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acid-ixx · 29 days ago

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ch.4: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: self-esteem issues, alcohol abuse, allusions to self-harm.

"baby bird, i know i haven't been talking to you much as of lately. but i just want to let you know that we miss you alright?"

not delivered.

"i really regret ignoring you, we all do. i'm-"

he hesitates, then deletes the last word of his message.

"—we're the ones in the wrong for everything, alright? you blocked me, i'm sure you did for everyone else too, i get that, but we care for you now and that won't change anytime soon. please remember that."

not delivered.

"and it pains me seeing that you're not replying to my messages at all, baby bird. but i promise i'll-"

dick bites his lips at the mistake of addressing himself only rather than that of the family, but a greedy part of him wants you to read the messages and to see only him in spite of everything rather than them, feeling a sense of... need to be the first and only one you see when you think about accepting their apologies, even if he's writing to you whilst simultaneously trying to get his family in your good graces.

dick doesn't know it. why he's suddenly obsessed with you. you? yes you, his stupidly precious sibling, the one who looked up to him, frail and wronged by the world, with so much drive behind that stare. third child of bruce, yet second youngest in the family. the one that got away, the one he has never once saw outside that one memory of glinting, awe-inspired eyes that told more stories than poets, drew more emotions than artists.

nobody saw you outside of your status as the manor's ghost— but compared to your other siblings, he knew you the most. he wants to be the only man good enough to be considered your brother, your oldest brother; an obligation he's willing to uptake just for you. he wants to be the only one with the authority to call you his baby bird. he doesn't know why, despite the thirteen and a half years, it's him wanting, no, needing to see you again.

you, just you.

every bits and pieces of you.

in his mind, it's just him and you. in your tiny little bedroom, with your dozens of sketchbooks and diaries, with only your brother, dick, to accompany you. in your own little world, as you speak to him of your dreams and passions with nothing else in your mind. you'd look up at him with sparkling eyes, look at him like he means everything in the world to you, and he'd see you as his world.

when he thinks of that, the more he hopes of the possibility of you reading his messages; his declaration of never leaving you alone anymore. and with hope comes along this dread that you'd reply with a nasty reply, or that... you'll never bat an eye him anymore.

dick doesn't take a second glance to correct his mistake again this time.

"i promise i'll be better for you baby bird. my little hatchling, my little one. i discarded you, someone so precious. you must've felt hurt, no? i get that, i'm so sorry you have to go through that because of me. but look! you have me now, we have each other now! and that might not be enough yet to mend the bridge i left to fall, but if you just, please reply to me, or anyone else, then we can fix this. i promise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"you won't ever feel hurt anymore, or sad or lonely. hell, even bruce is getting you a new bedroom fixed up, isn't that great!? i'll even convince the old man to make sure your room is close to my old one so you can visit me anytime. i'll even stay over at gotham for even longer, just for you! and i'll spend my time with you, with just the two of us, okay? nobody else can disturb us. i'm sure you'd like that too."

not delivered.

"and we can hang out anytime you want, no? sleepovers, movie nights, journalling— all the cool stuff you wanted to do with me in the past, we can do now! and it'll be fun with you, i can see it happening alrrady, i just know it. you can't convince me otherwise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"that's why i'm begging you to unblock me, little one, or to at least read all my previous messages, please? :( i'm still so sorry over how i treated you in the past. i've nothing to defend myself over how i acted towards you. i was so delusional, ignoring you when all you clearly wanted was to spend time with me, with the family."

not delivered.

"we can even have that dinner together, remember?! at that fancy restaurant you talked about, yeah? my treat, of course. you can order the entire damn menu and i'll leave you room for seconds and desserts. i can even make arrangements to get bruce to rent out the entire restaurant so it would just be the two of us plus the family, but mostly just us— that would be good! then you can sleep at my room after we get home to the manor since we're turning your old one into an atelier just for you! i'll even carry your cute little figure up any flight of stairs whenever you get tired."

not delivered.

"i promise i'll really make it up to you baby bird!!! <3"

not delivered.

"for all the times we neglected you, left you thinking you didn't deserve a spot in the manor (which you truly do, it's us to blame for never seeing it that way), made you feel negative emotions towards us— i'll take your pain and turn that into joy, i promise."

not delivered.

"and if you do manage to read through all this, please remember..."

not delivered.

"i love you so much, alright? we'll find you soon, and you'll be happier with us, i'm sure of it. i love, love, love you so much my baby bird."

not delivered.

he sighs, resigning his thoughts all to himself as he checks his phone every minute for a simple ring of notifications just from you. he prefers to leave his phone in silent mode from the multitude of other contacts bothering him, but god forbade if that means he'd scroll past to a single reply of yours, then he'd rather burn in hell.

and anything is better than the pain inflicted on him when it comes to the thought of you ignoring him.

because after all, he does mean it when he says he loves you, his baby bird, his adorable little sibling.

he'd rather hell than you seeing him any less of an older brother.

what takes longer? is it a seed growing into a bud, a bud into a bloom, or a flower to fully shrivel and die?

how long does it take for it to be considered worthy? deserving of attention and the rightful spotlight to attain its needs for life?

what takes its time? what other variable does it need for it to survive in such harsh conditions? if it's forcefully pried open as a seedling, as a bud growing in a field full of weeds sapping, draining it of its nutrition, or in a scorching, desolate desert, or pestilent lands; would it still be considered a flower?

what does a seed need to grow into a flower? beautiful, treasured, with vibrant colors reflecting off the surface of each petal, growing pollen for every pollinator to spread its bountiful success you call development?

what does it require?

everyone knows the answer, some could only be ignorant enough to turn the other way and reject the idea altogether.

it needs care, nourishment — healthy soil building a strong foundation, its home with roots carefully embedded in the ground, then it also requires water, a source of life given to it in specific times with just the right dose, and sunlight kissing its stems and petals warmly — and finally, love.

lots of love, attention, and patience from mother nature herself and its caretakers we call humans.

but how could a flower receive any, if not, all it needs, if it's raised under a marshy, overgrowth rainforest that speaks of death and cruel poachers that could step on the bloom of any moment?

how could a flower live, let alone survive, if its careless caretakers who took it away from its fertile lands neglect it of its requirements to grow and bloom into its rightful imagery?

just how?

you are a flower.

and you will wilt soon the longer you live in what you once thought was your home.

growing in cracked, dry soil, with no water nor sunlight aiding your growth.

you are a flower.

who had been loved by your creator, mother nature herself; your mother. but you've never once felt the care nor love of your cruel humans you call family, your father had never once saw your budding petals, kissed it, patiently watered or spent time outside in the sunlight with you. your brothers don't notice your dehydrated pets, shriveled leaves and bent stems, nor do they tend to it. your sisters don't decorate the pot you reside it, they don't talk to you every time you sag down in loneliness and isolation as you are forced to stay in the same place and witness the same scenarios over and over again.

not much knows it, but flowers, much like any plant, can communicate, they can feel. and when they do, they do deeply.

and you are a flower. a flower worthy of being pressed into books, storing your beauty forever. a flower worthy of being situated into a stunning arrangements of bouquets, worshipped through birthdays, dates, weddings, and even funerals.

you're a flower, and you're beautiful and deserving of praise and honor from your stages in life as a seed, from a bud, to a blooming flower. yet you're neglected the same way ignorant trespassers would step on growing blooms, uncaring for sabotaging their life completely, and oh-so easily.

you're a flower, a symbol of nature's fertility, resilience, and tranquility.

you symbolize your mother's long standing determination to care for a child whose father looked other ways but her. who raised her seedling with care, watered them with stories of fairytales: fantasies about prince charmings who take their flowers away from barren lands to spoil them with rich soil and neverending sunlight, about princesses who stop by flower shops to awe at the arrangements of bouquets, eyes glazing with fervor as they recount each and every symbolism every unique flower shares.

your mother places you in your favorite, decorated pot: your shared bedroom with her, and she kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your chubby little fingers, the same way the illuminating sunlight kisses at your flushed body whenever you two would go out for your walks.

she was your mother nature, and you were her precious flower.

you were once a blooming bud then, and you wished you would still bloom now.

how could you grow into what you're worth, when even you couldn't grow without the love that was taken from you?

what about the care, the patience, the determination she once held in her warm gaze, now cold and fading with life the last time you saw her; would it all be a waste?

how could you grow now?

and yet you don't even need to ponder for solutions. the answers were clear, clear as the water your petals used to bathe in, clear as the rain that pitters against alfred's car windows the same day you were taken away from your mother's hold—

you simply wilt.

8:31PM.

your friend said she'd pick you up quarter to nine, so you'd at least have the time to prepare and make yourself look good. but right now...

god, right now, you don't feel anything good, not even a wee bit of it at all. ever since he texted you, you feel like shit, utterly repulsed. vile, like the image of you vomiting every contents of your stomach— and now you're going out drinking with an empty one. you can already feel the bitter taste of heavy alcohol mixing in with the acids of your stomach.

you can already feel the breakdown you're having right now as you remember how fucking broke and useless you are for having to ask your friends to treat you to drinking because you have nothing left to offer beyond the fucking taxes you have to pay and the nearly due rent and bills.

you have nothing to offer. you're so shitty. you deserve to die.

the more you stare at the mirror, the more your eyebags seem to deepen, your lips began to dry, and the pit in your chest sunken.

and that makes you exhale even deeper, ignoring the way your throat constricts on itself in instinct.

your eyes flitter to your fingers, nails bitten, skin ripped at the seems with dry blood staining chipped cuticles.

when you looked back at your reflection, you want to cry even more, seeing an image of a moving pile of flesh. all puffy skin and sagging eyes.

you don't remember the last time you felt pretty about yourself.

whether it was in the manor, or back when your mother was the only one raising you— it seems like your memories are in shambles right now.

you don't remember the last time you looked in a mirror, looking healthy, fresh, and proud of yourself for dressing up in your style. in the back of your mind, there will always be hatred, resentment for how you look. and right now, you hate how you every bit of your appearance because...

because you look exactly just like an image of your mother and bruce wayne. a reminder, your punishment for your parents' beautifully tragic affair with one another. a billionaire who courted the lowly dirt-class slut of gotham.

yet you're uglier because you're not them, you couldn't be them. you're not picture-perfect brucie with slick-black hair and a face like fine-aged wine, or the image of your sultry, "man-eater" mother in her lingerie. you're just, you— you've inherited all the stupid flaws you wished you could shave off your damn body.

you remember seeing your father's face in television with your mother beside you by the couch, combing your hair and giggling when your eyes had lit up at the sight of the rich man. you haven't once took your eyes off the news channel whenever he appeared, looking at bruce, always enamored with his aesthetics, only to never notice your mother's tired eyes, or how shaky her fingers would sometimes become.

"momma, that's daddy, right?!" you asked her whilst the side of your body was pressed against hers, with all the enthusiasm a child could muster. your grin was wide, eyes peeled to the screen, enough to ignore the flinch in your mother as you had once thought it was her igniting with the same excitement as yours.

she simply leans down and kisses your cheeks, her eyes, a beautiful shade of your eyes color, albeit lighter in hue, never once left the crown of your small head, ignoring the headline for the news about 'brucie's new fling caught on camera!'.

your mother was so glad you were still illiterate at your age. she wish she could never break off the illusion that it was her who simply birthed to you, with no face for a father. maybe you would've never ask her about why he had never once came to visit your small family, why you could never meet your other siblings, or why he's seen with multiple other women by his side every time you open the television.

you ask at frequent intervals; it makes her wish to strip away the past in which she chose to tell you who your father was. you would've experienced less heartbreak, she would've never seen the way your eyes would dim at her every excuse, or the way she felt your heart crack at the seams, only further breaking hers.

yet after a while, she replies and buries her thoughts, ignoring the tears that lid her eyes. with not so much enthusiasm in her light voice, with the undertones of guilt and sorrow digging deep throat her throat, but it was enough for young, little you to jump on your springy couch with her response.

"... oh, yes, that's your papa...! isn't he so nice looking—?"

"and handsome! i'm so lucky to have such beautiful parents! i wish i was as pretty as you, momma, and daddy too!"

when you had looked up with haste, glinting eyes staring up at her with a wide grin, some baby teeth still present, others absent from your gums, yet you displayed admiration no less; your mother just as quickly wipes her red eyes and sniffling nose with the worn sleeves of her sweater and reciprocates your beaming energy with a small smile.

she wishes you'd dismiss her previous melancholic expression, replacing it with the same fond, yet tired gaze she always offers you, wishing you'd be as oblivious to the pain it brings her to see your hopes and dreams of meeting a father you could only admire through a screen or article. yet you're always so perceptive, so interlinked with her reactions that she's sure that one of the few positive traits your father had given you. she should've expected your words, yet her broken heart finds a path to heal whenever you sense her pain and soft a bandage to the cracks of her bleeding scars with your kindness.

you would always be her little flower. the one she'd nurture in a garden filled with rosy bushes and scarring thorns.

"—you're so beautiful, momma, even if you cry because daddy isn't here with us, or you're too tired taking care of me. you're beautiful because you're my mother, and i'll take you over everything in the world..."

and you tell her, an inaudible whisper to your voice, with eyes that were once wide, beaming with joy, now gazing at her with softness like the wind kissing blades of grass in a gentle dance. you look at her, and she stares back, eyeing your chubby cheeks and lips the same shape of hers, the ends of your lashes curves the same way as hers, and your voice matches her like a lullaby when you speak every vowel in a soothing lilt.

you calm the hurt in her chest, replacing it with a mellow warmth. she even forgot the tears that slowly dripped her eyes, all replaced with the comfortable softness of her precious child's palms, smooth and cozy, resting on both of her cheeks as you pepper her crying face with kisses.

she holds both your palms caging her, and allows the your hold to linger for longer. the silence ensues, yet you both embrace the unsaid assurances.

it's times like these where she realizes you encapsulate the beauty of both worlds.

it's moments like this, she sees herself in you, and maybe she could lead herself to believe that she is beautiful, because she sees her beauty through her child, her grace.

the memory only further deepens the guilt in your heart.

if there's one word to describe you now. it would be disgrace. to your father's honor, and your mother's legacy. for easily letting yourself go, for being so weak, for being the line that jumps between two polar opposites of one another; trying to traverse their path of belonging.

you're a disgrace, a mistake, and you deserve to be treated as such.

it was why you never find yourself beautiful. a person such as yourself would always find allure, worth in all things chaotic - you live in gotham after all - but never find that same value in yourself as you look at your reflection that distorts your image even more, making you uglier and uglier the longer you look.

split ends everywhere, hand tangled, reddish eyes from nearly crying again.

even if you beat at yourself, erratic and impulsive, even if your skin is colored an ashen blue and purple, rotten shades of yellow and red, you think of yourself ugly and repulsive.

no matter how much color you try to bring into your bleak, repulsive life, at the cost of hurting yourself to become pretty— every part of you will always be that ugly, little duckling in comparison of your siblings who always outshone you.

dick with his playboy body, jason and his towering one, tim with soft boyish features, damian's silky tan and smooth skin, and duke's baby face.

you couldn't even have your hair frame you as perfectly as steph's light blonde hair does, or share barbara's proportionate face, or look as gracious yet deadly like cassandra.

you're nowhere near as special, you're not like them. you have features too unique, yet out of place, and you couldn't bring yourself to be conventionally good-looking.

you hate yourself so much. you hate every little mole, every little pimple, every damn imperfection that litter your body, making you even lesser than what you already are.

your family; mother, father, brothers and sisters, god, even your fucking friends! every time you sit by them side-by-side, you'd feel insecure, imperfect, an eyesore and you just want to strip away every part of your limbs one by one if that meant replacing it with even better ones; all for the sake of at least feeling pretty.

you remember the first time you tried to find a sense of style, and damian's comment and– god fucking damn it—!

your hands found its way to your brushed hair, tangling itself through already fragile strands to rip at the seams. you don't care, you don't fucking care, you pray to any god out there to get them out of your head, pleas unheard, you're always left to hurt.

"what are you trying to achieve with that, huh? what even are you trying to think with that horrendous color combination? what are you, a clown? even that damned joker has more coordination than you think you could achieve."

in front of his friend, jon kent, with a scowl on his ever-so angry face and his hand already making a way to grip his sword; an absolute threat to dice you up shall you ever bother being in the same room as him.

he said that to you... you're older, you could've been stronger, could've at least found a semblance of fight in your bones. but no! god, no. your life was ruled with fear with damian wayne being the demon haunting you in the manor, always making living harder, making breathing a heavy task.

how could you ever fight back? not when you've conditioned yourself to tear up at the slightest bit of noise, feel goosebumps prick your skin when you hear someone raise their voice at you, and your heart rate hasten at the slide of a knife against any surface?

you! you who's so fucking weak to even make a comeback. you, who ran away with wide, traumatized eyes. because you're scared, so fucking fearful of an even bigger cut to your skin marked by damian— even if you're accustomed to cutting yourself with even deeper gashes.

because it's him that you fear, not the pain, not anymore. just him and his contempt at you for ruining his pure bloodline just by you being his half-sibling.

you don't want a repeat of your first meeting, or any meeting with him at all. not when you'd drown even deeper in a pit of fear every time you stare at his glaring, emerald eyes. one that tells you he chose to merely not kill you out of the goodness of his heart. but he will, god he will if he feels you've been too comfortable in his presence.

every damn time, everytime you feel fear, you see green. you hate green, any literal meaning of it, every implication of itx even seeing it, and fuck! your outfit has green embellishments.

you feel even uglier, yet the twinge of fear immediately overpowers any concern your had with your appearance. it's as if eyes were suddenly on you, and it's not only yours staring at you in the mirror.

your lips wobble, snot began blocking through the passage of your nose.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

why?! why can't you just forget about them all. why, why, why?!

you bite your lips harshly to conceal the pained whimpers from the back of your throat, but it doesn't work. it only makes the fear worse.

tears rim at your eyes, you merely wipe them away. your heart attempts to beat out of its gilded cage, yet you swallow your quivering chokes and proceed to continue staring at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a rush, with nothing to conceal your ghastly eyebags and sunken skin.

and green. you'll see it everywhere now. fuck, would dick send out damian to kill you now? you don't know, you're scared but you can't chicken out, not when your friend is already near to your apartment. god you wish you had beer in your cabinets instead, but you're broke and unprepared for life and your hair's all in a tangle and you just fucking want to die.

your hands grip at the edge of your sink, you look at your mirror and see the blood on your already bitten lips.

not even concealer can cover the damn scars all over your face all through the neck.

calm down.

you stare even deeper at yourself and ignore the green, trying to think of something else—

something less emotionally scarring, like your appearance. even if it brings you great pain, too, you'd rather that than your family. no more of them, fuck, no more. even if you stare at your eyes and see that familiar mix of colors of your mother and bruce's eyes. the shape of your face, even the curve of your brows all resembled your late mother— and you miss her, her captivating beauty that you never saw aged like fine way before she was taken away from you. you see bruce in the strands of your hair and the way it sometimes fray when too stressed. you see them in every image you wish to erase of yourself.

yet your genetics are nothing to them, not when you can't even care for your tangled hair or ashen skin.

even the dead looked more lively than you ever could.

with a pale complexion, with scars that litter all over your shoulders, wrists, and hidden parts of your body, one you're too ashamed to show anybody— it was no doubt that you looked pathetic and erased the beauty that both your parent's cultivated. and it makes you wonder; would it really be worth it?

would it be worth it if the people around you see you?

you with your melancholic eyes, trying to find an escape in a maze you call your mind? you can picture yourself drinking alcohol until you reach the domain of death, sitting in a stool, alone, as you nearly empty the contents of your stomach remembering the sole reason why you're there in the first place.

would it be worth it if all eyes suddenly were on you? they turn to you to gaze at the ugly bruises on your body, they mock your appearance, call you names, look at your sniveling, red nose and warm cheeks intoxicated from all the heavy liquor you'd down, and whisper. they'll whisper insults, slurs, and every known jab until it's all their words that pierces through your eyes, until the loud bass becomes mere background chatter for all the gossips that ensue.

are you actually going to do this right now?

you don't know, you don't know and you wish never cared as much.

all you could really focus on was your eminent goal of getting out of your stuffy apartment, to rid of the paranoia that somehow, you're being watched over in the confines of your four walls and that the familiar image of green will come attack you. the more you think, the more the hairs on your skin start to raise with every known intention to signal you of your anxiety.

eyes, they may be everywhere.

eyes, eyes, eyes. as you stare at your eyes, you try to ignore emerald eyes, they dilute even further. you gulp, yet your focus remains distorted. images flash at the mirror, and suddenly they're here, with you, with their eyes. bright blue for some, dark green for another, and they all gaze at you with contempt. one's hand claws at your throat, the other pins your wrist down on the edge of the sink. the eyes glare, and they never soften. yours merely shook, unblinking as your breathing becomes heavier; trapped in the cages of their wanton staring.

you yelp, then blink. when you did, they're gone. and you're back to looking at the same image of yourself. you grimace slowly.

ugly, with dry skin and falling hairs. the worst version of you, the normal version of yourself— there was never a best version for you.

as long as it's you, you'll never be enough.

all you wanted was to drink with your friends at a club; some working nightshifts at the location you're going to— yet you want to back down. want to take your phone by the corner of your vision and cancel your sudden plans.

but you're scared, you're so fucking scared of any new messages.

hell, even finding the contacts for your friends was a task in itself you wish to never repeat. with jittery fingers trying to type of messages and blurry eyes navigating through the screen of your slippery, glass screen protector.

you're scared, rightfully so.

you're scared to find his message once more suddenly popping up, your fingers accidentally pressing on it like the clumsy swine you are, and rereading that damn heart over and over again.

you slam your dominant hand against the tiled sink, hard and uncaring for the pain it induced all throughout your body. the tremors of the impact shook you to your core, yet you seethe in your breath and don't allow yourself respite to let the tears flow freely from your already red eyes. you feel your heart beating erratically through your chest, the shivers controlling your body, the shrieks that you contained within you— and you enchain them all with no respect for yourself.

you deserve this. you deserve to be hurt, to be punished for your actions, for your mistakes, for your sins.

even if your hand became swollen, splotched with varying shades of disgusting purples and yellows, you won't treat it with medicine. even if the sharp edges of the sink broke the fragile layer of your already scarred palm, and bled profusely with that familiar shade of red; you won't rush to wrap it with gauze or even spare a droplet of betadine. even if by the next day you'd have to write out your overdue assignments with that specific hand, then you'll force yourself to learn through the other and punish yourself again if you fail once more.

you deserve this.

and as your phone pings, lighting up to show you a notification of one of your friend's messages about being ready to pick you up by the lobby of your apartment's ground floor, you ignore your injured hand and the bruises on your knees from falling so abruptly on tiled floors just moment's ago. you dismiss the ache of your head, the soreness of your eyes and the disgusting beat of your heart.

you ignore the pain that wrecks at your entire body, in favor of destroying it even more, just as you deserve.

you don't recall how many shots you had before you're nearly passed out by the bar, sitting on its stool with your head leaning on one both your arms crossed, drool close to slipping out of the corners of your mouth and heavy eyes lidded, about to fall into the depths of sleep.

you're sure you looked wasted, absolutely drop-dead drunk with no thoughts circulating in your head other than the pleasant buzz in your ears and the flash of colors in the disco balls blanketing the entire room with its neon lights. your face must've been an unearthly shade of red, and you can already feel just how blazen it is, and how your fingertips are ice-cold to the touch (probably colder than the marble you lay your arms upon). in other words, you're actually wasted.

and it's so worth it if it means it gets you to forget. and forget you did, because you can't even dig deep into your head to even remember a single memory of whatever grief you went through earlier in your apartment. not even the throb of your head from when you pulled your hair from its roots, all to the way you slammed your dominant hand on your bathroom sink, bruising it with unnatural shades of purples and yellow.

it makes you omit every type of pain, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. it doesn't cure you of your ails, but god forbid you if you just want to savor moments where nothing but a mind numbing headache is the only feeling present in your current state.

the remix of songs were long forgotten in your mind, they all become an amalgamation of miscellaneous sounds. your body is so inclined towards the flat, rectangular cool surface of the marble glass of the bar that you can guarantee you could sleep here, especially since black behan to cloud both your vision and your mind.

everything feels so hazy, and pleasant, and straight-out peaceful that the screaming tandems of equally drunk clubbers and the occasional sobers holding up their friends who sang along with whatever remix the dj comes up with, or the forming crowd as people began to rock and dance to the bass that shakes up the entire floor to the point you can feel vibrations run along your spine— didn't register within the crevices in your mind.

all you can focus on, is the gratifying pleasure ll alcohol induces in your body. gone is the feeling of fear that emanates off of every inch within your body. your bones don't feel as if it's locking up everytime you feel eyes on you, and your throat doesn't certainly feel constricted with the lack of flow of blood anymore.

god, this is why you've never once regret drinking right after the moment you turned eighteen— not when it's positive effects outweighs all the negative emotions that rule over your body.

you couldn't even notice a man with shades (seriously, who wears that to party? isn't the club dark enough?) sitting beside your drunken form in the corner of your eyes, raptured in the thin line between focusing on reality and drifting off to dream world. you don't even bat an eye to his muffled giggles and the way he twisted his stool just to admire the view: you.

you're oblivious to the entire commotion happening within the depths of his mind because you couldn't feel any aptitude to danger right now— thanks to the effects of the hard liquor overtaking whatever fear you've felt being watched long ago.

or maybe you just felt safe beside the stranger. or, you're merely drunk. you don't know.

fuck, you're so close to passing out.

you don't know where your friends are, where they came running off to but you know you won't be getting out her sooner or later and you definitely don't have a ride home. so your only way back without getting ambushed as a completely vulnerable citizen of gotham, is by a safer, more convenient means of a ride— but that certainly wouldn't be safe if your friends are as equally drunk, or even more so, as you. but does your hazy mind care? no. not when you flip your head to rest on the other side once the other side became hotter that you notice a conveniently attractive man staring right back at you with an entertained grin.

as if your existence alone makes him happy. as much as your mind keeps blanking out, that mere implication made your heart pang just a teensy bit. of pain, or pleasure, or mere joy, you don't know. but you do know that it triggered some unknown feelings and you don't want to feel.

you want to drink some more, feeling solemn all of a sudden just from staring at him. you're sure the obvious frown on your quivering lips and the heavy, hot sigh

and it doesn't help that his face seems similar. the longer you stare, the more his grin seems to sharpen. confidently? or shyly? you can't seem to gain a clear image of him; what when rainbow lights are blazing out through the holes of the disco ball and your eyes recently just opened to your near journey to traverse through sleep.

all you can make out to be is his jet-black hair, side bangs framing the left side of his face, a faint outline of an eyebrow piercing

you also took note of his spiky jacket— yet what draws you the most to him are his sunglasses that he chose to wear conspicuously in a damn club of all places.

he's attractive, to say the least, but he triggers a set of emotions deep into the cages of your imprisoned heart that sets itself free. he gives you a sense of nostalgia, of familiarity that you can't pinpoint but feel; like you've seen him before but don't know when. your eyebrows furrow in and your eyes squint at him, unknowing to the judgement you're subjecting him in. your lips wobble, though, because his presence just makes your heart feel something, akin to pain but not quite, and makes your head buzz that you just want to cry as a reaction.

he, the stranger, don't know it, but he makes you all sad, primal emotions overtaking any drunkenness you feel as deep tremors buzzed into the confines of your chest, until all you're doing is staring at him with pouting, downturned lips and sad, puppy eyes; rimming with salty tears.

you don't know why you feel sad all of the sudden, and you can faintly see through blurry, watery vision how his face shifted from entertained to worry, eyebrows raised and eyes wide open at your sudden mood shift.

maybe you or him could've spoken up, you more so, but you're just so emotionally drained and overwhelmed today that you began sobbing silently without breaking eye contact with the man.

despite you wanting to say anything: an introduction, a question opening up as to why he's staring at you, or even a mere phrase telling him to "back off"; the only words that came out from your parched throat, all from trying to reason in your head on what a proper sentence should be, were:

"you're hot," and if you were sober enough, you would've felt sheer embarrassment and shame from eyeing the boy, but you're not— and because you're not sober, or any bit sane, the next few sentences you spewed out were all coherent, yet wonkily pronounced utterances paired with teary eyes and sniffling nose, as you can't seem to control the feelings of melancholy in your heart and the sudden emotional burst from your ramblings.

"thank you, you too, actually— but are you alright-"

"you're so hot, god, please. i don't know..." you gave him no time to speak as you hiccupped, lips wobbling even more than you can imagine. and you're trying your damn best to rid of the urge to punch at your chest as a coping mechanism through the multitude of emotions eating you up and away. but you never realized you were trying for an absolute stranger, palms fisting into itself as he stares at you worriedly all of a sudden.

"like... you're familiarly attractive, i—" the next few sentences were incoherent as your words bubbled around you like detergent soap. your fingers found itself into your face as you try to wipe off both tears and nearly dripping snot as you continued rambling drunkly.

"you just! you're hot, for me, i don't know... i'm just, we all—eughh... i don't know, i'm so sad..." and you truly are, for no reason at all other than seeing the man. poor him, must've felt so ashamed that he's the reason you're crying but at the same time... nothing can really stop you from ceasing your tears.

at least, that's what you've convinced yourself to believe in. that you're truly incurable of the ailment of being constantly depressed with nobody to aid you with your troubles. not even your friends, nor past therapists that you've consulted.

you've nothing to comfort you, and that makes you even more solemn than ever.

the simplest of emotions felt, the deeper and complex you take it out to be. sadness, or moreover depression, the horseman of apocalypse that destroys any hope you've tried to kindle with your life.

it makes you all the more burst into a wave of even more tears.

"... okay, okay, wait here for me, alright?" he suddenly stood up, hurriedly, probably unsure, or disgusted by you. you're unsure about what he's saying, too caught up crying that you simply nod to whatever he said and continued on with your episode.

as you're left alone, you allow your tears to dry only cry once more. when he left you, you weren't aware but you just felt even more lonely. at pushing away the only company you had after your friends left you in the dust, you feel depressed and regretful and all emotions related to grief and you just want to drink some more but you don't know if you can take it anymore!

god, it all returns to pain. pain you thought you could bury deep once you took multiple swigs of alcohol.

pain that makes you want to bang your head against the marble of the bar—

and you're so close to doing so, but only stopped when your blurry vision sets itself on the man returning with a handkerchief and a cold glass of ice water. at his kind gesture, you simply teared up even more, pouting when he walked your way and looked at you with a sheeping grin.

when he sat right back up on the stool seated to your right, he hesitated with his hold on the handkerchief near your face. but the moment he gathered up his pride and pressed it against the unnatural blaze of your cheeks, you merely leaned closer to his palms, eyes closing as you can feel the tears cease itself finally at the blind comfort he's unknowingly providing you.

"there, there... be careful, 'kay stranger?"

he mutters, a light chuckle accompanying him. it's only now you can finally focus on the cool churn of his voice and the , with your eyes close and the haze of your thoughts washing away, leaving you breathless in your respite— not restrictive, nor lonely, but still short of breath.

this reminds you of the times alfred had to hold you in his arms everytime you threw a tantrum at the manor.

it made you realize that the months, a near year even, after leaving the manor, made you crave physical affection. making you feel like a husk of yourself when not given. you feed off of the scraps of physical lovez to the point that even this man who's wiping away the tears from your cheeks makes your heart beat faster, in a comfortable manner.

sensations. he once told you that if you feel too deeply within, then to ground yourself you must feel beyond interior ranges of emotions.

and that's the technique you've been willing away from your head for so long. because it always requires another person in the room to comfort you, to simply touch you softly, gently like you're porcelain the same way the stranger is pressing damp fabric against your tearstained cheeks and hollowed out eyes.

the pain you've felt was because you're merely touch starved. alone, in a space where everyone has someone, and a no one can't have anyone.

but now that you do have a someone, no matter how dangerous he could've been outside of your impression of him, you feel the pain lessen, the heavy burdens become featherlight at his kind gestures of wiping all the salty tears from your face, the runny snot from your nose with no rush whatsoever.

"feel better now, hon?"

"mhm..." a long, drawled out yawn emits from your mouth, yet you're too comfortable with him to even care, suddenly feeling a wave of drowsiness after your emotional episode.

after he finished wiping your face, and felt it considerably cool down from the damp fabric, he placed it on the bar, one hand on your face keeping you stable. yet his other hand promptly went back to your cheeks.

he chose to do this of his own volitions, even leaning closer as your head finds itself slowly dropping to his clavicle (careful to avoid the spikes from his peculiar designed jacket), looking up at him and staring at his gray eyes.

the man looks down at you as you now realize he's cupping your face. at the implication of your entire ordeal with him, you might've felt flustered sober, but you're just so drunk that any spacial awareness for the proximity between your bodies just disappeared and left you with the need to sleep within the confines of the safety this man left you with.

you don't know it, but yet again the man smiles down at your adorable antics, finding the way you're absolutely trusting of a stranger both stupid, yet endearing. because he's no more stranger, and heaven bless him because he's so glad he's the person who approached you rather than anyone else because you looked so cute, and his crush on you may have lead him to stalk you occasionally just to ensure you're safe— that doesn't erase the gesture that he did it purely because gotham is too dangerous for your own good. and he's glad he trusted his human side of intuition, rationalizing with himself that today just seems to be the day you'd bump into danger if he's not there.

you're so stunning up close... how come tim never once found interest in someone as admirable as you is a mystery. but you trusting a stranger in your vulnerable state is much more.

and he's grateful he's that stranger.

because he may be a stranger to you, but a familiar one. and you feel safe, a feeling you haven't felt in so long that you simply just melt against him like clear putty; because you're transparent with what you feel right now.

and right now you feel warmth. not the uncomfortable one that blazes through your (now) cool face when you were drunk, nor the burning one whenever you thought of your family— but a pleasant one. like sitting near a fireplace as you watch the embers crackle, drinking hot cocoa whilst a quilt covers your body from the cold of the winter. you feel this way at his kindness, at his efforts to help you contain your emotions to a reasonable degree.

"what's your name, kind stranger?" you mutter on his chest (how come your head is laying on it, actually?) hearing the soft thumps of his heart. it's warm, he's warm and every bit of comfortable, as he does his best to move slightly back to remove his jacket and drape it over your body before he could reply to you, chuckling whilst doing so because you looked up at him with your eyes conveying every damn emotion that made you feel soft.

"it's conner, conner kent. call me kon, though. or yours if it's you." he purrs. it took you a minute to register his obvious flirting but what comes after is an absolute flush on your body and you recoiling from his hold as you look back at him, mouth agape. the tips of your ears were warm, and every bit of

an overexaggeration to his flirting, sure. it makes you look less appealing in your eyes, extra sure! but it's been so long since someone last attempted to flirt with you; but most were under the guise of when you were still a wayne and... and not as yourself. you! you who sports so many imperfections that—

"haha! is it strange to say that you look so cute whenever you look at me with wide eyes in the short span of time we just met?"

he slides in through your train of thoughts before you could delve even deeper through self-deprecation. and you're glad that he did because... god, he makes you want to shamelessly gloat as a reply. you've never had someone complement your eyes before, actually...

"i'm..." you look back at him after you stared down at your palms, heat overtaking your entire body. yet again it wasn't uncomfortable, and just the right temperature. you stutter your name afterwards, making sure it's your mother's last name that you highlighted implicitly and not bruce's.

he seems to grin even wider when you introduce yourself. that's when his next reply generally warranted you to nearly burst off your seat out of sheer diffidence.

"well," he says your name, tasting every syllable in his pierced tongue. "your name tastes sweet, dove. but i think your face is even sweeter now that you're not crying — not saying that isn't cute too but you're so stunning now that i look closer at you without any barriers. your eyes, especially, they're like some mix doe and siren eyes, or whatever my other friends talk about in social media. point given, you're drop-dead gorgeous in my eyes."

it all comes naturally from him that your brain merely shortcircuited and fried itself comprehending his message, forgetting you were drunk in the first place replacing it with a flush in your heart, the pit of grief and despair replaced with the lighthearted need to banter or reply meekly at his shameless flirting right after he comforted you.

this is the first time you felt something for someone's romantic gestures, instead of that wave of nausea that accompanies you.

he makes you feel... pretty about yourself. in a good way, in a way you don't feel the need to hide your insecurities for once and instead allow his eyes to flitter around your entire face, analyzing your features because... because he simply makes you feel pretty the more he stares at you.

yet all you did was take his hand on your own, a sudden burst of confidence even you couldn't explain, and played with it, as you pouted in reply before thinking— using his hand-now-turned-fidget-toy — of a good enough response.

you simply said, coughing before continuing, "i don't take back what i said moment's ago. you're hot too, even if my vision was obstructed by my tears."

"oh, really?" he smiled gently and allowed your hands autonomy to play with his. it's like telepathy, he knows it's automatic that you crave physical affection and attention and he's willing to provide you that solace.

"now that you're not crying— you think i'm even more handsome?"

you snort at his question, then took a step back with your thoughts to properly study him. neat, yet messy hair, piercing on the eyebrows and on his tongue (hot), sunglasses and spiky jacket draped upon your shoulders— goddamnit, of course he's hot! and you made it efficiently clear that he is, with your hands fiddling pattern against his soft, yet calloused hands, by squeezing it.

"yes, you are even more handsome, kon..." brief and concise, just how you like it. even if he gave you an entire essay describing you in his eyes, for you, you prefer actions; and you did so by simply being affectionate with the stranger, now acquaintance you have a slight crush on.

you'd never expected this turn of events, but it was a pleasant one and one you'd never really want to trade with anything else now that you've met kon.

so when he opened his mouth to spew something else, your ears perked up to listen and your mind, albeit slowly sobering up, prepared itself to reply to whatever flirting, conversation topics, and anything random it is that he wishes to talk about to you.

you smiled at him whilst he talked, he reciprocates as always.

yet this time, you weren't afraid to hide just how joyous you feel, for once, having a person interested in you not only physically but with your interests, too, as your conversations kept shifting to things about you.

it made inclined to learn about yourself, too. and that makes you happy, and fuzzy in the insides the more he asks you questions beyond your favorites. like in movies, he didn't simply just ask your favorites and you replied with an answer and moved on, no! you both discussed the emotional depth it impacted you with, why symbolism matters so much, and why in the near future you'd both inevitably meet up, you'll both watch it together.

that makes you feel excited.

you even forgot the main reason why you're here in the first place; to drink. now, though, it seems like you just wanted to talk to kon all night long.

fortunately for you, that's how the rest of your night went. with a pleasant buzz in the background, the sounds of remixes all drowned out in your ears as you favor the chatters of the man beside you, with the tremor of his voice a comfortable volume and his tone laced with freshly made honey.

when your friends finally ran back to the bar where you all collectively agreed to meet up at once everyone's shenanigans were finished, they giggled drunkenly whilst some sober ones whistled at seeing your hand unknowingly massaging his palms like a stresstoy and the jacket draped upon your shoulders.

the moment you returned it to him, he joked about wearing it every second now since it reminds him of you, and how it's his favorite piece of attire now beyond all his other clothing. you merely blushed and ignored the cooing of your friends behind you.

you didn't feel concerned over not seeing him anymore, as he had given you a slip of paper with his number on it in through a tissue with paracetamol pills wrapped around it (like the thoughtful gentleman he made himself out to be when he excused himself a second time to get those items, since you'd left your phone with one of your friends; you swore you felt a blush creep into your cheeks and heating the tip of your ears), you instead felt a pang of longing and furrowed your brows, looking at him as if asking if you'll see him around anytime soon as he reciprocates with a sure grin that makes you feel a wave of feather like affection.

he left shortly after, striding to you as your group recollects all your stuff and whispering a, "text you later, dove. stay safe for me, alright? don't let any other strangers get to you."

you're glad this night would end on a good note, willing away any prior doubts towards spending the night in a completely foreign street and expecting fir criminals and thugs to break in but no! you can't help but admit that your new... interest, conner, made your night a thousand times better.

and his little nickname for you... haha, you're so flustered thinking about texting him tonight. you'd neglect your assignments for now if it meant messenging him right after you get home, safely, for his sake.

when your group all came outside though, that's when things shifted.

time is a construct. it's complicated and structured like that as well. it can either be too fast, or too slow. when your friends had taken their sweet time to spend the night dancing about the dancefloor, when you'd taken the precious time to flirt and talk to kon; that's when you all collectively realized that their damn cars were stolen.

the air suddenly shifted to this thick atmosphere when you all stepped out, one that can be sliced through with a sword, and you swore—

god, you swore this night couldn't have been any better with the turn of things, but now. right after you got out the club, it all took a turn for the worse.

this is it.

you're going to die today.

you're going to die, in some dirty ditch, your friends nowhere to be found, with nobody to save you.

nasty bruises already began to form on your skin, one with harsher colors of purple, blue, and yellow on your wrists and other patches of skin; way harsher

the man in front of you was gnarly, but you've no time to judge as he kicks you in the guts.

matted brown hair lay atop his head like a bird's attempt at a near, he has an odor that reeks of sewer rats, piss, and feces, and an unruly beard that houses bits of his leftover.

he holds a weapon whose shape you couldn't make out with your hazy vision, body nearly cramping in on itself once he kicked you again.

straight in the abdomen, with brute strenght accompanied by his worn leather boots decorated with glinting spikes that sparkle under the moonlight's glow.

in the abdomen, spikes.

blood first, then curdling pain next.

no noise rips through your ears, only wringing ever present, but your mouth opens, and you can feel its tender chords crack as a scream erupts from your throat, shrill and resounding from the deepest depths of the cockpit your mouth has to offer you; uncaring for the man in front of who who suddenly covers his ears and grits his teeth, who looks at you like you're mad, yet unlike same way his two other lackeys from behind look at your like you're the creation of carnage itself.

pain shot throughout your body, most especially at the core of the holes that pierced through your clothes and right inside your skin. and as your bulging, teary eyes try to look down with an agape, whimpering mouth, his shoes still connected to your body; you could only hold off so much of that familiar taste of acidic bile paired with that lingering scent of cheap booze.

tears were a byproduct of the misery, as it began to escape from your already puffy eyes. when the man released his legs fron pinning you down, your sobs only worsened as your unpinned, shivering arm try its damned best to cover the already leaking blood.

six holes, the diameter of the more than half of your finger, was what you could make out in your line of sight. the blood that leaked from them looked black, you couldn't find where the gradient of black and red connects, your only certainty in this situation was that you'd bleed to death before help could come to you.

the spikes were as long as a toothpick, a crimson puddle lay dripping on the floor.

your legs were shaking against your will, your eyes frantically search around you yet your pinned once more, his larger body framing against your own, providing no room nor qualms for an escape.

but the only escape you wanted was one from the pain of his pressing against your injury, even more blood spilling out of its confines. your tears only hastened its descent from your shaky eyes.

when your mouth opened for the nth time to wail out, he seethed in a breathe and threatened you, with his breath as vile as his entire being, that smells like every mix of synthetic chemicals from cigarette flavors, all expired, with teeth rotting and sporting yellow and black wallpaper.

gross, so gross. you want to die when the stench hits your nose. you shrivel in yourself, you couldn't breath.

"listen here, little bitch, you quiet down or i kill you. and 'ya either give me everythin' you own in your damn possession, or i'll kick you even more until a thousand little holes will fuckin' make you bleed to death, hear me?"

hearing his statement only made the adrenaline pump even more fight of flight into your heart. but you can't do either, you can't, not when you're still hazy from the fucking alcohol and the self defense tools in your tiny pouch were thrown a few feet away from you.

you've nothing to defend yourself.

oh god, oh shit, fuck.

you want to die, you want to so fucking die than go through the same pain of nearly being abducted or held hostage again.

yet your eyes could only close, your teeth kissing your bottom lips, biting hard to drown out another pained scream. whimpers, god, they're so loud yet you can't help the whimpers and the broken faucet from your eyes. even if you beg your own body to stop, it doesn't listen to the pleas of your mind.

the only thing it can focus on is the pain. recreant, volatile pain.

a moan escapes you, shaky and prolonged. the only other emotion that you could experience after is sorrow.

you didn't expect your pleasant night to end off in such a tragic note, but as your attacker held you by your throat with one hand, a knife pointed against your face, the next that happened was your head slammed roughly against the wall; a dull, beating ache lulling the back of your head after the momentary spark of pain— you're reminded that this is reality, and you're close to losing consciousness quick.

you're going to die.

bloody, a sobbing, dissociating mess, with your thoughts spinning around the same way the stranger and his lackeys laugh — bared yellow teeth, with the smell of ichor prevalent in their clothes, predatory eyes leering at you like you're prey — at your drunken moans of pain.

you're going to die.

"well, you gonna answer me or what, bitch? you wanna die!?"

he shouts you with spit that sprays all over your face, flashing you a grin and by extension flashing you his ugly, bared teeth. some missing were in his gums, others were artificial, most rotten like him.

you're going to die.

alone, in a ditch. bloody, laying in a pool of your own crimson the same way you saw your mother drowns in a puddle of hers.

you'll die like her—

what an honor.

the more you think about the situation, the more you're led to believe that the only way to solve this was through death alone, with no restrictions, no buts or ifs. you've no fight left in your body, or any weapon to fight. you're drunk, defenseless and if you actually managed to escape, you'd still bleed to death in some unknown alleyway. if you're lucky, a stray police may find you and give you a proper burial. but you remember you're in the living incarnate of hell in america, you'll never have a proper death.

this was night in gotham. your death alone only adds to the already astounding high percentages of all the other lives lost to the same twisted fate. you were no different. and to die early than to suffer from torture is better.

i mean, who would give a shit if you die tonight, right? your family— wrong! alfred would panic at your disappearance, but he'll forget about you like he did others, you're sure of it. that's why he still chose to fucking serve the wayne's instead of fully taking your side. if he had to choose between saving you or the people he swore his loyalty onto, he wouldn't hesitate. you're sure. even if the thoughts made the doom in your heart heavier. even if you know your story would never be covered nor acknowledged, you still year

but life is unfair, everything is. that's why you're here now, in a dark fucking alleyway with men who'll more than take advantage of your dying body and leave your corpse in the dump after. life is unfair, yet it's even more cruel in gotham. you should've expected this, should've known that a turn of events could be possible. you'll feel regret in the afterlife, only for a life that could've been well-lived, but never for the choice of living through the torture you call being a wayne.

so you came to the conclusion; confident for once after living for thirteen and a half years walking on eggshells around a manor.

this is not as bad as their neglect.

you smile in response to the guy, genuine and filled with grace as your heart that once pounds against your chest now slows down to a calm pace, finally at peace. with no other intention than to rattle him even more, to the point of choosing you to kill with his own hands as brutally as he likes— so you finally take a well deserved rest from life.

you gather saliva at the center of your tongue, ignore the taste of blood that swirls, nor the soreness of your throat and the crimson dripping down your nose.

when he looks down at you, disoriented at what you're doing, you spit at him, all the beating in your heart hastened, yet slowed down as quickly as you heave in a final breath.

... you're finally going to die.

"FUCKING HELL, YOU DAMN CUNT—!"

you close your eyes, bracing yourself for the knife that would hopefully stab you in the face, or the chest, and think of your last thoughts. you thank alfred for caring for you for those thirteen years, you hope you win your mother's graces in the afterlife even if she discovered your deliberate choices for killing yourself in the spur of a moment, and you wish your old family a happy life living without you, even if they already did so for so long.

all you needed was seconds to conclude your prayers.

but they weren't answered as you wanted them to be, not when you open your wide eyes to what was supposed to be a glint of silver piercing through the middle of your face was replaced by a bullet, quick and precise, shooting through his cranium without mercy, body immediately laying limp within those seconds.

the other two behind him were good as dead, too, your savior not wasting any moment to end their lives then and there.

and as you stumbled from the grip released from your body, your torso nearly crumpling in on itself, a flash of familiar, metallic red enters your vision when you'd look up from your savior who's huge form now meticulously acts as your shield from the brutal carnage that lays upon your line of sight and a pillar of protection trying to help you stand from the pain that shot through your lower abdomen.

but you don't want to stand, you want to drop dead right now. you don't want this, you didn't want this to happen.

instead of gratitude, dread fills your lungs with water and your fingers were left to tremor.

he looks down at you, you couldn't make out his expression, but you could feel the anger coursing through his body, the same as the day you first met him when he was still newly rebirthed, like it's telling you of his unadulterated rage at witnessing the scene before him. his body shakes, heavily, and his grip on your hands tighten, a mechanical groan drawling deep from his automated voice banks that changes his voice.

yet all you feel was fear overtaking your entire body prior to the comfort at the prospect of death.

you'd rather die than this.

even you couldn't believe the whimper of his name from your wobbling lips, as your body, out of instinct despite the pain, tried to push itself against the wall, away from him.

he only moves to hold your waste protectively, like a... brother suffocating his younger sibling with blankets when they complain it's cold. overbearing, disgustingly affectionate; you don't want it.

you feel cold.

this day could've been any worse— and it took a turn to the all worse scenarios you could imagine.

"jason...?"

"angel..."

a single familiar name was spoken, yet a new nickname was introduced. angel: the same way jason swore what you looked like when he sped through his motorcycle after hearing a shriek from all across the streets, finding you, bleeding and beaten to a pulp, with your attacker almost stabbing you.

of course, who wouldn't hesitate pulling a gun against someone trying to kill your precious? jason doesn't even need to choose.

and whether he did it in the name of justice and respect to his moral code, or because finding someone with a familiar face, sharing the same hopeless, yet death-accepting expression as he did back when he died— it all doesn't matter in the heat of the moment now.

what matters is that his angel is hurt and the madness in him festers the longer you bleed out in his arms, defiant and fearful all the same.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,000+ words. AND I LITERALLY HATE THIS CHAPTER (new least favorite fr) 😭 this decision is so impulsive i gonna regret it soon. chapter 5 will be released after a few days and i promise it has more action than this I SWEAR. first parts are always boring. anyways, there're so many song references in this chapter and for the next chapter. if any of you could guess what they are, i'll be rewarding all of you with something special. otherwise, please leave comments for this chapter! what motivated me to write was reading everybody's comments and inputs, about the love they have for this series as much as i do. interactions, asks, comments, they're all important and dear to me and i heavily appreciate it. so more interaction = more content. after all, i'd rather a post with little likes but with no interaction than a post with no interaction but all likes.

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shomatoriashi · 3 months ago

Text

08/27/24; 07:30pm

{ drabbles / headcanons }

[ when they’re feeling playful ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel

sylus can get very obnoxious if your attention isn’t solely on him. it’s true that he’ll spare you some time when you ask him to stay by your side while getting some work done. however, once the day morphs into night, and he realizes that you have yet to turn your gaze away from your laptop’s screen / phone-

all hell will break loose sylus will find a way to get your attention.

with your eyes hyper focused on the tasks at hand, sylus will take out his phone and type several times on its screen before suddenly standing from his spot next to you on the couch. with his arms cross, he’ll let out a huff of your name before grabbing a hold of your device and tossing it the the side of the room. a gasp would come from your parted lips, with several words of protests coming together in a mesh of panic.

“sy! that was a really expensive device! and what if you just erased my work?!”

sylus would let out a scoff in response. “what? that old thing? as if i haven’t already backed up all your work here.” he points to his phone while giving you a mischievous glint. “and besides, as long as you ask nicely, sweetie, i can replace that old thing with a mere snap of my fingertips. now come, you’ve already wasted the whole day away, and i’m not about to let you intrude on the night as well.”

his haughty tone echoes throughout the living room, making you roll your eyes when you finally decided to humor your boyfriend. watching him put on biker clothes, your eyes shamelessly follow how each piece of leather perfectly fits his body. just as you were close to admiring the curve of his ass, sylus turns around to smirk at you.

“what is it, sweetie? like what you see?”

you roll your eyes but match with sylus’s teasing nature, slapping his backside with the palm of your hand as the impact was heard echoing throughout the room. a cute, yet almost offended expression crosses his features, and it was more than enough to have you giggling in response. he rolls his eyes and takes a hold of your hand, leaning down to bite against the palm of it, his crimson eyes shining with mirth.

“i’ll take my revenge on you soon enough, love, but for now we must go.”

sylus tosses you your helmet, taking a hold of your hand as you leave the penthouse together. once you stepped into the parking garage and saw sylus’s motorcycle, you knew that you were in for a treat.

despite your prior annoyance with him tossing aside your work, admittedly, you were grateful for his forced distraction. once sylus gets on his bike, shoving aside the kickstand while revving up the engine, you don your helmet and took your place behind him.

surrounded by the faint scent of leather and his cologne, you cling to sylus as he quickly speeds out of the garage. giggling at the sensation of your stomach dropping with each turn as the scenery flew by you, you felt so free with the wind whipping through your hair.

a few minutes later, sylus slows down his bike and parks in front of a secluded building tucked away behind the cityscape. taking off his helmet first, sylus gives you an almost gentle smile, helping you out of your own helmet before walking into the hidden building.

upon entering, a man dressed in a pristine suit bows down to sylus before taking both helmets from his hands. “good evening, mr. sylus. your table has already been prepared for you.”

taking a hold of your hand, sylus leads you deeper into what you assumed was a high-end restaurant. the atmosphere was incredibly intimate, with shades of black and burgundy filling your vision as the entire place was lit up by various candles. sylus continues his trek until he reaches a private dining room.

your eyes go wide upon seeing the whole table filled with all of your favorite foods, the scents of it all invading your senses as you could feel your mouth watering in response. your stomach begins to growl, earning a rich chuckle from sylus as he helps you sit down on one of the chairs.

“go on and feast, love. i know you need some calories to prepare you for tonight.”

a flustered expression paints your features, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to protest any further with him, already digging into the food while letting out appreciative moans here and there.

sylus simply remains across from you, sipping at his red wine while basking in your every expression of contentment and pleasure, already anticipating those same expressions once you were finally beneath him while in the comfort of your bed.

upon realizing that the city was caught in a blizzard, neither you nor zayne made any effort to leave your shared home. as the snow piled on, zayne made sure to keep you warm by cooking various soups and stews along with some perfectly toasted bread to help with keeping you satisfied and full.

basking in the intensity of the heater and how comfortable the blankets were while they surrounded your pliant form, it was safe to say that you made little to no effort to get out of bed. and being the kind lover that he was, zayne allowed you to simply bask in the warmth without ever feeling the discomfort of the chilling blizzard.

in ways that zayne would never ever admit to you, he was grateful for the blizzard. since such drops in temperatures were something that you just weren’t quite used to, it made you cling to him (almost greedily), seeking for his warmth while remaining ever so close to him.

it may be a little pathetic for zayne to admit, but, the doctor didn’t get much sleep last night simply because he was basking in the way you were cuddled up so closely to him. eventually, his eyelids began to grow heavier as he fell into a peaceful slumber while dreaming of you (always dreaming of you).

while you slept, you remained oh so warm, safely wrapped up within zayne’s embrace while having the comforters shield the rest of your body from any cold air that dared to disturb you.

however, such feelings of warmth seemed to seep away from you when morning came. as the sun began shining through your curtains, you became achingly aware of how much colder the other side of the bed had become, making you shiver as you immediately opened your eyes. it takes a moment for you to adjust to the sunlight, seeing it paint your shared room in brighter hues.

wiping the sleep from your eyes, you call out to zayne, only to receive no answer in return. feeling like you were missing a piece of yourself without zayne by your side, you scan the room and see your sweater laying across one of the armchairs. brushing the tangles out of your hair, you smooth out your pajamas and put on your sweater, shivering slightly before continuing your search for zayne.

lucky for you, you didn’t have to search for long, for the moment you headed towards the kitchen, you caught sight of your backyard and had to do a double take. settled outside, you saw life sized figures made entirely of snow that was in the shape of all your favorite plushies. there was huggy bear, fleecy, to little narwie and even chubby pig! becoming enamored with such cuteness, you step out into your backyard, bare feet lightly touching at the soft snow as you admired each and every plushie made from snow.

and the more you admired each snowy figurine, the more you realized that these were all plushies zayne had won specifically for you during the many dates you spent at the arcade.

just as you were about to step forward, a powerful arm was felt wrapping around your abdomen. with a hum and a smile, you close your eyes and sway within zayne’s embrace, allowing him to place a kiss against your hair.

“what do you think?” his soft voice was heard whispering within your ear, so filled with longing as he prayed that this little surprise was enough to help with brightening your day. your giggles fill at the air when you turn around to face him, a genuine smile gracing your features when you wrap your arms around his neck.

“i love them…” just as much as i love you, you wanted to say to him, yet held back those words that threatened to bubble against your throat-

yet zayne seemed to understand you all the same, simply letting out a soft whisper of your name (much like a reverent prayer) before leaning down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss.

it was in the middle of spring, and you were asleep when a series of knocks were heard coming from your window. as you tried to ignore the strange, yet incessant sounds, it seemed to get louder, making your once deep slumber slip away from you.

you groan upon being woken up. your eyes, still sensitive to the light, you reach over to blindly grasp at your phone, unlocking it to see the time read 02:00am along with a text from xavier:

hey, r u awake??

wiping the moisture from your eyes, you let out a yawn before replying back to him:

what do you think i’m doing?? i’m sleeping xavier. are you okay? do you need help?

look outside ur window.

filled with confusion, you draw back the covers and get out of bed, your bare feet meeting the carpeted floors as you followed xavier’s text and look out your window. upon doing so, you were shocked to see xavier himself waving at you while throwing another pebble at your window.

your eyes go wide when you open your window. “xavier? why are you here?”

he shrugs before stepping closer to you. “jump down, i want to take you somewhere.”

your mind was spinning, wondering why your boyfriend couldn’t be normal just this once. “what? babe, it’s late. can’t this wait-“

“absolutely not.” a rare smirk graces his handsome features as he keeps his hands outreached to you. “come on, there’s no time to waste. just jump in my arms and trust me.”

with a roll of your eyes, you straighten your shirt and shorts, climbing over the ledge of your window before making your descent down towards xavier. within seconds, he captures you in his embrace, smiling down at you while giving your forehead an audible kiss.

“see? that wasn’t so bad, right?”

you giggle and playfully shake your head, “no, it wasn’t too bad.”

xavier keeps you within his embrace, carrying you to what you assumed would be his destination. a comfortable silence falls between you and your beloved hunter, and you became curious upon seeing a large blanket spread out on a grassy hill. a lantern was seen lighting up the area as xavier gently settles you on the soft blankets.

you meet his gaze, watching xavier’s every movement when he suddenly shuts off the lantern, painting the area in complete darkness. you felt a little anxious with the lack of light, but feeling xavier wrap his arms around you while bringing your body on top of his lap makes your fears disappear into thin air.

“look.” he points a finger at the skies, and you follow his gaze before letting out a gasp. surrounding you were what seemed like millions of stars twinkling across the night sky, captivating you completely as you drink in the sight.

wishing to burn this moment into your very memories, you look back at your beloved and call out his name. letting out a hum, xavier meets your gaze, and from this lighting and angle, it appeared as though his very eyes were reflecting the stars. with your own gaze filled with adoration for him, you lean closer to him, slotting your lips against his in a perfect kiss as you burned this moment into your memories.

when rafayel places a blindfold over your eyes, you knew you were in for quite a treat. trusting your boyfriend completely, you follow him, never once letting go of his hand.

“almost there.” rafayel’s voice was heard reassuring you, and when you found that your sandals began to sink into the sand, you visibly relax while giggling. your beloved artist joins you in your laughter, his rich chuckle further providing comfort for you. a few minutes later, rafayel stops walking and lets go of your hand. humming your name, he gently unties the blindfold and takes the simple cloth away from your eyes.

it takes you a moment to adjust to your surroundings, but it was clear from the fresh scent of the ocean and the sensation of sand on your feet that you were at the beach. once you could finally see, you let out an awed gasp, seeing that you were indeed, on a beach, but with not a single person in sight.

you meet rafayel’s playful gaze and ask, “d-did you book this beach all for ourselves or something?”

yet he refuses to elaborate, simply giving you a playful wink before stating, “it’s a secret.”

he beckons at you to take off your sandals before helping you sit down on the blanket. with you both settled down, rafayel brings over the picnic basket, feeding you several servings of your favorite sandwiches along with some chips and a simple salad. as you bask in this perfect weather, you continue enjoying your lunch while looking out at the sea.

once you had your fill of food did rafayel make his move. watching as you finished taking a sip from your bottle of water, your boyfriend grabs a hold of you, taking you in his arms as he carried you bridal style towards the ocean. your giggles were heard echoing throughout the area when rafayel steps into the water.

he allows the gentle waves to surround your forms, with your laughter turning louder each time the water was felt soaking into your shirt and shorts. after spending some time jumping with the waves, rafayel carries you back against the shores, purposely landing against the shallow waters. your squeals of delight were all that could be heard as rafayel leans down to kiss you deeply, swallowing your laughter while delving his fingers into damp hair, pulling you even closer to him.

and with your lips locked with his in a searing kiss while surrounded by the ocean waters, you couldn’t think of a better way to spend this day with your beloved lover.

end notes: i’m long overdue to write fluff for all the lads men, so have this ♡ not edited yet, but i still don’t trust tumblr drafts!! i’ll make any changes once this is posted ｡ﾟ(TヮT)ﾟ｡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #zayne x reader #zayne x you #zayne x y/n #xavier x reader #xavier x you #xavier x y/n #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #rafayel x y/n #lads x reader #lnds x reader #l&ds x reader #writings 📖#non-mc reader

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reilemon · 27 days ago

Text

♥︎Amore Immortale♥︎ Ch. 1

♡︎ synopsis: A simple foraging trip takes an unexpected turn when you wake up in a mansion hidden deep in the forest. Now four captivating men are nursing you back to health, but their intentions—and identities—are a mystery.

♡︎ pairing: vampire!Xavier, vampire!Zayne, vampire!Rafayel, vampire!Sylus x fem!reader (separately and together)

♡︎ cw: depictions of head injury and fever

♡︎ tags: vampire au, slow burn (-ish), eventual romance, eventual smut, eventual polyamory

♡︎ word count: 4.3k

♡︎ a/n: the first chapter of the sixth and final story for kinktober 2024. I wanted to finish off kinktober with a gang bang, but I got carried away and now this is going to be a multi chapter story. I hope you'll like this one.

♡︎ Thanks to my dearest friend and beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @cafekitsune

"Poor little bunny." The blue eyed man coos as he find the source of the sudden loud noise - you. The clumsy human probably slipped and fell when the sky opened and heavy rainfall started. He carefully scoops you in his arms, with your head resting on his shoulder.

A small whine barely hits his ears and he catches the moment you briefly gain consciousness. He softly chuckles when he hears your silly question before passing out again. He ignores how a little of your blood is mixing with the rain on the fabric of his coat and starts walking away.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Your eyes flutter open, heavy and bleary. You adjust slowly to the dimness around you, the fireplace in front of your bed the only source of light. The ceiling looms high - a ceiling you don’t recognize. The walls are covered in wallpaper, worn and peeling in places. You don’t recognize that wallpaper either. The royal purple catches the dim firelight, a color you could never possibly afford.

You shift against the bed beneath you, the silk sheets cool and smooth against your skin. Over you is a heavy wool blanket, its weight like a comforting presence. A low groan escapes your lips as you rise and rest on your elbow. The room is beautiful, with expensive furniture, but there is this dormant energy to it.

You glance at the thick velvet curtains covering the window. The sliver peeking in the corner shows you a glimpse of the outside world. It’s nighttime, the downpour relentless, drops thrumming against the glass.

‘The rain!’

You sit up abruptly, a sharp pang of pain zapping through your skull, making you wince and press your fingers to your temple. Your fingers try to rub the pain away as you lean on your other arm to rest. Right, the rain. After closing up the bookstore, you've gone to the forest to search for some mushrooms and sweet chestnuts. A hearty dinner and sweet dessert would be a great start of your two week long vacation. The last visitor commented how their elbow hurt which meant a thunderstorm is coming. You politely smiled and packed up their books. You should've listened to their elbow.

Now, staring around this unfamiliar room, unease twists in your stomach.

‘Where the hell am I?’

Right on cue, the door creaks open, and a tall, raven haired man steps into the room. He pauses in the doorway as his eyes meet yours.

“Hello,” he says, his voice smooth and deep. “How are you feeling?”

You swallow, his presence suddenly making you aware of the mess you must look. Embarrassment prickles your skin, and you rub your temple, trying to compose yourself, only to see his brows knit with concern.

“Um, I’ve been better,” you manage, forcing a chuckle. The grogginess in your voice doesn’t help the embarrassment. You smooth a hand over the blanket, feeling a little exposed. “Why am I here?”

“My friend found you,” he explains, “Out in the forest, just before the storm. You most likely slipped on the mud and hit your head.”

He nods towards your forehead, then reaches for a small, gold hand-mirror resting on the bedside table. The antique metal glints softly as he holds it, and you take it with a hesitant hand. As you lift it to inspect your reflection, you catch a small bruise just above your brow, the skin tender and slightly swollen. Considering the circumstances, you think, it could’ve been much worse.

The man, whose name you still haven’t learned, clears his throat. “I was the one who changed you into dry clothes,” he shifts in his seat, averting his gaze briefly before meeting your eyes again. “For that, I apologize. I wouldn’t have done it if there were any other choice.”

You shake your head with a small, reassuring smile. “It’s fine, really. If you hadn’t, I’d probably be shivering with pneumonia right now.”

His expression softens with relief. “I’m glad you understand. I would still like to listen to your lungs, Would you be comfortable with me examining you?” then he adds, “I’ve been in the medical field for quite some time, I assure you.”

Something about his demeanor, calm and controlled, makes him look trustworthy. And considering how thoroughly he must have tended to you—removing every speck of mud, leaving you dry and warm in a comfortable bed—it’s clear he has your wellbeing in mind. You nod. “Of course.”

He gives a curt nod and shifts closer to the bed. “You don’t need to do much, just sit as comfortably as you can,” he murmurs, the calm, low timbre of his voice steadies you. The shirt you wear—a loose button-up clearly meant for a man—hangs loosely over your shoulders, open at the collar. Suddenly, you feel the pulse of your own heartbeat, wondering if he might hear it already. His hand moves lightly over the fabric, as he leans closer, and then he places his ear gently against your chest, just above your heart.

The moment feels both entirely professional and so intimate. You tell yourself that this is completely normal, this is the usual routine. But he is not your doctor, and you can’t shun the butterflies you feel from having a handsome stranger resting his head on your chest. His hair, thick and dark, grazes your collarbone as he listens, his breath warm against your skin. Your heartbeat, which you’re certain must be thudding wildly beneath his ear, betrays you, a deep flush creeping up your cheeks as you try to steady yourself.

“Breathe in deeply for me,” his voice a soft murmur, his cheek brushing against you.

You comply, feeling his presence with every rise and fall of your chest. When he shifts, his head moves closer to your collarbone, the tickling brush of his hair sending a wave of goosebumps along your chest. You’re conscious of every small movement, every slight intake of his breath.

He shifts back a little, his hand grazing your shoulder as he adjusts to press his ear against your back. “One more time,” his tone is still composed, though you’re unsure if you catch a hint of restraint.

You breathe in, slowly, deeply, feeling the warmth of his palm on your shoulder. He holds still for a moment longer, listening intently. Then, he slowly pulls back, settling into his seat with a neutral expression.

“You do have a small fever,” he calmly states. “Although, there are no signs of anything serious.” He offers a faint, almost apologetic smile. “You should lie back down and rest.”

Your cheeks are warm, and not just from the fever. You nod and do as you’re told, sinking under the comforting weight of the blanket. The man briefly explains that you were unconscious for around two hours, and that your clothes are being washed.

You nod again, processing the details. “Thank you… that’s all very considerate of you.”

He offers you a faint smile. “It’s the least we could do.”

He rises from his seat and steps toward the door, his hand resting on the brass knob. “I need to check on my friend in the kitchen. There may be a fire to manage. And I’ll bring you some herbal tea.”

You chuckle. “Well, thank you, Dr…?”

A flicker of amusement lights his eyes as he opens the door, pausing for a moment. “Just call me Zayne.”

You tell him your name in return, and with that, he’s gone with the soft click of the door.

After Zayne leaves, the room slips into an almost eerie quiet. You prop yourself up against the plush pillows, trying to get comfortable despite the persistent ache in your muscles and the dull throb in your head. The room feels larger now that you’re alone. Every detail catches your attention—the thick velvet drapes, the intricate patterns on the worn wallpaper, the faint smell of stale air. You’d get up to investigate the room or try to figure out more about where exactly you are, but your body protests with every small movement. So you have to settle for gazing around the space instead, picking out details you hadn’t noticed before. The furniture is old but well-kept, the kind that belongs in a property far grander than any home you’ve ever been in. This place—it’s not like the humble cottages back in your village. No, this is different. Larger. More isolated. Somewhere far from the familiar streets you walk every day.

A shiver crawls down your spine at the thought of how far away you could be from your home. You’ve never ventured beyond the edge of the forest. You’ve heard stories about the other side. It was always whispered between older folk who’d lived through enough strange events to keep their superstitions alive. Vampires, werewolves, creatures of the night. They’d mention them, always in passing, as though acknowledging them would draw something out of the shadows.

At first, you’d dismissed it. What else could it be but old folklore? Some scary tales to spice up their lives, stories passed down from generation to generation. Something for them to talk about when the nights grew long and dark, to keep the children from misbehaving. Those creatures don’t exist. You were certain of that.

Or, at least, you had been.

You replay the events in your mind, trying to make sense of it all. Zayne said that his friend found you unconscious in the woods. They’d brought you here, tended to your injuries, and kept you warm. His behavior had been nothing but kind, gentlemanly even.

But then, why does your skin prickle as you think of him?

What if he is one of them? The pale complexion, the unnerving quiet, the way he’d moved with such elegant grace. And those eyes... there was something about the way he looked at you. Your pulse quickens. You try to reason with yourself—if this man, Zayne, were a vampire, wouldn’t he have done something by now? You were unconscious and vulnerable. He could have easily taken advantage of that moment, but he hadn’t. He’d taken care of you.

But what if... what if this is all part of some darker plan? You swallow hard, trying to silence the growing paranoia. What if they want to keep you here? What if, right now, they’re simply playing a long game, to coax you to be their little blood doll—

‘Stop.’ You force yourself to take a deep breath, trying to calm your spiraling thoughts. There’s no proof, no reason to believe that Zayne—or anyone else—is anything other than a human.

You glance toward the window. Your body feels like lead at the moment, but tomorrow you will probably be well enough to leave. The storm can’t go on forever.

A sharp knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts.

"Come in," you manage, your voice wavering just a little.

Zayne steps in, balancing a tray of a delicate ceramic tea set. The gentle clink of porcelain against porcelain brings comfort to your senses. Behind him, another figure slips into the room—a man with handsome, soft features. His tousled, blonde-gray hair looks like it would be soft to the touch. And his eyes, though shadowed by the dim lighting, have a dreamy quality, like someone lost in thought.

A faint smell of something burnt drifts into the room, cutting through the soothing scent of the herbal tea. You can’t help but frown a bit at the scent, but neither man acknowledges it. Zayne places the tray on the small bedside table, the teapot steaming. The air feels warmer now, not just from the tea.

The second man steps forward, offering you a polite nod, “Hello.” he says, his voice silky and mellow. “I’m Xavier, the one who found you.”

His soft smile makes your heart stir. It takes you a beat to find your voice to introduce yourself.

“Thank you… for, well, rescuing me,” you say with a shy smile.

Xavier gives a gentle shake of his head, his smile widening. “Why were you so deep into the forest with a storm on the way?” he asks, his tone feels almost like teasing.

You chuckle nervously as you feel the faintest flush of embarrassment creep up your cheeks. “I – Well, I wanted to gather some things for dinner,” you admit. “It’s my first real break from work, and I may have gotten a little too excited.”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment, as if he’s trying to fully take you in.

“You’re lucky he was done fishing at the time.” Zayne adds as he hands you a cup of tea. His fingers brush lightly against yours as you accept it, deepening the flush on your cheeks. You are lucky to be here. Even though you’re sitting in a room with two men who are strangers, they still have cared for you with such tenderness. You could feel their warmth in every gesture, in every word. It’s hard to hold onto fear when faced with such care. Even now, you can feel yourself relaxing, the tension in your shoulders unwinding.

You take a sip of tea slowly, trying to mask the strange tide of emotions flooding through you. You had been so afraid, so convinced of something dark lurking beneath the surface. But now, in this quiet moment, with the warm tea in your hands and their watchful eyes on you, you feel strangely safe.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The clock on the mantel ticks softly, the brass hands showing it’s almost 1 a.m. The fire burns low, casting a warm, flickering glow over the room. Your eyelids feel heavy now, the weight of exhaustion settling deep in your bones. You turn onto your side, pulling the duvet tighter, forming a cocoon around you. The warmth, the softness—everything lulls you closer to sleep. But your mind drifts, recalling the conversation with Xavier after he’d brought you dinner.

He’d placed the bed tray gently over your lap, making sure everything was within reach. Before he turned to leave, the sound of your voice stopped him.

“Did you manage to catch anything?” you asked, your voice quiet but curious.

Xavier had looked confused for a moment, then his face lit up with a soft smile. “I did. Fried a few, but Zayne didn’t let me serve it to you.” He chuckled. “Said he didn’t want you choking on a bone.”

You laughed too, the sound easing the leftover tension you’ve been holding. That explained the faint burnt smell that had lingered earlier, and why Zayne had to rush to the kitchen.

“And don’t worry,” he added. “I brought back your basket too. Everything’s intact.”

You were about to thank him, but then an image flashed in your mind—a fleeting memory of him, his hair wet and clinging to his face. The moment felt so vivid, so real, that it stopped you mid-thought. You stared at him, squinting slightly.

“What’s wrong?” His voice softened with concern, his brows furrowing.

You shook your head quickly, flustered for being caught staring. “Nothing… it’s just—did I say something to you? When you found me?”

Xavier hesitated, his lips twitching as though trying to suppress a grin. He glanced to the side, his hand coming up to cover his mouth, but his eyes gave him away. “Oh no…” you said, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks. “Was it something embarrassing?”

“No,” he replied, though the gleam in his eye said otherwise. “It was cute.” He paused, then looked back to you, “You opened your eyes for a moment, and asked me, ‘Are you my prince?’ Then you passed out again.”

Your heart practically leapt into your throat, your face instantly flushing. “Oh, that’s definitely embarrassing,” you groaned.

Xavier laughed then, his voice soothing. “Don’t worry, I’ve been called worse.”

And just as you wished for the shadows to come alive and swallow you, Zayne entered, saving you from further humiliation. He brought you a bowl filled with ice and a cloth. You thanked both of them, adding that you planned to leave in the morning.

Their faces changed for a heartbeat when you said that, though you didn’t miss it. It wasn’t worry exactly, more like hesitation, as though they weren’t entirely convinced you would be gone by morning. Or perhaps… that they didn’t want you to be.

That thought lingered now, swirling in your mind as your body sank deeper into the mattress. Their kindness, their calmness—they made you feel safe, soothed the fears that had gripped you earlier. Yet, there was something unspoken between the three of you.

A sigh escapes your lips. You can feel sleep creeping over you, warm and heavy, pulling you under. The memory of Xavier’s reassuring smile and Zayne’s attentive gaze lingers in your mind, their faces blurring at the edges as your thoughts dissolve into a haze.

They are both so kind. And so handsome.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

A low whine escapes your lips before you even open your eyes. The ache in your body is heavy and relentless. Every muscle protests as you shift, but you force your eyelids open. The room is warm, the fire crackling faintly in the hearth. Someone must’ve light it while you were still asleep.

‘I said I’d leave in the morning.’ You glance over at the clock—it’s 11 a.m. That’s not really morning, but it is time for you to leave. If only you felt better.

You wince as you slowly, painfully, push yourself out of bed. Your legs feel weak, your body sluggish, like you’re moving through water. Every movement sends a wave of soreness through your bones, but you grit your teeth and push through. You don’t want to linger here any longer than you have to.

Grumbling under your breath, you stagger toward the door, your feet barely shuffling across the hardwood. You’re still dressed in the warm clothes Zayne gave you, though they feel a little too big now. You’ll just ask for your things and be on your way. You’ll return their clothes once you fully recover.

Goosebumps spread all over your skin as you open the door, the chill air of the hallway shocking your senses. It is completely quiet, only the soft creak of the floorboards under your slippers breaking the silence. More doors sit along the hallway, likely bedrooms as well. You glance at them briefly, but you step towards the staircase ahead. The polished mahogany wood gleams faintly, and you internally groan at the thought of making it down the steps in your current state.

You’re about to take your first step when—

“Hey!”

The voice comes out of nowhere, stopping you in your tracks. You freeze, your heart jumping in your chest as footsteps echo from above, growing louder as they approach. Turning, you find yourself face-to-face with a man descending the stairs. He’s tall and moves with an almost feline grace. His hair is gorgeous - messy curls of muted violet and his eyes, an unusual blend of blue and pink, are sharp and full of curiosity. His plump lips are pulled in an amused smirk.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is teasing, though there’s a touch of disapproval in it. His arms cross over his chest, as he takes in your disheveled state.

You blink at him, still trying to shake off the fog in your head. “I - I need to leave.”

He narrows his eyes, looking you up and down. “You should stay in bed,” he says firmly, stepping closer. “You look like you’re about to collapse.”

He is right, you do feel like you’re about to collapse, yet you can’t help but notice how striking he is. His hair, his eyes, even the way he moves—it’s all captivating. But you force those thoughts away, shaking your head slightly. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

He uncrosses his arms, offering a small smile that’s both charming and a little smug. “Oh, right. I’m Rafayel.” His voice dips slightly, your name falling from his lips. “I’m staying here too. Zayne told me what happened.”

You blink again, taken aback by how easily he says your name. You hadn’t expected to meet another guest in the house. “Rafayel,” you repeat.

He nods, brushing a hand through his unruly curls. “Yeah. I took care of your clothes. They’re drying in my room,” he adds. “It’s still raining, though, so they might take a while.”

At his words, you pause and listen. Sure enough, you hear the soft, steady patter of rain against the windows. You’d been so focused on leaving that you hadn’t even thought to check the weather. ‘Of course it’s still raining.’ You sigh inwardly, frustration and weariness settling in your chest.

“What about Zayne and Xavier?” you ask, hoping to at least get some help from them.

Rafayel smirks, shaking his head. “They’re sleeping.”

You frown. “Sleeping?”

“Yup,” he says with a shrug, almost dismissive.

Your mind races. You know why you are up so late, but why are they still sleeping. Your mind is about to wander to that corner again, but you stop yourself. ‘They must’ve been exhausted from taking care of an injured stranger.’

Still, the unease lingers. Rafayel’s gaze flickers over you, his eyes softening slightly as if sensing your discomfort. “Look,” he says, his voice gentler now, “you really don’t look like you’re in any shape to leave. Why don’t you rest a bit longer?”

You hesitate, your body aching with every breath, the fatigue weighing you down with each second. He’s right. You’re not ready to leave yet.

Rafayel’s eyes hold yours for a moment. “You’re safe here,” he adds softly.

Just as Rafayel is about to steer you back toward the bedroom, another voice cuts through the air, deep and teasing, with a velvety edge that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Is that the lost kitten?”

You look down the stairs, and there he is. The man who appears next makes the very air around you seem heavier. He’s taller than the other men, with strikingly sharp features. His white hair is tousled yet elegant, and his eyes - a deep, mesmerizing wine-red, lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach flutter.

Before you can even react, the man is standing right in front of you, his height towering over you. You can’t help but gawk, unable to stop yourself from tracing every detail of his sharp jawline, the way his lower lip looks so plump and soft.

Rafayel’s voice, sharp with annoyance, snaps you out of the trance. “You know her name, Sylus.”

But Sylus just smirks. He takes your hand, his fingers long and strong, enveloping yours completely. Your breath catches in your throat as the warmth from his touch sends heat rippling through your body. His hand is so much larger than yours, making you feel almost fragile in his grip.

“My name is Sylus. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Your name drips from his lips, and he bends forward and presses a tender kiss to the back of your hand. The sensation of his cool lips against your flushed skin sends tingles across your arm. You can’t help but blush under the attention.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rafayel roll his eyes, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips. “You’re shameless.” he mutters, though there’s a playful lilt to his voice.

Sylus simply laughs, a low, rich sound, before releasing your hand. With a light touch on your back, Rafayel guides you back toward the bedroom, his hand steady and firm against you. Sylus trails behind, watching with an amused expression.

When you’re back in the bedroom, Rafayel’s hands gently but insistently push you down by the shoulders, guiding you to sit back on the edge of the bed. “Seriously,” you protest, exasperated, “I feel better already! I don’t want to be a burden.”

Sylus leans lazily against the doorframe, his arms crossed, a smirk dancing on his lips as he watches the scene unfold. "You look much too cute to be any kind of burden, kitten," he says, his eyes fixed on you.

Before you can say anything else, Rafayel presses you back into the blankets, his firm but gentle insistence impossible to resist. As you sink back into the bed, Sylus pushes off from the door and approaches with an almost predatory grace. The teasing glint in his eyes fades slightly as he crouches beside the bed, his expression softening as his hand reaches out to press against your forehead. His touch is cool—no wonder, since the rest of the mansion is freezing—and the sensation sends a refreshing chill through your heated skin.

“You still have a fever.” he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly against your temple.

Rafayel shakes his head, giving you a disapproving look. “See? You’re in no condition to leave. I’ll prepare you tea and breakfast.”

Your protests die on your lips as Sylus pulls away, his touch lingering on your skin. Both men turn around and leave before you can say anything else.

The door shuts softly behind them, leaving you alone once again. You sink deeper into the bed, your body heavy with exhaustion. Your thoughts swirl, still caught in the lingering effect of their presence. You turn on your side, facing the window, staring at the thick velvet curtains that block out the view of raindrops racing down the tall windows. As much as you want to leave, as much as you should leave, you know your body isn’t ready. The fever might not be severe, but it’s enough to weaken you. Slipping away now—especially into the woods with no clear path—feels like a death wish.

A heavy sigh escapes your lips. For now, the best option is to rest and regain your strength. You can’t deny how safe their presence makes you feel, even if you don’t fully understand why. Something about them pulls you in, something more than just their looks.

You close your eyes, letting the exhaustion pull you under.

#love and deepspace #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #zayne love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace #xavier smut #zayne smut #sylus smut #rafayel smut #love and deepspace smut #lads smut #sylus x reader #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader

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miilkcandies · 7 months ago

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"Kim Dokja's breaths, his appearance, his laughter, and his manner of speech [...] And... The glint in his eyes when he recalls the story he loves. [...] 'I can just read from the beginning again'. -CH. 438

(music cr: Train to Busan OST "Goodbye World" by Jang Young Gyu)

#omniscient reader's viewpoint #orv #orv spoilers #kim dokja #my animation

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ohcaptains · 1 year ago

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𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐬.

pairing. anakin skywalker x f!reader

synopsis. anakin finds loopholes in the jedi code.

warnings. 18+. this is sexually explicit, do not read this or interact with my blog if you’re a minor. do not copy my shit, i’ll find out. cock warming, p in v penetration but no movement. whimper-y anakin, if you move i'll leave the jedi order type beat.

an. just a little something i wrote for the kinktober i never did. I thought i'd post instead of letting it collect dust in my drafts. the prompt was cockwarming! hope i did anakin justice<3 pls comment & reblog.

You find him at the window.

Sitting, with his thighs open and chest bare, staring out into the abyss. The night glints at the beads of sweat sliding down his chest, and his fingers drum endlessly against his thighs.

He heard you wake up, so he’s expecting your company, and has leaned back against the chair – thin black gown falling open – ready for you to climb all over him.

It happens often.

It’s not uncommon to wake up without him.

Most nights, you startle out of your slumber – as if even asleep, you’d sensed a shift – and blink at the space on the mattress beside you.

Finding him was easy.

You pad through the living room and wordlessly reach him in his post-nightmare state. His hair is tousled, sculpted chest is slick with sweat -- there’s an energy vibrating off of him, and you can taste it in the air.

Stepping behind him, you gently run the tips of your fingers over his shoulders, and the whirlpool in Anakin’s belly settles for a second. When you move into frame, it’s gone completely, replaced by a warm heat that has roots. He breathes a smile.

“Like clockwork.”

You give him a sheepish grin in return and fiddle with the fabric of your small nightgown. There’s a moment where Anakin gets to look at you – all sleepy and cuddly – and he’s ready to escape with you off of this forsaken planet.

His will holds strong.

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” he asks, raising a scarred brow, and despite your groggy state, you still manage to roll your eyes. Stepping closer, you use his broad shoulders as anchors to slip onto his lap.

“Don’t make that face,” Anakin hushes, and while you settle back onto his thighs, his metal hand comes up. He traces the line of your jaw, “You know I let you do what you want.”

His spare hand steadies your hips, and it’s still warm from his lightsaber. Calloused fingers run over your skin, reminding you of the fight that’s leaving scars – the war that’s brewing, both inside and outside of his mind.

In moments like this, though, there’s a subtle calm.

An impenetrable force that hums over the pair of you.

You lean into his palm and whisper, “Not everything.”

There’s a haunted edge to your gaze, and your words are loaded. Anakin knows what you mean, knows all the intricacies of your subtle dig, and yet, he still manages to smile.

Well, smirk.

“What do you want? Just say the word.”

You wouldn’t, and Anakin knows that. He’s caught your bluff, and you manage a bashful smile before gently leaning forward, dragging your hips against his lap.

Anakin’s cloth-covered thigh nestles against the thin fabric of your underwear. Your smile falters, lips parting. You push your forehead against his, and whisper, “If I say the words, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“I know,” he breathes, “I know.”

I want more.

A life together, not stolen moments when the sun is down.

An attachment. A bond.

But it’s forbidden.

It’s why it can’t go any further than this.

“What’d you dream about?” you wonder. Anakin pulls his eyes away from you, instead looking to where his thigh sits. The silence is your answer.

“I’ll still ask, even if you never tell.”

He takes hold of your bare thighs, rubbing his hands up and down, and you hum his name, reaching out to push his hair behind his ears.

“Pretty boy.”

“Stop it,” he huffs, cheeks reddening.

But how can you? When he’s all sharp lines and long hair. You run your hands up the bare panes of his muscular chest, feeling the deft of his muscles, and the dampness on his skin.

The air changes – hums electric – and it buzzes as you push his gown off his shoulders.

Carefully, you lean forward and place a chaste kiss against his collarbone.

“That’s better.”

Anakin hums a laugh. His hands snake around to your lower back, dig into the fat of your ass, and using the grip there, he gently rocks you forward once, forcing your clothed cunt to drag against his muscular thigh.

You whimper. It’s quiet, but Anakin can hear it, even if it’s muffled by his shoulder.

“’ S’what you came out here for, huh?” he whispers. The electric flooding through the walls hums, but the room is still eerily silent. Anakin’s voice is a roar.

You lick your lips and drag your face up to see him. “No,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss against his top lip, “I like being with you, even if we don’t do this.”

Anakin has to close his eyes. Words like those are fuel to the fire brimming in his chest, and it doesn’t help that you wrap your arms around his neck and fiddle with the tail end of his hair.

Arching your back, you slowly roll backwards, then forward, teasing the bulge between his legs.

Releasing a shaky breath, you repeat the motion, again, and again, near humping his leg.

A familiar ache begins to swell, coiling between your thighs and up into your belly. It makes you clench around nothing, and you mewl quietly, wishing for more – always wishing for more.

Still, you continue, slick pooling into your underwear and against his thigh.

Anakin can’t look at you. If he sees your face, his resolve will falter.

His nerves are shot. If he couldn’t feel how wet you are, he could smell it, and it makes a groan bristle behind his teeth.

He buries his head into the crook of your neck and busies himself with kissing at the soft shell of your throat, careful not to leave marks.

Once, you left a mouth-shaped mark against his stomach, and he looked at it every day for a week.

Caught himself with his top up in the mirror looking at the reflection, eyeing the way the mark sat on the firm lines of muscle, fading away with time.

A dark part of him wanted the mark on the slope of his neck.

“Wanna be inside of you.”

His admission rests heavily against your throat, and you’re thankful that he can’t see the way you clench your eyes closed.

Though, he does feel you tighten your grip on the back of his head. Feels you shift up against his thigh, and the warmth pooling in your underwear burns against him.

He can sense you’re hesitant.

“’ can be like last time. Just – Just --” he stutters, licking his lips and struggling to release the words from the back of his throat. Finally, he manages. “--Sit on it.”

“Anakin.”

He pulls away from your neck and looks up at you.

“We can use it as an exercise.”

A laugh bursts from your throat, “To test your will?”

He smiles, and because you have to, you push your cunt against his crotch, uttering, “Want me to make It difficult for you?” and white flashes through Anakin’s eyes.

He grabs your hips to steady you, tensely pushing his fingers into your skin.

“Hardest challenge I’ll ever encounter.”

“You eager to impress?”

He kisses your jaw, “Don’t I always?”

“Mm,” you hum, cradling his chin. You shift back so he can pull his trousers down, and when you take his cock in your hand, he melts. His commanding aura switches for a moment, and you watch Anakin still his breathing.

You push your underwear to the side, and as you lift yourself to sink onto him, Anakin breathes, “Just the tip – just a little bit, j-just—” and he chokes on his words, gasping as you brush the leaking head of his cock through your folds.

You halt. Whimper. Have to grip his shoulder to steady yourself, or you’ll push him inside of you all at once and hurt yourself.

You inhale steadily.

“Have to – have to go slow,” you spurt, trying to calm your tremors.

“It’s been a while since…”

You don’t have to finish your sentence. Anakin knows, and he feels a mix of pride and guilt. Only me, he thinks, and then, like a flash, only me, he swallows. And I can’t give her everything.

This. This is as far as it’ll go. He knows he’s pushing it. Knows that he’s come up with some convoluted rule to both have his cake and eat it too.

If he fucks you the way he wants to, he’ll fall in love with you. As if it hasn’t happened already.

Anakin has made lying to himself a speciality.

You push against him once more, and the tip of his cock nudges between your folds, forcing an ache to shoot through your clit and make you dizzy. You stop. Pause and curse yourself.

A slow burn builds in your thighs, and you clench down to try and mediate the burn. Anakin grunts.

“Maker,” he utters. “Sorry—” you splutter, sucking in a tight breath.

Anakin wraps his metal arm around the back of your hips, hoping to steady you. “Lemme,” he mumbles, and gently, he flexes his hips up, slowly feeding his cock into your soaked pussy.

Your lower abdomen immediately burns.

He’s being calm about it – using all his training – but there’s nothing calm about the words trickling out of his mouth.

“Oh stars,” he groans, voice wrecked, “You gonna take all of me, sweet girl? Gonna let me fill you up?”

When you finally sink to the hilt, your resolve snaps. The pair of you moan out in unison, loud and high-pitched.

Anakin buries his face in your chest, and the heat of his mouth against your breasts adds to the tension coiling in your belly.

“Don’t – don’t move,” he grunts, and you shake your head, “I won’t – I’ll come on your cock if I do,” and you don’t mean to say it like that, don’t mean for the words to come out like that, but you feel Anakin pulse from inside of you, warm and hard and wet.

He manages to laugh.

“Tryna kill me,” he shakily breathes, shaking his head. His wet lips brush against your breasts, and you want more – want all that he can give you – so you clutch the back of his head, pulling him closer, hoping he gets the message.

His wet kisses make your skin prickle.

You’re full up. Can feel him stretching you out, this feeling something that’s only happened a few times before.

“If you move,” Anakin begins, out of breath, “I’ll leave the Jedi order and spend my days inside of you.”

“Don’t t-tempt me.”

He laughs, and you accidentally clench around him, causing him to groan deep and long against your tits.

“If you do that again, I’ll come inside of you.”

You imagine it. Imagine him spilling out, the wet white of it dripping out of your cunt and back onto his cock, and the mere image of it has your clit throbbing.

Keep still. Don’t move.

But he wraps his tongue around your nipple and begins to suck.

You cry out, and all of your muscles tighten, forcing you to clench tight around his cock. Anakin jolts and whines your name against your tits.

“S’your fault,” you mewl, moaning. You hang your head back, “Stars, Anakin.”

“Try and stay still,” he mumbles, and you stutter a laugh, “Impossible.”

“It can’t be,” he responds, and while he speaks in jest, his words are sincere. The line between love and lust runs thin, and if Anakin is being honest with himself, it’s close to snapping.

#anakin skywalker #Anakin skywalker x reader #Anakin skywalker smut #Anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker imagine #hayden christensen #Star wars #darth vader #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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frudoo · 4 months ago

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Mountain Man!Price save me… save me…

Warnings: SMUT. Unprotected PIV, creampie ofc y’all know me. Also mentions of guns + hunting deer. Fem!Reader.

MDNI

“You see that one there?” John’s voice is low but not quite a whisper, using his pinky finger to point out a huge buck a couple hundred yards away from where the two of you are planted on the ground.

“Yeah,” You reply softly, keeping a watchful eye on the creature as it takes a drink of water from the creek.

“That’s who we want. Get a dozen meals offa him, easy,” he responds, pulling back from the scope to look back at you with a grin. “Wanna give it a go?”

Your eyes widen and you laugh softly, shaking your head. When you agreed to join him on his hunt, you were under the impression that you’d be acting as moral support, not as an accessory to… deer murder. You’ll cook the meat all day long, but actually killing the poor thing is a far different story.

“Nope, all yours, sugar,” You huff, glancing back at the big buck who was now feasting on a berry bush.

“C’mon, love, ‘fore we miss him,” John insists, lifting his arm and beckoning you closer with a jerk of his head.

You sigh heavily, scrunching your face as the dangling strands on the sleeve of his ghillie suit tickle you. He readjusts the rifle until the heel rests on your shoulder, gently explaining how to rest your head until your eye meets the scope and you can see through it clearly. Suddenly, the tattoos on his biceps make a lot more sense—what you thought were nonsensical spheres and lines are actually a common perspective for your man.

“Yeah, perfect. Don’t let him outta your sight, I’m just gonna…” John trails off, carefully bringing his arm back down and climbing partially on top of you. “Sorry, darlin’, it’s easier for me to show you this way.”

He positions your hand around the grip and your pointer finger on the trigger, then switches off the safety. Once he’s ensured that everything is properly structured, John rests his chin on your shoulder opposite of where the gun is. Your breath hitches in your throat as you try your hardest to keep your attention on the deer, but it’s hard when your husband’s hot breath is blowing against your face and his weight is pressing into you from above.

You try to get back in the zone by adjusting your body, but only succeed in pushing your ass back against his crotch. The low groan that emits from his throat makes you whimper and repeat the action, earning yourself a tut into your ear.

“Focus, baby, or we don’t eat for the next week,” John warns through gritted teeth, desperately holding himself back from grinding up against you.

Biting your lip, you allow your eye to focus on the deer once again, watching him strut to the next bush covered in vibrant red berries. The buck chomps down on a cluster of fruit gracefully, chewing slowly, unaware of the bullet you plan to shoot right into his heart. You suck in a deep breath, slowly start to press down on the trigger, but before you get the chance to fire, a pair of familiar lips attach to your neck hungrily. Your fingers clench out of instinct and the rifle goes off, but instead of hitting its target it buries itself somewhere in the dirt while the buck sprints away to safety.

Gasping, you drop the gun and push it away from you, turning your head back to look at John with furrowed eyebrows. His face is flushed beneath the streaks of green and black paint he had you smear across his skin, eyes wild with the telltale glint of lust.

“John, I had him! Why-”

“Fuck the deer,” He growls, no longer attempting to push down his desires and instead covering your body entirely with his own. “Got my own pretty, wide-eyed doe right here.”

John grasps your throat and tilts your head back so that his mouth can hastily smash against yours. His tongue shoves its way past your lips, tasting your shock, devouring the unspoken questions that dissolved before they got the chance to slip out. You don’t hesitate to kiss back, eyelids falling shut as his big hands glide between your body and the dewy grass to fumble with your cargos. The button snaps a little harsher than it should and you already know you’re gonna need to sew a new one on when you get back to the cabin.

“Fuck, your cunt’s already so damn wet,” John exhales heavily as he pulls your pants and knickers down just past your hips, exposing your ass and the glistening slick that’s collected between your thighs. “My cock’s just gonna slip right in.”

You whine at that, arching your back in invitation. John hisses and smacks one of your asscheeks hard enough to sting his palm. He chuckles at the little squeal you let out before sitting up on his knees and shoving down the pants of his ghillie suit just enough to expose his dick. It’s already throbbing, fully erect and dripping pearls of precum onto your raw skin. He glides the engorged tip through your warm folds before sliding home in one deep thrust.

The two of you shudder in sync as he bottoms out, hitting the barrier of your cervix with a blissful, dull pinch. John wraps one arm around your neck, allowing you to rest your head on his bicep as he holds himself up with his opposite elbow.

“Fuckin’ deep, ain’t it?” He grunts, punctuating each word with a strong pump of his hips.

“So deep,” you confirm with a gurgle, cheeks completely squashed between the fat and muscle of his bicep and forearm. “Feels so good, John.”

“I know it does, my sweet doe.”

Every thrust is devastating, the veins and ridges of his fat cock rubbing perfectly against the sensitive walls of your tight pussy. Raspy groans fall from his lips and echo into your ear as he nibbles on the lobe, the sound of skin on skin ricocheting throughout the busy woods along with your pretty moans. The head of his dick punches against that rough spot that makes you scream, and he chuckles, angling his hips so that he can make you see stars over and over again.

“That’s right, love, scream for me. Let the fuckin’ mockingbirds hear you, so every single soul that comes through here knows how pretty you sound when I make you cum. Yeah, just like that, baby, sing for me, sing for the birds.”

His words encourage you to obey, your cunt clamping down on him like it’s trying to keep his cock inside permanently. Rivulets of slick cream cling to every inch of his dick as he buries his face in your neck, uncaring of how the strands of his ghillie suit brush against your skin, overwhelming your senses. With a final thrust, he pushes himself deep and releases his potent load into your willing womb, spurts of his seed painting your walls an off-white.

Once the two of you have calmed down, breathing evening out, John gently pulls out and shimmies your panties and cargos back up your hips, effectively keeping his cum contained. He moves from on top of you and stands, pulling his own pants up and tucking away his spent cock, then throws the rifle over his back. You’re utterly useless, laying on the grass and mumbling something incoherent. Your lover just chuckles and scoops you up into his arms, carrying you back to the cabin, safe, warm and definitely planning to have leftover soup for dinner once again.

(When he returns to the woods the next day for a successful hunt without your distracting presence, he hears an awfully familiar call from a certain bird in one of the trees.)

#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #john price x reader #captain john price #captain price x reader #captain price x female reader #john price x female reader #fem!reader #mountain men 141 mmmm

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notiddygothgf · 1 year ago

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2/2

★ pairings: choso kamo x f!reader

★ synopsis: Yuuji Itadori truly was the best friend a girl like you could ask for, but he wasn't the only reason you came to visit. (His older brother, the devilishly handsome Choso Kamo, had always been the apple of your eye).

★ c.w.: slow burn, friends to lovers, eventual smut, childhood sweethearts, kinda, mutual pining, choso with a tongue piercing, rough sex, cunnilingus, backshots, unprotected sex, regular people au, two year age gap, PWP.

★ a/n: part two! its all smut lol. anyway, like I said, this one shot is finished (just split btw two chaps bc theres 11k words). but if u comment and persuade me who knows! I can always do another. im a whore for ur validation.

★ w.c.; 5k

best friend's brother ; chapter index

YUUJI COOCHIE <3

| come over tn?

| i got smth i wanna run by u first

YOU

| omw.

You stood on Itadori’s porch, finger poised over the doorbell a month after your eighteenth birthday. You had been anticipating to see your best friend, Itadori. But as the door swings open, what you don’t expect is to come face to face with Itadori’s older brother.

Your heart drops, and your breath catches in your throat as you take in his appearance. It felt for a moment as if time had stood still since you last saw him. He had only grown more handsome during your time apart. His dark hair was done back into two messy buns, deep bags residing beneath his deep eyes.

Choso looked absolutely breathtaking . His fitted black tee clung to his chest and arms, showing off his toned physique, while the baggy black sweats he was sporting gave him an effortlessly cool appearance.

His presence exudes a magnetic charm that takes you back to when you were 17. His half smirk sends a wonton shiver down your spine.

“Hey there,” He says, deep, rich voice sending ripples of familiarity throughout your body.

When his lips pull away from his teeth, forming syllables and words, you couldn’t help but notice a small glint of metal near the tip of his tongue. You realized immediately what had seemed so different about him, and your eyes widened in surprise.

“You pierced your tongue?” You blurt out, unable to hide your shock.

Choso nearly snorts, though his eyes never leave yours. “You’re not surprised to see me?” He teases.

“I am,” You retort quickly, trying to regain your composure. “You’re home for the holidays?”

He nods, gaze still fixed on your red face. “Just came home last night.”

That would explain why I didn’t see you, you thought.

“I’m glad you came, though, I’ve been holding onto your birthday gift for a while now,” He sighed, stepping aside to let you into the house but keeping his arm braced on the doorframe.

You slide under his muscular arm, doing your best to ignore the way your body bristled with electricity when you brushed up against him.

You set your bag on the ground near the door, kicking off your shoes and neatly pushing them aside while Choso locked the door behind you.

“It’s in my room,” he said, passing you.

You followed him nervously up the stairs into his bedroom, heart pounding a little louder with every step. This would be the first time you would find yourself alone in Choso’s room, and you couldn’t help but let your mind wander.

As you enter his bedroom, you drank in your surroundings – a rare sight. The room was a reflection of Choso’s personality; band tees all over the walls, sheets laid flat and clean, laundry sitting in a basket in a neat, folded pile – a subtle hint of organized chaos.

It felt both familiar and new at the same time. The air was thick with anticipation, and memories of your whirlwind summer fling with Choso came flooding back.

You brace your hands on the door. “Is Itadori home?” You ask him, hands tracing the doorframe while Choso rummaged through his drawer. You sat on his bed.

“Nah,” he replied casually.

Furrowing your brows, you tried to make sense of the situation. But told me to come over…

“Is he coming?” You tried again, voice tinged with uncertainty.

Choso rose up from the bedside drawer, extending a small box towards you with a slight grin. “Nope,” he said.

The realization hit you like a freight train. This was a fucking setup, and Itadori was the mastermind behind it all.

He wanted you alone with his brother. He knew about your fling with him.

He didn’t notice when the two of you had disappeared to the pantry for ten minutes.

Though the moment you returned to see him glancing at you with a curious brow raised, you knew he had finally caught on. Even if he didn’t say anything about it.

He knew.

He had set you up.

Your face was on fire. Still, you took the small box from Choso, an awkward smile on your face, and carefully undid the little bow. As you opened it, you revealed its contents – a tee shirt with Choso’s University crest on it, a glace pendant on a fabric necklace, and a box set of your favorite film saga.

Choso had never given you a gift for your birthday before, at least not anything beyond a card. Briefly, you wondered if it was his way of making up for your 18th birthday party, the one he had missed.

“Choso…” You began, a humorous grin on your lips. “Merch?”

He shrugged playfully, his gaze locked onto yours. “In case you miss me,” he replied, tone teasing yet sincere.

With a genuine smile, you leaned over and hugged him. “I love it,” you had told him.

Choso reached into the box for the necklace, gesturing for you to come closer. You leaned in, allowing him to loop the fabric over your head. His fingers brushed against your skin, your neck as he adjusted it.

He froze. You froze.

For a while, the room was quiet. There was an intense stare-off between you two. Choso cleared his throat, seemingly about to break the moment, but you had other plans. Gently, you gripped his chin between your index finger and your thumb, turning his head back to you.

Gently, you tugged his lower lip down. He stuck his tongue out to wet the corner of his lips in return.

Your breath hitched as your gazes locked, and the air in the room shifted. Choso’s dark eyes shifted beneath your gaze, and you found yourself drawn closer to him.

You swallowed. “How bad did it hurt?” You asked, eyes fixed on the sliver of metal you had caught a glimpse of inside of his mouth.

Choso raised a finger towards his mouth, bringing your attention back to his tongue. “This?” He asked. “Hurt like a bitch, not gonna lie, but it healed up real nice.”

Wordlessly, he stuck his tongue out so you could see it up close. You examined it carefully – it really had healed up rather nicely. There was a small, silver ball wedged into the pink muscle. You wondered how it would feel on your lips, your neck, your body .

Choso closed his mouth. “I got it the first weekend after move-in day,” He explained.

“Why?” You inquired, curiosity finally getting the better of you.

He shrugged with a smirk, “Thought it would look hot. What do you think?”

“I think it looks like a pain in the ass,” You retorted. “Don’t any of the girls you kiss complain about that thing?”

“Quite the contrary,” he remarked, licking his lips. “Why’d you ask?”

You tried to ignore the jealousy that bubbled up inside of you, deep inside of you at the thought of him kissing other girls. You had to remind yourself who you were talking to here. You would have been naive to expect loyalty from a college freshman.

“Looks cold,” you commented instead. “I don’t imagine that would feel very good.”

And his eyes, those dark, beautiful cesspools of emotion, dropped down to your lips, lingering for a moment too long before returning to meet your gaze. “You wanna find out?” He asked.

“Piss off,” You scoffed, hitting him playfully on the shoulder. But the blush on your cheeks betrayed the effect his words had on you. “Fuckin’ tease.”

He didn’t move back. No, instead, he leaned in a little closer. “You sure?” He whispered, warm breath grazing the shell of your ear. “I can show you how good it feels, if you want.”

And that’s how you wound up here, with his face buried between your legs. He kissed his way up and down the skin of your thighs. You made quick work of his twin buns, tugging the ties out of his hair.

His lips curled into a knowing smirk. He lifted one of your legs onto his broad shoulder, running his tongue along the length of your inner thigh, pressing a kiss right where your ass met your legs. The metal ball on his tongue felt odd against your skin, but not necessarily unpleasurable.

You had never gone this far with him before. You were turned on beyond comprehension, hungry eyes drinking in the rosey hue that dusted his pale complexion while he sucked on your skin – hard enough for it to hurt, hard enough to leave a mark.

Tenderly, Choso reached for your panties. He appeared to be on the precipice of a decision.

“Can I…” He panted, trailing his thumb over the thin piece of fabric that separated the two of you. “Can I take these off?”

You nodded quickly, lifting your hips up for him while he guided the panties off of your legs.

He licked his lips and parted your legs a second time, fully exposing you to his ravenous gaze.

“You look like heaven,” He breathed out, voice trembling. He took a moment to admire you, smiling at the way you tried to hide your face. “Wanna taste…”

You had never done this before. The one man you had ever dared to hook up with hadn’t bothered. So you swallowed the lump in your throat, watching him get down on all fours and dip his head down between your legs like a man with his head bowed in worship.

Though you were far from holy, in that moment, you felt like you were God.

His tongue was hot and wet against your skin, licking a stripe from bottom to top. The metal ball of his tongue piercing caught on your puffy clit, eliciting a quiet gasp.

“Feel good, baby?” He teased, relishing in the way your thighs tensed around his head. His eyes flitted between you and your pussy – spread open for him like a buffet – pupils blown wide with desire. His pink lips parted around his tongue a second time, and this time you watched him.

Watched him press the metal ball against your clit, rolling over it in slow, steady circles.

You felt like you could die here.

He adjusted his grip on your hips, pulling you down on the bed until you felt his nose pressing in between your folds. He kissed your heat, moaning into you. Then, without so much as a warning, he began to eat you out like a starved man.

“Fuck, Cho–” You cried out for him, reaching down to tangle your fingers into his inky black tresses. You had never felt so good in your life, like he had been waiting for this as long as you had. You were sensitive, far too sensitive to comprehend the way your body felt, the way his tongue piercing felt as it glided over your hot flesh.

He didn’t slow down. He licked, slurped, and kissed your swollen clit, keeping that unforgiving pace up until your hips began to jump against his tongue.

“Shit,” You hissed,

He moaned into you in response, meeting your gaze with an intense fire burning behind his eyes. His tongue massaged you up to what you know would be the hardest orgasm of your life – that damn piece of metal made for one hell of a stimulant. It felt like it was pressing right up into your pressure points, deeper than his tongue was able to reach.

You felt yourself come apart at the seams, reduced to a moaning mess in a matter of minutes, riding his tongue like your life depended on it. He stopped moving for a moment, letting you grip him by the hair and ride his face.

You couldn’t look away.

He looked amazing, fire burning behind his eyes, fingertips biting into the skin of your thighs, brows furrowed with concentration. His eyes never left yours, not even once.

You dropped your head onto the pillow, sitting back and allowing him to resume what he had been doing earlier – that thing with his tongue.

And resume it he did, assuming a more demanding pace this time. It almost made you want to cry – the pace, the ball on his tongue – it was almost too much to bear. It felt so good.

You felt that familiar coil in your abdomen, almost like you were about to cum, then in a moment’s width he had pulled away.

You struggled to regain your surroundings, vision cloudy and hazy with pleasure. You could hear your rampant heartbeat racing in your own ears.

Choso leaned back with a stretch, cracking his neck and licking his lips. The entirebottom half of his face was drenched, dripping with an obscene mixture of your slick and his spit.

He looked gorgeous, even when his face was tinted red.

“Choso…” You breathed, letting a breathless chuckle slip between your parted lips.

He grinned back at you. “Any complaints?”

You didn’t glorify him with a response, gripping him by the fabric of his shirt and tugging him up and over you. You searched for his lips, locking them between yours in a messy, heated kiss. The taste of you lingered on his tongue, tangy and a little sweet.

“Shut up and fuck me, Kamo,” You panted with a grin of your own.

That was all he needed to push you onto your back, diving back in to ravage your lips again. It was all a rushed, passionate haze – he tugged your tee shirt over your head, you shoved your skirt down to your ankles and kicked it off the side of the bed. He leaned back with a stretch to reach for the back of his shirt, tugging it over his head and flinging it to the side.

Your mouth nearly watered for him. He was everything you had dreamed of and so much more. Well defined arms, pecs, abs – a few tattoos littered the broad expanse of his chest. His torso tapered down into a thin, slutty waist. You let your hand slide down his abdomen, eliciting a quiet groan from him as your painted fingernails caught on his toned abs, ghosted over the large tent in his sweats that left nothing to the imagination.

He was big. Bigger than you had anticipated. The last man you were with was about 3 inches (which was probably for the better, because it had been your first time). He felt about three times as big as that. Maybe more.

It didn’t take long for him to flip you onto your stomach, pulling your ass flush against his navel. He reached for a handful of your hair, jerking your head to the side, then uttered against your ear, “G’nna fuck that attitude right out’ta you.”

He left you for a moment while he undid the strings of his sweatpants. You couldn’t watch. You knew if you saw it, you would have doubts.

But you found yourself looking back anyway, right as he had told you. “Wanna reach into that drawer and grab me a condom?”

“Are you um…” You swallowed. “You don’t have any diseases, do you?”

You knew you were clean because you were so disgusted by the man you had hooked up with before Choso that you’d taken yourself to the planned parenthood in town the day after to be tested. Even if you had used a condom.

Choso’s brow quirked up at that. “No, I don’t have any STDs. I get tested twice a year.”

Oh. Okay.

Again, you didn’t want to think about how many women had taken his dick before you.

“Never gone raw before, though,” He mused quietly, hand rubbing mindless circles over the skin of your ass.��

“Really?” You asked.

“Is that a surprise?” He retorted, though he didn’t seem very hurt by your comment. “Can’t babytrap me.”

You thought about definitely didn’t think about Choso being a father.

“Is there any way for you to, like…” You hummed, trailing off. Your inexperience had never been more disgustingly apparent. “Pull out?”

“You’re talking like this is your first time,” he laughed breathily.

You paused. His eyes widened.

“Is… this your first time?” He asked again.

“I had sex with this one guy from my class a while ago,” You said after an awkward silence. “He was small and, like, really bad at it.”

Choso seemed humored by your honest admission, though it came at the expense of your own embarrassment. “Why’d you go through with it, then?”

“I only did it to get back at you,” You turned your head back to the pillowcase below you. With a pout, you admitted, “Thought for some reason that by me having sex, I was proving something. I was younger and stupider, okay?”

“So… you’ve only had sex once?” He asked. You didn’t realize this was an interrogation.

You nodded embarrasedly. Somehow this was more humiliating than being spread open for him like you were right now.

“You sure you want this?” He hummed, roaching forward to tuck your hair behind your ear. It was strangely intimate. When you nodded, he sighed. “We’ll go slow, then. I don’t wanna hurt you–”

“Don’t treat me like I’m fragile,” You cut him off, finally turning back to look at him. “I can take it, okay? Just answer the damn question.”

Choso leaned down over you, pinning you into the bed, kissing down your spine. “We can… do backshots,” he murmured against your skin. “Want that?”

“Mhm,” You sighed, easing into his touch.

You had waited far too long for this for something like a condom to get in between the two of you. You wanted to feel him. All of him.

Choso rolled back, slipping his tip between your fold and swiping it through your slick. You watched him, watched the way he bit his lip at the sensation, eyes glued onto the place where you met him .

He pursed his lips, letting spit fall from his lips. You watched it dribble down, landing right onto your twitching hole.

That was so fucking hot .

Then, without a word of warning, he pushed the tip in. You gasped at the sudden intrusion, feeling the burn, the stretch of his girth inside of you. He paused for a moment when the tip was the only thing inside of you, brows drawn together, breaths shallow.

It took everything you had not to cry out in pain. You had been waiting your whole life for this.

But, shit, it hurt. He was big. You felt your body struggle to accommodate him.

Maybe some prep should have been in order…

Oh well, gotta see it through.

As if sensing your internal dilemma, Choso reached down, intertwining his fingers with yours. He placed a soft kiss to the back of your neck.

“You okay?” He asked you.

No . Yes.

“Yeah,” You bit out. “Just… I ‘jus need a minute.”

“Just tell me when,” he pressed another kiss to your hot skin. “You’re doing so good.”

It took you a few more minutes to adjust to him. Every minute, he would slip in a little further, just enough to make your skin hot and flushed. You could feel him throbbing inside of you, throbbing against your spongy walls.

Eventually, you gave him the green light. And, fuck, it was like something inside of him had snapped. He slid the rest of the way in until his hips were flush with your ass. He drew out, slowly, then thrust back in again.

It felt like he was pulling you apart over and over again, snapping his hips against yours in a progressively harder fashion.

Choso whimpered quitedly, pausing his harsh movements to change pace. You clenched around him in response, something that made him double over. “Ah, fuck,” He gasped. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

He drew back, thrusting into you once more. You felt your whole body jolt forward with a loud moan of your own.

With wild, passionate eyes, Choso pulled out again, leaving just enough room for the tip. Then, he slammed back into you. Again, again, again – he was relishing in the way you cried into the pillow.

“Fuck, fuck,” You chanted, like some sort of sinful prayer. “ Fuck me, Cho– ”

“Might not last long if you keep callin’ my name like that,” He gasped, tangling a large hand into your messy tresses and gripping it tightly.

You drew your brows together, allowing yourself to be lost in the pleasure, the attention he was giving you. What would Itadori think, you wondered, if he walked in on you like this – face down ass up in his big brother’s bed?

“Choso ,” You groaned into the pillow. It felt like he was scratching an itch deep inside of you – not your coochie, but your soul. It felt like you were made for this. “ Choso, Fuck. ”

Itadori slipped into his house with a quiet sigh. He kicked his shoes off, set his bag down on the floor, and then reached for his scarf. It had been one long, hellish day. He felt bad making you wait for him, but he didn’t doubt that you would have made yourself right at home in his bedroom by now. You were probably sprawled out over his bed, passed out or playing with his PS5.

He froze when he heard something come from upstairs. It sounded like furniture being moved around, or something like that. There were voices, too.

With knitted brows, he walked hesitantly towards the stairs. Was it coming from up there?

“Fuck, Choso,” He heard a vaguely familiar – albeit very muffled voice – moan.

It was you. You and another muffled voice.

“Choso, Choso!”

“Right there?”

“Fuck– yes! Don’t stop!”

He quirked a brow. Then, with a sigh and a dejected shake of his head, he hid away in the kitchen.

“Please!” You gasped, you fumbled around behind you in search of his hand. He grabbed it, pinning your arm behind your back and thrusting into your sore pussy from a new angle – one that made you feel dizzy. You didn’t know how long the two of you had been going at it. All you knew was that you never wanted it to end, that your mind was a blissful haze.

Your body slid up against the bedsheets – up and down, up and down, clenched fingers leaving wrinkles in their wake.

“Fuck me harder,” You pled.

And fuck you harder he sure did. His chest rolled against your backside, pinning you into the mattress and holding you right where he wanted you. Then he fucked you a little harder.

You were all but screaming his name at that point. “Choso–”

The head of his cock was bullying into you, beating against that spot deep within you that made your feet fly up, rubbing the back of his thighs as if to tell him ‘ keep going’.You gripped the sheets with unwarranted strength, feeling yourself drip and clench around him – hearing the obscene squelch you made when the two of you met in the middle.

“ Fu-u-uck ,” You cried, voice high and weak.

“Quit suckin’ me in like that,” He chuckled, though it was cut short by a deep, guttural groan as you did it again. “ Shit , you want kids or somethin’?”

There was a knot in your stomach. A vaguely familiar warmth that seemed to only grow hotter by the second.

“ So perfect, so wet ,” Choso commended you, licking the shell of your ear, peppering butterfly kisses to the back of your neck. Your name fell out of his pretty lips between a cacophony of sinful noises.

You felt yourself get lost in him, craning your head around to take another look at him. His angelic face, scrunched up with pleasure, mouth hanging open just slightly, pale face dusted with pink. Inky black hair plastered to his forehead and neck with sweat. The muscles in his chest and torso rippled.

“I’ve wanted you…” You gasped, trying your best to articulate despite the stimulation he was giving you – it was almost too much. “Since I was young – fuck .”

His hips stuttered. He pulled your hair away from your neck, kissing the junction where your jaw met your neck.

He gripped your hair to crane your head back, slowing his thrusts to long, deep strokes that had you trembling.

“The feeling was mutual,” Choso grunted, trying to keep himself together.

You felt your eyes roll almost all the way back into your fucking head, mouth hanging open, drooling shamelessly on his pillow, his sheets.

You were close. So close.

Those deep, lust-filled eyes of him weren’t doing anything to slow the train that was coming. Each thrust, each slide of his cockhead against your g-spot brought you closer and closer to the edge.

“You feel even better than I imagined,” He growled, and you nearly came right then and there.

He moved his hands so that your hips were up in the air for him, bringing his other arm around your neck to pin you there. When he picked up pace this time, you felt yourself drip – like, actually drip – all over him.

I wanna have his kids .

Your moans and pleas matched the pace of his sloppy thrusts. He was getting close, too. You could hear it. No, seriously, noises like that should have been criminal.

The feeling of being filled by him was driving you up the wall – almost as hard as he was currently driving you into the mattress. You never wanted it to end.

But, shit, it was about to.

“Choso,” You whimpered. He didn’t slow down. “Think ‘m g’nna cum.”

“Yeah?” he gritted out, breath fanning over your neck and your cheek. He reached a hand down, releasing your neck to rub slow circles on your puffy clit – a speed that felt foreign compared to the harsh strokes he was giving you, but not entirely unwelcome.

That was all it took to have you hurling towards the edge, ass jumping up and down to meet his thrust in the middle, to take as much of him in as you possibly could.

“Yeah, shit,” He gasped. He was trying to hold on for you, but you were making it realhard. “G’nna cum for me, baby? Lemme fuckin’ hear it.”

You were all but throwing it back on him, mindlessly chasing your release like a bitch in heat. The moment you got the green light, your orgasm snapped. You cried out his name one final time, arching your back all the way into the sheets, spasming wildly around him. The shock tore through you in waves.

Your hips jolted with hypersensitivity while he fucked you through it.

Choso’s hips stuttered. He twitched, like he couldn’t take another minute of this, then he remarked, “That was so fuckin’ hot, holy shit – fuck, wait–”

He slid out of you rapidly, leaving you to gasp at the sudden loss of him. The next thing you know, he was stroking himself to completion. He came with a broken whimper of your name, spurting ropes of warm cum all over your back.

You took a moment to catch your breath. He did the same. A few moments, actually.

The silence that followed was deafening. He groaned, running a shaky hand through his hair. You collapsed into the bed.

He had left the bedside at one point, though only for a moment before he returned with a warm wash rag. He cleaned his love paint off of your spine.

Then, tossing the rag into his hamper, he collapsed next to you.

You chuckled breathlessly, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him with all of the strength you had left in you (not much). “Shit…”

“Shit,” he agreed, licking his lips. “You were great.”

“You were better,” You said. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk home tonight, though.”

Choso shrugged. He reached down, pulling the covers over the two of you. “Sleep here, then.”

Sleep here.

You recalled many nights of him walking girls to the door. Choso never let girls stay the night.

He wants me to spend the night with hiim.

You laughed, reveling in the irony of it all. Years and years of pining led you here, to this. “What would Itadori think?”

Choso threw an arm over your waist, pulling you closer to his side. “Fuck what Itadori thinks.”

Your world went black a moment later.

Your eyes fluttered open as you lay in the aftermath of a steamy evening with the man of your dreams. Choso, your best friend’s brother. The one you had fucked.

His lips were pressed into the slightest pout. You watched him snore, taking note of how peaceful he looked while he slept, taking note of the way his tousled black hair fell into his pretty face.

With a contented sigh, you reached for a shirt that lay nearby – his shirt. The one he had taken off yesterday. You slipped out from beneath the covers, padding quietly out of Choso’s bedroom. Your feet were quiet against the wooden steps.

As you entered the living room space, you contemplated sneaking into the kitchen in search of some much-needed sustenance. It had to have been later in the afternoon at that point – you assumed that you and Choso had been sleeping for a few hours, at least. Your stomach grumbled in agreement.

Just as you were about to step into the familiar kitchen, however, you froze. There, sitting at the table, munching on a Kit Kat bar like it was no one’s business, was her best friend.

Itadori.

“Hey…” You said rather awkwardly, heart racing. “You’re… you’re home.”

Itadori quirked a brow, looking you up and down curiously. His eyes noticeably lingered on your neck, right were you had a sneaking suspicion Choso had marked you with his lips and teeth.

“Hey,” He finally said. “You two finally done up there?”

“You heard that. Of course you did,” You sighed, dropping your stiff arms and plopping into the stool next to him at the kitchen island. You faceplanted into the cold surface, groaning, “How much did you hear?”

“Enough to know my brother’s good in bed,” Itadori took another bite. He placed a heart over his chest, feigning an exaggerated cry of, “ Choso– oh, Choso, don’t stop, I’m cu–”

“He told me you weren’t coming home,” You groaned, even louder this time. You were glad that Itadori couldn’t see the nasty shade of red that had painted your features.

“He lied,” Your best friend chuckled, crumpling the wrapper of his Kit Kat bar and tossing it in the trash bin. He stood off, dusting his hands on his pants, reaching for his phone. Then, like nothing had happened, he said, “I’m ordering Chinese. You want?”

You raised your head at that, taking a slow glance at the room around the two of you. “I could go for some beef and broccoli…”

You loved the bond you had with Yuuji. Unbreakable, truly. Sometimes a little toocomfortable. This was, undoubtedly, one of those times.

Itadori dialed a few numbers into his phone. He paused, raising his brow again, “I think you’ve had enough meat tonight, don’t you?”

“Shut the fuck up,” You sighed, though you laughed a bit at his joke.

Images of Choso flashed through your mind. The image of him spitting on the tip before slipping it in. The image of him tangling a fist in your hair, craning your head back to look at him while he pounded you into the mattress.

With a faint smirk of your own, you remarked. “You’re probably right. I should save room for all of the meat I’m gonna be eatin’ tonight after you go to bed.”

“Please shut up,” Itadori sighed, running the palms of his hands over his exasperated face. With a shake of his head, he held the phone up to his ear. “I really don’t want to think about my brother putting his dick in you. Not while dinner is also in the question.”

You shrugged. Your phone buzzed. Turning it over, you read the new message you had received.

CHOSO just now

Whered u go beautiful

Your phone chimed a second time.

CHOSO just now

Steamed dumplings n fried rice plz

You turned the screen over with a grin, telling Itadori. “Your brother wants steamed dumplings and fried rice.”

“I’d say fuck my brother, but tonight’s game night and I don’t want you taking that literally,” Itadori sighed. Still, he unmuted himself, telling the woman on the other side of the phone, “Another order of fried rice and dumplings, too, please.”

Yuuji Itadori really was the best friend a girl like you could ask for.

a/n: hi there my little steamed dumplins <33 lmk what u thought!!! I love reading ur comments and dms. again, this is a one shot, but I would totally drop another part if yall would like -- gotta show papa choso some love. comment and lmk what u think pookiesss

comments + reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

I obviously do not own jjk or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

taglist: @missphanosaur18 ,

wanna join the ' choso kamo ' taglist?| bfb; chapter index

#notiddygxthgf ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚#choso kamo #kamo choso #choso #choso jjk #choso x reader #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo x you #choso x you #chousou #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #yuuji itadori #itadori x reader #geto x reader #gojo x reader #choso smut #choso fluff #jjk x reader

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dollgxtz · 22 days ago

Text

His Watchful Eye Pt.11

Word Count: 24.4k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, forced pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, tw if u have tokophobia, broken bones, bloodshed, fighting, manipulation, pet names like, kitten, sweetie, honey, Xavier appears, tw vomiting, nausea, spanking

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti , @m0onlustre , @ve1vet-cake, @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglmela @connorsui, @iluvmewwwww75, @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer, @mysssticc, @babygirl-panda19, @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1, @honnylemontea, @altariasu, @the-slytherin-poet, @sorryimakira, @pearlymel, @emidpsandia , @angel-jupiter, @hwangintakswifey, @webmvie, @housesortinghat, @fading-twinkle, @shoruio, @gojos1ut, @solomonlover, @cheesenjam, @elegantnightblaze, @mavphorias, @babylavendersblog, @burntoutfrogacademic, @sinstae, @certainduckanchor, @ladyackermanisdead, @sh4nn, @milkandstarlight, @lilyadora, @depressedwhore, @nyumin, @kiwookse, @anisha24-blog1, @weepingluminarytale

AN: This is on A03! I am SO SO sorry for how long this chapter took. I got super busy with school and Halloween stuff! I hope this long chapter makes up for it. I am Incredibly grateful for all the comments and support you guys leave me, it always warms my heart to see you guys theorizing stuff in the comments and asks! Tysm and enjoy! <33

“Allow me to properly introduce myself this time.” Sylus’s smile was a slow, predatory curl, his words coming out deliberately, each syllable meant to dig beneath Xavier’s skin like shards of glass. “The name's Sylus, as you may know. Head of Onychinus and…” He paused, his gaze locking onto Xavier’s with a smug satisfaction, an unsettling glint of something deeply personal. “The father of the child in your ex-lover’s belly.”

Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9 Pt.10 Pt.12

The night sky in the N109 Zone was as dark as always, a dense, inky blackness that seemed to press in from every corner of the room, never letting up, never hinting at dawn. There was no morning light to greet you, only the cold shadows that defined this strange world. You stirred, half-wrapped in the warmth of the blankets, and felt the steady, unfamiliar rhythm of someone’s breathing beneath you.

Slowly, the realization dawned—you were lying against Sylus. How you had come to falling asleep on him, you weren't sure but your head was on his shoulder, his arm draped around you possessively, his breathing soft and even. Fighting the urge to push him away, you shifted slightly, noticing an odd dampness against your cheek. Your mind jolted to full awareness as you realized you had drooled on him in your sleep. A flush of embarrassment crept up your neck, and you went to pull away, but his arm only tightened, holding you closer.

Before you could think of a way to subtly create some distance, you felt him stir. He shifted, his face turning down to look at you, his lips twitching into a gentle, amused smile. He caught sight of the small patch of drool on his shirt, and a soft chuckle escaped him, the sound so warm and gentle that it disarmed you.

“Drooled on me, did you?” he murmured, his voice low, laced with a softness that was almost tender. He didn’t pull back, didn’t seem annoyed or disgusted. Instead, his gaze lingered on you, his eyes holding an unexpected fondness, a warmth that made your heart pound in a way you hadn’t planned on.

You swallowed, resisting the urge to roll your eyes, to snap back at him the way you might have in any other situation. Instead, you managed a shy, embarrassed chuckle, casting your eyes down and willing your blush to fade. It wasn’t part of the act, but somehow it fit.

Follow the plan. Pretend. Play the part.

His hand moved to your cheek, his thumb brushing over the corner of your mouth where a stray trace of drool lingered. He didn’t seem in any rush, his touch featherlight, his eyes focused intently on your lips as if the gesture was intimate and personal.

“There,” he whispered, his voice taking on a softer, almost reverent tone. He continued to brush his thumb over your cheek, his fingers moving slowly, his gaze not leaving yours. “All better.”

Something in his expression made your pulse quicken, a warmth rising in his eyes that was difficult to look away from. His thumb moved along your cheek, brushing down your jawline, and for a brief moment, you thought he might lean in closer. His gaze was so intense, so wrapped up in you that the darkness around him almost softened, making his presence the only real thing in the room.

You had to remember your role, the act you were putting on. The plan. It was the one thing keeping you tethered, reminding you to stay grounded. You met his gaze, let your eyes soften in response, and gave him a small, tentative smile. The expression seemed to thrill him, his hand lingering against your face as though he couldn’t bear to pull away.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it, the words spoken as if he truly cared about the answer.

The question brought a fresh wave of anxiety that you fought to bury. You hadn’t slept well at all. You’d tossed and turned, haunted by nightmares, each one darker than the last. This time, it had been Xavier’s face haunting you, a vision of him twisted in pain as Sylus aimed a gun at him and pulled the trigger without hesitation, without mercy.

Just like Reese.

You shuddered, trying to dispel the image, to push it far from your mind. But Sylus’s eyes were on you, his gaze unwavering, expectant.

“Yeah,” you lied, keeping your voice soft, steady. “I slept fine.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly but seemed pleased with your answer, his lips curving into a warm smile as his thumb traced the edge of your jaw one last time before pulling away. His eyes held a hint of satisfaction as he leaned back, running his fingers through your hair briefly before letting his hand fall away.

“Good,” he murmured. “Your nightmares seemed to be getting worse. I've been worried.”

The words were gentle, genuine, and though every part of you wanted to recoil, to pull away from the kind words, you forced yourself to stay in character. You could feel his fingers brush over your arm as he adjusted the covers around you, his gaze sweeping over you with an intensity that left you breathless.

But the image of Xavier's body, bloodied, limp and losing warmth at your feet lingered, the nightmare vivid, the fear creeping in like an unwelcome guest. Your body shivered involuntarily, and Sylus’s eyes narrowed, his expression shifting from warmth to concern.

“Are you cold?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly as he scanned your face.

You nodded your head, willing your mind to settle, to push aside the lingering panic from the nightmare. “A little,” you admitted, hoping it would satisfy his curiosity without prompting more questions.

He nodded, his hand brushing your arm again as he stood, glancing toward the thermostat on the wall. “I’ll turn up the heat,” he said, giving you one last reassuring look before moving to adjust the temperature. “No reason for my kitten to be cold.”

As he moved across the room, you allowed yourself to exhale, grateful for the momentary solitude.

He straightened, nodding with approval at the warmer setting, then turned back to you with a final, lingering look. “I’ve got some things to take care of this morning. I’ll be back soon.” His eyes traced over you, as if memorizing the way you looked, and with a slight smile, he slipped out of the room, leaving you in a heavy silence.

You watched him leave, letting go of the breath you didn't realize you were holding once he was out of your sight.

The silence settled in again, thick and suffocating, the shadows creeping back in to fill the space he’d left behind. You let yourself sink into the quiet, gathering your thoughts, steadying your mind. The sound of your ankle chain clinking against the bedframe brought you back to the harsh reality you were living in, the weight of it all pressing down on you like an anchor.

Still, the routine was there to keep you grounded. It was the one thing that hadn’t changed, the one thing you had control over. Make the bed, shower, brush your teeth—small rituals that gave you a sense of order, of stability, in the midst of chaos.

You moved with methodical purpose, your footsteps heavy, the chain rattling softly with each step. As the water cascaded over you in the shower, you closed your eyes, letting the warmth soothe your skin, if only for a brief moment. You scrubbed away the residue of the night, of the nightmares, of Sylus’s touch. But the feeling lingered, a shadow that clung to you no matter how hard you tried to shake it.

Dressing quickly, you moved back into the room and glanced at the mirror, lifting the hem of your dress as you examined your stomach in the faint light. It was still flat, still untouched by any sign of life. You let out a soft, shaky breath, feeling an odd mixture of relief and frustration. Seven weeks—of course, it was too early to show anything. But part of you clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, there was nothing in there. That it was all some twisted illusion, a nightmare you would eventually wake from.

But as your fingers brushed over the smooth skin, the cold truth seeped into you like ice. This was real. The nausea, the exhaustion, the subtle signs your body was changing. There was no escaping it, no running from it. You were trapped, bound not just by the chain at your ankle, but by the life growing inside you—a life you hadn’t chosen.

You dropped your dress back into place, feeling a bitter lump rise in your throat as you turned away from the mirror. The reflection, the reminders, the confinement of this life—it was all more than you could bear. But the fight wasn’t over. Not yet.

Follow the plan. Pretend. Play the part.

As you moved back toward the bed, your mind hardened with resolve.

You decided to turn to the dresser, your hands instinctively moving over the various clothes folded inside, each piece carefully arranged. A sea of unfamiliar textures, all expensive, soft fabrics that draped around you like a second skin. Not a single item from your past life was here; they were all gifts from Sylus, carefully chosen and arranged as if each outfit could somehow rewrite your story.

As you methodically folded and rearranged each garment, you began to chant silently to yourself. You’re not a captive. You’re not a victim. You’re his fiancée. The words echoed in your mind, a mantra meant to ground you, to remind you of your new role. This wasn’t some hellish confinement—it was an engagement. A proposal. Be his loving fiancée, you told yourself. Separate yourself from who you used to be. Play the part.

Your fingers brushed against the ring on your left hand, the black gems catching the dim light in the room and throwing small glimmers across the wall. The weight of it felt foreign, and yet… part of you welcomed it, felt anchored by its presence. You turned your hand slowly, watching the light play off the stone, as if it held the power to transform you into someone new.

This is my life now. The thought settled over you, heavy and cold. You couldn’t keep existing as who you’d been before, not here, not under his watchful eye. You had to separate yourself, to slip into this role. To survive. To pretend. The ring’s weight grounded you, tethering you to this new identity. The person you’d once been felt like a fading memory, a life left behind in another world.

The clothes in your hands felt heavy, each piece like a part of someone else’s life. You smoothed the silk between your fingers, focusing on the feel, the texture, letting yourself slip into a strange sense of detachment. This isn’t happening, a voice whispered at the back of your mind, but you pushed it down, deep into the pit of your stomach. There was no room for doubt now. You couldn’t let it surface, not when Sylus was watching your every move, waiting for cracks in the illusion you were creating.

The edges of your past life blurred, the memories growing fuzzy. Your apartment, Xavier, the freedom—they felt distant, like someone else’s story. And the more you organized, the more you repeated the silent mantra in your head, the more your past self seemed to slip further away.

You were his fiancée. His bride-to-be. The mother of his child. This was your life now, defined by the lavishness, the isolation, and the shadows of the N109 Zone.

Your thoughts were still scattered when the door creaked back open, pulling you sharply from your daze. Sylus entered, the quiet satisfaction on his face making your pulse spike. He moved closer, his gaze sweeping over you, taking in the change of clothes and the small attempts you’d made to organize your surroundings.

"Honey," he murmured, his voice a practiced warmth that made your skin crawl. "You look beautiful."

The word hung in the air like a heavy weight. Your stomach twisted, a surge of revulsion and defiance bubbling just beneath the surface, but you forced yourself to smile. He can't see through me, you told yourself. Stay calm. Play the part.

“Thank you, Sylus,” you replied softly, keeping your voice even, your eyes lifted to meet his. His gaze searched yours, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you thought he might see the turmoil you were hiding. But his expression only softened as he stepped closer.

The space between you evaporated as he closed the distance, his eyes warm with that disturbingly tender look he often gave you now, as though he could wrap his affection around you like a chain. His hand reached for your cheek, and his lips pressed against yours, soft but with an unmistakable possession. It took every ounce of control to keep yourself from recoiling. His hands moved downward, gliding over the fabric of your dress, then settled on your stomach, his fingers brushing lightly as though he were touching something sacred.

As Sylus’s hand settled on your stomach, your body went rigid, your mind screaming in silent protest. His fingers traced a gentle line along your abdomen, a mockery of tenderness that only amplified the revulsion pooling within you. The warmth of his touch seeped through the thin fabric of your dress, making your skin crawl as though a hundred ants were writhing just beneath the surface. You fought the impulse to pull away, to slap his hand from you. Instead, you forced yourself to endure it, to remain still, to keep the carefully constructed facade from crumbling.

You could almost feel the weight of his intentions pressing down on you with that simple, invasive gesture. His hand, possessive and unyielding, lingered a second too long on the spot that symbolized everything he had taken from you—your freedom, your choices, and now, even your body. The bile rose in your throat, and you had to force it back down, willing yourself to relax against the repulsion twisting inside you.

Sylus’s voice broke the silence, soft and coaxing, almost gentle. “Are you feeling okay?” he asked, his fingers brushing lightly over the fabric of your dress. “Any…changes?”

Your mind flickered back to every nauseous morning, the endless ache that had settled into your bones, the feeling of something foreign growing inside you, unwanted and relentless. But you kept your face passive, breathing shallowly to keep yourself steady, forcing down the loathing that his touch sparked in you.

"Yes,” you replied, your voice barely more than a murmur. “I’m feeling…less sick than usual." You added a faint smile, desperate to keep your revulsion buried beneath it.

His mouth curved into a pleased grin, and he rubbed your stomach with the tenderness that you’d have found sweet—if it wasn’t coming from him. Every brush of his fingers was another reminder of the lengths he’d gone to to keep you here, trapped in this twisted vision of love and control. The more his hand lingered, the more it felt like an iron clamp holding you in place, reminding you of everything he thought he’d secured. His eyes softened, as though he was truly moved by the connection he thought you shared. But beneath that false warmth lay an ownership so complete it turned your stomach.

Sylus’s eyes searched your face, his hand still tracing gentle circles on your stomach. “Good,” he said, voice low, “I was beginning to think the little one would keep giving you a hard time.” He chuckled softly, the sound dark and possessive as he continued to watch you.

You felt the laugh bubbling up in your throat, hollow and strained. It wasn’t funny; nothing about this was funny. But you had to give him something, anything to keep the facade from breaking. The laugh came out small and brittle, but he seemed satisfied enough. The smile lingered on his lips, pleased, like a cat that’s finally trapped its prey.

His gaze shifted again, a contemplative look darkening his features. He paused, his eyes tracing every detail of your face, as though he were trying to read the depths of your soul. You felt your heart race, panic prickling at the edges of your composure. Does he know? you wondered, your pulse pounding in your ears. Can he see through me?

He hesitated, then dropped his hand from your stomach. His face softened, his mouth curving into a gentle smile as he reached for your hand, squeezing it with a quiet affection that sent another shiver of disgust through you. “Breakfast is ready downstairs,” he said, voice calm but tinged with a subtle intensity. “Since we had a deal, you’ll be joining me in the dining room today.”

The words sparked a flame of excitement within you that you kept buried beneath a carefully neutral expression. Finally, you thought. A chance to finally get out of this room again. Even if he was going to be with you, watching your every move, this was a chance to observe, to take in the surroundings, to map out the layout of this cage he’d built around you. You let a soft, demure smile touch your lips as you nodded.

“That sounds…nice,” you replied, voice steady as your pulse thrummed with suppressed excitement. Keep it together, you told yourself. Don’t let him see.

Sylus watched you carefully, his gaze searching for any flicker of resistance. He was no fool; he was careful, calculating, and you knew he could see beneath surface pleasantries. But as your gaze met his, you felt a spark of pride—you were holding steady. This, at least, he couldn’t touch.

But the moment seemed to stretch, and Sylus’s expression darkened slightly, his smile fading as a more serious look settled on his face.

"A warning, honey," he said, his tone quiet but unmistakably firm, his eyes locking onto yours with a weight that made you feel as if you were being trapped all over again. "I’ve thought of every possible way you could try to escape. Every single one.” His voice softened, his hand lifting to your cheek, gently brushing his thumb over your skin, and you fought the instinct to flinch. “I don’t want to have to punish you,” he continued, his tone almost tender. “But if you try anything...I will. Do you understand?”

You swallowed hard, keeping your gaze fixed on his, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing the flicker of fear in your eyes. “I understand,” you murmured, voice steady. But beneath the calm mask, your mind raced. I won’t let him break me, you thought fiercely. My mind is mine. He can’t take that.

Sylus’s expression softened as he withdrew his hand, a satisfied smile gracing his lips.

"Good."

The word "good" lingered in the air like a quiet promise, or maybe a warning. He leaned down, messing with the lock on your chain until it came undone, freeing your ankle. Sylus's hand pressed lightly against the small of your back, firm and confident as he led you toward the door. The steady warmth of his touch, which you’d have found comforting under other circumstances, now only made your stomach churn.

The sound of his footsteps behind you was unsettlingly steady, each one a reminder of how trapped you were, how every movement, every word was all part of this intricate play you’d agreed to perform. You had committed yourself to this role, to pretending—pretending to love him, to see him as something he wasn’t. And if you wanted even a sliver of freedom, you’d have to keep up the act.

The air shifted as he opened the door, cool and light, with that strange stillness that seemed to hang over every corner of this place. No natural light met your eyes—no break in the oppressive shadows that filled the hall. Each step took you further from that familiar confinement, and yet the act of leaving the room didn’t bring you relief; instead, it was as if the walls expanded around you, reminding you of just how vast and endless your prison was.

He guided you forward, his presence close, hovering like an ever-watchful shadow. Memories of the last time you’d been out here assaulted your mind: the desperate rush for freedom, your footsteps barely whispering over the floor as you tried to escape. You pushed the memories down, trying to smother them beneath layers of numbness. Reese’s basement. The cold that clung to your bones, the darkness that swallowed every sound, every hope. You couldn’t let those thoughts resurface. Not now. Not when every inch of this house reminded you of that night you thought you had gotten away.

It took every ounce of control to walk calmly in front of him, to mask the dread twisting in your stomach. Sylus’s hand slipped from your back as you descended the stairs, his watchful gaze never leaving you. You focused on each step, your footfalls muted on the soft carpet, a stark contrast to the hammering of your heart. He had you under his thumb, and you could feel it with every step, every fleeting glance he cast your way, his eyes alight with that mix of possessive pride and some twisted form of care.

Finally, you reached the dining room. The warm scent of breakfast hung in the air, an almost comforting blend of cheese, ham, and eggs, with a subtle sweetness that promised something more. The table was laid out meticulously, each dish arranged as if part of a tableau. Fluffy omelettes filled with gooey cheese, chunks of ham, and flecks of green and red from the peppers and onions, each cut carefully to release a tantalizing aroma.

Golden-brown slices of French toast sat in stacks, sprinkled with powdered sugar that caught the light, giving them an almost ethereal glow. Next to them lay strips of crispy bacon, their smoky scent filling the room, mingling with the warmth of melted butter and syrup in a way that made your stomach growl in betrayal.

Sylus pulled out a chair for you, his hand lingering on the back of it, waiting until you were seated before he moved to his own place across from you. His plate mirrored yours, arranged with the same care, but you could feel his gaze as he watched you intently, like he was savoring every second of this shared meal. You picked up your fork, your hands steady despite the turmoil within. You had to keep up the illusion, the facade. You’d come this far. You couldn’t slip now.

He took a bite, his eyes softening as he watched you, as if breakfast were some quiet declaration of his devotion. “I’m having one of the rooms upstairs renovated for the baby,” he said, his voice gentle, almost tentative, as if he were letting you into a sacred secret. “I can show it to you after breakfast if you’d like.”

The words cut through you like ice, though you forced your face into a careful, neutral expression, nodding as if this prospect thrilled you. You didn’t want to go up there, to see what he was creating, to make real the future he’d carved out without your consent. You took another bite of the omelette, chewing mechanically, swallowing hard against the nausea that rose within you. But he didn’t seem to notice the pause, too wrapped up in his own excitement.

“When we know the gender,” he continued, his voice brimming with a carefully concealed thrill, “you’ll have full control over what you want in the room. Anything you envision, I’ll make it happen.” His eyes sparkled as he looked at you, his enthusiasm painfully genuine.

“Really?” The word left your lips in a soft, curious tone you didn’t entirely expect. He seemed so willing, so eager to give you something, to let you play a part in this vision he had for the future. Despite yourself, the generosity of it surprised you, the way he seemed so desperate to mold this life for you both, to make it something he thought you’d want.

Sylus nodded, the warmth in his gaze deepening. “Absolutely,” he replied, his voice soft, a hint of pride there, as though he were offering you something precious. “Even if the room’s finished and you decide you want to change everything, it’s no trouble. I’ll have Luke and Kieran redo it as many times as you want. Even repaint it a thousand times if that’s what it takes to make you happy.”

You smiled softly, more out of reflex than genuine feeling, your fingers absently toying with the expensive ring he’d placed on your finger. The weight of it felt almost mocking, a reminder of everything he was trying to wrap you in, of how deeply he had embedded himself in every part of your life. Why did he go to such lengths? Why did he care so much about pleasing you, about making you happy, when he was the reason you were here, trapped in this gilded prison? You felt an unexpected tightness in your chest, a pang of confusion and bitterness mingling in a way that left you feeling hollow.

Forcing yourself to maintain the act, you let out a light laugh, trying to keep the tone playful.

If it’s a girl,” you said, your voice sounding strangely detached even to your own ears, “maybe we could make it look like…a dreamscape? Something soft. Like she’s living in a cloud, floating above it all.” The words slipped out, and for a moment, a pang of sadness struck you, imagining a child who would never know freedom, who would grow up within the walls of a world he’d forged.

The words felt foreign, like someone else was speaking them, yet you pushed on, ignoring the way your heart twisted. “If it’s a boy, maybe something different, like decorating it to look like the night sky? All you ever see for boys are trucks and dinosaurs. Pretty boring,” you added, forcing a chuckle.

Sylus chuckled softly in return, nodding thoughtfully, seemingly thrilled by this glimpse into your thoughts. “I agree. Whatever you come up with, Im sure the baby will love it.”

The way he looked at you, with that bright, unguarded hopefulness, was surreal—like he wasn’t the same man who had dragged you into this nightmare. His smile, his promises…they twisted in your mind, clashing against the memories of everything he had done. And yet here he was, eagerly offering you choices as if any of this could somehow become normal, as if anything he did could erase the horrors that clung to you like a second skin.

You forced yourself to nod, to play along, swallowing down the bitterness that rose like bile in your throat. “Yeah...hopefully” you murmured, glancing back at the ring he’d put on your finger. It gleamed in the dim dining room light, mocking you, a reminder of the prison you now wore on your very body. No matter how softly he spoke, how kindly he smiled, you knew this wasn't just a proposal of love—it was also a declaration of ownership.

He had said it was yours, everything he had—all his resources, his entire life. You could have it, he’d promised, if only you stayed beside him. But the cost was unspoken, hanging heavily between you. It was everything else you’d lost in the exchange. Your freedom. Your past. And worst of all, your future. Your dreams. The life you’d dreamed of was gone, scattered like ashes, and here he was offering you a new one, handpicked, designed…controlled by him.

Your fingers brushed against the delicate fabric of your dress, your skin crawling as you felt his eyes follow the motion. Every time his gaze lingered, it was like he was trying to peel away the layers of your thoughts, to see beyond your outward calm. He wanted you to love this world he’d constructed, to surrender to it, to him.

Sylus’s voice broke the silence, his tone warm and conversational, as though you were any other couple discussing future plans over breakfast. “I want you to be happy, honey,” he said, his eyes watching you intently. “Whatever it takes.”

The words grated against you. Happy? Did he truly believe happiness could be built on chains, on rape, on fear? But you bit down on your retort, aware of the deal you’d struck with yourself: stay quiet, play along. Pretend to be content until you found an opening to escape.

You steeled yourself, picking up a piece of omelette and forcing a bite. The savory flavor filled your mouth, rich with cheese and herbs, a stark contrast to the bitterness churning in your chest. You could hardly focus on the taste, though, as every forkful felt more like a performance than a meal.

Your mind drifted to the night he’d placed that ring on your finger, and the memory clawed at you, reminding you of how helpless you’d felt. He’d knelt before you, spoken to you with tenderness you’d once dreamed of, but it was all wrong. His words were cages, his promises laced with possessiveness along with devotion. And here you were, entertaining his fantasies, playing the role he expected, all the while simmering with resentment beneath the surface.

The silence stretched between you as you chewed, and you could feel his gaze lingering on you, as if savoring each hint of compliance, every signal that you were softening to his world. The notion made your stomach turn, and you fought to keep your expression neutral, pushing down the revulsion that bubbled up every time he glanced at you with that unsettling fondness.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, the words tasting bitter as they left your mouth.

He must have sensed your discomfort because his hand found yours across the table, his fingers curling around your own in a gentle but firm grip. The touch sent an uncomfortable shiver up your spine, but you managed to stay still, breathing deeply as he spoke again.

"You're welcome".

Sylus watched you closely, seemingly oblivious to the defiance simmering in your mind, misinterpreting your polite responses as something more. He leaned back, finally releasing your hand, and you had to stifle the sigh of relief that wanted to escape.

He lifted his coffee, taking a slow sip as he studied you over the rim, that same possessive look glinting in his eyes. You could see his satisfaction, his self-assured belief that he was winning you over, that with enough time, you’d come to want this life he was forcing upon you.

But beneath that calm exterior, a storm was raging, one that no amount of soft words or promises could quell. You kept your composure, maintained the charade, all while feeling the weight of that ring on your finger like a shackle, a reminder of the life he’d stolen from you.

“You done? You're not eating anymore,” he finally said, his voice low and approving as he set his coffee down. The satisfaction in his tone was unmistakable, a quiet certainty that made your stomach twist with anger.

"Oh! Yeah...I'm full. Thank you for the meal".

Without another word, he stood and walked around the table, extending a hand to help you up. You forced yourself to take it, hating the way his fingers felt warm and solid around yours, grounding you in a reality you wished you could shatter. He pulled you gently to your feet, his hand lingering just a little too long as he smiled down at you.

“Let’s go see the nursery,” he murmured, a strange tenderness in his tone as though he genuinely believed he was offering you something precious.

You swallowed hard, pushing down the nausea that rose at the thought of following him deeper into this life he wanted to build. Your hands trembled slightly, but you clenched them into fists, forcing yourself to breathe as you steeled yourself for whatever came next.

This was all a performance, a lie spun so carefully that even he couldn’t see through it. You had to remind yourself of that. Every step you took was one step closer to escape, to reclaiming the life he’d stolen. And though he might not see it, every forced smile, every quiet nod, was a weapon in your silent rebellion.

Sylus led you back up the winding staircase, his hand resting possessively on the small of your back. His touch was light, yet constant—a reminder that he was in control, guiding you through the unfamiliar and shadowy corners of this place. Your stomach twisted with a blend of dread and unease, but beneath that was a flicker of anticipation. You were finally leaving the bedroom again, stepping outside its confining walls, mapping out more of the house. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were gaining a sense of your surroundings, every detail cataloged for future use.

When you reached the top of the stairs, Sylus paused in front of a wide, partially open doorway. “This is it,” he murmured, his voice carrying a note of quiet pride as he pulled the door open for you.

The room was expansive—much larger than you’d expected. As Sylus guided you inside, your eyes widened, taking in the sheer scale of the space. Dust motes floated lazily through the beams of light from the tall, arched windows at the back of the room, casting soft, silvery patterns across the unfinished wooden floor. Even in its early stages of renovation, there was a grandeur to the room, with its high ceilings and intricate moldings, making it feel more like a sanctuary than a nursery.

The room itself was an absolute mess. Tools were strewn about haphazardly, piles of wooden planks leaned against one wall, and white tarps covered parts of the floor. There were cans of paint, ladders, and half-installed shelves along the perimeter. Despite the chaos, you could see the skeleton of what it might become—the walk-in closet on one side, spacious and already fitted with a few shelves, the beginnings of a built-in bookshelf near the window. It was unsettlingly beautiful, and that paradox didn’t sit right with you. This room was meant for a child, your child—a child you didn’t ask for, in a life you hadn’t chosen.

You were so absorbed in your thoughts that you almost didn’t notice the two figures hunched over the unfinished flooring, tools in hand, their faces obscured by bird masks. Luke and Kieran. You hadn’t seen them in a while, and their sudden appearance felt like a slap, pulling you sharply back into this warped reality. Still, there was something almost comforting about their presence. Of everyone in this place, they were the least threatening. They were more like overgrown children themselves, mischievous and playful.

As soon as they saw you and Sylus, they sprang to their feet in unison, like they’d been caught playing instead of working. Luke’s hammer slipped from his hand, clattering loudly against the floor with an echo that bounced off the bare walls. Kieran smacked him on the back of the head immediately, the gesture both reprimanding and oddly familiar—brotherly, almost.

“Hi, boss! Miss!” Luke called out, rubbing the back of his head where Kieran had smacked him. “Nice to see you! Feeling any better?” His voice carried a genuine enthusiasm, bright and disarming despite the mask hiding his face.

You gave a small, awkward smile, not quite sure how to respond but feeling the warmth of their attention, which was strangely comforting in its simplicity. “I’m fine, thank you,” you replied, almost laughing as Luke’s excitement seemed to bounce off Kieran, whose head snapped up at your words.

Kieran, keeping a respectful distance yet clearly intrigued, tilted his head with what you guessed was curiosity. “Is it twins, boss?” he asked, and even without seeing his face, you could almost sense the spark of excitement in his voice.

Luke perked up immediately at his brother’s question, nodding as he moved a bit closer, looking directly at your stomach. “Yeah, is it twins?” he echoed, their eagerness radiating from them both, despite the masks that hid any expression.

Feeling shy, a wave of discomfort washed over you. The weight of their stares made you feel oddly exposed, like you were on display. But before you could respond, Sylus’s hand came to rest on your back again, a possessive but somehow protective gesture, and he answered for you, his tone playful.

“No, not twins. Not a pair the two of you could influence, thankfully” he replied, amusement clear in his voice as he added the playful jab.

Both brothers let out exaggerated groans, as if they were genuinely disappointed. The sound was so exaggerated and childish that you couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, and to your surprise, it felt genuine. For a fleeting moment, it was almost like things were normal, like you weren’t trapped in this house, under Sylus’s watch.

“Ahh, fine,” Luke muttered, shaking his head dramatically. “Just thought a pair would’ve made things more interesting, that’s all.”

Kieran nodded in mock solemnity, hands on his hips. “Could’ve been our legacy, boss,” he said with exaggerated disappointment, and both he and Luke sighed as if heartbroken.

Luke’s shoulders slumped, and he mumbled to Kieran, “Guess we’ll just have to settle for one, huh?”

Kieran gave him a little nudge. “At least we get to help with the room. Think of all the stuff we can build!”

The two of them started chatting animatedly about work they would have to do for the nursery, tossing out suggestions with an eagerness that would’ve been contagious if not for the circumstances. You couldn’t deny the odd charm they added to this otherwise stifling existence. Despite everything, they had this strange innocence about them, a playful energy that, in any other setting, might’ve been endearing.

Sylus watched them for a moment, his arm resting casually around your waist as if he were proudly presenting you to his subordinates. You felt the weight of his hand settle there, possessive but gentle, a silent claim that you couldn’t quite ignore. His thumb stroked your side in a way that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine, though you kept your composure, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much his touch affected you.

Here was a man planning a life—a whole future—that included you and this child, no matter how much you resisted.

“Now that we’re certain it’s just one,” Sylus said, turning his attention back to you, “I thought you might like to see the progress. Soon, this will be more than just an empty room.” He gestured around at the chaos, at the splattered paint cans and ladders and unfinished shelves, a proud look crossing his face.

You nodded, unable to bring yourself to respond with anything more than silent agreement, though internally, your emotions churned. This was a room that was becoming a nursery, a place that would hold things meant for a child you didn’t ask for. A child you were being forced to carry.

“If you think it's too big” Sylus continued, his voice softening, “Just say the word. I could have the nursery downsized or moved to a smaller room.” His words were tender, warm, as though he truly meant every single promise.

"No! I think its perfect. Its enough space for a growing child. I have lots of ideas" you replied, feigning surprise at the suggestion. Sylus gave you another genuine smile and your chest tightened.

There was a softness in his eyes, a genuine fondness that almost made you feel guilty for the act you were putting on. But as his words hung in the air, you felt the reality of it sink in. This wasn’t a game. This wasn’t something that would end soon. This was the world you were in now, and as much as you hated it, you couldn’t afford to let him see even a hint of rebellion.

The twins chimed in with their own ideas, talking over each other in a way that reminded you of a pair of mischievous kids, throwing out suggestions that ranged from the whimsical to the absurd. At one point, Luke suggested painting the entire ceiling with glow-in-the-dark stars, which Kieran immediately amended to “only if they change colors,” sparking a debate that had them practically bickering.

You watched them, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside you. They were both so engrossed in the planning, so wrapped up in their excitement, that you could almost forget where you were. For a moment, it felt like you were just another person, planning for a future, surrounded by people who cared.

But it was a fleeting feeling. The truth lingered beneath the surface, cold and unforgiving. These weren’t your friends; they were part of this gilded cage Sylus had built around you. And as much as they made you laugh, as much as their antics brought a brief respite, you couldn’t let yourself get attached. You couldn’t afford to see them as anything more than accomplices in your captivity.

The low buzz of Sylus’s phone cut through your thoughts, interrupting the quiet moment you'd both fallen into. His fingers stilled against your hand, and you noticed a flicker of something cross his face as he read the message on his screen—a brief tightening of his mouth, a frown, there and gone. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something had unsettled him, but before you could ask, he looked up, schooling his expression into that familiar, unreadable calm.

“There’s something I need to take care of,” he said, his voice steady, though there was a subtle edge you couldn’t place. He straightened up, eyes flicking to Luke and Kieran, who quickly gathered themselves at his call, setting their tools aside and moving to his side with quick, attentive steps.

Without another word, Sylus gently led you from the room, his hand resting at the small of your back. His usual warmth was there, but his fingers pressed a little firmer than usual, guiding you down the stairs and back to the main living room. The unease stirred in your chest, curiosity mingling with that odd, persistent sense of dread. But his silence felt impenetrable, a wall you couldn’t break through.

Reaching the living room, he gestured toward the couch with a soft smile. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable,” he said, picking up the remote and explaining its functions, the buttons, the layout—all with practiced ease, his voice gentle, calm, as though nothing had shifted. You watched him, taking in the way he moved, the fleeting seriousness that now hid behind his careful smile. He handed you the remote, his hand brushing yours, a slight warmth in his gaze.

“Here, all set. Feel free to watch anything you like.” His words felt like an invitation and a dismissal all at once, something that set your teeth on edge.

You sank into the couch, the remote cold in your hand, your gaze flicking from the television back to him. Just as you opened your mouth to speak, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a lingering kiss. His lips were warm, lingering longer than expected, and you couldn’t help the shiver that traveled down your spine, your thoughts suddenly fogged by the intensity in his gaze as he pulled back to look into your eyes.

“I won’t be long,” he said quietly, his voice carrying an odd, reassuring note. “Remember, I'm still watching.”

As if on cue, Mephisto let out a shrilled caw, flapping his wings in a nearby corner.

Then, without waiting for you to respond, he straightened up, casting one last glance at you as he called for Luke and Kieran to follow him. The twins nodded, their voices oddly subdued as they bid you a quick goodbye, and with a swift motion from Sylus, the three of them slipped through a door you hadn’t even noticed before. The quiet click of it closing echoed in the room, leaving you with an odd sense of displacement, alone and without answers.

It felt strange, like you’d been locked inside a perfectly curated world, each detail, each movement, meticulously crafted. You glanced around the room, feeling the walls press in as your curiosity turned to a simmering frustration. What had just happened? And why hadn’t they taken the front door?

With a sigh, you turned your focus to the television, clutching the remote a little tighter than necessary. Flipping through the channels, you hoped for a glimpse into the outside world—a news report, even an old program to provide a hint of normalcy. But as you scrolled through the channels, static greeted you more often than not, a white noise of silence and empty screens. The frustration grew with each click. Had he blocked access somehow? Manipulated the channels? It was unsettling, feeling your freedom so carefully managed even here, even with something as simple as television.

Finally, your thumb stopped on a cooking competition show, the contestants anxiously awaiting the judges’ final verdict. The bright lights, bustling noise, and vibrant colors flooded the screen, a stark contrast to the oppressive quiet of the room. The clatter of utensils, the frenzied footsteps of chefs, and the animated voices of the hosts blended together in a steady stream of noise. You tried to lose yourself in it, telling yourself it was enough to distract you from the silence Sylus left behind, the nagging thoughts clawing at the back of your mind.

Yet, as the show went on, it grew harder to focus. The contestants’ faces, their desperate, proud smiles as they awaited judgment—each detail seemed to blur, fading into the background as your eyes grew heavier, the tension slowly easing from your body. The exhaustion crept over you like a blanket, softening the edges of the room, the voices on the screen dimming to a low murmur.

You hadn't slept well last night and it seemed like it was catching up to you, fast.

Your head sank back into the plush cushion of the couch, your body sinking into its warmth, finally feeling the weight of your own fatigue pulling you under. Each sound from the television, once sharp and distinct, now blurred into a gentle hum, a lullaby of noise lulling you closer to the edge of sleep. It was as though the clattering, the chatter—all of it had softened, becoming a distant echo as your eyes closed.

The air was still as Xavier moved toward Dr. Merrill’s car in the early morning light, his steps soundless on the damp pavement. The doctor waited by the car, visibly tense, his gaze flickering nervously around the quiet street. Xavier didn’t say much as he approached; the plan had already been set, and neither of them had room for hesitation now.

Xavier hadn't slept at all. His heart and thoughts of rescuing you keeping him up all night. Still, he was ready for anything.

“You remember the plan?” Xavier asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Dr. Merrill gave a stiff nod, his hands gripping the car keys tightly. “Yes. Just…get in. I’ll drive straight there.”

Xavier held his gaze for a long moment, his eyes cold and unwavering, before slipping silently into the trunk. He positioned himself among the dark, cramped confines, angling his sword at his side and securing the gun in its ankle holster. Before Dr. Merrill closed the trunk, their eyes met—a silent warning that if anything went wrong, Xavier wouldn’t hesitate to act.

The trunk lid shut, plunging him into darkness. Xavier shifted, trying to settle into the limited space, listening as the car’s engine rumbled to life. His muscles tensed reflexively as the doctor pulled away from the curb, the vibrations of the car and the faint hum of the radio filling the silence. He could hear Merrill’s steady breathing from the driver’s seat, and with each passing mile, Xavier tried to keep his own thoughts in check.

It was a distant drive to wherever Sylus was keeping you, and with every turn, Xavier’s mind cycled through the possibilities. What if this was a trap? What if Merrill had been in on this from the start, feeding him scraps of information to lead him into Sylus’s hands? Doubts gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, urging him to act, to abandon the plan and confront Merrill directly. But he kept himself still, breathing through the doubts, reminding himself why he had taken this risk in the first place.

Every mile brought him closer to you. He wouldn’t let fear, suspicion, or second-guessing make him lose focus now.

He shifted in the cramped trunk, adjusting his sword to avoid the bruising angle against his ribs. Even if Dr. Merrill turned on him, he had the advantage. The doctor was no match, not with the weapons Xavier had brought along. He ran his fingers over the hilt of his sword, feeling the familiar weight and comfort of the steel. If the doctor so much as hinted at a betrayal, Xavier was prepared to finish this himself.

The drive felt like an eternity, the muffled sounds of the car and the gentle, rhythmic hum of the engine blending into a single, unrelenting pulse that synced with Xavier’s heart. Confined in the dark, his thoughts drifted, stirring up worries he’d tried to suppress. What kind of shape would you be in when he found you? His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword as images flickered through his mind: bruises, broken bones, or worse. But no, Dr. Merrill had said you seemed "relatively fine." He clung to those words, though doubt lingered. Would the doctor really lie about something that critical?

Xavier exhaled slowly, trying to loosen the tension in his chest. The longer he lay still, the harder it was to remain calm. Just as he felt himself relax, the car made a sharp turn, jolting him back to attention, his senses on high alert. Then, with a final shudder, the car slowed and came to a complete stop.

He heard muffled voices, then Dr. Merrill’s sharp tone breaking through: “Yes, just let me get my equipment.” A moment later, the trunk creaked open, and the doctor’s shadow loomed over him, his hands moving around, gathering items. Amidst the clutter of tools, he paused, whispering down to Xavier, “Come out in about ten minutes.” Without another word, Dr. Merrill shut the trunk.

In the darkness, Xavier forced himself to remain still, every muscle tense as he counted each second, honing the quiet fury building inside him. At the ten-minute mark, he reached for the emergency release, cracking the trunk just enough to scan his surroundings. The place was shrouded in darkness, usual for the N109 Zone, and before him loomed a massive mansion, dark and imposing, with towering iron gates casting long shadows. This was no hideaway; this was a practically a fortress. He clenched his jaw, dismissing the thoughts. Sylus had hidden you here—locked you away, with him just barely out of reach.

Dismissing his thoughts, Xavier dropped silently to the ground, his sword gripped tightly in one hand. Moving with practiced silence, he circled the property, observing every window and doorway. Obviously, he couldn’t risk the front door. There had to be another way.

As he scanned the wall for any sign of a side window or gap, Dr. Merrill emerged from the shadows beside him, startling him for a split second. Xavier fought back the urge to question him outright but kept his expression hardened.

“She’s here. They’ve left her alone for the time being,” Dr. Merrill murmured, voice tight with urgency. “She’s on the other side of the property. There’s a horse track there—she’s sitting by herself now. I told them I needed to come back for more equipment, so we don’t have much time. Follow me quietly.”

Xavier’s mind reeled for a moment. Outside? He frowned, surprised that they’d leave you anywhere outside the mansion. The information felt…off. But he couldn’t risk any delay. Dr. Merrill led him around the property, ducking through hedges and skirting the perimeter of the house, his steps quiet but hurried. The mansion loomed overhead, casting long, eerie shadows, as Xavier kept his mind clear, focusing only on getting to you. Still, something nagged at him—the doctor’s demeanor was too rigid, his movements practiced, as though he were acting out a scene rather than guiding him honestly.

As they neared the supposed horse track, Xavier’s pulse quickened, thoughts racing with anticipation. Every step brought him closer to you—closer to whatever state Sylus had left you in. His mind filled with images of you, weary and frightened, waiting somewhere alone in the darkness, perhaps hopeful that he would come for you. He clutched his sword tighter, readying himself for whatever he might find. He owed you strength, no matter what lay ahead.

They moved around the corner of the mansion, and in the distance, a wide, open space unfolded. The outline of a fence and worn dirt paths marked the track, a sprawling arena shrouded in shadow. His eyes scanned the area, seeking any sign of movement, but it was eerily empty. The realization unsettled him; where were you?

“Where is she?” he whispered, his voice laced with tension as he threw a sharp glance at Dr. Merrill.

“Further up ahead,” Merrill replied, his tone low, almost evasive, as he kept his gaze forward, but something in the doctor's demeanor felt off—too rigid, too practiced. Xavier’s instincts prickled, every sense on high alert.

He took a tentative step forward, but the quiet of the night shattered in an instant.

“Nice of you to join us, Xavier.”

A voice, smooth and laced with cold amusement, rang out from the shadows. Xavier spun around, his eyes landing on two figures stepping out from the darkness: two men, their bird masks glinting faintly in the dim light. Both men held guns, casual but poised, as if they had been expecting him all along.

“Surprised?” One's voice was mocking, his masked face tilting as he looked Xavier up and down. “You didn’t think we’d just leave her here alone, did you?”

Xavier’s jaw tightened, rage flaring in his chest. He shifted his grip on his sword, his eyes narrowing as he assessed his options. His mind raced through the possibility of overpowering them quickly, finding you, and escaping. But the odds were grim, even for him.

“You’re a fool, Merrill,” Xavier hissed, not turning his head but sensing the doctor’s panicked figure shrinking beside him. “I should've known better.”

Merrill stammered, his voice trembling as he took a step back. "They knew, they knew before you even got into the trunk. I had no choice.”

The twins exchanged an amused glance, chuckling low under their breath. “No choice indeed,” one man muttered.

Xavier raised his sword, his gaze locked onto the twins, his body taut, prepared for a fight. But something about their stance, their nonchalance, told him they weren’t here to engage. Not yet, anyway. They were taunting him, toying with him.

“I hope you enjoyed your ride,” The one on the left continued, cocking his head. “We’ve been waiting for someone to entertain us. And it seems we’ve found the perfect guest.”

The simmering rage within Xavier boiled over, his grip white-knuckled on the hilt of his sword as he took a deliberate step forward, the adrenaline heightening his senses. But before he could make another move, the one on the right raised his hand, his tone shifting from playful to deadly serious.

“You can put up a fight, or you can come quietly. Sylus said he wants you alive, so we won’t kill you…yet.”

Xavier’s heart pounded, his mind calculating his next move. He had come so close, so close to finding you, only to be ensnared in Sylus’s web of cruelty once more. His hatred for the man twisted like a knife in his chest, fueling his determination. He met the twins’ gaze, his eyes cold and unyielding.

“I’ll see her. I’ll get to her, whether you’re in my way or not,” he growled, his voice filled with a steely resolve.

The twins merely chuckled, shifting into ready stances as they prepared to intercept any attempt he might make to break past them.

“Keep dreaming, hunter,” one of them taunted, his eyes gleaming from behind the mask.

As the twins pulled their weapons, Xavier tightened his grip on his sword, his instincts kicking in at the sight of gleaming barrels trained on him. They fired rapidly, bullets cutting through the night with sharp precision, but he was ready. With practiced speed, he swung his blade, deflecting the bullets in quick succession, each metallic impact reverberating through the air. His movements were fluid, instinctual, each deflection measured and fierce.

Then, with a snap of his fingers, a surge of energy pulsed from the sword, casting a searing light that brightened the shadows around him. His sword blazed with ethereal energy, and he raised it, pointing it toward the twins. With a swift, calculated swipe, he unleashed a burst of radiant light toward them. They dodged nimbly, their movements so swift and synchronized that he lost track of them for a heartbeat.

A shift in the air behind him was his only warning. Instinct took over as he spun, his blade flashing, narrowly missing one of the twins who had managed to slip within striking distance.

“Woah there,” the twin chuckled, quickly sidestepping the blade with a humorous laugh. “I kinda need my arm.” Without missing a beat, he whipped out two pistols, firing off rounds with swiftness, his aim precise and relentless. Each shot was timed perfectly with his brother’s, their rhythm fast and lethal.

Xavier moved, his body a blur as he deflected the bullets, the clang of metal resounding like a discordant symphony. His sword, blazing with light, was like an extension of himself, weaving through the hailstorm of bullets. His concentration was ironclad, his every muscle coiled and ready for the next strike. He raised his sword again, releasing another blinding arc of light toward them, its brilliance cutting through the darkness. Yet the twins seemed to dance through it effortlessly, their steps quick and unpredictable, bodies weaving in and out of the shadows with uncanny agility.

His evol blazed brighter, each pulse of it illuminating the yard in stark flashes. He lunged forward, catching one of the twins off-guard, his blade singing through the air as he aimed for his shoulder. The twin dodged but stumbled slightly, and in that brief opening, Xavier surged forward.

Without hesitation, Xavier seized the moment, spinning around and lunging forward. He knocked the pistol out of the man's hand, his foot connecting hard with the man’s chest as he shoved him to the ground. In a swift movement, Xavier was over him, pinning him down, his sword poised above the twin’s head.

The other twin froze momentarily, his gun raised, but Xavier’s eyes were locked on his target, the edge of his blade catching the dim light.

“Not so cocky now, are you?” Xavier growled, pressing his weight down on the twin’s chest, his sword ready to end it. He could feel the man’s heartbeat racing beneath him, the edge of fear flickering behind the mask.

But before he could strike, the world around him seemed to twist and tighten. A chilling sensation wrapped around his entire body, freezing him in place. His vision dimmed, his breaths coming out in shallow gasps as the freezing grip closed around him, leaching away his strength and numbing his muscles.

The air around him thickened, the dark chill creeping into his bones as his vision began to blur. His thoughts grew foggy, slipping from his control, and he struggled to hold on, to stay conscious as he fought the paralyzing force. And then, through the haze, he saw a figure step into view.

A slow, mocking clap echoed in front of him. Then a chilling laugh.

Sylus.

He appeared calm, his expression betraying a hint of boredom as he took in Xavier’s struggling form with a smirk. “Nice show,” Sylus drawled, his voice smooth yet laced with an undertone of menace. “But I’m afraid I’ve grown bored.” He took a step closer, his red eyes gleaming in the dim light as he sized Xavier up with an air of practiced disdain.

He looked predatory. Like a demon that had just stepped out of the shadows.

“The father of the child in your ex-lover’s belly.”

For a split second, Xavier’s mind went blank, his thoughts freezing under the sheer weight of those words. Then, in an instant, they detonated within him, a rush of shock, anger, and raw disbelief surging through his veins like venom. His pulse pounded, erratic and wild, the realization cutting deep. It couldn’t be. No. This was impossible. Sylus had to be lying, manipulating him, preying on the one fear he had buried too deep to acknowledge.

The blood roared in Xavier’s ears as the accusation sank in. His jaw clenched, his fists balled, nails digging into his palms so hard he could feel his own pulse there. “Liar,” he ground out, his voice rough, a desperate denial choked by a flicker of dread that tightened around his chest. But even as he spoke the word, his conviction wavered. Sylus’s smug expression, that insidious confidence, gnawed at the edges of his certainty. What if he wasn’t lying?

The red mist surrounding them thickened, pressing down on Xavier like a relentless tide, choking the air from his lungs as if Sylus controlled not just his body but the very air he breathed. “You f-fucking liar,” he gasped, his voice hoarse, trembling under the strain of holding onto his sanity. He couldn’t let this man get to him, couldn’t show weakness.

But Sylus’s smirk only widened, his gaze gleaming with a sickening pleasure that twisted Xavier’s stomach. He leaned in, close enough that Xavier could feel his breath, his tone mocking, dripping with satisfaction. “You doubt me?” he taunted, arching a brow, his eyes boring into Xavier’s as though peeling away every layer of defense, exposing every raw nerve. “You want to see her, don’t you?” The way he said it, the way he tilted his head with that taunting gleam, made every nerve in Xavier’s body scream in protest, but he stayed silent, refusing to give Sylus the satisfaction.

But Sylus saw through him, every flicker of pain, every glint of desperation in his eyes feeding the twisted satisfaction etched on his face. “Of course you do,” he murmured, voice soft yet cruel, the words twisting like a knife. “There’s a price though,” he added, his voice dropping into a sinister whisper. “And since you don’t have any money here…”

Before Xavier could react, a sharp, brutal punch crashed into his face, snapping his head back with a crack that echoed in his ears. The pain exploded, blinding and immediate, radiating through his skull and searing down his neck. Blood flooded his mouth, the coppery taste harsh on his tongue as he spat onto the ground, his breathing harsh, labored.

He felt his skull throb and his nose throb in pain, cursing in his head that it was definitely broken.

The anger simmered in him, stronger than the pain, a blazing, unyielding fire. Through the pain, he forced out a taunt, his words venomous, defiant. “You…hit like a bitch,” he spat, his voice a harsh rasp, but even as he spoke, he felt the bruises blooming across his cheek, the throb of his split lip. Inside, he clung to the anger, the fury that felt like the last shred of his sanity.

Sylus’s dark chuckle sliced through his defiance, his smile widening into something dark, almost gleeful. Without warning, he unleashed another barrage of punches, each one landing harder than the last, each one aimed with a precision that bordered on the sadistic. His fists pounded into Xavier’s ribs, his gut, his jaw, each impact an agony that burned through him, breaking him down one relentless blow at a time.

Xavier choked out a groan, fighting to stay conscious, to hold on to the remnants of his strength. He couldn’t let go. He couldn’t let Sylus win. But the pain was overwhelming, his vision blurring as his head swam. His body screamed in protest, but he forced himself to breathe, to keep his mind focused on you.

His body buckled under the continued assault, every nerve alight with agony, his vision blurring as he fought the pain. He couldn’t fall, couldn’t give in, but his strength was slipping with every hit, every sharp crack of bone and blinding flash of pain. Blood trickled from his nose, his lip, pooling in his mouth, staining his teeth with every ragged breath he forced out.

As if bored by the spectacle, Sylus finally stepped back, releasing the red mist that had held him captive. Xavier’s body crumpled to the ground, his limbs heavy, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he fought to regain control. The cold ground pressed against his cheek, rough and biting, but it grounded him, gave him something real to focus on. His fingers brushed against something solid, cold, familiar.

His sword.

A spark of hope flared within him, a small, fragile flame in the darkness. If he could just reach it, just close his fingers around the hilt, he might still have a chance. His hand stretched, trembling, desperate, but just as he felt the cold metal beneath his fingertips, Sylus’s hand clamped onto his shoulder, dragging him back with brutal force. Sylus then proceeded to step on his sword, shattering it into several big pieces with the weight of his foot.

Xavier struggled, his body weakened but his spirit unyielding, his fingers clawing at the ground as Sylus hauled him toward the mansion’s grand entrance.

Sylus dragged Xavier to the front door, fingers twisted tightly into the back of his hair, forcing him forward with ruthless force. Xavier stumbled, disoriented, pain flaring with every step. Just as he tried to regain some semblance of footing, Sylus wrenched him sideways, shoving his face against the cold, polished glass of the side window. Blood smeared across the pane, leaving dark streaks on what had once been pristine.

“You wanted to see her, didn’t you?” Sylus sneered, voice dripping with mockery. “Well…here she is. Get a good look.”

Xavier’s heart hammered as he strained to focus. Through his blurred, bloody vision, he saw you lying on the couch inside, curled in a delicate sleep. A pang tore through him; you were thinner than he remembered, and yet somehow you still looked serene, your chest rising and falling in the gentle rhythm of dreams. The sight of you so close made his heart ache with a potent mixture of relief and despair.

You didn't look pregnant. Relief flooded through his head as he shoved that thought away. Sylus must be fucking with him. He had to be.

He tried to call out to you, his voice barely a gurgle as blood filled his mouth, choking the words. A weak, strangled sound escaped him, nothing more than a pained gasp. He coughed, tasting blood, helplessness surging in his chest as he realized just how powerless he was to reach you.

“Don’t bother,” Sylus said coolly, leaning close, his voice a silken taunt. “She can’t hear you. I’ve had the living room soundproofed. She’s completely oblivious to the fun we’re having out here.” With a quick flick of his hand, Sylus shoved Xavier back, sending him sprawling onto the gravel. Pain shot through his ribs, a sharp and searing agony that made him cry out, his breath shallow and ragged.

Sylus advanced, his expression a twisted blend of satisfaction and disdain as he knelt down, pinning Xavier beneath his weight. Xavier’s body screamed in protest, but every attempt to move sent fresh waves of pain through his broken, battered form. Sylus wasted no time removing the pistol Xavier had hidden at his ankle, throwing it across the ground. Xavier's heart dropped as he heard the metal clatter.

Sylus’s grip then tightened, his hand pressing down with deliberate, sadistic force on Xavier’s shoulder, pinning him against the ground with an air of twisted relish.

“You’re lucky,” Sylus drawled, his tone laced with disdain, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I made her a promise, you know. To keep you alive. Otherwise, I would have turned you into mush back in the car. But I have to admit…” His smirk widened as he pressed down harder, grinding his thumb into Xavier’s collarbone with a precision that made Xavier’s breath catch painfully.

“This is much more satisfying.”

Xavier gritted his teeth, the pain forcing white spots into his vision, but he forced himself to stay conscious, his mind locked onto you, on the image of you safe and unhurt. He couldn’t let this monster win.

Without another word, Sylus’s grip slid down to Xavier’s arm, his fingers digging into muscle and bone with an almost surgical awareness. He met Xavier’s glare with a dark smile, then, with one swift, brutal motion, twisted his arm until a sickening snap echoed in the still night air. The sound of breaking bone reverberated through Xavier’s skull, an unbearable shockwave of pain exploding through him as he felt his arm twist at an impossible angle, every nerve screaming in response.

Xavier’s scream tore from his throat, raw and uncontrollable, his body seizing up as the agony overwhelmed him. His pulse thundered, heart slamming in his chest, his breath coming in ragged, broken gasps. But Sylus wasn’t finished. Not yet.

The laughter above him was filled with a twisted satisfaction as Sylus watched him, his eyes glinting with a cruel pleasure. “And since you were bold enough to come here, to trespass into my domain…” Sylus paused, relishing the fear and pain etched across Xavier’s face. “A broken leg should round out the lesson nicely, don’t you think?”

Xavier barely registered the words before another wave of agony hit. Sylus’s iron grip latched onto his leg, fingers wrapping around his thigh like a vice, squeezing with unnatural strength. With a swift, brutal twist, Sylus snapped the bone with an almost casual ease, as though he were breaking a twig.

The jagged edges of shattered bone grated against each other, tearing through muscle, and another scream ripped from Xavier’s throat, louder and more desperate than the last. His vision went white, the pain drowning out every thought, every memory, as his world narrowed to the unbearable agony radiating from his broken limbs.

He gasped, trying to force air into his lungs, his entire body trembling as he fought to remain conscious. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the blood smeared from his broken nose. His thoughts, disjointed and scattered, latched onto you—your face, your laugh, the warmth of your smile. He whispered into the darkness, barely a breath. “Fucking…monster”

As he began to fade, Sylus leaned down, his face mere inches from Xavier’s, his breath hot against his ear. “Live with this, Xavier,” he murmured, his voice dripping with malice. “Every time you think of her, remember this moment. Remember that you were powerless. Remember who she belongs to now.”

With one final, brutal kick to Xavier’s ribs, Sylus straightened, his face contorting into a look of distaste as he glanced back toward the door and the smeared blood marking the pristine glass. He dusted off his hands with an air of cold satisfaction, then turned to the shadows where Luke and Kieran waited, both silent but watching with morbid interest.

“Luke, Kieran,” Sylus called over his shoulder, his voice sharp and commanding. “Clean up this mess,” he gestured to the bloody smears on the window. “The sight of it disgusts me.”

The twins stepped forward without a word, their masked faces hiding any emotion as they moved to obey. Xavier could only watch, helpless and broken, his vision fading in and out as they wiped away the last traces of blood, erasing any sign of the struggle that had taken place.

Sylus turned his attention to Dr. Merrill, who stood nearby, pale and visibly shaking. “Take him back,” he instructed coolly, his eyes narrowing as he gestured dismissively at Xavier’s shattered form. “To the hospital, a ditch—I don’t care, as long as he’s out of my sight.”

Dr. Merrill swallowed hard, nodding quickly as he moved forward, his hands trembling as he leaned down to lift Xavier. As his broken body was hoisted from the ground, Xavier fought to stay awake, his mind a haze of pain and regret, his last, fractured thoughts clinging to the image of you—just out of reach, so close, and yet, impossibly far away.

Dr. Merrill struggled under the weight of Xavier’s limp form, his breaths coming in labored bursts as he adjusted his grip and hefted him into the back seat of the car. Every inch felt like a mile, every step a struggle. Xavier was heavier than he looked, and the doctor’s nerves were frayed, his mind haunted by the brutal scene that had just unfolded. He cast a fleeting glance down at Xavier’s bruised and battered face, his features twisted in unconscious pain, his mouth half-open as blood dribbled from a cut at the corner of his lip. But he said nothing. There was nothing to say, no words that could bridge the chasm of violence and fear that Sylus had just carved into the atmosphere.

With a grunt of effort, Dr. Merrill finally managed to close the door, leaning against it for a moment, his chest heaving. He glanced back toward the mansion, its dark silhouette looming against the bleak sky of the N109 Zone, a fortress of shadows and secrets. He could feel Sylus's presence lingering in the air, even though the man was out of sight. It was as if the leader of Onychinus was still watching him, gauging every movement, every breath.

He shuddered, then hurried to the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut and fumbling to start the engine. The car roared to life, and he sped away from the mansion, the gravel crunching beneath the tires. He dared a quick glance in the rearview mirror, catching sight of Xavier’s crumpled form sprawled across the backseat. Blood soaked through his clothes, staining the fabric, and for a moment, Merrill thought he might have to turn around, to plead for mercy or an alternative plan. But then he shook the thought from his mind, forcing himself to focus on the road ahead.

Minutes slipped by in a haze of darkness, the car’s interior illuminated only by the faint green glow of the dashboard lights. Xavier’s breaths came in ragged gasps, his face twitching with pain even in unconsciousness. His body was a wreck—broken ribs, dislocated joints, and the jagged agony of his shattered leg, all of it radiating through him in relentless waves. He drifted in and out of consciousness, each moment of awareness a fresh wave of suffering. The pain was a living thing, gnawing at the edges of his mind, threatening to drag him under.

At one point, the rumbling vibrations of the car jolted him back to the present, his vision swimming as he tried to piece together where he was. He realized he was in the backseat, lying awkwardly across the cushions, his head pressed against the cool window, a smear of blood staining the glass. His entire body ached with a deep, bone-deep exhaustion, and when he tried to shift, a fresh surge of pain tore through him, making him cry out.

“Don’t move,” Dr. Merrill’s voice cut through the darkness, strained but steady. “Just stay still. We’re almost at the hospital.”

Xavier barely registered the words, his mind trapped in a haze of memories and regrets. Memories flashed before him in fragments—Sylus’s taunting smile, the sound of his bones snapping like dry twigs, the way you looked, lying so peacefully on that couch while he suffered just feet away. He felt a bitter laugh bubble up in his chest, only for it to dissolve into a painful sob as his ribs protested the movement.

The car swayed around a bend, the tires thrumming against the uneven road, and Xavier squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the pain, the shame, the overwhelming sense of failure that clawed at his heart. He had been so sure, so determined to find you and take you from that place. He’d thought he could overpower Sylus, could take back what had been stolen from him. But instead, he had been reduced to this—broken and helpless, a shadow of the man he used to be.

He swallowed hard, his throat raw and tight, and as the tears slipped from the corners of his eyes, he tried to choke out a question. The words came out garbled, thick with blood and emotion, but he forced them through clenched teeth. “Is…she really…pregnant?” The question burned in his throat, each syllable laced with a desperate hope that it wasn’t true, that Sylus had lied, that this nightmare wasn’t as real as it seemed.

Dr. Merrill’s face was hidden in the shadows, but Xavier caught the tension in his posture, the way his shoulders hunched forward as if he wanted to curl in on himself. He didn’t answer right away, and the silence stretched unbearably, pressing down on Xavier’s battered chest. “You’ve got bigger issues to worry about,” the doctor finally muttered, his tone flat, evasive. “Sylus…he doesn’t give people second chances often. You should be grateful you’re getting one at all.”

The words cut through Xavier, sharp and cold, but he didn’t have the strength to argue. His mind clung to the word grateful, and a bitter laugh scraped from his throat, sending a fresh wave of pain through his broken ribs. Grateful? For what? For being allowed to live just long enough to see how utterly he’d failed?

Xavier knew Sylus wasn't being merciful. Sylus had made it very clear that he now enjoyed seeing Xavier suffer, knowing that you were locked away. Unreachable. Unattainable. Sylus reveled in the fact that he had something Xavier so desperately wanted to the point of throwing himself into danger repeatedly.

The doctor glanced back at him, his expression momentarily softening. “Look, this can stay between us,” he offered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t hold what you did to me against you. I understand...loss. And I’m sorry for yours.”

The words barely registered. Xavier’s thoughts swirled, each one heavier than the last, dragging him down. His life was unraveling before him, and he couldn’t see a way to put the pieces back together. His mind flashed back to your apartment—your apartment.

The one he’d kept for you all these months, paying the rent with every scrap of money he could scrape together, even as his own life crumbled. He’d promised you that place would still be yours, that you’d always have somewhere to come back to. But now, how was he supposed to keep that promise? How was he supposed to protect anything?

He couldn’t work like this. His injuries would keep him sidelined for months, and physical therapy would drain what little savings he had left. Even if he made it through recovery, what then? Would he be able to fight again, to pick up his sword without remembering the way it felt to be broken under Sylus’s heel?

Tears slipped from his eyes, hot and unrelenting, carving paths through the blood and grime that stained his face. He bit back another sob, swallowing down the bitter taste of his own failures. The pain was a dull roar now, a constant reminder of everything he’d lost—you, his soulmate, his purpose. And as the car continued its relentless journey, he felt himself slipping again, his vision narrowing to a dark tunnel with no light at the end.

The last image in his mind was of you, lying on that couch, your face peaceful in sleep, oblivious to the hell that raged outside. He wondered what you were dreaming about. Did you think of him at all? Or had Sylus twisted even your dreams into something he could never reach? As darkness took him again, he whispered a silent apology, hoping that somehow, you’d hear it through the abyss that now separated you both.

It can't be over. He refused to believe that. Sylus could break every bone in his body but as long as you were alive he had a reason to keep trying. To keep breathing.

And then, everything went black, the ache in his chest the only thing anchoring him to the world that had become his prison.

You drifted back to consciousness slowly, the softness of the couch beneath you lulling you into a false sense of comfort. Your limbs felt heavy, and a warm, hazy grogginess clung to your mind, reluctant to let go. The quiet in the room was strangely soothing, like a lullaby still playing softly, coaxing you to stay in the safety of sleep. For a fleeting moment, it was as though you could forget everything—reality, the ever-present fear, the oppressive darkness of the N109 Zone. Just a quiet, dream-filled nap.

But then your eyes began to flutter, and reality crept back in.

The dim lighting was familiar, casting a muted glow across the room that felt too controlled, too perfect. As you blinked your eyes open, adjusting to the low light, you felt the prickle of a presence beside you, heavy and unyielding. You dared a small glance, only to find Sylus sitting there, a coin flipping between his fingers in a lazy rhythm, his eyes fixed somewhere far beyond the room, his expression unreadable.

A surge of tension jolted through you, awakening every nerve. The sleepiness vanished in an instant, replaced by a steady, growing apprehension as you took in his frame, rigid yet somehow calm, a picture of controlled power. The coin flicked up and down, catching the light, its metallic glint mesmerizing yet unsettling. You didn’t dare move, holding your breath as you watched him from beneath lowered lashes, hoping he’d remain oblivious to the fact that you’d woken.

But after a moment, he chuckled, the sound low and taunting, a dark, knowing amusement filling the room.

“I know you’re awake, sweetie,” he said, voice dripping with a kind of sinister charm. “You can open those pretty eyes back up.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you realized you’d been caught. How had he known? You thought you’d kept still, kept quiet, yet he had sensed you there, awake and aware. He hadn't even looked at you! Hesitantly, you opened your eyes fully, meeting his gaze. His lips curved into a smile, but it was the kind that made the warmth from your nap vanish entirely.

He caught the coin one last time, fingers gripping it firmly as he leaned toward you, his eyes gleaming with something that sent a shiver down your spine. “Enjoy your nap?” he asked, the question deceptively casual.

You forced yourself to sit up, feigning ease, and nodded, willing your voice to remain steady. “Yeah…it was nice,” you replied carefully. “Guess I needed more sleep.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, his gaze assessing as his fingers moved to the top of your head, smoothing down your hair in a way that felt more possessive than tender. “No need to lie about sleeping well, honey. If you’re having trouble sleeping, I’ll take care of it. Pregnancy can be brutal on sleep. I’ll make sure we find something safe to help.”

His words were soft, coaxing, but they left you feeling more trapped than ever. You gave him a small, polite smile, praying it looked sincere as he lingered, his fingers stilling on your head in a gesture that felt heavy with intent. You stared down at the coin now lying on the table, its shiny surface catching in the dim light. It was a distraction, something to focus on to avoid the depth of his gaze.

Sylus, however, wasn’t easily distracted. He caught your subtle evasion, fingers slipping from your hair to your shoulder, where he squeezed lightly, pulling you closer to him. You fought the urge to shrink away, his warmth pressing against you like a weight, binding you in place.

There was an edge to him right now, a tension beneath his calm exterior, and it was palpable in the stillness. You swallowed, gathering your nerves, and decided to take a risk. If he was tense, maybe showing some concern could deflect his attention from you. Play more into the lie that you were starting to care for him. It was worth a try, even if the thought twisted in your stomach.

“Are you…okay?” you asked, voice soft, almost hesitant. You let a hint of worry lace your tone, hoping he’d believe the concern. “You seem…tense.”

A small, almost forced smile curved his lips, and he tilted his head, considering you. “Just had a pest to take care of,” he said, dismissing the matter as though it were nothing. He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, a gesture that felt possessive rather than comforting, as if to remind you of exactly where you were and who controlled your movements.

The word hung in the air, colder than the dim, heavy silence that followed. A pest. The way he said it made something twist uncomfortably in your stomach. Sylus had a habit of using simple words to mask what were often dark realities, a trick that had haunted you since he’d taken you away. A pest could mean anything, but knowing Sylus, it was likely something—or someone—he had dispatched without a second thought.

"Ah...a pest. Sorry to hear," you murmur, forcing a calm you don’t quite feel. Your stomach tightens with nerves as you say it, your mind racing with dark imaginings of what "pest" could mean in Sylus’s world. More than likely, he’d snuffed someone’s life with the very same hands now touching you with such tenderness. You try to ignore the uneasy chill that creeps up your spine, reminding yourself to stay composed, to keep up the act. This was all a role, after all—anything to stay safe.

Seeking a distraction, you lean over and tap at Sylus's watch, catching sight of the sleek design and polished metal that glints under the faint room light. You hadn’t really noticed it before, but it’s clearly an expensive piece, crafted with meticulous detail. It feels out of place, almost surreal, like every bit of luxury around you.

"What time is it?" you ask, squinting toward the window by the door. The murky darkness beyond is a constant reminder of where you are, a place utterly devoid of sunlight. A twinge of longing rises in your chest. God, what you would give just to see a single sliver of sunlight breaking through.

Sylus glances down at the watch, his face calm. "About 1 p.m. You were out for quite a while." There’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Falling asleep watching cooking shows, no less. You like to cook?"

You resist the urge to scoff. He was already familiar with the answer; wasn’t that part of the game here? Sylus had made it clear how obsessively he’d studied every aspect of your life, leaving you feeling as if your own likes and dislikes, your small joys, were now mere facts in some twisted report he kept on you.

"Shouldn’t you already know?" you quip, trying to keep the bitterness from slipping into your tone. "You said yourself you knew everything about me. Probably know how many individual eyelashes I have too," you joke lightly, masking the irritation with a forced smile.

Sylus chuckles, his laughter rich and genuine, as if truly entertained by your comment. "And if I do?" he replies, his voice both playful and unsettling.

You turn to meet his gaze, surprised at the directness of his response. There’s a glint in his eye, a hint of something that sends a shiver through you, even though you do everything to hide it.

"Well then…you’re even more dedicated than I thought," you say, injecting a light, teasing note into your voice and forcing a soft smile. It feels strange, twisting words meant to hint at gratitude when a far sharper, less flattering term is on the tip of your tongue.

Dedicated wasn’t the word. Obsessed, maybe. Possessive, definitely. But that wouldn’t fit the part you had to play. Not if you were going to keep him in the dark about your true thoughts and intentions. You couldn’t afford to slip, not even once. The only chance at freedom you had was through manipulation, and the only way that would work was if you sold every lie as though you believed it with your whole heart.

Playing along—making him believe you wanted to be here, that you were coming around to his twisted idea of a life together—was your only shot. Every smile, every touch had to look real. It was a dance you had to perform perfectly if you wanted him to lower his guard, to let you see enough of this place to understand it. And if you could do that, if you could slowly, carefully, find your way through this labyrinth of a mansion, then maybe you could plan an escape. It was a desperate hope, but it was all you had.

Besides, you’d only seen a fraction of the mansion—enough to know it was enormous, enough to know it was a maze you had to learn. There was no way you could get out of here without knowing every detail, every exit, and he had left you with only fragments to work from.

"Sylus," you begin, voice softer now, as though you’re testing the waters. "I’ve been here awhile, but I’ve only really seen the living room, the dining hall, the nursery, and…well, your room." You force your gaze downward, channeling an innocence you don’t feel, hoping it’s enough to mask the sharp edge of your true intentions. Asking for more access felt like dancing on a knife's edge—one wrong word, and you’d be locked in that room again, losing even the small amount of freedom he’d permitted.

“That’s very true,” he replies, his voice laced with curiosity. He tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing just a bit, his gaze a silent demand to continue. "What are you getting at, kitten?"

You take a breath, willing the nerves away, and look toward him with a careful, hopeful expression. Showtime. You reach for his hands, gently taking them in yours, and give a small, almost timid squeeze. His hands are warm, large, and hold yours with an easy authority that you ignore.

"Well…" You give a slight, shy smile. "Since I’m going to be raising a baby here, don’t you think I should know what the rest of the house looks like? We’ll need to babyproof everything, anyway." You let out a soft laugh and force your best smile, even as your heart races.

"Please?"

He says nothing at first, just studies your face, every detail of it, his expression unreadable. His silence stretches, stretching long enough to send a cold trickle of doubt through you, your skin prickling as you try to read him. His hands hold yours steadily, and though his grip isn’t harsh, there’s a firmness there, a controlled strength that keeps you from pulling back.

Then, finally, he squeezes your hands back, and you force yourself not to pull away as his gaze sharpens, amusement flashing through his eyes as he chuckles softly. “I already let you out of the room, and now you want more?” His tone is teasing, but there’s a slight edge to it, enough to remind you of how fragile your position is here, how easily he could shut this down. "Greedy, aren’t you?"

A cold sweat breaks out along your neck, and you feel your heart stutter in panic. Had you asked too soon? Had he caught onto your real intentions? You swallow the fear and press a small, apologetic laugh from your lips, tilting your head in a way you hope looks endearing.

"But," he continues, his face softening just enough to let you breathe again, "it’s hard to say no when you’re looking at me like that." His lips curve into a small, satisfied smile as he nods. “You can be a little greedy since you're pregnant, my love."

A thrill of excitement rushes through you, real and raw, breaking through the cautious pretense you’d kept so carefully crafted. For once, you don’t have to fake the spark of interest in your eyes. It was an unexpected freedom, an unsupervised look at the rest of this mansion—and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of possibility at every new detail.

“Thank you, Sylus.” The words are soft but intentionally genuine, and as you meet his gaze, you keep a veil of sincere gratitude over your excitement. You lean over and give him a small peck on the cheek, much to his surprise. He seems a little taken aback by you gratitude but gives you a gentle smile. He holds your hand firmly as he guides you down the winding hallways, the feel of his fingers entwined with yours as binding as your own resolve to see this through. With every step, you commit to memory the twists and turns of the layout, noting windows, entryways, exits—anything that might be useful.

His voice draws you from your thoughts as he gestures to the first room, pushing open the door with an easy familiarity. “Here’s the pool room,” he says, voice tinged with a hint of pride. The room opens into a spacious area filled with sleek, blue-tiled floors, a pristine pool stretching almost the entire length of the room. The water reflects the soft ambient lighting overhead, casting an inviting shimmer across the walls. The edges are rimmed with elegant stone tiling, and a series of lounge chairs are arranged nearby, as if ready to host a small group.

You try to hide the awe in your eyes as you take in the serene space. “It’s…gorgeous,” you say, turning to him with an appreciative smile. “You must spend a lot of time here?”

He nods, a small, satisfied smile on his face. “I do. It’s peaceful. Good place to clear my head.”

You allow yourself to take a few steps closer to the water’s edge, admiring the tranquility that fills the space. It almost feels like you’re somewhere else entirely, far from the tension that typically fills the house. “I can see that,” you murmur, the sound of the gentle ripples in the water almost mesmerizing.

His hand slips back into yours as he guides you out of the pool room and further down the hall. "Come, there’s more to see.”

The next door swings open into a gym, and the space is fully outfitted: weights, machines, treadmills, and even a boxing ring nestled in the far corner. Your eyes widen, taking in the variety of equipment and the sheer dedication that must have gone into curating the room. The walls are a stark black, the floor a clean, polished tile that gleams under the overhead lights. Every detail speaks of intensity and focus, a place meant for honing skill and strength.

“So, you really don’t skimp on fitness,” you remark, glancing over at him with a raised brow. “The boxing ring and everything?”

He chuckles, pleased by your reaction. “Of course. It’s important to stay in shape, to keep my strength up.” He leads you to the edge of the ring, tapping the ropes lightly. “You box, too?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.

He grins, almost mischievously. “Its just a hobby, nothing serious. A way to pass the time.”

You nod, letting your gaze drift around the room, mentally cataloging every angle and piece of equipment. Sylus watches you, his face alight with satisfaction, seeming to enjoy the reaction he’s evoking. “I’m impressed,” you reply, layering your words with genuine-sounding admiration, hoping it masks your true purpose. “Will you teach me sometime, Sy?”

He raises an eyebrow, looking amused, and after a thoughtful pause, nods. “Why not? After our little one arrives, I’ll show you everything I know.”

The mention of the baby jolts through you, your stomach tightening. You had been pushing the thought to the back of your mind, burying it beneath everything else—but it seemed Sylus had no intention of letting you forget. Not for a moment.

"Right…thank you,” you manage to say, hoping he doesn’t sense the slight tremor in your voice. “This place is exquisite.”

He hums in agreement before guiding you toward the exit, back into the hallway. “You’ll see. There’s a lot here. A place for everything.”

He pauses by the next door, a slight glint of amusement in his eyes as he opens it. The room that greets you is completely unexpected—a wide, empty space with mirrored walls, hardwood floors, and… a dance pad. Your surprise must be evident because he chuckles softly, closing the door behind you both.

“A dance pad?” you ask, not quite able to hide the surprise in your voice. “I didn’t peg you for a dancer.”

He gives a low chuckle, crossing his arms as he watches your reaction. “Everyone has their quirks, I suppose.”

Unable to resist, you step onto the smooth floor, glancing down at the pad. It’s a pristine set-up, clearly well-kept, as though someone actually uses it. You glance back at him, eyebrows raised. “So…do you actually use this?” You try to keep the amusement out of your tone, but it slips through, your curiosity genuine.

He shakes his head, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “No, not often. It was more of an impulse purchase than anything. You're free to use it if you like though, kitten.”

Suppressing a laugh, you glance away, imagining him using the dance pad, and it’s almost too much to picture him doing anything other than exuding control. You shake your head lightly, turning back to him. “Well, I’ll have to take your word for it.”

He grins, clearly enjoying your surprise, before he takes your hand and guides you back out into the hallway. As you move further down, your curiosity piqued by every turn and every new door, a question nags at you.

“Where do Luke and Kieran stay?” you ask, trying to keep your tone casual, like a question borne out of simple curiosity.

“They don’t live here,” he replies easily, glancing down at you with a slight smirk. “But they aren’t far. Close enough if they’re needed. They spend quite a bit of time here though.”

You nod, filing the information away. So, they don’t stay here, but they’re close. It’s another detail you could use, another fact that might mean something if an opportunity arose.

The next room Sylus opens is another surprise: a comfortable, cozy space filled with large bookshelves and plush seating, much more inviting than the rest of the mansion’s cold, grandiose design. The contrast is startling, and you can’t help but admire the warm tones of the wood, the elegant lighting that casts soft shadows on the walls.

“This is the library,” he explains, watching your reaction closely. “You’re welcome to use it whenever you want.”

Your gaze lingers on the spines of the books, taking in the range of genres and titles. “It’s beautiful,” you murmur, genuine awe slipping into your voice. It’s the first place that actually feels…relaxing. A place you could lose yourself in for hours, escape within these walls even if only in the pages of a book.

He seems pleased by your reaction, and you make sure to keep the interest visible on your face, your fingers brushing over the backs of the books as you take it all in. The space here feels safe in a way the other rooms didn’t, the chaos of your current reality somehow held at bay in this quiet sanctuary.

But, as always, Sylus’s presence is a constant reminder, and the grip he keeps on your hand pulls you back into reality as he leads you out once more, your newfound sense of calm quickly dissipating.

As you stroll through the shelves, another thought begins to form in your mind. There had to be thousands of books, perhaps this library held one small thing that could genuinely be useful to you: knowledge. Knowledge about this pregnancy, about what exactly your body was going through.

And maybe...what to "avoid".

Your steps slow just a bit, feigning hesitation. “Sylus,” you begin, glancing up at him, letting your tone be soft but curious, “do you have any books about pregnancy in here? I’d like to know more about what’s happening. In my body.”

The request seems to please him, a subtle glint of pride crossing his face as he gives a small nod. “I thought you might ask eventually,” he replies, his voice a mixture of amusement and interest. “Wait here.”

He gestures toward a chair tucked into the alcove near the end of the library, and you settle into it, watching him disappear into the labyrinth of shelves with purposeful strides. Left alone in the stillness, you allow yourself a quick scan of the area, but see nothing of interest, save for the distant rows of books and that familiar, heavy silence. Everything here is so perfectly curated, so precisely arranged, and yet, as much as you try to distract yourself, the tension gnawing at your thoughts feels sharper now.

Time drags on, each minute stretching painfully as you sit in silence, your mind a whirlwind of nerves and planning. Eventually, you hear his approaching footsteps, and soon, Sylus reappears, carrying a neat stack of hardcovers, his lips curved in a slight smile.

“Here we go,” he says, setting the stack down on the table beside you. He steps back, folding his arms as he watches your reaction with that familiar, intense interest. “Everything you could need, or want to know” he adds, pride in his voice.

“Thank you,” you say, trying to sound genuinely grateful as you reach for the first book. You glance down at the cover—The Stages of Pregnancy: A Month-by-Month Guide—and flip it open with a careful hand, as if you’re handling something fragile. “It’ll be good to know what to expect, right?” you add, glancing up at him with what you hope looks like a soft smile.

"Of course,” he replies, his gaze settling on you in that thoughtful way that makes your skin prickle. “I can make accommodations for whatever you need, but understanding it for yourself…well, I imagine that would make this feel easier for you.”

You nod, flipping slowly through the pages, half skimming, half pretending to read. Then, as if by chance, your gaze snags on a paragraph labeled, “Seven Weeks: The Size of a Blueberry.” The words catch in your mind, sticking like unwelcome thorns.

“Oh…here,” you murmur, tracing the line with your finger. “It says here that the baby is the size of a blueberry or a grape right now.” The words feel strange, almost surreal coming out of your mouth, as if they’re someone else’s. You force a calm expression as you look back up at Sylus, noting the gleam of satisfaction and…tenderness? In his eyes. This was real to him, more real than you ever could have anticipated.

“How cute” he murmurs, as though savoring the thought. He moves closer, settling into the chair beside you, a shadow of reverence on his face as he leans just a bit nearer. His hand instinctively reaches toward you, hovering near your shoulder, but he draws it back just as quickly.

“Yes…fascinating,” you murmur, glancing back down at the book, feigning a smile even as your stomach twists with something colder. It was all too real now, this moment—a growing reminder of the life you were both creating and dreading, one as small as a berry yet powerful enough to bind you here.

You keep turning the pages, scanning over every single line for something specific—anything about foods to avoid, medications, activities that might be dangerous, anything that might provide some small escape route. But the bright, pastel pages offer only endless suggestions for a “healthy, positive pregnancy experience.” Each book is filled with joyful phrases and soft illustrations, almost too perfect, like something out of a surreal nightmare. With each turn of the page, frustration bubbles up, mingling with something darker.

You try the next book, then another. There’s no sign of precautions or restrictions, just more idealized depictions of the “bonding” process. As you flip through the final book, a sickening realization settles in: several sections are conspicuously missing. You can see the faint edges where pages were once bound, but they’ve been removed. Ripped out.

Your pulse quickens, anger twisting in your stomach, but you keep your face calm, still as you look at Sylus. His gaze is fixed on you, warm and utterly calm, as though he’s waiting to see how you’ll react. You can feel him studying every move, every expression, savoring this unspoken game of power.

Clearing your throat, you gather your composure and flash a small, questioning smile, doing your best to sound innocently curious. “I’m finding a lot of do’s in these books,” you say softly, each word carefully measured, “but not a lot of don’ts. Are these…outdated?”

His response is immediate, his gaze never wavering. His lips curve into a slight, indulgent smile. “Not at all. I know exactly what you should avoid,” he says smoothly, his voice dripping with authority masked in reassurance. “So there’s no need to worry your little head about it, sweetie.” He’s almost mocking you, a trace of condescension slipping through the veneer of warmth. He sees straight through your question and wants you to know it.

Your fingers tighten around the book, knuckles white as you force your face to remain neutral. Inside, fury claws at you, tearing at every last thread of restraint. He’s so smug, so confident in his control over you, that he doesn’t even pretend otherwise. Of course, he’s thought ten steps ahead, torn out every page that could’ve hinted at ways to “accidentally” sabotage this pregnancy. He’s made sure that you have no means of escape, no options except the ones he allows.

But you swallow your anger, fighting back the venom you want to spit back at him. Instead, you let your expression soften, tilting your head as if his words have comforted you. Your voice comes out sweet, too sweet, the way he wants to hear it. “I trust you, Sylus. Thank you.”

He seems pleased with your response, and as he reaches out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face, you resist the urge to recoil. Inside, a storm is raging, but you keep your mask firmly in place, knowing it’s the only power you have left.

Sylus stops just before the door, a small, teasing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “There’s still one more area to show you,” he says, his tone casual, though there’s a spark of something knowing in his eyes. “Although, you’ve likely seen it already.”

Your heart skips, and you swallow hard. Of course, he’s talking about the horse track. The last place you saw in your frantic escape attempt. Instantly, memories flash before you: scrambling over the fence, the desperate pull in your muscles as you fought for freedom, only to be dragged back into his world. The bitter taste of that night lingers in your mind, and you force yourself to blink it away, to ignore the cold chill that grips you as he opens the door and leads you outside.

When you step into the expansive back area, it’s breathtaking. The open area stretches out endlessly, perfectly groomed, dotted with white flowers swaying gently in the breeze. The massive oak trees create a picturesque frame, and the fence, glinting in the muted moonlight, is unmistakably taller, as if mocking you with its new height. It’s beautiful, undeniably so, a luxurious landscape that, if it weren’t for your current reality, might have seemed like a dream. A taunt.

"How are these plants and trees growing without sunlight Sylus?" you ask, eyeing the flowers.

"They're fake. Plants have a hard time growing here. I ship grass regularly for the horses to graze on along with their other meals" he replies.

How thoughtful of him. At least he seems to care about the horses wellbeing. You can't help but wonder how healthy it is for a horse to go without sunlight exposure though.

Sylus’s voice breaks through your thoughts, calling your attention to the horses lined up in their stalls, majestic creatures with shiny, well-groomed coats. He introduces each of them by name—Eclipse, Fenwick, Zephyr, and Ambrosia. The names are as unique as they are, and he strokes each horse’s neck with a gentleness that surprises you. Despite yourself, you can’t help but marvel at them, nodding as he explains each horse’s quirks with a level of affection that seems almost out of place. “Beautiful horses,” you murmur, hoping the sincerity sounds genuine, though a part of you can’t shake the irony of admiring the very place that had denied you freedom.

Just then, a soft “meow” sounds at your feet, snapping you from your thoughts. You glance down and blink in surprise. There, staring up at you with curious green eyes, is a small, fluffy black cat. And another, slinking out from behind a bale of hay. Then another, and another—until nearly ten cats have surrounded you, their little heads tilting as they examine the new arrival.

“Oh, must be lunchtime.” Sylus’s tone is amused as he steps over to the stall, pulling out a few cans of wet food. He methodically opens them, setting them out as the cats swarm around his feet, purring and meowing in eager anticipation.

“Are these your cats, Sy?” you ask, surprised at the softness in your own voice as you watch him tend to them. You curse yourself the second the nickname slips out. Too familiar. Too comfortable. But Sylus just smiles, scratching a particularly bold tabby behind its ears.

“I wouldn’t say mine, exactly,” he replies, casting a glance down at the cats as they rub against his legs, eager for attention. “One of them showed up hungry one day, jumped the fence somehow, so I fed him. Guess he told his friends and family about the food, and they just…kept coming back.”

You watch him, taken aback by the sight of your captor, the man who so meticulously controls your every movement, giving such easy affection to a stray cat. You can feel your thoughts churning, grasping for some understanding, but it only raises more questions. He chuckles as a few more cats join the others, and he pauses to scratch the head of a scruffy gray one, speaking softly to it in a way that nearly—nearly—makes him seem human.

And though you force yourself to keep the façade, to act gracious and grateful, inside you’re cursing the twisted mix of emotions that this moment stirs up.

You can’t help but find it ironic. Sylus, the man who controls everything—down to the lock on your ankle chain—claims he doesn’t “own” the cats, says they can come and go freely. Yet here you are, under his roof and his rule, with freedom as unreachable as the sun in the N109 Zone.

The words are on the tip of your tongue, the urge to point out the hypocrisy flickering in your mind, but you bite them back. No, this isn’t the time to speak your thoughts. Instead, you kneel down, reaching out to one of the cats, a scrappy little tabby with one bright, curious eye and the other an empty, scarred socket. The cat leans into your hand, purring deeply as you scratch beneath its chin, its coarse fur oddly comforting beneath your fingertips.

“Looks like Cooper likes you,” Sylus observes, his gaze never straying from you.

“Cooper,” you echo, glancing up briefly, your voice softer than you intended. You try to focus on the rough little creature in your hands, letting its simple contentment distract you. If only you could just walk away, like this little one could if he wished.

Sylus watches you, and for a brief moment, there’s a hint of something softer in his eyes, as if he’s reading your thoughts. He kneels down beside you, his hand brushing over Cooper’s head, and you can feel his attention as if it were a weight pressing on you. You force yourself to keep petting the cat, willing yourself to stay calm, to keep up the act, to smile and nod.

If only he knew.

Sylus’s eyes are on you, his gaze smoldering, heavy with admiration that borders on obsession. The intensity in his stare prickles your skin, and heat rises in your cheeks, unbidden and unwelcome. You avert your eyes, hoping to temper the rush of nerves fluttering through you, feeling suddenly small under the weight of his attention.

“Y-yes?” The question comes out shaky, barely a whisper, as you force yourself to meet his gaze, but only briefly. It’s like looking directly at the sun—captivating, but dangerous. You can’t seem to keep the heat from creeping up your neck, burning hotter as his eyes soften, a smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re just… so beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning closer. His words are a gentle caress, brushing against every shield you’ve tried to raise, slipping past them, finding their way in despite your efforts to stay detached. Before you can react, he closes the distance, his mouth pressing softly against yours, the warmth and possessiveness in his kiss dizzying. You feel his hand cradle your face, his fingers brushing against your cheek with a tenderness that feels almost surreal, given the suffocating reality of your situation.

Your heart pounds wildly, and an ache settles low in your chest, a dangerous stirring of emotion you refuse to entertain. You try to focus elsewhere, force yourself to stay vigilant, to keep your mind away from the way his lips move against yours. As if on instinct, your eyes drift over his shoulder, searching for anything to ground you.

Then, you see it—a dark red smear in the dirt, barely visible against the shadows by one of the horse stalls. Your stomach drops, and an icy chill cuts through the haze Sylus has drawn you into. A strange fear seeps into your thoughts, sharpening them, pulling you out of the moment and rooting you back into the grim reality of your circumstances.

“Sylus…” You pull back, voice soft, your words catching slightly. “Did one of the horses…get hurt?” Your eyes linger on the spot of blood, every nerve on edge as you try to mask the growing tension inside you.

Sylus’s gaze follows yours, his expression flickering from surprise to something darker, something almost guarded. The ease in his expression evaporates, his eyes narrowing slightly as he assesses the bloodstain. For a second, you think you see irritation flash across his face before he smooths it over with a small, unreadable smile.

“Hm,” he hums, tilting his head thoughtfully, though the tightness in his posture betrays his calm facade. “I don’t think so. Must be from that pest I mentioned earlier.” His voice is casual, but there’s a coldness behind the words, a dangerous edge that makes you wonder what—or rather who—he might consider a “pest.” He straightens, his expression closing off, but the darkness in his eyes lingers, unspoken but unmistakable.

“I’ll have the twins take care of it,” he adds, his tone light, almost dismissive, though you can sense the faintest trace of something far more sinister hidden beneath it. He turns back to you, and the ease returns to his expression, but now it feels forced, like a carefully practiced mask that he’s used countless times before.

The words settle uneasily in your chest, and you feel a prickle of fear creep down your spine as his thumb traces lazy circles over your knuckles. He’s watching you with an intensity that feels as if it could peel away the layers of your facade if you’re not careful, and you force yourself to keep your expression neutral, to mask the suspicion and dread swirling inside you.

“Alright,” you murmur softly, forcing a smile as your gaze meets his once more, masking the apprehension twisting in your gut. The words feel hollow, but you hope they’re enough to placate him, to make him believe that his secrets are safe, that you’re not questioning every word that slips from his lips.

Yet even as you stand there, his hand enveloping yours in a feigned gesture of reassurance, the sight of the bloodstain is burned into your mind. It serves as a bitter reminder of the truth he’s tried to obscure beneath smiles and whispered promises, and as you feign gratitude, you know you can’t afford to let your guard down. Not now. Not ever.

Sylus stood and stretched after some time, allowing a lazy smile to spread across his face as he took a final look around the open space and the warm, purring cats at your feet. He watched you, savoring the barely concealed disappointment that flickered across your face as he said, “Alright, time for us to get back inside for lunch.”

You hesitated, casting a glance at the cats lounging contentedly near you, one or two curling around your ankles as if to say goodbye. “I’ll miss them,” you murmured, reaching down to scratch the ear of a sleek black one with a torn ear. The small admission tugged at something in Sylus, a reminder that despite the careful guard you kept up, moments like these were still real.

But then his gaze shifted to the faint red stain in the dirt, and his smile slipped, just for a second. Xavier had been as stubborn as he’d expected. Unruly, unpredictable, and unwilling to admit defeat. The faint bruise on Sylus's knuckles was a testament to that. He’d told himself that dealing with Xavier would bring him a sense of closure, and it had—to an extent. Yet, seeing you look at the stain, asking about it, he couldn’t deny a small twinge of irritation. He didn’t want you dwelling on anything to do with Xavier, knowingly or not. That chapter was supposed to be closed, shut tight, and locked away.

Still, he chuckled inwardly. You, and your quiet persistence, had become more fascinating than he’d anticipated. The bloodstain bothered you; he could see it in the way you looked at him, the veiled questions in your eyes. He tried his best reassure you, convince you that it didn’t matter. And yet, there was a small ache in his heart in the way you looked at him, unsure if you could trust his words. For him, your little glances and careful words only reinforced that you were still a work in progress, no matter how much of an act you tried to put on for him.

As you leaned down to pet one of the stray cats, he felt a strange pang. There was something almost serene in how you looked at the cat, how gently your fingers brushed against its fur. He could understand why the cats returned to his estate; they were loyal to the hand that fed them but still roamed freely, unbound. A thought flickered in his mind—a parallel he quickly dismissed.

“What are you thinking?” he found himself asking, and though his voice was calm, he watched you closely, searching for any sign of defiance, any glimpse of the real thoughts he knew you held back.

“Just…that the cats seem happy here,” you replied softly, and while the words were polite, almost indifferent, he could see something sharper, a glint of anger hidden in the depths of your gaze. He had no doubt you’d drawn the comparison to your own situation.

He smirked, feeling a surge of amusement as he leaned in closer, letting his fingers brush against your hand, a possessive gesture. “They come and go, sure,” he murmured, his tone deliberately soft, intimate. “But they always come back, don’t they?”

You didn’t respond, and he could see the faint tension in your shoulders as you continued petting the cat, carefully avoiding his gaze. He let the silence stretch, enjoying the subtle power play, the dance of control between the two of you. The thought lingered—just how long would you keep fighting? How long until you finally accepted the life he was giving you?

He didn’t miss the way your shoulders softened, a subtle release of tension, though whether it was from the promise of food or the chance to put distance between yourself and that bloodstain, he couldn’t say for certain. But he knew. He was perceptive, and though you’d gotten better at masking your expressions, your body still betrayed you.

He’d watched you perfect the art of masking your true thoughts, layer by careful layer. A slight upturn of the lips, a practiced smile. A flicker in your gaze that quickly gave way to feigned admiration. He couldn’t deny that a part of him was impressed, even entertained. He liked seeing you evolve like this—thoughtful, clever, adaptive. But what truly intrigued him was the innocence you projected; he enjoyed it, let himself be pulled into this game. He allowed you to feel the illusion of control, as if you were the one carefully crafting this delicate balance between resistance and affection.

He chuckled to himself, the sound low and almost indulgent. You had no idea the effect you had on him, the strings you pulled without even realizing it. And though he knew he was the one orchestrating every piece of this twisted dynamic, he let you believe otherwise. He let you think you had him fooled, that he couldn’t see through the charming glances, the coy questions, the calculated affection. And yet, despite every barrier he had, he wanted those words, that warmth from you. He wanted them to be real.

If he was honest with himself, there was a part of him that longed to be on the receiving end of genuine care from you. His hand brushed against your shoulder as he guided you back toward the house, and he found himself savoring the brief touch, however fleeting.

But he wouldn’t rush it. He would let you play this little game for a while longer, allow you to think you were the one calling the shots. And when the time came, when he shattered that delicate illusion, it would be on his terms. Until then, he would savor each exchange, each careful glance, each word that fell from your lips, real or not. You had him wrapped around your finger, whether or not you realized the full extent of it.

And the thought? It amused him.

As you entered the dining room, he noticed the subtle way you seemed to take in every detail around you—the long hallways, the faintly lit chandeliers casting warm shadows, the polished floors beneath your feet. He almost smiled to himself, watching you catalog the space, probably even the exit routes. It was cute, in a way, how careful you were being, like you could somehow memorize the layout of his entire home in one meal.

He didn’t mind. Not at all. As long as you didn't try anything.

“Here we are,” he murmured, steering you gently into the dining room, where an array of dishes already awaited. The table was lavishly spread, but not so much that it was unrecognizable—bread, fresh fruit, cold cuts, and cold drinks that filled the air with savory warmth. Sylus guided you to a seat, pulling the chair out with a small, deliberate gesture before sitting down across from you, eyes intent on your every move.

You gazed at the table, your hunger apparently winning out over the frustration he knew lingered somewhere beneath the surface. Sylus watched as you lifted your fork, that carefully composed expression settling back over your face. He allowed himself to relax, picking up his own fork and cutting into his meal, though his gaze flickered over to you with each quiet bite.

A part of him enjoyed this simple act, the mundanity of it—a normal lunch, a meal shared. Yet even in this moment, he couldn’t ignore the ever-present current of tension that ran between you. He knew you were watching, studying. You were trying so hard to give the appearance of calm. He wondered how long it would last.

As you glanced up at him, he offered a casual, almost teasing smile, leaning back in his chair as he set down his fork.

"No cold cuts for you," he said, his tone gentle but firm as he nudged the plate of cold sandwiches out of your reach. "These are grilled chicken sandwiches," he explained, sliding a different plate closer to you. "These are safer for you and our baby."

Sylus watched the subtle flicker of annoyance that flashed across your face when he moved the cold cuts out of reach. It was gone almost instantly, replaced by a polite compliance as you reached for the grilled chicken sandwiches he’d set out for you. You were getting good at masking your expressions, he had to admit. But, as usual, your body told him more than you realized—just a hint of tension in your shoulders, a subtle tightening in your jaw.

Good. You didn’t know it yet, but this tiny rebellion pleased him. He kinda liked when you revealed these small glimpses of resistance, even if they were fleeting. They reminded him of the strength you carried beneath the surface, the fire he found so enticing.

A shame he would have to shatter the illusion sooner or later.

As you picked up a slice of mango, he leaned back, taking in your careful movements, the slight restraint in your eyes. He knew you found his supervision maddening, the constant watch over every bite, every step. But he had promised himself to keep you and the baby safe, and he would see that through.

Satisfied with your obedience, he finally turned to his own plate, his appetite sharpening as he replayed the moment in his mind, savoring the small victory of your compliance. It didn’t matter if you played along reluctantly; it was the control he held over the situation that brought him ease.

Each meal like this, each time you did what he asked—no matter how begrudgingly—deepened his resolve. He’d continue to let you think you had some upper hand, that you were in control of your emotions and your reactions. But he’d always be watching, silently reveling in each little battle. For now, he’d let you play along.

Much time passed after that. Sylus could tell, even before you spoke, that your nausea had returned with a vengeance. The signs were all there: the way you held your stomach, the faint crease in your brow as you tried to mask the discomfort. He’d been through this routine with you countless times by now, keeping close by as you battled each wave. He’d spent so many hours by your side, his hands gently holding back your hair, wiping the stray strands from your face, offering a damp cloth to cool your skin afterward.

He'd tried a bunch of things to help with the sickness. Tea, medicine, even changing your diet a bit. But nothing really helped. Seems the baby was determined to give you a hard time regardless.

It surprised him sometimes, how easily he’d fallen into this role, how even your smallest needs had started to matter to him in ways he couldn’t have imagined. When you refused his help with certain things, like showering, he respected the boundary, though reluctantly. The idea of you in there alone, especially with what he knew about the later stages of pregnancy, troubled him.

He’d read in detail about the instability women often faced in their third trimesters, the sudden falls that could turn into something worse. A chill ran down his spine whenever he thought of you stumbling, unbalanced, and he was resolved to be more insistent on helping you shower when that time came. For now, though, he let you have the small distance you needed.

It was a shame you were feeling so unwell. He'd be lying if he said he didn't desire to touch you, to feel you under him again. To hear those cute, serene sounds you made when he touched you in the right places. Despite this, your health was much more important to him than satisfying any desires for sex. He could be a very patient man in the right circumstances.

Tonight, he could feel something different in the air. Your restlessness, the way you shifted in bed, never quite finding comfort. You were cuddled with the plushies he had gotten you, trying to lull yourself to sleep. You hadn’t even closed your eyes. Instead, you stared at some invisible point beyond the room, as though you were imagining yourself far away from here. He knew you often felt trapped, the unease that clouded over you whenever he locked the ankle chain in place. And yet, he couldn’t ignore the tinge of something fragile when you finally spoke up.

“Sylus…” your voice broke through the silence, almost too soft, yet enough to pull him to attention. You turned your head, glancing toward him, and he noticed the way your eyes flickered with something like hope. “I feel sick. Can I get some fresh air? Near the horse track?”

He studied you for a moment, seeing the fatigue etched into your features. He was tempted to say no, but something in your gaze held him back. There was a heaviness about you lately, a quiet sort of sadness that he couldn’t break through. It was worrying him. He didn't want you to fall back into the lifeless, emotionless state you had once slumped into. Perhaps a bit of fresh air would help. After a pause, he nodded, reaching for the lock to release the chain around your ankle, his hand lingering as he freed you.

“Alright,” he said, his voice gentle, though his eyes were watchful. He kept his gaze on you, feeling that familiar urge to follow you wherever you went. “But I’ll be right there with—”

The sharp buzz of his phone interrupted, the sound breaking the intimacy of the moment. He saw the name flashing on the screen: Dr. Merrill. A pang of irritation shot through him—this wasn’t the time, not now when he was letting you outside, even for a short time.

He hesitated, glancing between you and the phone. The call could be important, but he couldn’t ignore the flash of relief that crossed your face as you caught his nod of permission. You needed this, even if only for a few moments.

“Go on, sweetie,” he murmured, the reluctance clear in his voice. “I’ll join you shortly. Don’t get too close to the fence.”

He watched as you stepped through the doorway, your shoulders relaxing, a bit of lightness returning to your steps as you disappeared down the hall. His eyes lingered on the empty space where you’d been, the silence settling back over him as he finally lifted the phone to his ear, jaw tight. Dr. Merrill would have to choose his words carefully tonight.

“I assume he’s been dealt with already as I instructed. Why call me so late?” Sylus’s voice held a sharp edge, barely masking his irritation. He hadn’t expected to be disturbed tonight, especially with you outside, likely breathing in what you imagined was your first real taste of freedom in weeks.

A nervous cough sounded from the other end before Dr. Merrill spoke, his tone careful. “Apologies, Sylus. I’ve been keeping an eye on Xavier as you requested. He’s still bedridden, but alert, talking, and his vitals are stable. I informed him, as you wanted, that further attempts would only end worse for him. Whether he’ll listen when he’s back on his feet… well, I can’t say for certain.”

Sylus let out a low, affirmative sound, though his impatience was still evident. “Go on.”

The doctor cleared his throat again, as if gathering himself for what he had to say next. “The real reason I’m calling is that I managed to access her hospital files. Her primary doctor had been Dr. Zayne, and…” He hesitated, his voice turning grave. “It turns out she has Protocore Syndrome.”

Sylus’s grip on the phone tightened slightly. He let out a quiet sigh, massaging his forehead with his free hand. “I’m aware. And from what I’ve seen, it hasn’t given her much trouble so far. Is there something I should be concerned about now?”

The hesitation on Dr. Merrill’s end lingered longer this time. “Well… she’s around eleven weeks, nearly twelve. At that point, in most pregnancies, the risk of miscarriage starts to lower. But in her case, given the Protocore condition, I’d advise extending caution at least until eighteen weeks, if not longer. Even after the baby’s safe, her condition may present complications.”

Sylus exhaled, the words simmering, taking root in his mind. “What kind of complications?”

“Truthfully, with Protocore Syndrome, any added strain on her heart could be… detrimental. It’s been stable, sure, but we’re dealing with an unusual pregnancy, considering that your...genetics. We don’t know the full implications on her system. We should assume anything out of the ordinary could place her at higher risk. There’s a chance, Sylus, that this baby could pose a significant threat to her overall health.” Merrill’s tone was a low murmur, each word layered with caution.

Sylus processed the information slowly, his gaze shifting to where he’d last seen you walking out the door, a sudden weight settling in his chest. “And you’re telling me this now because…?”

“I just reviewed the full records. I didn’t realize until now that her heart was this vulnerable. What I’m suggesting is close monitoring—routine checkups, more frequent scans. She needs to avoid large amounts of stress, both physically and emotionally. A small amount should but fine but if things escalate, her heart could reach a breaking point. Without intervention, it could be…catastrophic.”

Sylus’s fingers drummed slowly against his leg as he listened. He’d known you were fragile, but this was something deeper. “I’ll manage it,” he replied curtly, his tone flat, concealing any hint of concern. “I know what she needs, and I’ve kept her far from anything that could jeopardize her health.”

“I understand,” Merrill said, sounding wary but accepting. “I just thought it best to warn you, considering…her life is far more delicate than you might have realized.”

Sylus was silent for a moment, his jaw tight. “I’ll take care of it, and keep me updated on everything you find out. Keep Xavier contained if he recovers.”

“Understood,” Dr. Merrill replied, his tone tense. “I’ll see to it he’s occupied if he starts asking questions.”

Ending the call, Sylus remained silent, lost in thought, eyes drifting toward the door. He would protect you—he’d make sure every aspect of your care was overseen with precision, even if it meant keeping you closer than ever before.

Deciding to check on you, Sylus lingered by the doorway, a shadow in the cold night, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene before him. There you were, crouched by the fence, your body huddled against the chill as you examined the latch with nervous, darting glances around you. You seemed entirely focused, fingers trembling slightly as they traced the cold metal, clearly debating your next move. He could see the tension in your shoulders, the way you scanned the area before testing the latch, and a simmering anger ignited within him.

It was the smallest flicker of movement that caught his attention, the way you shifted closer to the gate, cautiously as if any misstep might alert someone, but Sylus saw everything. Each anxious breath you took misted in the cold air, and though he couldn’t see your expression from behind, the very posture of your body screamed of quiet rebellion. His jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists as he remained rooted in place, watching as you carefully lifted your hand to the lock again, trying to coax it without making a sound.

What did you think you were doing? The thought struck him sharply, but he forced himself to stay silent, letting you think, letting you believe you had gone unnoticed. You were there, so close to the boundary he'd set, so intent on testing it, and he felt an almost bitter pang of disappointment settle into his chest. There was a part of him that wanted to call out, to see your startled reaction right then, but he forced himself to stay hidden, his presence a looming reminder that you were never truly alone in this place.

As you cast another furtive glance over your shoulder, he saw the fear in your eyes, and it only fueled the growing frustration that simmered beneath his calm exterior. You were aware of the risk. You knew what might happen if you were caught, and yet here you were, caught in the very act he had warned against. His eyes narrowed, and he took a silent step forward, ready to make his presence known.

“Sweetie,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the stillness with unsettling clarity.

The sound of his voice froze you instantly, every muscle in your body going rigid as if your worst nightmare had come to life. You slowly turned, dread etched on your face as your gaze met his. You clearly hadn't heard him come up behind you. Sylus’s expression was deceptively calm, his face shadowed but his eyes glinting with a cold, controlled anger that made your breath catch.

“What were you doing?” he asked, his tone soft but laden with unmistakable irritation.

You opened your mouth to answer, but only a shaky breath came out, fear catching the words in your throat. “I…I was just…exploring,” you stammered, your voice barely more than a whisper as you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “It’s all a misunderstanding.”

He took a step closer, his gaze unwavering as he studied you. The quiet stretched between you, thick with tension, and you felt your pulse thudding in your ears as you waited for his response.

Sylus let out a slow sigh, the sound laced with disappointment rather than anger, which somehow made it all the worse. His fingers reached for his belt, and with deliberate slowness, he began to unbuckle it, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Kitten…” he murmured, his voice calm, almost pitying. “Do you remember what I said a few weeks ago about trying anything like this?”

He watches as panic surged through you as realization hit, your eyes racing wildly as his hand pulled the belt free, the leather sliding through the loops with a soft, menacing sound. You began to shake, the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as you took an involuntary step back. “Sylus…please,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I wasn’t trying to leave. I swear…I’m sorry.”

But your pleas fell on deaf ears. He only shook his head, a faint sadness in his expression as he reached down, his grip firm as he took your arm. “I’m sorry too,” he said, his voice coldly resolute. “But I have to do this until you learn.”

With that, he turned, leading you back into the house, his hand unyielding around your arm. You stumbled behind him, barely able to keep up as he guided you through the doorway and into the familiar warmth of the house. But there was no comfort in that warmth, no reprieve from the dread that coiled tighter in your chest with each step.

The living room loomed ahead, and he guided you to the couch, his grip never loosening even as he sat down, pulling you down with him. You struggled, your voice breaking as you begged him, the fear in your tone echoing in the empty room.

“Sylus please, don’t do this, I'm sorry I'm sorry!” you choked out, but he silenced you with a firm hand on your back, pushing you gently over his knee. His hand lingered there for a moment, resting just above your spine as he leaned down close, his voice a quiet murmur in your ear.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered, almost gently, as though trying to soothe a frightened child. “This is good for you. It’ll only hurt for a bit.”

He could feel your pulse pounding against him, every fiber of your being wanting to pull away, to escape his touch, but you were trapped, his hand a steady weight on your back. He gently lifted the hem of your dress, pulling down your underwear to expose the skin of your ass. You braced yourself, eyes squeezed shut as he adjusted his grip, raising the belt.

“Count them, kitten,” he said, his tone carrying an unyielding finality.

Just a little stress is fine. This was necessary. This was good.

"One..."

Smack.

"Mghn! Two..."

Smack.

"T-three..."

Your voice trembled as you forced the words out, each count a struggle as you choked back tears, the ache settling into your skin as his belt landed in steady, unrelenting strikes against the skin of your ass. Over and over, eleven times. You fought to keep your composure, to stay silent, but the pain built, each strike pushing you closer to breaking.

And all the while, he hoped his words echoed in your mind, the calm finality of his voice a reminder that, here, he held the power. That as much as you wanted to hate him, to defy him, that power loomed larger than any fleeting spark of rebellion.

Sylus’s movements were calculated as he finally loosened his grip on the belt, letting it clatter softly to the floor. He watched you, taking in the sight of you shuddering, face flushed with heat and emotion, eyes red and swollen from tears that now streaked freely down your cheeks. Each sob seemed to cut deeper into him, each tear a reminder of why he’d felt forced to take things this far. His chest tightened as he tried to push down the frustration that flickered beneath his surface calm.

“Come here,” he murmured, gently motioning for you to sit up. His tone softened, and he reached out to touch you, his hands gliding over your butt with a gentleness that seemed out of place after everything that had just happened. He could feel the heat radiating from your skin, a stark contrast to the frigid night air outside. The ache beneath his hand seemed to burn under his touch, and he rubbed slow, soothing circles over the places where the belt had struck, trying to calm the sting.

“Look at me, honey,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as he brushed his fingers beneath your chin. He gently tilted your face up, guiding your gaze back to his. Your face was a picture of heartbreak, your cheeks still wet, lips parted as you tried to catch your breath between soft, broken sobs. Even in your anger, there was a vulnerability in your eyes that made something stir within him—a part of himself he usually tried to keep at bay.

"Are you okay?"

Your silence was louder than any words, a refusal to acknowledge his question. He could feel the anger flickering behind your tears, simmering just beneath the surface. The defiance was there, mixed with something else—hurt, perhaps, or a sense of humiliation. He knew this had pushed you to a breaking point.

His thumb brushed over your cheek, catching a tear as it fell, his hand warm and steady. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, really. When we get to bed, I’ll keep rubbing where it hurts. I’ll make sure you feel better. Do you understand why I had to do it?” he asked, his voice low, almost pleading, as if he hoped his words might somehow bridge the growing chasm between you.

For a long moment, you didn’t answer, your eyes fixed on some distant point as if looking anywhere else might help you avoid the question. He could see the wheels turning in your mind, your expression flickering between hurt and resentment as you processed what had happened. The weight of it hung heavily in the air between you, a silent struggle for control.

Then, finally, a tremor seemed to pass through you, and without warning, you collapsed against his chest, a fresh wave of tears breaking free. You buried your face in the fabric of his shirt, your shoulders trembling as sobs wracked your body. “Yes. I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice muffled and raw, choked with emotion. It was as though all the walls you’d tried to build had come crashing down, leaving you vulnerable and exposed.

Sylus’s arms wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you closer as he rested his chin atop your head. For a moment, he was taken aback, unsure if this was genuine or some desperate attempt to sway him, to appeal to the part of him that still longed for your affection. But he couldn’t deny the way you clung to him, the way your fingers gripped his shirt as though holding onto him would somehow make everything right again.

The thought sent a pang through him, and he tightened his hold, letting you cry as he ran his fingers through your hair, whispering quiet reassurances. “Shh…it’s okay,” he murmured, his tone tender as he continued to hold you, his own anger and frustration melting away in the face of your pain. “It’s all over now, sweetheart. You’re forgiven.” He continued to cradle you, his hand tracing soothing patterns across your back until, slowly, your sobs began to quiet, your breathing steadying as the storm of emotion finally started to subside.

In that moment, as he held you close, he realized something unsettling—something that made his resolve weaken and his heart ache with a mixture of frustration and longing. No matter how much he wanted to control you, to bend your will to his, there was a small part of him that didn’t want to see you break completely.

Sylus sat there, feeling the warmth of your body pressed against his, a dark, unsettling question wormed its way into his mind: How far could he take this? How far could he go before the fragile balance he maintained shattered completely, leaving only resentment and pain between you both?

In his mind, he'd always believed that every boundary he pushed, every small piece of control he gained, would draw you closer, like a force so magnetic that eventually, you'd stop fighting the life he had built. And yet, with each test, each punishment, he felt the weight of his own actions pulling him somewhere he hadn’t planned. Somewhere he couldn’t entirely control.

He looked down at you, slumped against him, eyes closed and cheeks streaked with drying tears, and he felt that familiar conflict twist in his chest. He'd gotten what he wanted, hadn't he? Obedience. An apology. A soft, vulnerable moment in his arms. But as he held you, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the edges of your shoulders, he couldn’t ignore the pang of doubt. He’d pushed you, molded you, cornered you—yet for what? And where was the line?

As he continued to hold you, he felt that question linger, a shadow that darkened the quiet victory of this moment. The way you’d collapsed against him, seeking comfort from the very hands that had brought you to tears, stirred something that felt like satisfaction, yes but also like an ache. He wanted you to be his, truly, willingly—but every step seemed to make him worry that you were being pushed further from that goal, leaving him to wonder if he was only chasing an illusion.

How far could he take this? He didn’t know. But in that quiet space, with you leaning against him, the thought felt less like power and more like a small, ache of sadness in his chest.

479 notes · View notes

splaede · 8 months ago

Text

AFTER DARK. Armin Arlert (CH. 6) (18+)

☰ pairings: Armin x Reader, Slight Eren x Reader

┌─ ✮⭒｡ story summary: Armin was tired of being seen as an innocent, goody-two-shoes, little flower boy. Instead, he wanted to be seen in a more romantic and…sexual light. You just couldn’t turn down a sweet boy like him, so you agreed to hone his charms and teach him special…skills.

And he turned out to be much more powerful (and hotter) than you'd ever expected.

└─ ✩⭒｡ story #tags: fluff, angst, smut, friends to lovers, friends w benefits, drama, jealousy, hurt/comfort, manipulative armin, virgin armin, loss of virginity, childhood friends, lots of tension, nerd armin, and then he glows up, love triangles, unrequited love, gaslighting, lots of buildup

☰ CHAPTER SIX. armin's first

┌─ ✮⭒｡ chapter summary: Things get heated. Things get so, so heated.

└─ ✩⭒｡ chapter warnings: smut (p in v sex, fingering), fem bodied reader, loss of virginity, petting, literally most of this is foreplay

wc: 9.7k

☰ table of contents | previous chapter | next chapter

In the dim of your living room, your eyes could only see him. And right here, on the plush of your couch, your body only knew his.

Armin held you, secured you, and grounded you, strong arms snaked around your waist as you became all too aware of your intermingling bodies. The squish of your thighs against his, the unashamed press of your tits against his chest, the weight of his breaths against your lips…

You could still feel the tingle on your lips where he’d last kissed you, a ghost of his touch.

Above you, the clock ticked louder and louder in your ears, louder than the blood that rushed to muffle your hearing and the pounding of your pulse, a looming reminder that it was late. That you had work in the morning. That you were running out of time.

That you shouldn’t be doing this.

Another sound intruded on you. A voice, his voice, running rampant in the back of your head.

Will your roommate be home soon?

The fact that he’d asked that question…just what did he want?

And on top of that, you had already confirmed that, no, your roommate wasn’t going to be home any time soon. In fact, she wasn’t going to be home at all, meaning you’d have the entire night with him alone, undisturbed.

Sitting here, Armin quietly eyed you, curious and content yet half-lidded and torn by lust. He suddenly silenced your thoughts with a kiss, swooping in hard, teeth clashing, causing you to instinctively grab his face to ease him down.

The kiss oozed of messiness, an exchange of saliva and wet, meshed-together lips that barely held any rhythm. The feeling consumed you fully—the warmth and fervent press of his lips—as you slowly guided him.

Lost in the intensity, you instinctively swiped your tongue against his bottom lip. He jolted, pulling away.

You thought that was so cute of him, seeing him like this. So ironically innocent.

“S—sorry,” he stuttered out, a bashful look on his face.

Your brows furrowed, worried that you had done something wrong. “Did I go too far?”

“No, it’s just….” He tightened his grip on your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “God, I’m so nervous.”

Squeezing your hands on his shoulders, you reassured him, “It’s okay. We can go slow.”

“Okay.”

Armin smiled up at you, so sweetly and boyishly—so contradictory to the thoughts you’d been having about him. But even so, he was still nothing like the little boy you’d known. Not when he was gazing at you with that blush, reddened and far-gone, and that glint of lust—that hunger—in his eyes.

You still couldn’t believe he was here with you. If you’d known you’d be kissing your childhood friend ten years down the line, you’d probably flip out in disbelief.

But he’d matured so much from then. That boy was nothing like the man under you, holding onto you. Nothing like how tempting and alluring and irresistible he looked right now.

His palms flexed around your waist, once, then twice, then dragged up the sides of your torso, slowly, almost mindlessly, then back down. Pressed up like this, chest-to-chest, you could feel the racing of his heart so hard that you felt yourself rattling. And even though his hands had stopped shaking, the fast, repetitive thump inside his chest told you more than anything else ever would.

Sitting in silence, hearts beating out of sync, you let him roam your body like that. Slowly and hesitantly, like he hadn’t quite fully grasped the situation.

"You're a good friend,” he mumbled quietly, no longer meeting your eyes, fixated on where he was touching you instead.

Cheeks heating up at the praise, you shuddered with a laugh that sounded a little too strained and nervous.

You were a good friend? No, he was a good friend. He was the whole reason you wanted to do this in the first place. A good, caring, considerate friend that you would never turn down even if it meant putting your friendship on the line.

“I trust you. I wouldn’t ask anyone else this,” he continued.

Breathing in deep, you cupped his face affectionately. “No, please, you’re so good to me. How can I say no to you?”

His hands stilled, and you could see how his eyes instantly softened. Armin’s right hand fiddled with the hem of your shirt, eyes meeting yours momentarily before darting away.

“Thank you. So…can we keep going?”

Your lips lifted into a small smile, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at his eagerness. “Yeah, um. Do you…want to try using tongue now?”

As soon as you’d finished that sentence, you fought down the nervous, embarrassed lump that rose to your throat. It couldn’t get any more straightforward than that.

“Yeah,” he replied breathlessly and nodded.

“Slowly, okay? We’re just gonna ease into it. When I lick your lips, open your mouth a little. And then after that, it’s like…” You swallowed, tensing. “Um, I don’t really know how to explain it. Just try to match me.”

He gazed at you with so much anticipation that you could almost taste it. Sliding your hands back onto his shoulders, you latched onto his lips again.

This time, there wasn’t a rush. Just slow, methodical, and relaxed movement as you relished the softness of his lips. You loved this feeling. Soft and sweet, like him.

His hands began roaming your body again, starting from the sides of your chest down to the tops of your thighs. His palms slightly brushed the outer parts of your breasts, but it was still nowhere close to where you really wanted him.

You took this as a cue to mimic him, hands gliding down to his biceps where you gave him a light squeeze. Even though you knew he worked out, you were still surprised to feel the dips and tautness of hard muscle. It wasn’t that you forgot, it was that you didn’t normally expect it from Armin, someone usually so nice and mellow.

As you trailed down his stomach, you could feel the defined ridges of his abs under your splayed palms, and you swore you almost moaned. For someone with such a cute face, he had such a strong body.

When your tongue finally soothed over his bottom lip, he parted his lips ever-so-slightly. And the moment you slipped your tongue in, he let out a small noise that was so, so quiet. Your tongues met, warm and wet.

You could tell he was hesitant, but you continued at the same pace, slowly licking into him and swiping your tongue over his. He’d completely stilled, hands etching themselves harder into your waist. As you were letting yourself taste him, something tugged on your heart, weighing heavy.

Because it dawned on you that you were making out with Armin.

Something so intimate and passionate like this could only be reserved for lovers, not for friends.

Armin reluctantly slipped his hands under your shirt. Just right there, right at the threshold of your torso and not any further, like he was testing the waters. He held you there, only tasting. Your breath hitched, startled by the warmth of his fingers, but the flow of the kiss remained the same.

The pressure of his tongue was soothing as it moved against yours, and he was getting the hang of it little by little. And the moment it seemed to click—where it felt like you’d reached the perfect rhythm and the perfect amount of energy—you moaned into his mouth to let him know he was doing good. Thank God he was a fast learner.

Cradling his neck into your arms and threading your fingers into his hair, you rolled your hips into him experimentally, pelvises meeting. You heard him inhale sharply, but he didn’t break the kiss. He only tightened his hold on you, pushing you down slightly as he rolled his hips, matching you.

The friction felt so undeniably good. You knew he felt good, too, because you could feel the area of his crotch stiffen under you.

It was like that for a while, the two of you grinding on each other, so focused on outdoing the other that the kiss wasn’t even a kiss anymore. Just a mix of messy lips and hitched moans and saliva. So much so that you had to wipe away the drool at the corner of his mouth.

You were the first to pull away for air.

“How was it?” he instantly asked, licking his lips. They were swollen, and that gave you the urge to kiss him again.

“Just a little messy. But good. You did good for your first time.” You laughed.

He laughed with you, bringing a thumb to swipe over the corner of your mouth. “Sorry about that.”

Just like that, the two of you shared a cute moment, and you began to think that nothing would change between you—that you two would still be friends and embrace these moments no matter what.

As the atmosphere from your makeout session died down, you were left with one final thought.

What now?

“Hey…” you started. You didn’t even know how to word this. Do you know where this is going? Do you even want to keep going?

You stood up, all too abruptly like you were running on autopilot as your brain tried to catch up with your body, hands detaching from his neck and thighs from his lap. You looked at him warily, wedged between the coffee table and his parted legs.

Armin frantically stood up, too, half hard in his pants as he reached for your forearm. “Something wrong?”

It was late, you remembered again.

But now, in this lapse of judgment, you guessed it didn't matter if you should or shouldn't continue. Not when he was staring at you, pleading with his eyes—with his body. You could almost hear his heart thumping out of his chest.

You wondered if he could hear yours, too.

“Um,” you trailed off, wondering how to save yourself.

Before you had the chance to recollect your thoughts, Armin cut you off. “Sorry, um. I mean, I know it’s late…if that’s what you were going to say. I should probably go. You did say I should only stay for a little bit—”

“No—wait, no.” You pressed a palm to his chest.

Armin subtly tilted his head, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I thought you had work in the morning?”

“I know, but...” Your eyes trailed down to his crotch, suddenly guilty. “Do you want to stay?”

He regarded you with a look of uncertainty, hands hovering beside your arms like he was about to hold you. “Yeah…?”

“Then…what do you want to do?” It came out in a slight whisper, and you instantly wanted to slap yourself for that question because, one, it was definitely the wrong question. All you wanted was clarity as to whether he knew where this was going, and two, what did you mean by what he wanted to do?

You could feel his eyes burning into your head, but yours were averted to where the neckline of his tee dipped down to reveal his collarbone.

He gulped. “What do I want to do?” he parroted, breathing in a steady breath. “Um…what do you mean?”

You pursed your lips, knowing you were going to sound desperate. “Was kissing…all you wanted to do?”

He looked visibly taken aback now, lashes fluttering as his eyes flitted over your form in surprise.

“No…”

“Then what?”

Maybe you really were desperate as you stood here so close to him, pushing your thighs together in an attempt to quell the ache.

“Well, I think—I think you know,” he mumbled shamefully. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Say it. Please? I just want to be sure.”

He pursed his lips, too, while contemplating, flushed a deep pink on his cheeks. “I want us to…go the whole way. I want you.” He cleared his throat. “To teach me.”

For a long moment, you were convinced you stopped breathing.

It was so loud now. Your heartbeat was so unbearably loud, reverberating and bursting through your ears. A breathless silence filled the room.

He didn't waver. Not once. He only gazed straight into your eyes—straight through you, irises deep and blue and overwhelming and darkened by lust. He'd lost that innocent, bright shine long ago.

The beat of your heart only quickened, even quicker than what it already was.

Was this it? Was this the next step? Was this it after all of those needy kisses and flimsy touches and longing, vulnerable stares?

Nevertheless, a sense of relief washed over you. You wanted this, too, despite the fact that you were risking something precious to you. Something irreversible.

Not that'd you stop now.

And then you were onto him, capturing his lips in a sloppy kiss. He returned it just as quickly, rough and intimate. His hands slid to your waist and held you tight against his body while you clung onto him like it was the end of the world.

Licking his lips teasingly, you murmured in between the kiss, “My room.”

He broke away a little, muttering a little “okay” before you cut him off by pressing your mouth back onto his.

When you pulled away, he surprised you with his next words.

“Can I carry you?”

Without hesitation, you lightly jumped onto him, and he caught you, carrying you effortlessly in his strong arms. You loved the feeling of his hands on the back of your thighs, firm and warm. He was so surprisingly muscly that you wanted to squeal.

The walk wasn’t far in your small apartment space, and you quickly found yourself being placed gingerly onto your bed and your limbs untangling from his body. He stood there like he didn’t quite know what to do. You scooted back onto your pillows, beckoning him to come closer.

“Get on top of me.” You tugged on the front of his tee. “Like this.”

He stumbled onto your bed, settling in between your legs as his hands braced him up. You tugged him even closer still, and he fell to his forearms.

You looked up at him only to find him blushing, a dark, rosy color tinting the apples of his cheeks, watching you with eager eyes as his chest heaved with heavy breaths.

Heat bubbled in your stomach. “Are you sure you want to do this? Remember, this is…this is for you. This is about how you feel.”

“I’m sure,” he answered quickly.

Then, Armin kissed you for the millionth time tonight, but this time, it was short yet thorough, like he just missed your taste.

“Kiss me on my neck,” you urged, craning your head. “Just don’t leave any marks.”

Armin dipped down instantly, but he stilled for the next second, hesitantly staring at your neck. The conviction finally hit him and his lips met your skin, ticklish and titillating and warm. He peppered slow kisses along the juncture of your neck, leaving one long, suckling kiss—one hard enough to make you feel good but soft enough not to leave a mark. You could tell he was unsure about his movements, so you softly grabbed him by the hair to bring him to a specific spot.

“Right—ah—there. Yeah,” you assured him as he gave another suckling kiss.

“Is this good?” he asked timidly into your skin, and you could feel the tickle of where his lips moved.

You hummed in response. “It’s good. You’re doing good,” you replied, words tumbling out of your mouth in an awkward way.

He pulled away, and his eyes raked over your form, suddenly stopping at your chest. While you should’ve been excited, something else happened. Something like dismay filled his eyes as his brows twitched downwards.

“Is this Eren’s sweater?”

Oh.

“Yeah?” you weakly breathed out, voice pitched a higher octave than you’d like.

His eyes flitted back to your face again, still strewn with an emotion you couldn’t quite place but knew wasn’t good.

“Can I take it off?” he asked, pawing the hem of your sweater. He seemed confident almost, but you knew that the barely discernible, nervous strain in the thrum of his voice gave it all away.

You nodded wordlessly like the air had been punched out of your lungs.

Armin grabbed onto the hem of your sweater with both hands, peeling it off you so slowly that you couldn’t tell if he was teasing you or just simply nervous. Your stomach coiled in anticipation the farther he went, with each inch of skin he revealed. He was so agonizingly slow—or maybe you were so impatient that it felt like time had slowed down—yet the rush of cool air against your torso was instant.

The moment he reached your bra, your heart seemed to beat out of your chest, and you needed to steady your breathing.

He stopped and looked for only a minuscule second, as if he didn’t dare to stare any longer, and picked up the pace, pushing the last of your sweater above your raised arms.

“Pants, too,” you whispered softly.

With shaky hands, Armin obediently worked them off, past the fabric of your panties, all the way down your legs.

He’d seen you in a bikini before, but it was different this time. You were laid out all nicely in front of him, clad in a bra and thin panties. On your bed, for him.

The newfound cold nipped everywhere at your skin, goosebumps prodding up your arms and legs.

“Take my bra off for me.” You said shakily, turning to your side to give him access. “You know how?”

He laughed out what seemed to be a mix of a chuckle and a scoff. “I’m sure it isn’t hard.” His knuckles brushed the skin of your back as he took hold of the straps and unclasped your bra. You could feel his hands shaking against your back. “Easy.”

As he slid it off of you, that heavy feeling in your heart resurfaced, and you began to feel self-conscious.

But it was just Armin, you reminded yourself.

Your upper body was now completely bare to him. The cool of the air swept over your already-hardening nipples.

Armin only stared at you. Didn’t say a word. Just outright ogled you with raw, unfiltered desire in his eyes as his hands twitched where they were resting near his thighs.

You grabbed both of his hands, placing his palms directly on your chest. “C’mon. Touch me.”

Gulping hard, he leaned into you, broad, unpracticed hands cupping your tits, squeezing just once. Then his hands started moving, experimentally pushing and squeezing over the plush of your tits, palms grazing over the peaks of your pebbled nipples.

You clamped your eyes shut, letting yourself go for the moment. It felt so pleasant, just steady friction against your sensitive breasts.

Armin’s hands were soft—that much you already knew—just as everything else was about him. But while his hands were soft and gentle, his gaze was hard. He was so fixed and focused on you, blue eyes practically dripping with unbridled lust.

He cupped your tits again, a soft nudge, then his hands slid down the curve of your waist. You could feel the trail of warmth that his fingers left on your skin. It clung to you even as his hands moved away to rest on your abdomen. His thumbs pressed into your skin so briefly that his touch might’ve been a spasm of a finger as the bottoms of his palms grazed against the hem of your panties.

The warmth followed down the curve of your hips, down your thighs, and down to your knees. You shifted your legs closer to your body, and his hands quickly cupped the underside of your thighs, squeezing once.

You knew this was his first time, so you let him explore your body as your hand came to his cheek to pull him down for another kiss. His tongue prodded at your lips, and you happily welcomed it.

His hands were everywhere now—your thighs, your hips, your waist, your shoulders, your neck, your arms. You could tell he was losing rhythm between keeping up with the kiss and touching you, but you couldn’t care less.

He pulled away first, leaving a string of saliva hanging between your lips.

“Armin, play with my….” The embarrassment hit you again. You didn’t even want to finish your sentence, but luckily, he seemed to understand.

“Oh.” His fingers found your tits again, thumbs swiping over your nipples before he lightly pinched them, tugging them upwards. “Like this?”

You gasped and squirmed. “Yeah. Like that. Just very lightly. Try rolling them between your fingers.”

His thumb and index finger met with your nipples, and he did what you told him, twisting and rolling your nipples between his fingers.

That elicited a little whine from you. “Feels nice.”

Armin continued his ministrations on you as he alternated between tweaking your nipples and groping your tits whole. It was sensual and quiet, save for the sound of your soft moans.

He suddenly sighed, eyes clouded. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered softly and fondly.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you smiled at him and let your cheeks heat up from his compliment. It caught you off guard. Because somehow, in a suggestive moment like this, he managed to make it sweet. Judging from the tone of his voice, you knew it was genuine.

Because he was a genuine guy.

You cupped the back of his head and pushed him toward your chest. “Put your mouth here.”

He doubled back, eyes wide, but didn’t waste another second to envelop his lips onto your chest. He followed your orders so easily—like a dog to its owner—that you couldn’t help but chuckle at the charm of it.

For a second, you wondered if he needed guidance, but when his tongue laved over your breast, you only held his head tighter as your back arched off the bed in pleasure. His eyelids fluttered shut, feathery, blonde lashes resting against his cheekbones. He kissed your nipple just as he kissed you, licking and sucking meticulously and thoroughly.

One of the things that you liked about Armin was that he was such an adaptable learner. Took things he learned and applied them somewhere else. Not that any of this required any big skill, but he just did it so well and so quickly.

You grabbed his hand and brought it to your other nipple, and he quickly understood, playing with you like he did before.

Suddenly, his teeth took hold of your nipple—just a light graze, and you gasped again. You felt the ache between your thighs throb, shamelessly getting wetter. Where did he learn to do that?

“Okay, that’s—that’s good.” You tapped his cheek. “Over here now.”

His mouth unlatched with a pop and he switched to the other breast, repeating the same routine. You felt the remnants of his saliva on your skin mix with the cool air, tingling.

You were sure your panties were drenched now. Sure that the arousal made the fabric stick to you.

Armin pulled away, licking the spit from his lips, and looked right into your eyes. “Was that okay?” he asked innocently.

“Mhm,” you hummed, but you were convinced it came out more as a whine. You clutched a handful of the fabric of his tee. “Off.”

He sat up straighter, surprised but willing. “Off? Okay, okay.” Armin reached behind him to grab the collar of his T-shirt, and in one swift yank, it came off. He threw his shirt on the floor like the rest of your clothes, and you were left to ogle at his body.

Your eyes raked over the smooth planes of his chest, his slim waist, and the hard, toned stomach where your hands had previously felt.

Even at pools and beaches, he opted for T-shirts with his swim trunks. And the last time you’d seen him shirtless, he wasn’t this jacked.

“I never get to see you like this. You’re so—you’re so built.” The fluster was so evident in your voice as you trailed your fingers down his torso.

He shyly laughed, pink on his cheeks. “Thank you.”

“You’re so pretty, Armin.” Before the embarrassment and weight of your compliment caught up to you, you quickly grabbed the hem of his jeans. “Take—take this off, too.”

You eyed the bulge beneath his pants, hard and begging to be freed.

You gulped. Now you two were really getting into it—seeing and doing something so intimate. You had no problem undressing yourself, but when it came to him…

He nodded as his hands fumbled with the button and zipper, thumbs slotted in between his waistband as he shakily pulled them down. You helped him get them off, anticipation and nervousness coursing through your veins.

Once his jeans were off, he seemed even bigger now. You could see the clear outline of his dick straining against his boxers, and it was messing with your head. This was your best friend, for crying out loud. Both of your most intimate places were each just a layer away, just inches away.

“Fuck, I’m so—” His eyes scanned over you, from the eager expression on your face, to your bare tits, and to your legs that were spread to accommodate him. “You don’t know how hard I am right now.”

You gulped again. “Yeah?” you teased, palming him through his boxers.

He sharply inhaled and cursed low under his breath, but before you could go any further, he grabbed your wrist. There was a look of worry on his face—maybe it was desperation, you thought—and you wondered if you did something wrong.

“W—wait. I want to know how to make you feel good.”

Your face morphed into one of surprise. Armin wanted to please you first.

You felt the arousal creeping up on you. Felt it soaking your panties again.

You breathed out slowly, and for a second, the words died on your tongue. He was going to see you fully naked. Only a flimsy piece of fabric away from erasing the line between your friendship and this…whatever this was.

“Yeah, that’s good. Wanting to please your partner first, that is.” You regained your footing. “Help me take them off?” You eyed him innocently and pulled his hands towards your body until his knuckles touched your panties.

He stared for a moment—definitely at the wet, darkened patch over your crotch. Armin finally took hold of the hem of your panties, fingers hot against the skin of your pelvis. Unblinking, he pulled them down gently, agonizingly slow. You could feel your slick sticking to your panties and the fabric grazing your almost quivering thighs. In an instant, cool air rushed to you.

His eyes never left you as he pulled your panties past your knees and ankles, so fixated and eager that he made you nervous. The coil in your stomach returned, tense, like it was moments away from bursting.

You felt like a virgin all over again. You were embarrassed—even though you knew you shouldn’t be because it was just Armin—and on the brink of clamping your legs together, but you couldn’t because his body was right in between you, even closer than you’d noticed before.

“God, you’re so…” Armin gulped. He was quiet, muttering to himself, struggling to find his words, and nervously pushing his hair back. It fell back messily onto his forehead. “What do I…what do I do now?”

Clutching his hand between both of your palms, you shaped his hand into a “thumbs up” sign and brought it to your slit, spreading yourself with one hand. “This is the clit. If you…if you didn’t already know.”

His thumb grazed over your clit, and a twinge of pleasure shot up your lower body.

“I know.”

Armin thumbed your clit some more, swiping circles and pressing down lightly. You could feel yourself get wetter by the second.

“Is this good?” he asked.

“Mhm. A little faster—oh! Yeah, that’s good.” Your hips bucked as he sped up. “You—you could also use your middle and ring finger.”

You demonstrated with your hand, and he quickly followed, pressing his fingers onto you again.

This time, he started off slow and worked his way to match the pace from before.

“A little lower.” And suddenly you were arching off the bed. “Oh! Wait—”

“Am I doing it right?” he interjected, voice shaky. He was watching for your reaction, blue eyes boring into your face.

You nodded as the pleasure spread through your lower body. He wasn’t the best, but he wasn’t bad in the slightest. He made you feel good, nonetheless. The pads of his fingers were warm and smooth, rubbing all the right ways against your clit.

“You wanna move down now?” you asked.

Wordlessly, his eyes flicked down to your entrance, and the urge to clamp your legs shut returned to you again. You were dripping—you had to be, slick with your wetness pooling around your center. He lingered for a second before his attention diverted back onto your face.

“Show me how.” He said, adamant.

“Just know that…” Your fingers ghosted over his knuckles. “You don’t have to necessarily make me cum. This is just to stretch me out. To prep for the real thing.”

He regarded you with a tiny frown and peered at you hungrily through his long lashes. “What if I want to?”

Your heart skipped a beat and your stomach simmered with warmth.

“Well, you can.” You nodded and swallowed the lump in your throat, unsure of what to say. Taking his hand in yours, you isolated his middle and ring fingers and held them close to your entrance. As you did so, something tingled and churned inside your stomach. Nervousness, you thought, apprehension, maybe. Not in a bad way, but in the way that every next step with him left you remembering just how private and raw this was.

“Just like that,” you whispered.

With a gulp, his fingers slid into your soaked cunt. You were so wet and tight, and you knew he could feel it. Feel it envelop his finger, warm and so, so slick. You instinctively clamped down on him as he pushed further.

“Oh, God…Y-Y/N,” he all but stuttered out. “Is—is this what it…”

The desperation showed clearly on his face: lips parted, brows knitted, and eyes drooping with lust.

You grabbed his wrist. “K—Keep going.”

His fingers reached their hilt inside of you, and you had to resist squeezing down on him. He felt like no other guy you’d been with. Because he really wasn’t any other guy.

He pulled them out swiftly, fingers and knuckles now tainted with the remnants of you. “What—what else?” he choked out.

The absence of his fingers left you wanting more. With your grip still on his wrist, you tugged his hand closer to your center. “Curl your fingers like this. When you’re inside.” You choked, too, and cleared your throat. “Just keep moving.”

“Like this?” He entered you again, gently, and pressed against a spot inside you that drove your hips to lurch off the bed.

You nodded weakly, whining. “More.” Your hand on his wrist urged him out, pulling backward. Confused, he slightly resisted. But when you pushed him back in, he seemed to understand the hint.

Armin pressed into you, thrusting his fingers in and curling them right at that sweet spot that had you gasping out. He slid in and out so easily, guided by the slickness of your insides, and worked slowly, almost teasingly, but you squeezed his arm, encouraging him.

“Right there,” you gasped out. “You’re doing so good.”

He groaned in response, a borderline moan. “H—Here?” And curled right into your G-spot.

You let out an abrupt gasp, akin to a stuttered breath, hips bucking upwards as pleasure seeped into your insides. His pace was reckless, but the calculated way the pads of his fingers pushed and grazed against your G-spot had your stomach twisting and your heart racing.

Beside you, you noticed his other hand fisting the bedsheets. Reaching out, you put a hand on top of his. “You okay?” you asked breathily.

Armin glanced up at you, eyes blown out, pupils dilated in such a starved, animalistic way that looked so out of character. He surprised you by lacing his fingers between yours.

“Can I kiss you? Please?”

It caught you off guard, but you didn’t get to register your shock before you were crying loud with a particularly hard thrust. “Please. Please.” You didn’t know why he was even asking.

Armin’s lips crashed onto yours, capturing you in the most heated kiss of the night. Immediately, he dominated the kiss, all spit and tongue, lips hot and molding together with a firm press. His fingers kept fucking into you relentlessly, filling the room with lewd, wet sounds.

His other hand held yours still, squeezing once before letting go and landing on your waist.

“Just wanna feel you,” he mumbled.

Nodding, you strung your hands through his hair as he caressed your waist and tits. His palms grazed over your nipples, making you shudder and bite back a moan.

The coil inside your stomach winded tight and kept winding tighter and tighter when his fingers hit that spot again. The pleasure swirled through you, wave after wave, your hips lurching off the bed and your hands gripping his hair even tighter.

You moaned into his mouth. “So close.”

He groaned, drawn-out, lips wet with saliva, swallowing the noises that came out of your mouth.

“You’re doing so good,” you praised.

Armin whimpered at that—whimpered—and picked up the pace, faster, harder. It was sloppy, but it wasn’t imprecise. He flicked up into you so perfectly until you were stretched out and dripping, and until it finally snapped.

The coil snapped.

“Armin, I’m—I’m cumming! Don’t stop!”

“Hol—Holy shit, Y/N—”

The coil snapped, and sweet euphoria coursed through you, rushing through you like open floodgates. You gushed onto him in the same way, cunt fluttering against the thickness of his fingers. The feeling hit you like a truck and filled you whole.

“Can’t believe this is happening,” he mumbled under his breath in a desperate whine.

You pulled him into a desperate kiss—or was it that he pushed the kiss onto you?—and he dipped down to embrace you. The twitching weight of his clothed cock brushed against your thigh. It wasn’t intentional—at least you didn’t think, but it only reminded you of what was to come next.

As he slowed down, you felt your cum leaking down his knuckles and onto the bedsheets.

“Was that…good?” Armin timidly asked between heavy breaths. Above you, he panted like a dog, even more than you, pretty pink lips parted as if he was the one being fucked. So cute.

You stayed quiet for a moment, relishing in your subsiding orgasm, fatigued and cozy.

“Mhm. That was amazing. You did amazing for your first time.”

He visibly relaxed, slumped back onto his heels, and sighed. “Really? Th—Thank you.”

Even from above you, he looked submissive, face filled with a desperate need. You giggled at his shyness. The irony of it. “Yes, Armin, you…you just made me cum. That’s…”

Uncertainty weighed down on your tongue. Impressive? Was it really impressive, or should it have been expected from him? A part of you knew that he didn’t need any effort. Not because he was somehow a natural or that he was a fast learner, but that it was him, and that gives your body enough stimulation to push itself off the edge.

Hazy and blinded by your orgasm and the strong presence between your legs, you stopped yourself from dwelling on it any further.

“Y/N, what do I do with this…?” He lifted his hand, still slicked with your fluids. His middle and ring fingers parted further, and your shiny, milky cum stretched between his fingers. The sight almost made you gape, such a contrast to the curiosity and genuine concern brimming in his eyes.

“Taste it.”

He sent you a look so incredulous and so quick, those blue eyes widened to the depths as if your suggestion meant total absurdity. “Taste it?”

“Taste it. It’s hot when men do that. Or, you could also make the girl taste it,” you pushed, rising from your spot. You grabbed his wrist, leading it closer to his mouth.

He hesitated and tensed, but when his eyes met yours, you only leaned in, urging him with a look in your eyes. He complied quietly and stuck out his tongue.

The sight was lewd. His face reddened impossibly more, up to the tips of his ears, as his mouth engulfed his two fingers wholly. He crinkled his nose so subtly that you couldn’t tell what ran through his mind. He tasted your fluids on his tongue, sucked it for a second, then swallowed.

Armin’s fingers slid out with a little pop, and you didn’t waste another moment to cup his face and pull him in for a kiss, tasting yourself when you pressed your tongue against his. He moaned at the sudden intrusion but melted into you easily. You could already feel his improvement as he reciprocated your energy and licked your mouth so nicely that the naturalness of it baffled you.

A passing thought in your head told you that this might’ve been too much for his first time, but when he dragged his clothed dick against your clit, you knew he enjoyed this as much as you did. You both shivered a little from the contact, prompting him to pull away.

“So…” he started, voice tiny and breathless. “What’s next?” But the way his eyes darted to your bare, leaking pussy and then to the bulge in his boxers suggested he knew exactly what came next.

You looked, too. Looked at the tight fit of his boxers on his bulging cock. Something about it—the unexpected size of him—made you giddy. Swelled your stomach with an indescribable weirdness.

“Take your boxers off.” Though you asked him, you couldn’t stop yourself from sneaking your hands to his hips and taking hold of the waistband. “Can I?”

He nodded hurriedly and gulped, tension and desperation etched on his face.

You pulled his boxers down, and with a little lift from his hips, you got them down to his strong thighs. Immediately, his cock sprung up against his abdomen, leaking precum that beaded down his red, aching tip. You licked your lips and gulped involuntarily at the sight because he was just so…

“Big…” you whispered softly.

“What?” He sounded out of it, like his question hadn’t carried any weight, rubbing a palm over his eyelids and pushing it into his hair. Like he couldn’t believe his eyes. An unspoken awkwardness filled the air as Armin removed his boxers completely. “Is—Is something wrong?”

He sat in front of you, naked in his entirety. Broad, smooth chest, taut, defined abs, muscly arms, thick thighs, and the softest, sweetest face that did not match the rock-hard, needy cock between his legs.

“Armin, I…I didn’t know you were so…big.”

He sputtered out, “W—What? I’m—I’m really not.”

He looked so nervous, so unsure. So sweet and so submissive. Instead of answering him, you wrapped both hands around his dick, lightly squeezed, and swiped a thumb over the slit where his precum spilled. You spread it down his shaft, wetting him with his own fluids.

“Agh…fuck…” he groaned, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. When you started jerking your hands up and down the length of his dick, his head moved forward and his hands came to cup your face. His hips bucked up with every jerk. You sensed his stare, but you were too occupied playing with his pretty dick.

“You’re so beautiful,” he complimented quietly. He gulped so hard you heard the small breath that followed after. “I wish you could see how you look right now.”

“Yeah?” you teased, looking up at him between your long lashes. His eyes, lidded and drooping with lust, scanned your body, from your face to where your legs parted and revealed your slit.

“I don’t think you understand how pretty you are to me.” He inhaled sharply and brought a hand to squeeze the area where his shaft met his head, right over where your hand rested. “I could just cum looking at you.”

You didn’t expect that from him. He was just so obscenely honest, wasn’t he?

“Y/N.” He suddenly stopped you with a hand on your shoulder. “I think—I think that’s good…don’t wanna take the spotlight. I’m here to please you.”

Your chest warmed at his words, and you fought down the urge to continue pleasing him to release your hands.

“O—Okay,” you stuttered out, gulping and shivering all in one breath. Your body moved on its own and reached for your nightstand. Deep in the last drawer, stashed behind all of your cluttered knick-knacks, sat an unopened box of condoms. Three, actually.

Shakily, under his watchful gaze, you tore apart a box and unveiled a singular, foiled package.

"Oh, you have a lot." He stared in mild disbelief, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth, eyes crinkling. If you knew any better, you'd think he was smirking under there.

“It's not what it looks like! Sasha gifted it to me as a gag gift. I haven't done anything in a while,” you quickly defended, trailing off quietly at the end.

He didn’t respond, eyes fixed on the package between your fingers. The air held still, deathly silent beside the sounds of the crinkling wrapper. He had a hand wrapped around the base of his cock, very lightly squeezing.

“You know how to put on a condom?” you finally spoke up.

“I think so.” He nodded.

“Want to do it?”

He hesitated, and you caught the exact moment an idea clicked in his head. “No. Want you to do it.”

Something about that riled you up. Something about him watching you. Something about your dainty hands near his aching, needy cock, too impure for the likes of him.

He whimpered when you started sliding the condom down the length of his cock. The sweet sound of it rang through your ears. Made your heart lurch and your stomach heavy. When you finished, your head lifted to look him in the eyes. His cheeks were flushed so pink you wanted to kiss the color off of them.

“Ready?” You ignored the way your voice shook, borderline a stutter, and circled your arms around his neck.

“Yes. Please,” he whined. He was speaking with his eyes—begging with his eyes.

In one fell swoop, you both clambered down onto the sheets. And in this moment, when your eyes met his in a sweet remembrance, it felt like time had stopped, and all the anticipation you’d ever felt plummeted back into the pit of your stomach and built back up all over again.

He loomed above you, flushed, domineering, and most importantly, nervous.

You only wanted one thing.

"Please. Need you inside me."

He inhaled a deep, unsteady breath, holding back a whine.

Then, you felt the tip of his dick brush against the slicked mess of your opening, and you clenched around the empty, ghostly graze. The hands on your thighs pressed into you with a little more pressure at the contact. He was shaking. His whole body was shaking.

“P—Put it in slowly, ‘kay? Don’t want to hurt the other person.”

Armin listened, and in that final moment of anticipation, he slid in slowly, just the tip. You both gasped at the feeling. You were so, so wet and your heart beat so, so fast and his skin against your skin felt so, so right and so, so warm. The stretch had yet to creep up on you but you were already squirming under his touch.

He pushed into you, the feeling of him inside warm and fulfilling. He let out a strained “shitttt” as his hands moved to dig into your waist even harder. Eyes squeezed shut, he seemed to lose himself in the pleasure. You could tell by his labored breaths and flushed cheeks that he already was so, so sensitive.

With a final push, he bottomed out, touching a spot deep in you, far deeper than your fingers or his fingers or any other man that had come before him. And God, were you wet. Instinctively, your pussy clenched around him.

He hissed, pinning you down with his pelvis. “Don’t. Don’t do anything. Please, or I’m going to cum.”

And then it hit you—that you’d finally done it. That you’d just taken Armin’s virginity.

You had.

Shit, you clamped down on him again, and this time, he groaned and abruptly pulled out.

“Y/N,” he warned, voice drawn with honey. “I am not going to last,” he said, exasperated.

“It’s okay. It’s your first time.” You placed a hand on his cheek. “Besides, you’re with me. You don’t have to worry about it.”

He leaned into your touch, nuzzling into your hands, then gave you a small frown.

“Then how am I supposed to make you feel good?”

“Trust me. You’ll always make me feel good.”

With a cute—yet sinful—smile and a hard swallow, he lined himself up again, hands on your thighs, and gave an experimental thrust.

You whined at the intrusion, reminded again of how he fit so perfectly. How the hardness of his cock dragged so pleasantly against the slickness of your pussy.

And he did it again and again. Thrusted into you, albeit slowly, again and again. You’d let him intoxicate you again and again until all your body knew was the shape of his cock.

He moved deliberately, relishing every inch sheathed inside of you. He’d pull out with all the time in the world, dick coated in your wetness and eyes locked on where your bodies intertwined, and thrust back in with the most fervor and impatience.

The slowness of it, the intimacy of it—you couldn’t help but buck your hips in hopes of more.

With soft moans, his thrusts sped up, and without a warning, you felt him fully, the whole weight of him spilling inside of you. His hands slid up to your waist as his head tipped forward. You arched your back into him in a silent plea, finding yourself yearning for his pretty lips, the knot inside of your stomach swelling with pleasure. As if he could read your mind, he drowned your lips in a feverish, hot, kiss, burning your mouth with his tongue.

Every thrust met with the slap of skin-on-skin and the squelch of your fluids. It echoed through your bedroom walls alongside your muffled, whiny moans. You let yourself sink into the pleasure, letting him know that you felt good—that he made you feel good.

Because truly, he did nothing wrong; it all felt so right with him.

As he broke away from the kiss, leaving yet another string of saliva between you two, you took the chance to grab his hand.

“Play with my body. Like here.” You placed his palm onto your breast, squeezing it with his hand underneath yours. “Or here.” You sensually dragged his hand down to your slicked-up, aching clit.

Wordlessly, he complied, gulping down a constricted moan that bobbed his Adam’s apple. Armin rubbed your clit like you’d taught him, watching your hips wriggle under his touch.

As a reward, you tightened around him. Oh, did you like seeing him lose composure. You liked picking him apart. You liked plucking the petals off of this innocent, little flower. And judging from his dazed, barely present expression and the hands gripping hard onto your hips, you knew he liked it too.

He whined again, and the sound rang in the air in a soft whisper. So vocal, wasn’t he?

“Don’t be afraid to make noise. I wanna know how good you feel,” you asserted through lidded eyes.

Armin hummed a noise of confirmation, but it came out more of a moan as he juggled responding to you and recklessly pounding into you. You could tell he felt good—too good—as did you.

The ebb and flow of pleasure swam inside you with each fill of his cock into your pussy, waiting to burst. You felt so close yet far away, but you let him experiment, toying with you, trying every angle in both erratic and deliberate ways.

“Fuck!” you both cursed simultaneously with a perfect thrust into that spot inside of you. Your back arched off the bed unwillingly, arms clasping around his back and nails digging into his skin.

Armin moaned oh-so-sweetly. “I’m so close!” he panted out, a borderline whine.

“Cum for me. Please, Armin. Do it.”

And his hips never stopped. Kept fucking hastily and sloppily into you in chase of his climax and in chase of the sweet yelps pouring out of your mouth. You spurred him on, almost able to taste his final moment.

But the moment never came. You could hear the relentless, wet smack of your colliding bodies and the mix of low groans and hearty moans tumbling from his lips. His hips still never stopped, still chasing, still tasting.

You couldn’t believe he lasted this long. He really did want to hold out for you, to make you feel good.

Mewling again, you tightened your arms around his neck, the warmth scalding but the softness soothing under your fingertips. “Touch me. Please.”

His fingers pinched your perk nipple before you could even finish your sentence. He rolled the bud around with his thumb and forefinger until he heard you moan, finally laying a palm down to squeeze your entire tit—and squeezed hard. You relished in the way his hand trailed down, slowly, to where he could swipe his fingers over your throbbing clit.

Right now, all you knew was the shape of his cock. Heat radiated from his body and wrapped around you in a warm embrace. His breath tickled your earlobe, face hovering just above the crook of your neck.

Oh, please, it felt so good, so intimate. Everything about this. Everything about him.

"I love you. I love you so much,” he rasped through squeezed-shut eyes.

You looked at him wide-eyed, confused, and spellbound within the haze of lust, so out of that you believed your ears played a trick on you. It slipped out of his lips so wantonly you believed he uttered the words accidentally.

Your room suddenly felt too stuffy and a hundred more degrees hotter. A lone, oddly watchful bead of sweat rolled down your brow.

It took him only a second of your silence before he started nervously blabbering in your ear. "Um, wait, sorry. Shit. I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. I got lost in the moment. I’m sorry.”

He slowly inched away from you, but you paid no mind and pulled him back onto your lips.

You didn’t care that, caught so deep in emotion and pleasure, he said “I love you” during sex—during his first time, no less. His first time with you. And now, after it happened, you didn’t care to warn him of that taboo. You wanted to selfishly indulge in the possibility that he’d always say it to you, regardless of who he shared his first time with.

In your pleasurable bliss, you let yourself give in. “I love you too, Armin.”

He pulled away abruptly, your lips pulling apart with a wet click, disrupting the strange magnetism between the two of you.

"I'm sorry,” he whispered, then kissed you full force.

His love seeped into every pore of your body when he started thrusting into you again, full and hard and deep and starved. He didn’t spare you a chance to breathe with the way his mouth and cock engulfed you whole.

A mixture of whines, moans, and smacks filled your bedroom once more. The pounding rhythm between your legs grew sloppier, though still unyielding and energetic. You wanted to cry out, louder than ever and let your neighbors know because everything felt so unexpectedly good. Armin. Your best friend.

You ran your hands through his already-messed-up, blonde hair. You loved this look on him, a side of him that people never saw. Disheveled, falling apart, and...crazy.

He leaned back on his knees, still moving his hips, lust-filled eyes a dark, stormy blue that raked over your body.

And he did something you didn't expect of him—like he let it slip, like he couldn't keep his composure anymore.

He smirked down at you.

But you were convinced it was a mere twitch in your delirium, disappearing when you blinked.

His tip brushed your G-spot again, and you finally did cry out. “Right there! D—Don’t stop!”

Armin groaned in response, choking on his words, and suddenly laved a tongue over the pulse point in your neck. “You feel—you feel so good! I can’t hold…!”

That coil in your stomach thrashed with the need to burst and taunted you with the promise of an orgasm. You felt tight all over, so constricted with pleasure and emotion and heat.

“Y/N, you’re driving me crazy, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m—”

“M—Me, too! I’m close. Cum for me, please.”

With one last thrust, he came, moaning loud, spilling hot cum into the condom. You felt him twitch inside you as a gradual warmth filled your insides.

Fuck, that did it for you. You came right behind him, wrapping your legs around him tight like a vice, white-hot pleasure consuming every vein in your body. In that moment, you kissed him and clamped your eyes shut, focusing hard, your cunt squeezing down on him to wring out the last of his orgasm, fluttering and pulsing so uncontrollably hard. It was like your pussy never wanted to let him go, wanted to relish the last of that feeling of home when his cock rooted deep into your pussy.

All the while, he spewed praises at you, some dirty, some sweet.

You couldn’t tell how long the two of you took to come down, to stop kissing, for your cunt to stop gushing, and for him to pull out—because it seemed like that moment lasted forever. Your cum coated your pelvis, his pelvis, your thighs, his thighs, and the already-soaked bedsheets.

With bated breaths and shaky hands, he pulled off the condom, tied the latex up, wrapped it in a tissue from your bedside, and threw it onto the floor where it landed among your sparsely scattered clothes.

Armin slumped down on you, wrapping strong arms around your waist in a suffocating, hot embrace. You gladly welcomed his weight.

It smelled of sex, sweat, and the dwindling remnants of his cologne.

You laid there, catching your breath.

You did it. He did it. You finished taking his virginity, and he successfully made you cum during the process.

And everything left you wondering…

Why was that…good? Sex with a virgin. Sex with your best friend. Did you even teach him enough? Because that was definitely a learning experience for you. The post-orgasm clarity hit you now like a slipper to the face, and you couldn’t wrap your head around what just happened.

Sleepily, you broke the silence, “Good job, Armin. You did amazing. You’re attentive, a fast learner, and just already so good to me. You made me cum twice. For a virgin.” A hearty laugh parted from your throat as you strung your fingers through his mussed hair. “I guess you aren’t one anymore.”

Armin remained silent. Was he already asleep?

In the quiet darkness, your heart started beating fast, even after the sex. Laying here felt domestic, like somebody made this bed for the two of you to snuggle in tonight, like a real couple.

Armin, face wedged between your sheets and your shoulder, hugged you impossibly tighter when he shifted to look at you.

“Thank you. I love you, Y/N.”

He breathed those three words with so much adoration in his eyes, gazing at you longingly beneath his thick, long lashes. The blue of his eyes shone brightly even in the dim lighting and through the hair obscuring his face.

“I really do love you,” he continued. “Not because of the sex. But because you’re a good friend. Thank you for letting me be vulnerable.”

Oh my gosh. You really didn’t deserve him. You’d exchanged your fair share of sentimental, platonic “I love you’s” to each other, but this one wrenched your heart like no other. Especially after sex.

He left you at a loss for words. But sleep tugged at your eyelids and your mind screamed at you to clean up and your post-nut clarity still remained unresolved; you couldn’t think of a reply even if you wanted to.

Even overwhelmed, your heart called out to him and you mustered up something.

“I’m grateful to have you as a best friend. I love you,” you gritted out.

Wrong. So, so wrong. Right now, this conversation was getting too emotional for a strictly physical agreement. But you didn’t lie nevertheless, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.

Feeling grimy, you wriggle under his hold. “We should clean up. It’s good for women to pee after sex.”

As the final rip of the bandaid, he pecked you on your jaw. “I can’t.”

Your face twisted in confusion, still clouded by tiredness and the daze of lingering thoughts. “You can’t?”

“I can’t help it,” he suddenly mumbled.

“Armin, what are you—”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence when you felt something poking your thigh, stiff and hard.

Armin groaned deep in his chest, the sound rumbling against the shell of your ear as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

The hands that were once wrapped around your body slowly released their hold and grabbed onto your hips, hard and impatient. Armin started rutting into your thighs, dragging you along with him.

Your heart stuttered for a moment, in disbelief that he could keep going and that you would have to keep going, but your pussy clenched around nothing at the promise of something more.

“Can’t help it. I’m—I’m hard again.”

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rivensbane · 2 years ago

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GLINT and CROW in DESTINY 2: SEASON OF THE HUNT.

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d-z20 · 10 days ago

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A Favour Owed (NSFW)

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You get caught in the pouring rain, soaked to the skin, when Rio Vidal comes to the rescue. In exchange for her help, she asks for a favour with a mischievous glint in her eyes -OR- Rio walks you home in the rain and later cashes in the favour to take you home and fuck you silly (Modern AU)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, more smut, a little bit of fluff at the end, Top Rio, Dom Rio, bratty(ish) reader, even more smut, R receiving: fingering, strap, bondage, blindfolding, light choking

Words: 4.0k

A/N: I planned out the rest of my Agathario backstory and it’s broken my heart so I've countered it by writing this. It is a healthy way to cope and you cannot tell me otherwise.

AO3 link my loves <3 | Master List

It’s pouring rain by the time you leave work, the sky dark and brooding as you step outside. You don’t even make it half a block before the downpour hits, drenching you in seconds. You duck under the awning of a nearby café. Already soaked through, hair dripping, you curse yourself for not checking the weather before you left the office. The wide-legged jeans cling uncomfortable to your legs, heavy with water, and the cropped olive cardigan you thought would be perfect for the chill now feels like a poor choice, offering little protection against the rain. Your white tee, once neatly tucked, is now plastered to your skin and slightly see-through. Cursing the cheap fabric, you glance around at the empty street, your teeth starting to chatter as the cold settles in.

As you stand there shivering, you notice someone approaching through the sheets of rain—a figure in all black, moving with a confident stride. It’s only when she steps closer that you realise it’s Rio Vidal, her umbrella held high above her head. You’ve seen her at the gym more times than you can count, occasionally sharing a class. You’ve exchanged a few nods and maybe a smile or two, but that’s as far as it’s ever gone. You don’t expect her to stop now, not in this weather. But then she sees you, and for a moment, you think she’s just going to walk on by.

But she pauses when she spots you, her expression unreadable as her eyes flick over your drenched figure. You can tell she’s about to keep going—there’s a split second where she looks away, like she’s debating whether she cares enough to stop. Then she rolls her eyes, heaves a dramatic sigh, and steps under the awning with you.

“Really?” she drawls, tilting her head as she looks you up and down, eyes lingering at the sight of your bra showing through the now definitely see-through top. “No umbrella?”

You shrug, giving her a sheepish grin. “Sorry. Guess I didn’t realise I had to expect a monsoon today.”

Her lips twitch into a smirk, and she shakes her head. “Clearly.” Without another word, she shifts under her umbrella, angling it so it covers both of you. “Come on, I’ll walk you.”

You fall in step beside her, matching her pace as you make your way down the rain-soaked street. It was awkward at first, the two of you trying to find a rhythm without bumping into each other. You make a bit of small talk, mostly about the weather, but then Rio starts teasing you, throwing out little jabs at your lack of preparedness, and you find yourself laughing despite the rain soaking through your clothes.

“Do you always go out unarmed in a storm?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"I like to live dangerously,” you grin.

“Oh, is that what this is?” she retorts dryly. “Because it looks like poor planning to me.”

You snort, bumping into her playfully. “Careful, you might actually sound concerned.”

Her smirk softens into something warmer, and for a moment, she just looks at you, as if she’s seeing you for the first time. It’s disarming, the way her eyes linger, and you suddenly realise how close you’re standing.

As you walk, the rain intensifies, pounding against the umbrella. Rio adjusts it, stepping even closer until her arm presses against yours. You glance at her. She had chosen to shelter you with the umbrella more even though it meant she was getting caught in the downpour; the scent of her perfume mixing with the rain is intoxicating, and you can’t help but shiver.

“You’re getting wet,” you murmur mostly to yourself, voice softer than you intended.

She looks down at you, her smile widening into something almost predatory. “You have no idea, darling,” she says, her voice dropping low. The look in her eyes is heated—a flicker of something you’ve never seen before—and it makes you shiver for a completely different reason.

You hold her gaze, the world fading away around you. The rain, the city noise—it all melts into the background, leaving just the two of you standing there, inches apart. It would be oh so easy to lean in, to close the gap between you. But then she clears her throat, stepping back just slightly, and the moment breaks.

“We should keep moving,” she says, almost too casually, like she’s trying to convince herself as much as you.

You nod, swallowing hard. “Right. Yeah.”

Soon enough, the conversation picks up again and you’re back to casual teasing.

“You know, they do sell these things called coats,” she says, glancing sideways at you with a teasing smile.

“Oh yeah?” You play along, nudging her lightly with your elbow. “I’ll have to look into that.”

She laughs—a low, husky sound that makes your pulse skip. “You probably should. You look like a drowned rat.”

“Rude,” you shot back, but you’re smiling, warmth spreading through your chest despite the cold rain.

By the time you reach your street, the rain has slowed to a drizzle. She stops, tilting the umbrella back as she looks up at the sky. You quickly steal a glance at her neck, imagining what it would be like to trail kisses down her throat, to nip at the soft skin just under her collarbone, to take her ni-

“Looks like you’re safe now,” she says, a small, teasing smile playing at her lips.

The words snapped you out of your daydream.

Shit. She had caught you staring. And oh fuck, your mouth had dropped open slightly as you fantasised about her. Your clothes weren’t the only thing that was wet now. “Uh, um, yep. Thanks for the rescue,” you reply, scratching the back of your neck, trying to play it cool. “I owe you one.” You offer her a weak smile.

She cocks her head, considering you for a moment. “Yeah, you do.” There’s a flash of something playful in her eyes.

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by her easy agreement. “Oh? Planning to cash it in?”

Her smirk widens. “Maybe,” she says, voice low. “But I like to keep people guessing.”

Before you can respond to invite her in for a drink, she steps back, giving you a small, almost imperceptible wink before turning on her heal and walking away, leaving you standing there, wetter than you had been when she first found you but not from the rain.

You’re still thinking about your little encounter with Rio the next day at the gym. You’re in the locker room, towelling off after a particularly gruelling class, when you hear the familiar sound of a certain teasing voice. You glance up and see Rio leaning against the row of lockers, arms crossed over her chest, watching you with that same smirk from the day before. It was only then you noticed just how attractive you found her hands as they gripped her bicep.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she drawls, arching an eyebrow.

You chuckle, tossing your towel into your bag. “It’s almost like I come here at the same time every day or something.”

She doesn’t reply straight away; instead, she pushes her tongue into the cheek of her mouth, shaking her head at your retort. She pushes off the locker and steps closer. “Almost,” her gaze flicks over you, lingering just a moment too long. “You remember that favour you owe me?”

Your stomach flips, heat pooling low in your belly at the way she’s looking at you—dark eyes glinting with mischief, like she’s got a secret she’s about to share.

You swallow hard, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, I remember. You planning to cash it in?”

“Oh, definitely.” She takes another step, close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating off her skin. Your body seemed to be absorbing all of her heat and sending it straight between your legs. She reaches up, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face, and her fingers linger against your cheek, a teasing caress that makes you ache with need.

“What did you have in mind?” you ask, your voice coming out breathier than you intended.

Her smirk widens, and she leans in, her lips brushing yours as she whispers, “You’ll find out soon enough, sweetheart.”

You shiver, your breath catching in your throat as she pulls back, giving you one last lingering look before she turns on her heel and saunters out of the locker room. Your heart is racing, anticipation thrumming through your veins. For a split second, you stand there frozen, unsure if you imagined the intensity in her gaze.

But then, just as you start to gather your things, you hear her voice call back from the doorway, rich and teasing.

“Well, are you coming? And remember to pick your jaw up off the floor on the way out.”

Your pulse spikes at the challenge in her tone, the words hanging in the air, heavy with desire. You don’t think. You don’t hesitate. You grab your bag, rushing to follow her out of the locker room, silently cursing yourself for being caught gaping at her once again

She’s already halfway down the corridor, glancing over her shoulder with a grin that sends a thrill through you. “Hurry up,” she calls, her voice low, almost like a command.

You catch up to her as she pushes through the gym’s exit, the cool night air hitting your skin. Without missing a beat, she heads straight for the parking lot, her steps purposeful. You fall in line beside her, curiosity and desire mixing in equal measure.

Her car is parked near the back, and before you can say anything, she’s unlocking the door and sliding into the driver’s seat with an easy, confident motion. She looks over at you as you approach, her eyes dark and inviting.

“Get in,” she says, low and charged.

You don’t need to be told twice. You slide into the passenger seat, and before you know it, the engine roars to life, the sound of tyres crunching on the gravel as she drives with purpose. The ride is quiet but thick with anticipation, the only sounds coming from the hum of the car and the occasional shift of your bodies as you both settle into the journey.

When she pulls into the driveway of her place, you can’t help but feel the electric charge in the air—there’s no mistaking the unspoken agreement between you. She parks and turns off the engine, unbuckling her seatbelt, leaving the silence to stretch between you, thick and expectant.

You wait for her to make the first move, and she doesn’t disappoint. Without a word, she reaches across the console, her fingers brushing yours as she unbuckles your seatbelt. “You’re going to see just how much I care,” she whispers in your ear, remembering your teasing comment from yesterday.

You just look at her, mouth going dry, searching for any hint of hesitation, but there’s none. Just an almost predatory stillness to her gaze. She leans down, her lips brushing the side of your neck, setting every nerve in your body alight.

“You wanted to know what I had in mind,” she murmurs against your skin, her breath warm, sending goosebumps over your arms. “I think it’s time you found out.”

She pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, and before you can even respond, she’s kissing you—hard and hungry, her hand tangling in your hair, pulling you close. It’s urgent, like you’ve both been waiting for this moment, the tension from yesterday finally snapping.

Her lips move against yours with a feverish intensity, her hands already tugging at your clothes, exploring the heat between you. There’s no more teasing, no more games. Just the heat of the moment, the rush of desire, and the feeling of her body pressing against yours, claiming you as much as you’re claiming her.

She pulls back for a moment, breathless, her eyes scanning your face with a satisfied smirk. “You wanted to know,” she whispers again, her voice thick with desire, “now you’re going to learn exactly what it means to owe me.”

Before you can respond, she’s already round by your door, pulling you out of the car, her grip firm and unrelenting as she leads you towards her front door. The way she moves is confident, like she’s done this a thousand times, and it sends a thrill of excitement straight to your core. You stumble slightly, half from the urgency, half from the anticipation buzzing through your veins, but she doesn’t give you a chance to catch your breath.

Rio unlocks the door with swift precision, shoving it open and tugging you inside. The moment you cross the threshold, she’s on you again, pinning you against the closed door with her body, one hand braced beside your head and the other gripping your hip.

“Do you need me to do everything for you?” she murmurs, her voice full of mockery as she tilts your chin up with a single finger. There’s a taunting gleam in her eyes, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you, and it’s infuriatingly effective.

You try to muster a cocky retort, smirking up at her. “Maybe I just like making you work for it.”

Her laugh is low and dark, vibrating against your skin. “Oh, you think you’re in control here?” She presses her knee between your legs, pinning you firmly in place. The pressure is just enough to make you gasp, your bravado faltering for a split second. “That’s cute,” she purrs, leaning in until her lips are brushing against your lips. “But we both know who’s really calling the shots tonight.”

Before you can react, she captures your mouth in a bruising kiss, her hand threading into your hair, tugging just hard enough to make your scalp tingle. It’s a claiming kiss, like she’s determined to make sure you remember this moment, to imprint herself on your body.

You try to push back to regain some semblance of control, but she’s not having it. She breaks the kiss with a sharp tug of your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat. “I don’t think you understand,” she says, her voice a husky whisper as she drags her lips down the column of your neck, nipping at your skin. “You owe me. And I’m going to take exactly what I’m owed.”

You shiver, a whimper slipping past your lips before you can stop it. You hate how easily she turns you on and how she seems to know every spot that makes you melt. “What if I don’t want to pay up?” you manage to taunt, your voice breathy.

Rio’s smile is slow, scheming. “Oh, you will,” she says simply, stepping back and yanking you by the hand, dragging you down the hallway to her bedroom. You barely have time to register the surroundings before she’s pushing you onto the bed, her body hovering over yours, caging you in.

She pauses, looking down at you with a smirk, her eyes dark and half-lidded with desire. “Do you need me to do everything for you?” She repeats, and this time there’s a distinct edge of command in her voice.

You raise an eyebrow, refusing to look away. “Maybe I do.”

She chuckles, the sound low and almost dangerous. “Fine,” she breathes, leaning down to kiss you again, softer this time but no less intense. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Her hands are everywhere, tugging at your clothes, stripping you bare with a skill and efficiency that leaves you breathless. Every touch feels like it’s setting you on fire, the anticipation building to a fever as she takes her time, teasing, testing your limits. When you try to touch her, she grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head with a single hand.

“Ah, ah,” she chimes, her grin sharp. “You said you needed me to do everything for you. So keep your hands to yourself, and let me take care of you.”

You want to argue, to push back, but the look in her eyes makes you hesitate. There’s a thrill in giving in, in letting her take control, and you realise with a pulse of excitement that you want this—want to see what she’ll do when she’s given free rein.

Rio doesn’t waste any time. Her mouth is on your skin, lips and teeth and tongue, exploring every inch of you. She’s relentless, drawing out sounds from you that you didn’t even know you could make. When her hand slips between your thighs, you arch into her touch, a moan slipping out before you can stop it.

“Already?” she teases, her fingers teasing along your inner thigh, deliberately avoiding where you want her most. “You talk a big game, but look at you now. So eager, so needy.”

You glare up at her, trying to muster a retort, but it comes out as a whine instead when she finally touches you where you need it most, her fingers sliding against your slick heat. She smirks down at you, clearly enjoying the way you react, your back arching off the bed, your hips bucking into her hand.

“That’s what I thought,” she says, her voice soft but edged with dominance. “You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you? You’re going to give me everything I want.”

You bite your lip, trying to hold back a moan. “Maybe,” you say, aiming for defiance but sounding breathless instead.

Her smirk widens. “Maybe?” she repeats, leaning down until her mouth is at your ear, her breath hot against your skin. “That’s not good enough.”

With a sudden, purposeful movement, she shifts, sliding two fingers inside you, her thumb pressing against your most sensitive spot. You cry out, your hands instinctively trying to reach for her, but she tightens her grip on your wrists, keeping you pinned down.

“Say it,” she commands, her voice low and insistent. “Say you’ll be good for me.”

You struggle for a moment, clinging to the last shred of your pride, but when she curls her fingers just right, the pleasure shoots through you like a lightning bolt, and you break.

“I’ll be good,” you gasp, your voice almost a sob. “I’ll be good for you, Rio.”

She hums in satisfaction, pressing a kiss to your mouth. “Good,” she murmurs, her lips curling into a smile against your skin. “Now let me show you what it means to really owe me.”

Once again, you are gaping at the woman before you, and she takes the opportunity to slip her tongue into your mouth. Your moans are gradually growing louder and more unhinged with each stroke of Rio’s fingers, and you’re about to cum when she pulls away completely.

You whine at the loss of touch, but this only spurs Rio on more. “You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?” she asks, now running her hands up and down your sides. “I’m going to undress for you now, and you need to look at me the whole time, okay?”

You’re not sure if you should answer. Not sure if you can answer. The questions seem rhetorical, but you’re so eager to get her touch back that you nod enthusiastically, hoping it’s the right thing to do.

Rio chuckles softly at your desperation and starts to strip. It’s slow and deliberate. She starts by shimmying her shorts down, kicking them into the corner with a flick of her foot. Next she peels off her top, crossing her arms at the hem and pulling it over her head slowly. Very slowly. The action pushes Rio’s tits together, drawing your eyes to her cleavage. It’s all too much, and you bring your hand down and start to touch yourself, your eyes fluttering shut. Feeling your wetness on your fingers for the first time, you let out a soft pathetic whimper.

Big mistake. Rio is on you in an instant, tugging your hand away and securing your wrists to the bed frame with ropes you had failed to notice until now.

“If you can’t behave, I will make you behave.” Rio snapped, her voice wasn’t malicious, no, instead, it almost came out as a moan and you realised just how turned on she was.

Disappearing into her closet briefly, she quickly returns, holding something behind her back and an innocent smile plastered across her face, but her eyes hid something more dangerous. “Shut your eyes,” she demanded. “Now.”

You obliged and then felt as the mattress dipped with her weight. You could feel her straddling your waist, gently lifting your head to put something over your eyes.

“Since you clearly didn’t want to watch,” she clarified, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

You strain your ears trying to get some sort of idea of what was going on but you cannot make out any distinct noise. That’s when you feel her start to caress your legs again, trailing light, teasing kisses right up to your core.

She was kneeling between your thighs when you felt the tip of something cold and hard push in to your entrance.

“Fffuuuuccckkkk,” you moan, drawing out the word as Rio’s strap fills you completely.

Her movements are slow at first, easing you in to it. “You’re being so good for me, darling,” she coos. “Taking me so well.” Then her pace starts picking up, thrusting in to you harder each time.

It’s a relentless pleasure, and you can feel yourself barrelling towards an orgasm. Rio must sense it too as she grasps her hand around your throat, giving it a light squeeze. “Ask for it.”

“Pl-please. Please Rio. I need to cum,” you try your hardest to get your words out between moans, unsure if you could actually stop yourself from climaxing if she denies your pleas.

Luckily for you, you don’t have to find out as Rio hums her agreement, tilting your hips to reach another angle. “Good girl. Cum for me, I want to watch your beautiful face as you cum,” you hear her gasp out, clearly working herself up as well.

You climax with a flurry of moans and gasps, arching further into Rio. The woman fucking you shows no sign of stopping, drawing out the pleasure. You feel her leaning over to her nightstand, picking something up with a grunt, when the stap rubs just right against her clit. Just as you start to wonder what an earth she had picked up, you hear a faint click, and suddenly the strap starts vibrating inside you.

This time it’s both of you moaning and gasping with each thrust as Rio guides you through another orgasm.

“Fuck, fuck,” Rio is panting. “Fuck, baby, I’m cumming.” Rio collapses into you, breathing hard. She stays there for a while before slowly pulling out and removing the blindfold, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

She ducks into her bathroom, grabbing a cloth to clean you up. Her touches are gentle and soothing. “You did so good, sweetheart.” Rio’s voice is soft as she lies down next to you, scooping you into her arms.

You look up at her, blinking slowly, the adrenaline draining out of you. “That was not what I had in mind when I said I owe you one,” you sigh, coming to rest your head on her chest.

“Oh yeah?” One of Rio’s hands comes up to play with your hair, the other stroking up and down your arm. “And what were you thinking of, hmm?” She whispers softly. “Because your staring was definitely not subtle.”

All you can do is huff out a small laugh, her hands coaxing you into an easy sleep. With another kiss to the top of your head, Rio wishes you a good night and holds you as you drift off peacefully.

remember to like/reblog if you enjoyed :)

#agatha all along #rio vidal #rio vidal x reader #rio x reader #rio vidal smut #rio vidal fluff #rio x reader smut #rio vidal x reader smut #rio x reader fluff #agatha all along fanfic #rio vidal fic #rio vidal fanfic #aubrey plaza character #alternate universe #marvel #mcu #rio vidal x you #rio x you

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acid-ixx · 1 month ago

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update and story excepts

guys i swear if i post chapter 4 sooner for my series: again &. again, soon, will that revive the yandere batfam/dc tag because i swear i've been consuming less content of it both lately and sadly 💔 like it's a bit dead ngl. ill reply to asks once i'm done with ch.4 istg

and yes, i'm back from my short hiatus again to announce this. and it's 3:30am but i dont care teehee. anyways, if i do post a new chapter expect it to be this week and that's final for once, since i've kept all of you guys waiting so long, i'm so sorry :(( i swear it's me trying to gain confidence through my writing and i don't know if i like chapter 4 or not. all i do know is that it's one of the most emotionally draining chapters so expect triple the angst, yippee!

anyways, excepts from the chapter below the line break:

DICK'S THOUGHTS:

CONNER'S SCENES:

"thank you, you too, actually— but are you alright-"

"haha! is it strange to say that you look so cute whenever you look at me with wide eyes in the short span of time we just met?"

"it's conner, conner kent. call me kon, though. or yours if it's you."

BATHROOM BREAKDOWN P.T.2 PRIOR TO CLUBBING

(spoilers: expect shit to go down with jason todd with you, and him with the family, and a good 4k words of you flirting with conner before actual shit goes down)

leave comments down below if you do like the direction this story is coming to! otherwise, thank you all for reading my series and supporting it from the start !! <33

#🍨... yael's talking #yandere dc #yandere batfam #guys pls dont attack me if i take too long #i feel so much pressure (from myself) to make this chapter as good or even better than chapter #than chapter 3 #since the third chapter has a whopping 4k likes #and i dont want anything i post to flop #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere batman #yandere conner kent #yandere dick grayson #platonic yandere #soft yandere

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smartkookiee · 2 months ago

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How to Lose A Guy in 30 Days! || Ch.1 — jjk.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀° ❥pairing: Jungkook x Reader (she/her, afab) ❥genre/rating: strangers to lovers, 18+ ❥chapter warnings/tags: software engineer!Jungkook, writer!Reader, flirting, drinking, nothing crazy happens in this chapter tbh, idiots, have fun (I’m so excited to see what everyone says, thank you to everyone for all the love on the teaser post!) ❥word-count: 9.4k ❥Series Masterlist ❥|| Next chapter fic is cross posted to ao3 - send an ask or comment on post to be added to the tag list. ❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°

Day 0

“Y/N, can I see you in my office?” Yoongi’s voice cut through the ambient buzz of the office as he appeared at your cubicle. You blinked up at him, his request causing a ripple of curiosity among your surrounding coworkers, though no one dared to show it openly.

You hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing your mind. Was I in trouble? Did he hate my last research project? Your mind raced through the possibilities. Yoongi had praised your work just last week, but what if he’d changed his mind? The thought of him taking back his compliments made your stomach twist. With a sigh, you saved your work and rose to follow him. The walk to his office felt unnervingly like being summoned to the principal’s office in high school.

Though your colleagues barely glanced in your direction, the nerves still had your palms sweating. You tried to wipe them discreetly on your pants as you stepped inside his office.

Yoongi moved behind his desk with casual ease, sinking into his chair as though he hadn’t just rattled your nerves with his sudden appearance. You stood awkwardly for a moment until he waved you toward the chair in front of his desk.

“You can relax, Y/N. You’re not in trouble,” he said, his tone gentle but amused. It was clear he could feel the tension radiating off you.

“I know, I know. I’m just a worrywart. You know that,” you laughed softly, though it came out more anxious than you’d intended. “So… why did you want to see me?”

Yoongi leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the desk as he watched you. “I’ve have an assignment for you. Something better than your usual research work.”

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued as he began rifling through the disorganized pile of files and papers littering his desk. You’d been at Composure for a while, mostly doing background research for other writers’ articles. But you’d been hoping for an opportunity to step out of the shadows, to prove yourself as more than just a behind-the-scenes contributor. Maybe this is it?

When Yoongi finally found what he was looking for, he pulled out an old magazine and dropped it in front of you with a soft thud. You glanced down at the cover, your eyes widening as you saw the issue was from 2003.

“How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days,” Yoongi said, leaning back in his chair with a knowing glint in his eyes.

You picked up the magazine and began flipping through it, skimming the pages until you found the article. A sense of familiarity washed over you—this was one of those interesting pieces people still whispered about around the office. “I’m confused.”

“This piece was a massive hit when it came out,” he explained, lacing his fingers together as he leaned back. “Lana, one of the higher-ups, was the editor at the time this particular piece came out. She brought it up recently, said she thinks it’s time for something like this to make a comeback.”

“You want me to do this?” you asked, still reeling from the audacity of the concept. You skimmed through the details, noting the original author, Andy. She had gone to extreme lengths to sabotage a relationship for the sake of the article. You couldn’t help but cringe at some of the tactics she’d employed.

“Not exactly,” Yoongi replied with a small chuckle. “The feedback back then was that the whole experiment felt a bit too unrealistic. Readers loved it and it was a funny read, but many thought they don’t do things this intense. Lana’s idea was to take the same concept, but… stretch it out.”

“Stretch it out?” you echoed, still trying to wrap your head around the idea.

“Yeah. Ten days is too quick for something like this. We want to make it feel more genuine. Instead of a mad dash to drive the guy away, we want to see what happens over a longer period. A month, maybe two. Let the tension build naturally.”

You leaned back in your chair, letting the idea swirl around in your head. It was ambitious, maybe even a bit reckless, but there was no denying it would be a challenge.. “So… you want me to date someone and—what? Subtly sabotage it over time?”

“Exactly. Actually date but do all the classic early relationship mistakes,” Yoongi explained, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the concept. “It’s an experiment in human behavior, relationships, and how much people are willing to overlook.”

“So like talking about something personal way too fast, or inviting yourself into their life way too quickly and then write about it?” you prattled on a bit, it was picking at the ideas in your brain in the right way.

Yoongi smiled, clearly pleased with your interest. “I brought this to you because you have more than proven yourself here. You’ve been doing excellent research, and I want to see how you handle something of this scale. Especially because this would be a feature piece.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the compliment, but there was still a question gnawing at you. “I’m glad you are trusting me with something like this, especially with such a high-profile piece. But… I have to ask, sir—why do you think I’m the right person for this?”

Yoongi leaned forward slightly, his expression more thoughtful. “Because I want to challenge you. I like your research and I like how you write, you understand the people who read our columns on a deeper level. I think you have more in you. I want to see if you can handle something outside of your comfort zone.” His voice softened, but the weight of his words wasn’t lost on you. “And after something like this, I’d be more than happy to move you on to bigger and better pieces.”

The subtle hint of a promotion sent a jolt of excitement through you. “Really?”

“Really,” Yoongi confirmed, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

It was all you could do to keep the excitement from bubbling over. An actual writing assignment, something that could elevate your standing in the magazine, was exactly what you had been waiting for.

“I don’t even know what to say other than thank you.”

You fidget with the magazine in your hands, resisting the urge to curl the edges. Your mind raced, trying to think of what a realistic timeline for the piece could look like—something ambitious, but doable.

“How about… How to Lose a Guy in Thirty Days? A longer timeline, more idealistic. A month in is usually when new relationships start to fall apart. It’s after the initial getting-to-know-someone phase,” you suggest, throwing the idea out there, hoping Yoongi would take the bait.

“Thirty days, huh?” He raises an eyebrow, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “You sure you’re up for it?”

“Yes, sir.” You nod, your confidence building as you think about the possibilities.

“Good,” Yoongi replies, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied look. “Let’s start on Monday, after we get through this print run. That gives you a few days to find the poor guy.”

“Right. Thank you, Mr. Min.” You stand up, your heart racing as you try to play it cool. But as soon as you exit his office, you can barely contain your excitement.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you mutter under your breath as you rush to your desk. Your fingers fly across the keyboard as you start jotting down notes, pulling out sticky notes and scribbling ideas, trying to organize your thoughts.

Ronnie, sitting in the neighboring cubicle, leans back to peer around the divider, noticing your frenzied state. She rolls her chair into your space, sliding up next to you with a curious look.

“What’s got you in such a hurry?” she asks, raising an eyebrow as she watches you type furiously. A laugh escapes her when she sees the pen stuck in your mouth and the growing pile of sticky notes attached to the old magazine.

“I gob a columb,” you mumble through the pen, barely pausing your typing.

Ronnie plucks the pen from your mouth. “Try that again.”

“I’m writing my first column.” You repeat, finally turning to face her, your excitement breaking through.

“No way!” Ronnie stands, her voice a little too loud, drawing a few glances from nearby desks. She sits back down and grabs your shoulders. “That’s so awesome! Your first column! What’s it going to be about?”

You hand her the magazine, pointing to the title. “This.”

“How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days?” She raises her eyebrows in surprise, flipping through the article. “You’re seriously going to do this?”

“Well, not exactly the same,” you say with a grin, watching as she reads through the outlandish tactics in the original piece. “Just similar.”

Ronnie’s eyes widen as she reaches some of the more extreme parts of the article. “Okay, this is crazy, all the things this girl did to this guy. Oh my god.” She rocked in disbelief, continuing the read through. “Awe, ends bittersweet though.”

“It’s going to be How to Lose A Guy in Thirty Days this time.”

“A month?” She laughs and shakes her head, you give her a confused look.

“What? I can do this!” You bump her shoulder.

“Do what?” Namjoon strolls into your cubical looking between the both of you.

“Kid got her first column.” Ronnie sings she has a proud grin on her face. You spin around to look at Namjoon.

His face lights up at the news, “That’s so awesome! Congrats!” He rubs your hair messing it up, you bat his hands away smoothing out your hair.

“Thanks Joon.”

“What’s it on?” Namjoon leans against your desk along side Ronnie.

Ronnie hands him the magazine flipped open to the article. He takes it and examines it for a moment, he reads along and his eyes widen at times. You continue scribbling down some thoughts while he does this. Namjoon was a silent reader but would always share his full thoughts when he was done.

“Woah, this is wild.” Namjoon flips back to the beginning of the article, like he had to read it over again.

“I know the original one is a little insane but we are doing it differently this time.” You explain, Namjoon had concern written all over his face reading through the article again.

“Quote, ‘after five days I decided to go ahead and take things to the next level between us. I completely redecorate his apartment with pink attire and stuffed animals everywhere.” Namjoon reads the section out loud. “She only knew him for five days?”

You nod, “I don’t know how she was so brave to do all of that. Luckily Yoongi said I don’t have to be as extreme as this. Just more casually clingy and needy, do small things that most people think are normal but seem to send guys running before anything serious can begin.”

“Yeah, I definitely hope you don’t end up ‘photoshopping your baby pictures together.’” Ronnie adds with a grin.

You laugh, shaking your head. “God, no. I’d sooner die of embarrassment. I don’t have the energy for that level of crazy.”

Namjoon leans back in his chair, one eyebrow raised in slight concern. “So, what is the plan then? You’ve got something in mind, right?”

You sigh dramatically. “Not sure yet. I’ve got until Monday to find a guy and come up with some sort of idea of how I want to do this.”

“Oh, can we help?” Ronnie’s eyes light up as she bounces in her chair, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Help find the guy?”

“Obviously, and with the torture,” she adds, looking way too enthusiastic.

“I’m not torturing him,” you chuckle, “just… irritating him a little. You know, for research purposes.”

“Uh-huh.” Namjoon’s teasing grin softens as he looks at you, a hint of doubt creeping in. “But are you really sure you can do this, like… casually?”

You blink at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, come on,” Namjoon says with a snort, gesturing vaguely at you. “You wear your heart in a pink, sparkly basket for everyone to see. Are you sure you won’t fall for the poor guy instead?”

“I don’t do that! And I will not!” You protest, but Namjoon and Ronnie exchange a look that screams they definitely think you do.

“I’ve never seen you not get your hopes up after a date or two,” Ronnie says, shrugging sympathetically.

“Well, this time will be different,” you say, folding your arms defiantly. “It’s just business. I have to get the guy to break up with me anyway.”

They weren’t wrong, though, and you know it. You’ve always been one of those people who swoon at love songs and daydream about movie-perfect endings. You were the exact type of person this article was written for in the first place. You did get attached too quickly and were getting hurt too often. But this? This was just an assignment. A game. You wouldn’t get hurt if you knew it had to end from the start.

“You’ll see.” You add with more confidence, determined to prove them wrong.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Ronnie teases, rolling her chair back toward her desk. It was well past time for her to get to her own work.

Namjoon shakes his head with a chuckle. “Good luck to this guy, I guess,” he mutters, though there’s warmth in his voice. He’s seen you get your hopes up too many times to believe you could really keep things casual.

But this time, you were determined. No expectations. No daydreaming. It was all just work.

Across town, though, someone else was perfectly content with his easygoing, no-strings-attached lifestyle. Jungkook, waking up in someone else’s bed was just another morning for him. He opened his eyes but was blinded by the morning light. He rolled over and looked around, he had no idea where he was. Memories of last night vaguely coming back to the front of his mind.

He looks over to see a sleeping girl in the same bed. He stands from the bed and manages to find his phone. Seeing the time.

“Shit.” He rushes to find his scattered items and puts his clothes back on. Tip toeing his way around the room and manages to get out the front door without a fuss.

Getting out of the building, Jungkook blinked as the morning sun hit him square in the face. He rubbed his eyes, still groggy from a less-than-restful sleep. Scanning the unfamiliar streets, he had no idea what neighborhood he was in, but that was par for the course these days. He pulled out his phone and called for an Uber, slipping his sunglasses on as he waited.

Another late night, another random bed. This wasn’t exactly new territory, but he couldn’t help feeling off. Normally, Thursdays were a quiet night in, but when Jimin and Taehyung wanted to go out, Jungkook wasn’t about to turn them down. And, as always, the night had ended the way it usually did for him—blurry and chaotic.

By the time Jungkook made it to the office, it was later than he would normally prefer to arrive. Slipping through the doors, he did his best to avoid attention although Hoseok’s keen eyes were already tracking him. Jungkook tried to get settled quietly, but it was pointless. Hoseok’s desk, conveniently right next to his, made stealth impossible.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Hoseok sang, swiveling in his chair to grin at Jungkook. He tapped a few keys on his keyboard, then gave Jungkook an exaggerated once-over. “Did you lose a bet, or is that last night’s shirt?”

Jungkook smirked as he slid into his seat. “Hey, I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, but in yesterday’s clothes. What’d you do? Roll straight from the bar to your desk?” Hoseok raised an eyebrow, clicking away on his mouse as he pulled up their latest coding project.

“Pretty much,” Jungkook admitted, booting up his own computer. “I’ll head home at lunch and change. No one cares what I wear to debug.”

Hoseok shook his head with a laugh. “You’re gonna blind the clients with your wrinkled t-shirts one of these days.”

“Fair enough,” Jungkook chuckled, typing in his password. “But I’m still better at the code reviews, so they can’t complain too much.”

Hoseok conceded with a nod, leaning back in his chair. “Rough night?”

Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck. “You could say that. Taehyung and Jimin were relentless. Didn’t stop until the bar kicked us out.”

“Ah, classic,” Hoseok said with a grin. “They never know when to quit.”

Jungkook smirked, though he felt the exhaustion settling in his bones. “They’ve got energy for days, man. But, hey, what about tonight? You in?”

Hoseok hesitated, glancing at the lines of code on his screen before looking back at Jungkook. “Again? You don’t look like you’re dying to go out tonight.”

Jungkook chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “I mean, I’m wrecked, but you know I’m down. Someone’s gotta keep Taehyung from getting us banned from another bar.”

Hoseok shook his head, clearly amused. “I dunno, man. I might actually take it easy tonight. Jimin’s been texting like he’s planning another big one, and I don’t know if I’ve got the energy to babysit.”

“You? Too tired to party?” Jungkook teased, raising an eyebrow. “Weren’t you just complaining last week that we only go out when you’re drowning in deadlines?”

“I didn’t say I’m backing out,” Hoseok defended, though his reluctance was obvious. “I’m just... thinking about it.”

“Thinking about it, my ass. You’ll be there. I’ll text Jimin, tell him to go easy on the plans.” Jungkook turned back to his monitor, his fingers flying over the keys as he opened the project files for their current assignment.

Hoseok chuckled. “Yeah, alright. But if I show up and Taehyung’s dancing on tables again, I’m leaving early.”

“Deal,” Jungkook said with a grin.

Then Hoseok’s smirk deepened, and he shot a glance at Jungkook. “By the way, has she called you yet?”

Jungkook frowned, glancing sideways. “Who?”

“Channel. She’s been texting me. Again.” Hoseok’s grin turned into a mock look of annoyance. “Seriously, bro, how is she still hitting me up to ask about you? You need to fix that.”

Jungkook groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I thought I made it clear we’re done.”

“Well, apparently she didn’t get the memo. She asked me yesterday if you were ‘okay,’ like I’m your personal messenger or something.”

Jungkook sighed, his fingers stilling on his keyboard. “I haven’t heard from her in weeks. She’s probably fishing for info, trying to get back in touch. She wanted something serious, and I was always upfront about keeping it casual.”

Hoseok raised an eyebrow. “And she didn’t take that well?”

“She acted like she understood, but... yeah, not really. I broke it off before things got messy.” Jungkook sighed. “Now she’s bugging you instead.”

“Lucky me,” Hoseok muttered. “She’s persistent, I’ll give her that. But seriously, dude, she’s asking me if you’re, like, in a dark place or something. I think she’s hoping for a window to swoop back in.”

Jungkook groaned, leaning back in his chair. “Tell her I’ve joined a monastery.”

Hoseok laughed. “Sure, I’ll let her know you’ve taken a vow of silence and reflection.”

The rest of the morning flew by in a blur of coding and testing modules. By the time lunch rolled around, Jungkook had managed to convince Jimin to keep the plans for the night low-key—just a few drinks at a bar they liked. Hoseok seemed more on board with the promise of a relaxed evening, and Jungkook was glad. As much as he loved the chaos, even he was feeling the need for something calmer.

When they arrived at the bar that evening, it was more crowded than they’d expected. The hum of conversation, laughter, and clinking glasses filled the air, and the warmth of bodies packed in tight hit them as they wove their way through the crowd.

“So much for a quiet night,” Hoseok muttered, dodging a couple who were clearly several drinks in.

Jungkook grinned, nudging him. “Come on, it’s Friday. What did you expect?”

“Less people and more chairs,” Hoseok replied, though the grin on his face said he wasn’t too upset about it.

Jungkook laughed, scanning the bar for a spot to settle in. Despite his earlier exhaustion, he could feel the pull of another night out with his friends, the familiar buzz of energy creeping in. There was something about the chaos of it all that he couldn’t resist.

“Over here!” Jimin’s voice cut through the noise, his arm waving above the sea of people as he flagged them down. He and Taehyung had already secured a table in the corner.

Jungkook and Hoseok exchanged a glance before making their way over, dodging elbows and weaving past groups of friends clustered around the bar. As they reached the table and took their seats, Hoseok let out a deep sigh.

“Jesus, there are so many people here tonight,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe I should have stayed home.”

Jimin smirked, leaning back in his chair with his drink in hand. “Aww, come on. It’s been forever since we’ve been out together.”

Jungkook chuckled, patting Hoseok on the shoulder. “It was definitely a struggle convincing him to come tonight.”

Hoseok held up his hands in surrender, a playful grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Hey, I was promised a chill night with some drinks. That’s my kind of Friday night.”

Before anyone could say more, Taehyung appeared at the table, balancing a tray of drinks with ease. “Here you go, gentlemen,” he said, passing them around with a flourish.

A round of thank-yous followed as each of the guys took their drinks. Jungkook took a long sip, letting the cool, bitter taste of his beer settle on his tongue as he leaned back in his chair, finally starting to relax.

“So,” Taehyung said after a moment, turning to Jungkook with a curious smile, “where did you disappear last night, man?”

Jungkook barely had time to respond before Jimin interjected, his tone teasing. “Where do you think he ran off to?” Jimin wiggled his eyebrows in fake suspicion.

The grin on his face made it clear he was referring to Jungkook’s extracurricular activities.

Taehyung snickered, shaking his head. “Oh, I see. Anything to tell? Did you find the love of your life?” His voice was full of amusement as he took another sip of his drink.

Hoseok snorted, rolling his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, right.”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes playfully, tipping his head in Hoseok’s direction. “Hey, you never know.”

“Sure,” Hoseok said with a laugh, bumping Jungkook’s shoulder. “I’m sure she felt some kind of deep connection.”

Jimin waved a hand in Hoseok’s direction, dismissing him with a grin. “Leave him alone.”

But Hoseok wasn’t ready to let it go just yet. He shrugged, glancing around the table. “I mean, as long as I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him be serious with someone.”

Jungkook felt the familiar twist in his gut at the comment but didn’t let it show. It wasn’t that he didn’t want something serious—it just hadn’t happened in years. He took another sip of his beer, trying to brush off the remark. He had become somewhat comfortable in his solace and easy hook ups. Last thing he had to something serious was what he had with Channel, and that wasn’t even hardly serious.

Broke it off because she changed her mind about what she was wanting from him, Jungkook just really didn’t see a future with her and had always made his feelings about their relationship clear. He really came off looking like a dick but he didn’t want to drag her along. He didn’t want to drag anyone along.

“I can be serious when I want to be.” Jungkook took another sip of his beer.

“Yeah for like a day.” Taehyung teases.

“Not even, more like an afternoon.” Jimin jumps on him with a laugh.

“Try thirty minutes!” Hoseok adds on to the end before Jungkook waves them all of.

“Thirty minutes?” he raised an eyebrow, “Give me more credit than that.”

“Fine, thirty-one.” Taehyung added on with another laugh.

“Whatever,” Jungkook rolls his eyes, “Make your jokes but I don’t see any of you pulling in any serious relationships these days.” Jungkook points the top of his bottle around the group.

“Hey, I have a date next week I’ll have you know!” Hoseok protests.

“This isn’t about us though, this is about you.” Jimin sits back in his chair.

“What about me?”

“You’re not a relationship guy.” Taehyung sipped his beer.

“I’m comfortable by myself.” Jungkook crossed his arms.

“Nothing wrong with it, I just doubt you could ever be serious with someone.” Jimin shrugs.

“I’d be a better boyfriend than you.” Jungkook kicks Jimin's leg under the table.

“Yeah maybe when you’re fifty and decide it’s time to settle down.” Taehyung gives Jungkook a smirk.

“No way, I bet I could be a better boyfriend than all three of you.” Jungkook was getting too serious and Jimin and Taehyug smelt a challenge in the air.

“Wanna bet on it?” Jimin cocks his head to the side. It wasn’t unlike the three of them to make bets and they were always stupid.

“Aren’t we a little too old for bets?” Hoseok looks between the guys but he could already tell once Jimin raised the question, Jungkook was already locked into the idea.

“What are you thinking?” Jungkook leans his elbows on the table.

“I will bet a hundred dollars, that you couldn’t keep a girlfriend for more than two weeks.” Jimin states and Jungkook almost feels insulted.

“Come on, I can do better than that.” Jungkook goats Jimin, Jimin looks at Taehyung.

“I’ll buy in. 200 bucks.” Tahyung jumps on it.

“You guys are morons.” Hoseok shakes his head, Jungkook was up for the challenge but two weeks was insulting.

“No, I can keep a partner around for way longer than two weeks. Come on.”

“Okay, how about a month. We’ll make it 300 bucks if you can stay with the same girl for one month.” Jimin jumps on it, between him and Taehyung they would only be out one fifty each.

“But we get to pick who it is.” Taehyung quickly tacts on that little stipulation.

“What? No fair.” Jungkook pouts.

“Totally fair. Hobi weigh in on this.” Jimin nods his head to Hoseok who was hoping to stay invisible but it seems he has been brought on as the referee.

“I guess it makes sense, if you pick the girl it makes it too easy for you to win.” Hoseok logics it out but this definitely wasn’t starting to feel fair.

“Ugh fine.” Jungkook groaned, Jimin had extended his hand for a shake, Jungkook took it and they shook on the deal.

“Again, idiots.” Hoseok knew this was probably going to crash and burn and Jungkook would be out three hundred bucks. Jungkook was feeling very confident though and perhaps a little too competitive. He felt sure he could sucker these two out of three hundred bucks. As well as get to hang out with a pretty girl for a while. Putting on all of his best charm.

“So when do we start?” Jungkook looks between them.

“How about right now?” Jimin taps his glass.

While that played out, across the same bar, you were sitting at a booth with your friends.

Catching Jin up on your new promotion at work and your upcoming column to be. The bar was buzzing with life, the noise blending into a background hum as you spoke, but you could feel the excitement rising between you all.

“No way,” Jin’s face lit up as he scanned the photos of the old magazine article on your phone. You had snapped a few pictures to give him the full story, and now he was reading it with wide eyes, barely containing his amusement.

“Crazy, isn’t it?” Ronnie took a long sip of her cocktail, her expression still skeptical. She shook her head as if she still couldn’t wrap her mind around what you were planning. “I mean, I seriously can’t believe you’re going to go through with this.”

“Look,” you began defensively, though a smile tugged at your lips, “I know it’s a little out there, but Yoongi really thinks I can do this. He has his full faith in me.”

It was true. Despite the fact that this assignment would push you far outside of your comfort zone, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement and determination. It wasn’t going to be easy, but you were confident you could handle it.

Jin, still holding your phone, read aloud with a dramatic flair: “A friend of mine made a good point that I shouldn’t allow him to have a boys’ night, so I decided to get a key from his landlord to interrupt their game night!” He glanced up with an incredulous look. “She really got a key from his landlord? That’s insane!”

You snatched your phone back, eyes wide. “Okay, I’m not doing that!” you exclaimed, shaking your head. “I’m just going to be clingy, needy. I’m not breaking into anyone’s house!”

“Good for her, honestly,” Namjoon chimed in, cracking open a peanut from the bowl in front of him. “The guy she picked probably deserved it.”

Ronnie nudged him with her elbow. “Didn’t you read the end? She ended up falling in love with him! Realized she was wrong and that he didn’t deserve all that treatment.” Ronnie leaned back in her chair, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Classic.”

“Of course, she did,” Jin chuckled, taking another sip of his beer. His eyes flicked back to you, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “That’s totally going to be you.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I will not.”

“Please,” Jin said, laughing. “You’re such a gooey romantic. You fall in love so easily.”

Namjoon and Ronnie exchanged knowing glances, both trying—and failing—not to laugh. They knew better than anyone how quickly you could get swept up in a whirlwind of emotions. It wasn’t that you were naive, just hopelessly, undeniably romantic. And they were somewhat concerned about how this whole assignment might play out.

“Look, this is a professional column,” you said, crossing your arms defensively. “It’s not like I’m actually looking for anything serious. I just have to scare him off. That’s it.”

“Either that or he will be on bended knee by the end of it.” Namjoon teased.

“Very funny. That’s why I have you guys here though, help me pick someone.” You really did want some help on this part. If you got help picking the guy then maybe you could pick someone who it would be easy to let go of.

“How so?” Ronnie tilted her head at your request.

“Well knowing my luck I would accidentally pick a guy who is totally perfect for me and I really won’t be able to go through with it. If you guys pick then you could objectively find someone who is someone I would never go for.” You clap your hands together, hoping your explanation is enough.

“Oh I’m so in.” Jin rests his chin on his hands. “Plus this bar is packed, we could easily find someone tonight.”

“Well we won’t find him sitting here. Let’s go fish.” Ronnie stands from her seat offering a hand to you, Jin following close behind. The three of you taking a turn about the bar, making observations at some of the different groups that were here.

“Let’s see.” Ronnie taps her lips with her pointer finger and glances about the room as the three of you search from person to person. “Okay, guy at the bar. Sweater, cheesy and obviously cheap silver necklace.”

You and Jin both take a glance over to him, he seemed to be here alone. Looked nice enough, maybe a good choice. He seemed like a jock type, looked like he was trying with his looks a little too hard. You were considering it before Jin shook his head.

“Not him, hes rubbed his ring finger like four times.” Jin points, just at that moment the guy does it again, “He’s either married or just got divorced and looking for another wife. Next!”

“Touche.” You agree and the three of you glance around again. “Okay, how about that guy?”

You point to a small group of guys who seemed way deep into a game of pool. One of the guys sinks a cool shot into one of the pockets and he and another guy cheer too loudly, you were far away and you could still hear them. He looked like he was about to break his pool stick from excitement.

“Nevermind. Way too intense.” It would have been a good choice but you would probably end up dumping him before you could get any work done.

The three of you run through a few more guys as you walk around, all three of you seemed to find some reason to veto them again and again. Some were too close to your type and some were just too annoying for you to be able to stand them long enough to keep this ruse up.

“God slim pickings tonight.” You were getting exhausted. You were considering heading back to Namjoon at the table and coneiding for the night. Maybe sleep it off and try again at another bar tomorrow.

“We can do this.” Ronnie cheers trying to keep your spirits high. “This guy is here, I just know it.” She had had more to drink at this point, she's a pretty energetic drunk.

“I agree. No throwing in the towel yet.” Jin scans the room again, you guys had moved to many different spots and more people had moved in and out of the bar at this point.

Jin looked around from guy to guy. Jin frequented this bar often so he had a general sense of the people who were new and the people who frequented here often. He wasn’t sure himself who would work for this, they had to be the perfect combination of nice enough to stick it out but still a playboy or asshole enough that you wouldn’t fall for them. Someone who maybe deserved a little bit of torture. Someone who needed a little due karma.

He waited for a moment, maybe all three of you just needed to let the guy reveal himself. Before Jin thought it was hopeless was just when he got exactly what he asked for.

Jungkook was making his way over to the bar.

“Bingo.” Jin whispered. Jungkook had left the table with his friends, the booth was tucked away in the corner so it was no wonder he didn't notice them before. “That’s the guy.”

“Who?” You ask and then Jin points his finger, tracking Jungkook to the end of the bar. You watched him order from the bartender and then casually wait for a moment.

“He’s perfect.” Jin was confident.

“He’s cute?” Ronnie nods, Jin rolling his eyes at her. “What am I wrong?”

He was very cute you thought, he sported this leather jacket and dark jean look. Large boots, it wasn’t your usually clean cut look that you enjoyed but you understood the appeal of it.

“Okay why him?” You ask looking at Jin.

“I’ve seen him here a lot. Always comes with a group of friends, but he never leaves alone. Never the same girl twice. I thought he stopped coming around, but nope. Looks like he’s still at it. His name’s something like Jungkook.” Jin places both hands on your shoulders, looking you dead in the eye. “Total Casanova. Leaves behind a trail of broken hearts.”

Ronnie raises an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t that make it harder to keep him around for thirty days?”

“Not necessarily,” you say, the wheels turning in your head. “I just need him to dump me within thirty days. He doesn’t have to stick around for all thirty.”

“Longest I saw him entertain a girl for was maybe two weeks? That’s exactly what you need.” Jin shakes your shoulders and you laugh at the movement, almost dizzy after your two drinks.

A playboy type who can’t commit for more than two weeks. It was exactly what you needed, and lucky for you you wouldn’t need to feel bad about maybe annoying him too much. You needed him to dump you no matter what. Could be fun after all, messing with a guy who is a fuckboy that Jin has seen around could be almost a perfect karma for this guy.

“Perfect.” You say with a sly smile as you watch him walk back to his group balancing a few drinks in his arms along the way.

Jungkook managed to set the drinks down gently, “Here you go boys.”

He passed the drinks outs but Jimin and Taehyung were deliberating about something. Jungkook looked between them and looked to Hobi for confirmation. Hoseok wasn’t totally sure what their hushed conversation was about.

“I don’t know, seems like he could make that work too well.” Jungkook could barely make out the sentence coming from Tae.

“No it has to be someone like that.” Jimin adds on and then they both seem to come to some silent agreement. Both sitting up straight in their spots.

“What are you two whispering about?” Jungkook breaks the silence and they both have big grins on their faces, Taehyung is looking over the back of the booth to the bar.

“Okay we have made a decision.” Jimin puts on an announcer voice, holding his glass like a microphone.

“You picked someone? Already?” Jungkook was surprised they had come to an agreement on this so quickly.

Taehyung looks back to Jungkook and nods, “Over there, short maroon dress. Waiting at the bar. Has a tall guy and another girl, dark hair and black dress with her.” Taehyung points and Jungkook looks.

It takes him a moment, but then he spots you, mid-laugh about something with your friends. A small smile tugs at his lips—you were undeniably cute. There’s something polished about the way you’ve styled yourself, striking a balance between playful and sophisticated. To Jungkook, though, you scream commitment. Your look isn’t meant to turn heads; it’s just confident. It’s a stark contrast to the more overtly flirty, bold style he usually goes for. That makes him curious—why would Jimin and Taehyung pick someone who seems so... relationship-minded?

“Her really?” He looked back at both of them. “Do you want to just hand me the three hundred dollars now?”

“I know you think it will be easy, but that is the type of girl who wants marriage. I think her need for a commitment is going to send you running.” Jimin rubs his hands together evilly.

Jungkook looks back to you again, thinking. Jungkook felt like he could very well be committed, he could do it probably better than most people. He just hasn’t wanted to or hasn’t had the time too.

“I will be Mr. Marriage Material from here on out.” Jungkook downs the rest of his beer, “Be ready to put your money where your mouth is.”

Jungkook stands up and leaves the table, they watch him go to work. Taehyung was now nervous and Hoseok was not even sure what he was watching anymore. Also confused by Jimin's choice.

“Okay, I gotta say he has a point.” Hoseok leans back to Jimin.

“Yeah now I’m kind of nervous.” Taehyung rubbed his neck, watching Jungkook who was waiting for an opportunity to maybe get a chance encounter with you. The two friends hovering around you weren’t making it easy.

“Trust me. I’ve seen that girl here before.” Jimin smiles.

“Do you know her?” Hoseok raised an eyebrow to him, now even more curious.

“Not at all, but I tried hitting on her once. Very sweet, turned me down though. Seriously, the moment I walked up she read me like an open book.” This was earlier this year and Jimin didn’t care, he had some personal things going on and did it on a whim. You immediately saw through his tactics and called him out on it.

“What did she do?” Taehyung became nervous.

“I tried hitting her with a line, and she just looked at me and laughed. Honestly, I might’ve been offended if she hadn’t been so sweet about it. She even apologized! Said she could tell I wasn’t serious. Sent me on my way before I could even react. I swear, I was a little dizzy afterward.”

“Oh wow.” Hoseok is putting the pieces together now. “Okay, I see, so she is going to see through Jungkook right away.”

“Exactly,” Jimin raises his glass, “If he gives off even a whiff of insincerity. She won’t give him the time of day. She very clearly wants someone who is into the long term relationship game and Jungkook… never will be.”

“So you’re not concerned, not even a little bit?” Taehyung asks one more time.

“Not even slightly.” Jimin clinked his glass against Taehyungs.

“So how is this going to work?” Ronnie looks between you and Jin.

“I’m not sure. What else do you know about him?” You look to Jin for advice on this. You came here sometimes but you weren’t as much of a frequent flier as Jin.

“Hmm, unfortunately I usually see him hit on girls who are more… obviously here for something casual.” He gestures towards another girl at the bar, she was dressed very differently than you were. More revealing, nothing wrong with that but it was starkly different to your look.

“So maybe it's a lost cause?” You frown.

“Absolutely not.” Ronnie protested waving her hand back and forth.

“Just means you might have to be the bold one. Instead of him coming to you, you go after him.” Jin nodded and rubbed his chin.

You stifled a laugh, “Yeah right.” Not like you couldn’t approach someone but it was still nerve racking. “I can’t do that.”

“It’ll be so easy. Looks he’s already coming over to the bar.” Ronnie nodded her head in his direction very subtly. You take a look from the corner of your eye and it was true. You turned your head pretending to see something else but catching a glance at him standing at the end of the bar, waiting.

Jungkook sees you look his direction and pretends to be occupied with something else.

“Okay well if this is going to work, shew.” You wave your hands for the both of them to head back to the table, you take an empty spot in front of the bar.

“Do you really think she can go up to him?” Ronnie nudged Jin, both of them push their way back to the table where Namjoon had been waiting.

“Definitely. Well… normally I’d say no but she’s so determined I think she can pull it off.” Jin looks back at you ordering another drink.

Once they both make it back to the table Namjoon takes notice, “Did she find someone?”

“Yes, he’s so cute.” Ronnie gushes.

“Too bad she has to get rid of him.” Jin shrugs as they all take their places and watch you from afar.

“I know.” Ronnie sighs.

“So what’s the plan?” Namjoon raises an eyebrow.

“She’s working up the courage to go up to him. I’ve seen the guy around before and he’s not really into her type. So she has to be bold.” Jin explains again, he looks over to Jungkook.

Jin takes notice that Jungkook has already noticed you. He finds it odd for a moment before he sees Jungkook start to move.

“Unless…” Jin starts.

“Oh looks like he’s making a move.” Hoseok gestures over to Jungkook. He pushes himself off the end of the bar to start moving to you but gets cut off by a group moving close to the bar.

“Let the games begin.” Jimin raises his glass. “We might make our money tonight.”

“Cross our fingers.” Taehyung chuckles and takes a sip of his drink.

“If he doesn’t blow smoke out of his ass you guys might be in for a long month.” Hoseok tilts his head watching Jungkook try to maneuver his way over to you. You were just barely getting a drink from the bartender.

From their end of the bar, your friends could see it happening in real time—Jungkook making his way toward you, not without some difficulty from the proximity of other people. They couldn’t help but laugh at his struggle.

“God, he’s like a moth to a flame,” Jin chuckled, crossing his arms. “Poor guy doesn’t even know what's going to happen.”

“Doubt it,” Ronnie added, leaning forward. “Y/N’s got this in the bag. He won’t know what hit him.”

Meanwhile, you weren’t so convinced that Jungkook was actually coming for you. After all, the girl beside you fit the typical type he seemed to gravitate toward—flirty, dressed to kill, and definitely giving him the look. Still, you had a plan brewing in your mind. If he wasn’t going to make the first move, you’d force his hand.

With a slight pivot on your heel right as he came up, you forced your shoulder into his chest. Just enough to stumble.

“Oh my god.” You gasp, steadying your drink that had split on your hand, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t spill on you did I?”

Jungkook’s initial reaction was a mix of surprise and awkward laughter. “Hey, no problem,” he said, chuckling. “Just missed the splash zone.”

“I swear I have two left feet these days.” You tuck some of your hair behind your ear. Faking your embarrassment, setting your drink down and getting a napkin.

“Well it’s a good thing I have two right feet.” Jungkook easing the tension and you laugh under your breath.

“You always this quick on your feet?” You tilted your head, offering him your hand—the one free of any cocktail spillage. “I’m Y/N.”

“Jungkook.” He took your hand with a grin, his gaze flickering over you like he was sizing up a challenge. He didn’t let go right away.

Now that he was closer, you could really take him in. He was infuriatingly attractive—the type you’d usually avoid for your own good. The type who knew he had an edge and knew how to use it.

Now that Jungkook could get a closer look at you, he just thought that you were pretty. Pretty hair, eyes, lips. All of you was just pretty and sweet. Could see that pink glowing heart of yours on your sleeve.

“What brings you here?” He leaned an arm against the bar, his stance casual yet deliberate, like he was marking his territory. His gaze pinned you down, leaving you no room to escape.

“Just out with friends, a celebration of sorts.” You turn and point to them, the three of them suddenly acting like their drinks were so interesting to look at.

“What’s the occasion?” He didn’t even glance at them; his focus was still fully on you. The intense eye contact actually makes you nervous.

“My promotion,” Smiling like it was the full truth. Or rather, the promotion standing right in front of you.

He nodded, flashing a grin. “Congrats. Big deal?”

“Very big.” You rested your hand on the bar near his, just brushing the surface between you. “What about you? Out celebrating something too?”

“Just out with friends.” Jungkook gestured back to his own group at the other end of the bar. You followed his gaze, recognizing one of the guys, though you couldn’t place from where.

“I should let you get back to them.” you teased lightly, leaning ever so slightly away from him.

He tilted his head with a grin, clearly not interested in letting you go that easily. “Why rush? I wasn’t planning to be gone long, but then I got the wind knocked out of me.”

You smirked, feeling the heat of his gaze on you as you playfully patted your shoulder. “Just practicing for my football career.”

“Not a football fan but I’d watch those games.” Jungkook was going to make some form of physical contact, which is what he would have done by now but he held back. He could tell that’s not something you would appreciate.“Let me buy you another one. Since you lost half of the that one because of me.”

“That’s very sweet.” You wanted to test the limits you had with him here, would he chase you? “But I should get back. My friends may think I ran off.”

“So soon?” He tilted his head at your sudden retreat.

“You seem nice,” You start and lean close, “I think I’m just looking for something… more serious.”

“Who's to say I’m not serious?” He gives you a puzzled expression. Jungkook had done so good with women lately that it felt strange to see such a sudden retraction.

You tilted your head, a teasing smile playing at your lips. “I’ve seen you around. I know your type.”

A lie. Considering you hadn’t seen him before tonight, you wanted to see if he would bite.

“So you’ve noticed me?” He stuck his tongue into the side of his cheek.

“I’m just saying I know your type.”

“What if I am serious? You’d be running away before you could find out.” He flirted, a boyish grin on his face that dripped confidence. He was actually nervous, and the three hundred dollar bill hanging over his head was adding some pressure.

You giggled, leaning back slightly as you took a slow sip of your drink, eyes locked on his over the rim. “You don’t strike me to be serious about much of anything.”

His gaze flicked to your lips before returning to your eyes, his voice softer now, “What if I want to prove you wrong?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Prove me wrong? You barely know me.”

He smirked, stepping a little closer, just enough to make the air between you crackle with tension. “Isn’t that half the fun? Getting to know someone new?”

“What makes you think I want to get to know you?”

“Call it intuition.”

Any other time, a guy like this coming up to you would have meant an immediate shut down from you. They were never serious, and they only ever wanted to hook up and never speak again. Tonight though Jungkook needed to be the bug caught in your web.

You pretended to mull it over, tapping the rim of your glass with your finger. “Hmm... cute line.”

“Not a line,” he shot back, more serious now. “But seriously, let me buy you a new drink?”

You were about to decline, but his eyes held yours, that quiet confidence making you hesitate just a second too long.

“Fine,” you said, sighing like you were giving in, but the small smirk tugging at your lips told him otherwise. “But you’re still going to have to work for it.”

“I plan to.” Jungkook leaned in just a fraction, his voice dropping. “Let me get your number. I’ll take you out, show you what I mean by serious.”

You fake contemplation and act like you really needed time to think about it, sucker. You tap the rim of your glass for a moment before you reach your free hand out to him, gesturing for his phone. Jungkook takes the silent victory and pulls his phone out, opening it for you. With a few quick taps and your contact information solidified in his phone.

The deed had been done.

“Don’t disappoint me,” you said, handing it back, your tone playful but carrying an edge of warning.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Have a goodnight Jungkook.” Turning on your heel leaving him there and just letting him watch you go. You b-line straight back to your table.

Jungkook was feeling good and felt like this was going to be a breeze of a month. He had to make sure that first date went well first. He would put on his best boyfriend face forward, it’s not that he couldn’t do it like everyone thought. It’s just been a long time since he last had the chance too.

He made his way back over to his own table, he put on a fake sad face as he took his seat back next to Taehyung.

“Strike out did you?” Hoseok patted him on the shoulder in comfort.

“Yeah… struck off the first day of the month.” Jungkook raised his phone, revealing your phone number. Jungkook, a smug grin on his face.

“I’m surprised.” Jimin sat in quiet contemplation, “But it won’t last.”

“She’s cute. You guys should have picked more carefully.” Jungkook sighed, looking back into the bar in the direction of your friends and your table. Your back was to him so he couldn’t catch a glimpse of you.

He then remembered he still owed you a drink.

Across the bar you settled back in with your friends.

“I caught the whale boys.” You take a small bow and small cheers round around the table.

“Congratulations.” Namjoon cheers you, hitting his glass with yours.

Your friends leaned in, eager for the play-by-play of your encounter. You gave them the rundown. Ronnie, the first to break the silence, grinned and raised his glass in admiration.

“That was smooth, Y/N. You had him wrapped around your finger.”

You chuckled, taking a slow sip of your drink. “It’s even better that he thinks he’s in control. There's no way he was actually serious but a fun flirt.”

Jin shook his head, a mixture of amusement and awe on his face. “You’re scary when you’re confident. I’m glad I’m on your side.”

“So what’s the next step in this little experiment of yours?” Ronnie asked, clearly invested in the unfolding drama.

“Well,” you began, swirling your drink in thought, “I wait for him to reach out. Then I’ll play it cool on the first date, get him comfortable.”

“Why play it cool?” Namjoon asked, eyebrows raised.

“Because,” you smirked, “if I’m too much, too fast, he’ll bolt. But if I ease him in, I’ll have time to start slowly being weird.”

Just then, a waitress appeared, sliding a pretty pink drink in front of you. “This one’s from the guy across the bar,” she said, nodding toward Jungkook, who was leaning against the counter, already watching you. “He said you’d know him.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the boldness. Lifting the glass slightly, you gave him a small, acknowledging wave, your friends immediately picking up on the gesture.

“What’s it called?” you asked, eyes still locked on Jungkook.

The waitress grinned. “It’s a Cosmic Encounter.”

“How pretty.” you muttered, a playful smirk forming. You brought the glass to your lips, not breaking eye contact with Jungkook as you took a sip. The sweetness of the drink contrasted sharply with the building tension between the two of you.

If the circumstances were different you may let yourself swoon at the gesture. Picking a cute drink for you. You may try to see if you really could get him to be serious. This was not that though, this was all business and you would have to continue to remind yourself.

Ronnie was the first to speak up again, a wide grin spreading across his face. “I’ll admit, he’s got moves.”

“Just don’t forget this is what he does.” Jin knowing how you are, felt the reminder needed to be put out there. That this is all temporary.

Just as you were about to continue, your phone buzzed softly in your hand. A text. Your eyes drifted down to the screen, and sure enough, it was Jungkook.

Jungkook: Hope you like it… when are you free next?

You couldn’t help the smirk that spread across your lips. “Speak of the devil.”

Namjoon leaned over. “Already? He really wasted no time.”

“Faster than I thought,” you admitted, typing a quick reply.

:We’ll see, Jungkook. Maybe I’m busy.

The thrill of the chase was intoxicating, and as you sent the message, you could feel the game picking up speed. Both of you were circling each other, waiting for the right moment to strike.

You had no doubt, you were going to eat Jungkook alive.

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