#it won't be GOOD but i'll finish it if it kills me

[richea]

[Translation] Kratos of the Expiation: Prologue-Chapter 1 part 1

This begins my efforts to translate the Tales of Symphonia novel, Shokuzai no Kratos, written by the game's scenario writer, Takumi Miyajima.

Some disclaimers:

I have other projects I'm working on alongside this, so I won't make any promise to get this translated in a timely manner, or that I'll finish it at all (though in a perfect world, I would love to; I had a lot of fun translating this first part!). If I do the whole thing, I'll share my original document, which will have an edited version of the text you'll read below. Think of this as a first draft.

I've never translated a novel before nor am I much of a creative writer, so I apologize in advance if it's an awkward read. I focused heavily on making sure Miyajima's words got across as intended, but given Japanese novels are written differently from English ones, I don't want to put too many words in her mouth here.

The book has 7 chapters and a prologue and epilogue, but as each chapter is really long (about 40 pages each), I'll be sharing the book in its smaller, also numbered parts. So, this is the prologue and part 1/37. My word processor says this alone is around 3300 words.

I want to give a huge thank you to Kevan33 for providing me with scans for this, which allowed me to translate it so much easier.

Without further ado, here's the summary and character introductions, and then the story itself!

Summary

Long ago, Mithos, the hero, brought about the end of the Ancient War in the Holy Ground of Kharlan. As a result, the world was split in two―as Sylvarant and Tethe’alla. However, the worlds exist akin to a waning hourglass, with one of them prospering and the other in decline. It has been 4,000 years since the end of the Ancient War, and now Sylvarant is on the path to ruin, as it has run low on its life-sustaining mana. It is in these circumstances that Kratos will descend unto Sylvarant and have a fateful, unexpected reunion! This is a side story which tells Kratos’ side of the story, who was a key character in the original game. The feelings he’s hidden in his heart will finally be revealed to all!

Cast

Kratos Aurion: This story’s protagonist. A traveling mercenary and remarkable swordsman who was hired to protect Colette on her journey. His true identity is one of the Four Heroes who ended the Ancient War 4,000 years ago, as well as an angel of Cruxis―one of the Four Seraphim.

Lloyd Irving: A young man from the village of Iselia. His grades in school are poor, but he’s quick-witted and good at making the right decision on the fly. Due to certain circumstances, he accompanies Colette on her Journey of World Regeneration.

Yggdrasill: The leader of Cruxis and one of the members of the Four Seraphim. He is Mithos the Hero who brought about the end of the Ancient War, as well as the person who split the world in two, orchestrating this system the world currently runs by.

Yuan Ka-Fai: Leader of the Renegades, which opposes Cruxis. He was one of the Four Heroes and is one of the Four Seraphim.

Martel Yggdrasill: Yggdrasill’s sister. She died 4,000 years ago when humans betrayed and killed her.

Genis Sage: A best friend of Lloyd and Colette. One of the smartest people in his village. He uses magic.

Raine Sage: Genis’ sister. She’s the only teacher in Iselia, so everyone calls her Professor.

Colette Brunel: Sylvarant’s Chosen. She leaves her hometown to go on the Journey of World Regeneration.

Zelos Wilder: Tethe’alla’s Chosen. He hangs around with Lloyd’s group as a spy for Cruxis.

Prologue

The boy introduced himself as Lloyd Irving.

We met in the small, remote village of Iselia. Back when the Sylvarant Dynasty held its rule, it was a prospering village deemed as the headquarters of the Church of Martel. Now it’s but a desolate village, with such a tale only to be seen as an attraction at best.

There were a number of things that led to this state. What brought about the fall of the Sylvarant Dynasty was a decrease in the world’s life-sustaining mana. This led to environmental changes, poor crops, and eventually poverty to the people. Iselia was not the only place that was affected by these changes. The land of Sylvarant―once famed as a kingdom of its own right―slowly slipped down the path of desolation.

What spurred this series of events was a group known as the Desians. The organization, rumored to consist primarily of half-elves, is known to kidnap people from all over the world and place them in institutions known as human ranches. While it’s unknown to the common folk what takes place in these institutions, fear is struck in the hearts of those who see the Desians, as it is fabled by the Church of Martel that the end of the world is coming should they lurk around.

Yes; Sylvarant is on the path of desolation. Within these circumstances, there exists the promised land of Iselia, which is the only place in which salvation may be brought about. The hope for this world is being fostered within Iselia’s land.

The sound of grass being trampled from far away could be heard. It was such a quiet sound, unable to be picked up by human ears.

Kratos Aurion slowly opened his eyes. Deep within the forest, the distant shadows of the leaves shook.

Are you coming, Lloyd?

Thinking of him, Kratos found himself oddly content. A sense of relief washed over him, that finally, the end was approaching. He felt elated, though could not place a finger on why. He had regained his sense of hope, which he had been convinced was long gone. However, the important step in achieving said hope was yet to come.

The footsteps grew louder. At this, all of the forest dwellers collectively fled in response. They could tell that within this tranquil forest, something big was about to happen.

The air seemed to turn tense as a mass of figures approached. A group of eight―all being different ages and genders―approached with stern looks on their faces. The one leading the pact was Lloyd.

The boy’s name seemed ordinary enough, but to Kratos it held deeper meaning. “Irving” was the surname of his late wife. “Lloyd” was the name of the child Kratos thought to have lost.

Lloyd and his friends were on a journey to carry out what they believed to be world salvation.

I wonder if they've brought about salvation yet?

No. The end hasn’t even begun yet.

Kratos rose and approached Lloyd and his friends, in order to see their “salvation” through to the end.

Chapter 1

Part 1 of 6

It’s a wonder just how many people would believe it if they were told the world had been split into two. Many would likely laugh it off, claiming it to be a fairy tale. The land seems unsifted, and there’s no crevices to be seen after all. Nobody would dare suggest the moon in the sky is actually another planet, would they?

Even a fairy tale would require an allegory to hold its basis.

The truth of the matter is that the world had been split in two. The dimensional rift had been cut through, pushing the planets into an orbit. The two worlds exist on a plane together, never to see or touch the other. Despite this, the two worlds do in fact coexist alongside each other. One of these worlds is, for convenience, known as Sylvarant. This world was ruled by the old Sylvarant Kingdom and its allied nations. The other is Tethe’alla. Like with Sylvarant, this world too was ruled by the kingdom of Tethe’alla, and got its name as such.

“These two worlds, as well as our planet of Derris-Kharlan, are ruled by Lord Yggdrasill.”

The angel known as Adol was explaining the structure of Cruxis to a group of newly awakened angels. Kratos was watching them through a monitor, and shook his head exhaustedly.

This was a ritual he had seen far too many times at this point. Over the course of 4,000 years, here on Derris-Kharlan, he had watched as a number of living beings known as angels were born. No, perhaps that’s not the right way to describe it―he had watched as many people had undergone a transformation to turn into the lifeless beings known as angels.

Thankfully, the number wasn’t too high. A tool known as the Cruxis Crystal was required to turn people into angels, of which there weren’t many to spare. With them being so scarce and precious, only selected individuals were allowed to become angels. From there, the angels would undergo special training and become soldiers, fighting to support Cruxis.

Kratos was one of those angels himself. He had a different position than the other angels, however. He was famed as one of the Four Seraphim, the highest rank within Cruxis, and operated directly under the world’s leader―Mithos Yggdrasill.

“Through the Church of Martel, our job is to guide the people of both Sylvarant and Tethe’alla. This does not only apply to half-elves, but extends to elves and humans alike. We will guide them down the proper path, to one day make our Age of Lifeless Beings a reality. A great weight lies upon all of your shoulders.”

Not a single person was moved by Adol’s words. At first, lifeless beings―rather, angels―have their emotions almost entirely suppressed. It takes great strength and time to gain control over those emotions once more. There are some who go the rest of their lives never regaining theirs.

“Lord Kratos.”

An angel appeared on his projector―one with white wings. Kratos instantly identified him as an inexperienced angel. When a person turns into an angel, numerous functions of their body undergo a change. One of these is adjusting the distribution of mana in the body to produce wings, allowing them to pull them out as needed in order to fly. However, if one uses their wings too much, their bodily mana materializes the wings and makes it a permanent part of the body. One of the key functions of turning into an angel is being able to control various bodily functions, though the reality of it is that many are unable to control them properly. A large number of the angels within Cruxis have wings like the man Kratos sees here.

“What is it?”

“Lord Yggdrasill has summoned you.”

“...Understood.”

The messenger angel bowed and disappeared. Kratos turned off the video on his monitor and left his office.

A throne of darkness, suspended in the empty sky. What you’ll find in the deepest part of Derris-Kharlan―far beyond Welgaia, where Cruxis’ angels live―is Vinheim. This was where the castle of Yggdrasill, the man who split the worlds into two and ruler of both, resided.

As Kratos stepped towards the throne, Yggdrasill leaned on the armrest as a calm smile crawled onto his face.

“You’ve come, Kratos.”

That languid voice of his was the same as ever. It was the same as it was when Kratos deflected 70 years ago. Though the light in his green eyes shone differently than normal.

“Kratos Aurion, reporting for duty.”

Kratos stepped closer to the throne and kneeled in front of it. This exchange of formalities was something he had done in submission to the man over the course of the past 15 years.

“There’s no need for such formalities. I called you here today to talk about our past.”

At this, Kratos’ leader―rather, the leader of the entire world―Yggdrasill suddenly rose to his feet.

“Do you remember the day we first met, Kratos?”

As Kratos nodded, the man famed as a ruler effortlessly changed his form. His once tall figure shrunk in the blink of an eye, and his limbs shrunk with it.

“It was in the imperial capital of Tethe’alla. I was still a child, who knew no fear and who truly believed in the goodness of humanity. Since the worlds had yet to be split, the two countries ravaged in a revolting, long-lasting war.”

What stood before Kratos wasn’t the beautiful young man who was a ruler. It was a petite 14-year-old boy.

Seeing this transformation always horrified Kratos. What he feared wasn’t Yggdrasill, but instead the lifeless beings known as Cruxis Crystals, which allowed the body to transform in such a way.

When the elves in ancient times moved from Derris-Kharlan to the earth, they first planted the Giant Kharlan Tree―the source of mana―and then brought along many crafts and techniques. One of those was the material known as Exspheres. However, over the course of 5,000 years, the knowledge of their intended use and what they were originally made for became lost to time. All that was left was the knowledge that they were advanced beings. They became known as a thing that could protect its user and elevate their abilities to the maximum. Such a thing was then turned into weapons of combat during the Kharlan Wars, which occurred 5,000 years ago.

What brewed was an intermittent yet vicious conflict between Sylvarant and Tethe’alla. In order to get the upper hand, both sides developed magitechnology based weapons, and research developments led to Exspheres finding new use cases. Cruxis Crystals were developed in order to allow soldiers who equipped them to become even stronger and turn into angels. Those who equipped Cruxis Crystals would undergo a physical, battle-ready transformation into an angel, allowing them to also manipulate their hearing, vision, and sense of pain at will. On top of this, those with a strong compatibility with the crystals would be able to control their internal clock at will.

The ability to change one’s internal clock―what a terrifying thing that was. It almost felt as if people had reached into a god’s domain.

“What’s wrong, Kratos?”

Yggdrasill tilted his head at Kratos, whose face was warped with agony.

“Watching me change form surely isn’t that surprising. Or does it hurt to see me in this form?”

Kratos cast his eyes downward.

It’d be a lie to deny such a thing. The young boy in front of him now looked exactly like the Mithos Yggdrasill he had traveled with so long ago. Some part of Kratos tried hard to separate the two in his head―Mithos, the young boy who worked tirelessly to save the world and was famed as a hero, and Mithos, the young man who fell into despair and cast away his humanity in favor of playing a poor imitation at god.

This was pure sophistry. Kratos knew this. However, it’s all he could manage to give himself even a little peace of mind. He didn’t need to slip further and make any more mistakes.

“I see. So it does hurt you. If you really feel that way, you surely won’t betray me again, right?”

He said this in a fondly-remembered tone of voice, and it felt like something was stabbing Kratos’ heart.

“Back then, you resigned as a knight for the Tethe’alla Kingdom and joined up with us. It was you who said you’d make a place where all of us half-elves could live in peace, and that to that end, your power was ours to use however fit.”

“...Indeed I did say that.”

“Then surely you know where I’m going with this. The Age of Lifeless Beings I’m creating will rid all of the discrimination half-elves face. It’ll be a utopia where everyone can live in peace.”

Facing the ground, Kratos debated on whether or not to voice the words that were forming deep in his throat. Mithos paid it no heed and continued on.

“Soon, Sylvarant’s Chosen will receive the oracle.”

At this, Kratos snapped his head up. Yggdrasill smiled at him, now in his angel form.

“This Chosen of Regeneration is a 99.999999999% match. This is even closer than the Chosen Spiritua was. This time, we’ll succeed. My sister will finally be revived.”

The revival of Yggdrasill’s sister―Martel Yggdrasill―held a lot of meaning. The reason the world was still split into two was all for Martel’s sake. One huge mistake made 4,000 years ago changed everything.

When the elves planted the Giant Kharlan Tree on this world, mana brought forth lifeforms and completely changed the nature of the planet. Mana was used to power magic and magitechnology, and before long, mana itself had been overused. This overuse led to the fountain of all life, the Giant Kharlan Tree, withering.

“We were only ever fighting to save the Giant Kharlan Tree. We got our hands on the Great Seed, and were going to plant it to bring forth a new tree. But of course, humans wanted to hog the mana all for themselves, and they killed my sister, who was protecting the seed...”

Mithos’ tranquil face warped with hatred and disgust.

“But I’m so nice that I’m allowing those vermin to live. In fact, I’m such a nice guy, I’m even inviting them into my Age of Lifeless Beings. I’ve given them the compromise of a lifetime, Kratos. Martel exists as part of the Great Seed. The Great Seed is Martel herself. If I was any meaner, I would never share the mana from the Great Seed with those disgusting humans. But I’ve gone ahead and split the world into two, so that they can share the mana that comes from it.”

“Thanks to your system, one world is always suffering, while the other is prospering.”

“That’s what the Chosen is for. The Journey of Regeneration is one that reverses the flow of mana. When one world weakens, the mana from that world flows to the other. It’s like an hourglass. This is all we can do to keep our precious supply of mana from running out completely. You said you were on board with this, did you not?”

“Yes, as a temporary solution―”

“Oh, and it is temporary, I assure you. I already promised you―when my sister is revived, I’ll return the world back to normal. When she has a new body, there will be no need to protect the Great Seed as I am now. I’ll reunite the worlds into one and geminate it, allowing the Giant Kharlan Tree to grow. Then, my discrimination-free Age of Lifeless Beings will be born on earth...”

Mithos sat down on his throne, now in his child form. The throne was far too large for such a tiny body. Realizing this filled Kratos with a strange sense of sorrow.

“This Journey of Regeneration is not allowed to fail. If it does, we’ll lose the vessel for Martel’s soul, and this will spring us into another indefinite time frame of trying to make another. If that happens, the joined world you wish for so badly will be a long, long way off. So nobody is allowed to get in our way. Not even those rats.”

“You refer to the Renegades, I presume?”

“Yes. They camouflage themselves as Desians and do all sorts of things. You know of them?”

“I’ve received reports of them infiltrating all of the human ranches and stealing Exspheres.”

“Such a slacker, aren’t you, Kratos? Rats are to be exterminated.”

“I am sorry.”

“It’s fine. What they do matters little to me. Their tendency to kill Chosens is pesky, though. Therefore, I want you to escort this next Chosen for me. Protect her, guide her, and help her through the angel transformation as smoothly as possible.”

“I’m the overseer of Sylvarant, though. If I were to go on the Journey of Regeneration, Pronyma would have to be the one to put the Desians into motion.”

“I will handle that myself. Protecting the Chosen is our top priority. Surely you know this. Following my orders is what will allow you to see your dreams come true.”

To return the world to its proper state―this required fulfilling Mithos’ wish of reviving Martel, and it was the correct path to take. No; perhaps he had just lost the will to choose another path. Kratos had no means of defying such a path.

[thelvadams]

how the ambitious gifset looks in my head vs when i post it

[the-drowsy-captains-art]

Good Ending Painting

Painting redraw! I got a wee bit carried away :3

[eggmeralda]

do you ever feel casually suicidal? like you're not depressed or anything you're doing fine but also it feels like a convenient option

[watercolor-hearts]

.

[selineram3421]

здраствуйте можно сделать реакцию на ревность аластора

Translated:

Hi, can I get a reaction to Alastor's jealousy?

Yes.

Jealousy Headcanon 1

Alastor X Reader

Warning! ⚠

⚠ platonic to romantic, violence, all caps in bold italics = SOUND EFFECTS, implied torture/murder, gore? eyeballs, possessive? Alastor wants all of your attention ⚠

Alastor has never felt jealous! How absurd of you to think that! Hahaha! Ha... Who is that demon taking up your attention?

He always had your attention.

You could be talking to the Princess but still focus on him.

Hell, you could be checking in a guest and still keep up with his tale of the day.

But now it was quite odd.

There was a demon coming by the hotel, not to see if they were interested in the cause but to use up his friend's precious time.

Even now the beastly thing walked up to the check in counter and started up a conversation with you.

He watched from the bar.

"Hey! I see its dead as ever in here.", the dragon demon grinned as they leaned on the counter.

"Not true~", you had replied. "I checked in four new guests!"

Yes, you had a knack of persuasion. Able to convince many to do almost anything. Sometimes even him.

"Oh yeah? How many sinners walked in?", the scaled creature leaned close.

Far too close for his liking.

"I just told you how many.", you replied and placed a finger on the dragon's snout, pushing them back as well. "Personal space."

He didn't like this demon.

Everything about them set something off. Their manners, their way of speaking, the way they move-

"Oh come on, I don't bite sugar cake~", the beast took your hand and kissed their way up to your elbow.

The way they t̵̬̥̻͂̿̈́ȏ̴̒͠u̸c̷̈́̊̆́̓͘h̷e̴̖̖͒̓͂͋̎ḑ̴̣̋͜ you.

"Nope!", you yanked your arm away and held it close. "None of that.", you laughed nervously with an uncomfortable smile.

It looked wrong. Your smile should be a happy one.

"I said I don't bite!", they laughed and tried to grab at your arm again. "You know I'm messing! When's your break?", they leaned over the counter, still trying to get at something to pull you closer. "I know a good bar to go to, or we can go to the club! I'd like to see your ass in something a little less-"

"Ew, no.", you rejected and backed away.

"Come on!", they started to climb on the counter. "Its just one time! I'll even help you get in and out of your clothes.", they grabbed onto your sleeve.

That's ENOUGH!

He quickly shadow traveled and snatched the wrist of the dragon.

"I believe they said no."

The beast growled with a sneer before looking at him, freezing up once realizing who had their wrist.

"I was just joking man. Haha..", the dragon looked between him and you. "I understand! I'll back away. The slut is yours."

"Excuse me!?", you said angrily.

His antlers grew, the low static that hummed now raising up in volume.

"₵₳ⱤɆ ₮Ø ⱤɆ₱Ɇ₳₮ ₮Ⱨ₳₮?"

"The slut-"

SNAP

He held the demon's snout shut as they screamed and cried over their broken wrist.

"Now, there is a no killing rule in the hotel.", he said and then grinned menacingly. "But that doesn't apply outside."

His smile widened after seeing the panic in their eyes.

"Dear.", he turned to face you. "Has this guest overstayed their welcome?"

You stared at the beast with such a terrifyingly hateful glare.

"Yes they have.", you replied, crossing your arms. "I'd like to keep a souvenir, for memories."

And then you gave him that lovely smile.

"Alastor, do you think you could get me a dragon eye or two? I hear they make nice details to things."

"I'll make sure to get them.", he released the demon, only for his tendrils to take hold of them. "I won't be long.", he reassured, lifting up your hand to kiss the back of it.

He saw you blush before he 'escorted' the demon outside.

After finishing up (and calling Niffty to clean up), he returned with two freshly picked dragon eyes.

You thanked him with an odd little gleam in your eyes. No doubt your mind jumping idea to idea of what you could create with them.

Now with the pest gone, he would have your attention again.

Just like he wanted

"Thank you Alastor. I'll be able to make something interesting with these."

"I can't wait to see what you make this time."

Perhaps he'll ask you that question sooner than later.

Of course he has to prepare everything to properly court you.

I am using a website to translate requests. Please let me know if I have translated anything wrong.

~Seline, the person.

Taglist@

@willowaudreykeyes @biromanticboba @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @ducky-died-inside @scary-noodlesblog @lbcreations-blog @c4rved-pumpk1n @stolas-thebirb @+?

ML for Alastor🎙

[talaok]

Old Man

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel needs glasses but won't admit it, and there's only an amount of teasing a man can take before he decides to show you just how much of an old man he is.

warnings: unprotected p in v sex, creampie, hair pulling, (joel gets a lil rough)

Ellie was the one to start it all,

I mean it's not like you hadn't noticed, but she was the one that started with the jokes.

Not very honorable of you to blame it all on the 14 year old, you knew... but still, just to get the record straight, you weren’t the one to tease him first.

“Gimmie Granpa” she had chuckled one time, grabbing the piece of paper where Maria had written down the recipe for her 'world-famous' casserole from his hands.

"Hey-" He'd protested,

"You can't see shit, man" she giggled, "Stop trying to fight it- you're getting old buddy"

And well from then on things had... escalated.

You'd yet to see a day where the poor man wasn't made fun of because of it, but truth be told, he really did need glasses.

You'd even suggested it to him more gently, in the comfort of your own room, away from Ellie's prying eyes.

"y'know baby, there's nothing wrong with getting glasses"

He'd looked at you as if you'd just told him to go fuck himself.

"Don't look at me like that" you'd smiled, rounding the bed to intertwine your hands behind his neck "It's for your own good"

"I don't need glasses"

"no?" you'd bit down a grin "you sure?"

"'m sure alright" he grumbled

"I bet Tommy would know where to get you a pair if you asked"

"darlin'"

"yes, baby?" you'd asked, hopeful

"I don't need 'em"

And you really did want to keep on trying to convince him, but then he'd kissed you and well- it must have slipped your mind.

Unluckily for him, not for a very long time.

He was in the bathroom, trying, or more specifically struggling, to open a bandaid for your injured finger.

It wasn't anything serious, just a little cut, but as you'd disinfected it, he'd insisted on covering it up, only of course you hadn't expected it to take so long.

"Baby, what's wrong, you can't find them?"

But the answer to your question was right before you as you entered the bathroom.

As I said, he was struggling.

A laugh bubbled up your throat as you took in his focused expression, the frown on his forehead, the squint in his eyes...

"Let me do it"

"No I can do it I just-" he tried to get it open again, failing miserably.

"Joel-" you smiled, walking up to him "let me" you said softly

And with a sigh, he surrendered, handing you the poor, tortured bandaid

"I could have done that" he grumbled as he watched you do it in a split second.

"Sure you could, old man" You grinned to yourself, carefully applying the bandage to your finger.

"What did you just say?"

A soft, breathless gasp fled your mouth-

He'd moved right behind you, and his hands were now on your waist.

"Jesus babe" you laughed,

"What did you say?"

His voice was rough, and his eyes... something had shifted behind his eyes.

You watched his reflection in the mirror before you as you answered

"I said I'm sure you could"

"Mhh" he hummed, his head lowering until he could dive into your neck and inhale your scent "The other thing"

"what other thing?" you feigned innocence, enthralled by his demeanor, by the almost predatorial look in his eyes

"You know what"

"no I don'-"

But you didn't have time to finish, he'd already grabbed you by your hair, pulling your head back until his mouth was ghosting yours

"you called me an old man, darlin'?"

He was a different man from a minute ago.

This was the Joel Miller people feared, the one that killed without remorse, the one that fucked you rough- the once that a sick and twisted part of you revered.

"Baby I was jokin-"

"didn't look like it" he growled, his clothed hard-on pressing into your ass making you whimper, "you think I'm an old man, babydoll?" he murmured, his grip tightening around your hair "I'll show you how much of an old man I am"

Next thing you knew, your upper body was flushed against the sink's countertop, and your shorts were at your feet, together with your panties.

You watched from the mirror as he freed his cock with the hand that wasn't holding you down, and then you felt it-

"will you look at that" he chuckled darkly, the tip of his dick sliding between your folds with ease "you're makin' a mess for an old man, babydoll"

"J-Joel" you whimpered

"no no darlin'" he cooed "You've brought this on yourself- now you're gonna be good and take it, alright?"

When you didn't respond, he yanked your head back, forcing you to look at him through the mirror

"alright?" he bent down, growling in your ear

"y-yes"

"try not to be too loud," he whispered "You wouldn't want people to know how much you like getting fucked by an old man"

You had no time to respond, to tell him how much you didn't care, because he'd already pushed himself fully inside of you, and the only thing you could do was scream.

"you can't help yourself can ya?" he muttered, watching your face contort in all sorts of bliss-induced expressions "The old man gives it to ya too good, 's that it?" he groaned, feeling your walls squeeze around him

"look at me" he ordered, pulling your hair again, making you open your eyes and watch him as he ruthlessly slammed inside of you "Look at the old man who's fuking you, darlin', don't be rude" he grinned

The sound of his skin against yours reverberated through the bathroom, and god it was nasty.

"f-fuck" you tried to speak, tears tarnishing your vision

"I know, I know" he pretended to care, getting up from where he was pressing his torso onto your back, using a hand to get you to remain flush against the sink "I'm going too slow, ain't I?"

Oh shit

Oh fucking shi-

If you thought he was going hard before... you hadn't seen anything.

You couldn't fully create one single thought in your mind as he picked up his pace, as he started literally slamming into you fast and hard enough to break you in half.

"I'm jus' an old man after all babydoll, ain't I?" he breathed, one hand still on your back while the other was still forcing your head up to look at him "You'll understand if I can't fuck you as hard as you'd like" it was like he wasn't hearing how loud you were moaning, how breathless your whines and gasps where each time his dick hit your cervix "what's that?" he mocked "you need it harder darlin'?"

"J-Joel-" you whined, begging, pleading for what you weren't even sure

"shh I got you baby" he cooed, bending down to whisper in your ear again, slowing down his pace just to thrust so fucking deep and hard into you you swore you saw stars "I know my old man's pace ain't enough for you doll"

But it was- Oh it was more than enough.

And yet he didn't care- he was going even harder, even faster, even deeper, and you... you didn't even remember your name anymore.

You could feel the thickness of his cock as it slammed into you over and over and over again, the way it would hit the most hidden spots inside of you, the ones only Joel had only ever been able to find, and then-

And then you could hear his grunts and strangled groans as he fucked you within an inch of your life, as his hair fell to his forehead and tears streamed down your face and your eyes struggled to remain open, struggled to keep on watching him as he fucked you from behind with enough force to break the fucking sink you were on.

Until it got to be too much, until you felt your stomach tighten and the fuse lighting, until he hit that secret spot once again, and all you could do was close your eyes as bliss took over your body, as waves of ecstasy washed over you.

"look at you" he groaned "coming all over an old man's cock" he breathed, your walls squeezing him too good to do anything else but follow suit "letting an old man come deep inside of ya"

It took a long moment for either of you to wake up from the sex-induced haze, but Joel was in much better shape than you, so it was him who came back earlier.

he begrudgingly pulled out, enjoying for a moment too long his own handy work before he helped you up, picking you up bridal style once he realized how useless your legs had become.

"baby" you murmured, before he could place you on the bed "You know I was joking right?" you said, leaning up to kiss him, your mouth catching his in a sweet, gentle kiss that contradicted completely the way he'd just ruined your ability to walk properly

"You're not an old man" you promised

"mh?" he hummed, kissing you again just because he could

"yeah" you smiled, melting into the kiss for what felt like an eternity

He was holding you gently, watching your eyes as they begged to close.

"good" he hummed against your mouth, watching it twist into a devious little smirk as a spark ignited in your eyes

"Although I still think you should at least consider getting glasses-"

"darlin'" he stopped you immediately "I suggest you stop talkin''"

"or what?" you bit down a grin, laughing softly

"Or Tommy's gonna be real mad when you tell him you can't make it to patrol tomorrow 'cause your legs don't work"

[patheticdarling]

Her Sacrifice

Summary: The assassins had no such luck finding Prince Aemond but what were they to do when they stumbled upon the beloved wife of King Aegon instead? Her belly swollen with his heir.

Warnings: Blood & Cheese/murder/gore & blood/cursing/threats/blades/pregnancy/kidnapping/funeral/incest (reader is helaena's older twin)

Word Count: 2236

"The other lords will be accompanying me for a drink in the Throne Room. Shall you join us, Wife?" Aegon asked, a slightly eager smile on his face, anticipating your agreement.

You sighed as you began to undo the braids in your hair, "The hour is late, Husband. I must rest."

Aegon pouted, "Just a cup! We've attended to our royal duties all day, have we not earned a bit of respite?"

"Respite is what I shall get with a good night's sleep. Not drinking until sunrise with you and your comrades," you teased. You stood from seat at your vanity, walking over and placing Aegon's hand on your growing bump, "Besides, do you not wish for our babe to be born healthy? So that they may grow into formidable dragon riders like their parents."

He smiled softly at your belly before kissing it sweetly, "You make a good point, my dear. Mayhaps I should stay in with you."

You shook your head, smiling down at him, "Do not let me stop your fun. You are right. The King deserves his respite. Besides there may not be many more nights where we get to enjoy ourselves," motioning to your bump.

"You are going to make a wonderful mother," Aegon stood from his seat, "I shall allow you to enjoy your last moments of rest then." He planted a soft kiss on your lips, "I love you, Y/N."

You stroked his hair, "I love you, Aegon."

Aegon kissed you once more before giving your belly a playful squeeze and disappearing from your chambers. You summoned one of your ladies to help you finish getting ready for bed. Thanking her as you got yourself comfortable between the silk sheets of you and Aegon's bed. Finally bidding her good night as she blew out most of the candles, leaving a few on for Aegon's drunken return.

You could not be sure of the hour when you heard your chamber doors creak open followed by the shuffling of feet. You did not even bother opening your eyes, assuming you'd feel the bed indent as Aegon stumbled towards it.

"Back so soon?" you teased, "I was only being half serious about the sunset-"

Suddenly, a large hand clamped over your mouth. Your eyes shot open as two men loomed over you. You screamed and panicked as the larger man used his other arm to keep you pinned to the bed.

"Quiet!" the smaller man pulled a blade out, pressing it to your throat, "Unless you want me to bleed you like a pig."

You nodded, terrified of what these men could do, "W-Who are you? What do you want?"

"Its not our wants you should be concerned with, Your Grace."

"Who sent you? What do y-you want from me?" your voice shook.

"A life is owed. It wasn't supposed to be you. A son for a son we were told," the smaller man shrugged, "But it seems Prince Aemond isn't in the castle tonight."

Of course, you thought. This was about Lucerys. Your younger brother had taken the boy's life and that was a deed that could not go unpunished. You knew how deeply your eldest sister loved all of her children. The loss of one would be devastating. Taking Aemond's life made sense. But taking yours? And the life of your unborn child? That was not in Rhaenyra's nature. This was plotted by someone far more sinister and dark.

"My uncle sent you, didn't he?" you spoke up. They both sent stares to the other, "Daemon Targaryen. He sent you to kill one of us."

The large man scoffed, "Aren't you a smart one?"

"Shame those smarts won't do you any good now, will they?" the smaller one mocked.

"Please," you tried to beg, "Do not do this. No good will-" The large hand came down on your mouth again.

"That's enough," he grunted before turning back to the smaller man, "I'll hold her down and you cut."

Your blood ran cold at his words. Not only were they going to kill you but they were going to tortuously cut out your unborn child. They both yanked you further down the bed until you were flat on your back. You tried to kick, scream, bite, thrash as much as you could but the man proved to have almost inhuman strength. The smaller man raised his blade, that same sadistic grin plastered on his face before he began to dig it into the lower part of your abdomen.

White hot pain seared through your body as he continued to slice into you. Your vision was blurred with tears and you could have sworn your throat was raw from your cries. Though the pain was so intense that you could not process the sounds that might have been leaving you. Warm blood pooled all around you, the once ivory sheets now a deep crimson. One last gasp left you as they pulled your child from your body.

Suddenly you had remembered your mother telling you about the pains of childbirth when you first married Aegon and all anyone could talk about was you producing his heirs. She had a rather negative approach that utterly terrified you. So, you decided to find comfort in Rhaenyra's advice instead.

"I will not withhold the truth from you, it truly is the most excruciating pain a woman must go through."

You groaned, "That is not what I had wished to hear, Sister."

"You did not let me finish. The process is hard, yes. And you will feel the urge to curse the Gods or even your husband and swear to never bear anymore children," you both laughed, "But the moment you hear those sweet cries and your babe is placed upon your chest, the pain is forgotten. And nothing has ever seemed so worth it. Then you will know, right then and there, that you would do it all over again if it meant you could finally find that purest form of love."

And yet, you would never discover that beautiful feeling your sister had painted so clearly. The room was almost eerily silent besides the dripping of blood onto the stone floor.

"What do you know?" the man panted as he held your lifeless infant, "A son. Congratulations, my Queen."

You could not speak as you felt your body numb itself. Tears falling with no cries as they stuffed your son's body into a sack. It was as if you could feel your heart shatter. The men finished their sinister act before fleeing through a secret passageway. You tried little to fight the heaviness in your eyes. Perhaps this was all a horrible dream and if you shut your eyes, you'd open them to find yourself in bed with Aegon's arms wrapped securely around your belly. The last thing you could muster was a small smile at the sentimental image as your vision faded out completely.

"Sister?" Helaena called out into your bed chamber, "I did not wish to wake you but Aegon is being so loud and I cannot sleep with him-" Her voice caught in her throat at the sight of your mangled body lying on the bed. Your figure lifeless and your eyes vacant as you stared at the canopy. She approached your body, a shaky hand reaching out to touch your face to be met with utter stillness. Helaena backed out of the room slowly, tears flowing down her cheeks before sprinting to find some sort of help. As if anyone could undo what had already been done.

"I-I don't know what happened. I came in and she...she was..." Helaena's voice cracked with sobs as various people filed into the royal bed chamber; the Kingsguard, the Dowager Queen, the Hand, and lastly, your husband.

They all stopped at the sight before them, their eyes welling with tears and their stomachs churning. The Dowager Queen let out a heavy sob as all their attention turned to the King. Aegon approached your body cautiously.

He fell to his knees, his hands cradling your bloodied face as he sobbed, "My wife, my dearest-"

Nobody dared say a word as Aegon mourned over you. His sobs heavy with grief as he called out your name over and over again. The Queen Mother clutching Helaena's arm as they cried with him. The Kingsguard hanging their heads low in shame at their failure to protect their Queen. Otto Hightower, known to be quick with his word, said nothing.

The council meeting that followed was one full of dread and grief. Most of the council mourned, the Hand schemed, and the King could do not but curse the Gods and swear revenge.

"Your Grace, perhaps we should speak of the funeral arrangements for the Queen-"

"No," Aegon was quick to stop the Hand, who raised a brow at his grandson's denial, "I will not have my wife's body dragged through the streets like a dog!"

"Not dragged, honored!" Otto corrected him before lowering his tone as he spoke to the King, "Y/N was my granddaughter and I loved her. She deserves the funeral of a Targaryen princess, a Targaryen queen. The small folk wish to mourn their Queen and the heir she carried. And they need to know who is responsible for this."

Aegon's face twisted in disbelief, "How could they not already know?! Who else would do this save the bitch queen of bastards?!"

"We must know for certain, Your Grace," Lord Jasper suggested, "If it was not your sister, this may prove to be an even bigger threat to the crown, to you, my King."

Aegon scoffed, "I do not care what threatens me. My wife is dead. And my child," he stifled a sob, "That cunt did this, I know it. Her and her kingdom of traitorous bastards will burn for it."

Before anyone could speak, the doors of the council chamber opened as Lord Larys entered. He bowed meekly as all eyes turned to him.

"My lords, Your Grace," he greeted the council.

All stood still, "State your purpose, Lord Larys," the Hand spoke.

"We have apprehended one of the assailants. A gold cloak, known for his brutal nature. The guards caught him fleeing the Gate of Gods. He carried the child's body in a sack."

The King hardly wasted any time, stomping over to the doors, "I shall kill him myself."

"We might retrieve further information about who is to blame for this tragedy after questioning," Ser Criston stopped Aegon from leaving as Otto spoke, "I trust in your skill set, Lord Larys."

The Strong Lord bowed before exiting the room. All eyes turned once again to the King and his Hand.

"We will hold the service for both the child and mother-"

"I said no," Aegon grunted, "My wife and child will not be put on display for the Realm."

"Your Grace, we might use this to our advantage in the war you wish to march into. Your people need to know the depravity that Rhaenyra is capable of. The great houses of Westeros will see that she is not fit to rule given her cruel nature. They will flock to your side and with them, their armies and bannermen."

Aegon continued to shake his head. He could not just let them see you or your child like that. They did not deserve it.

"Mother," he turned to the Dowager Queen for support.

Alicent approached Aegon's chair, "The Hand sets on a difficult path, my darling, but it might be the right one."

The King could not muster anymore fight, "Have the Silent Sisters prepare the Queen and child for their journey. Behind them will be Princess Helaena and the Queen Mother."

"No, I do not wish to be a spectacle," Alicent argued but her father would not hear it.

Your husband visited your body as the Silent Sisters began to prepare it. They had cleaned the mess and dressed you in one of your favorite dresses, the emerald color complimenting your skin and hair.

"Your Grace, it is ill-fated to look upon the face of death," Maester Orwyle warned.

"That is not the face of death, Maester. That is my wife," Aegon spoke, "Leave me with her."

Maester Orwyle and the Silent Sisters bowed before leaving the King with your body. He softly stroked the hair from your face as he broke into sobs once again.

"I am so sorry, my love," he cried, "I-I should have been there to protect you. And our son." Maester Orwyle had informed His Grace that the child you carried was a prince, a perfect heir, "You truly would have been the most wonderful mother. You were already a perfect wife and Queen. Motherhood would have come naturally."

Aegon recounted how well you did with Rhaenyra's last two babies, the ones she had with his uncle Daemon. As much as he did not care for his half-sister, he knew you did. Always quick to defend her, even against your own family. So, he was forced to ask himself, how could she do this to you? To your child?

"They will pay for what they have done," your husband muttered to you, "I will win this war. I will win it for our child. I will win it for you. With fire and blood. Your sacrifice will not be for naught, my Queen."

[marvelslittlewhore]

Hands Off

REQUEST | protective rafe? like maybe theyre at a party and the reader gets into some trouble? LOVE UR WRITINGG

PAIRING | bf!rafe cameron x kook!fem!reader

WARNINGS | non-con touching (not by rafe ofc), drinking, protective!rafe

A/N | thank you!! I hope this is what you wanted haha 💕

            ◃◦--------------●--------------◦▹

You were having the time of your life, just dancing and drinking, distracting yourself from the current family drama that was going on at home. Tonight you forbid yourself to think about any of it and Rafe was more than happy to help you out with that.

Right now you were practically grinding against him, your arms reaching up to wrap around his neck to pull him into a heated kiss. When he pulled back you were about to take another sip from your cup, frowning when you realized it was empty.

"I'll be right back." You shouted over the loud music, seeing how he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion so you raised your empty cup to show him.

He then nodded, capturing you lips in another quick kiss, watching you leave the dance floor. He turns to chat with Topper and Kelce to kill the time you weren't pressed against him.

You just finished filling your cup when you felt a hand snake around your waist. Smiling you turned around and were about to tease Rafe for being clingy. What you didn't expect was some random idiot you recognized from school, Ryan, when you remembered correctly.

"You're Y/n, right?" He asked and you nodded taking a step to the side so he wasn't touching you anymore.

You grabbed another empty cup to fill up for Rafe, and to avoid this awkward situation, hoping Ryan would get the message and just leave you alone.

Oh how wrong you were.

"Would you like to dance?" he tested the waters, grabbing the cup from your hands to fill it for you as if you're not capable yourself.

"Sorry, I'm not interested-" You quickly turned him down, reaching out to take the cup back but he held it away from your reach.

Either he's incredibly brave or stupid. You and Rafe were the kook couple from the outer banks. The island prince and princess who attend every event or party hand in hand.

"Come on, just one dance, then I'll leave you alone," he smirked.

You cringed on the inside, looking around for any sign of Rafe, or even Topper, cursing under your breath but still smiling like always and trying not to show how uncomfortable you actually were.

"I have a boyfriend." You said, expecting him to now awkwardly walk away but you're startled when he suddenly pulled you against him.

"I don't see him, you?" he whispered and now you were starting to panic, your heart pounding like crazy.

"You better take your fucking hands off my girl before I'll break them." Rafe's sudden voice had you sighing in relief.

Ryan quickly let go of you and you took a few steps back, bumping into Topper who pulled you behind him.

"What? You were all cocky a few seconds ago, what happened?" Rafe laughed, throwing his arm around Ryan's shoulder. "How about we go outside, hm? Have a nice chat?" he emphasized the word 'nice' with a quick raise of his eyebrows.

"I didn't-" he started to apologize but Rafe just dragged him away and outside with Kelce following right behind them.

You wanted to go after them but Topper stood in front of you, blocking your way out. "Whoa, don't worry about them, they'll be back soon."

"Top, we both know he won't go easy on him. Let me just-" You walked past him and he grabbed your arm, turning you back to face him.

"And he won't go easy on me either when he finds out I let you go and witness it." he reminded you and you rolled your eyes, fixing your dress and trying to brush off the uneasy feeling you have in your chest while Topper eyes you with genuine concern. "You good?"

"Mhm, just a little shaken up. I'm alright," you assured him.

You looked around, seeing Rafe coming back inside rubbing his knuckles while walking towards you. He was breathing heavily, and you reached up to fix a few strains of his hair.

Looking down at his hands you gasped softly, seeing how bruised his knuckles were. "Rafe..."

"Hey, I'm okay, you should see him," he smirked proudly and you hit his chest before burying your face in it.

He wraps his arms around you, kissing the top of your head before asking. "Are you okay?"

You just nodded against him, holding onto his polo shirt to ground yourself. Rafe looks down at you and knows the night was done for. The only thing you wanted right now was laying in bed with him holding you close.

"Wanna go home?" he asked and the second you nodded he said quick goodbyes to his friends, leading you outside to his truck.

He helps you in and closes the door for you, rushing to get into the driver's side, starting the car, and turning onto the road. He places his hand on your thigh, squeezing it for reassurance.

"I love you." You told him, taking his hand in yours tightly.

"I love you more, baby." he flashed you a smile, kissing the back of your hand and focusing back on the road.

            ◃◦--------------●--------------◦▹

Taglist

For everything:

@lokigirlszendaya @buckymydarlingangel @superlegend216

[ckret2]

Chapter 65 of human Bill Cipher still being stuck in the Mystery Shack but currently fearing back pain more than execution: it's Day 1 of Bill being off death row, let's see what everyone other than Soos is doing with their day.

When Fiddleford answered the door to Ford and Stan—Stan with the Quantum Destabilizer's case slung over his shoulder—the first thing Fiddleford said was, "That demon's still alive, isn't he?"

"Demon's still alive," Stan confirmed.

Ford let out a long sigh. "I was afraid we'd have to break the news."

"I figured when the power here flickered during your shot." He planted his hands on his hips. "You didn't use the NowUSeeitNowUDontium, did you?"

Ford shook his head.

"Well?" Fiddleford fixed Ford with an angry squint, lips pursed. (Maybe it wasn't an angry squint, Ford told himself hopefully. Maybe it was just because Fiddleford didn't have new glasses yet.) "Why didn'cha shoot him?"

"I couldn't. He escaped," Ford said. As panic began to bloom on Fiddleford's face, Ford quickly added, "But he's back! That's why I used the wrong fuel. Somehow he overheard that we'd made enough Dontium for one shot, and he—tried to persuade me to cover his escape. Firing a blank made him think I'd used the Dontium up and he was safe—"

"—So's he'd come back and you could get a proper shot at him! Ha!" Fiddleford jumped up, kicking his heels in the air, hollering, "Stanford Pines, you clever sonovagun!" His hooting and hollering died down as he realized, "So... why're you here with the destabilizer instead of shooting him?"

Ford and Stan exchanged a glance. Stan said, "Well—He—He's pretty harmless right now, really—And he's great with the kids—"

"Not with Dipper," Ford muttered.

"He's great with one of the kids."

Ford said, "And he's..." It would be a lie to say improving, wouldn't it? "He's... got the potential to improve. And we— We thought— If there's a chance he could do better..."

Sternly, Fiddleford said, "You let him get into your head again, didn't you."

Ford sighed. "I let him get into my head."

Stan held out the Quantum Destabilizer's case. "Which is why we're here. He's not in your head. You won't hesitate to pull the trigger."

"I getcha." Fiddleford accepted the case grimly. "You need me to finish the job."

Ford hastily added, "If—if it becomes necessary."

Fiddleford gave him a hard look.

Ford swallowed as he realized—as always, a moment too late—just what an enormous thing he was asking of Fiddleford and his fragile nerves. "But if you don't think— I mean, if you'd rather it stay in our hands—"

Fiddleford held the Quantum Destabilizer away from Ford. "No, no—you're right. It's safer here," he said. "You oughta shoot him. I'm never not gonna think you oughta shoot him. Especially now we know he knows how to escape. But, if you won't—better that this is in my hands than with the fellers what let that devil sucker 'em into thinking he deserves to live."

Ford wanted to say I'm sorry. If he was so sorry, why had he chosen to let Bill live? It seemed like his problems always became Fiddleford's problems—yet the only times Fiddleford's problems became Ford's was when Ford caused them. "Well—the good news is, even if he does escape, he can't get far. He's trapped inside Gravity Falls' weirdness barrier."

"Well, that's somethin'," Fiddleford muttered. Then he frowned and gave Ford a sharp look. "Wait," he said slowly. "Are you sure he can't get out?"

"I—" Ford tried to remember when they'd learned that. "Sure, we—found out that first night, didn't we?" It had been a very long night.

"Yeah!" Stan laughed. "Almost accidentally killed the guy by driving him into it."

Fiddleford nodded, his expression faraway and thoughtful. "I need to run some calculations," he said. "I'll let you know what I find."

He turned away, muttering to himself. Just before he shut the door, Ford saw Tate at the far end of the great hall, arms crossed, watching the proceedings sourly.

And then the door was shut without so much as a goodbye.

"Huh," Stan said. "Ominous!" He clapped Ford on the shoulder. "Welp, let's get home!"

####

Tate leaned into Fiddleford's lab. "Dad?"

Fiddleford was sitting at a space he'd cleared at a worktable, hunched forward and squinting to see his work as he ran through a towering stack of calculations, using a calculator to double-check his math and a second calculator to double-check the first one. As he often did, he'd put on an old record to help block out distractions; and an old country song was blasting at top volume as Fiddleford sang/yodeled along: "I haaate Bill Cipher more'n I looove my son! How I looong to shoot that sonuuuvaguuun. I'll seeee my boy when that triaaangle's done—cuz I haaate Bill Cipher more'n I looove my son—"

"Dad," Tate said louder.

"Tater!" Fiddleford sat up, automatically reached to adjust a pair of glasses he wasn't wearing, and just bumped the bridge of his nose. "What is it, son?"

"Couldja turn the volume down?"

"Turn th—?" Fiddleford looked at his record player, started when he realized what was playing, and quickly took the needle off the record. "Sorry, Tater, I—"

"It's fine," Tate said glumly.

"Didn't even realize which song'd come on. They're just words to sing along to. You know I don't really feel..."

"Just don't like Pluckin' Jim's yodeling style, that's all."

Fiddleford dropped his gaze. "All right, that's fine. I'll keep it down."

Tate stuck his hands in his pockets. "Might oughta be careful with that album, anyway. If any guests overhear it talking about the triangle and call the police..."

"Oh, I know, I know. You're right, I'll be careful. It's just..." He reached under his hat to scratch at his head like he was trying to massage his brain into working. "When it feels like the whole darn world's gone crazy, it's comforting hearin' somebody sing something sensible," he said. "I—I don't mean Jim's attitude toward his family. Just the rest of it."

"Mm." Tate nodded.

Fiddleford sighed and shook his head sadly. "I don't know—maybe I'm the one who's going crazy."

"Naw," Tate said immediately. "You're not. You're the sanest I've seen you since I was a kid, dad."

"Well—thank you, Tater. That means a lot."

"You're just stressed, that's all." Tate nodded toward Fiddleford's stack of calculations. "Don't overwork yourself, all right?"

"I won't, I promise."

"If you need help with all that math..."

"No, no, that's all right." Fiddleford waved off the offer. "It's got to do with Stanford's weirdness thingamajig." For the past few months, Fiddleford and Stanford had been working on a paper about the Law of Weirdness Magnetism—although that had seemingly ground to a stop at the start of summer.

Tate paused. "Okay, but I'm dragging you out of there for meals."

"Heh! I won't fight you."

As Tate left, Fiddleford set the needle back on the record, starting the next song: "The Three B's Poisoning Your Children (Booze, Bebop, and Bill)." Tate shut the door and let out a long sigh.

####

"I'll get it!" Dipper doubted anyone else could even hear the phone; Abuelita was asleep in the living room, Soos was upstairs hammering on something, and Bill and Mabel were at the far end of the house playing the piano and singing.

Dipper jogged into the office. "Hello?"

"Dipper!" Wendy said. "Dude! Just the man I wanted to reach."

"Wendy, hey! What's up?"

"Are you still looking for the Nightwigglers?"

"Yes! Why, did something happen?"

A couple weeks earlier, Wendy had shown him where her brother had seen the Fremont Nightwigglers; but by the time she showed him the path, they'd already come and gone a couple nights earlier. They'd found footprints and followed them to what looked like a campsite—there were odd empty burrows in the ground and traces of ashes—but when Dipper had tried to figure out where they'd gone after leaving the campsite, he'd lost their trail in the underbrush.

"Gus says he saw them on the same trail again last night," Wendy said. "Which means, if they were going back to that place we found with the burrows, and it was a campsite—"

"—then that's where they're camping today. So they'll still be there tonight!" Dipper laughed. "That's perfect! I can stake them out and watch when they wake up! Hey, do you wanna come along for a stakeout?"

Wendy groaned. "I wish. Gus freaked my dad out talking about the Nightwigglers. He says we have to stay home after dark and he's actually been checking our rooms."

"Aw, man. That stinks."

"But hey, tell me all about it at work, okay?"

"You got it! Oh—I could make a Guide to the Unexplained episode! I'll show you the whole thing."

"Oh, awesome. I can't wait to see these things," Wendy said. "Head's up, you probably wanna be quiet to avoid spooking them. Gus said they looked super skittish last night. They're probably wigging out because of gravity disappearing for a couple of days, lots of other wild animals are. I don't blame them, I'm still wondering what was up with that."

"Giant invisible flying axolotl from another dimension."

Wendy laughed in surprise. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah! I'll tell you about it at work too." Probably leaving out Bill's involvement. Speaking of Bill, where had he left Dipper's backpack? "I've gotta pack for the stakeout. Thanks for the tip!"

####

Gideon knocked on the shack's back door and waited anxiously, tugging at his sleeves and shifting from foot to foot.

The door opened to the sound of distant piano music. Dipper stood there holding a heavy backpack and a box of granola bars. "Gideon?" He didn't sound thrilled.

"Well, hey there, Dipper!" Gideon tried to sound more chipper than he felt. "I don't suppose Mabel's ar—"

"Nope," Dipper said. "What do you want?"

Gideon took a deep breath. "It's about Bill—"

"Shhh!" Dipper cast a nervous glance back toward Soos's grandma asleep in the living room. "Keep it down. Only Mabel and I know you know about Bill and no one else can find out."

"Why not?"

"Because... Mabel and I will get in trouble for not telling them sooner?"

Fair enough. Adults didn't need to know everything, Gideon thought. Voice lower, he said, "I didn't notice him with the others at Rainbow Club this week, and I saw that big laser thingamabob at the shack,"—and the next day received a panicked call from a cultist who couldn't reach Bill—"and... well—I need to know if Bill's dead, or—"

Over the piano playing, an off-key voice sang at top volume: "AND IIIIIIIIII will never HATE yooOoOOou—!" In the living room, Abuelita started from her nap, blinked sleepily, turned up the volume on the TV, and fell back asleep.

Gideon's shoulders sank in disappointment.

"Still alive," Dipper said. "He has a really bad backache, though."

"Well, dang it!" Gideon kicked at a twig on the porch. It didn't move.

"Yeah, I know," Dipper said. "But... I kinda think Bill has to stay alive? I heard this prophecy that I think is about Bill saving everyone? Probably not voluntarily—he actually really didn't want me to hear about the prophecy—so... yeah, we might just be stuck with him. At least for a while."

"Well," Gideon said sourly. "Isn't that just wonderful."

####

As he trudged home, Gideon tried to think of a way out of this. For one day, he'd thought he was blessedly free of Bill; finding out he was wrong felt like getting hauled back to prison.

If the adults didn't know he knew about Bill, maybe he could tell the Stans that Bill had been using him—surely they'd forgive Gideon for using a little dream magic to brainwash the town, right? Stan understood the lengths a businessman had to go to to advertise his business, and Ford was apparently the one who'd recorded the spell in the first place—and maybe the two of them could prevent Bill from spilling his blackmail to the rest of the town; or maybe Gideon could arrange for the Stans to "accidentally" find out Gideon had been working for Bill, and then Bill couldn't blame Gideon for spilling the beans...

Or maybe he could just stop helping Bill. Simple as that. He knew he'd been helping Bill arrange escape plans. Bill had promised he'd keep quiet about Gideon's crimes as long as Gideon didn't pick up dream magic again; but he'd never required Gideon to help him. The only issue was what his contact in Bill's cult might do and whether she might out him as one of Bill's allies; maybe he could just tell her that his parents were getting suspicious and he couldn't be a go-between anymore...

When he got home, as soon as he opened the front door he could hear his father excitedly talking in the kitchen: "It's the darnedest thing! I don't know where they came from—must be tourists, I suppose..."

Gideon followed his voice into the kitchen. "Daddy? What's all this fuss?"

Bud was grinning from ear to ear; even Joy was faintly smiling, a half-washed dish forgotten in her yellow-gloved hands. "There you are," Bud said. "Son, I've got the most terrific news! I just sold the three most expensive cars on the lot, all on the same day! Can you believe that?!"

"Well, hot dog!" Gideon grinned as well, relief washing over him. "That oughta keep us going for a while, shouldn't it?"

"It sure will! I guess you were right—we never needed any magic hocus-pocus, just good salesmanship!" Bud beamed. "But it's just the darnedest thing," he said again, "they all said they'd been referred to the dealership by a Mr. Locke."

Gideon's smile froze and his stomach flipped.

"I don't remember any Mr. Locke passing through town."

"Oh," Joy said, "there was one a—a week or two ago. Some sort of talent agent, I think? He came to see Gideon."

"Did he," Bud said, clearly a bit deflated that it wasn't his prowess as a salesman that had lured these customers to town; but he quickly recovered, "Why, that's wonderful! Maybe looking to line up another television appearance?"

"No no no," Gideon said quickly, "no, it was—it was purely a social visit. I-I knew him last summer. I'm not doing that sort of... television thing anymore."

"Ah, well. Still! Having connections pays off," Bud said. "If all he wants to do is send customers our way, I'll be mighty happy! If he comes by again, invite him to stay for dinner, it's the least we can offer him as thanks."

"I think that's a—a wonderful idea," Joy said, voice even softer than usual. "He was very friendly."

"Son?" Bud called. "Where you headed?"

"Just upstairs, I remembered I need to make a call," Gideon said. He had to ensure Sue knew Bill was alive.

Seemed like he'd be working with her and Bill for a while yet. His family couldn't afford for him not to.

####

Dipper pounced the Stans the moment they entered the shack. "Hey! Great Uncle Ford!" 

"Dipper? What—"

"Grunkle Ford, remember you promised that as soon as we weren't dealing with any Bill bull, we could go on an investigation—?"

"Hey," Stan said sternly, "any Bill what?"

"Bull... soup?" Dipper tried.

Stan nodded, satisfied. "That's right. And if your parents ask, that's exactly what you think it means." At Ford's look of amazement, Stan said, "What! Last year the kids' parents said if they came home swearing, I couldn't take 'em over the summer again."

Dipper resumed his attack: "Well, we're not dealing with any Bill bullsoup today! Come help me track the Nightwigglers!" He held up his journal, proudly showing off his unfinished spread. "Wendy told me where they're camping today! If we're there before they wake up, we can finally see them in person!"

"Really? Tonight?" Ford asked. "We just had a late night yesterday."

"Can't we have two late nights and sleep in tomorrow?" Dipper pled. "They might not be there tomorrow night! What's more important: sleep, or seeing the Nightwigglers?"

"Yes, I see your point. You're absolutely right," Ford said. "I could take a nap now and we can leave after dinner."

"Yes!"

Stan groaned, "Great—the insomniacs are enabling each other." He shook his head and started upstairs, muttering, "I'm gonna see what Soos is hammering on."

Dipper said, "I've already packed my camping supplies! Do you need help packing? I can help you pack! Come on—I can show you where we're going, too!" He impatiently led the way to the elevator.

####

This weekend, Bill had escaped the shack, faked his death, and proven that the whole Pines family actually wanted him alive; and yet, for all that, Mabel thought he seemed pretty down in the dumps today. He'd been kind of off since the eclipse.

Actually, now that she thought about it, he'd been off since before the eclipse, ever since the day he'd been grumpy to her about the glass pyramid "Mysteries." She was pretty sure he wasn't mad at her about that anymore; so she didn't know what was wrong.

But even though Mabel could see him wince when he leaned certain ways or moved his arms too quickly, he was trying to hide that he was in pain and he was trying to hide his gloomy mood. He grinned when he played the piano, and he alternated between popular songs that she knew and could sing along with and a bunch of old boring things like jazz and opera. (Bill tried to sing along to everything, even when he shouldn't. Mabel was pretty sure he was the worst opera soprano in the world.)

She didn't know how to fix whatever was actually bothering him. She could hang out with him and sing and talk—that seemed to make him happier. But Bill needed more than that.

He needed more friends.

Bill attempted a run, one hand crossing over the other and back as he rolled up the keyboard; his hands tripped over each other and stumbled across several keys at once.

Mabel laughed. "That sounded like a musical fart!"

Bill blew a raspberry. "I'll show you a musical fart." He attempted the run again, and messed up again.

Mabel laughed again. "I don't think you've got that part."

"Hey! I'm usually great at that part. It's this body—I'm used to playing it with flat fingers, I haven't practiced it with an extra dimension before," said Bill, who was lying, and had never been good at that part, and truthfully was pleased he now had an excuse that let him pretend he was actually better than he was. "Playing piano in a human body really holds me back. It takes nine hands to play my favorite song." That wasn't a lie.

He started the song over and elbowed Mabel. "Hey. Something's eating at you. What's up, kid?"

She hadn't realized she wasn't hiding her gloomy thoughts well enough. "Uuugh, I want you to meet my friends, but this morning Grunkle Ford said I still can't invite them over even though you're off death row. I guess he and Grunkle Stan are still worried you'll brainwash them or something?"

"Pff. We're still—renegotiating the terms of my imprisonment."

"Oh yeah? What have you renegotiated so far?"

The corners of Bill's mouth turned down. Mabel suspected that might have something to do with his foul mood. "Hey, I've got an idea to get your friends over here."

"Yeah?"

"Tell your uncles that the girls' parents are starting to wonder why you haven't been inviting them over like you did last summer. Say they're beginning to think that something is going on over here, and they're worried you're not in a safe environment—buuut if their kids can come over and see everyone's just been adjusting to a new guest, maaaybe their parents will calm down, right?"

Mabel shot Bill a dirty look. "Bill! That's a complete lie."

"But it's the kind of lie that could easily be true, and might even be true in the future, so is it really a lie?"

"Yeah it is."

"No it's not! Besides, it'll get your friends over here and it won't hurt anything, won't it?"

Mabel grimaced. "Okay, I can try—but if I try it and it works and I bring my friends over, you've got to make friends with them."

"Hmm!" Bill's face twisted up. "I like Candy's taste in art. And her bloodthirst."

Mabel elbowed him. "What do you have against Grenda?"

####

Eight-year-old Grenda sat at her desk kicking her feet and staring at her $1 bill, waiting for the bell to ring for lunch. It was Chocolate Chip Cookie Monday, they were fresh and gooey, and she was ready.

For the first time, she noticed the design on the dollar had a weird little one-eyed triangle with a hat. She pulled out a marker and drew a little smile under his eye.

And then she added buck teeth to the smile.

And then she gave him a second eye, stupid glasses, and a spiky beard that poked out in every direction.

And then drew wavy stink lines over him and added a word bubble that said "I'M SMELLY!"

"Heh. Stupid looking guy," she mumbled.

####

With an air of haughty disdain, Bill said, "She knows what she did."

"Okay, but you'll be nice to her, right? Pleeease?"

"All right, fine," Bill said. "For you, I'll be nice."

####

"Grunkle Stannn can my friends please come over? Even their parents think it's weird that they haven't been here all summer! If Grenda and Candy come over they'll know nothing weird's going on!"

"Uhhh..." Stan grimaced. "The last thing we need is parents asking questions... Yeah, sure, you should probably do that sometime soon. Maybe after we figure out what we're doing with Bill for the rest of the summer—"

"Thanks!" Mabel hugged him, ran off, and decided she'd heard Stan say "yeah, sure, you should."

She pulled out her phone. "Candy! Grenda!" She kept her voice at a loud whisper. "Great news! Dipper's gonna be out with Grunkle Ford tonight and I kinda-sorta got permission for a sleepover! Get ready for a party. I have a plan."

####

(This is a bit of a transition chapter for a couple more plots, but I hope y'all enjoyed! Let me know what you think!)

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt. 6

Word Count: 15.k...(oops)

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, dubcon, vaginal sex, creampie, breeding, comfort sex, cunnilingus, overstimulation if you squint, mentions of murder, nightmares, manipulation, pet names like, kitten, sweetie, honey, tw for panic attacks, rape flashbacks, xavier appears

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,

AN: Hi everyone! This is also on A03! Please someone stop me, how the hell did I manage to squeeze in like 4k extra words than last time??? Anyways, enjoy the meal, I definitely have missed writing smut with yan!sylus and reader :3. Also a gentle reminder that reader has no specific skin tone! I just use images that I think represent the chapter well, you can imagine her however you’d like ^^

"I'll make it all disappear," Sylus murmured, his voice low and hypnotic, penetrating the darkest recesses of your fractured psyche. It was as if he possessed the power to reach inside your mind and vaporize the painful memories that clung to you like shackles. "You want to feel so good you won't think about him again?"

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

The car roars down the empty road, its tires devouring the distance between freedom and your inevitable return to captivity. Luke sits at the wheel, his face completely hidden behind the bird shaped mask. You can’t see his eyes, can’t gauge anything from the way he’s holding himself—just the silent, unyielding presence of the man steering you back to your prison.

You wonder how he sees out of that thing.

Kieran sits beside him, his mask just the same, his fingers tapping a light, almost carefree rhythm on the dashboard as he finishes humming a cheery tune. His face, too, is entirely concealed, leaving you with nothing to hold onto—no eyes to search for clues, no expressions to read.

In the rearview mirror, you sense Kieran shift his head to look at you but can't entirely tell, his hidden gaze offers you nothing. The silence stretches on, broken only by the low hum of the engine and the steady, deliberate breaths of Sylus against your neck, the heat of his body keeping you trapped in more ways than one.

Sylus holds you tight, as if the moment he loosens his grip, you’ll dissolve into the darkness beyond the windows. His large hands are splayed possessively across your thighs, pinning you in place on his lap. Each minute that ticks by in this confined space feels like a countdown to something you can’t define, but the feeling of impending dread settles deep in your bones.

Your mind is a storm, thoughts swirling in an endless, chaotic loop. The gunshot that ended Reese’s life thunders in your head, over and over, refusing to let you go. You can still see it so clearly—the way his body slumped to the floor, lifeless, his eyes wide with the shock of it all.

It feels like it’s eating you alive.

This is your fault.

Yes, Reese was a monster. He’d kidnapped you, lied to you, dragged you into a nightmare you never deserved. But even now, that part of you—the part that still clung to honor, to a sense of right and wrong, the part of an honorable deep space hunter—hated what had happened. You hated yourself for it. He should have been locked away, brought to justice, not gunned down like that.

Your chest tightens. Why didn’t you stop it? You could have, couldn’t you? You didn’t have to let your anger take over, didn’t have to spit those words at him, didn't have to tell him to go to hell. If you hadn’t done that, Sylus wouldn’t have killed him right? The weight of it presses down on you, like you’re suffocating under the guilt.

You can feel it in your bones—the sharp sting of your failure, the way you let your emotions run wild. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You weren’t supposed to be the reason a person died, no matter how twisted or evil they were. You were supposed to be better than that.

But you weren’t.

And now Reese’s blood is on your hands.

The guilt coils tighter around your chest. You can almost taste the bitterness of it on your tongue, a relentless reminder of how you failed. Maybe if you had just kept your mouth shut. Maybe if you had found some way, any way, to de-escalate the situation, he’d still be alive. You wouldn't have to carry the weight of his death.

But you didn’t. And now it’s too late.

This is your fault.

You feel tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes, but you quickly suck in a breath, forcing them back. You can’t let them fall—not here, not now. You can’t let Sylus see the storm raging inside you. If he sees you faltering, sees your weakness, he’ll think he’s won.

You sense his eyes on you, watching, studying, but thankfully, he says nothing. His grip around you tightens slightly, as if he’s aware of the cracks forming in your resolve, but for once, he stays silent, leaving you alone with the war you’re fighting within yourself.

Instead of crying, you shift, turning your head to focus on the window. The dark tint makes it difficult to see clearly, but not impossible. You can just make out the blurred outlines of buildings as they whip past, vague shadows in the distance.

How much longer would this take? How far had you come?

You think back to the agonizing walk that had led you to the convenience store—the endless hours of trudging through unfamiliar streets, hoping for an escape. Time had lost all meaning then, just like it had now.

Lost in your thoughts, you feel your body betraying you, your exhaustion creeping in. You start to drift off against your will, feeling the heaviness pulling at your eyelids as you sink further into Sylus’s lap. You fight it, not wanting to rest your head on his chest, fearing what you might wake up to. But it’s been days since you’ve had proper rest, and the pull of sleep is relentless.

Minutes stretch into eternity, and despite your best efforts, your body begins to give in. You’re teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when suddenly, Sylus’s gruff voice cuts through the silence, startling you awake.

“Luke, tell the chefs to have dinner ready in an hour. Kieran, cancel my meeting with the general.”

Luke and Kieran both nod silently, their masked faces giving nothing away, and just as you’re trying to make sense of the words, the car abruptly comes to a stop.

“Yes, boss!” the twins respond with a clipped tones, as if this exchange is routine.

Everything happens so quickly. The moment the car parks, Luke and Kieran scramble out of their seats with swift, practiced efficiency. The sound of the doors opening and shutting echoes in the quiet night. Sylus shifts beneath you, opening his door, and you awkwardly slide off his lap, trying to maintain some semblance of balance as he exits the vehicle. You watch through strained, weary eyes as he steps out, his figure towering over the open car door. Then, he stretches out his hand toward you.

You hesitate.

The gesture, though outwardly polite, is anything but friendly. It’s not an offer—it’s a command, an unspoken reminder of your captivity. The world seems to close in around you, the air growing thicker, and your heart begins to pound in your chest. Your mind races, but there’s nowhere to run.

“If you’re thinking about driving off,” Sylus says with a low chuckle, leaning down to peer into the car, “Luke’s already got the keys, kitten.”

You can’t help but shoot him a sharp glare. You’d thought about running, yes, but not now—not when escape was utterly impossible. The moment passes quickly, and you open your mouth, wanting to explain yourself, to insist you weren’t planning anything. But the words stick in your throat, useless.

Instead, you shut your mouth, swallowing your frustration, and glare at him in defiance. Wordlessly, you reach out and take his hand. His grip is firm, possessive, as he helps you out of the car. Carefully, you step onto the ground, your heart still racing, knowing you’re walking back into your cage.

You glance around as Sylus pulls you forward, your hand still trapped in his. The sight of the mansion looms ahead, its grand, imposing silhouette becoming clearer with each step. Tall iron gates and bird statues loom in front of you, a place that might have been beautiful if it weren’t for the dread curling deep in your chest.

The mansion is more than just a building; it’s a cage, one that now feels even more suffocating as Sylus forces you to walk beside him, hand in hand like you’re something precious. But you know better. This is control, a quiet but undeniable display of power.

With each step toward the front door, the walls of the world seem to close in tighter, and your heart races faster. The echoes of your own footsteps blend with the eerie silence of the night, the only sound that reminds you how very trapped you are in this place—never truly alone, but never free either.

As you walk toward the towering front doors, your eyes drift upward, almost unconsciously, to Sylus. His appearance has always been striking—red eyes that seem to glow with a mix of malice and amusement, and white hair with subtle gray undertones, catching the faint light of the mansion. His angular features, so sharp and perfectly controlled, show signs of wear now. You can see the tension in his brow, the tiredness in the slight creases around his eyes—things you hadn’t noticed before. It makes you wonder how much stress your escape had caused him. How much had he sacrificed in the time you were gone? Had he been frantic, furious?

As if sensing your gaze, Sylus turns his head slightly, catching you in the act of studying him. A smirk plays across his lips, and his crimson eyes flicker with amusement. "What’s the matter? Falling in love?" His voice is a low drawl, teasing, but there’s something predatory in it—like he’s already enjoying this little game.

Heat rises to your face, a mixture of irritation and something else you refuse to name. You look away quickly, forcing yourself to focus on anything but him. His taunts are the last thing you want to entertain, especially when your mind is still spinning with the weight of what lies ahead. Still, the words linger, taunting you as much as his smirk did.

Finally, the massive front doors loom before you, framed by the same wrought iron and heavy stone that always made the mansion feel more like a fortress. Sylus stops, standing tall beside you, his hand still gripping yours as if to remind you that escape, or even defiance, is out of the question.

He gestures toward a small panel embedded into the wall near the door. "Lean down," he orders, the edge of his voice soft yet commanding, "in front of the scanner."

Confused, you glance between him and the scanner, unsure of what he’s planning. You hesitate, but his unblinking red gaze locks onto you, expectant, leaving you little choice. Slowly, you lean forward, lowering yourself until your eyes are aligned with the scanner. A soft beep fills the air, followed by a click as the door unlocks.

You straighten, startled, staring at the door in disbelief. "Wait," you stammer, turning to Sylus. "Aren’t you trying to prevent me from escaping?"

A deep, rumbling laugh escapes him, and he shakes his head, the white strands of his hair shifting slightly as he leans in closer, his red eyes flashing with amusement. "Your eyes," he says with a grin, "can only get you into this place." He leans in further, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Not out."

His words settle heavily in your chest, and a knot of dread tightens in your stomach. Your eyes—the very thing that could open doors here—were also the key to locking you in. Any hope you might have had, any fleeting thought of escape, is crushed in that moment. The world seems to warp, the walls of the mansion now looming around you like a trap. A cage disguised as opulence.

Why had he even bothered with something like that? The thought gnaws at you as you stand at the threshold of the mansion. Did he seriously think you would ever want to come back inside? The idea seems absurd. You were his captive, forced into this nightmare. There was no version of this where you willingly returned.

But as you glance back at him, his smirk still lingering on his face, you wonder if that’s exactly what he wants. He’s a man who thrives on control, on bending people to his will, and the thought that he might relish the idea of making you come back to this place, on your own terms, sends a shiver down your spine. Would he leave you out there in that desolate city, waiting, desperate, only to watch you break down and crawl back inside? The idea feels like a twisted game only he could design—where escape was impossible not just because of physical barriers, but because he'd burrowed deep into your mind.

You shake your head, trying to push the thought away, but the question lingers, settling like a weight in your chest. Did he think that, over time, you’d surrender? That this grand mansion, this cage, would eventually become a place you’d walk into willingly?

Sylus catches your hesitation, his red eyes glinting in the low light. “Strange, isn’t it?” he muses, his voice smooth and casual, as if he could read the questions racing through your mind. “A key that only lets you in. But maybe someday…you'll want to use it.”

His words hang in the air, and you can feel your pulse quicken, anger mixing with the uncertainty swirling inside you. He can’t seriously believe that, can he? That one day you’d walk back into this place of your own accord?

The very thought of it makes your stomach turn. You can’t imagine a future where you wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to stay away from here. Yet, there’s an unsettling confidence in the way he says it, a certainty that leaves you with more questions than answers.

“As if I would ever, prick,” you spat, your voice sharp and defiant.

Sylus laughs, his amusement rolling off him in deep waves, rich and unhurried. His red eyes gleam, locking onto yours with a look that holds something deeper than mere satisfaction. There’s affection there—twisted, yes, but genuine.

“Ah, there she is,” he murmurs, his grin widening. “I was starting to wonder if the N109 Zone had fully broken you.” His grip tightens, not painfully, but firm and reassuring, as he leads you into the grand mansion. To him, this was always meant to be your home, even if you couldn't see it yet.

You grimace at his words, irritation bubbling up inside you, making your heart race. This was still a game to him—a challenge, but not one born of cruelty. No, he found your defiance amusing, like a kitten batting at the hand that feeds it. He loved it, even.

You silently curse him under your breath as he leads you deeper into the grand house, your feet moving mechanically while your mind fights to keep up. The familiar sights come back into view, flooding your senses like a slow wave of nausea. The glossy black tile beneath your feet, the dark, lavish décor that loomed from every corner—it was all the same, just as cold and suffocating as you remembered.

Your eyes flick to the kitchen entryway, a place that had once offered a glimmer of hope, a chance to escape. You remember fleeing into it, heart racing, desperate to get away from all of this, only to be dragged back into Sylus’s grip. The memory gnaws at you, bringing a fresh wave of bitterness.

It makes you sick.

Every inch of this place, every dark aesthetic, seemed designed to remind you of your captivity. This was a cage, no matter how opulent or luxurious it appeared on the surface. And the worst part was the weight of his hand around yours—the possessiveness of his grip, the unspoken reminder that escape, no matter how hard you tried, was out of reach right now.

Sylus gently guides you toward the stairs, his grip still firm, giving you no room to hesitate. You feel your heart pounding in your chest as your feet start moving up the dark, winding staircase. Every step feels heavier than the last, your pulse thrumming in your ears as memories flood back—memories of when you had fled, heart racing, legs burning, desperate to escape this place. You’d made it down these very stairs once before, only to have freedom ripped away from you.

Now, you were being forced back up, step by agonizing step, into the room you had fought so hard to leave behind.

With every step upward, your resolve starts to crumble. The closer you get to that door, the more you feel the weight of your captivity settling in again, suffocating you. The darkened hallways, the oppressive silence—it all presses down on you, reminding you that no matter how much you fight, this is where you’ll always end up. Trapped.

You hesitate when you finally reach the door to the bedroom. The sight of it makes your stomach twist, your feet glued to the floor as a wave of dread washes over you. Everything in your body screams not to go inside, not to let yourself be locked in that room again. To run, to fight.

But Sylus is right behind you, close enough that you can feel his presence, his breath warm and steady, almost unnervingly calm. His grip on your hand softens, his thumb tracing a slow circle against your skin, as if to soothe your frayed nerves. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice gentle but laced with that unsettling authority. “Go on, sweetie.”

The way he says it is almost tender, but it only deepens the knot of anxiety in your chest. You can’t tell if it’s real kindness or just another layer of control. That soft, coaxing tone… it unnerves you more than his laughter, more than his taunts.

Despite every fiber of your being wanting to resist, you find yourself moving, stepping forward under the weight of his quiet insistence. You cross the threshold into the room, your body betraying you even as your mind screams to stop. The door clicks shut behind you with an almost imperceptible finality, and just like that, the familiar four dark walls of your prison close in around you once more.

You fight back the tears burning at the edges of your eyes as you step further into the room. The familiar surroundings feel like a punch to the gut—the large, imposing bed where Sylus had forced himself on you many many times, leaving behind scars you hadn’t realized had cut so deep. The leather couch in the center of the room, cold and impersonal, where you’d sat, waiting for the next wave of control to sweep over your life.

It’s too much.

For a moment, your knees threaten to buckle beneath you, the weight of it all pressing down with crushing force. The memories—dark, suffocating—swirl around you, making it hard to breathe. You almost crumble right there, unable to withstand the flood of emotions, of trauma that suddenly feels too close to the surface.

But before you can collapse, Sylus is there, his hand wrapping around your arm, guiding you away from the room and into the bathroom. His touch is firm but oddly gentle, a contrast that makes you even more uneasy. He’s pulling you toward the tiled space, and your mind races, trying to understand what’s happening as he begins to carefully, methodically, lift up your shirt to undress you.

“No,” you whisper, your voice trembling, barely audible over the sound of your own racing heartbeat. Your body goes stiff, your hands gripping the fabric of your shirt as if holding onto it could somehow protect you. “No,” you repeat, a little louder this time, your voice shaky and uneven. The tremors wrack your body, panic rising in your chest.

Sylus looks at you with something akin to worry, his touch slowing, but not stopping. He doesn’t force you, but his actions continue with a sense of inevitability, as though he believes this is just part of taking care of you, of ensuring you’re where you belong.

"I'm not going to do anything to you now, you just need a shower, sweetie."

But your mind is somewhere else entirely.

Flashes of memory assault you—dim lights, the scent of damp stone, and the overpowering fear of when you were in that basement. The man who had tried to force himself on you, who had pressed you against the bed with a hunger that still made your skin crawl. Your breath hitches as you remember his hands, his twisted smile. The terror, the helplessness—it's all too real, crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

You hadn’t realized just how deeply the trauma had sunk into you. Not until this moment, with Sylus standing in front of you, touching your clothes, his touch too familiar, too close to the horror you’d endured. You had been holding your emotions back but you couldn't now.

You flinch, your body recoiling instinctively as the memories close in around you. Your voice cracks, barely holding back the sob building in your throat. “Please…don’t.”

Sylus’s hands pause, and for the first time that entire day, you see it,—hesitation flickering across his sharp features. His red eyes, usually so calculating and cold, soften just enough for you to notice. His grip loosens, his fingers no longer working to take off your clothes but instead resting lightly on your shoulders, as if afraid of causing more harm.

“Be still,” he says again, his voice quiet and strangely tender. “I’m just trying to help you.”

But his words barely register. The panic has already set in, tightening around your chest like a vice. Your breathing grows shallow, quick—too quick. Your thoughts scatter, your heartbeat hammering so hard it feels like your ribcage might shatter under the pressure. The room spins around you, and suddenly you’re not here anymore. You’re back in the basement, cold stone beneath your feet, that man’s hands on your skin, forcing you against the wall. Forcing you on the bed.

You gasp for air, but each breath comes in ragged, uneven bursts. Your vision blurs, and your knees wobble beneath you. It’s happening all over again. The helplessness, the terror. It’s like your body has been pulled back into that moment, and no matter how much you try to claw your way out, you can’t.

Sylus moves swiftly, pulling you into his arms before you can collapse. His embrace is strong and grounding, his chest solid against your trembling form. “Breathe, sweetie” he whispers, his voice low, soothing, as if trying to coax you back from the edge of your panic. His hand rubs slow circles on your back, the gentle rhythm fighting against the chaos inside you. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

But you can’t. The air won’t come. Your breaths are sharp and shallow, your body on the verge of shutting down as you feel the world slipping away. You struggle, pushing weakly at him, but his arms only tighten around you, holding you firmly in place, anchoring you.

“Shhh, shhh…” His voice drops even lower, soft and almost tender. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe.”

The warmth of his body presses against yours, his presence somehow steadying the storm inside you. You eventually cling to him, not because you want to, but because it’s the only thing that keeps you from spiraling into complete panic. His hand continues to stroke your back in slow, measured motions, and though your heart still pounds in your chest, his touch starts to break through the suffocating fog.

“I’ll turn around, okay?” he says gently, as if sensing the root of your fear. “You can undress yourself. I won’t watch.”

There’s something in his tone—something that feels honest, reassuring, like he’s not just saying the words to control you but because he wants you to feel safe. You weakly nod, barely, but he catches it. He loosens his grip and takes a slow step back, raising his hands in surrender, his red eyes locked onto yours.

“I’ll give you some time. You don’t have to rush.”

With a careful turn, he faces away from you, his broad back filling the room but no longer imposing. His actions aren’t threatening; they’re deliberate, giving you the space he knows you need.

Your breathing slows and you blink back tears, but your body still trembles. You wipe the remaining tears from your eyes with a shaky hand, glancing around the bathroom as the panic begins to ebb. And then you notice it—something is different.

The bathtub is gone.

It had been there before, you remember. A large, ornate tub that had taken up the corner of the bathroom, a symbol of something luxurious in this prison of yours. But now, it’s nowhere to be seen. Your brows knit together in confusion as you stare at the empty space.

“Where’s the tub?” you ask, your voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Sylus doesn’t turn around, but his response is quick and calm, as if he expected the question. “I had it removed,” he says softly, his voice strangely careful, almost cautious. “I didn’t want you to drown yourself again.”

The words hit you like a slap, sharp and unexpected. You freeze, your heart skipping a beat as the weight of what he’s saying sinks in. He thought…no, he knew. He knew how deep the darkness inside you could go, how close you’d come to actually dying. He’d taken precautions—not just to keep you here, but to keep you alive.

You stand there, frozen, staring at the empty space where the bathtub used to be, and the reality sinks in—there’s truly no escape. Not from this place, not from Sylus, and not from the relentless grip of your own mind. He’s stripped you of every option, every avenue, until there’s nothing left but this.

Nothing left but him.

The exhaustion presses down on you, heavier than ever before. With slow, mechanical movements, you step into the shower, your limbs feeling distant, as if they don’t belong to you anymore. The warm water hits your skin, but it does nothing to ease the weight in your chest. You close your eyes, hoping that the steady stream of water can drown out the chaos inside your head—the panic, the hopelessness, the memories.

But they cling to you, stubborn and unyielding.

Images flash behind your closed eyelids—memories of that basement, the cold stone walls pressing in, the terror that gripped you when the man came too close, his hands reaching, his breath sour. You press your hands against the tiled wall, your body shaking as you fight the memories back, but they keep coming, like waves crashing over you, dragging you under.

And then there’s Reese.

You can’t stop seeing it—the moment his body hit the floor, the sound of the fatal gunshot echoing in your mind like a haunting refrain. His face, twisted in shock and pain. Your fault. The words circle in your mind like a dark mantra, mixing with the trauma of that basement. It’s all tangled together, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t make it stop.

"Go to hell, Reese."

The water cascades down your back, but it doesn’t wash away the guilt. It doesn’t drown out the horror. The images of blood and brain matter sliding down concrete walls.

You press your forehead against the cold tile, letting the water soak through your hair as you fight the rising tide of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. You want to believe that there’s a way out, some form of freedom—maybe not from this mansion, but at least from the grip of your own mind. But right now, standing under the relentless stream of water, you know that freedom is further away than ever.

No matter how much you fight it, you’re trapped. Inside this house. Inside yourself.

And the worst part? Sylus knows it.

You feel the tears begin to well up, hot and uncontainable, spilling over before you even realize you’ve let them go. They mix with the water, disappearing beneath the steady stream of the shower, unseen, unclaimed by anyone but you. For the first time in what feels like forever, no one is watching. Not even Sylus.

You let the sobs come quietly, your body trembling as the tears fall, merging with the warm cascade. It’s a strange relief, knowing that in this moment, he isn’t witnessing your breaking point. Sylus had made it clear—your pain, your misery, your tears, they all belonged to him.

But right now, this moment is yours.

As the tears fall silently, you press your forehead against the cool tile, letting yourself cry in a way you hadn’t allowed before. The sobs are shaky, barely audible over the sound of the water, but they are real, raw, and they are yours alone. The stream washes them away before they have the chance to leave a trace, like they never existed at all.

Even as your heart aches and the trauma still weighs you down, there’s a strange comfort in the tears that go unnoticed. For just these few minutes, you aren’t his broken thing to fix or keep. You’re just a person, trying to survive, trying to breathe.

And even though the water doesn’t drown out all the pain or the memories, it gives you enough space to let the emotions pour out—if only for a little while.

Xavier’s breath came in shallow bursts as he navigated the empty streets of Linkon City, the familiar hum of his hunter’s watch glowing faintly on his wrist. His blue eyes flicked between the road and the holographic screen hovering just above the watch face. The blue light illuminated his face, highlighting the sharp focus in his eyes. The signal from the phone booth was still there, blinking steadily. That was his main lead—the last place you’d been before everything went silent.

His mind replayed the sound of your voice from the call, every word etched into his memory. Kidnapped. You hadn’t said much, but the panic in your tone had been unmistakable. The moment the call cut, something in him snapped. There was no hesitation, no second thought—he had left almost immediately, speeding through the city, your trembling words echoing in his head.

"Yeah, his name is S—"

Your words echoed in Xavier's mind, over and over, like a haunting refrain. You hadn’t been able to finish your sentence before the call had abruptly cut out, leaving him with nothing but that single, meaningless syllable. S. It replayed in his head as the car sped forward, finally breaking free from the limits of Linkon City and onto the dark, winding road that would lead him toward the N109 Zone.

He had tried to call back the second the line went dead, his hands trembling as he frantically redialed the number, but it was no use. The call wouldn’t connect. Maybe you had run out of money for the payphone. Maybe something far worse had happened.

The not knowing gnawed at him.

Who was S? The question had burned in his mind from the moment you said it. A name. It had to be a name. But just that one letter wasn’t enough to figure out who this person was, let alone why they had taken you. He cursed under his breath, gripping the steering wheel tighter as the dark road stretched out before him.

Whoever S was, they were dangerous enough to bring you to the N109 Zone. That part made his blood run cold. This place wasn’t just desolate—it was the kind of area that most people in the city pretended didn’t even exist. It was lawless, forgotten. A place where the desperate went to disappear, where the city’s darkness festered beneath the surface and on top of it, darkness everywhere you turn.

But why there? What did this S want with you? And why take you so far from the city?

He replayed the phone call in his mind again, your voice shaky but steady as you’d tried to tell him what had happened. The fear had been there, simmering just beneath your words, but you had clearly fought to stay calm.

Xavier’s heart pounded harder with every mile. There was something else that bothered him, something gnawing at the edges of his mind. Why had you been targeted? You were strong, capable—smart. One of the best deep space hunters around. You wouldn’t have let yourself be taken easily. That meant whoever S was, he’d planned this, thought it through, and knew how to get to you. That thought made Xavier’s stomach twist. This wasn’t random. It was calculated.

The car hit a bump in the road, jolting him back to the present, but his mind still raced. He needed to find you, needed to get to you before this S—whoever he was—did something unforgivable. He couldn’t stand the thought of you being out there, scared and alone, waiting for help that felt too far away.

He glanced at the holographic display on his hunter’s watch again, watching as the faint signal pulsed from the N109 Zone. It wasn’t much of a lead, but it was the best lead he had. That phone booth, that single clue you’d left him before the call ended, was his only connection to you now.

Who are you, S? The question echoed in his mind as he pressed down harder on the gas pedal, the car roaring down the empty highway.

He didn’t know what awaited him in the N109 Zone, but he knew one thing for sure: he was prepared to fight like hell for you.

After what felt like an eternity, buildings whipping past him, Xavier finally pulled up to the phone booth, his heart hammering in his chest. The headlights illuminated the cracked pavement and the battered glass of the booth, standing alone at the edge of the desolate lot like a ghost from another time. But of course, you weren’t there. The booth was empty. You were nowhere to be found.

Xavier’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as he sat there for a moment, staring at the empty phone booth. His mind raced, thoughts tangled in frustration and fear. You had told him you would call back—you had said you were going to that strange man’s house, and then you’d come back to tell him what it looked like. But now, standing there in the middle of the N109 Zone, it felt like that plan had shattered into a thousand pieces.

He stepped out of the car, the cold air hitting him like a slap to the face as he approached the booth. His eyes scanned the area, up and down, looking for any sign of you. But there was nothing. Just silence. The eerie kind that made his stomach twist with unease.

The booth was run-down, even worse up close. He stared at it, his thoughts flickering between panic and regret. Should he wait for you to come back, as you said you would? Or had something already gone terribly wrong? Every second that passed felt like a ticking clock, time slipping away, leaving him more uncertain than ever.

He leaned against the booth, raking a hand through his hair, trying to decide. You had been so determined—so sure you could handle this. You’d said you were going to check out this strange man’s house, get some rest, and then return. But the thought of you going there alone, to that man—whoever he was—made him sick.

I should’ve told you not to go with him.

The regret hit him hard, twisting deep in his chest. He should’ve been more forceful, should’ve stopped you. The second you’d mentioned this man, this stranger who had somehow convinced you to follow him, alarm bells had gone off in his head. He had sensed something wasn’t right. Why hadn’t he told you to stay away? Why hadn’t he made sure you didn’t go?

But you were strong, capable—you had always been stubborn, determined to handle things on your own. And he had trusted you to do that. But now…now you were missing. And he was standing in an empty lot with no idea where you were or who had taken you.

Xavier clenched his fists, staring at the phone booth as if willing it to give him answers. The last place you had been. He thought about turning around, driving through the N109 Zone, checking every corner, every building. But the reality of how vast and dangerous this area was made him hesitate. He didn’t even know who to look for. S. The mysterious man whose name had been cut off by the phone’s disconnect. That wasn’t enough.

Xavier’s stomach growled, pulling him from the fog of his frantic thoughts. He hadn’t eaten properly in hours, and the adrenaline that had been fueling him was finally wearing thin. He gritted his teeth, the pang of hunger a sharp reminder of just how long it had been since he’d stopped moving. He didn’t want to waste time, but he knew he needed to eat, to think straight.

Reluctantly, he climbed back into the car and started driving, scanning the streets of the N109 Zone for anything that looked remotely functional. This part of the city was basically wasteland—most of the buildings were crumbling, their windows broken, and the streets were nearly empty. He almost decided to give up before spotting a flicker of neon in the distance.

It was a convenience store—small, dingy, and barely lit—but it was open. The cracked neon sign buzzed weakly, casting a dull glow over the entrance. It didn’t look promising, but it was all he had. He pulled up, the car’s tires crunching over the broken pavement as he parked.

Xavier stepped out, his eyes narrowing as he approached the entrance. The store looked as worn out as the rest of the area, its windows covered in grime and dust, but the lights inside told him it was still in business. He pushed the door open, the warmth of the store enveloping him.

The place reeked of stale air and something faintly metallic. Shelves lined the narrow aisles, most of them half-stocked but there was variety. Xavier grabbed a few snacks—whatever looked edible—and made his way to the counter, where a grimy man with disheveled hair and yellowed teeth sat behind the register, staring at him with a disinterested scowl.

“Do you take gold?” Xavier asked, pulling out a small pouch from his pocket. It wasn’t unusual for places outside Linkon City to not take gold, as a lot of places were still living in the past. Couldn't hurt to ask though.

The man behind the counter laughed, a rough, guttural sound that made Xavier’s skin crawl. “Gold, huh? Figures. You Linkcunt folks just keep coming in here actin’ like it’s worth more than it is.” He leaned forward, eyeing Xavier with something between amusement and suspicion.

"No, we don't take it."

Xavier pocketed the small pouch, unsurprised by the man's harsh words, “You said Linkon folks? Who else from the city has been here?” His tone was casual, but his heart skipped a beat. Maybe someone else had seen you?

"Linkcunt," the man corrected with a sneer. The man’s eyes flicked up, narrowing slightly. “Why, you looking for someone?” He eyed Xavier and leaned back in his chair, his voice taking on an edge of curiosity.

Xavier pressed, trying to keep his voice steady. “Maybe. Just wondering who else might’ve been through here recently.”

The man scratched his stubbled chin, considering. “Well, there was this disheveled-looking girl who came through a little while ago. Had a lot of attitude, that one. Demanding help. Swiped some snacks and shit when I wasn’t looking. Took off before I could do anything about it.” He shrugged, clearly not too bothered by the theft. “But that’s basically all I know.”

Xavier’s heart stopped. A disheveled girl… Could it have been you?

His pulse quickened, the pieces clicking together. You must have come through here before disappearing. The man didn’t seem to know much more, but this was a sign. You had been close—you had been right here.

“What’d she look like?” Xavier asked, trying not to sound too eager.

The man waved a hand lazily. “Didn't look that closely to be honest. Bitch looked like hell, though. Clothes all messed up, like she’d been through something. But she was quick—didn’t stick around long enough for me to really notice much else. Don’t know where she went after that. Just up and vanished with my stock”

Xavier nodded, feeling a surge of both hope and frustration. You’d been here, that much was clear. But now you were gone again, slipping through his fingers like a ghost.

"You really shouldn't talk about women like that".

He paid for the snacks with some dollar bills he kept in his car for out of city trips, and turned to leave, leaving the disgruntled cashier. His mind already racing to figure out where you could’ve gone from here.

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest as he stepped back outside, the cold night air hitting him like a wall. You’d been here. Not long ago, from the sound of it. He could almost picture it—your disheveled form rushing through the aisles, grabbing whatever you could before vanishing into the shadows again. You were close, too close to give up now. But where had you gone?

He clenched his jaw, glancing around the empty streets. There were too many directions, too many places you could have disappeared to. The N109 Zone was vast, a labyrinth of forgotten corners and abandoned buildings, and there was no telling where you might have run off to next.

His mind raced, trying to make sense of the little he knew. You had come here to get food, maybe out of desperation—running on fear and adrenaline. And then, like the man said, you were gone. No tracks, no sign of where you’d been taken.

Xavier pulled a crumpled pamphlet out of his jacket pocket, his fingers brushing over the faded image of a sleek pair of boots. It was the same pamphlet the shoe store clerk had given him earlier, and now, it seemed like his only other lead. A shoe store… It might seem like a stretch, but he had learned to follow even the smallest clues. If he couldn’t figure out where you had gone, maybe he could figure out more about the man who had taken you. And starting with something as small as his shoes might just be the break he needed.

He studied the pamphlet again, his eyes narrowing as he recalled his brief conversation with the clerk. The shoes had been expensive, high-end—definitely not something most people in the N109 Zone would be wearing.

But S wasn’t like most people, was he?

Xavier’s mind spun as he hurriedly typed the address from the pamphlet into his hunter’s watch, the holographic screen glowing softly as it processed the information. The watch pinged, highlighting the location of the store in the city. It wasn’t far, but it was a place he wouldn’t have expected someone from the N109 Zone to frequent.

If S was wearing those shoes, it meant he had money—or at least access to it. That was something Xavier could work with. People like that left trails, even in places where they thought they could stay hidden.

He started the car again, his pulse quickening as the watch projected the route onto the windshield. The shoe store was his next stop, and if he was lucky, he could get more information about who S really was. Maybe someone there had seen him, or better yet, could point him in the direction of where he lived or did business.

As the car sped toward the heart of the city, Xavier’s determination sharpened. He was getting closer to answers—closer to finding you. If he could learn more about this mysterious man, this “S,” then maybe, just maybe, he could figure out where you were being held.

As Xavier sped through the dark, crumbling streets of the N109 Zone, the world outside his car blurred into a mix of shadows and faint streetlights. His mind was focused on finding you, piecing together the next step in his search. Then, out of nowhere, a piercing scream shattered the stillness.

His foot slammed on the brake, the car lurching to a stop as his heart raced. The sound of the scream echoed through the desolate streets, raw and desperate. He scanned the area frantically, searching for the source of the cry for help. Then he saw her—a woman stumbling into the dim light from a broken streetlamp, clutching her side, her face twisted in pain.

“Help! Please, help me!” she gasped, her voice cracking with panic as she looked directly at him, her body collapsing onto the cracked pavement.

Xavier’s hunter instincts kicked in immediately. He couldn’t just leave someone like that. He shoved the car door open and rushed toward her, his eyes darting around, looking for any potential danger. The streets of the N109 Zone were unpredictable, but he couldn't just ignore someone in need.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” he asked, his tone urgent but calm as he knelt down beside her.

The woman’s breathing was shallow, her face pale and contorted with pain. She clutched her ribs, wincing with every breath. “I don’t know,” she whimpered, “I was attacked. I need help… please…” Her eyes were wild with fear, darting between Xavier and the shadows beyond, as if expecting someone—or something—to come after her at any moment.

Xavier’s heart pounded, his mind racing. “I’ll get you some help,” he assured her, reaching for his phone. But as he fumbled for it, he felt a shift—something wasn’t right.

The woman’s eyes flicked over his shoulder, her panic momentarily replaced by something colder, more calculating. Before he could react, a blur of movement rushed behind him.

A sharp clink. The keys.

Xavier’s blood ran cold as he spun around, just in time to see a man slip past him, keys glinting in his hand. The stranger, quick and agile, darted toward Xavier’s car, jumping into the driver’s seat. How did I not see this coming? The realization hit him like a punch to the gut—this was a setup.

“Hey!” Xavier yelled, lunging forward, his heart hammering in his chest. But it was too late.

The woman, now standing tall with no trace of pain or injury, smirked at him, her expression smug and mocking. “Thanks for the ride, city boy,” she sneered, her voice dripping with satisfaction as she ran toward the passenger side of the car. She moved easily now, as if the earlier fear and desperation had been nothing but an act. It had been.

Xavier’s mind raced as he sprinted toward the car, but the engine roared to life before he could even get close. The man in the driver’s seat gunned the accelerator, the tires screeching against the pavement as the car sped away, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.

His heart sank as he watched the taillights disappear into the darkness, the weight of the situation crashing down on him. His car. His keys. Everything—gone in an instant. And with it, any chance of quickly finding you.

He'd have to walk on foot.

The steam from the shower still clung to your skin as you stepped out, your mind swirling in a haze of exhaustion and hunger. Your stomach growled loudly, reminding you just how long it had been since you last ate. The hot water had done little to wash away the weight of everything pressing down on you—the memories, the fear—but it had, at least, cleaned the grime from your body. You were left feeling raw and exposed, unsure of what was coming next.

You opened the glass door of the shower and grabbed a towel laying on the counter, wrapping it around yourself quickly before exiting.

You saw Sylus had elected to lean against the doorframe when you stepped out, and he turned around to face you. His eyes, those sharp, red eyes, softened when they met yours. "The chef has prepared food for you," he said, his voice gentle. The tenderness in his tone felt unnerving, like everything else with him, but the thought of food was too tempting to resist.

But before you could respond, he gestured to a set of neatly prepared shopping bags laid on his bed outside the bathroom. “I want you to open these first. Consider them gifts I had planned for you… before you ran off.” The edge in his words lingered, but his expression remained neutral. You vaguely remembered him clipping your nails while you were in the bathtub, a pile of shopping bags at his feet.

Ah, you had forgotten all about those. You wrapped the towel around yourself tighter, a knot of discomfort forming in your stomach.

You hesitated for a moment, then slowly approached the bed, your hands trembling slightly as you began to take out the "gifts". The first bag contained delicate pieces of underwear—soft, lace, and undeniably expensive. You swallowed hard, feeling a wave of unease crawl up your spine.

“Gifts for me? Or for you to see on me?” you muttered, unable to hide the malice in your voice, the bitterness slipping out.

Sylus’s lips quirked into a small, amused smile, his red eyes flickering with that familiar, unsettling glint. "Why not both?," he replied softly, the weight of his gaze lingering on you as though he found your defiance amusing.

These weren’t just clothes; they were symbols of his control, of how he saw you. Like you were his little doll to dress up. Still, you nodded hesitantly, accepting the garments with quiet reluctance.

Beneath the underwear were more practical clothes—soft, comfortable tops, leggings, and dresses. Each piece was chosen carefully, and despite yourself, you appreciated the effort, if only because you were desperate for something to wear to avoid Sylus's lingering gaze on your damp body. You chose a simple, slightly loose white dress, letting it fall over your damp skin. Then slipped on one of the many underwear he had bought for you. Sylus watched you quietly, a small smile playing on his lips as he waited for you to finish.

“You might've lost a few pounds from stress, once you start eating more, it’ll fit better,” he said casually, his tone matter-of-fact as though he hadn’t just casually referenced your weakened state. The words hung in the air, a subtle reminder of how long you'll be trapped here. Then, with a surprising softness, he added, “You look beautiful nonetheless, honey.”

“Honey.” A new pet name.

Surprisingly, instead of making you grimace like his usual endearments, it sends an unwelcome heat crawling across your face. You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself not to react, but the flush is unmistakable. Against your will, your gaze drops, and you look away from him, the sudden surge of embarrassment catching you off guard.

Sylus notices, of course. His smile deepens slightly, a quiet satisfaction flickering in his eyes as if he can sense the effect his words have on you. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his gaze on you—steady, watchful—his presence filling the room in an unnerving way that makes it harder to breathe.

He extended his hand toward you, the gesture oddly tender and yet impossible to trust. You hesitated, unsure if taking it would solidify his power over you further or if refusing would draw out something worse. But you take it, residing to the fact that you didn't have much choice.

He moved toward the door, your hand held in his grip. “Come,” he said. “The food is waiting.”

Your stomach growled again, and despite the tension between you and him, you found yourself trailing after him, your body driven by the gnawing hunger you couldn’t ignore. As you stepped into the dining hall, the rich, mouth-watering aroma of freshly prepared food hit you like a wave.

The table was filled with an extravagant feast. Platters of roasted meats sat alongside bowls of vibrant vegetables, glistening under the kitchen lights. There were thick, tender cuts of lamb, still steaming from the oven, their edges crisp and golden. Roasted chicken, its skin perfectly browned and seasoned with herbs, sat atop a bed of caramelized onions and garlic. Beside them, a platter of seared duck breast, cooked to perfection, its fat rendered into a rich, savory glaze.

On another side of the table were bowls of creamy mashed potatoes, rich and buttery, their surface dusted with flecks of chives. A dish of roasted root vegetables—carrots, parsnips, and beets—was arranged in a beautiful display, their edges crisp and caramelized, drizzled with a balsamic glaze. There was a vibrant salad of mixed greens, tossed with fresh pomegranate seeds, crumbled goat cheese, and candied walnuts, the dressing a light, tangy vinaigrette that made your mouth water.

A basket of freshly baked bread sat in the center of the table, the rolls warm and soft, their golden crusts begging to be torn apart. Small bowls of whipped butter, infused with honey and herbs, accompanied them, the scent sweet and savory.

But it didn’t stop there. Desserts, too, were laid out, tempting you even further. A decadent chocolate tart with a glossy ganache topping, dusted with powdered sugar and fresh raspberries, sat next to a platter of delicate fruit tarts, their centers brimming with custard and topped with glistening berries. A tower of macarons in various pastel shades—lavender, pistachio, rose—completed the lavish display.

Sylus pulled out a chair for you, his smile widening as he watched your eyes dart from one dish to the next. "Well don't just stare, sit down".

The sight and smell overwhelmed you, and for a moment, you felt like a prisoner presented with a royal meal, knowing full well the chains still bound you. But hunger gnawed at your insides, and no matter how conflicted you were, your body screamed for sustenance as you sat.

"Eat," Sylus urged, taking a seat across from you. His eyes never left yours, watching, waiting for your reaction.

Your hand trembled slightly as you reached for a piece of bread, the warmth of it soothing in your palm. You tore it open, the soft dough yielding beneath your fingers, and dipped it into the whipped honey butter, taking a small bite. The flavors burst in your mouth, and despite everything, you couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh of relief.

The food was perfect—too perfect. And as you took another bite, you couldn’t help but wonder: was this all part of the game too? Or was it simply nourishment after the storm?

Sylus leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on you as you ate, his expression unreadable. He didn’t speak, just watched you in that unsettling, familiar way—like he was always studying you, always thinking, always planning. His silence, for once, was almost a relief, allowing you to focus on the food and ignore his presence as much as possible.

You couldn’t help it. The hunger gnawed at you, and the feast before you was impossible to resist. The flavors were rich, the textures comforting, and before you realized it, you had cleared almost four plates. Each bite had momentarily dulled the chaos in your mind, letting you push aside the fear, the memories, and the discomfort that still lingered in your chest.

Sylus didn’t comment as you reached for more, nor did he interrupt. He seemed content to let you eat in peace, his eyes never leaving you but his lips remaining closed. It wasn’t until you finally pushed the last plate away, feeling the fullness settle in your stomach, that the silence between you felt heavier.

The weight of exhaustion began to settle over you. The warmth from the food and the sheer relief of being full left you feeling heavy, your eyelids growing heavier by the minute. You hadn’t realized just how tired you were until that moment. Your body felt like it had finally reached its limit.

Sylus stood up, breaking the silence. His movements were smooth and deliberate as he pushed his chair back, his gaze never leaving you. “You must be tired,” he said softly, the same unnerving tenderness in his voice as before. “It’s time for bed.”

You tensed slightly at his words, but your body, worn down by hunger and stress, didn’t have the strength to protest. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, afraid of what might come out if you did. There was no point in resisting, not tonight.

Sylus moved toward you, his hand extending again as if offering comfort. You hesitated, looking at his outstretched hand, but you didn’t have the energy to reject him. You let him guide you, his touch gentle yet firm as he led you toward the bedroom you were dreading your return to.

You don’t remember when exactly you slipped into unconsciousness, but the world had faded into nothing after Sylus lifted you into the bed. His arms were unexpectedly gentle, cradling you with a kind of care that felt entirely out of place. You were vaguely aware of him pulling the blankets up around you, tucking you in, but then everything went dark. The exhaustion you had been fighting all day finally consumed you, and you sank into the deepest sleep you’d felt in what seemed like forever.

There was comfort in the darkness, the kind of peace that only comes with complete surrender to sleep. No fear, no panic, just the void. You floated there, cradled in warmth. But soon, the darkness gave way to a dream, vivid and consuming.

Xavier appeared first, stepping out of the shadows of your mind. His familiar figure brought an immediate sense of relief. His ashy blonde hair fell into his face, and his striking blue eyes bore into you with the same warmth and intensity that always made your heart flutter. There he was, just as you remembered—strong, dependable, and safe. He reached out, his hand extending toward you, and without hesitation, you moved toward him.

The moment your hand met his, your heart melted, the overwhelming sense of security flooding through you. For the first time in what felt like ages, you felt safe. You felt home.

But something changed.

Xavier’s gaze, once filled with affection and care, shifted. His eyes darkened, turning cold, distant. The warmth you’d found in his presence quickly evaporated, replaced by something harsh and unfamiliar. His lips curled downward, a shadow crossing his face, and his grip on your hand tightened. The shift was sudden, the dream warping around you like a twisted reflection of reality.

"Why did you want him dead?" His voice cut through the dream, sharp and cold, the softness you’d expected from him nowhere to be found.

You blinked, confusion gripping you as his words sank in. “Huh?” Your face faltered, your heart pounding in your chest. His cold stare drilled into you, and you could feel something inside you cracking under its weight. What was happening?

"You're the reason Reese is dead," Xavier said, his words landing like a punch to the gut. His voice, usually so steady, so comforting, was now filled with anger, with accusation. His grip on your hand turned painful, his fingers digging into your skin with an almost crushing force.

“No...” Your voice wavered, barely able to push the word out as your mind reeled. “That wasn’t my fault, it was Sy—” You tried to explain, to say anything to stop the blame from settling on your shoulders. But the words caught in your throat, and you couldn’t finish. You couldn’t get them out.

His face twisted, contorting with anger and something that looked like disappointment. His blue eyes, once a source of warmth, were now filled with icy judgment, the coldness sinking into your skin like knives. His grip tightened further, pain shooting through your hand, but no matter how hard you tried to pull away, you couldn’t escape.

The dream around you blurred, the edges of reality warping and distorting. The ground beneath you seemed to shift, unsteady, while Xavier's figure loomed larger, his presence suffocating. The weight of his blame pressed down on your chest like a stone, suffocating you, filling your lungs with an overwhelming sense of guilt.

You tried to explain again, your voice strangled by the intensity of the moment, but Xavier wasn’t listening. His hand was like a vice, his fingers digging into your skin as his gaze pinned you in place. His words repeated in your mind, echoing louder and louder—“You're the reason he’s dead.”

Xavier's face began to twist, distorting into something grotesque, something no longer human. His once gentle features morphed and stretched unnaturally, his blue eyes darkening into hollow, accusing pits. His grip on your hand became unbearable, crushing the bones in your fingers as his form continued to change, shifting from the man you loved into a nightmare. The warmth that had briefly comforted you was gone, replaced by a deep, bone-chilling cold.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to pull away, but the force holding you was relentless. You stared in horror as Xavier’s form became unrecognizable, his skin taking on a gray, cracked texture, his mouth elongating into a grimace filled with sharp teeth. His eyes, now nothing more than deep, empty voids, bore into you with a hatred that sent shivers down your spine.

“You’re a murderer,” the figure spat, its voice now a low, guttural growl that echoed in your ears, far louder than it should have been. “Murderer.” The word hit you like a physical blow, making your entire body tense as you tried to make sense of what was happening.

“No…” you whispered, your voice trembling as you desperately tried to defend yourself. “It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t—”

“You have blood on your hands!” the figure roared, its voice shaking the world around you. Xavier’s face continued to twist and contort, veins bulging from his neck, his body looming over you like a towering monster. “You told him to die!”

The words echoed again and again, crashing into you with the force of a tidal wave. The weight of guilt slammed into your chest, almost knocking the wind out of you as the grotesque version of Xavier leaned in closer. His voice became more vicious, more unforgiving. “You let him die, and now the blood is on your hands!”

You looked down, and your breath caught in your throat. Blood. It was everywhere—on your hands, dripping from your fingers, pooling at your feet. Panic surged through you, your heart racing as you tried to wipe it away, but no matter how hard you scrubbed, the blood only seemed to multiply, staining your skin, your clothes, everything around you.

“You’ll never wash it off!” the figure screamed, its voice shaking with rage. “Never!” It grabbed your shoulders, shaking you violently as it continued to scream. “You’re a murderer!

You struggled, trying to pull free, but the figure’s grip was unbreakable. The dream spiraled into chaos, the world around you collapsing into darkness as the screams filled the air, overwhelming your senses. The blood seemed to rise like a tide, crawling up your arms, soaking through your skin. You gasped for air, but it was suffocating, the guilt swallowing you whole.

“Murderer!” the figure roared again, louder this time, shaking you until your vision blurred. “Murderer! Murderer!"

Tears streamed down your face as you tried to shake your head, to deny it, but the accusations wouldn’t stop. The guilt, the blood, the rage—it was all around you, suffocating you, crushing you.

And then, just as quickly as it began, the figure stopped. It stood over you, silent now, but its eyes—those hollow, accusing voids—were locked onto you. “You can never escape what you’ve done,” it whispered, the venom in its voice chilling you to the core.

You shot up in bed, heart hammering in your chest, a scream tearing through your throat before you even knew what was happening. The sheets clung to your sweat-soaked skin as you gasped for breath, the nightmare still gripping you in its suffocating hold. Your hands shook violently, fingers instinctively rubbing at your palms, expecting to see the blood, the thick, crimson stain that had haunted you moments before.

But there was no blood.

The room was dark, dimly lit by a lamp settled on the nightstand. Sylus sat beside you, awake, casually reading a book. His red eyes glanced up from the pages, calm and steady, showing no sign of surprise at your sudden outburst.

“You’re okay,” Sylus said softly, his voice low but steady. He closed the book, setting it aside as he reached out, pulling you closer, into his arms with a gentle grip. The warmth of his body on yours was meant to be comforting, but the lingering terror from the dream made his touch feel heavier, suffocating.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, the echoes of the nightmare still gripping you. The blood, the screams, the weight of guilt—it all felt so real, too real to shake off. Your hands trembled in your lap, still trying to rub away the invisible stain that wouldn’t leave.

“Shhh,” Sylus soothed, his voice soft as he stroked your back with deliberate calmness. “It was just a nightmare, kitten.”

But his words barely penetrated the thick fog of panic swirling in your mind. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to steady your breathing, but the image of Xavier’s cold, accusing gaze still lingered in the corners of your thoughts, leaving an ache in your chest that refused to fade.

Sylus’s gaze never wavered from you. He was patient, his grip around you getting stronger as you fought to regain control, his expression a mixture of curiosity and concern, though it was impossible to tell how much of it was real. He watched you wordlessly, waiting patiently for your breathing to slow as he rubbed your back in soothing motions.

And you did, eventually. Slowly, your heartbeat began to slow, the cold sweat drying on your skin as the nightmare finally started to loosen its grip. You were still shaken, but reality was settling back in.

Sylus smiled, his eyes softening slightly. “Good girl,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You feel better?"

"It's not my fault..." you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper as tears began streaming down your face, hot and unstoppable. The weight of the nightmare still pressed against your chest, the guilt wrapping itself around your heart. "Reese... I told him to die, kinda. But you killed him!"

Your words trembled in the air, and for a moment, the room felt suffocatingly silent. Sylus’s arm stilled on your back, his red eyes watching you closely. His face remained calm, unreadable, but something flickered behind his gaze—curiosity, perhaps, or even amusement. He began rubbing your back again.

He leaned in slightly, his voice low and steady as he spoke. “I killed him because he took what was mine,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “You didn’t pull the trigger, I did. Don’t fool yourself, sweetie.” His fingers gently wiped away the tears falling down your cheeks, lingering on your skin a second longer than necessary.

“His fate was sealed the moment he touched you. You’re not responsible for his death.”

Your heart ached, the confusion and guilt twisting inside you. The memory of Reese's lifeless body, the sound of the gunshot, played over and over in your mind. You knew that Sylus had been the one to end it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that your words, your anger, had driven the final nail in the coffin.

"But I—" you started, your voice cracking, but Sylus shushed you gently, pressing a finger to your lips.

“Don’t burden yourself,” he whispered, his voice soothing but firm. “Reese was a pest, and pests are dealt with. It wasn’t your fault. You said what you needed to say in the moment” His eyes softened, his gaze almost affectionate. “And now, you’re here—with me. Safe.”

"Am I?" you sobbed, the weight of your emotions crashing down on you all at once. The tears came faster, and with them, the memory of that night—the night Sylus had taken everything into his own hands, literally. The sharp pain, the feeling of your skin being sliced open as he calmly removed your birth control implant, resurfaced in vivid detail. The raw fear that had gripped you then returned now, surging like a wave you couldn't hold back.

"At least Reese never hurt me," you choked out between sobs, your voice trembling, barely holding together. "You, on the other hand..."

Your hand instinctively went to your arm, tracing the faint scar left behind from when Sylus had decided, without a second thought, that he would control every part of you—inside and out. The scar was still there, but it wasn’t just on your skin. The memory of that violation ran deeper than any wound that could heal.

Sylus’s expression didn’t shift at your words. His calm gaze remained fixed on you, though there was a slight narrowing of his eyes. His hand paused in its comforting motions, hovering just inches from you, as if calculating how to respond.

“I did what was necessary,” he said, his voice calm, controlled, almost dismissive. "Everything I’ve done has been for you. For us. Why are you crying over a man that handed you and countless others over for crack?"

The flood of emotions broke through all at once at his words.

"Because-because he wasn't supposed to die. Hunters aren't the reason people die, we save people...he could've went to jail he wasn't supposed to-"

You crumpled, sobs wracking your body as the weight of everything—of all you had endured—became too much to bear. Memories you had tried to suppress, to bury deep within you, rose to the surface like dark waves crashing against fragile walls.

The man from the basement. His hands grabbing you, the smell of his breath, the sheer terror that had paralyzed you as he tried to force himself on you. You had fought, screamed, but the memory was still there, etched into your mind like a brand that would never fade. The nightmare you had just woken from had only served to rip open the scars you had so desperately tried to heal.

Your words came out in broken fragments, incoherent between sobs. "That other man…he tried… I couldn’t— I couldn’t stop him…" Your voice cracked, your chest heaving as you babbled through the memories, the trauma wrapping itself around you like a suffocating shroud. "He—he wouldn’t stop… I couldn’t breathe, I was so scared…"

You weren’t even sure Sylus was listening. You couldn’t look at him. Everything blurred together, your mind overwhelmed by the pain, the helplessness, the feeling of being trapped again in that moment. You curled in on yourself, trembling as the sobs became uncontrollable, the terror of that night suffocating you all over again.

Then you felt it—Sylus’s hand, soft and deliberate, gently cradling your cheek. He leaned in, his voice softening into something almost unbearably tender, a tone you never thought he was capable of.

"Poor thing, you're such a mess," he murmured.

His eyes lingered on you with a mix of pity and affection, as though you were something fragile, something cherished. It was as if watching you unravel before him caused his heart to ache.

“I can help you forget,” he whispered, his thumb brushing away your tears with slow, careful strokes. “Let me take the pain away, kitten. You don’t have to carry it anymore.”

His words were soothing, like a lullaby coaxing you away from the edge of your breakdown. His touch was uncharacteristically soft, his presence surrounding you like a cocoon, making it harder to pull yourself out of the depths of your despair. For a brief moment, the way he looked at you—like he truly cared—made you falter.

"I'll make it all disappear," Sylus murmured, his voice low and hypnotic, penetrating the darkest recesses of your fractured psyche. It was as if he possessed the power to reach inside your mind and vaporize the painful memories that clung to you like shackles. "You want to feel so good you won't think about him again?"

You hesitate at his words. The rational part of your mind urged you to turn away, not to respond. To pull yourself from his embrace and fight him. But the other part, muddled by trauma, drove you to stay. To seek comfort, any comfort, even in his arms.

From your captor of all people.

“Yes…” you whimpered, blinking away tears. You didn’t know why you answered that way—your mind screamed at you to stop—but you found yourself reaching out, your fingers clutching the collar of his shirt and pulling him closer.

Anything. Anything to make this pain stop.

His lips crashed against yours before you could even register what was happening, consuming you in a kiss so passionate it bordered on painful. All rational thought evaporated as his tongue plundered the recesses of your mouth, stroking along your palate and tangling with your own tongue in a sensual dance as old as time itself.

You were consumed, caught in the storm of his touch, unable to think beyond the overwhelming need to escape the agony of your memories—even if only for a moment.

Your hands flew to his face of their own accord, fingers threading through his hair as you clung to him like a drowning woman gasping for air. You kissed him back with a fervor born of desperation, pouring all your pent-up anguish and trauma into the hungry clash of lips and teeth. The two of you panted against each other, like animals ready to tear each other to shreds.

Some distant part of you screamed that this was mistake, that doing this with him willingly was certainly wrong. He had kidnapped you after all. Stolen you. But it was drowned out by the pounding of your heart, the ache of need pulsing between your thighs. His hands slid under your dress, calloused palms skimming over hypersensitive flesh, and you arched into his touch with a whimper.

"Sylus..." you whined, already feeling the desperate ache reach your core.

"I know, kitten. Patience, we just started" he said, amusement adorning his face.

His lips found yours again, hot and demanding, silencing any lingering protests. You melted into the kiss, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mix of desire and danger that left you craving more. His fingers find the hem of your underwear, wasting no time to remove the obstacle from your wet depths.

Your whole body trembled as Sylus's lips blazed a path down your body, trailing molten kisses along the column of your throat. Each brush of his mouth against your sensitive skin sent electricity singing through your veins, igniting another fiery ache between your thighs. When he nudged aside the fabric of your dress to nuzzle the slick flesh of your cunt, you let out a strangled moan, your fingers curling into the sheets beneath you.

The tip of his nose grazed your swollen bud, and your back arched off the bed, every nerve ending sparking with raw pleasure. "Nnnngh…" you whimpered, hips bucking instinctively toward his teasing touch.

Sylus's deep, resonant chuckle rumbled through you, vibrating against your core in a way that made your toes curl. "So responsive," he murmured, his warm breath ghosting over your dripping folds. "Tell me, kitten-were you this wet for him? Did he make you shiver and moan like this when he touched you?"

He grips your thighs almost possessively, waiting for your answer.

His words were like a bucket of ice water dumped over your head, plunging you back into reality. Shame crashed over you in nauseating waves, your arousal doused by the realization of how easily Sylus manipulated your body. Tears leaked from the corners of your eyes as you squeezed them shut, fists clenching in the bedding.

"No," you choked out, voice brittle. "Never. He never touched me like this…Sylus, please…" The plea was torn from your throat, part desperation, part disgust. You felt filthy, tainted by your own traitorous reactions to Sylus's sensual assault on your most intimate parts.

But despite the revulsion roiling in your gut, your body still yearned for more.

"Its hard to say no when you beg me like that," he said, seemingly satisfied with your answer, began trailing a hot, wet streak against your folds. A gasp punches through your throat, eyes fluttering as you try not to lose all control. The mere feeling of his tongue was sending your brain into frenzies. But it wasn't enough. Wasn't enough to block the pain.

"Sylus, ple-mmph!”

You grip the bedsheets even tighter when he tenderly cuts off your plea with a moan against your clit, his tongue beginning to spread the entrance of your lips apart feverishly. Your breathing gets rapid when you feel something hot breaking past the entrance, deeper and deeper into your walls. Sylus's tongue delved deeper, stroking along your inner walls with devastating skill.

"You don't have to hold the bedsheets." he says, withdrawing momentarily from your depths. He wordlessly guides your hands to the top of his head, and before you can say anything, he's back licking up and down your folds, eventually making his way back in completely. The immediate shockwaves of pleasure make you grip his hair basically against your will, and you tearfully hold his hair as you neared an orgasm.

The pleasure built to an unbearable crescendo as Sylus's tongue relentlessly stroked your inner walls, each slick thrust driving you higher toward the brink of climax. Broken moans spilled from your lips, intermingling with his hungry growls of appreciation. Tears streamed down your face as your hips rocked shamelessly against his mouth, silently begging for the oblivion that hovered just out of reach.

Sylus's strong hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he feasted upon your aching cunt. He seemed enraptured, almost worshipful in his attentions, lavishing your most intimate places with devoted licks and sucks. He ate you out like a starved man. Like he craved you.

Like he missed you.

Occasionally his nose would rub against your clit again and again, a delicious friction that made you sob with the intensity of it all.

When his lips finally closed around your swollen clit and sucked hard, you nearly vaulted off the bed, a strangled scream tearing from your throat.

"Mhgn! Sylus! Please, I can't…it's too much!"

But he didn't let up, his talented tongue circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with ruthless precision. Your vision whited out as you finally reached heaven, wave after wave of ecstasy crashing over you until you thought you might drown in it. Your walls clamped down on his invading tongue, pulsing with the force of your release, unwittingly calling out Sylus's name as you did so.

Finally, blessedly, Sylus withdrew. You melted in the sheets, finally letting go of his hair, boneless and shuddering in the aftermath. Tears streaked your face, but for once, they weren't because Sylus had hurt you. He had done quite the opposite actually.

Taking in the sight of you sprawled before him, flushed and panting, your body trembling. With a wicked smirk, he trailed a hand along your trembling thigh, drawing a shuddering moan from your throat. Evidence of your orgasm coated his mouth, and you watch as he licks the remaining from his lips.

"Tired already?" he teased, quite enjoying the way your body tensed under his touch. "For a hunter I expected you to have more stamina."

The haze of post-orgasmic bliss dissipated as quickly as it had descended, harsh reality crashing back in with brutal clarity. Tears pricked your eyes as the weight of your shame threatened to crush you. You had begged him for it, eagerly spread your legs for your kidnapper as if y'all were lovers. What was wrong with you?

"I..." you trail off, vision blurring with tears once more. What were you going to say? What could you say?

Sylus trailed lazy kisses along your jaw, seeming to sense your internal turmoil within your head. His lips rubbed against your sensitive skin, sending unwanted sparks of pleasure skittering through your nerves.

"If you're still able to think," he murmured against your throat, "then I clearly haven't kept my promise of helping you forget." His nimble fingers worked at his belt buckle.

The leather strap slid free of the loops with a hiss, dropping forgotten to the floor. Soon after, you felt the straps of your dress slip past your shoulders, past your waist, and eventually off your body completely. Sylus's gaze raked over you, lovingly and hungry, devouring the flush on your skin, the swell of your heaving breasts. You felt bare under his scrutiny, stripped of all defenses.

"And here I thought I was doing such a good job of distracting you," he purred, palming himself through his jeans. The rigid line of his erection strained against the faded denim, an obscene bulge that made your mouth go dry. You watched as he began taking his shirt off from over his head, his chiseled stomach and chest coming into view.

"Please..." you whimpered, the word torn from your throat as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. Your body trembled, caught between the whirlwind of conflicting emotions roiling within you. Revulsion. Lust. Desperation. Self-loathing. You don't even know what you're asking for.

Sylus's expression softened as he gazed down at you, his thumb brushing away the moisture collecting on your lashes. It was uncharacteristic of you to beg for anything other than freedom. It was pulling at his heart and making him feel weak. "Shhh, it's alright sweetie," he soothed, his voice a low murmur. "I'm keeping my promise. Don't think, just focus on me."

Slowly, reverently, he lowered his mouth to yours in a kiss that stole your breath and shattered your reservations. His lips moved over yours with aching tenderness, sipping at your parted lips as if savoring the sweetest nectar. The press of his body against yours was solid, reassuring, anchoring you in the whirlwind of sensation.

His tongue slipped past your defenses to stroke the sensitive flesh within, each languid thrust a silent promise of the ecstasy to come. One large hand cradled your face, angling your head to deepen the kiss, while the other smoothed soothing circles on the small of your back.

When he pulls back, eyes staring down at you, it feels like he's staring into the depths of your soul. His eye begins to glow dangerously, and you begin to feel your mind start to spin and the room start to grow hazy. Voices begin pouring into your ears.

Devour him.

He's right there.

Grab him!

But just as quickly as they started, they stopped. You lay there shocked, unable to process what just happened.

"Your mind says a lot more than your mouth does, kitten" he chuckles, and you can only blink confusingly at him as he begins unzipping his pants. He stands up momentarily to remove his pants and you watch as his cock finally spring free. You feel a gush of arousal as you watch it throb, precum slightly leaking at the tip.

"W-what?" you ask, one half of your brain focusing on his raging erection and the other half wondering why the hell your mind felt like it was splitting in half just a second ago.

But you have no time to ponder such questions as Sylus begins to tower above you once more, grabbing your legs and spreading them apart. You squeal at the sudden touch and shiver when his tip rubs against the slit of your opening. His face is twisted with pleasure and his lips are parted, as if he's restraining every part of himself not to push everything into you at once.

"Slow...please" you beg, your hips involuntarily pushing down on the head of his tip when it greets your opening.

"You want me to go slow, yet your hips are lifting off the bed like you can't wait to have me buried inside you," Sylus teased, his voice a low, wicked murmur. He enjoys the way your face twists in annoyance.

 "So greedy, aren't you kitten?"

"I'm not trying t-mmph!"

You words lodge into your throat as you feel the head of his tip pierce your hole. You gasped, back arching as you stretched impossibly around him. A painful stretch causes you to groan and try to pull away, but Sylus puts a hand on your stomach, holding you down and ceasing all resistance.

"Be still, hah, it wont hurt for long". Sylus lips are parted as he lets out his own breathless groan, his senses being overwhelmed with you as he sinks deeper and deeper.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Sylus groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as he fought for control. He eased forward slowly, inch by excruciating inch, letting you adjust to his substantial size. Your velvety walls resisted initially, clamping down around him like a vice.

Sylus paused, buried to the hilt inside you, his pelvis flush against yours. "Breathe, kitten," he instructed, his voice strained with the effort of holding still. "Try to relax okay?."

You tried to relax, to focus on the pleasant pressure building deep in your core instead of the dull ache in your stretched flesh. Gradually, you yielded, your muscles unclenching as Sylus began to move.

"Good girl," he managed through clenched teeth, withdrawing until just the tip remained before sliding back in with agonizing deliberateness. Over and over, he set a torturously slow rhythm, savoring every drag of your fluttering walls along his rigid cock.

 Soon, the sting gave way to blossoming pleasure, radiating outward from where you were joined. You found yourself meeting his measured thrusts, your hips rocking up to take him deeper, chasing that euphoric friction. Sylus's pace quickened marginally, his self-control fraying at the edges. The slap of flesh against flesh echoed obscenely in the room, a filthy symphony that drowned out your labored breaths and muffled whimpers.

Each deliberate thrust carried you further from the pit of anguish threatening to swallow you whole. The exquisite drag of Sylus's thick cock along your sensitive walls obliterated every coherent thought, leaving only the raw, visceral pleasure of the moment. Higher and higher you climbed, chasing the blissful oblivion he promised, until the first warnings of an impending climax rippled through your trembling form.

Sylus shifted his angle slightly, and stars exploded behind your eyelids as he grazed a spot deep inside that made your toes curl. A strangled moan tore from your throat, lost in the slick slide of bodies and the heady musk of arousal perfuming the air.

"That's it, sweetie," Sylus coo'd, his voice low and rough with lust. "Let go. Think about the one making you feel good right now. Think about me. Only me."

His words shivered through you, igniting something primal and needy. Your hips bucked up to meet his thrusts, desperate for more, harder, faster. Your mind snapped and went blank. You were drowning in sensation, drowning in him, and you never wanted to surface. Never wanted to think about reality ever again.

"You're so cute like this," Sylus purred, punctuating each word with a savage grind of his pelvis against yours. "Brain empty and filled with too much cock to think. Should just keep you like this..."

His filthy praise melted your reservations, stoking the desperate frenzy consuming your body and mind. Nothing else mattered beyond the slick slide of flesh and the heady perfume of sex saturating the air. In this moment, Sylus owned you wholly, a willing slave to his lust. All you could do was surrender, drowning in the exquisite agony of your impending release.

The coil of tension in your core tightened with each passing second, your impending climax hovering just out of reach. Sylus sensed your mounting desperation, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own release.

"You're so close," he growled, his rhythm growing erratic as he chased his own completion. "I can feel you tightening up, greedy little thing."

"Go ahead, cum. Let me hear your pretty sounds."

The lewd demand shattered your composure, catapulting you into heaven and you practically screamed his name. Pleasure crashed through you like a tsunami, obliterating every coherent thought. All you knew was the pulsing ache in your core, the rhythmic throb of Sylus's cock buried deep, prolonging your climax until you couldn't take the sensations anymore and almost begged him to stop thrusting.

“Sylus…” you whimper weakly.

Your vision grew blurry as you teetered into overstimulation, your walls clamping down on Sylus's pistoning length like a vise. Thankfully, he was at his own end. You hear a guttural groan of your name in your ear, and then felt the hot splash of his seed painting your insides soon after. His thrusting completely stopped, and the both of you lay there, panting and unmoving.

It was only when you felt his warm seed spilling out onto the bed that you snapped back into reality.

"Did you-"

“Yes, I did it inside,” Sylus murmured, his voice calm, almost too calm. “Where else would it go?”

Before you could even process his words and sit up, he was on you, pinning your arms down to the bed with a swift, ruthless precision, as if anticipating your next move. The weight of him was suffocating, leaving you no room to escape. Panic surged through you, your body instinctively twisting and writhing beneath him, but it was useless. You were trapped.

“After your little escape," he continued, voice laced with playful amusement, "I’ve realized I need to put in more effort. Taming you isn’t as easy as I thought...a baby should be a nice, heavy, leash for you"

“Sylus… please,” you stammer, your heart pounding in your chest. Desperation claws at you as the gravity of his words sinks in. “We don’t need to do this. Not like this. Please, let’s solve this without a child?—I’ll do anything you want. I won’t try to run again, I swear.”

Tears blurred your vision as you begged, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush, your voice cracking with the weight of your fear. But Sylus just smiled, that soft, chilling smile that made your stomach drop. He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned closer, his hand disappearing beneath the bed.

“I know you won’t be running away again. In fact…”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you watched him, terror coiling tighter with every passing second. What was he doing? What was he reaching for? You searched your mind desperately, trying to think of anything, anything at all that might change his mind, but you knew better. Sylus was relentless. He hadn’t forgotten your attempts to resist, and now he was only more determined.

And then you felt it—the cold, unforgiving touch of metal snapping around your ankle.

Your eyes flew wide open, your pulse spiking as you looked down in horror. An ankle chain. You were shackled.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling. "No...is this..?"

“Anything I want, you say?” Sylus's voice oozed with satisfaction, a smile creeping across his lips as he leaned in closer. The warmth of his breath contrasted sharply with the cold metal now binding you in place.

“Then make us a baby, sweetie,” he purred, his fingers tracing lightly down your arm. “That’s what I want most right now.”

The weight of his words settled like ice in your chest. A shiver coursed through your body, your mind racing, searching for some way out, but the chain around your ankle clinked softly with every tiny movement, a reminder of how trapped you really were.

“It’s long enough to reach everything in here, including the toilet and shower,” Sylus said, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he leaned down to press a slow, deliberate kiss to your cheek.

You shuddered beneath him, your tears finally spilling over as the full weight of your situation crashed down on you. “Is this… my punishment for running?” you whispered, your voice fragile and trembling, as if the question itself might break you.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place. “No, it’s not a punishment,” he said, his tone soft but resolute. “It’s a necessity, honey.”

His words hung heavy in the air, sealing your fate as surely as the chain around your ankle.

Tears broke free, pouring down your face in uncontrollable waves as the reality of it all crushed you. You sobbed openly, your body shaking under the weight of it, and yet there was nothing you could do. Sylus leaned down, his presence overwhelming, his hand softly brushing the side of your tear-streaked face. His voice was low, almost soothing, as if he believed he was offering comfort instead of twisting the knife deeper.

“The faster you accept this,” he whispered, stroking your hair gently, “the easier it’ll be for you. Accept your place by my side and have my baby.”

"I'll take care of both of you, I promise."

His words only made the knot in your throat tighten further. You hated him. You hated him with every fiber of your being, but worst of all, you hated yourself. Hated the fact that you had once given yourself to him willingly, that you had let the devil himself have your body in a moment of weakness, as if you hadn’t known exactly what he was capable of.

The shame of it burned through you, deeper than any chain ever could. How had you fallen so far? How had you ever let him touch you, let him inside your body, your mind—your soul? The answer twisted cruelly in your gut.

But even despite all the burning hatred you had for him in this moment, another unknown feeling sprouted. One that ached and felt almost unbearable to think about. A longing. Festering within the walls of your strained heart and mind. You refused to acknowledge it though, choosing to drown in the sorrow of your new situation.

Sylus shifted beside you, wrapping his arms around you as if you were lovers instead of captor and captive. His warmth pressed against your skin, a twisted parody of intimacy, and you lay there, eyes fixed blankly on the ceiling. You felt his breathing slow beside you, felt his presence still as he settled in comfortably at your side. But you were miles away, staring into the abyss above, where there was no escape, no solace.

Only the cold, bitter truth. You had let the devil in, and now, there was no way out.

[petew21-blog]

Sexy revenge

I died serving my country as a mercenary all my life since I was left the school. Some might say that I did it only for money and they would be right. I did. It pass good. But I was freaking good at my job. I was a pro. And that's why they always called me back. Why I asked for more and more money and the government always provided. Cause they knew I would succeed.

But once, I wasn't the one picking my team. I always do background checks on them. But this one time I was assigned soldiers I knew but wasn't comfortable working with. Especially this one guy who would kill himself just cause his captain said so. The most loyal one I knew. I knew he despised me for the mercenary job. He did it for country, I did it for money. A loyal dog he was, I called him Rex just to mess with him. He clearly didn't like it. And to be honest, I really don't remember his name.

We were on a mission, the goal was clear. Secure the target, eliminate and get enough evidence and leave immediately.

It went smoothly. But as we found the guy, bombs around. Our squad was separated and I was left with Rex alone. We decided to find the evidence and leave. We were ambushed by a group of our enemies. Thanks to me, we managed to eliminate them all, including the target. But our team was still under fire from the roof. We sneaked up there. Rex was covering me and I eliminated the guy and saved my squad. And suddenly a shot went through my chest. I turned around painfully, just to see Rex holding our enemies weapon after firing.

"Nothing perosnal, orders are orders. You were a pain in the ass of our government. Always wanting more money, making your own rules. They know you're good, but so am I. This way, I'll get medals for saving our guys up here. While you will die here. That's where money gets you." and then he shot me in the head

And that's the last thing I remember. My body was transported back to the States. I somehow felt my prevence around it. The more time passed the more I could see the world around me. I become a ghost. I knew exactly why I didn't pass on. My unfinished bussiness was the one who shot me in the head. But how was I suppose to finish the bussiness now since I was a ghost.

Time went by. My body rotted in the ground. I was just roaming the world without no goal. But one day, I saw a ceremonial in the TV on the street. Rex was recieving a medal just as he said. "That fucker". The anger fuelled me. Revenge is the thing that let's me move on.

"I have to get to him somehow. But he is now protected. Hidden in the army. And I am still a ghost that only now knows how to make lights flicker and slightly move objects. Unless I scare him to death I won't get my revenge. I have to get a body."

The first person I tried on was a homeless person on the street. He was high on fentanyl. That made it easier for me cause he didn't fight. But staying in a body that's this high is really hard. I left his body and tried on some kid in a park and succeeded. Ok, next level. A teenager.

My luck was really great today. I picked one who was a pickpocket and was followed by a police officer. So much running after being dead and the possession made it hard for me to run from him. And I got caught. Whiel we were writing on the red light. Me, still in the teens body, I now focused myself on the police officer on the passengers seat. He was asleep, probably from his night shift, maybe that will make it easier for me.

I concentrated and then my soul just moved a bit to the front. Being accepted in the adult body. He did put up a fight even though He was sleep, but I won.

I opened my eyes. My 'colleague' was looking at me and just laughed. "Bad dreams?"

"What?" my deep voice left my throat. What a manly body I picked.

"You were sharing man. You dreamed of some chick atleast?"

"Haha, yeah that's right" I chuckled and then pretended to sleep again to not let him question me again.

I left the teen thief with my colleague and went to the lockers to change and end my shift

Taking off the uniform I found out that the police officer, Adrian Jackson, I now possesed, had bunch of tatoos, hairy chest, muscular body and satisfactory dick. Mine was better. But this one is young. Might be nice to enjoy the young fertility again

I went to the mirror to get a good look at myself

"Ooooooh, look at those GUNS!" I flexed to see what I was now working with.

"This body is really nice. If I get my revenge I could stay being you, Adrian."

Tapping into Adrians mind I found out what his adress was. And what any man, not only gay ones, would do in this situations? That's right. I went to explore my new body in the shower. Feeling the hot water running down was erotic itself. I missed having feelings.

As I was drying off my hairy dick that just shot cum on the shower wall, I knew there was something missing

I found the clothes in his closet that were slightly resembling the ones I used to wear. What was now reflecting at me in the mirror was a young, hot reflection of an adult man, very similar to me as when I was starting my mercenary career.

I took a very revealing photo for later. Don't worry, I have to give this body a nice ride. And FUCK how I wanna ride someone. Whoever it is. Man, woman, anyone.

My plans are about to proceed. I have a body I need to take revenge on Rex. Another step? Leaving Adrian's job as a cop. Becoming a mercenary again. Getting a haircut and get as close to REX as possible.

Surely he will be tempted to take down another mercenary that is just like me before.

Revenge is so sexy if you ask me

Story request from inbox: You can make a story about an old mercenary possessing a handsome young cop, and turning him into a new mercenary.

[kimetsu-no-yaiba-writings]

I just had the Idea, like Imagine, the S/o from Muzan, Koku, Douma and Akaza (seperate) finds a spider and is REALLY Scared of it. How would they react?

The mental image of the S/O shrieking in terror and one of these men just absolutely pegging it all the way from one side of the house to the other just to find out its a spider that scared the S/O amuses me greatly (≧▽≦)

Also I have arachnophobia and honestly spiders get my skin crawling in terror... they just give me the ick

Honestly thanks for sliding this into my askbox! It was fun to imagine and write what these men would think and do during such a scenario!

Muzan Kibutsuji, Kokushibo, Douma/Doma + Akaza reacting to their S/O being scared of a spider - Headcanons:

Muzan Kibutsuji:

He was just doing an experiment, just messing around with chemicals to get a reaction

When he hear's you scream

Fucking speed demon o'hoy as he speeds across the house to find you, nails hardening and lengthen and tentacles wanting to burst out from his skin to get rid of what's harmed you

And when he reaches where you are, hands cracking the foundations of the door with a snarl on his lips until his eyes land on you

Muzan stands there - his fear quells and is instead replaced with a thankful neutrality - breathing slowly reverting back to normal as he takes in your shaken form standing on one of the tables in the home's library

With a quirk of his brow his gaze drifts to where your shaking finger points and lands on the calm + poised form of a spider

Muzan stares at it

The spider stares back

Before it's promptly squished under a book

Your carried out of the room like a bride

"For scaring me you get to sit in my lab" Muzan says, going back to mixing chemicals "And if your good, it'll be me that makes you scream in ecstasy later"

Muzan knows spider's scare you so usually just kills them before you see one - although the odd few go get to live

Kokushibo:

Kokushibo was meditating - his usual activity after a long day

It's silent, the house in a state of stillness and the world outside holding it's breathe as Kokushibo breathes in...then out..

And its shattered by your scream of fear

His body moves quicker than his mind

Hand on his katana as he rushes to where you are and as see's you cowering in the hallway, eyes flicking to and fro to see where your fear is placed to see the 8-legged fiend

"It's a spider...." He states plainly, eyes blinking as his stance relaxes "......again?"

"Can you please make it go away!" You whisper-shout, eyes peaking through your fingers at him "It's really scary"

Kokushibo simply sighs

Moving silently to catch the spider with a drinking cup and a piece of parchment from the ceiling and releasing it outside

He picks you up and dusts you off with a small smile

"Next time just shout my name, I'll handle the spiders"

Douma/Doma:

Douma/Doma had just finished a sermon

Narrowly escaping his followers clutches from having to give more false kindness and advice that he probably didn't mean

Until he hears you scream

Fear flushes his insides cold and worry makes his chest ache as he runs to your shared quarters

First, he blinks - taking in the scene of your shaking form and the rather harmless spider on the wall

Then his brain starts working at a mile a minute before everything clicks into place

You (S/O) + Spider + Scream from you = Fear = New form of entertainment

Douma/Doma smirks - something filled with malice and a polite mock sympathy - before making his way across the room to soothe you

Before promptly catching the spider and chasing you with it...

Yes, this is funny for him and no, he won't stop until he's tired

After having his fun - for what felt like a millennia - Douma/Doma releases the spider outside

And with a chuckle, kisses your forehead and leaves you

Douma/Doma just doesn't understand why you're scared of spiders until you sit down with him before bed and tell him off for earlier

After that he orders his followers to either kill spiders on sight or move them into the garden

Akaza:

He was training in the garden when he heard you scream out in terror

Making record time to get to you by simply leaping from the garden through the bedroom's open window

Eyes moving wildly trying to find the source of your terror - his heart aching when seeing your eyes shimmering with tears and a scared wobble to your lip

Until landing on the black mass on the floor scuttling about... "a....a spider?" He says inquisitively, his head tilting in confusion

When he realizes that it was the spider that made you scream, Akaza kinda just stares at it for a little while before joining you on the bed to get away from it and soothe you

Then 5 minutes roll into 10 minutes and your both sat there, chilling on the bed in a hug and waiting for the spider to leave

"It's gone now...."

Accidentally stands on the spider

Yes, he screams

No, the spider doesn't make it

But you do get to laugh

Akaza now doesn't go near spiders....

[erinfern0]

paint the sheets red

soft!dom!roman x afab!reader (smut ending with fluff)

- afab anatomy, gender neutral nicknames, only used pronouns are you etc.

summary: roman just craves to help you get through your period, he can't help burying his face between your legs.

warnings: period oral sex (r receiving), praise, somnophilia, blood kink, fingering, use of safe word, spit, edging, mention of aftercare, slight dom/sub dynamic, anxiety, etc

Usually, when you're on your period, you two try to stay away from each other, mostly for your own safety. Being sane, he would never risk so much by being close to you while you were bleeding, and you usually complied. Today was different. Today, you were desperate for his attention. You needed him close to you, to whisper that everything is going to be fine and that those feelings won't last. You were lost in your own head, trying to stay collected while running your hand over your stomach, imagining it was his.

The day was going awful. The cramps had been killing you since you woke up. Not a single pill helped to ease the pain you felt physically. You also suffered mentally from your boyfriend not responding to your texts.

Roman was busy like this usually, answering you only when he had enough time for you or when he just finished his job. You texted him in the morning, describing how bad you felt and how nice would it be if he came around in the evening. Walls of messages filled his phone but he couldn't leave the meeting as he wanted to. You were aware he had responsibilities other than you, which made you feel even worse - you felt like a burden for interrupting him like this. You closed the app and quickly threw your phone against the mattress of your shared bed with a sigh. You crawled up on top of the bed, bringing your knees to your chest as your side, pressing your hand over your warm stomach, trying to ease the pain, quiet curses mumbled under your breath.

Roman looked at his phone, biting his lower lip. You needed him. More than usual, and he wanted to be there for you. He could just leave, he had enough money to ignore the new client, but he knew it wasn't good for the company. He kept bouncing his leg under the desk as the men talked above him. They were asking him questions and he would just mindlessly nod his head, staring at the texts you sent him.

At first, he just thought about the pain you felt, about your loneliness and agony. How much he just wanted to be there with you, cuddling you while whispering how much he loves you. The thought of you flashing over and over in his mind, hand squeezing the phone to force himself not to message you back yet.

But then something else grabbed his attention. he looked over one of the texts and froze. Period. He had read it before and knew the reason behind your pain, but it hit him just now. He couldn't stop thinking about it. Blood. He ran his tongue over his top teeth, feeling how sharp his teeth were, mouth watering just by the idea of you. Sex and thighs covered in the red substance that tasted so damn good. He couldn't shake off the fantasy of bringing his lips to the soft flesh of your inner thighs, tasting you while his hands held your hips down to prevent you from moving too much. His eyes started getting hazy from craving you, scanning the people in front of him as he dug his fingernails deep into his palm.

The men didn't seem to notice how his eyes started slowly darkening in front of them. He had to have you. Now.

He lifted his body off the chair a little too quickly, overwhelmed by the sound and feeling of the blood running in his guests' veins. He felt dizzy, supporting his weight over the desk as he looked up at them. "Gentlemen... I believe I've heard enough" he says. The man who was taking care of the presentation froze mid-slide. "I'll think about your offer and let you know about my decision, give me some time. Thank you for being here" he said, almost politely before grabbing his phone off the desk and rushing to the elevator, loosening the tie just enough to help him breathe.

He texted you he'd be there soon but you were already asleep, trying to fight the pain. Despite how short the ride home was, it felt like hours to him, clenching his jaw, trying to discipline himself as he pulled up to the front yard. He quickly left his car, mind focused on whispering your name over and over like a spell in his head as he walked into the bedroom. He froze as soon as he saw you.

That perfect body curled up on top of the bed in your shots and a t-shirt, but not a regular t-shirt. One of his. He could smell you from the corridor, but now, when he stood in between the door frame the scent of your skin hit his head a little harder. He was obsessed with it. His urges only fueled inside of him as he saw you shift in your position, arms above your head that is slightly tilted, knees bent and shifted to your right just enough to slightly expose your butt from under the shorts, that's when he noticed it.

He could scent it before but he just thought it was because of your pad, now he knows the reason he could smell your blood so easily is because you were just utterly drenched with it. Your underwear, shorts, and the sheets covered with such a beautiful shade of red, he wouldn't even dare to look away.

Eyes focused on you, he starts slowly walking closer to the bed, his hands fiddling with the buttons of his dress shirt just enough to expose his collarbones. Then he quickly takes off his tie and throws it somewhere behind him.

His eyes darken as he slowly spreads your legs, a gasp escaping his lips at the sight of the most incredible meal he's going to ever consume in his life. He cursed under his breath as he saw your face, scrunched with pain. 'poor thing', he thought and kissed one of your knees before slowly kneeling on the bed, brushing his fingertips over your thighs, trying to avoid the blood just yet.

He clenched his jaw, the thought of doing this to you in your sleep was getting him painfully hard in his jeans. He couldn't help but palm himself through them. You've done many things in the bedroom already, including somno, but never when you were covered in that beautiful blood of yours.

He bit his lip as he slowly moved your shorts and underwear down, a pitiful mewl leaving his mouth as he saw how red and slick you were. He rubbed his thumb over the red clots of blood on the material and smiled, throwing it somewhere on the bed. His hands were already covered in the substance as he gripped your thighs, leaving his bloody handprints over you. He just couldn't help himself.

He heard your tiny gasp in your sleep, causing his already throbbing cock to twitch. "Fuck", he cursed under his breath before slowly lowering his mouth to your heated skin, lips traveling over your inner thighs as he tried to remain as sane as possible. The last thing he wanted to do was to harm you, especially when you suffered much already.

He moaned at the taste of you, your sweet and perfect blood on display for him as he licked your inner thigh. His eyes were closed, hips slightly moving against the mattress as he got closer to your core, leaving trails of dark hickeys over your skin, barely visible because of the substance covering them. He gave your cunt a quick kiss before running his lips to your other thigh, doing the same thing over and over until he heard you whimper in your sleep.

"Oh, you like that?" he asked in a whisper, trying to talk to you while you were still unconscious "God, I want to see your eyes on me." he added, mostly to himself as he gave your swollen and sensitive bud a lick, just enough to make your legs twitch.

His fingers started spreading your folds to see the way blood slowly leaked from your hole, a smile appearing on his face as he gave it another lick.

And god, your taste. It was driving him crazy. The metallic, tingling feeling over his tongue sent shivers down his spine, causing him to jerk his hips. He growled against your core, sending pleasurable vibrations in your way. Under the blood, he also tasted something better. Your delicious wetness mixed with it almost drove him insane. He was fighting the urge to just give in, let go of his humanity, and just sink his teeth over your thighs or core, tasting you in a very different way. He regained his sanity as he saw your eyes slowly opening.

"Good morning, sunshine." he whispered right before slowly sliding his flattened tongue over your slit, causing your legs to tighten around his head. Your soft whimpers fill the room. His actions were lewd, almost animalistic, but the way he looked at you made you just spread your legs wider for him, letting him to take the pain away.

Your hands easily found his hair, tugging on it as you arched your back, craving the sweet feeling of him against you again but then you saw it. You froze immediately, seeing his face covered in red, hazed eyes watching your reactions. Then you looked to the side and bit your lip at the view of blood covering his sheets.

"I-I'm so sorry, Roman." you whispered as you tugged on the material. He just let out a grunt, shaking his head slightly. He wiped his face against your bare thigh, making you gasp as you saw the red staining his lips, teeth, and tongue. "I'll get new ones, I..."

"Don't you worry about it, angel." he mutters before kissing one of your hickeys. The way he caressed your skin with his nose made you shiver, embarrassment hitting your face with a blush. "Be good for me and relax, okay? It's all about you now." his voice was low and filled with lust as he left a gentle bite mark over your skin, just enough to let you see it, not to tear through the tissue.

You couldn't help but squirm as he wrapped his arms around your thighs, keeping them close to his face as he looked at you. A silent plea to taste you again, and he didn't hesitate when you nodded your head.

He started running his flat tongue between your folds, collecting anything in his way just to swallow it right up, being careful not to push on your clit too hard. just very light and gentle licks all over you, cleaning you off from the cause of your previous suffering and embarrassment. He chuckled as he saw you reaching under your shirt just to add to the pleasure, but before you touched them you looked down at him. "Yes, you may." he said at your silent question, sucking on your clit slightly.

You gasped and tugged on his hair harder, your other hand quickly running under your shirt, wait, his shirt, teasing your hardened nipples with a hesitant moan.

"Louder, baby." he growled between your thighs and sucked a little harder, leaving your clit with a simple pop. "I want to hear how good you feel."

His words alone make you arch your back to roll your hips over his mouth. Romans eyes flutter with pleasure as he sinks one of his fingers into your drenched hole, spitting on it just to give it some more lube. He moves painfully slowly, just watching your red-covered hole grip his middle digit greedily.

"R-Roman" you gasp, begging for him to go faster. He just placed kisses over your thighs, his finger knuckle deep inside of your cunt as he nods his head.

"I know, sweetheart, I know." he mutters under his breath, leaving a single kiss on your swollen bud. "Just a little more f'me, yeah?" he looks up at you, his eyes filled with unspeakable desire and love towards you as he smiles lazily and picks up the speed, hitting that sweet spot deep inside of you. Now, the blood smeared over his face looks like proof of his obsession with you. "Color?"

"Green." you gasp and close your eyes shut in pleasure, feeling the slow licks of the tip of his tongue over your clit, only adding to the pure bliss you're experiencing.

The sweet and slow torture lasts a couple of minutes, him getting completely lost in your taste, your soft moans, and your begs as he gets you so close to the edge before he stops moving, leaving you aching for more, for that climax that's so painfully close.

He spat on your core again, pulling his finger out before massaging your hole with the new wetness, gasping as his fingers almost get sucked in by your cunt. But he meets resistance, and frustration hits him as he spits again, trying to work two of his fingers into you, but to no avail.

You squirm with desperation and anxiety as you see him try so hard. Your body cannot take more. Seeing him try like this makes you feel so bad. You have no idea if it's because of your period or just general anxiety, but you hold back, trying to relax for him until it's too much.

"Orange, Roman." you whisper, clenching your fingers over the sheets below you, back arching from the uncomfortable feeling, tears pooling under your eyelids. "Orange... I'm so sorry." you repeat with guilt in your shaky voice.

"Too much?" he asks calmly, despite your worries - he's not at all upset. He's so proud of you for using your safe word, he can't even express it with words. "It's okay, sweetheart, don't you apologize for that." he whispers and runs his fingers between your folds, trying to ease the feeling, and you thank him with a couple of nods of your head. "One's good?" he asks and presses his middle finger over your hole, waiting for your answer.

"It's perfect." you whisper and smile, playing with his hair as he slowly moves the digit inside, quickly finding that spot of yours.

"You wanna cum for me?" he asked before sucking on your clit again, this time a little softer. He chuckles when he sees you nod your head mindlessly. "words, sweetheart, use your words."

You can't help yourself from pulling his hair when he finally presses his mouth against you fully, chin adding slight pressure over his finger as he moves his tongue over your clit in various slow patterns. "Yes, fuck, yes I wanna come for you." you whine as you feel the vibration of his low, lustful hum against your core. He starts to move his hips against the mattress again, his neglected cock throbbing in his pants as he moves away from your cunt for a moment.

"Then be good for me and come, okay? You deserve it so much, angel." his words themselves make you shudder with arousal, mind getting dizzy as he presses his lips against you once more, licking and sucking while his finger abuses your g-spot. The hums only add to the sensation, making you tighten your grip on his hair, pulling him even closer as you begin to see stars.

You reach your climax soon enough, your legs tightly wrapped over his head, shivering mindlessly at the overstimulation, back arching as you moan his name like a mantra, turning into putty for him as you come undone. All you hear is his skilled mouth and finger doing wonders on your cunt as he pulls you even closer, fingers of his free hand so deep into the skin of your thigh that you're sure he'll leave bruises, but you don't mind at all.

Ae allows you to roll your hips over him through your orgasm, getting you down from your high with soft praises spoken against your core, lapping his tongue over you just enough to get those few last drops of your cum. You slowly unwrap your legs and lie down with your breath fastened, watching him swallow everything with a satisfied look on his face, eyes moving over your body with adoration as he stands up.

"Aou need anything?" he asks, caressing your thigh with one hand as the other wipes your cum and blood off of him. You get a little scared as you secretly admit to yourself - seeing him like this is a pure eighth wonder.

"Nothing..." you whisper and rest your head on the pillow, one hand in your hair as the other one finds his, playing with his bloody fingers. "Just some rest."

He nods his head and looks down at his clothes, smiling as he sees the mix of your blood, wetness, and his saliva all over the hem of the dress shirt he was wearing. "of course, sweetheart, you did so great f'me, you know?" he looks back at you and presses a single kiss to your hand. "I'll smoke and come back to you, gotta get you cleaned up, okay?" he smiles warmly as you nod your head and slowly leans over you, kneeling right between your spread legs as he presses his forehead against yours. "Feeling better?" he asks, and you smirk at the feeling if his hardness pressed against your bare thigh.

"Mhm, way better, thank you." you whisper and kiss the top of his head. He hums pleasingly at your affection. Exhaustion hits you right after, legs still shaking slowly as you reach for his belt. "What about you, tho?"

He chuckles and breathes in through his nose, taking in your scent as he nuzzles his nose over your neck. "Don't you worry about it." he whispers and gets off of you, wiping his face in his already stained shirt, then taking it off. He palms himself through his jeans and gasps, his eyes locked with yours. "You need some rest, then a shower. I'll get us some food, you want your regular?" he asks, reaching for the back pocket of his pants, getting his phone and cigarettes from it.

You nod your head and smile at him. He smiles at you back. Adoration in his gaze makes your heart flutter. You close your eyes as you cover your face with a pillow, second hand embarrassment hitting you again as you remind yourself of what you two just did.

"Hey, don't you hide that pretty face from me." he chuckles, feeling your eyes following him suit. You never thought that you could love this man any more than before, but there you are, smiling and throwing the pillow on the bed just to see his face for the last time before he leaves to smoke.

masterlist | request info

[barcaatthemoon]

green whistle || sydney lohmann x reader ||

sydney gets hurt in practice and accidentally outs your relationship when given a green whistle.

the worst part of your job was having to see the players go down. you absolutely loved being a trainer, and when you were finished with your studies, you were excited to be a sports doctor. still, you had become close friends with the players and you hated having to be the one who told them how long they'd be out for when they got hurt. your least favorite was sydney, it killed you to see such a sad look on your girlfriend's face.

you had been working on some paperwork concerning the girls' physicals whenever sydney was rushed in. with all of the commotion, you would have thought that someone broke something. you rushed out of the office with urgency to see your girlfriend being partially dragged in by two of her teammates with a green whistle in her mouth.

"baby!" sydney exclaimed, dropping the whistle immediately. she tried to move out of the grasps of the other girls, but they held on tightly. "let me go, i want (y/n). she's pretty and gentle with me and gives me the sweetest kisses."

"why would (y/n) be kissing you of all people?" lea asked. it was a pretty poorly kept secret that you and sydney were seeing each other. however, the team was very respectful in not bringing it up until one of you did first. that did not mean that lea wouldn't tease sydney about how she constantly stared at you with a disgustingly lovesick look.

"because she's my girlfriend, duh! yeah, that's right, i got the very cute trainer girl's number. remember when you and georgia said i couldn't, well i did!" sydney shouted. your cheeks were red with embarrassment as sydney continued. it was fairly safe, mostly just about how cute she thought you were.

"quiet, and sit still for me," you told her. sydney promptly snapped her mouth shut and sat up straight in front of you. you checked her out and patched her up, glad that it was nothing more than a bit of muscle strain. it felt pretty bad, but wouldn't need anything more than maybe a week or two of rest. "you can rest here for the rest of practice, and before we leave i'll get you something if you're still in pain."

"you're so good at your job," sydney said as you taped her up. you glanced up at her to find her staring at you. lea and georgia looked a bit uncomfortable, but neither of them made a move to leave. "i'm so proud of you. i love you, liebe."

"i love you too." you stood up and pressed a quick kiss to sydney's lips. this time, georgia did turn away from the two of you, but lea didn't move. you watched sydney try to kick at her for fake gagging. "can i talk to the two of you for a moment?"

"we won't say anything if that's what you're scared of," lea promised you. you nodded, greatly appreciating that they already knew that you wanted to talk about. "you guys are cute together. everyone would be supportive if you did want to be open about with us."

"i'm not sure that it would matter. neither one of you seemed phased earlier," you pointed out.

"don't take this the wrong way, but you guys are not subtle. it's like neither of you were born with a subtle bone in your bodies," georgia told you. you chuckled at that, having known that sydney wasn't subtle, but never thinking that you were just as bad. it made sense, even if you weren't overly thrilled about the news that everybody had caught you openly checking your girlfriend out.

"it's cute though, don't worry!" lea reassured you. "all of us really care about syd, and i haven't seen her so happy with anybody else before. just know that sooner or later, you'll get the talk from the national team."

"as if she'd ever let them threaten me," you scoffed. sydney was off in her own little world on the bench, but you knew how protective your girlfriend was. there was no way she'd let more than one or two members of the national team whisk you away for a shovel talk.

"(y/n) has a point. remember when tod went to shout at (y/n)? surprised that he came around the next practice," georgia said. lea laughed at the memory of your girlfriend tearing into the senior medical trainer. you wouldn't have called what tod was doing shouting, but it was enough to have lea run at him from halfway across the pitch.

"liebe!" sydney whined as she reached out for you. georgia and lea took that as their cue to leave. you turned around to see her laying outstretched on the bench as she reached out towards you. her hand made a little grabbing motion over and over again until you walked over so she could grab you. immediately, sydney latched onto you with her arms around your hips as you ran a hand through her hair. "that's better, i missed you."

"yeah? i missed you too," you said softly. sydney fell asleep after barely three minutes of your fingers running through her hair. you went back to the office, but left a hoodie for sydney to cuddle up with while you finished work.

[selineram3421]

*looking at taglist slowly turning into a CVS receipt*

Hissy Kitty

Part 2

Part 1

Alastor X Reader

Warnings⚠

⚠ Alastor is still annoying lol, Husk is not having it, italics=thoughts, reader gets pissed ⚠

Husk felt confident that Alastor would stop being annoying. It was in the contract that he couldn't touch you. He had to follow the contract.

Of course the asshole found a loophole.

"Dear, do be careful.", the deer guided you away from broken glass.

"Alastor..", you said in a deadpanned tone. "I have to clean that up."

"Yes but I just wanted to remind you the dangers of handling broken glass.", he smiled at you and turned to grin smugly at the cat behind him.

Fucking hell.

"I know how to handle glass.", you said and started to sweep up the mess.

"Very well, I'll stop pestering you about glass."

You were of course oblivious to Alastor's games.

Husk knew that he should have been more specific so that the smiling asshole couldn't touch you at all.

"Hey, squirt."

"What?", you responded, finishing up sweeping the trash.

"Go to where the Princess is. I'm pretty sure she wanted you to do something upstairs.", he says with a shooing motion.

"Ok, I'll go up after tossing this out.", you said and went towards the staff only hallway.

"Don't worry about it.", your brother said and went to take the dust pan from you. "Just head over now."

"What a good older sibling you are!", the red dressed demon commented with a smile.

You glanced between the two, feeling a weird tension in the air.

"Ok...", you leaned the broom against one of the couches. "Don't kill each other while I'm gone.", you say before going upstairs.

After making sure his sibling was far enough, the cat demon growled and glared at the Radio Demon. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?", he said with clenched teeth.

"I'm doing what I'm allowed to!", Alastor said cheerfully and walked over to the bartender. "So, obviously I am touching them when necessary, like moving them away from danger.", he reached out to scratch behind one of Husker's ears.

"Stop fucking playing!", Husk yelled, smacking the deer's hand away. "They aren't your toy or pet asshole! SO LEAVE THEM THE FUCK ALONE!"

Alastor's smile twitched slightly.

Who is this demon to tell me no? I own the cat, so they just had to suck it up and follow along.

"I think you're forgetting one tiny, but ever so crucial, little detail?", the red demon grew taller, static crackling loudly. "I OWN YOU."

"I know.", Husk hissed out. "But I won't let you do anything to them."

.

You headed back to the lobby confused.

Charlie hadn't called for you at all but she did let you know that you would be getting a different job soon.

Why did he lie? You wondered and turned a corner to get to the stairs.

That's when you felt your fur stand on end, static noise making you shiver and cringe.

Rushing towards the lobby, you saw Alastor take a threatening step towards your brother in his taller demon form. In the moment, it didn't matter if the red demon was one of your bosses or not, you would protect your brother.

Standing between the two, you growled and hissed at the deer demon, fur bristling and tail flicking back and forth.

"BACK THE FUCK UP."

Husk quickly held on to you and tried to pull you back. "No! Stay back, let me handle this!"

You stayed put, still glaring up at the red demon.

Alsastor looked at you in an odd way before he shrunk back to size and fixed his coat. "Ahem, apologies.", he held his hands behind his back. "I didn't mean to give you such a scare!"

Still annoyed, you squinted your eyes at him and finally let your brother take you away from the lobby.

Once getting to somewhere private, Husk immediately shook you by your shoulders. "WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING KID!?"

You shook your head and moved his arms off of you. "I was thinking of getting you out of there!", you huff. "Look, I know he's the Radio Demon. I know you have some fucked up deal."

Husk tries to interject.

"NO! No, I am not done!", you point at him. "I know somewhere in that deal you made has my protection and that's why Alastor has been so weird when it comes to me. He wants to bug and annoy you for fucking shits and giggles.", you take a breath and brush your ears down to settle your anger. "I've been worried about you ever since you stopped talking to me. What happened at your casino?"

He turns away from you and takes a moment before sighing.

"I lost almost everything..", he grumbled. "I had to make a deal to save my power."

You placed a hand on his shoulder.

"But just because I'm stuck in a bind, doesn't mean you jump into my battles.", he glares at you. "I can handle the smiling piece of shit."

With a roll of your eyes, you turn him to face you completely.

"That's what I've been trying to tell you since getting here.", you hold his claws. "I can fight my own battles, sure I might need help at times but I'll ask you when I do. I know the dangers, I know the risks, I know my limits.", you let go. "But to you I'm just still a defenseless kid.."

"You'll always be my little sibling. Of course I'm gonna think of you as a kid.", he sighs. "But I'll stop giving you shit for some stuff.", he points a claw at you. "You hear that? Some."

"Yeah, yeah.", you smile and hug your brother.

He pats your head and both of you enjoy the peace.

For a second.

"Ok, now get off.", he says.

"Nah, you can handle a few more seconds.", you say and don't let go.

"Awww~"

Both of you get hugged from behind by Angel.

"Look at how soft you are around them~", the spider pinches your brother's cheek with one of his hands, turning his head to look at you. "You should hang around him more often."

"Get your ass off me.", Husk grumbles and moves out of the hug.

"But Husky~!", Angel whines as he clings onto your brother. "You are just sooo cute!"

You laugh as the two go back and forth with their banter, happy that your brother is ok.

Meanwhile, Alastor went up to his radio tower.

The shadows in the room curling and twisting around, the radio static getting louder and louder that it numbed out the sounds from outside.

Something had changed.

Please let me know if you don't find your tag!

~Seline, the person.

Part 3

Taglist@

@ducky-died-inside @scary-noodlesblog @c4rved-pumpk1n @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @kiraisastay @lbcreations-blog @pooplyface1423 @jane-3043 @chocolat3pudding @chewbrry @dewdropsposts @danveration @jyoongim @iloveblogging2 @elaemae @hallowedandhungry @fandom-nobody @nevermore-ramblings @creepylilneko @perilous-pasta @xdolls-crownx @hxzbinwrites @alikate82 @angeliclovely69 @line-viper @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @repentant-repeller @kcsketches @lofasofabread @kotaleee @im-coolrat @superzombiewho @speckle-meow-meow @jammcookie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @trashbin-nie @koioli @fatherlesschild2 @mmik3yy @just-here-reading @tsukilover11 @cheshairacat @the-unhinged-raccoon @plapperlapapp @thesimpguru @stevenuniversezanite @random-3455 @hypnossses @crazyforbarnes @ngjhgftujgrtui @haveawanderfulday @dark-stars-and-the-moons-melody @karolinda007-blog @twistedkisses @ghostedddd @+?

ML for Alastor🎙 | HK ChL😾