#its my biggest drip and i am all in for it

[ethanharmonia]

Been wanting to draw this for a long time now tbh

Have an Azelf and my Volo Au cosplay in PLA

And some pics i took few weeks ago

My finger is in eternal pain after this

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt. 5

Word Count: 11.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How could you have been so naive?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I promised them a girl.”

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

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

Promised them a girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"By who?" he demands harshly.

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

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

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

The metal handle of the hatch begins to turn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were going to harvest your organs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You trusted him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thought what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was time to accept this.

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

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

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

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

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

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of tearing plastic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The seconds stretch unbearably long.

But the pain never comes.

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

"Is that anyway to talk to a lady?"

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

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

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

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

Then you see him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mephisto.

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

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

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

He knew. He always knew where you were.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look at him, your voice cold and unwavering.

“Go to hell, Reese.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ravensmadreads]

Taylor I'm- 😭😭😭

in another life . . .

rating: explicit, 18+

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

word count: 7K

summary: Partner. That word had been jammed up inside his brain for as long as he could remember. Gym-class partner, lab partner, work-out partner, partner-in-training, partner in this fucking life or death situation where we’re only going to get out alive if we trust each other more than I trust myself. And then he met you and the definition changed again.

warnings: domestic!frankie, marriage kink (if that’s a thing), oral (f receiving) but i think that’s an expectation from every frankie fic, improper use of a kitchen table, unprotected piv, no use of y/n, brief mentions of PTSD, improper use of Spanish, eating in bed 

a/n: requested for my 100 followers event! Anon: hiiii firstly! congrats on the big one hundo you totally deserve it 🥂‼️ secondly wondering if I could rq a Pedro boy drabble with prompt number 12... I wanna do laundry for Frankie Morales :D “did you just wash these sheets?” “I did.” “they smell nice. and they’re still warm.”

🤍Masterlist

. . . I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.

Frankie fills the silence of the house without you in it with music. This house, it had been your choice, even though he never expressly made you choose, or even presented the dichotomy. This house, with its leaky faucet and janky AC unit and finicky pilot light, was what you wanted instead of a diamond ring, and so he gave it to you. First down payment, along with every other red cent you and he had both saved up, went into buying your first home together. This wasn’t forever, you both agreed (with only two bedrooms it wasn’t enough room for a baby, he often thought) but even as the real estate agent glanced around with disdain for the house and your budget, one look from you and it was settled. 

“It has good bones,” you said, standing out on the concrete deck overlooking a postage-stamp-sized backyard. There were weeds in the corners and holes from some unknown animal but he could see the wheels in your head turning, imagining how you, like everything else you did, planned to tackle and wrestle control over it with your bare hands. “It needs work, but I think there’s something special here.” 

“Yeah?” he asked, threading his fingers through yours, the real estate agent no doubt off somewhere inspecting the drains. “Is there something here?”

You grinned and shoved your nose then a soft press of your lips into his denim-shoulder. 

“I’m sure of it.”

All his life, Frankie worked best in a unit. As children, his older brother, his younger brother, and him were practically inseparable, their physical similarities almost presenting as the same person but at different ages, and when that group disbanded because Oscar left for college, he went on to find another one. First, his army unit, then the boys. His boys. Left to his own devices, Frankie was terrible at remembering to eat, sleep regularly – focus on anything other than fixing cars and planes, really – but he’d do it for them. He hated to see that worried crease show up on Will’s brow when Frankie admitted he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He hated that Benny had to show up at his apartment to drag his ass outta bed to get him into the sunlight. And he hated when Pope felt obligated to take him out to bars to try and meet women.

“I’m not dating someone just so they can be my mother,” Frankie muttered into the lip of his beer bottle. “I don’t need anyone thinking I need to rely on them like that.” 

“Yeah, but you do better when you have people relying on you.” Pope’s dark eyes flitted from a woman at the bar top to him, with intention and full of force. “And I’m not saying I’m trying to get you to fuck your mother, but you need a partner.” 

Partner. 

That word had been jammed up inside his brain for as long as he could remember. Gym-class partner, lab partner, work-out partner, partner-in-training, partner in this fucking life or death situation where we’re only going to get out alive if we trust each other more than I trust myself. 

And then he met you and the definition changed again. 

You are his best friend. You are the woman he wants to fuck every day for the rest of his life. You are the first person he wants to tell good news to and the first person he wants to talk to when he’s had a shitty day. Your voice quiets something inside him that has been far too loud for far too long. You are a relief and a refuge. For all his faults, you love him and sometimes he can’t fathom why. 

You are his partner – in life, in marriage (one day), and forever (he hopes).

“I might not always like you, Catfish,” you said to him in Will’s backyard for Benny’s birthday party. You had been drinking and every sip seems to bring you closer and closer to him. With your face tucked up into his neck, arms up under his flannel and hugging his waist, the only way he could be physically closer to you was if he was inside you – which he was about two seconds away from suggestion when you leaned in close. “‘M not always going to like you, but ‘m always going love you.”

And love him you did. You loved him when he decided to go back to school to get some additional certifications so he could maybe teach flight school. The army would pay for most of it, was a fucking relief to your shared thread-bare, cartoon-spider-web empty savings account. But what the army would not pay for was for you to go to nursing school. You worked in hotels for the events services branch, coordinating everything from weddings to conferences, walking (mostly running) from one end of the hotel to the next. Your sister got you a Fitbit for Christmas one year and after the holiday rush, you walked twenty miles in two days. 

“After that, this nursing stuff should be a breeze,” you said flippantly as you signed your paperwork for admissions. 

Of course you got accepted at one of the better hospitals in the city – he never doubted for a second you would – and as the fresh-faced trainee, you got stuck with most of the night shifts. 

Which meant his days looked a lot like this: wake up at 6AM, drive an hour to the helicopter tour building on the coast, fly rich idiots around all day, eat the lunch you had prepped for the both of you on Sunday night, continue flying rich idiots around, drive home in two-hour traffic, change into his work overalls, go work on some cars Benny’s buddy had at the local garage for some extra cash, then go home, heat up dinner you also made Sunday night, and then attend to the most pressing thing you or the house needed. 

Which could be:

Fixing the AC unit, resealing the back door so it would close properly, re-caulking the shower, building more attic space, repainting the back fence, or replacing the hand towel holder.

Frankie didn’t mind the hard work. It kept his mind and his hands busy. What he did mind was the house silent and eerily empty without you here. 

He didn’t mind the hard work because even for a few hours, he got to hold you while you slept. He got to eat with you at 10:30 at night and it was the highlight of his day.

Pay your surgeon very well to break the spell of aging

Sicker than the rest, there is no test, but this is what you're craving?

Frankie bobs his head, his earphones carefully tucked up under his shirt to prevent the laundry from tangling up in them. He hauls out the latest load and moves onto the washer, fishing out one more sock when suddenly the lights go off. All of them. Total darkness.

And then light and he’s staring down the bottom of the drum.

Then dark. And light.

You. Your code. One you designed when you read that PTSD victims are often triggered into a fight-or-flight response when startled. You, who knew before he did, how to manage the symptoms, create workarounds, and find a pathway through, instead of not at all. 

He takes out one of the earbuds and smiles.

“Hey, you’re home.” 

You lean against the doorway, smiling that smile that is reserved for him and him alone. Sometimes he’s selfish and wants everything of yours to be only for him – all your smiles, your laughter, your sighs – but that’s like trying to capture sunlight in a butterfly net: too focused on the impossible and you end up missing the daytime. 

“How goes this fucking Sysphian task?” You nod at the baskets of laundry at his feet, referring to how you’d often rant and rave about how laundry, the dishes, and grocery shopping were never tasks that could simply be done. He knows how much you hate being unable to cross things off your to-do lists, so he holds your hand during all of these rantings and kisses your knuckles when you take a breath. 

“Good,” he shrugs. “‘Bout to fold your scrubs for tomorrow.”

“Ah, have I told you lately that I love you?” You swing into the room and kiss him on his cheek, on the division where his patchy beard meets his skin – the place that you most often claimed on him. Your fingers squeeze around his bicep as you pull away and your eyes fall to the basket behind him. You gasp with glee. 

“Did you just wash these sheets?” You ask like you’d just uncovered buried gold. 

He smirks, propping his hip up against the dryer. “I did.” 

Without another word, you scoop them up in your arms and inhale sharply.

“Mhmm, they smell nice.” You bury your head in deep. “And they’re still warm.”

In the rare moments when you’re both home and going through laundry together, he never fails to scoop up a load of hot towels and dump them over your head, relishing in the girlish giggle from beneath the clean laundry. “It’s so toasty,” you whimper with glee. 

“They’re not gonna be if you get your hospital gunk all over them,” Frankie tuts, going back to add a new load into the washer as you glare at him over the lump of sheets. 

“Ha, ha. Move over, Mr. Morales, and watch a master at work.” 

“Yes, Mrs. Morales.” It’s stupid but his heart always fumbles when he calls you that. It started as a joke, one that you initiated, but now it’s like berry jam on his tongue, sweet and sugary. He’s thought about calling you that while he’s inside you but figures he should save something for the wedding night. 

He sidles back, giving you space near the dryer as you pick up a basket of t-shirts.

“You know there’s dinner waiting for you in the kitchen.” He shakes his head as you begin to fold the shirts with lightning speed and precision – a side effect of being the oldest daughter in a family of five kids. 

“Yeah, but you’re in here,” you say and bump his hip. He bumps you back and helps with the load. “Besides, it’ll get done faster with two people.”

He can’t exactly argue with that, so he lets the silence grow. But it’s not silence, not really. In the distance, dogs bark. Outside the room, the temperamental AC grumbles, a sound he never thought he’d come to appreciate. Inside the room, fingers tug at fabric, the soft thump as the shirts grow into a continuous pile. Then there’s you, breathing in the lilac-scented air, the scent of his deodorant and sweat and something entirely unique to him– his Frankie-ness as you’ve called it many times without elaborating. I’d bottle it if I could, you told him, bathe in it. You’re kinda weird, he told you, and you know he likes it. 

Every once in a while, his elbow brushes up against yours, yours skirting around his, but never colliding, an awareness of the other always present and attended to, a flow of familiarity and recognition he’s never felt before or known since. 

Bit by bit, you’ve taken pieces of him into you, picked them up, held them to the light and found them beautiful, until a second bit of his soul lives outside of his body. He knows every inch of you, how every atom calls out to him, begs to be close to him, and held tight. It’s not sunlight he’s trying to keep safe, it’s your heart. Your precious, wonderful heart that is somehow so full, it was enough to fill him up too. Gold filling in the cracks. 

Kintsugi, Benny called it, when he got obsessed with anime for three months that one time two years ago. Frankie never could remember the actual name, and maybe that wasn’t the point and maybe it was a little ridiculous, especially when it was explained by a deliriously drunk and bleary-eyed Ben Miller at one in the morning on his brother’s lawn chair. 

Maybe a better way of thinking about it was how separate, disparate, jagged and raw edges came to fit together. How someone like him got a do-over, another chance to be remade in the kiln, and how someone like you was allowed to love unselfishly, to ask for things and never be threatened with reparations of some kind – as if loving you deserved some sort of compensation. 

Pieces, broken and scattered – he looked up and saw you carrying yours, and you witnessed the scars and blood dripping from the shards of his own past, his life, his love, and despite how slippery his pieces were, how dried and empty and wanting yours were, something pulled them together and made them stay. 

Something stronger than light.

Stronger than gold. 

You shook his hand and looked at what you built together, the pieces that came together, and in the end, that was your partnership. A creation of something greater – home, family, love. 

So much fucking love.

In the end, Frankie Morales used love to build his life, not death, and you’re the one who gave it to him.

He drops the last shirt on the stack and he turns, his fingers seeking the drawstring of your pants. 

You know what he wants. You want it too. A singular desire in two separate bodies.

The inherent closeness of domesticity draws you into him, closing the already limited space as hands find waists and lips find skin. He drags his nose against your jaw, somehow already shaking, his teeth grazing your throat, unwilling and unable to press his lips to you, wanting to drag this out as much as possible. He squeezes your hips, thumbs flipping under your shirt to touch, touch, touch, until his fingers wrap around your ribs and you make your first sound of the night. It snags at his restraint, pulling it threadbare. 

“Frankie,” you sigh and he cannot fight the cataclysmic pull towards you – he stumbles, pinning you to the laundry room wall, his tongue cupping your earlobe into his mouth and he sucks. The next noise you make is high and keening and it turns his touch frantic.

Caught between the wall and his broad shoulders, he does with you what he wants. He nips at your cheek, your neck, the dip of your clavicle, as his thumb presses up each knot of your spine, drawing out the tension from your body like draining poisoned blood, and by the time he pinches off your bra, you’re all but hanging onto him. 

“Baby–,” 

He can hear you say, it’s late, we have work in the morning, you don’t have to do this,

I’m not worth this 

With a low growl that is all possession, all anger that someone ever made you feel like your love was too much, he tugs your shirt off, knocking his hat off as he goes. In the drift, he sees your eyes flutter, mouth twisted in pleasure and guilt – you don’t want to be asking for things like this – and so he silences every doubt, every worry that he’s tired or it’s too late or his knees are aching too much to make you feel the way you deserve – he kisses you with enough force to knock out every unpleasant thought you’ve ever had about yourself and flattens you against the wall. 

You let him pry you open, his touch fervent and insistent, tasting of iced coffee and gum. He licks into you, telling you things with his tongue, the way he tugs your bottom lip between his teeth, in the soft puff of breath that escapes him when you cup the back of his neck. Closer, he begs, closer. 

His wide palm arching your lower back into him, he squeezes your ribs, up under your breast, before finally taking your nipple between his thumb and the meat of his hand and twists, just enough to make you break apart from his demanding mouth, gasping as if tapped by a live wire. But it’s him who is electrocuted, who catches fire, who wants to be chewed down and swallowed up. He shuffles and pulls you into him, the throbbing in his pants bordering on painful. He rubs himself against you once and you sigh like you know he hurts. You nod.

Your fingers peel your shirt up and over your head as he cups one thigh then the other until your hips hug his waist, smearing the hem of his shirt up over his skin. He feels the heat coming from between your legs, the slight dampness, against his lower belly and he groans, low, right near that source of warmth he wants to die in. 

You curl above him, tipping his head back, as you dive into his mouth again, fingers twisting into his hair, thumbs brushing his temple right where you know he tends to get headaches. Your tongue brushes against his upper lip, tasting his mustache, and his knees threaten to buckle. 

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he laments, he praises, into the supple wetness of your tongue. You nod, pleased, and press your chest into him. He cannot fucking wait to get his mouth around your tits.

Mouth sealed to yours, hands cupping the meat of your ass, Frankie works entirely on sense memory to carry you into the kitchen, to a long wooden table beneath a wide window, white curtains closed and blinds shut. 

This table had been one of the first purchases for the new house. Tan cedar boards with white knobby legs, it instantly reminded him of the one in his own childhood home, where he and his brothers fought over meals and did homework together. Where he held his mom after his father died and where he dropped his bag after coming home from a life too long spent fighting other people’s wars. 

This table mattered to him and he’d be damned if it wouldn’t mean something to his own child one day. 

That was something you too wanted to give your child, never having a table like this in your own life. You loved the stories he told about the table in his kitchen. How much it meant to him.

And now he was going to fuck you on it, this symbol of stability.

He just wonders how stable it really is. 

His fingers clutching the back of your neck, arm running in tandem with your spine, he lowers you down, shifting your weight onto his arm so you don’t bump your head against the wood. He releases you but you protest, a muffled uh-uh, as he tries retreating. You loop your arms around his neck, tugging him flat against you and he feels your breasts mold against his chest, nipples already tight.

“Baby,” he breathes, sucking up and out of your mouth, “let me make you feel good.”

Behind him, he hears your sneakers clatter to the floor, your heels digging into his back as you toe off your shoes, and you shake your head. 

“I am.” Kiss. A thumb under his bottom lip. “You do.” Breathless, reverent, grateful. 

Grateful.

Grateful that he is kissing you. 

Not good enough. God, he’s going to eat that self-loathing right out of you. 

You whine, frustrated and hot, as he pulls back. He wants to go right for your pussy, but stutters at the sight of your unmarked tits. Smooth, flushed, heaving. There is no part of you he does not love, does not feel the need to worship on his knees. 

But suddenly sour shame strikes him as he realizes enough time has passed since the last time you’d had sex for the hickeys to heal. He intends to amend that right now. 

His thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your hips, to calm himself, he folds himself over you, dribbling kisses along your throat, over the wings of your clavicle, at the barest incline at the top of your breast, and then to the meat of your tit, the heaviness, the sway, and he bites down. Predictably, you yelp, nails scratching roughly into his scalp and that only makes him suck harder. You have very strict rules around where he can mark you, but on the places he can – oh, you beg him for it. 

He palms your other tit, just to feel the goosebumps break out across your skin, to roll your nipple with the calluses on his palm. His teeth release, his tongue laving over that already pink and swollen skin, and he glances up, his other thumb coming to massage that fragile patch. 

Being a pilot, a soldier, a brother, a son, those are the things he is. But Frankie lives – aches, pines, desires – to watch you come apart. 

The purple bruise on your tit shining like a luxurious necklace, your eyes flutter open when you feel him pull up. Your fingers around his ears, your chest wet with his spit, you let him take you in. You give him this, because you know you’re about to get so much more. With your legs still wrapped around his waist, he can feel the soft cant of your hips, the quiet, patient begging, as you thought he needed reminding that you needed this. You rub up him, knees pinned to his ribs, and he lets you pull him into your mouth, grounding him. This kiss is brief, soft, a far cry from the tearing and biting that got you onto the table. Knowing exactly the state you need to be in to ask for what you want, he holds your jaw, thumb against the apple of your cheek and he slips his tongue out of your mouth. Again a protest, an instinctual reaction to the repeated pattern of abandonment, but like all cries for help, he quiets your squirming by sliding his thumb between your lips. 

“Suck,” he murmurs gently. Your eyes flutter shut, your nails carving half moons into his forearm, lips creating a vacuum seal around his knuckle and you obey – you suck – and he rewards you with a trail of kisses across your sternum, over your breasts, to the soft swell of your stomach. He nuzzles your belly button and you groan, eyes still shut and his thumb still in your mouth. He bites, softer than before, just above the thatch of hair and you whine around his finger, body going supple for him. He slides his thumb out, dragging a shiny string of spit over your plush lips, down your chin, joining his other hand at the waist band of both your panties and your scrubs. 

Any fast movement will awaken that anxious, overthinking, beautiful brain of yours, now that he has it fuzzy and unfocused, so he keeps kissing, keeps sucking and biting, that spot just above your curls. He tongues your hip, and then the other side, your bottom half wonderfully bare before you can open your eyes. 

His shoulder bumps the back of your thigh as he stands up right, inhaling the sweat behind your knee, the pungent tang of your glistening curls, your almond butter body lotion. It’s hunger, he feels, but not a tangible hunger, one that can be so easily satiated. It’s not painful, or weakening – no, he is made stronger by it. He feels your blood pulse beneath his hand on your inner thigh as he opens you up and he’s made better by it. 

He kneels, a holy servant before the divine meal of their goddess, on shitty linoleum beneath harsh lights in a kitchen he can barely afford. 

Frankie takes your hand, kisses your knuckles, and slides your grip into his hair. 

“Recuérdame cómo te gusta, nena.” 

He eats. He consumes. He licks. He sucks. He slurps.

He tastes your dripping wetness on the seam of your cunt, before his tongue ever gets the chance to explore, to open, to divulge. He licks until he feels your breath hitch – a curse in the shape of his name, as if he needs scolding for making you feel so good – and then he opens his jaw and tongues your hole. 

In a lust-drunk haze you once told him he has something better than DSL – he has a pussy-eating nose. He prods you with that nose you can’t seem to get enough of, licking in as far as he can, coating himself in everything as it leaks out of you, and he moans as he can feel it on his chin. You vibrate with the sound and above him, your fingers clench down into his hair. 

“Oh, fuck, holy – fuck, Frankie–,” your trembling shakes the bowl of your hips, spilling his meal, so he sucks your clit in a way that makes your body freeze and then melt. You go limp, pliable, and gushing. He gets a few more moments of twisting and sucking and swallowing, until by the third time he puts his lips around your clit, you open-mouth whine and it’s like his body violently remembers he has a cock. He is seized with such a need to fuck you in this warm, wet place he’s dug out with his tongue, he doubles over and rests his teeth against your thigh. 

“Frankie, I’m so close,” you writhe, chest flushed and brow sweaty. 

Before you, he never knew sex could feel like this, could do this. Sure, he used sex to keep away those circling, vulture-like thoughts from time to time. But this, this drawing out and unthreading, unspooling, of himself and someone else, tearing at ego-drenched threads until all that was left was a being of pure want and desire – he didn’t know this was possible. 

He didn’t know he could feel like this.

One more broad lick, coating everything in what he hope fucking smells like him, and you arch, thighs shaking, his hair in danger of being ripped from his scalp. You gasp as you flatten, the first orgasm of the night rolling through you, sweat making your skin salty, as though you had been breached by the ocean. 

He laps you through it, of course, a nascent smirk on his face. 

You open your eyes to this self-satisfied Frankie, eyes only visible over the top of your cunt, and you whine. 

You reach for him and he goes, smearing your slick over your face, offering it to you in supplication on his tongue. He tastes your rising desperation, the way you sharpen your teeth against his lips, batter his tongue into the corner of his mouth, try to claim what your cunt already has. His hunger is an infection and your fever has reached a boiling point. 

Your trembling fingers curl his shirt up his back, passing over the ruddy scar on his shoulder where he got hit with a stray bullet, the jagged white line over his ribs where a knife nearly split him open. He used to only fuck with his shirt on. He doesn’t now. 

His shirt crumples to the floor as he sits up, you following, eyes dark, and you bite his pec muscle, your love for him twisting you into an anthropophagist. You want to consume him, like your pussy swallows his cock. Having him impale you is not enough; you want intercourse with him on a subatomic level. 

You inch back to give yourself enough space to unbutton his jeans and he sees the wet slick left behind on the table. The heat behind his groin shoots up his spine and he grunts, burying his face into your neck where he tugs on your earlobe with his teeth, hands planted on either side of you.

“Hurry, baby, I gotta fuck this pussy,” he whispers against the curve of your jaw. He wants to leave a giant purple bruise there, this instinct to claim, to mark, stoking the roiling heat at the base of his spine and drawing up his balls. 

But his attention snaps back to your hands when he hears a click, the release of his zipper is almost euphoric. He moans in relief, unable to see through his half-lidded eyes the explosion of goosebumps over your skin as his breath tumbles over your back and down your chest. 

His urgent hands overwhelm yours, one pushing his jeans down his hips, the other palming your stomach, pushing you back and you go willingly, but seemingly mesmerized by the sight of his aching, flushed cock springing up against his stomach. You lie down, but only barely, still on your elbows, as he tugs you by your ankles to the edge of the table. 

Your uneven breathing could mean a lot of things. He thought you were being complementary the first time you told him he was too big, but your eyes always widened at the sight of his cock. 

“Do you need to be opened up some more, cariño?” 

At his rawest, Spanish came out of him like a spilled bottle of molasses, sweet, slow, rich. 

“Hmm? Tell me what you need. Hable mas alto por favor.” He rubs your knees, your thighs, hoping you’ll ask for what he wants.

“F-fingers, Frankie,” you swallow, eyes still latched on to his now weeping cock. You glance up at him, face open and full of trust, and he feels his dick pulse. “Please, Frankie, put your fingers in me.” 

“Fucking anything.” He plants one hand and cups your mound, lost for a moment in the soaked curls, before pushing two fingers inside and thrusting. “I’ll fucking give you anything you want.” 

His hips jerking slightly in tandem with the pulse of his fingers, his slacked mouth an indication of how unconscious his humping has become, as he watches you dissolve with every stroke of his hand. God, he didn’t know they made things this pretty. His hand pushes your knee up and back, finding room for three fingers and your eyes roll back in your head. You scrabble for anything to hold onto, fingers searching for the ghosts of your bedsheets, but finding none, your arms curl over your head and latch onto the other edge of the table. You present your fucking tits to him like you’re letting him admire artwork. 

It almost brings him to his knees.

“Oh, I’m coming, oh, Frankie, I’m gonna –,”

He pulls out his fingers just enough to let you gush down his palm, his wrist, and he licks it up like a glutton. It drips a bit onto the linoleum and he smears it with his bare feet.

Frankie slides two fingers back in, his brain going fuzzy at being away from the clutch of your cunt for too long, when you grab his wrist. 

You can barely breathe, your skin a pale pink, your cunt no doubt must be sore, but your eyes are as hard as diamonds in your skull. He swallows the flush of spit in his mouth.  

“Now, Frankie,” you plead, fingers tight around his wet wrist, the hairs on his arm standing up at the sound of your commanding voice. “Fuck me, now, I need you inside of me.”

It always makes him a bit dumbstruck, the way you beg, the way you let him and only him see this side of you – this side of you that is sick with wanting.

His hand squeezes the base of his cock once, eyes fluttering, to remind himself he cannot blow his fucking load the instant the tip of him is inside you. He taps your clit, once, twice, lubing himself up as if he hadn’t moved around internal organs to make way for himself. He notches, then slides, white-knuckling his impending orgasm in favor of making this good for you. He steps farther between your legs, hands sliding from your thighs, up to your waist. He thumbs your nipple and your pussy twitches around him. He swears his heart flat out stops for a concerning length of time.

“How is a pussy this good all mine? All fucking mine?” He rolls his hips, pushing deeper, movements marionetted by the high-pitched whimpers and moans of your mouth. He could catalog every single one of them, has done so in the deep recesses of his brain, and it takes just a second to know when it switches from pleasure to pain. 

He bends over you, you choking on his dick, and kisses you hard, shattering the tense look on your face.  

“I love you,” he tells you, a secret that despite being well-known to anyone who sees him look at you, still feels precious and fragile. His hand plasters your hair to your sweaty neck as he kisses you desperately, speaking a language only you understand. “I love you so fucking much.” 

You sigh into his open mouth. “I wanna marry you, Fransisco Morales.” 

He is covered in gold. Dripping with it. 

His nails at your hip dig into your skin and you know exactly what you’ve done. 

“Say it. Say it louder, nena,” he snarls, face pressed into your cheek, and he thrusts forward with enough force to rock the table. The table legs squeak as you pin him to you one more time and nip at his ear. The last drop in the well, the rope slipping over the edge, the coil locked into place.

“I wanna fucking marry you.” 

With a breathy grunt, he yanks you down onto his cock by your waist and slaps your ass with his balls. It’s been a while since your cunt has taken a beating like this. You clutch at the edge of the table again, mouth torn open.

He knows you like it when he plays with your clit, and he will, but he needs to get this out of him. 

“Yeah? You’re gonna marry the guy who’s fucking your pussy so good right now?” It’s amazing that words escape at all through his gritted teeth, jaw taut. He watches as he disappears and reappears in you, your lips puffy and pink already but he needs more. He doesn’t want you to be able to walk out of bed tomorrow. 

“Yes, Frankie – oh, god, there, right there – yes, I’m gonna marry you.” He tips your hips up as he pounds down and you arch, crying out at the angle, the depth, how full you feel. He fucks like he’s trying to bruise your ribcage through your pussy. 

The thoughts in his head collide with the others, knotting together, blurring, until the only noise he can make, the only thing he can verbalize is the tight grunts, the hm, hm, hm, as he focuses on chasing this fire. 

He feels it approach so fast, he’s nearly taken under by the intensity of his orgasm so he slows, grinds instead, and with his eyes on your face, he cups himself around where he’s split you open, feeling your lips suck in and out with every thrust. 

He closes his eyes briefly, helpless against the waves of arousal that coat his fingers. He smears your clit with his thumb and his name is a split, jagged thing that burns your tongue. He wants that taste on his tongue again. 

You throb once, a sharp climax warming your pussy, and he backs out, drops to his knees, and licks you up again. He can taste his sweat there this time and he groans. His hands slip over your skin from the sweat in the crease of your thigh.

The cries from your mouth are wet now, on the curve of a salty tongue. You tremble like your orgasm is a physical thing, thrumming under your skin, warming your blood and you claw at his forearm. 

“B-baby, please–,” 

Wiping his mouth on your inner thigh, then licking up the mess he made, Frankie stands. He swats your bottom lightly, tutting. He’s a mad man, he knows it, he can’t tell if it's delirium from the rough ache of his balls or masochistic joy in hearing you beg, but again he rubs himself through your folds. It’s not the same, not nearly enough, but it helps last just a bit longer. 

“No crying until after I’ve made you come.” 

“I’ve already come twice,” you whine as you buck your hips, trying to take him in deeper. “You said I can have anything I want.” 

“And what does princesa want?” Yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with him. 

Your eyes flash as your nails dig into his shoulders, that fire he so loves to stoke flaring out.

“I want to come on your cock, Mr. Morales.”

And he unravels, divinity calling his name. 

His pace is slow, then rough, then deep. 

The table is just the right height. He balances on knee on the lip, bending your knees over his shoulders, and fucking down into you. He’s going to snap you in fucking half and maybe he does but he’ll be there to seal you back up again. 

Pour himself into you. Fill you. Make you whole once more. 

Baby, please.

The first drip of tears starts out the corner of your eyes as you come, open-mouthed, throat exposed, a cry loud and in the shape of his name tearing from your lips, your body locking up, cunt squeezing him until he feels himself burst. 

With a shudder and a groan, he spills, hot and flush into you. He comes, and comes, and comes, until his gooey spend is forced out of you and down the crack of your ass. He can’t see anything past the white spark in his eyes, feel anything but you and the tingle of his limbs. 

The excess of you and him is everywhere, leaking out onto the kitchen table, soaking the wood. There’s a ringing in his ears he can’t quiet. 

Your breath is hot on his neck, sweaty skin stuck tightly against his, he knows he’s crushing you, his arms given out at some point, but he really doesn’t think he can stand up right. He kisses your cheek by way of apology and thanks but you don’t seem to mind, your own gaze unfocused on the ceiling. 

“Fuck, Frankie . . .”

He laughs, realizes his legs aren’t working, so trembling and uneasy, he slides out of you and manages to make it to the floor. He blames the sudden dizziness on a lack of food and then blames the dizziness for lying down on the floor. 

His eyes flutter and somehow you’re suddenly curled up next to him, your palm resting over his pounding heart. His fingers find their way up into your sweat-damp hair, thumb gently rubbing against the knot at the base of your skull. 

“Your back is gonna be killing you in about fifteen minutes, sweetheart,” you grumble sleepily into his chest, a grin on your face. 

“I can’t feel anything below my waist right now.” He yawns. “So, we’ve got some time.” 

You nod, absentmindedly stroking the dark hair on his chest. 

“We need to talk about Pope’s birthday party this weekend. Will put us on drink duty . . . but I can’t really focus on anything right now.”

“Good,” he smirks with his eyes shut. “That was some of my best work.” And then he frowns. “You need to eat.” He pokes your side and you huff.

“Okay, if you’re awake enough to berate me, we can at least go to bed.” 

Groaning, you pull him up and he threatens to stumble you both into the wall, but he kisses your cheek and swats your ass, before snagging a tub of ice cream and a spoon. He meets you in the bedroom with the cap off and a smear of chocolate around his lips. 

You’ve got one of his shirts, grinning up at him from the center of the bed, and he’s torn about whether he likes you in his boxers, or nothing at all. 

You take the ice cream from him before he has a chance to flop down on the bed. 

“Not exactly a nutritious meal,” you mutter around the spoon and he turns his face from the pillow to glare at you. 

“That’s the other dinner I made for you, so eat.” 

Your giggle is all you can give to show your thanks.

He rolls onto his back, groaning theatrically, before tucking his hand behind his head, and his fingers coming to rest on his stomach. 

Behind the lids of his eyes, he can feel you watching him.

“What?” He grumbles, feeling around for your foot to pinch your ankle. He hears you move so he knows he’s close. “Not the right flavor, princesa?”

“No,” you laugh and prod his hip with your toe. “It’s just . . .”

His eyes open, finding yours in the half-lit gloom. You’re grinning the spoon in your mouth, eyes bright with something unnameable. You shrug, eying his hand between you both.

“I just never knew Fransisco Morales could be domesticated.” 

He wipes the chocolate off your chin with his thumb.

Yeah, who knew?

[pressureplus]

I need that for my comfort!🥺✨ Trans boy reader who started to have dysphoria because his hair a getting to long for his comfort. So he ask to Sebastian to help him cut them shorter, which Sebastian hesitantly agreed. Might not be the best since it’s was cut with some scissors and also because Sebastian never cut hair before. But reader is still happy with the result lol.

This is so cute

Hair and Care 101

Pairings: Sebastian Solace X TransMasc!Reader

Au: Classic

Warnings: Mentions of Gender Dysphoria

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

“And you're sure you want me to cut it? You won't do it yourself?”

“I can't exactly see the back of my head, so yes.” You sit on a stool, hands knitted together in anxiety. You'd asked Sebastian if he would be willing to cut your hair for you today. It had been, admittedly, a bit awkward to ask. He’d been flipping through files and restocking the supplies on his tail when you'd stepped into his shop. Your long hair getting in your eyes and somewhat fanning out nearly down to your hips. You hadn't had the opportunity to get it cut in so long it made your skin crawl. You felt…feminine. Way too feminine. You can't remember the last time you let your hair grow out this long and its made it really, really hard to focus on anything else. Its not just because it gets in your eyes and you can't for the life of you find a hairtie. Its deeper than that. You've started to almost flinch away from your reflections in the water and windows.

You've started to grab at your hips, at your face, poking and prodding and wondering if you can even pass with long hair. You haven't met another person besides Sebastian and the idea of being unable to see yourself the way you should. The way you know in your heart to be right. It makes you uncomfortable. You can only pinch and poke and prod for so long before your skin gets irritated. Right now, sat here, waiting for Sebastian to cut your hair? This was like your skin getting irritated. You had to debate if you were willing to even let another person cut your hair. What if they butchered it? What if it made you look worse than before? What if he fucked it up so bad you looked like one of those weird troll dolls but worse somehow? It had been your biggest worry for quite some time, until your hair got long enough that you couldn't stand it anymore.

“I feel like I should make you sign a waiver.”

“Sebastian, Im serious. Please, just cut it, I don't care if it's the worst thing ever. I can't keep walking around like this.”

“You understand my hands are too big to fit these scissors properly, right?”

“Doesnt matter, just get it done.” He sighs and grabs a collection of your long locks, specifically the one around your face. He straightens the hair to the best of his abilities using a hand so he can make the cleanest cuts he can.

“Why does this matter so much to you? Shouldn't you be, I don't know, focused on surviving? I mean paying me for a haircut seems a bit much.”

“Its…complicated.”

“How complicated can it really be?” He hums as he continues to make cuts, the sound of scissors through hair joining the sound of dripping water and Sebastian's voice. Would he even be cool about something like this? He doesn't particularly like anyone, and he's not really friendly with you either. Would he use it against you somehow? Would he get aggressive about it?

“I just feel kind of…feminine, and it makes me uncomfortable.” You mutter and this only gets a chuckle, sounding condescending.

“Oh, Expendable, long hair doesn't make you any less of a man. Don't be ridiculous.”

“I just don't like it.”

“Look, all I'm saying is, you could have bought a medkit instead of a haircut. If its this important than fine. Who am I to tell you how to spend your collected data?”

“Whether it makes me more of a man or not, is it wrong of me to not like feeling…” You trail off, and all at once, Sebastian tenses mid cut.

“Oh…thats what this is about.” His tone softens up a bit, the mild poking he had been doing immediately being cut out as he carries on cutting your hair.

“This isn't too stupid of a purchase, I guess.” He adds on.

“Yeah?” You ask as he finishes up, putting the scissors to the side and ruffling your hair to get any loose strands out.

“Yeah. Go take a look,” he motions towards the water so you can see yourself in the reflection. You peer down into it curiously and immediately your shoulders relax. You hadn't even realized you'd been tense. Your hairs a bit choppy, admittedly, but its not ugly or particularly butchered by any means. He was oddly thoughtful and careful about taking care of your hair for you. Even saying it was ridiculous to spend your data on, he didn't ruin it for you on purpose.

“Its good, you did a good job.”

“Yeah, well, I'm sure if you keep coming to me I'll get better every time.”

“Im sure you will, then.” You give him a smile and he kind of awkwardly smiles back for a moment. A bit of hesitation as you grab the keycard off his desk and put your swimming gear back on now that its dry.

“Wait.”

“Ah- Yes Sebastian?” You turn, concerned about what he might say. He's not stupid and you're certain he's figured you out by now. If he doesn't like it, there's nothing he can do about it sure but you always tense when people get all awkward around you. He hesitates a moment longer before giving you a little wave.

“You look better with short hair anyway.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, I do…now go on and get out of here. I've got other Expendables to deal with and a mess of hair to clean.”

[reallyhatethiswebsite]

Official request for Raphael getting pegged and being a complete controlling piece of shit about it please 🙏

“Well, little mouse,” Raphael purred, “what are you waiting for?”

He leaned back on his elbows, spread his thick thighs, smirking at her. His tail thumped against the bed. He chewed on his pinky claw, deliberately demure, but there was more than desire and amusement in his half-lidded, fiery eyes: there was a challenge. Satisfy me, if you can, they were saying.

This was for him, all about him. He was prodding Tav's pride, knowing he'd get what he wanted either way. He was awful. He irked her to no end. The biggest and bumpiest dildo she picked – when she'd spitefully chosen it, Raphael had actually laughed – slotted into her harness. Tav wouldn't be receiving much pleasure from this; at least, not physically, but…

What a sight that devil made. Lounging like a fiendish Adonis, all naked red skin and muscle and dark hair, watching her. His cock hard and heavy between his legs already, fat balls she liked to squeeze resting beneath it. He took her breath away. He was a work of art and he knew it. Touching him, fucking him and being fucked by him, excited Tav in ways she'd never experienced before. Thrilled her. Boiled her blood and wet her cunt and fried her brain because she wanted him so irrevocably, and he drip-fed her the ambrosia of his lust like she was a starving addict. She devoured it every time, and he luxuriated in her longing. Nothing was more arousing to Raphael than being desired.

Tav stroked the strap-on as she approached him. Its ridges and nubs. A monstrous device to her, perhaps. Delightful to Raphael. It would be inside him. All the way. Tav's mouth felt fuzzy.

"Oil? Or am I going in dry?" She drawled, as unaffected as she could manage. Unconvincing, if the dirty little chuckle Raphael made was any indication. He clicked his fingers and a bottle of expensive oil appeared in her hand. It was cool and smelled of cherries as she slathered it along the dildo. Raphael hungrily watched her do it, so she put on a bit of a show caressing the toy, knowing the devil was likely thinking about the clever ways she stroked his cock, too.

"Are you nervous, pet?" Said devil crooned when she simply stood at the edge of the bed and stared. Smug, amused, a tad impatient. Thump went his tail. "This was your desire, was it not? To have me like this?"

He said it as if the idea hadn't excited him. As if he wasn't laying there with a leaking erection despite not even being touched yet. Tav considered saying something about taking a moment to admire a masterpiece, but this bastard's ego was big enough.

"I'm just wondering how I'm supposed to fuck your hole when I can't reach it," Tav said.

"So crass," Raphael sneered, but. But. Shifted his weight, hooked his hands beneath his knees, and held his thighs up and apart. Presenting himself. His puckered, hairless hole beneath his hirsute testicles, waiting to be filled. He blinked expectantly, sneer dissolving into a smile. He was pleased by her ogling.

Fuck, Tav thought. More tempting than any offer, any contract.

She crawled onto the bed, desperate to get her hands on him. Still holding the oil, Tav coated her fingers and slotted herself between those luscious muscular red thighs. He was so warm. Unable to resist, she pumped his prick, thumbed its sticky head, and gently tugged on his balls, firm and hot in her palm. He sighed pleasantly, watching her. Doing nothing else. With the pad of her index finger, Tav followed the seam of his scrotum down to his perineum, and then the soft velvet skin of his asshole. It twitched under her touch. He hissed quietly as she rubbed it, smearing cherry oil between his cheeks.

"I hope you aren't planning on teasing me, mouse," Raphael rumbled. Thump went the tail. Warning rang in his tone. "It would be a shame if my pretty pet began to misbehave..."

"I was going to prep you," said Tav. She didn't mention how she also wanted to feel the hot squeeze of his ass around her fingers.

"Unnecessary," scoffed the devil. "Devils don't require foreplay."

Well, then. Impatient and demanding, but perhaps Raphael enjoyed the burn, the stretch and pain of penetration. Tav would be lying if she said the thought didn't thrill her.

"Fine," she muttered. Gripped the toy. Aimed its bulbous head at Raphael’s hole. There was a tense moment of anticipation - for Tav, at least - but then she rocked her hips forward and began to push. Raphael didn't resist. He let his head loll back and he groaned deep in his throat as the slick, girthy dildo slid up his ass.

"Slower," he snarled. Teeth gritted. Tav obeyed as best she could, enthralled watching the toy disappear inch by inch inside of her devil. Both of them moaned when she eventually bottomed out. In that moment, she wished more than anything that she could feel him clenching around the fake cock. That she could know his hot squishy insides as they quivered. The devil growled. "If you move before I tell you, I'll string you up on hooks in the foyer."

Instead, all Tav could do was squat, watch him luxuriate, adjust to the fat cock inside him, pull his legs up just a little higher to somehow take it deeper. He panted, tail thrashing (thump thump thump), mouth open. His forked tongue licked over his sharp teeth. Eyes half lidded. Tav could only wonder how full he felt. He likely wouldn't tell her even if she asked.

"Mmmmm...yes, that's it," the devil groaned. Put together again, enough to smirk at her. His thin lips were wet and enticing. A single lock of dark hair had fallen out of place on his forehead. "Move now, mouse. Show me how much you want me."

Arrogant fucker. Tav let that small burst of anger power her. She was going to fuck him apart. She gripped his thighs, dug her nails in. He grinned manically. She'd wipe that stupid look off his face. Her first few thrusts were shaky - Raphael laughed, of course he did - but then Tav got the hang of it, and Raphael wasn't laughing anymore.

Her rhythm was brutal. She fucked him hard, ruthless, taking out pent-up frustration (both good and bad) on his ass. On him. He'd let go of his legs to clench the sheets instead, claws shredding, and though his thighs were heavy, Tav held them up, using them as leverage to pound him with the aggression and reckless abandon he seemed to crave. Her nails were carving bloody scratches in his sweaty skin. They must've stung, but clearly he liked it. Tav alternated between watching his gorgeous infernal face, twisted in perverse rapture as he moaned and grunted and blabbered on about how she was such a good pet, and his cock that bounced and leaked cum over his belly with every thrust.

Tough to decide which was the more appealing visual. When he came - and oh, did he come, with a guttural snarling purr that arched his back and bared his teeth - the look of completion and pure pleasure that rearranged his features could have put the best painters to shame, and his beautiful thick veined cock decorated the red canvas of his stomach with translucent spurts of glistening molten cum that, if he let her, Tav would happily lick clean.

[jessefandomunited]

Helloooooo my friend I'm here with Spencer ideas, I'm in desperate craving for rescue fics so maybe either us rescuing Spencer or maybe Spencer rescuing us?

You're always coming in clutch with the ideas and we salute you for this I hope you enjoy

Kidnapped ( reader x Spencer )

- I once again will try to be as gender neutral as possible- you are kidnapped and Spencer comes to rescue you because he looooooves you ...and it's kind of his job loool

( made this in one go so hope yall like it)

I sat in the cold dark basement shivering. I had been stripped and beaten for days now and I felt like there would be no end. Cuts and bruises formed along my arms and legs where he gripped me violently to continue his torment.

I took a shuttering breath and tried to center my breathing again. I stupidly recalled a commercial I had seen for some relaxation app that had breathing classes and the one they displayed in the ads was helping me relax a bit . I laughed weakly to myself wondering if I should download it if I get out of here ...I was becoming delirious. My thoughts wondered to Spencer , my dear friend and coworker who I had the biggest crush on. I wondered if he was fighting for me . Huddled over the evidence, eyes scanning for clues as his brain worked overtime to find something, anything . I hoped with all my heart he was doing okay. I was sure flashbacks of his own kidnapping were probably keeping him awake at night , wondering if I was getting even half the torment he got... or more.

The door creaked open and I didn't move from my crumpled form on the ground, it was pointless and I knew if I fought against him he'd make the pain worse. " ohhhh my dearest pet" he hummed patronizingly " you are all tuckered out" I had a few choice words for him that I bit back . " its time once again for my experiments " he cooed and yanked the chain holding my arms behind my back. He hauled me to the same place on the wall as always , my legs barely able to hold me up. I pressed against the wall and tears already were dripping down my face. " now today I have an interesting theory" he said casually " I want to try and peek a layer of skin off" I went dizzy for a second at even the notion of a blade sliding against my skin like a potato peeler. " enough of that " he snapped and pressed a button linked with the shock collar around my neck. I yelped in pain as he sighed " now back to business " he said walking over with a knife . At that moment Spencer burst through the door gun out stretched and a haunted look on his face as his eyes met mine. " FBI DROP IT" he yelled . Shocked my capture didn't drop it and instead held the knife dangerously close to my throat . " drop it" Spencer said again steadily but I could hear his rising panic in his voice. My legs were shaking and I felt a prick from the knife leaving a trail of blood spilling down the same clothes I had been wearing the day of my abduction, the same ones he kept me in day after day as if mocking my old life pre capture.

Spencer closed his eyes and let out a slow breath " let em go alright? We can work this out" the Unsub shook his head emphatically , he was starting to get riled up too," no because I've bested you , all of you in the FBI! I've taken one of your own and now you will watch as they die" he rose his hand to stab me and that was all he needed to do for Spencer to shoot his hand holding the knife . The Unsub screamed in pain as the other agents subdued him.

Spencer rushed over to me immediately wrangling with the shock collar and chains to free me " are you okay , of course you're not what am I saying" Spencer stuttered I could tell he was holding back tears. I took a shuddering breath as the chains fell and instantly wrapped my arms around him sobbing into his chest. He squeezed me tightly " I thought I lost you ...I couldn't lose you." He rubbed my back and burrowed his face in the crook of my neck . This was the most pain I had been in but being so close to Spencer felt so good I ignored it. " guys the ambulance is here " Derek informed softly . I could feel Spencer jump a bit as if he thought we were alone . He quickly nodded his head and helped me up , offing to carry me to the ambulance but I declined. There was some power in physically walking out of this fucking nightmare, and I needed that. Though the second I was outside them put me on a stretcher and rushed me off to the hospital.

Days of being half conscious in the hospital had come and gone like fleeting memories and soon I was home. Spencer and Garcia had loaded me up with all the snacks and things I could ever need to recover and I was grateful but, there was still one thing I needed. " Spencer " I called before he left. I saw Garcia have a light smirk in her face as she quickly left. " what is it do you need anything else before I go" he asked his eyes wide with concern. I shook my head " no... it's just... when you're in a position... like I was .. you get a lot of time to think, and for me , all I could think of was the fact I may never see you again ." I saw his pupils dilate as I said this , " really...me?.. why?" I sighed and grabbed his hand gently and looked up at him again " Spencer I love you, I've been in love with you for a long time now. I love the way you talk, your humor, how smart you are and most of all , that big heart of yours. Any time I'm sad or upset or just lonely I know I can call you and you'll be there. You're my best friend and I'd love ...I'd love for us to be more" his mouth slacked open and he quickly nodded " i honestly never thought you'd say that to me, ever , I love you... so much" he wrapped his arms around me so gently knowing how much pain I was in. " you know I can stay here for a day or two... to help you out and all that" he whispered gently . I felt my smile grow wider," that would be incredible " 

[irishmammonagenda]

Hii!! 🧚‍♀️It's Wee Emo anon 🍾

Really liked your last work, so here i am again

Can i request brothers reaction on MC who cry over small things?

Like they see little kitten on the street and - WHOOP! - they're bubbling sobbing mess

I'm kinda can't cry (sounds dramatic lol) and wanna MC to feel it instead of me 😬

Love your works, keep going bestie💐🏃‍♂️

HI WEE EMO <3 please ignore the fact you sent me this on april 27th and its now june i had gcses to prepare for 😔✊

anyway, who let you into my house 😧🤨

no seriously i've cried at multiple south park episodes. south park. sometimes i wanna cry when i see my dog i cannot be trusted i tear up so easily especially when im writing🙁

for not being able to cry that is not very good for you fr:

i used to not be able to cry + still only really tear up, some tears drip down and let out like 2 sobbing sounds before im good again, i dont even have to try and stop crying, two sobs and im done, but my biggest tip is, get tired like really sleepy to the point where your eyes water bc of tiredness then watch something really sad.

i ha to literally train myself to be able to cry again bro dw, i wish i could have a big long cry but like 3 mins of crying is better than none, trust me wee emo you'll feel better

#dontbottleupyouremotions

ANYWAY:

this was very hard to imagine their reactions to idk why, but i tried so 😔✊

grma wee emo for requesting <3 and grma everyone else for reading <3

Obey Me Brothers With a Sensitive MC <3

It was safe to say you were sensitive, back when Melanie Martinez's music was a lot better, you really could say that the song 'Crybaby' pretty much encapsulated your entire being, it still did, but you liked to think you were more mature in your music taste now. (You weren't)

Being suddenly catapulted into the Devildom did a number on your emotions, and you found yourself quite numb. But as you adjusted, and bonded with the others, you found that you were back to your usual self, which was a crybaby.

So then how do the brothers react?

LUCIFER

Great. Two Mammons.

At least Mammon No.2 (you) isnt a tsundere about it.

Lucifer does not like seeing you cry. Even if its because something is cute, (although he does find it quite adorable, not that he'd admit it)

This demon is of the opinion that tears should never disgrace your beautiful eyes.

He will invite you to listen to his records with him and purposely put on sad ones or really sweet ones so you grip onto him while you tear up,

He is a demon, after all. ;)

MAMMON

Finally. Someone who cries more than him!

It actually makes him feel safer around you, like you wont bully him for being more sensitive than his brothers.

Actually ends up dropping a lot of his tsundere act around you.

You watch movies together, but always have to check the Devildom version of 'doesthedogdie.com'

Idk, I feel like Mammon would give you a bit of bother for it at first but then slowly start to like, open up more, because he really does see himself in you like that.

LEVIATHAN

He blanks.

One day you start crying because of how cute the anime you both were watching was, Levi thought you were geniunely upset, so he tried to cheer you up.

You end up thinking that its really sweet and start crying harder.

Leviathan PANICKS.

Even now, he still gets really nervous when you start crying, and has popped into his demon form more times than he can count when you grab onto him and sniffle.

Please he's already so awkward he can't handle how cute you are.

You might make him start crying as well :(

SATAN

Satan 100% gets so angry he starts crying so he can kind of understand it.

He's just glad you cry over positive things :)

His favourite moment was definetly when you teared up over a small kitten. (He took several photos and also took the kitten home)

Like Lucifer he 100% invites you to read with him and picks the fluffiest most adorable romance he can find, or the saddest most heartbreaking romance he can find.

He likes when you cling onto him and look up at him with those big teary eyes.

He's a demon. What did you expect, ;)

ASMODEUS

He thinks you're adorable.

Any emotion on your face is adorable to him actually. <3

If you wear makeup he makes sure to get you waterproof mascara and other eye makeup so your beautiful tears dont ruin your beautiful makeup <3

If any of you remember that crying girl makeup trend? Yeah he deffo starts that up in the Devildom (a) to make you feel less embarrassed about it and (b) because he thinks youre so beautiful when you express yourself.

BEELZEBUB

He doesn't cry a lot, it's not exactly something that comes naturally to him at all.

Its not that he CANT cry or that he holds his tears back, its just that he doesn't normally process or reaction to things with tears.

Only in serious serious situations will he cry.

So when he sees you crying over one of those little onigiri things that are literally adorable, he thinks that you've somehow hurt yourself. (i nabbed this off of pinterest)

Beel panics, and mentally goes over the ingredients in his head, did he order something with an ingredient that was dangerous to humans?

He calms down when he realises that you're crying because it looks cute.

He feels you with that.

Makes an effort to take you to more places with food items displayed in cute ways.

Though you do have to look away while Beel cuts them up for you, otherwise you wouldnt be able to eat it.

BELPHEGOR

He laughs at you.

Point blank.

Originally when he's in the attic he uses your sensitivity as a way to manipulate you.

But post lesson 16, he really starts to appreciate it more.

This bastard will use his powers as the youngest sibling against you, he'll dress up in cute onesies and give you puppy eyes, all to coax you into taking naps with him.

Which you do.

I have no idea how half of these fuckheads would react tbh

[disappointmentofthefam]

Love? Love. (part 3)

Andy barber x reader

author's note:im so tired only death can fix me

.....................

Andy woke up early the next morning.

6:00 a.m.

She smells so good

6:04 a.m.

God the way she looks away when she's all shy and cute

6:10 a.m.

you wore those shorts on purpose yesterday, didnt you?

6:45 a.m.

His hand is stroking his morning wood over the sheet.

it's wrong its wrong it's so so wrong

but it's her.

her. her on her knees.

"look at daddy, sweetheart,look at me while i ruin you," she looks up at me, mascara running down her bambi eyes as she drools around my cock.

"feel good,baby? you like being daddy's little cumslut? like it when he uses your mouth? I bet your little pussy is dripping just by sucking on daddy's big cock"

she. fucking. moans. around. it. FUCK!

Andy's hands speed up, vigorously rubbing his fat, hard cock, beads of precum spilling from the pink head of his cock.

i pull myself from her mouth, "youre such a filthy little girl," I take ahold of my cock and slap the sticky head on her cheeks "no,no baby, tch tch,"

"open your eyes, look at daddy"

FUCK! the image of you looking up at him with those teary eyes while he slaps your cockdrunk face with his meaty head is too much for him. With a few more strokes,he cums all over his hands, stomach and sheets, a blissed out smile on his face as he turns to the bedside clock- 7:25 a.m.

less than 12 hours till he gets to fuck see you.

AND LESS THAN AN HOUR TO HIS COURT HEARING!

He rushes to get ready and leaves the house, thankfully reaching just in time.

........................

y/n wakes up and immediately wishes she hadn't.

as if it wasn't bad enough to try to kiss the man who lived literally opposite to you, but she also had to go to his house 5 days a week.

"you're a big girl, y/n" her friend's voice comes through the phone, "so what? you misread the situation and tried to kiss him, no big deal."

"NO BIG DEAL?" y/n screeches into her pillow, "the first time I come onto a man and HE LIVES LITERALLY NEXT DOOR WHAT WAS I THINKING"

The rest of her day, she is plagued by the thoughts of Andy.

9 a.m. Physics class

wait, what if he was trying to kiss me back

11 a.m. Math class

No,he wouldn't.

1 p.m. Lunch

but would he?

........................................

6 p.m.

All day Andy has been in an unfamiliarly pleasant mood, he even brought flowers as he left his office unusually early.

lillies? no, I think she's more of a tulips girl. But what about sunflowers. And now that I'm already at trader joe's how about condo-

CALM DOWN! fuck fuck fuck! you'll only creep her out.

7:30 p.m.

Andy is fuming.

his gritting teeth, his fingers tapping impatiently on the steering, the low murmurs from his lips, all can be heard despite the clatter of the traffic.

Y/n ,on one hand is relieved

well, one less awkward rejection

on the other hand, her mind is working over time.

what if he is intentionally ignoring me?

what if he thinks I'm a loser-college-freak who kisses and becomes obsessed with any guy who is nice to her.

what if, her breath hitches, what if he has a girlfriend

Jacob notices the sudden stiffness in Y/n's body, "Are you okay y/n?", He asks with his eyebrows pinched with concern.

"Oh! yes, yes I'm alright, all fine".Y/n smiles.

After a few more minutes of studying, Jake suddenly speaks up, "You know, dad was really happy when you came over yesterday,"

y/n's heartbeat quickens,"What do you mean, jake?"

"Well, I don't know,but I've never seen him smile like that."

"Like what?"

"Like...." he pauses for a moment, "Like you know how sometimes as a little kid, you get lost in the grocery store. You can't find your mom and you get scared. But then you see her and she was over there the whole time, picking out your favorite chocolates, and you run upto her,your smile is the biggest ever"

y/n giggles at Jacob's absurd metaphor but then again, he was quite mature for his age.

"so am I the cashier of the grocery store in your little metaphoric world?"

"no ,y/n, I guess what I'm trying to say is that you were the smile on my dad's face"

"Jacob....."

The sound of Andy's car pulling into the driveway catches their attention.

Andy enters the house, 3 bouquets in his hand.

"Dad," Jacob smiles knowingly "who are those for?"

Andy's eyes try to find y/n's but she is looking at the floor, her breath obviously a little heavy, her cheeks flushed.

Andy ushers Jacob out of the room,"Come on, young man,take a break from all that studying."

y/n still isn't looking at him.

Andy settles down on his haunches before y/n and holds her chin between his thumb and he forces her to look him in the eyes.

"hi, angel"

"hey, Andy" The way she slightly shifts in her place on the sofa doesn't go unnoticed by Andy.

He picks up the flowers, "didn't know which ones you liked,so i tried my best three guesses."

The contrast of his dominant presence and the tenderness of his actions makes y/n melt into a puddle as she sheepishly plays with the collar of Andy's crisp white shirt.

"The sunflowers, Andy. I love them."

Andy picks the yellow bouquet and places it on her lap.

"I was correct,sweets," he rasps out, their lips mere inches away.

"well,technically, you were only 33% correct", she laughs.

"Well, I have got to shut your smart little mouth up"

With that Andy pulls her into a fierce kiss.

He rises onto his feet, pulling her with him.

The kiss is a perfect mix of y/n and Andy, teeth and tongue and smiles and small licks.

Their bodies were as close as they could be and it still wasn't close enough.

y/n pulls away first, out of breath and dizzy from being drunk on Andy's lips, only for Andy to chase her lips again.

"If it wasn't for the flowers, I would think you were trying to kill me, hogging practically all of my oxygen", she pants but smiles nevertheless.

"well if it wasn't for tutoring, I would think you came here just for me. did you sweetheart? did you wear this cute little dress just for me? "Andy tuts her again as she tries to hide her face into his chest, "look at me while I'm talking to you, baby."

y/n looks up at him and fuck is it a sight to behold.

Pupils blows out, her lips pouty and her lipstick slightly smudged, her flustered gaze as a small smirk forms on her lips, "are you accusing me of trying to seduce you Mr. Barber?"

"yes"

"well, maybe you're right, I wore this dress just fir you," she pauses as she feels his hands pawing at her tits.

"go on," Andy says with a smug smile.

nuh uh Mr. Barber, I will not go down with out a fight,

"In fact, i did everything for you today. I put on makeup, wore my pretty heels, painted my nails, didn't wear any panties....."

The look on Andy's face is pained and he looks almost on the brink of losing control, "really?

y/n gingerly pulls one of his hands from her chest and slowly traces it up her thigh, "see Andy? why don't you check it yourself."

Andy slowly inches his hands towards her pussy when the sudden sound of the doorbell makes them jump from their places.

Andy pecks and bites y/n's lips, "Give me a sec."

"No,you cant answer the door like that"

"like what?"

y/n shyly eyes the bulge in his pants,"like that."

"shit! sweetheart, could you do it?"

y/n opens the door to a woman.

she looks around her early thirties, aroundAndy's age, she's thin and her brown hair are tied into a ponytail.

The woman gives y/n a pointed look.

"Hi, I'm Laurie, Andy's wife."

[tsandoll]

i am here to share my thoughts on who in bnd would have a breeding kink, but first i'm gonna go with your order:

jaehyun: hands down i also think he's most likely to because come on, like he'd get so into it that his brain wouldn't even register that he'd have to pull out even if he wanted to. so he'd just be rutting his hips and whining and who could deny such a pretty boy making such pretty noises the joy of cumming inside? i feel like he'd also love to watch his cum drip out of you and sometimes when he's especially mesmerized by the sight he'd actually push it back inside with his fingers...

sungho: actually i think sungho is the least likely to be into breeding because of the potential pregnancy risk, like even if he knew you were using protection he'd still be too scared to risk it(you know unless you two are actually trying for a baby, in which case he'd be all in). now i think sunghos favourite place to cum would totally be your mouth because watching you swallow every drop of his cum is so so hot to him and also we all know how sungho loves cleanliness so i think he'd simply be into it because it doesn't make a huge mess. on the other hand when fucking i feel like he'd have a super strong pull out game and he'd probably cum on your stomach and then there are two possible scenarios. a.) you are getting the sweetest aftercare with him helping to clean you or b.) he will either collect the cum with his finger or he'll make you collect the cum on your stomach and you'll have to lick the finger clean(soft dom sungho my beloved) which is a sight that will for sure turn him on again and you will go for another round.

leehan: no notes, perfection

riwoo: now for riwoo i feel like he wouldn't necessarily have a breeding kink or a specific liking to cumming inside, i think he'd just be so giddy that you let him cum and he can't even think about where he'd prefer to cum. but his little secret is that he has a thing for you making him cum in his pants, there's something so embarassing and humiliating about it but he can't stop enjoying ìt more than he thinks he should(dry humping with riwoo will be a regular occurence)

and now taesan: i might be projecting because i just love this boy so much but i feel like he'd have an undiscovered breeding kink. he'd of course worry about the pregnancy risk so he'd only act upon it when knowing that you are using protection and i think at first it would only show in moments where he actually turns off his thoughts and just enjoys the feeling(bunny, i think we have some telepathy going on). as i think of taesan as the biggest switch these moments would be him being super subby or him being jealous. him cumming inside at first was a total accident, you were teasing him for so long before actually fucking and taesan was needier than usual, he was downright whining and crying out for more and suddenly, without warning, he cums inside with one of the loudest, most pornographic moans you'd ever heard of him. afterwards he was so so worried that you'd be mad at him and also super embarassed that he couldn't even keep himself from cumming long enough to pull out, but this experience triggered something within him. from this moment onwards whenever he was in this subby, needy mood he'd just cum inside and you'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy it.

but the other extreme would be jealous dom taesan. when taesan gets jealous he gets possesive and what better way to mark who you belong to than cumming inside of you? i feel like the cumming inside would start after he already had a taste of it and realized he enjoys it more than he would have thought, but it also would need a trigger first. and that trigger came in the form of jaehyun. see when an ordinary guy, just some stranger, hits on you he doesn't get too jealous, most guys back off when they see you with him and he knows he's better than them anyways, but when its someone he knows he's alert. given jaehyun wouldn't flirt with you seriously, it's just that he is naturally very very flirty and one day he took it too far in taesans eyes. within seconds you were in his room, you on his bed and him towering over you, fuming with jealousy. and then he's fucking you so so good, making you repeat that you only belong to him and when he's close he asks where he should cum, silently hoping you'd say inside. as if you heard him, you barely manage to moan out "inside" and taesan actually smirks while saying "good choice"(because he can be so cocky when he wants to).

at first he'd only cum inside during these occasions but it would just happen more and more frequently until he finally accepts that he has a raging breeding kink and it just becomes a regular thing...

so yeah my ranking would be:

most

jaehyun

taesan

leehan

riwoo

sungho

least

i probably went a bit overboard with my explanations (especially taesan) but the brainrot is real, please taesan just one chance, one chance

💙

there's smth abt the structure of this ask that i love so bad like idk it's like a post review and im very much enjoying it thoroughly 😭 also thank u for sharing ur thoughts omg let's dive in!!!

jaehyun: yeah no doubt about him and his breeding kink!! he definitely watches his cum drip out and he'd push ur legs apart as far as he can so he can see clearly, he loves ur pussy and the fact that it's full of his cum just makes him love it even more. he soooo pushes it back into u with his fingers and he loves to feel how warm it is in there. he also would take his fingers out and put them right into either his mouth or into yours 😖

sungho: okay u might rlly be onto smth here ☝🏾 i don't feel like looking for the original post so i don't remember what my original reasoning was but i think maybe i might've said he would be into it because i really enjoy the hc of sungho really losing his resolve when it comes to u and when it comes to sex. like him sometimes being messier and way less put together during sex like it's just such a yummy thought. but!! u saying his favorite place to cum would be your mouth actually makes sooo much sense like i could see it so bad. he would love to rest his tip against ur bottom lip and watch as u catch his cum in ur mouth and he would love to see how it covers ur tongue and how u look so pretty and eager to take his cum into ur mouth. he'd be like "good good, swallow for me." and he'd watch how u close ur mouth and swallow as he said and it just drives him so insane he loves it. also him having good pull out game, iktr, he loves cumming on ur stomach too cuz even though it's messy u still look so pretty and ruined and it reminds him of the affect he has over u 🙂‍↕️

leehan: thank u very much 🙂‍↕️💞✨

riwoo: the way i am kicking my feet over this I LOVE THISSS!!! ur so right there's no strict preference he's just such a go with the flow kinda guy that he just wants to cum and he wants to feel good!! he absolutely loves cumming in his pants omg i just know it. dry humping is a fave of his and he also loves when u just get him off over his pants cuz it's smth abt it that's like,, it shouldn't feel this good but it does 😩 he gets so so embarrassed abt so many things but i feel like he has a bit of a humiliation kink anyways so it works out for him either way!!

taesan: ur speaking to me nonnie... ur speaking to the deepest crevices of my mind here.. i feel like a lot of his truest desires are masked by something else like he'd absolutely deep down have the biggest breeding kink but the fear of pregnancy would get in the way of that so he'd never tap into it until it happens by accident. i feel like him accidentally cumming inside is so likely to happen, especially when he's being subby. he's so focused on what he's feeling that he can't actually focus at all and he would accidentally cum so so hard. his moans would absolutely be beautiful like that alone is almost enough to let him cum inside again. he'd have the strangest feeling in his stomach when he realizes what he really did, the excitement would be bubbling inside of him but it would be overridden by guilt and he would be soooo apologetic to you. he would get the urge to cum inside of u over and over like he would just have to try it again 😖 (also us having telepathy 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ iktr)

i like this... yeah i like this... in my mind taesan's relationship with jealousy is crazy like he does not do well with jealousy so this is just so 😩 he'd just be so frustrated and pent up that he has to do something about it and he needs to make u his one way or another!! usually he would just suck marks into ur skin but he needs to do something more this time because jaehyun just really got him mad af!! he would love to hear u tell him where to cum and hearing ur breathy voice going "inside" would immediately send him over the edge like he wouldn't even be able to think before he's cumming and his mind would be absolutely spinning 😖

this was so good omg thank u for sharing ur thoughts ur mind is so beautiful 😖 also u can never go overboard i love everything 🙏🏾

[bwoahtastic]

Do i know what story is behind this? No. But the mental image wouldnt leave me (tw: mentions of blood and violence ) (its some fantasy/pagan au lol)

Yes it's late and I'm losing it again

Oh its maxiel

Kinda

Max had always always hoped that if he were to die, it would not be at the hands of his father.

His father did not deserve the satisfaction of getting rid of his biggest disappointment once and for all, and Max did not want his father's to be the last face he would ever see.

Yet, as he laid on the grassy hill, gasping on chocked pained breaths as blood dripped down from his stomach rhrough his tunic, he did not feel angry like he had expected. He didn't try to curse his dad, didn't try to reach for the sword that laid at his side, covered in his own blood. He didn't go down fighting until the bitter end, make his dad bleed like he bled too.

Max was scared, eyes wide and filled with tears as he tried to look past his father, towards the sky. Anything better than to see the hate in his expression.

The sky was grey, bringing little comfort.

"Once you let out your final breath, I will make sure your name is burned from all books, have your legacy be forgotten by everyone who comes after. You won't even be a failure, you will have never existed." His father growled out, towering over Max. "There will be no grave for you, no place for you to be mourned. Not even your little god will remember your name."

Max's eyes darted to his left, where the temple stood untouched. He had devoted his life to worship, and still lost it to the one person had tried to escape

"A prince hiding as a god's low priest, where have I gone wrong raising you?" Father continued.

Max closed his eyes and thought of the sun, of golden rays on his face, of the heat making his skin turn pink. He thought of sun-kissed skin, of warm arms guiding him, of a smile so bright he had to avert his eyes.

Keep your eyes closed, sweet flower, you don't have to see this

The voice rang soft and warm in his mind, and Max did as it asked. He drew in a shaky breath at a wet, disgusting sound, at his father crying out in surprise and rage, and then, silence.

Warm hands grasped Max's quickly cooling skin, warming his cheeks as the same voice as before told him to open his eyes again.

Deep brown eyes watched him with worry, dark brown curls shone golden in the sun, which had broken through the clouds

"My lord-" Max rasped out, eyes tearing up. The Sun had heard him, the Sun had saved him...

"Hush now, save your strength." The god spoke kindly. "I fear you will need it still. I can save you, but it won't be painless." He explained, one hand moving down, pressing over the gaping wound to stop the bleeding.

"You don't have to save me." Max rasped. "It would be worth it, to die knowing my god did not dessert me for being a coward." The god had lifted him slightly, letting Max's side rest against hid warm chest.

"Oh my dear flower, you are one of the bravest people I have seen." The Sun whispered, before lifting a flask of golden substance to Max's lips. "Now drink. My brother would be kind to you, if you were to slip from this world and into his, but I am not ready to see you go there yet." He added, voice almost pleading.

Max looked up, dared to look into the god's eyes, dared to look at the deity he had devoted his life too after he had ran away from his family and his duties.

"I won't leave you." The god promised Max's unspoken worries. "My blood will heal you, and I will be bound to you." He added, tipping the flask forward until the golden liquid touched Max's lips.

Max drank.

[namjooning-to-the-moon]

BTS Headcanon- On Tour🥵

Authors note: firstly, this is the first smut on this blog so I hope you like sinning 😈

I would also like to add this even though I feel it's common sense. This is a work of fiction. This is not remotely fact, just my opinions on the BTS members based on their public personas.

Warnings: this is smut, don't like don't read.

My gif use on this post is also ✨flawless✨

This is how I think the BTS members would behave when they are down bad on tour...

Jin

Doesn't get horny much on tour because he's too busy having a good time.

Mainly so he doesn't miss you so much.

If he's in the mood though he will probably just watch porn with his head phones in and get off ngl.

He's a simple man.

Will picture you two doing whatever is in the video.

Might use it as inspo for what he's going to do to you when he gets home.

But he's only watching porn if you aren't available.

If you are he's sexting you.

Will be a cliche and ask you "what are you wearing? 😏"

Even if you say something like "a penguin onsie" this man will find a way to work with it.

Texts back something like "a naughty penguin???🥵

Would do phone sex if he could but he knows he's kind of loud so its not really possible.

Won't ask for nudes but if you send them he will put them in the spank bank 💦

Lingerie pics are also welcome.

Put on his favourite and send him cute pictures.

Sends you photos of his fucked out expression after he's done.

If you've joined in, send him a picture back of your own fucked out expression.

Might make him horny all over again though.

Another round may be needed.

When the post nut clarity hits he will send you a really sweet message about how much he misses you.

Yoongi

Sleepiest member on tour so probably doesn't have much time for it.

If he's only gone for two weeks he can honestly wait till he gets back home and fuck you.

If he's away from home for a while though he's going to have to do it.

He's human and he still has needs.

Doesn't want to damage himself.

Can make himself bust in five minutes flat so he can carry on with his day.

Doesn't need porn.

He has a whole vault of memories of you two fucking for inspo.

Will never ask you for nudes or spicy photos but if you send them he will use them if he feels like it.

They aren't really his thing.

He just uses them because you are in them.

Much more audio stimulated than visual.

Phone sex, yes and please.

Has a filthy mouth. 

He knows it and you know it.

Tongue technology™ will ruin you.

Tells you about all the things he's going to do to you when he gets home.

He will take his time and go into explicit detail.

The things he says would make a whore blush fr.

Before he goes on tour would love it if you let him record the sound of you when you guys are fucking.

Will be super quiet while he records it so it may be awkward for you but he wants to make sure there is only your sounds on the audio.

Will listen to it on his headphones when he's picturing you to get off. 

^This gif is literal perfection for this and I am not even remotely sorry for using it.

Hoseok

Not the biggest fan of touching himself but does it because he needs to.

Makes him miss you more.

Phone sex.

Facetime sex.

He needs it.

He needs to be able to see or hear you.

He's addicted to you.

If you aren't available though he will use his ✨imagination✨

Doesn't find porn satisfying anymore and it gets him frustrated because it's not you.

You guys could make a sex tape a thousand times better than any porn.

The only thing that holds him back from making one is the paranoia that it could get leaked somehow.

He will eventually cave in though and probably ask if he can film himself cumming across your ass cheeks and dripping down your thighs.

It's anonymous enough if it got leaked that no one would know 👌🏻

Wont ask for photos but will drop hints that he wants them.

Wants it to be your choice to send them otherwise it's not fun for him.

If you are available he prefers facetime sex but phone sex is also good with him.

Lowkey an exhibitionist with facetime sex

Will tease the fuck out of you.

He's on tour not dead.

Hope you like getting edged from thousands of miles away.

Namjoon

Lowkey stressed on tour because he has five idiots and a Yoongi to take care of, so doesn't do it often.

But when he does he needs it bad.

Not really into porn anymore but if you aren't available he will watch it.

There's a catch though...

The girl has to look like you in some way.

Either same hair colour, or same skin tone, maybe same kind of facial features. 

Something about them has to remind him of you or he can't get off.

If you are available though, phone sex for days.

Biggest dirty talker in the group.

His mouth is actual filth.

Loves giving you instructions on how to touch yourself for him.

He's thousands of miles away but that pussy is still his.

Those are the rules ok.

Wants you to tell him how bad you need him.

Dirty talk him the fuck back, he loves it.

Will also ask for photos subtly because he doesn't want to seem pushy.

If you let him film you he will never watch porn again.

Give him a blow job the way he likes and let him film it and he will wife you. I don't make the rules.

Probably would never ask for it though because he knows he's clumsy af and will probably lose his phone.

The thought of that honestly gives him a borderline aneurysm.

Will think about it frequently though.

^This gif is chefs kiss perfect and I will not fucking apologize.

Jimin

It doesn't matter if this man is on the fucking moon.

He is highkey horny most of the time.

Being on tour is fun but the way he misses you actually hurts him.

Has deadass thought about flying you out just to get laid.

Doesn't like porn, would rather use his imagination and his memory bank.

Will ask for photos to add to the ones he has already.

Has a fap folder 💦 of you.

This man has a cam fetish I am 100% convinced .

Anything you can give him he will accept.

Lingerie pics? Cool. Nudes? Also cool.

Even just a pic of you in a short skirt peaking out some underwear is good with him.

Just give this man any small crumb of pussy please hes begging.

Phone sex? Loves it. Especially if you praise him and tell him how to touch himself.

Facetime sex? Fucking loves it omg.

Jimin is a highkey exhibitionist and I will die on that hill.

Needs to have his own room to do it though so it's rare but when it happens omg.

Your own personal cam boy fr.

Will ask to film you before he goes on tour.

Nothing too extreme though.

Wants a pov video of you on your back with his cock sliding in and out of you.

That way he can see pussy, tits and face.

The essentials™

Call him a good boy on camera and it will make him cum every time.

Taehyung

Also on team highkey horny most of the time.

Being on tour doesn't change his sex drive much so he is fr suffering.

Doesn't like porn because he's too emotionally connected to you sexually and it makes him feel like he's cheating.

He just feels guilty the whole time.

Not the vibe he's going for.

Has a very vivid imagination so he's got plenty of explicit memories to work with.

Will sext you constantly.

Even if you are at the grocery store, expect a text from his horny ass in a different timezone saying hes touching himself thinking about you sucking him off.

Will deadass ask for photos.

Absolutely no shame.

Will take anything you give him.

His favourite though is when you make them artsy.

Lingerie photos but with you holding some flowers? Hot.

Nudes but you are slightly covered by the bed sheets? Also hot.

Phone sex is ok but not his favorite.

Mainly likes to hear you moan his name down the phone.

Facetime sex is where it's at.

Prefers being able to see you.

Will sometimes out of the blue send you a video of him in the bathroom of his hotel room in front of the mirror getting himself off.

Texts "just for you baby" as the caption

Jungkook

When he's on tour he's very focused.

After shows he's mostly sleepy and hungry.

He is also a lot of the time lowkey horny. 

The energy and the adrenaline from performing makes him dtf.

You aren't there though so he's kind of suffering.

Will ask for photos but will be cute about it.

Sends texts like "nudes? 👉🏻👈🏻"

Send him teasing videos and he will whine but lowkey loves it.

Be warned though...

He will break your back like a glow stick when he comes back home.

Film yourself stripping out of lingerie and he will watch it the whole time he's on tour.

Send him a video of you sucking a lolipop and winking at the camera and he will lose his mind.

Will watch porn if he has to.

Also on team, the girl in it has to resemble you in some way.

Too shy for facetime sex or phone sex.

Loves sexting though.

Will write you the filthiest texts like omg.

Also tells you about how he's going to fuck you when he gets home.

All I can say is don't expect to use your legs for a few days when he gets back.

Authors note: I would like to say that I wrote this out, edited it to perfection just for Tumblr not to let me post it. But you know what, I fucking did it all over again, you're welcome and fuck you Tumblr mobile app.

[sugar-plum-writer]

Dark Glamour

Paring: Sukuna x Fem!reader Tags: Slight! mention of violence; Fem!reader; Sukuna!imagines; will be 18+ as more chapters come; slow!burn, [I want to have a good build up!]; Modern AU; Mafia!AU

A chapter by chapter series, It will be a bit long maybe 10 chapters. So~ enjoy~

[If you all like it, please heart and reblog the post! to know you want to read more~ and follow for chapter updates! or leave a comment to tag you when I put out new chapters~ I will do my best to roll out UPDATES ASAP!]

CHAPTER - 1

The evaporated city from the map stood deary, with only its rubbles remaining, broken concrete foundation- cracks gracing it with iron rods threatening to crash underneath the pressure.

Shockwaves of the fight remained wherever your eyes could fall upon, swirling winds carrying fear and the scent of blood fluttering around you. Brains oozing out- crying to you about the injustice and pain inflicted on them, bones crushed to dust blowing past your face as a reminder of what you weren't able to stop

The grey sky looked down nihilistically as if used to death and destruction, not a ray of sun graced the Earth and covered itself with clouds as if not wanting to see this nightmarish Earth, crimson ink swirled beneath the watery rivers and lakes with the Earth trapping the dead forever in it's soil.

"Shit. Oh shit. things were not supposed to be like this" you muttered as your heels clacked against the ground, in a hurry all you wore was your bathrobe around you.

You left for just some minutes and the next thing you know your assistant slams the doors of your bathroom open screaming in horror as blood trickled down his face

"Miss Y/N! Boss has started a massacre!"

"What!? How!?-" Adrenaline coursed through your veins spilling into your guts

"I just left him for 2 minutes to take a shower!?"

"Miss-"

"Forget it-" Stepping out from the tub water droplets glistened on your skin dripping from your fingertips

"For now focus on saving as many civilians as possible! use all our resources!" screaming you wore the red stilettos you had removed- almost tripping in a hurry donning your bathrobe

"I will find him!"

"But-"

"Just do as I say if you don't-", glaring at him, "want to die"

Shit this was the biggest mess of your life

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

You had met Sukuna on one fine night as you walked home from work drunk. Feet bruised from walking in heels the whole day, it did not help your boss had to have a drinking party today making everyone drunk. Somehow you managed to escape halfway through and saved your sobbing liver.

"Malevolent Shrine" a deep voice echoed

Raising your head the next thing you knew- you were standing on ink-like black waters, blood red sky, and a shrine- no it could not even be called a shrine- skulls of dead adorned it

"WHAT THE FUCK!?"

"Bow"

Your eyes met his, and looking into those red eyes felt as if- you were looking into the eyes of a demon; a monster so terrifying your legs gave out

"Who-Who are you!? what do you want!"

"Me?", amused he looked at you "I am Ryomen Sukuna- The King Of Curses" smirking he gazed down upon you

"Be honored, your screams tonight will grace me" Stepping down in a flash he was in front of you

Fear. Horrible gut-wrenching Fear consumed your heart eating away through the valves.

"Please…don't kill me! Please! I beg you!" sobbing you kneeled on the ground as tears spilled from your eyes

"I have not even gotten married yet! I am too young!.." your mouth ran by itself like a Ferrari on a race track of Formula One, spilling out essay after essay

"I have not even-"

"Shut up brat, how long is your list of things you need to do? I will kill you if you don't shut up"

"No! No! No! I will shut up!" clasping your hands over your lips you looked at him but your mouth just had to continue, "But how can I not!? There are so many things to do in this world!"

"I said shut up" giving you a death glare he grabbed your jaw

"As for things to do, I doubt your modern world could amuse me"

"Wh-? How old are you?" eyes widening you looked at him

"1000+ years old, why?" confused he looked at you

"What….? And you still have that style?" raising an eyebrow you looked him up and down

"I don't mean to be offensive, but seriously…?"

"Why should I care how I look?" throwing you to the ground he rolled his eyes

"Ouch!", hissing in pain you looked at him, "Because, see for example if you want to recruit people into your group, shouldn't you look good? Looking hot while doing it?"

"What-? What psychology is this?"

"Yeah duh" Putting your arm around his shoulder you looked at him

"You are wasting that face plus knowing about modern technology will help will it not? For example with this phone-" Opening your phone you handed it to him, "You can text, call, etc, isn't it so much better?"

He scrolled a bit as you continued your explanation about modern technologies, the power of money, and so on. Showing him all kinds of things on your phone, all kinds of luxuries, working in the sales department sure came in handy today.

"Hmmm…", intrigued he listened and filtered through the bullshit that came from your mouth. Though he was 1000+ years old he sure was extremely terrifyingly intelligent, the way he filtered through the information grasping the core information shocked even you.

"Fine" tossing the phone to you, "You seem to know a lot of how things work around here" Looking into your soul chillingly, "Work for me, and let's do this so-called style change"

And like that soon you were out, alone on the streets, the realization hit you like a nuclear bomb

FUCK

Biting your lips you walked groaning, sure in a moment of panic your brain switched a circuit and bullshitted its way out. Somehow convincing The King of Curses to go shopping with you. You deserve a PR and Sales award for what you have just done. Sure you were good at what you did, turning thousands of yen product into millions but today, you saved your neck.

With a sharp sigh, you unlocked the door of your apartment.

"This is crazy AHHHHH!" screaming you buried your face in the pillow trying to convince yourself it was a dream

But it was not

Proof?

Right now you are standing in a short black sweetheart body con dress, high stilettos, red lipstick, hair all curled up scrolling through your phone, normally when you dress up many creeps give you stares but today nobody; why?

Sukuna stood beside you.

Link to masterlist!

[milkybellybites]

Melting

Melting

Pairing Wonbin x Reader

Genre Fluff

Warnings Food

WC 493

Masterlist

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Melting by Kali Uchis

12:13PM

“Ice cream! Lets go, now!” Minji exclaimed while excitedly pointing at the small ice cream cart sitting on the corner of the park.

Minji quickly grabs my hand and practically drags me all the way to the colourful ice cream cart, “Wow, so many flavours to choose from.”

“Yeah. What about vanilla?” I question, pointing to the tub of white ice cream.

“You’re so boring. Live a little. What about lemon?” 

“No. Thats the worst idea you have ever had.” I reply while laughing at my friends grumpy looking face.

“Our strawberry cheesecake flavour is very popular.” The elderly man situated behind the cart says.

“Sounds perfect, I will have a strawberry cheesecake in a cone please.” I smile to the man while grabbing my wallet.

“Can I have strawberry cheesecake too please, but in a cup?” Minji added.

“Two strawberry cheesecakes coming right up.” The elderly man smiles happily.

12:20PM

“This has got to be the best ice cream I have ever had. Like ever.” I comment as we stroll through the park.

“I know right.” Minji agreed while eating another spoon full.

“Hey! Minji! Wait up!” A voice calls from behind us. We both turn to see Park Wonbin casually walking up to us with a beaming smile almost as bright as the sun beating down on us.

“Oh, hey Wonbin. Whats up?” Minji asks while eating another spoonful of ice cream.

“I was just wondering how you were coming along with that essay for Japanese? Its due next week right?” Wonbin replies, eyes flickering between us both as he talks.

“Yeah next Wednesday I think. I only need to write the conclusion then I am done.” 

“Oh cool, not me. I’m a bit slumped. Japanese is not my forte.” Wonbin jokes.

“Oh well Y/N actually helped me with mine. She practically fluent. Right Y/N?” Minji nudges her elbow into my side.

“Huh? Oh yeah, fluent. I guess.” I responded, still staring at the boy standing infront of me.

“Y/N, why don’t you help Wonbin with his project?”

I turn to Minji and give her the biggest ‘really?’ look. Minji has known about my not so little crush on Park Wonbin since the first time we met him all the way back in middle school. She has always tried forcing me into confessing but I never did. 

“Uh. Sure I guess.”

“Cool, I’ll message you tonight.” Wonbin smiles down at me, “By the way Y/N, your ice cream is melting.”

I look down at my ice cream to see it melted and dripping down my hand, pink stickiness covering my shoes. 

Before I could say anything he turns on his heel and walks away smiling. 

“Your welcome.” Minji says laughing at me.

“You're so annoying,” I reply rolling my eyes, but we both know my bad mood is fake. The biggest giveaway? The massive smile plastered across my face.

[sanajeh1909]

Professionally Yours Personally Mine

Pairing : Chamber x F!Reader

Word Count : 2404

Warnings : Rivalry themes (enemies to lovers without being lovers part i guess?), romantic tension

POV : 3rd Person (More like Chamber's POV but i tried to give both sides inner thoughts etc.)

A/N : Sorry for my poor English, its not my native language. Chamber can be a bit OOC. Gif doesnt belong to me. Please do tell if there is any mistakes or off talks/writings on the scenario. I wrote less for Y/N to not restrict your actions and focusing on Chamber for you to imagine with detailed descriptions. Whoever taught me OneLook page, i love you. Yellow is for Chamber, Pink is for Reader. I hope you enjoy it. If you like this i might write part two or something.

Been long time, huh...

Chamber stopped mid-speech, his eyes narrowing onto the source of the sound. A woman stood across from him who he'd recognized as Y/N, one of his former colleagues from Kingdom Industries… one of his biggest obstacles.

He stood there, arms folded, waiting for the woman to speak. She was just as beautiful as he remembered her.

With crossed arms over her chest, she approaches and speaks. Her tone is dripped in confidence. I didn't expect you to join Valorant Protocol.

He raised an eyebrow, the hint of irritation in his voice. Of course, she couldn't just let that one little flaw go without bringing it up.

You know… this new agency has been a welcome change. I appreciate their appreciation of aesthetics, unlike that… corporation you still work for.

She smirks and stands in front of him. Confident and sharp as always. Who said im working for them? And what do you think am i doing in the middle of the VALORANT PROTOCOL? Surely they don't let in anyone here.

Chamber's eyes widened with surprise. He could not believe these words were coming out of her mouth, let alone that SHE, of all people, knew more than him - someone who actively works for the organization. He couldn't contain his shock. His mind was reeling. His mouth ran on autopilot, trying to find the correct words to say, when he finally found the right one… he spoke.

… pardon?

She chuckles with amusement. Its my duty to give you a warm welcome, no? Taking a deep breath, she raises her chin up slightly with a small smirk on her lips. Welcome to the VALORANT PROTOCOL.

He tried to remain indifferent to the situation. Of course, he knew the woman across from him was capable of doing… well, anything… but to think she had joined the Protocol made no sense. How?

He searched for a response.

"W-wait a minute. Why are you here?"

Im working here. Pouting her lips with sarcastic manner yet the smirk playing on the corner of her lips were giving away that she wasn't pouting out of annoyance, instead she is toying with him.

"Working…"

That wasn't the response he was looking for or expecting. Was she teasing him? Was she just… here now? Or was she actually here to work… he couldn't be sure. He was trying to avoid it but his curiosity was creeping in.

Doing what?

Saving the world. Serious yet sarcastic tone and that damned playful pout on her lips… He rolled his eyes. She couldn't be that facetious, right? This was Y/N. Her sarcasm and teasing was a known trait.

But that last statement, he couldn't tell if it was sarcasm or not. Was she genuinely saving the world or had she just… decided to join and he's just now hearing about it?

Saving the world, right. Like that's why you're here.

A small click sound of her tongue and she walks away, anooyed by his nonserious reply. Guess whose rivalry is going even after working in Kingdom...

Chamber was in disbelief. Her quitting? Her being here? She just up and quit? Why??

He followed her, of course. He grabbed her arm and stopped before she could go far. His curiosity was too much to handle and he had to know what she meant.

You quit? You're working here full time now? You, of all people, would join VALORANT just like that?

Oh, why not? You know me better than other people that i would do such thing. She narrows her eyes as if spitting venom, but then smiles with a smirk, a confident and cocky one.

Chamber's mouth twitched. Damn it. She got him. She really did.

The idea was crazy to begin with. Was this what she did after she quit Kingdom? Why didn't he find out sooner? Hell, why wasn't he just the one to recruit her to VALORANT?

So… you're not teasing? You really are working here? Why?

You should know it already.

His mouth slightly opened at her response. Did she really just tell him to figure it themselves? The level of sass… he was trying his hardest not to show how cute she looked when she got snippy… he failed.

That's vague…

He was still trying to figure out why she joined. Had she really joined or was she just here to be a nuisance? He decided to play a game.

Does the Protocol have better insurance benefits than Kingdom, or something? Is that why?

She lets out an amused chuckle. Is that why you quit Kingdom Industries? She turns the question back at him without answering.

His eyes widened with feigned surprise. Damn it. Damn it. Damn her. She was good. She was doing a damn good job of annoying him. She didn't answer the question. This woman could never give a straight answer when it mattered... She had him there. Damn it.

He stayed silent for a moment, processing everything she had said. This game… this game was going back and forth… and for each and every one of his moves, she would retort. He might as well have played checkers against himself. He needed to change the game.

No, I left because of the creative restraints they placed on me. They couldn't handle how good I was at designing.

Is that the only reason why you quit? I think there is more than that. Her voice tone slightly dropping and her voice is like a velvet, as if trying to seduce him to talk more.

Damn it! She was good. But… she had a… was she trying to get him to reveal more… personal details? What the hell was going on…

That voice… that seductive tone… it was the same one she used for every office romance she found herself in. Her eyes never left his. That stare could penetrate skin, flesh, bone… right down to his soul. He couldn't think of anything else but her. Every single thought in his head… it was just her. Just her. Just her.

He shook his head. No, it is not the only reason. Is this an interrogation? Do I have to share something more personal? Is me not wanting to work for a company who only wants my talents and not also my creativity… is that not enough?

Oh, im simply curious. She says with half seriousness and half playfulness. I know you for almost a decade… Its just your reason… She thinks her words with a small pause, slightly pouting as if preparing herself for the amusement she would feel after seeing his reaction …doesnt tick with your personality.

…what… does that mean?

Oh you know what i mean. Her pout slowly turns into a small smirk.

Goddamn her. She knew exactly what she was doing. He was almost sure of it. That smirk, that little confident smile. She didn't even need to play mind games; she could flirt the information she wanted out of him with nothing but a smirk.

He was annoyed. At himself and the situation. And especially at her.

…stop.

She gets close and stare deep in his eyes. Her eyes slightly widens, as if a snake approaching its prey. She speaks in low, slow, seductive yet dangerous, obviously taunting tone. …Are you being seduced?

Her presence was suddenly filling his personal space. Her tone had dropped to dangerously provocative. She was doing it on purpose. She was pushing the limits between playful banter, rivalry, and something deeper… He felt his heart rate increase. Her eyes and her proximity were making him agitated but… they were also having a different affect now.

His eyes widened as the distance began closing. Was this flirting?Was this… that feeling where he didn't know what he should say or even react? Oh… this was… this was new.

…is that what you're attempting?

She pouts for a brief moment as if disagreeing with her own words. I might be.

He gulped. Her pout had thrown him off. He was lost for words. So lost he nearly said something stupid. How was she this good at this? Was it practice? Was she just… naturally… like… this?

His blood boiled with a mix of passion and annoyance.

This was too much. She knew exactly what her words meant. She knew what she had done. She knew she was in control. And now she was taunting him for his lack of response.

He couldn't handle this woman. She was too smart, too cunning. She was playing at his emotions and he couldn't handle it. She was going to win if he didn't retaliate. He had to find some way to pull her off balance. He'd been the victor too many times, and he was tired of her getting the best of him. She had a power over him that he couldn't figure out how to control. It was like a spell.

Why are you acting like this? Stop. Teasing…

What if i dont? She raises an eyebrow as if provocating him to go further so she can make her own blow. Looking deeply in his eyes, her eyes are slightly widened with sadistic intentions.

For a few moments, he was lost in her aura. Her eyes were like two black holes, sucking him in and holding him there. Her look was almost inviting him to come closer to her. He could almost see her smiling a devilish smile, her lips inching closer to his ear until… he snapped out of it.

He wasn't about to be drawn into her trap. Not this time.

Your game's getting predictable, Y/N.

And you are falling for it.

He scoffed.

Falling? Falling?! You are a few steps behind me, my dear. Don't underestimate me. I'm not the fool you used to have the upper hand to. I have learned. I know how you operate now. I know all your tricks. Every single one.

Her lips curls into a smile, a creepy one. Something is hidden behind it, plotting something behind it. Constricted pupils of hers are staring into his amber ones. Her tone drops, speaking in quiet, soft tone yet dangerous, velvet-like... Why dont you behave like you know them, then?

They weren't just playing anymore. Things were getting real now, and the question now was how far would she go? Would she kiss him? Or would she try to kill him? He had absolutely no idea.

His eyes met hers, his lips curling into a smirk as he replied, his voice getting an extra bit of confidence and bravado.

I believe this game you're trying to play won't work if I call out all of your next moves. You and I both know how this works, yes? Let me guess… you're going to try and make a move to get a closer look at my eyes, or, say something that's provocative and get me to get defensive. You could even try to get within arms reach of me and lean in to whisper something seductive in my ear to try and throw me off. Right?

Hmm, maybe. She pouts slightly with a smile.

He chuckled. She was just too damn cunning. His smirk grew into a smile, his body language more relaxed.

Or you could go for my mouth right away, too. We both know you want to.

Oh thats not what i was asking for. But i might. Half joking, half serious with a damned smile mixed with a smirk and narrowed eyes... Her voice tone dropped low and heavy.

His eyebrow once again raised. He was caught off guard by her candor and bluntness. Had she gotten more confident or just… cocky? He was beginning to think it was the latter. His smirk grew larger as he responded with some confidence of his own and arrogance, but not enough that it seemed fake.

We both know you'd never…

We will see.

Again, he snickered and couldn't help but smile. There were sparks flying between them that even the most oblivious person could feel. The banter was flying in, the playful teasing back and forth. What exactly was this? Why was this flirting so exciting? Why him and her when she was such a rival to him. It was weird.

His eyes met her eyes, both staring into each others with such intensity. Their faces were close now, only about four inches away. Her mouth began moving towards his.

Only about an inch of space between them she stops, and she whispers but her tone isnt soft. The corner of her lips curled into a devilish smile You will be my pawn.

His breath was caught in his throat as she spoke for his ears to hear. Her lips were close to his, her eyes narrowed, her smile diabolical. His muscles tensed under the intensity of her aura.

Her tone was not simply playful and teasing but also… dominant. Aggressive. Almost predatorial. She wanted to win everything between them. He hadn't anticipated her whisper to be so… provocative. Why did his heart not even feel as if he was in control anymore? It was beating of its own accord. It was almost like… she was controlling it herself.

She pulls herself back and a laugh escapes her throat with a smile. She takes several steps back in amusement as if she won the little banter they had between them. Then she turns on her heels and walk away. The victory is written on her walk, as if a Queen killed half of the prisoners. She laughs loudly and her voice echoes on the corridor as she disappears from his sight.

He could do nothing but watch. She had won yet again. He was outmaneuvered. She had taken the last laugh. He'd seen his worst fears realized as she'd taken the upper hand. She knew how he felt about her, she knew the impact she had on him, and she used it to her full advantage.

Was she truly… that manipulative and cunning? Was there a weakness to it? Maybe not a weakness, but would she let herself get caught in her own game like he just did? He didn't know, but this only intrigued him more.

What just happened? If it were anyone else he wouldn't think twice, but he and Y/N were rivals. They were supposed to hate each other. Instead, they were flirting, they were seducing each other.

Was there something genuine here? It was impossible. She was his number one rival…

[white-poppie]

Stay with me

Character: Gojo x Gn! reader Genre: ANGST to comfort Warnings: Self-Starvation*, toxic relations (kinda), wounds, PTSD*, Gojo being an ENTP 😧 WC: 1.3k+ Writer:@white-poppie

A/n: I was already feeling sad and this fic made my eyes water.

~ Synopsis: Gojo is a pathetic man. he never sees anything beyond his inflated ego, not even your cry for help. It takes him quite long, to realize how incredibly wrong he has been all this time.

Cw: This is a very triggering fic, it has heavy topics such as depression, abuse, ptsd, anger issues

The first time Gojo noticed something was wrong, before you actually told him, was a week before.

There are days when you can't find the strength to leave the bed, let alone clean the room. When Gojo came home after exorcising a particularly annoying curse, his agitated mood turned into fury seeing the state of the room.

"' Toru please try to understand, I am trying my hardest," you whimper out at his scrutinizing expression towards your messy room.

"Yeah? I can't see you 'trying', sweetheart," he scoffed, a deep frown on his face.

"I can't get myself to leave the bed, everything seems so grey and exhausting to me, I am sorry," you buried your face in your palms, refusing to meet his cerulean eyes.

He scoffed and a loud clattering was heard, he was stuffing the dirty clothes in the laundry, "I don't know sweets," he grumbled, 'seems to me yer' just being lazy."

"You can't say that, 'Toru," you forced yourself up and looked at him with a miserable face.

His frown only washed for a second when he saw you forcing yourself to pick up the junk in the room.

He is not sure what's wrong, but he seems to have sprinkled salt on the wound.

After all, Gojo is oblivious. He seems insincere, loud-mouthed and nonchalant. He seems as if he only cares about himself, but you know that more than anyone that it is completely untrue.

Gojo is a caring man, but his ego blinds him.

He sees only the larger picture. Ignoring the details, the sufferings and the emotions. Gojo has a habit of arriving at the end moment, sweeping everyone off their feet and saving the day. Why the hassle?

He doesn't worry, he doesn't have to. After all he is the strongest. His saviour complex acts at the rightest times and boy does he love the praise. He only knows how to save people from physical danger and is completely oblivious to emotional and mental pain.

Sometimes it seems as if he chooses it to be this way. He prefers to ignore the 'weak people' who can't even control their own turmoil.

And right now even the biggest canvas screams that something is terribly wrong.

Gojo thinks it might just be a momentary blue, giving you a little space before realizing how further away from reality you had started drifting.

You toy with the food on your plate, and the dark circles sink deep into your skin, like a pathogen invading your marrow.

Satoru frowns as he taps on the table, drawing you away from the haze.

"What is going on with you these days," he booms, his voice hitting that one nerve in your brain that webbed its way to your ears, pounding and static-- the sheer feel of the blood that follows through the peripheral makes you dizzy.

" 'M not hungry," you say while sucking a deep breath, eyeing the expensive liquor in front of you. Satoru's jaw clenches as he runs a hand through his jelled hair.

"You could've said so already instead of making me book the most expensive restaurant in the city," he says deeply with a growl, making this uncomfortable coldness run down your spine. The back of your eyes burns as you realise they are getting glossier.

"So moody," he grumbles under his breath.

"Sorry," you squeak out and he scoffs, biting back the vitriol about to drip from the tip of his tongue.

Satoru sighs and calls the waiter, fetching money from the wallet in his inner coat pocket and keeping a good amount of cash on the table alongside the tip.

Your heart seems to have ceased beating, plummeting to your stomach you felt as if you were going to get physically sick.

Gojo walks out of the restaurant and opened the car door harshly.

"Sit," he orders and you complied, if the void in your heart didn't kill you, Gojo's anger would definitely.

You put on the seatbelt as soon as you do that, Gojo speeds through the road with his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turn white.

"Toru' stop!" you cry out, gripping the dashboard for your dear life.

This calms him down, and he slows down until he stops the car in your house's parking lot. Removing the seatbelt from himself and you, he takes a deep breath and turns his head to your side.

"'Sorry for getting angry like that sweets," he reaches out his hand towards you, nimble fingers running down the crevice of your cheek like sin.

"'ssokay," you whimper, leaning towards the warmth of his hand.

A smile breaks on his face as he removes his glasses and keeps them on the dash.

"What's going on with you these days, Y/N?"

You bite your lips and looks down at the leather seat, “I’m sorry. We were supposed to have fun today.”

Gojo stays silent, his eyes scanning your features, urging you to continue.

“This is stupid--I’m stupid.” you cry out, the tears you had been holding for so long finally escaping.

Gojo pulls you in his embrace, hand running on the small of your back, shushing your hiccuping sobs, "you are not stupid, sweets." He says so but he is frozen cold, he can never get used to people crying, let alone you.

Satoru didn't know what to do when he pulled away and sees that self-destructive hurricane swirling in your eyes.

"You know Satoru, my childhood hasn't been the best one," you sniff out, "my guardian was emotionally abusive and that affected me a lot growing up."

Satoru's breath hitches when he hears the rumble of emotions that floods you.

"The things they said..." you choke and he rubs circles on your palm, "they keep coming back like a Tsunami. I feel so pathetic and worthless 'Toru, I don't know what to do anymore."

Satoru gulps and closes his eyes for a moment. He feels like the scummiest human to have existed on the planet, even more than your abuser.

You were right there, waiting for your silent cries to be heard, to have someone pull you out from the web of darkness that even the strongest sorcerer couldn't have overcome if he were you. He was a shitty husband to you.

"And as I grow older, I realize they weren't exactly wrong," you bite your lips till you feel a tangy and metallic nectar in your mouth.

"They weren't wrong when they said I am 'lazy', 'useless' , 'high-maintanance'," you aggressively wipe your tears.

Gojo feels his heart drop as if the circulatory system in his body had shut down.

"That's not true!" he proclaims, wrapping you in a breath-stealing hug, " 'm so sorry baby, I am the most stupid person, acted blind when my sweets needed me."

He kissed your knuckles gently, "y'know even though I have acted like an ass until now, only caring about myself, I hate it when you cry or feel sad."

After all, Gojo is oblivious. He seems insincere, loud-mouthed and nonchalant. He seems as if he only cares about himself, but you know that more than anyone that it is completely untrue.

Gojo is a caring man, but his ego blinds him.

It takes you hanging onto the darkest ebb for him to realize that people aren't weak. they cry when they have been strong for too long.

"I'll be there for you now Y/N," he whispers, kissing your temple. His lips brushing past your skin, ignite a warmth, deep within your heart.

"Let it out love, I know I can't change what those nasty people said to you, but right now I know you need a catharsis," he says, "Scream, scream as loud as you want, scream at the stars, scream at the clouds, just scream until you feel better,"

Your sobs turn into soft hiccups as you look at him with pearl-filled eyes.

"And once you are done, I'll be here to tell you how incredibly wrong those people were and how you are so much more than your bad memories."

♠︎ 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜 

⤷‧₊˚ Jujutsu Kaisen (呪術廻戦)

🥀 BYI/DNI ♡⌇ Request Rules   𓏸 🗝️ ₊﹒ 《 Join my Taglist  •

Tags: @renster05 @innerpurple, @akumicchi, @rintaroubby, @nanaseishiro, @denkis111, @jazzylove, @kristaline2dmensimp, @futuristicallykawaiiturtle

[markerofthemidnight]

i very kindly request headcanons for the alephs. one or all of them i dont care im very hyperfixated rn and need food

I’ll give you the two ALEPHs in my facility in-game as a way to let go of my rage! (I’m on Hod’s suppression and they FUCKING WON’T STOP MELTING DOWN)

CENSORED

Its true name is The Living Clot. It’s a mass of partially-dried, sapient blood that can turn any biological matter it touches into smaller versions of itself, so long as its owner is unconscious.

Its whole existence is defined by the hate and envy it feels for the creatures that have proper bodies, that can feel, and can live. It won’t stop until everything knows its pain.

Which, yes, was inspired by AM from I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream, just in case you were wondering.

Though on that note, The Living Clot most certainly has mouths. Many mouths, and it can’t just scream- it can speak too, though with great difficulty, and it never says anything longer than a few syllables.

Times where it chooses to speak to Agents are rare, and they’re usually just concise death threats before it falls quiet again.

The reason why it’s classified as a Religious Abnormality (-03) is because it’s also technically a demon. Don’t ask me how.

A proper EGO Suit for The Living Clot actually was made, but since it was literally made of dried blood, nobody dared to wear it. As such, it forever remains untouched in… whichever corner of the facility such a thing can be safely and sanitarily kept in.

Its EGO Weapon is… you know what, I have no clue how to describe exactly what it is, but… it’s kind of like a harpoon?

Its EGO Gift gives the receiver bloodshot eyes with red, tear-like marks dripping down from them.

Nothing There

As a matter of fact, it only kills people in order to learn their anatomy. It knows its bad grasp on human anatomy is the biggest thing stopping it from blending in, and it wants to fix that.

If it got good enough at it, it would probably fit in perfectly as a 2-3 year old, but the idea that it would ever encounter one in the Corporation is more than unlikely.

Leaning into that, Attachment Work with Nothing There typically consists of teaching it new words and showing it pictures of humans in their natural environment…

…though all the humans it’s shown are either edited images of mutilated corpses or intentionally bad AI-generated pictures, since the company can’t risk it getting that good at mimicking people.

There’s no doubt among the employees that Nothing There is probably smart enough to know that it’s being fooled, but it still plays nice anyways, so they continue doing it.

Instinct Work, on the other hand, consists with it being fed the organs of dismembered employees. Each organ must be fed separately, so it doesn’t recognise them as human ones.

Despite that precaution, it’s suspected that it still knows where its food comes from, and that’s why its attempts at human disguises look so… awful.

Even though it’s probably smarter than most people think, employees are still advised to stand their ground whilst they watch it eat, or their cowardice might lead Nothing There to think that they are a part of its meal.

The metallic-looking parts of its EGO Weapon are actually bone, or at least more structurally similar to bone than they are to metal.

It presents Agents with its EGO weapon by kind of… licking their face with the big, sticky, tentacle-y flesh appendage that it thinks of as a tongue.

That turns their cheek a gruesome, pale red, and eventually eyes grow out of the mass. A few days after proper metamorphosis, Agents start to get vision in the extra eyes.

Many an Agent has requested to get their cheeks cut off just to rid themselves of the painful sensation of the eyes growing in, and the even more disorienting experience of being able to see out of them a few days later. These requests are always turned down as soon as they’re made.