day again and she will starve and die truly alone. Please, Sejanus. You're her friend... My friend. Come with me."

Sejanus looks at him, the two boys just inches apart as he nods with a resigning sigh. "Okay." He whispers.

Coryo sighs in relief. "Thank you, come-" He starts to turn back when they both are scared by the sound of footsteps sprinting toward them. "Come on!" He shouts, grabbing his classmate's sleeve and dragging him behind as they make for the red lighting of the exit.

You watch from the slits in the fan, hands perched on the blade as you lean against it to get a better view. Your heart is racing as you watch Coryo and Sejanus book it for the exit. God, you hope they make it.

They almost do.

Until Sejanus trips over the turnstile you know and hate, crying out in pain upon hitting the ground. Immediately, you're pushing the door open loudly and running along the railing, hoping to get closer to the exit without running the risk of cutting through the middle of the arena. "Coryo! Run!" You yell helplessly, careless of whether or not you'll be heard or seen by others. All you wanted was to create a distraction. To save him.

But he doesn't run, even as you see him stumble back in the red lighting of the tunnel, hissing when Bobbin's blade strikes him somewhere. "Coryo!" You cry out again, more out of fear. Was it serious? Was he already in the process of bleeding out?

You quickly hop the railing abandoning your safety, sliding down the concrete and stumbling upon hitting the ground. "I don't want to hurt you!" You hear his voice again as you run into full view of the tunnel, still about twenty feet away.

Just in time to see Bobbin fall back between the metal gate, landing a good ways away.

"Enjoy the show!"

You flinch when your friend steps out after him, chest rising and falling heavily as he stares down at the boy's body. Silent, unmoving, dead.

Then he brings the club down on him again.

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