#maybe it's just to survive. maybe it's because you finally get to feel powerful) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

madamechrissy · 2 months ago

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Baby You're No Good

Pairings - Cult leader/clan Leader Geto x F! reader

Summary - You have been promised to marry the psychotic, human hating leader of the Geto Clan, Suguru. Your heart sinks at the wedding when you realize you're likely to be ended once you've fulfilled your duty, giving him an heir. He detests you on sight, as do you, but something happens the first time you lay together, Suguru swears you're some witch, because he can't get enough of you. He becomes consumed with fucking you, with the excuse of 'having an heir' but you begin to wonder just where the lines are blurring. Would you survive this- and will Suguru survive being with you?

CW- Arranged marriage trope, ENEMIES TO LOVERS, psychotic Geto lol- lots of hate sex, Suguru calling you a stupid monkey, angsty in places, FULL of smut. Reader is a virgin bc she's sheltered due to been promised to him. Reader is FEISTY asf and mean right back. Explicit sex and Geto being whipped/insane/obsessed and an ass. This part- fingering, fucking, loss of virginity, masturbation (suguru) finger sucking, hate sex, light angst. WC this part- 6.4k

Will be three parts or so <3 Plz share/comment/ like if you enjoy!!

Masterlist - Playlist - Part Two>>> Based on Clan Leader Geto

Part One

You were to marry Suguru Geto, curse user, rumored cult leader, and clan leader to the major four clans there were. The Kamos, The Zenin, The Gojos and The Getos, the main four clans that you all know there are. As for Suguru’s family, it turns out he is now the clan leader for them, he is the one that they are now riding the whole line of the Geto Clan on.

Marrying you.

You stand there nervously, tummy feeling sick in your pretty white robes as you stare at this psychotic man, this man that thinks people without power are lesser, and perhaps worthless. Perhaps he wishes to eradicate you all, yet for his duty to the Geto clan, it leaves him to have to be with you, the chosen one from your family, for as long as you two were alive.

Maybe Suguru Geto back then was tolerable, back when he was just a clan leader and not all the rumors that are held, but now!? Being his bride was not just terrifying, it was a literal death sentence. After you’d given him heirs you were absolutely sure he’d eradicate you and perhaps anyone you’ve ever known and loved, including your family, who’d just given you the saddest of looks.

They weren’t here, you supposed even they couldn’t live with just handing their only daughter off to him, maybe before, you’d have been excited, remembering meeting him when you were just a teenager, he was a little older than you. Handsome and sweet with this smile that made you want to pinch his cheeks, he was so courteous and sweet, but that was a different man.

You look now, as you nervously step down the aisle, eyes of everyone on you aside from him, Suguru Geto. He’s decked out in brilliant emerald robes, laughing and murmuring to several girls near him. His long black hair is half up, showcasing his handsome features, yes if perhaps he wasn’t a psycho killer, you could find him attractive, not be sick to your stomach.

As some long red headed lady taps his shoulder, her long nails against him, he finally sees you then, and his jaw locks, you feel those violet eyes on you like a physical touch. You doubt he remembers your one meeting years ago, you doubt he recognizes you or cares, or sees you as anything but a nuisance, a duty. But you see his narrowed eyes dip down your body, taking you in.

Your heart hammers as you get closer, a mix of sorcerers scowling or smirking at you, along with the Geto clan looking curiously, murmuring here and there. Everyone hoped to stay on Suguru Geto’s good side, if he had one, you weren’t quite sure, feeling the insane energy emanating from him as he studies you. Another step, another click of your heel echoing in the immaculate hall.

It’s hard to be impressed with the beauty of it, of the Geto estate, surely it’s one of the nicest there are, there are four major families, and the Geto family is one. You don’t know how you ended up being selected, your family is certainly wealthy, but you wonder at your horrific luck now as you stand before him.

You have to lean your head back just to look at the tall man, towering over everyone in the room, he makes you feel so small, even smaller with his quiet assessment, as the room is full of hushed whispers. Half of them surely want you to just die, half of them want an heir from you, you imagine this man in front of you leaning down wants both.

Suguru eyes you carefully, yes you’re beautiful, but you clearly have not an ounce of power, not an ounce of any useful energy. You’re clearly just some pathetic little mortal, which disgusts him, you’re tiny and pathetic, useless. He’s so annoyed this is what he has to do, but he certainly can’t just not fulfill these obligations, as Suguru needs the backing of his family to gain more power.

Already so powerful, and with an enormous, loyal following, he detests that he has to in any way deal with his parents still, but he supposes he will handle it for now. Surely soon he’d have the precious few mortals he allows to live, to be loyal servants at his beck and call, pathetic ants that work for their lives he allows them.

Your eyes lower nervously, lashes casting shadows on your cheeks, lights of the soft chandelier hanging above you glittering on your smooth skin. He feels it, you’re terrified, which makes him smirk just a bit, as you should know your place, under him, beneath him, perhaps he can handle you if you’ll be just a little docile. You are pleasing enough to look at.

Something familiar stirs when you look back at him, with eyes glimmering with unshed tears, your lower lip caught in your row of upper teeth. He remembers it like a fog, being at Jujutsu high with his best friends, right before he started to realize how horrible humans were, God he’d been so naive then. Your families introduced you two, but you were young.

He remembers thinking you were pretty, being just a little shy actually, which is so laughable now. You’d met Satoru then too, and he could swear you’d made eyes on him, on his old best friend who now is his enemy, which hurts Suguru in many, many ways, as having Satoru back on the right side, his side. There was no denying Satoru was the strongest, but Suguru was coming for him.

He smiles a bit as he thinks of it, and his pretty face looks terrifying for a moment, making your breath catch, as the priest begins the ceremony, and Suguru rips his eyes from you. You eye black gauged earrings, alone with some little barbell in his eyebrow, details that almost make him seem like a human, but you suppose those are just from long ago.

Suguru feels Manami’s long nails against his back, he turns and smirks at her, ignoring the pretty, but pathetic human in front of him. Manami and him have long hooked up together, though Suguru partakes in many women, she seems to be the main one by his side. Just this morning she’d sucked him off, he had not been in any sort of mood however to do more.

Knowing he’d have to fulfill his stupid duties were irritating him to know end, and no amount of sucking was fixing his shitty mood. He also sees the girls he truly sees as his real daughters, Mimiko and Nanako whispering about the bride just a bit. He errantly thinks he hears ‘pretty’ but he remembers how young they are, and what he keeps them a bit sheltered from still.

They didn’t know all of his plans yet, they were just girls still.

“You may kiss the bride.” Suguru hears errantly, he sighs, leaning down and pressing his lips against yours, hopefully the only time he’ll have to, but something literally jolts through his body as he does. He pulls back, glaring down at you, gripping your wrist, tiny in his massive grip, making you wince a bit, looking up at him with frightened eyes.

“Do you have any cursed energy!?” He demands, narrowing those intense eyes of his, you step back, shaking your head quickly.

“You know I do not. Why ask?” You whisper, he grabs your wrist even tighter, sensing every bit of your body, finding nothing. Why then, had he felt that!? Some odd shock through his system!?

He’d never kiss you again, it is quite annoying.

As the ceremony goes, and Suguru has many people around him, including some redhead you notice is all over him, you come across two little girls, who you’ve been informed are like daughters to Suguru. They both study you curiously, the little blond with pigtails smiling at you.

“You’re just a human, right?” She says, and you nod, shyly.

“Does it… suck to have no powers?” The little brunette says, and you sigh.

“Honestly, no. I don’t want all of that responsibility I guess? Do you all…” They both hold balls of energy, and you step back, heart racing as they giggle.

“Girls, not at the ceremony.” You’re almost shocked to hear him sound- kind, affectionate?- from across the room, chuckling a bit.

“Fine, dad.” They speak at the same time you notice, then they bombard you with more and more questions, while Suguru watches curiously, Manami murmuring things she’d do to him in his ear, as the other members start to dance. Someone dances with you, then, and Suguru…

Well he doesn’t fucking like it.

Why!? You’re nothing really.

When you’re finally done in the ceremony, and you’ve been dressed in some dainty little see through slip, you feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment, as they finally leave after slathering you in fragrant oil, brushing your hair till it gleamed. You eye yourself in the mirror nervously, seeing the color on your cheeks, the way your eyes look so… frightened really.

Being promised to Suguru meant being sheltered, and aside from making out and some touching when you could sneak out, you were indeed a virgin, and having your first time with a dude who wants to kill you just doesn’t sound fun. You sure wouldn’t let him see how afraid you were, not when he walks into the room, a goblet of wine in his hand, sighing and shutting the door.

You’re tense as he eyes your, thin transparent material showcasing your curves, the nip of your waist, the just of your hips, and most tantalizingly the swell of your breasts. His breath catches at just how good you do look, his cock twitching in response, irritating him to no end.

Perhaps this is just his stupid body’s response, but he does not get attracted to humans, they disgust him, even the pretty ones. But you are… exceptionally sexy right now, could it be all the wine, could it be that he saw you before he changed? Suguru shoves all those thoughts back, gulping down the rest of the red wine now, a drip falling from the corner, and you’re just standing there.

“Let’s get this over with.” He mumbles, and you glare then, making him smirk but also making his cock even more full of blood.

“Let’s, I don’t want this any more than you.” You mumble, unlacing the ribbons over your gown then, and he’s irritated at how bad his hands itch to take it off you, instead raising a brow.

“Oh I doubt that, at least you get to fuck me, someone with power. I am the one that has to fuck a pathetic monkey.” Your scowl deepens, as he unlaces his belt, letting his robes fall, and you see his perfect body, well formed pecs and cut abdomen, lines and swirls of tattoos all over his body, even on his corded arms.

You falter for only a moment, because his body is literally perfect, down to the trail of dark hair below his flat belly button, but you quickly shove all that out, ignoring the way your body is reacting to just seeing him. “Monkey, huh, is that what you call humans?”

“Sure is, pathetic monkeys, lesser developed and-” He pauses when your dress falls in a silky pool to your ankles, and you stand there naked fully, his heart dropping into his damn stomach.

His cock is leaking precum just staring at you, god you’re fucking beautiful, so beautiful he doesn’t think he can put a word to it. It’s as if his cock doesn’t recognize you’re some pathetic human, neither do hands that itch to touch, and his tongue that wants to just lick you.

Fuck you’re annoying.

Why are you built like this!? Your perfect tits alone are making him ache for you so badly he can hardly breathe, as they rise and fall with your own nervous breaths, and you look right at him, boldly. Suguru tries to avert his eyes, to play it off in any way, but he’s awestruck, lips parted, as he watches you cross your arms under those breasts, sees a hint of a pussy he wants to bury himself inside.

Fuck if you were just… if you just had some powers, he’d have so much fun with you, god he’d tell you how pretty you were. He’d make you cum on his mouth over and over, feel you gripping his long locks, but he can’t because you’re… you’re nothing, really, just a monkey… he has to remember.

You see red lining his perfect cheekbones, making you curious at him until he clears his throat, averting his eyes and releasing his hair, letting it cascade over broad shoulders. “Let’s just… get it done.” You murmur then, sitting on the futon now, decked with reds and golds in the luxurious room they had made for the two of you.

That’s when Suguru sees your perfect little pussy, making him bump into the side table, you blink a bit, curiously at him, thighs spread as you rest on your elbows. He cannot even function, you are so perfect he hates it, surely there is something about you, some energy they’re missing, there is no way that you’re a human, with such effects on him!?

He lets his pants fall as he tries to pull himself together, and that’s when you see him, rock hard and thick, far, far too many inches. You panic, wondering just how the fuck that’s gonna fit, you’d had fingers inside you that hurt a bit before, this was probably gonna wreck you. You almost shut your thighs, watching his reddened tip drool pearly drops of precum.

Sheltered but not stupid, he was clearly ready. You raise a brow. “You seem pretty… ready for such a monkey in front of you, hmm?”

Suguru glares now, grabbing you by the hair, cock near your face, you wonder if he’ll shove it in your mouth wildly, but he’s just pulling at your hair, making you gasp out in pain, as he tilts your head back. “Do you even know what to do, pathetic little fucking monkey!?”

“I haven’t before, no.” You whisper then, and he pauses, gulping down some horrible sense of guilt. Not only has he not been with a virgin, he knows he’s clearly not your choice for this.

What is it that's making him feel so much?

He hates it. He hates you.

Is it the fact that he can see you’re afraid, he lays with women who coo over him, who are soaking wet as he just smiles at them, women who drop to their knees if he snaps his fingers. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but he shouldn’t care, right? What are humans to a sorcerer?

“I know you need an heir, so just… put it in me.” You say, he chuckles then, shaking his head as he shoves you back on the bed, bouncing just slightly when he rests over you on an elbow, sucking on two fingers then.

It’s so lewd, how his mouth wraps the thick digits, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks on them, before he sinks two right in your tight little cunt, making you gasp at the stretch, and making him exhale, holding back a moan. You’re so tight, clenching him, your gummy little walls convulsing, making him picture just how good you’ll feel around his cock.

“Do you have to!? Just get it in.” You whisper, and he glares down at you, lips parted at your utter lack of knowledge and insolent mouth.

“I can’t, you’re too tight, stupid monkey.” You glare and shove at his chest, only making him chuckle more. “You think I wanna prep or even touch you?”

“You think I w-want those or that in me!? No, just do it. Stop that… touching me inside… mnh!” At the sound of your own moan you cover your mouth, gasping as your eyes shoot up to his, he tilts his head, long silky hair falling like a curtain to the side of you both, as he presses on that spot again.

This time your eyes roll back, and he knows he’s found it, that spot in your pretty pussy that is just a little spongier, as your cunt starts drooling, and his cock has to press against the bed, for any pressure. Not only do you feel so good, so wet, you’re also fucking gorgeous as your head falls back, eyes fluttering shut, and he looks down at the mess you’re making.

“Messy little thing, tsk.” He says then, and you’re struggling to form a word when he puts his fingers back in, building pressure in your tummy that feels far too good, making you hate him more. “Hear her, huh? Monkey that excited?”

“D-don’t hear shit, don’t even l-like it.” You manage to utter out, and he’s smirking down at you, kissing down your breasts far too fondly, moaning as your walls are fluttering around his fingers, sucking a pretty, puffy nipple in his mouth. “Just fuck me, would you?”

“It will hurt you… I-” You pause, blinking as he leans up from licking and biting your breasts, little trails of saliva, as you look at him with wide eyes.

“What do you care, you don’t need me to like it to give me an heir. Just get it done so I can go to sleep.”

Your words hit him then, why does he care? Suguru could slaughter a village but can’t imagine fucking you without preparing you properly, fuck he wanted you to like it, to want him. And why!?

“You won’t be able to take me, tiny pathetic little cunt can’t.” You scowl as he sucks on a nipple again, scissoring his fingers in your cunt now, making lewd squishing sounds as you feel you’re soaked, mortifying you.

“Stop sucking on them, you don’t need to.” You shove him again, and he glares, leaning over you now, intimidating as he curls slick fingers, making you gasp in pleasure, biting your lower lip hard so you don’t scream out how good it is.

“If I must breed you, I’ll do it how I wish to. Stop acting as if you can tell me what to do.”

“I hate you.” You smack him then, earning a psychotic glare, and you realize fuck you’ve messed up, as he takes his fingers out of your pussy and shoves them right in your mouth, making you choke on them.

“Will you shut up, stupid monkey, fuck.” He’s then lining up his cock with your entrance, shoving your thighs up high. “Fine then, wanna get it over with, huh?”

You nod eagerly, hating every second under him, even if your body betrayed you. “Sure do, fucking psycho.”

“Psycho, huh?” You nod again, then gasp in pain as he fills you, stuffing your cunt full in one stroke, making it burn even though you are soaked and prepared somewhat, nothing could really prepare for his huge cock inside you.

“Ah!” You blink back tears, tears that bother him, and they shouldn’t, but now he wants to tenderly brush back your hair, that’s fallen on your brow. He wants to pull back out and prep you more, but you’re an insolent brat who won’t even let him, and he shouldn’t want to.

But your pussy gripping him drives him insane, to the point he could cum in a stroke or two, it’s gripping that fucking good. He can’t take it, he rests his head in the crook of your neck, so you don’t see an already pussy drunk face when he pulls back, shoving his cock even deeper, and feels your nails in his back, digging, hears your little cries of pain.

He wants cries of pleasure.

What the fuck are you doing to him!?

Is it human to have a pussy like this, he wonders, biting back a moan and leaning up, grabbing at one of your thighs to sink deeper, and you hate that it starts to feel good, when he starts fucking into you. Thick cock stretching, as your cunt gushes around him, his tip dragging on some spot that makes your eyes roll back again in pleasure, and this fucker notices.

“She’s fuckin’ soaking my cock, huh? Like it, pathetic little monkey, a sorcerer over you?” You manage to glare, shaking your head, his attractive smirk widening, as he fucks you deeper and harder, and you’re a tremblind mess under him. “Oh no, you don’t hmm?”

“N-no, hate it. Hate you.” He scowls now, as you gulp down moans and cries he’s dying to hear, so he pays attention, to when you’re gasping, clamping down, realizing the spot and angle you’re dying over, so Suguru grins down at you, lifting your thighs up so high he slams your cervix. “Ah!”

“There it is.” He whispers to himself, pressing on the backs of your thighs and slamming your cervix, over and over, as you’re moaning so sexy, your back arching, while he’s folding you damn near in half now. “F-fuck… you feel so…” He stops himself, he can’t say that.

It feels so perfect.

Feels like you’re made to take his cock.

You’re so pretty under him, perspiration on your forehead, eyebrows scrunched, lips red from you biting them, your eyes glazed over. God you’re gorgeous, as his cock is throbbing inside your tight walls, and you’re struggling so hard to act like you hate it, when he’s hitting that spot over and over, his tip dragging on it again and again. You moan out loud, whining when he rolls his hips bottoming out.

“J-just cum, finish it. W-wanna be d-done.” You whisper, he glares now at you.

“Not enjoying it at all?”

“Hate it. B-boring.” Suguru laughs now, shaking his head, slamming into you, and you’re screaming out, convulsing, feeling pressure build and build, realizing with a panic then.

You’re gonna cum.

Not for him, dammit!

You struggle to hold back, shaking your head and covering your face, when he lets your thighs fall to the side, yanking your hands off your face, pinning your wrists above your head with a strong hand, long fingers wrapping your delicate wrists like they’re nothing. You gasp at it, as his other hand yanks you by your hip, slamming you down his length.

“I’ll look upon your face.” He says through his teeth, dying to watch it when you cum, and fuck he feels it, you’re so close. He wants it then, he needs it, you to cum all over him, milking him so good, and your eyes go wide in shock, but they’re already so fucked out. He’s leaking precum inside you, dragging on that spot and watching you unravel for him.

“Why do y-you wanna- mnh, f-fuck!” You’re clinging to the sheets, when Suguru would like you to cling to him, as he sends you over the fucking edge, and he watches your gorgeous face screw up in pleasure, making his cock pulse.

Fuck you’re pretty.

Fuck he hates you for doing this.

He’s never even felt anything better than this.

“Can’t help yourself, huh monkey? Gonna cum all over my cock, aren’t you?” He whispers, you shake your head, still pinned under him, and he lays over you, grinding his cock inside you, dark hair on his pelvis just pressing on your neglected clitoris, then you feel it, and he moans. “There it is.”

“No, no, no… f-fuck you… hate… ah!” You’re shattering, cumming so hard you can’t even see, all while this psycho watches avidly, and you hate him more for it, for giving you this orgasm that almost makes you faint. “Sh-shit… mnh…”

Your cunt soaks his cock as the orgasm wrecks your brain, as you’re convulsing around his thick veiny cock, with its tip pressing into your cervix, and you’re twitching under him, pathetic. You gasp as he fucks you through it, disoriented and blinking rapidly at how euphoric you feel, listening to the grunts and groans of his and the squelching of your cunt.

“Oh my… f-fuck…” Suguru groans now, unable to hold back any longer, violet eyes so dilated they look black as they drink in your face, lips hovering over yours, cock fucking harder and harder.

You almost cum again, clenching around him, as he moves over you, stuttering in his rhythm finally, faltering just a bit, gripping you tightly as he moans out, his breath hot against your lips, lips he wants to kiss, a mouth he wants to spit inside, tongue he wants to feel on his skin. You’re maddening, he realizes then, as he gets closer to his release, his cock throbbing at your pussy milking him so good.

“Mnh… shit I hate… you…” You whisper, as you’re cumming again, and he grips your wrists so hard they’ve gone numb, starting to pump hot loads of cum inside, you, groaning out loud at how good it feels.

“Milking me, shit… f-feels so fucking perf-” Suguru holds it back, luckily you’re too fucked out to care, as his cum fills you, so hot and gooey, and you’re both gasping for breaths, the room quiet save front he sounds of his cock slipping inside you, and your hearts pounding. “Filled you so fucking good, monkey, hmm?”

“G-good, it’s over…” You whisper, damn near delirious as your aftershocks make your sticky walls grip him, he gasps at it, pumping even more, as he looks into your eyes, feeling too much.

“Y-yes. Over.” He manages to spill out, and you whimper when he kisses your neck, something he shouldn’t indulge in, easing off your wrists and looking at them, his hand left prints clearly.

You ease them down, fingers wresting on his shoulders for a moment, a moment that feels too good, too natural, before you press on him. “Can you go, then?”

“What?” He blinks in confusion, cock still inside of you, fuck he never even wants to leave, so hot and wet and-

“Your seed is inside me, we should be good for now. I’m… sore. Please get off of me.” You look away now, and Suguru’s pulse races, as you refuse to look at him whatsoever when he gets off, easing his cock out of you with a messy pop sound, tensing as he sees the evidence of your innocence between your thighs.

“Let me clean you up.” He murmurs, and you glare, shaking your head and closing your legs then. “Would you just-”

“Fuck you, get out. I don’t need you cleaning me up, we’re good until… I guess whenever we have to do this again.” You stand on wobbly legs, as Suguru stands, looming over you as you head to the shower adjoining the room, grabbing you by the top of your arm. “What!?”

“So eager to run off, monkey? You should thank me.”

You laugh then, ignoring the throb of your pussy and the pounding in your head, fuck him he felt so good in you, you’ve never even felt that good before, not from little orgasms you gave yourself. You hate him more for it, not only did your first time have to be with this ass of a man, a psycho killer, you also came when you didn’t even want to, making it all worse/

“Thank you!? For what!”

“For cumming inside you.” He presses you against the wall then, looming over you so tall, his sweet breath like the grapes of the wine as he grabs your chin, forcing your eyes on his. “For making a monkey like you cum.”

“You didn’t make me cum, stupid psycho.” You glare right at him, chest heaving as you speak the lies, but he laughs right down at you, thumb brushing over a lip with teeth indentations from how hard you bit it.

“Didn’t cum? You’re a fucking liar, on top of being pathetic. Useless.”

“Useless, yes except to have your stupid heir. I can’t wait to get pregnant, actually, so I’ll never have to get touched again.”

“Oh yeah, so fucking horrible?”

“Terrible.”

“And you’re disgusting to me.”

“Good!” You shove at his strong chest, slick with sweat, and pause there then, as does he, a hand now entwined at the nape of your neck, as he dies to kiss you, brutally, over and over, but he just holds you there. “Am I done for the night Lord Geto, or whatever the fuck you like to be called?”

He’d like you to scream Suguru.

Fuck.

“Will you just let me clean you up, it was your first time and-”

“Oh no, you’re not gonna play like you care at all. We did what we had to do, what we both had to do, neither of us wanted it, or enjoyed it. Right?” You demand then, raising a brow, and he scowls.

“Not right, and I’m just-”

“I remember it, meeting you, you were… sweet.”

He laughs then. “What?”

“You were, and him? I’d have been happy to do this, but you? I don’t wanna look at you and think of it. Let me go.” He scowls as he goes to grab his clothes now, and you lean against the wall, covering your face, not wanting him to see just how you are affected by him.

“I’ll be putting a curse at your door, to make sure you don’t run.” He says then, making you blink in shock, seeing he’s dressed finally, putting his hair back up.

“I have nowhere to run to.” He pauses at that, jaw locked. “But go ahead, maybe it’ll be better company than you.”

Suguru scoffs. “Clean up.”

“Get out.” You order, finally he turns, walking out, leaving you to step into the shower, letting the hot spray hit you, sore in places you’ve never imagined, thinking just how much you hate him.

You’re sobbing then, under the coverage of the shower, where no one would see you, see what he’s done to you, your mental state in ruins. You scrub everywhere his elegant fingers touched, everywhere his lush lips kissed, hissing when you wash your sore pussy, looking down at your fingers, finding his cum pouring out of you. Hot, sticky white cum washed by the shower.

Steam fills as you slide down to sit in the shower, resting your head on your knees, hating him so much you can barely breathe. Bad enough he fucked you, why did he have to make you enjoy it, why did he act like he cared for your pleasure, cared for you after even? A lie, all a lie, and it’s the last thing you need.

You will hate him.

Outside your room, Suguru leans his back against your door, trying to catch his breath, head swirling with you, hands shaking as they brush back his hair. You have him shaking, you annoying, stupid brat of a girl, who wouldn’t even let him try to care for you, at all.

Why’d he want to though? You were right, your duty was fulfilled for the night, he should stop thinking of how he’d love to be in that shower with you, how he’s dying to be back inside you, imagining making you admit how good it felt. He could feel your slick on his cock still, wondering if you feel him pouring out of you, dying to breed you again, again, again.

He detests you.

Summoning a curse, a rather derpy looking one shaped like a bull with several eyes, he plops him next to your door now, this is a docile curse he’s had since his youth, bringing back too many memories. Of being happy, of laughing, of a girl named Riko, right before he’d snapped, her riding this curse on its back as they tried their best to save her.

It proved how disgusting humans were that day, lest he ever forget, his fist clenched as he struggles to gain his resolve, looking down at the creature now. “Guard this door.” It nods, tongue lolling out, Suguru sighs then. “Also make sure you… care for the girl in this room. Yes?”

It nods again, as Suguru does not know if you are safe really, surely no one would go against him, but there is much hatred already for humans, and many, many people hate you. But he wants you to be safe, otherwise he’ll just get another bride thrown on him, and who knows if he’d hate her more.

Suguru ends up in his room now, sighing as he sees Manami there with another woman from his cult, he shakes his head as they try to disrobe him. “No, I am not in any sort of mood for it.”

“But Suguru, it must've been awful.” Manami cooes, and the other girl nods, as they rub up and down his arms, making him feel disgusted.

How?

How do they, powerful women, make him disgusted now? He owes you no loyalty, he did not plan to only be with you, but the thought of anyone but you actually makes him sick. What sort of witchcraft do you possess, some new undetectable kind that he hasn’t figured out, to make him feel like this? Are you some weapon to destroy his fucking plans?

“Go. Now.” Suguru orders then, and they pout as they leave, but Suguru can’t get his mind off you, not when he’s washing you off in the shower, every vivid thought of making you enjoy it fills his mind.

Suguru hates you more when he’s stroking his cock to the thought of you whimpering, begging for him, on your knees with your tongue out. He’s moaning as he pinches his tip, he already came so much but he can’t stop how hard he is, thinking of how your eyes would cross as he fucked your throat, as he came so deep and you swallowed him greedy.

Thinking of you riding him, your tits bouncing right in his face, your thighs squeezing his face as he lapped his cup out of your pussy after. ‘F-fuck, you like it, don’t you’ he’s muttering, wet hair sticking to his back as water pounds down, and he’s stroking his cock faster and faster, eyes shutting, vivid pictures of you everywhere.

‘That’s it, good girl, cumming just for me, mine, aren’t you’ he’s stuttering, saying stupid insane shit, so high off your pussy he can’t even talk himself out of it, not when his big hand strokes his thick shaft over and over.

When Suguru cums again he moans out loud, hunching over and gasping for a breath, hating you more for what you’ve done when his sticky cum pours all out of his hand now. He rinses himself off, shaking his head and covering it with his other hand, realizing jerking off was nothing like cumming inside you, like fucking your perfect little pussy.

Just who the fuck are you?

******

The next day of being Suguru’s wife, you open the door and gasp, seeing some bull shaped creature who’s grinning at you, several eyes wide open as it licks your leg, making you squeak. “What!?”

“He likes you.” Comes Mimiko’s voice, she’s poking around on her phone, and you take a breath, smiling a bit.

Just because Suguru is a psychotic dick, it doesn’t mean you’d take it out on little girls, or oddly cute curses. “Can I pet it?” You ask, and Nanako giggles next to her sister, stepping closer.

“He’s docile.” She pets him then, and the thing damn near purrs, you bend down on your knees now, petting him yourself, sighing.

“He’s kinda cute?” They burst out in laughter, leaving the hall then, as you find the first bit of comfort in one of stupid, psycho Suguru’s curses. “You like me?”

He nods, licking on your cheek, you swipe at it, wincing as it runs off, and suddenly Suguru Geto is standing right in front of you, as you’re just on your knees still, looking up at him. Vivid insane thoughts fill you, as you feel your tummy clench, pussy so sore from him still, thinking of the dreams you’d had of this ass of a man, and now you’re just… there.

He freezes when he sees your hair fall back, loose and flowing, shimmering likely from your shower, and you’re right where he pictured you, what he jerked himself to over and over. The urge to pull out his cock and fuck your pretty face was overwhelming, driving him so insane his cock responds violently, already leaking precum, annoying him to no end.

He’d turned down more women this morning, because now he’s coming to a really annoying realization- he wants you. Only you. He’s blaming his stupid body, for wanting a petty human, but it’s undeniable, while you just blink and look up for a moment, before you clear your throat, standing and grabbing the door way, looking away now.

“Where’d the curse go? I like him.”

“You like him!?”

“Better than you, I was right. He’s cuter.” You smile then, and he glares, grabbing you right by your throat, only making you laugh.

“Who’s the psycho here, me or you?” He whispers, and you grip his wrist now, as he looks how pretty your neck is with his hand around it, as he looks at glossy lips he wants to kiss.

“Gonna kill me before the heir?” You whisper, when he squeezes just so.

“Tempting to do so.” He whispers against your lips, and you come to a very annoying realization of your own, when your nipples tighten, when your pussy drips from him choking you.

You want this psycho.

Just your body, you’ll just blame that, but it’s undeniable, and it makes you despise him more. “Go for it, put me outta my misery. Won’t have to look at you.” You say, he squeezes harder, stepping a little further in the room, as you feel lightheaded, and fucking horny.

What’s wrong with you!?

“Why don’t we work harder on making it happen then?”

“Now!?” You demand, and he shuts the door, smirking, undoing his black robes as you rub your sore neck.

“Now.”

Taglist open for parts two and three if you're not on it already <3 Hope you enjoyed this, I know Geto doesn't hit like my Gojo or Sukuna posts, but I rly tried lol. Can't wait to see what ya'll think!

Taglist #1- @ur-1fav-girl @gradmacoco @arabellasolstice @saitamaswifey @rjreins @uarmyhopeworldwide @makkiihehe @dabisdolly @angelzrulez21-blog @espresso1patronum @juicu @meme848 @arcanedx @satxoru @jeon-blue @longlivegojo @silvarys @enhasrii @inthedarkshadows000 @shokosmokes @schlokki @ashdiamashi @socutesotall @staarflowerr @you-need-namjesus @tojicvmslut @pkcoleight @tasteofapplecider @erenspersonalwh0re @soyokosuguru @boobsbeesbongos @sjstg3 @msniks @hhhhhhhikariiiiiiii @l1v1ngzomb1e @lilbxtchsyndrome @voideddd @maddyhehehehhe @norikuna @yenayaps @alygator77 perm tags (rest in rbs) @honeybunnnnie @alt--er--love @indiewritesxoxo @nanasukii28 @makingtimemine @cuntphoric @loafteaw

#suguru geto smut #suguru geto x reader #geto x you #geto x reader #geto x female reader #clan leader geto #geto angst #geto smut #suguru geto x female reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujustu kaisen #divider by strangergraphics #jjk arranged marriage #enemies to lovers jjk #suguru x reader

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luna-azzurra · 2 months ago

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Villainy That Hits Different

The Villain Who Used to Be the Hero Once upon a time, they fought for the right side. They stood in the light, believed in justice, played by the rules. But rules don’t protect you when the world turns its back on you. Rules don’t bring back the people you lost. They learned the hard way that being a hero doesn’t mean you win. Being a hero just means you’re the idiot who refused to do what needed to be done. So they stopped being the hero. And for the first time in their life, they started winning.

The Villain Who Believes They’re Saving the World They don’t want destruction for destruction’s sake. They don’t wake up every morning with some grand plan to cause chaos. No, they wake up thinking, I am the only one who sees the truth. That the world is broken, that the people in power are liars, that the so-called heroes are too weak to do what actually needs to be done. If people get hurt along the way? If blood has to be spilled? That’s the price of salvation.

The Villain Who Never Wanted This They didn’t start out like this. Once, they were kind. Once, they trusted. Once, they loved. But trust is a loaded gun, and kindness is just an invitation to be used. Every betrayal, every scar, every time they were told they weren’t enough, it shaped them. Molded them. Forged them into something unrecognizable. Now, when people whisper their name in fear, they don’t even flinch. Because the person they used to be is already dead.

The Villain Who’s Just So Damn Tired They fought against the darkness for so long. They believed in the cause, believed in the people, believed in something bigger than themselves. But there’s only so much loss a person can take before they break. Before they look around and think, Maybe it’s not worth it. Maybe the world doesn’t deserve saving. Maybe I should stop fighting the fire and let it burn.

The Villain Who Thinks They’re the Main CharacterIt’s not arrogance. It’s destiny. Every moment of their life, every hardship, every heartbreak, it all led to this. They aren’t just another person in this story. They are the story. And if that means tearing down the world to build one where they finally get what they deserve, then so be it.

The Villain Who Loves, Just Not Enough They care about someone. Maybe they even love them. But love has limits. Love has priorities. And when the choice is between their ambition and their heart, well… they never claimed to be selfless. They’ll wipe the tears off the person they love, tell them it was never supposed to be this way, and then walk away, because the world they’re trying to build matters more.

The Villain Who Was Made, Not Born People love to pretend that villains come out of nowhere, that some people are just bad. But villains aren’t born. They’re built. They’re made in the moments no one sees, when a child cries for help and no one comes. When kindness is punished. When every good thing is stripped away until there’s nothing left but anger and survival. And once they learned how to survive, they never looked back.

The Villain Who Is Right This is the villain that keeps you up at night. Because they don’t cackle. They don’t monologue about taking over the world. No, they look you in the eye and tell you the truth. And the truth? The truth makes sense. The truth is that the system is broken. That the people in charge are corrupt. That everything you thought was good is just another lie. And now you have to ask yourself… were they ever really the villain?

The Villain Who Hates Themselves More Than Anyone Else Does They know what they are. They don’t need your judgment. They don’t need your pity. Every awful thing they’ve done, every person they’ve hurt—, it haunts them. But stopping? Stopping would mean facing the damage, facing the wreckage, facing themselves. And they’d rather burn the whole world down before they do that.

The Villain Who Smiles Too Much They’re charming. They laugh easily. They make you feel like you’re the only person in the world when they look at you. And then they ruin your life with the same easy smile. Because there’s nothing more terrifying than a villain who enjoys every second of the destruction they cause.

The Villain Who Was the Only One Brave Enough to Do It The so-called heroes hesitated. They debated. They got stuck in their own morality, their own fears, their own limitations. But the villain? The villain didn’t hesitate. Because hesitation is weakness, and weakness gets people killed. And if being the villain means being the only one with the guts to fix things, so be it.

The Villain Who’s Obsessed With the Hero It’s not about hate. It’s never been about hate. It’s about them. The hero, the rival, the one person who makes the villain feel something other than rage. They don’t want to destroy them. They want to own them. They want to keep them close, force them to see the world the way they do. Because the villain doesn’t want to kill the hero. They want the hero to understand them.

The Villain Who’s Trying to Be Good… But Failing They want to change. Really, they do. But old habits die hard, and violence is easier than vulnerability. Every time they try to take the high road, something drags them back down. And maybe… maybe they don’t want to be saved. Maybe this is just who they are.

The Villain Who’s Already Dead Inside They don’t feel anymore. Not guilt. Not pain. Not remorse. Maybe they used to, but that part of them was carved out long ago. Now, they watch people cry, scream, beg, and they feel nothing. And if the world is so determined to call them a monster, then fine. They’ll be one.

The Villain Who Wins Because sometimes, the villain is smarter. Stronger. More ruthless. Sometimes, the villain planned better. The hero hesitated, and that was all it took. And now? Now, the villain gets to watch the hero fall apart as they realize… this isn’t a story where the good guy wins.

Evil isn’t always evil. Sometimes, it’s just a choice. Which one makes your blood run cold? 😈

Here’s the Show, Don’t Tell freebie book and my newsletter.

#writing #writerscommunity #writing tips #writer on tumblr #writer tumblr #oc character #writing advice #character development #writing help #writblr #evil oc #morally grey villain #write villain #writing villains #villain oc #fantasy writing #disney villains

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gatorbites-imagines · 1 month ago

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“Viltrumites are actually aliens Mark (cuz I love the weird, body horror, and oviposition :3c)”

Me: (leans forward in chair, putting hands together) yes, please tell more of this Mark that includes weird, body horror and especially oviposition 🙏

I honestly would love to hear how Mark treats normal Reader and their eggs. Would Mark being the one to carry them or Reader? 🤔

“Viltrumites are actually aliens” Mark Grayson

Honestly, this au only comes from me being a fiend who likes monsters. This has no good solid background yet, its just me being annoying. Its also mostly me rambling about oviposition...

So like, aliens, huh?

Im always a big sucker for aliens who take a human form to fit in, so imagine that viltrumites are like that. Their true forms are hard to comprehend and understand, so they take a human-like shape to be easier to perceive.

Mark would have a more solid human form compared to other viltrumites because of his mom. Other viltrumites would be just kinda, blank to look at, kinda like dolls with no pores or inperfections.

Marks less human attributes start showing after he gains his powers. Like him losing all his teeth at once, only to be replaced with a new pair that just... bursts out through his gums. They look the exact same but... they feel different.

His tongue becomes a lot looser, bendable and can extend or shrink.

His joints become extremely loose, like he can stretch his limbs beyond human levels, and sometimes it just looks like he doesnt have bones inside, just liquid. Flexible beyond belief, and doesnt technically need to breathe air.

Mark realizes he doesnt need to eat or drink to survive, he has no idea what he actually runs on but he keeps going, he also keeps eating and drinking for comfort.

Mark realizing he can rip himself open, survive and just watch his guts move about. His insides move around for comfort and safety, like, all his vital parts crawl up into his ribcage during fights.

Viltrumites having more than one heart, but they arent perceivable by human standards, and they form a “heart” to fit the body standard they take.

Marks eyes reflecting light like animals when you take pictures with flash on.

Now, on to the oviposition.

Actual alien viltrumites producing eggs to breed and further their species. Technically they could breed in a more human way, but their bodies much prefer eggs, both laying and carrying.

Mark carries an “egg-sack” in his abdomen, kinda like a uterus. It doesn't really do anything unless his body is like “yo, mate, mates ready, mates fertile, go go go! Eggs! EGGS!!” and then start producing as quickly as possible because of their biology wanting to breed as much as possible.

Mark starts having cramps, hes not really sure what it is in the beginning, maybe he just thinks hes stressed or constipated, until he wakes up and god fuck his dick is aching. It doesnt outright hurt but its uncomfortable, and so so wet.

He would og into something like a heat or a rut, but its not completely like omegaverse. Instead, he starts sweating, salivating, his insides feel looser, his skin doesnt fit the same. His jaw feels uneven, he bites hard into his pillow cuz his jaws just clamp shut like an alligator.

Mark would have no idea why hes aching but so fucking horny, his dick feels so heavy and his balls ache. Before he knows it, hes stumbled and flown to where the reader is staying, feeling like a salivating wolf.

Actual alien vilrumite Mark tumbling in through the window, crumbling onto the floor and just immediately humping the carpet cuz the whole room smells like mate. His abdomen hurts even more, and it feels kind alike he has to pee but its so mcuh heavier and bigger.

Insert reader being like, “what the hell is going on mark?”, and helping him up. The crotch of his shorts is just soaked, and when they finally get them wrestled down to check whats up, reader notices how flushed and wet Marks cock is.

His slit looks raw and open, like, wide enough that you could push a finger inside and wiggle is about. Mark just starts rubbing his face into readers shoulder, drooling and whimpering, begging for the reader to take his ovum, cuz somehow his animal brain knows what it is.

Readers not gonna let him just do whatever, cuz hes really out of it, so it just ends up with them on the bed, both sitting on their knees, marks back against the readers chest. And reader is just... kinda milking his dick into some container of some kind.

The eggs are orbs, a bit bigger than a marble. Theyre solid but has a squishiness to them when you press on them. They are a cloudy white in color, and Marks cum is extra sticky when hes like this.

The entire time, Mark is crying, both because it feels good, but also because hes so heartbroken that you won't take his ovum. He made them just for you, why won't you take them? Wasnt he so good for you? There are so many, there must be some that are good enough for you to take them, right?

Later, you guys figure out through a lot of experimentation, that Mark starts producing “ovum” when you are “extra fertile”. It takes a while to figure out when this is, but apparently its if you jerk off and dont wash the evidence off, cuz the scent makes Marks biology go “oh, our mate must be ready for our clutch”.

I think you guys also can change where the eggs go, like, if you top and Mark bottoms, then his body starts realizing “hey, we arent planting eggs anywhere, our mate is trying to inseminate ours” and then starts keeping them in his egg sack. Youd have to dock him to fertilize them though.

Hes always losing control of his more human shape when this goes on, and you can mostly tell because he starts panting with his tongue out, and its long enough to lick his own chest without him even trying.

Always ends up with some really deep tongue kissing, cuz he ends up losing control of his tongue.

He might also just get extra worked up during spring, mostly cuz his body is going “oh, everyone else is fucking and breeding, we should too”

He also just gets more red, like, hes sweating, flushed like hes been working out, but his sweat doesnt smell bad. Mark would get more clingy too, snuffling at the readers armpits, or anywhere else his sweat is strong, cuz thats where the readers scent is concentrated.

#gator rambles #viltrumites are actually aliens au #mark grayson #alternate mark grayson #invincible #monster boyfriend #alien biology #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #original alternate mark grayson #this is just gator being a fiend #gator being thirsty #inspired somewhat by kryptonian biology fanfic ive reader

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loganficsonly · 23 days ago

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smitten kitten

logan howlett x gn!reader, 2.7k SUMMARY: they say hanging out with a cat has health benefits—calms you down, slows your heart rate... but he's been experiencing the opposite. or maybe it's because you're in the picture. or, you and logan take care of a stray kitten together. WARNINGS/TAGS: i did not fucking edit this, thinking of x1/2 logan, no anatomical descriptions for reader, reader is a mutant with unspecified powers, reader loves cats obviously, slight grumpy x sunshine, logan has a thing for scents, FLUFF!!!, suggestive: minors do not interact!, domestic situations, mutual yearning but both are oblivious?, friends to lovers, i know nothing about cat maintenance AUTHOR'S NOTE: english is not my native language. my first logan fic! might be ooc but fuck it let him be soft!!!

He didn't think that this is how he gets to see you on your hands and knees in front of him.

The weather outside is nice and crisp, and he just felt like taking a smoke break. A quick fifteen minutes till his cigar turns to mostly ash before he has to take care of another History class. The breeze lured him outside, just by the backyard near the courts.

Perfect temperature. No kids running around—yet. All in all, a beautiful day.

He was about to light his vice when he saw you a few feet away, on all fours, fussing over something near the rose bushes. You don't seem to care about the way your pants and palms make contact with the dirt below.

An eyebrow raised. His thoughts are a mix of bemusement and... excitement, let’s call it.

When you were first introduced to him six months ago, having returned from a sabbatical that took you away from the institute, he remembered thinking that you’re going to get him into some deep shit if he’s not careful. Maybe it was the way you so easily addressed him. Offered a polite hello, an extended hand, and your name.

A real pretty name. As pretty as your fucking face.

Suddenly the what-ifs with Jean didn’t matter anymore. The magnet pull he feels around you is different than with the redhead, who he thinks he’s attracted to partly because she’s not actually available. A forbidden fruit.

With you, though...

He’s been around for too long to not be aware of the stuff swirling inside his ribcage whenever he sees you. The way his heart clenches ever so slightly when you greet him with a smile. When he sees you reading in the library, sunlight bathing one side of your face as you sit next to a window. When he trains with you, capturing your wrists to pin you down on the mat, forcing you to yield—the few sacred moments he’s allowed to put his hands on you.

Since you arrived, you and him have gotten along quite well with each other. Some would say you quickly became friends beyond your team-bound relations.

But Jesus, the things he thinks about late at night aren’t exactly friend thoughts.

He knows you could get him in trouble. Could hurt him if he lets you, inflict a kind of wound that he can’t regenerate from. The kind that stays. His survival up until now would not have been possible with a bleeding heart, no matter how tempting it is to fantasize about you being his every now and then—every night, more like.

So he swallows, shoves a hand in his pocket, and pretends to act normal. Even if your position is seriously testing his mental fortitude right now.

“What are you up to?”

You look over your shoulder behind you, still on all fours, surprised.

“Logan,” you sigh, neck craned in a weird position before you decide to focus on what's in front of you. “Come here. Slowly, would you?”

He can’t say no to you, but you don’t need to know that, so he silently walks over, eyebrows knitted as the grass beneath his boots crunches softly. Finally he sees it.

A grey tabby.

He blinks, looking down at it. It’s really small. The creature is tucked under a rose bush, looking at you and now him slightly warily. Though it looks reasonably trepidatious, there’s a hint of curiosity in the way its tail curls.

“I heard meowing while taking a walk,” you say, looking back at him with a smile. “Found this little thing.”

“What’s a kitten doing out here?” He huffs. Where they are in Westchester is nowhere near the usual stray cat grounds.

“I don’t know. I don’t see a mother, either,” you reply.

“So you’ve just been bent over here looking at it?”

You shoot him a chiding glare. “I’ve been meaning to get it out of there, but I didn’t want it to bolt.”

“Get it out and do what, exactly?” He stuffs the cigar he meant to light back into his jacket pocket. It’s clear he won’t have any time to smoke.

“Feed it, at least.”

You smile when you see Logan now hunched over the bush, keeping an eye on the kitten while you rush back to your room to get a cat treat. “Of course you’d have one,” he murmured before you told him to stay put and watch the little thing.

After a few months of getting to know him, you conclude that the man is like one of those filled bonbon treats. Hard shell, but once you bite through it, sweetness oozes from the inside. You’re convinced he’s the same, but instead of being encased in wafer and tempered Belgian chocolate, he’s caged in layers of adamantium bone.

The fact that he actually waited for you and watched the cat like you asked convinces you even more.

“Got it,” you announce, showing him the puree stick. “The good stuff.”

He allows himself a small smile, glancing at the packaging that says ‘tuna flavored’. If anyone would splurge on treats for strays, it would be you.

You slowly move next to him, sitting cross-legged on the ground as he towers over you on your left while you tear the treat open. Instantly the kitten reacts, four little legs practically hobbling over to your seated form as it meows incessantly. You laugh.

Sounds so pretty, he thinks.

When the kitten eagerly enters the space between your thighs, pawing at your hand, you lower the treat against its mouth. “Someone’s hungry,” cooing as your fingers stroke down its little body while it laps up the puree.

Logan sits down next to you, watching you quietly. He listens to the soft whispers you’re uttering, as if they’re only meant for the creature’s ears. Eyes fixed on the way your fingers slowly run up and down its furry spine.

“Good kitty.”

“That taste good?”

“You're so small, baby.”

He’s grateful that he’s the one with heightened senses for mutant abilities. If you were, you’d think he’s having a heart attack right now, with how fast the cursed thing is beating.

Cute. Too fucking cute.

“You like cats?” You ask, turning to look at him.

He lets out a non-committal grunt. You smile, taking that as a yes.

Come to think of it, he acts a little bit like one, too. A spicy stray that takes a while to socialize, but is sweet after some time, space, and tender loving care. Rough around the edges with mystery.

That sort of behavior just makes you want to peel back his layers, to see behind his hazel eyes, to know him. That’s why you make his coffee together with yours in the morning. Why you sit next to him at lunch. Why you accept invites to spar, despite knowing that within two minutes he’ll have your back pressed against the ground, his large hand caging your wrists above your head...

Yep, you tell yourself. Just curiosity.

Quickly, you thrust the treat into Logan’s hand and gently pry the kitten to sit on his knee instead. He lets out a noise of protest, surprised at the warmth of your hand over his and then the feather-light weight on his knee, but it’s too late. The ravenous beast puts its front paws on his hand, pulling it closer to its maw so it can continue to gorge on the treat.

He glares at you. You can tell it’s half-hearted, judging by the way his gaze softens when it lands back to the kitten. You purse your lips when you see his free hand petting the creature, the one not holding the treat. His hand is so big... compared to the cat, you quickly course-corrected your thought.

What a good day to have eyes.

You never thought you’d see Logan this soft—he has his moments, especially throughout the course of your friendship, but this is next level. You wish you could take a photo.

“What do you think we should do with it?” you ask softly, watching the rare scene before you.

“So it’s ‘we’ now,” he smirks. “You’re the one who fed it first.”

“You are now, too,” you retort.

“You know what they say. If you feed ‘em, they’ll come back.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

He looks at you, hazel eyes boring into yours, and you feel your stomach do a little flip. His voice is low and guttural. “You gonna take care of it?”

Your mind went elsewhere, the way he said that. When you speak, it’s soft, not wanting your voice to accidentally crack. “You’re not going to help me?”

He’s quiet. You look back at him expectantly.

There’s a slight roll of his eyes as he looks away. He thinks you can’t see. “Fine.”

You smile, pleased with yourself. The kitten licks at the plastic, cleaning up the last of the puree before it meows once at Logan, beady eyes meeting his sharper ones. Logan picks the kitten up by the scruff, setting it down on the ground next to him, but it still looks up at him expectantly.

“We should name—” you lift it up, peeking down between the creature’s legs, “him.”

Logan looks at you with a slight glint of amusement. “Yeah?”

Humming, you pet the cat absentmindedly as he begins to groom himself, licking his front paws and brushing his face. “What’s grey… Cloud? Sky? Storm? I don’t know if she’d appreciate that.” You murmur.

The kitten pauses, turning to look at you. You look back at it. It lets out a single high-pitched peep.

“Smokey?”

When your gaze shifts to Logan’s face, there’s an upturn of his lip, as if you said something funny. How apt, he realizes, that this entire ordeal derailed his smoke break.

“I like it,” he says. A delighted smile on your face melts something inside of him.

And that is how Logan ended up coparenting Smokey with you—or Smokes, as you like to call him.

You’ve gone to the city twice to get Smokey vaccinated and microchipped, Logan coming along with you both times. He claimed he had nothing better to do. You thought it was extremely nice of him to do—he must really be a cat person.

It got a little awkward when the vet initiated small talk by asking if you had a child at home to play with the kitten, flustering you into saying that you’re not with him like that.

“We’re just friends,” you said.

Friends who happened to be taking care of a cat together. That’s totally normal, right?

If Logan had fur it would’ve bristled right then and there.

But even he had to admit that taking care of Smokey had its perks. You didn’t want to bother Logan too much with the kitten and happily volunteered to keep Smokey in your room, at least until he’s big enough. This meant that Logan had a free visit pass to your otherwise private quarters. Once, you asked him to watch Smokey if he could while you taught back-to-back classes till late. He assented.

Little did he know it would be sweet torture, being in your bedroom. He noticed your blanket folded neatly on the bed, revealing the crinkles of the sheets outlining where you laid. He could see your body there, asleep. What do you wear when you go to bed, he wondered?

And God, don’t even get him started on your scent… It’s a spell on him, more of an addiction than his existing vices. Warm and sweet. Vanilla, honey, cinnamon. Like a fucking cake. The entire room smells like you, enveloping him. He’s not strong enough to fight that, wanted nothing but to bury his nose in your pillow just to get a lungful of you.

That first time, he only kept the cat company for less than half an hour before deciding that the raging tent in his jeans needed more attention. Preferably under a cold shower in his own quarters.

You, on the other hand, didn’t expect him to be so willing and involved.

He isn’t as affectionate as you are with the cat, of course, but he’s… softer. One time you came back to your room to see him sitting at your desk, a book in hand while the cat lies on his lap, belly up. The peaceful sight is enough to release a violent army of butterflies in your stomach. You’ve mentally filed that image for any coming bad days.

Also, you like how you’re much closer to Logan now. Not that you don’t love Smokey. It’s just that having the kitten around makes for an easy excuse to get to hang out with the man more. You went to town together to buy some cat supplies because he insists on splitting the cost. The two of you spent a good ten minutes deciding what collar color would go with Smokey’s eyes (you’re the undecided one, Logan was pretty much set on the dark green since the very beginning).

More brushes of hands, his palm clasped over yours when you hand him Smokey to carry. Speaking to each other quietly when in your room and the cat’s asleep, his voice a low baritone that you find yourself replaying at night when you slip into slumber, warming you up in more than just one place…

Friends taking care of a cat together. What a lie, you say to yourself before falling asleep.

Logan has had enough.

He realizes this as he watches you coddle the tabby after feeding time, a thing you do every so often. Smokey is on your lap while you sit with your knees close to your chest, nose-to-nose with you. You pinch his cheeks, showering him with soft coos of endearments and kisses, attention zeroed in to only him.

“Good job finishing the food.” Kiss. “You’re getting big, aren’t you, Smokes? So handsome.” Smooch. “Love you, baby.”

The cat purrs audibly like a damn motorcycle, eyes closed to form two slits while he surrenders himself to your affections.

Meanwhile, Logan’s jaw tenses as the scene unfolds. He knows what he’s feeling, and if it were a different time and place he’d laugh. He’s fucking jealous of a fucking cat. It actually hurts him a little to watch this, as pathetic as it sounds.

He takes a deep breath, collecting himself as he prepares to leave, hand on the doorknob. You notice, putting Smokey down before catching him by the doorway.

Logan tenses at a hand on his bicep. Your voice is calming, a genuine smile on your face.

“Thanks for helping out with Smokey again today.”

A crack in his hard-shelled heart.

You gasp when he turns, a strong hand on your shoulder pushing you inside the room, the door slamming shut the same time your back hits the wall next to it. His form looms over yours as he crowds you, an arm rests above your head, caging you in.

“Logan—”

He tilts his face as he moves closer, breath warm on your face. “I swear, if I hear you say that damn cat’s name again…”

A small noise escapes you as you feel him press his nose into the crook of your neck. The way you angle your chin up to give him more space is almost automatic, like you’ve thought of this before—because you have. He inhales shakily. A shiver runs down your spine when he pulls away just enough to look you in the eye, his other hand snaking up your waist.

You’re not the only one who’s thought about this.

“What about Smokey?”

He swallows, mouth dry when he hears your voice. Sultrier even as a whisper, baiting him. The way your eyes soften, looking up at him, half-lidded. He catches the drop of your gaze to his lips and feels his blood pump with some feral energy, an unbearable surge. Your hands snake up on his chest, fingers gently closing around the fabric of his shirt, pulling him a little bit closer.

Fuck.

You want him too.

“Sweetheart,” he growls, lips nearly against yours, “let me make you my pet for once.”

the fem!reader ending line would be:

"Sweetheart," he growls, lips nearly against yours, "the only kitty I care about is the one between your fuckin' legs."

that would be so unhinged ngl

divider by evansyhelp and cafekitsune. thank you!

#logan x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine #x men

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green-tea-in-absinthe-bottle · 3 months ago

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Tear you apart

Niragi as your friend with benefits, headcannons. Fem reader. +18 below cut

General masterlist

⚠️ In dark, full of despair world of Borderland luxurious Beach seemed to be dreamlike utopia where everybody could just enjoy life and forget about constant bloody fight for survival, even if only for a second. However, this illusion of a paradise was hiding many ugly secrets. Power-hungry control freaks in charge, enemies hidden in plain sight, armed social outcasts terrorising its residents under excuse of keeping the order and crowd of people trying to drown their existential fear in sex, drugs and alcohol. Caged between constant anxiety and bitter, temporary relief after each game won you also lived through every day as if it was your last. Instead of numbing yourself with strange pills or vodka, you found more primal addiction to distract your mind and body from this reality.

You were concerned about how fast this dangerous and unpredictable man became your painkiller. Everything about him was like a big red flag, but this brutal realm made you used to chaos. Hell, maybe it was exactly the thing that made you seek him out. After all, you could die in the next game, why not take a risk and enjoy something you wouldn't have enough courage to try in the real world? So you listened to your body and indulged in this forbidden pleasure. In the end it's not that deep, it's not like you two are a thing, you just want to feel alive before you get old, or more likely eliminated from games. And he was so exciting. Bad boy, fun and unpredictable. Niragi made your heart beat faster.

⚠️ What made you so physically interested in him at first was his tongue. Pierced, long and extremely agile. The way Niragi used to stick it out at all times didn't help at all, the sight of its tip gently stroking his lower lip while he concentrated on something never failed to make you insanely wet. You cringed a bit when he tried to provoke you by doing some obscene moves with it in your face, tho.

Nowadays this hot, talented tongue of his drives you to insanity. Niragi has oral fixation and his idea of foreplay usually includes licking you from your head to your toes. He will only ever do things in bed that satisfy him, he isn't the type to do something just because you like it. So when he tastes you all over you better believe he does it for his own pleasure. Not to mention the ego boost he gets from your moans when he overstimulates you with it. He knows just how flexible and long is his tongue and loves to flex it. As much as he gets off on disgusted reactions he gets from ladies when he flirts with them (sometimes even behaving a bit vulgar to earn them) sometimes deep down he wants to be wanted, needed, begged for - and he achieves it when his head is between your legs. So ask for him, moan, even ride his face, it makes him so eager. This is the only bit of control this man will let you have in bed.

⚠️ Besides this one thing, he's strictly dominant. A lot of his trauma revolves around being humiliated and having his physical boundaries violated to extreme level, just how much it influenced him shows in the way he fucks. First of all he loves to bind your hands. Besides the fact, that it makes you very vulnerable in front of him, making him feel more confident and secure - it's also a way for him to make sure you won't touch him in a way he couldn't control. He is a very touch starved person who craves physical stimulation and company of others more than anything, but for years only physical touch from others he got was painful and violent. This screwed him up deeply. He tries to shield himself during sex, for example he will not fully undress himself while you are completely naked or he will behave in overconfident or pushy way, hoping you won't notice how much his hands shake. You know how people who starved for a long time get nauseous when they finally get some food? That's Niragi and affection. So he will ovestimulate you until you can't even think anymore; bind your hands above your head to not feel your palm press against his chest - where his heart is; and intimidate you to make you submissive. He wants to feel your warm flesh accept him so much he will manhandle you and squeeze you, to make sure you are real, to make sure you are there. To make sure he can touch you and you won't run from him. He always fucks hard and fast, like he's trying to prove a point. You never now if it's to you or to himself.

⚠️ Niragi is impulsive and always seeks stronger stimuli, he has a strong tendency to overdo things. His mood changes very fast. You will definitely notice how it shows in bed as well. He has extremely bad day and wants to feel less shitty? He will fuck you in front of other people so everybody can see just how much of a man he is. He feels like somebody questioned his authority at the meeting with other high status citizens of the Beach? He might choke you just to feel empowered, to feel like your life lays in his hands and see your begging gaze get cloudy. He will do many things to make sure you feel who has control here, like making you suck on his gun (safety on, dw), spitting on your pussy and slapping it harshly just to hear you scream his name or leaving hickeys wherever he wants regardless of your opinion on that. He is the one deciding when and where you two fuck, your sex life revolves around his activities with the Militants.

⚠️ He's a messy boy and sex with him is just as messy. He loves it wet. At the end you will be covered in cum and spit and his entire face will be soaked with your squirt. He comes wherever he wants. Bad impulse control and awful pull out game. Things tend to go in dubcon territory with him from time to time cause he treats you like his doll and handles rejections very badly. He openly considers himself a filthy creep and is not ashamed of this indentity, pretty much the opposite - he embraces it. He wouldn't hesitate to eat your ass or kiss you right after he filled your mouth with his cum. He's the type to find your after game of spades just to lick off your sweat. If it makes you uncomfortable he gets instant boner. He's hella hypersexual so expext a lot of sex.

⚠️ He will have trouble with respecting rules of fwb deal. He will leave hickeys and cum inside you like you are his. Niragi will get jealous as if you were in commited relationship and will blame you for advances of other people out of his own insecurity and fear that you will choose someone else over him. Don't even try eyeing other people. He will at first attempt to disguise his jealousy as being protective to not feel like a loser but won't keep it up for long. Unless you crush his rival's dreams in the cruelest way possible he is mad at you just in case you even considered other guy for a second. You might get tired of it pretty fast, Niragi constantly refuses to be open and vulnerable with you while expecting you to be as loyal as a girlfriend should be, even if you never promised each other anything but pleasure. However he simply doesn't care if he's being unfair. He is not a good guy after all.

⚠️ If at any point you decide to get out of this fwb thing with him, well. Good fucking luck. Niragi will definitely get pissed off, trying to argue with you and convince you that you have no say in this matter. If you manage to withstand this pressure and leave anyways - get ready for him to get passive aggressive. He will make your life harder and won't hesitate to use his position on the beach to do so, hoping that you will come to him for help. Any guy that tries to approach you will suffer consequences of Niragi's fury as well. Nobody can touch you if he can't. If loneliness and helplessness won't be enough to make you come back to him, expect him to invade your personal space and bother you. The only way for it to stop is escaping from the Beach.

#niragi alice in borderland #niragi x reader #niragi suguru #aib niragi #aib #alice in borderland

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moonzzip · 2 months ago

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spill the tea | kwon jiyong

a/n – so, I wrote this during class, I couldn't pay attention, I was thinking too much about jiyong. I don't know if I'll do another part, it depends on your reaction, initially, I don't plan on doing pt.2, I'm enjoying doing a bit of angst so much, i don't understand... again, I just wrote what came to my head, the english is still kind of... bad, but I hope you like it!

everything has been lightly reviewed, please let me know of any grammar error/incorrect word!

summary: jiyong is anxious, very nervous about appearing on stage again in front of so many people, but you appear.

pairing: jiyong x gn!reader

warnings: a fair amount of self-deprecation, abusive work, mentions of anxiety, reader has confidence issues, angst, fluff

lowercase letters, word count: 1,1k (again)

spinning the rings on his fingers, jiyong’s palms sweat, and he unconsciously wipes them on his light pink pants. looking around absentmindedly, his thoughts race a mile a minute, and he exhales hurriedly.

hearing two soft knocks on the door, he looks at it, a bit confused.

“jiyong-nim?” you whisper, peeking in with only half of your face visible, your body still outside.

the man nods, giving you permission to enter. you smile softly and finally step inside.

“excuse me…” your voice is gentle, barely above a whisper, not wanting to be a bother. “since i know you like tea, i decided to make some and bring it to you.”

in your hand, you hold a metallic thermal bottle, and in the other, a small, delicate package of chocolate cookies you had baked just a few hours ago.

you can’t help but wonder how he must be feeling, returning to the stage after so many years. being part of his personal staff, you and the team always communicate with him directly.

well… not you. the others.

you never had the courage—nor the opportunity, really. not for lack of trying, but because of someone specific.

of course, the great g-dragon would have a highly qualified team of professionals. but you never felt like one of them, and that person made sure to remind you of your “proper place.” the moment jiyong turned his back, all of her frustrations were dumped onto you. maybe you were hired as a verbal punching bag for the “blessed being” without realizing it. it made you wonder if you had remembered to read the fine print.

she didn’t even bother to call you by your name—always using other names, but never yours.

of course, you had thought about reporting it, but someone as insignificant as you in this industry, compared to her—who is beloved and has more connections than you could count—who’s to say she wouldn’t send someone to get rid of you while you’re in the bathroom? you never know. you know they would never fire her. you losing your job would be much easier than any close employee of jiyong’s facing consequences.

you? a new hire? who gets stepped on by senior staff? reporting her and expecting her to be fired for abuse of power and verbal harassment—if that’s even considered a crime? never. only in your dreams.

you’ve always known that keeping quiet avoids unnecessary arguments, even if you constantly bite your tongue to hold back a sharp reply. you need this job to survive. the salary is too good, and you think you can endure a certain level of mistreatment. at the end of the day, you’re working for g-dragon.

kwon jiyong.

so, you put up with a little more.

you’ve always been someone who minds their own business, who hates being a burden, who puts effort and dedication into everything you do. that’s what got you here, and you won’t let nerves over trivial things get the best of you.

sometimes, you stop and wonder if it’s worth tolerating such ridiculous treatment. but then you remind yourself—you’re on your own. you handle things as best as you can with what you have.

just you and yourself.

you don’t remember having any true friendships you’d take with you for life. maybe some colleagues, but nothing like “i need a shoulder to lean on, can i talk to you?”

you don’t dwell on it. you don’t even seek that kind of connection anymore—you gave up long ago.

you care too much about what others think of you. you like leaving a good impression—being seen as reliable, always prepared, capable of doing whatever is asked of you.

but you also let people step on you—on your pride, almost on you, literally.

when did that become “okay”?

you have no idea. it feels like it’s always been this way. you’re invisible. never invited to anything. you watch others having fun, calling each other out for drinks, and you can’t even picture yourself in a situation like that.

honestly?

you silence your thoughts for now.

you hand him the tea and cookies, and he stands up, bowing politely, ever so charming. a small smile grace his beautiful face, bringing a subtle glow of admiration to your own, soon he sits down again.

“i tried making passion fruit tea with pomegranate… passion fruit helps with stress and mood, pomegranate helps with the throat in case of hoarseness or pain, and also—”

jiyong watches you ramble (your voice still soft and low, almost a whisper), his lips forming a small pout, eyes slightly wide, eyebrows subtly raised. one hand rests on his chin, legs crossed, elbow propped up.

for the first time since arriving here, he finds himself distracted, momentarily forgetting his nerves and anxiety.

thinking back, he realizes he has never interacted with you directly.

of course, he’s seen you around—always busy, whether carrying heavy boxes, taking notes from a distance, staying late to fix a loose button or sequin on his outfit, bringing drinks, coffee, and snacks for everyone (never personally handing them to him), and countless other tasks that he’s almost certain aren’t your responsibility.

he’s never seen you with anyone. a friend, or something like that.

not that he had noticed before.

but, you know, when people are close, it’s something you can feel.

jiyong’s thoughts (just like your rambling) are abruptly interrupted by the loud, sudden swing of the dressing room door.

both of your heads snap toward the sound.

“jiyo-ssi!! you’re up next, it’s packed today, hurry up!”

ah, it’s her. the very person who used you as her personal punching bag.

without so much as a polite greeting, she shoves you aside and grabs jiyong’s arm.

still surprised, he simply looks ahead as he’s dragged away in a rush.

you just stare down at your hands, now clasped together in front of you, until—

“___?”

startled, you look up—and see g-d smiling at you.

in your eyes, he glows.

“thank you so much. i feel a lot better now.”

his voice, deep yet gentle, carries the words, and suddenly, the world seems more colorful as you both look directly at each other.

have you ever noticed how beautiful his eyes are?

and then, the door closes.

you stay there, frozen, until your legs weaken, and you crouch down, placing a hand over your racing heart, butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“…but you didn’t even drink the tea…” you murmur, embarrassed.

a/n – thanks for the positive reactions on 'thinkin' bout you'! I'm glad you liked it, it just makes me want to write more. this time I heard JK's 'still with you', it brought up a lot of feelings and I ended up pouring it all out in the reader's self-deprecating parts. Sorry not sorry. sorry again for my english, feel free to correct me kindly!

#gn!reader #gdragon x reader #bigbang gdragon #bigbang x reader #jiyong x reader #g dragon #kpop #kwon jiyong x reader #G dragon x reader

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vibelladonna · 1 month ago

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❛ 𝒽𝒾𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓇𝓊𝓃 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝓉𝑜𝒷𝓎 𝓇𝑜𝑔𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝓍 𝒶𝒻𝒶𝒷!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: It all started at a frat party [ 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝓃𝑒 ], where a guy with a cigarette dangling from his lips decided to make the balcony a little more interesting. What was supposed to be a one-time encounter—just another hazy college memory—ended up being anything but forgettable.

You were never supposed to see him again, let alone get caught up in his world, but fate—or maybe something much darker—had other plans. Now, you're stuck in a twisted game. The secrets pile up faster than the lies, and the college town you thought you knew becomes a never-ending game.

And you? You never sleep. Because when you chase a monster, you better pray it doesn't decide you’re worth keeping. But hey, if you’re playing in a game,

…you better be prepared for the hit-and-run.

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: Bruh, my roommate hit me with this request right in the middle of midterms. It’s been sitting in my drafts for a minute because I was trying to figure out the decent ending. Finally got around to finishing it because midterms ended (spring break baby), so here you go.

Art by shatteredankles (above) on Instagram

Hope it doesn’t come off too corny—y’all let me know.

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: toby x afab!reader, OC! Mention, proxies gang (Kate, Tim, and Brian mentioned), enemies to lovers, smut, toxic relationship, stalking on both sides, cat and mouse dynamics, obsession & possession, dubious morality, crime duo (??), found family (sort of), power play, manipulation & mind games, blood & gore, criminal activity, femme fatale vibes and unhinged ass characters.

There are only two rules you need to survive college:

Watch your back. Don’t get caught.

Sounds dramatic, right? You might be wondering why anyone would need rules like that in a sleepy little college town, where the biggest crime should be freshmen sneaking out past curfew or someone getting caught swapping answers on an exam. But when you're stuck in a place like this—one that feels just a little too small, a little too quiet—well, strange things start to happen.

The rules started as whispers, traded between students like secret currency, slipping from jittery hands to hushed lips over coffee-stained textbooks. They were nothing more than cautionary tales at first—just another way for the usual college gossip to get a little bite. The kind of thing you'd hear in a dimly lit dorm room at 2 AM, passed off as just another urban legend.

But rules just don’t come from nowhere.

The red-brick buildings lining the main street give the town a picture-perfect charm like something ripped straight from an old postcard. The local coffee shop, the one with the overpriced lattes and disappointingly stale muffins is where you go to pretend the world outside doesn’t exist for a little while.

It all feels safe. Too safe. Like a town frozen in time, where people still leave their doors unlocked and the worst thing that could happen is a bad grade on a midterm.

But something had to happen, right? There’s a reason for all of it—the security guards, who once spent their shifts scrolling through their phones near the dining hall, now walk the campus in pairs. Their radios crackle more than they used to, static-laced whispers punctuated by clipped voices, urgent and low. Their footsteps aren’t just footsteps anymore; they’re warnings, rhythmic echoes against the pavement, reminders that something is lurking just beneath the surface.

The campus police? They’re not parked outside the student center anymore, killing time over lukewarm coffee and half-hearted conversations. No, now they circle the parking lots at night, their headlights slicing through the darkness like something predatory. The beams sweep over empty spaces, catching glimpses of movement that might not even be there—but you can’t shake the feeling that someone, or something, is watching.

Even the professors have changed. The ones who used to hold open-door office hours, always ready to debate a thesis or chat about weekend plans? They’ve started locking their doors. Their smiles don’t reach their eyes anymore, and when they talk, there’s something hesitant in their voices, like they’re choosing their words too carefully. You’ve caught them glancing over their shoulders, eyes darting toward windows as if expecting to see something—or someone—on the other side.

At first, you told yourself it was just paranoia. College kids have a way of spinning stories, of turning stress into superstition.

But then the change settled in.

Your college used to be the kind of place that only felt alive on weekends, the streets overflowing with students, their laughter mingling with cigarette smoke and the sour scent of cheap beer. Not anymore.

Now, the streets clear out before dark. The dining hall is quieter, conversations hushed, as if speaking too loudly might draw the wrong kind of attention.

And the woods—the shortcut everyone once used, the one that shaved minutes off the walk between the dorms and the off-campus bars? The one where people used to sneak away for stolen kisses or drunken dares?

Nobody walks through there anymore.

Not after the body was found at that frat party.

Not an overdose. Not a bad batch of pills passed between sweaty palms in a dark corner of the party. Not too many shots, not a drunken stumble down the rickety-ass staircase that everyone always joked was a lawsuit waiting to happen. No. This was different.

The university scrambled to keep up appearances, like slapping a fresh coat of paint over a crumbling wall and hoping no one noticed the rot underneath. They made their statements, rolled out the usual ‘tragedy counseling’ emails, and stationed security around campus like poorly placed scarecrows—useless, ineffective, just there to make it look like they were doing something.

But it was all for show. Because if the administration was rattled, if the people in charge were nervous, then everyone else had a damn good reason to be terrified. And yet, despite the whispers creeping through every hallway, the paranoia threading itself into every conversation, one thought kept clawing at the back of your mind, an itch you couldn’t quite reach:

Why the hell can’t you remember what happened?

Because while the rest of that frat house was losing their collective shit over the body sprawled out on the sticky floor, you?

You were too busy getting your brains fucked out.

Funny how that worked out, isn’t it? How you were the first to leave that party before the cops even had a chance to step through the front door. While everyone else was panicking, screams cutting through the pounding bass, whispers catching like dry brushfire, you were nowhere near the chaos.

You were upstairs. Pressed against the balcony railing, fingers gripping softwood, breath stolen by the heat of a so-called one-night stand. Drunk—not on alcohol, maybe a little high too, but on adrenaline, on the way your pulse thrummed beneath your skin, on the way the world blurred into nothing but the rush of the moment. By the time sirens painted streaks of red and blue across the night, you were already gone, slipping through the cracks like a ghost.

And for the past two weeks, you’ve played your role flawlessly.

You’ve gone to class and nodded along to lectures as if your mind wasn’t stuck on a loop, replaying that night in fragments, trying to remember what refuses to be remembered. You’ve turned in your assignments, smiled at the right moments, and laughed when it was expected. You’ve answered your parents’ calls, your voice steady, and words practiced.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“No, I’m not drinking.”

“Yes, I’ll be careful.”

But it’s all bullshit. Because deep down, you don’t feel fine.

And you’re not scared like everyone else. Your hands don’t tremble when you pass the flyers—the ones with their vacant-eyed face frozen in ink, the desperate pleas for information scrawled underneath. You don’t flinch at the whispers that slither through the halls, the ones warning that whoever did it might still be out there.

Because you've been looking for him.

Toby.

It should have ended that night. Just another random hookup at a frat party—one more mistake swallowed up by cheap beer, loud music, and the aftermath of too many bad decisions. But it didn’t. It couldn’t.

Truth be told, you don’t even know why you’re looking for him. Maybe it’s because that night is a haze of alcohol, smoke, and adrenaline—a blurry, fragmented memory. But there’s one thing you can’t shake: the way his hands felt on your skin—rough, confident as if he’d already figured you out, mapped out every inch of you without even trying.

It should’ve been forgettable.

But something about him lingered.

Maybe it’s because he vanished after the party, like a ghost—gone without a trace, like he was never even there. Just a shadow that flickered in the background and then disappeared when you weren’t paying attention. Maybe it’s because a part of you, the one you don’t even want to acknowledge, needs to know if he had anything to do with what happened that night.

Because here’s the thing—

Toby was the last person you saw before everything went to hell.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. Just some reckless, drunk hook-up who disappeared before the sun came up. It happens all the time, right? One night, a mess of bad decisions, and then—poof. People vanish.

But the memory of that night won’t leave you alone. It lingers in your head like a half-finished song, the details slipping in and out of focus. The pulsing neon lights. The bass rattling your bones. The press of bodies, the stench of sweat and liquor thick in the air.

And Toby—always just outside the chaos. Leaning against the balcony railing with that lazy smirk, eyes sharp and unreadable. Watching you. Like he already knew how this was going to end. But now? Nothing. No social media. No mutuals. No whispers in the usual circles. Every time you ask, you get the same response—confusion, shrugs, blank stares.

It’s like he never existed.

And that pisses you off more than anything.

So, like any completely normal, rational, well-adjusted person, you do the only thing that makes sense.

So you start digging.

At first, it’s casual. A name-drop here, a lazy, “Hey, you know that guy from the party?” there. You don’t expect a full-blown biography, just something—anything—to prove he was real. A scrap of recognition. A passing mention. A sign that you didn’t just imagine him in the haze of cheap vodka and adrenaline.

But the deeper you dig, the stranger it gets.

People remember the party. They remember the chaos, the flashing lights, the sirens wailing in the distance. They remember the whispers about the dead kid found in the upstairs bathroom. But Toby?

Nothing. No one knows him. Not even a hint of recognition.

And that’s when the obsession starts to claw its way under your skin.

Because most people? They just shrug it off. A few tilt their heads, brows furrowing in concentration, trying to pull a face from the fog of a booze-soaked night, but coming up with nothing. It doesn’t add up. Toby wasn’t some invisible figure standing in the corner, just another face in the crowd. He wasn’t some wallflower you might’ve missed in the blur of the night.

No, he was there. You saw him. You were with him.

But the more you ask, the more you realize how wrong it all feels. No one remembers him. Not in the casual, "Oh, I was too wasted to notice" way. No, this is something else entirely. This is the "He wasn’t there at all" way.

One girl insists she saw you alone on the balcony that night. Another swears she’s never had a cute guy at a frat party before, and then there’s the guy—the guy—who looks at you like you’re crazy. He gives you that pitying look, the one that makes you feel like you’re the one who’s lost touch with reality, and says:

"You sure you weren’t just imagining things?"

That one sticks. It lodges itself deep in your chest, cold and jagged, like a splinter that you can’t pull out. It burrows in, nagging at you. At first, you laugh it off—this can’t be happening. They’re just clueless, or maybe they’re messing with you. Or maybe they’re lying. But when you look in their eyes, you realize they’re not. They’re dead serious.

And that’s when the panic starts to creep in.

Because you know he was real.

You remember the sound of his voice, low and teasing as it wrapped around your name. You remember the roughness of his hands, the way they gripped your skin like he owned it. You remember the sharp, smoky scent of his cologne, the heat of his body pressed against yours, grounding you. You remember the way his breath hitched when he laughed, that faint, dangerous edge to it.

You remember Toby.

So why doesn’t anyone else?

Like, you still have that hickey he gave you at the frat party.

The last time you saw him—besides that night—was when he somehow managed to swipe your black lace underwear without you noticing. A cocky little stunt, one you didn’t even realize had happened until you stood outside the frat house, skin still buzzing from the aftershocks of the hookup, your dress smoothed back into place.

The way his lips dragged over your skin, slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. The way his teeth scraped against your neck, the warmth of his breath right before he bit down—just hard enough to make you gasp. Then he laughed, that low, satisfied sound that sent a shiver down your spine, and murmured something about how he hoped it bruised.

It did. Badly. To the point where you had to cover the damn thing with concealer before class like people don’t need to know your business.

But that shouldn’t be your main issue right now.

Your main worry should be your phone. Wait a minute. Your phone?

You’re currently sitting in a study room at the library with your roommate, and you can’t find your phone. It should’ve been buzzing by now—messages, notifications, something. But there’s nothing.

You swear you had it when you left class earlier. Or was it when you and your roommate sat down to study in the library? Either way, it’s gone now. Vanished without a trace.

You check your bag. Nothing. Then your pockets, just to make sure you didn’t slip it in there absentmindedly. Nothing. You check your bag again—maybe, just maybe, reality will bend in your favor, and the damn thing will reappear. But it doesn’t.

Did you drop it in the lecture hall? Like, you don’t remember being that careless, but the last few days have been a blur—so many distractions, so many things happening on campus, it’s hard to keep track of anything, let alone your phone.

But right now, none of that matters. Because your phone is missing, and you’re crawling through the library like a raccoon ransacking a trash can.

You check under chairs. Between the rows of bookshelves. Even behind a vending machine because you’re getting desperate. Nothing.

With an exhausted sigh, you press your hands to your face and let your forehead thunk against the corner of a bookshelf. “I swear to God—”

"Looking for this?"

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST—"

You nearly knock over an entire shelf. Your soul, your lifespan, and your dignity all seem to leave your body at once. And there she is. Your roommate. Vidia. Standing way too close, holding your phone between two fingers like it’s some lost artifact.

Your heart is still violently tap-dancing in your chest, and it takes a moment for your brain to catch up with the chaos. “Why do you do that?” you demand, trying to piece yourself back together, but the words are shaky, and your palms are slick with sweat.

She just shrugs, completely unbothered, like she didn’t just almost give you a heart attack. “You make it so easy. It’s like scaring a sleep-deprived squirrel.”

You grab your phone from her with an exaggerated roll of your eyes, glaring at her like she just ruined the rest of your day. "I hope you trip down the library stairs."

Vidia raises an eyebrow, unphased. “Bold of you to assume I’d go down alone,” she quips, already moving on with that air of indifference she’s perfected. “Anyway, I found it by the restroom.”

Your fingers tighten around the phone, the words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “The bathroom?” you repeat, your voice shaky, confusion and anxiety mixing in an odd cocktail.

Vidia nods casually like it’s no big deal. “Yup. Just chillin’ on the counter. I figured, ‘Wow, what an absolute dumbass move. Leaving your phone for any psycho to snatch.’”

Your stomach twists, a sudden heaviness filling the space in your chest. The air around you thickens, your breathing shallow, and that tight, suffocating coil of unease winds tighter in your gut.

You don’t remember going to the bathroom.

You don’t remember leaving your phone there.

But you were just in class, right? You just finished your exams—finally, that was over. All you wanted now was to breathe, chill, and hang out with Vidia around campus like any normal student should after a hellish week.

You bring the phone up to your face, hoping the screen will make sense of all this. It doesn’t.

“Was anyone else in the restroom with you?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, but the tension seeps through. You can feel it—there’s an edge to your words now, sharp and frayed.

Vidia thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “Not that I saw. Just me, when I went in to wash my hands. Don’t know if someone left it or if it fell, but it was just there. Weird, right?”

Weird doesn’t even begin to cover it. Your mind whirls, trying to piece together what’s happening. You’d been in the middle of your exam haze—just trying to power through—and now this? The last thing you remember is walking out of the lecture hall, not a bathroom.

The more you try to think, the more everything becomes a blur. So much had been happening lately, and you had tried to shut it all out—taking a hit from your pen here and there to avoid overthinking. But now? The thought of your phone, lying abandoned on a bathroom counter, starts to fester in your mind.

“You’re just lucky I didn’t steal it,” Vidia quips with a grin, oblivious to the fact that you’re teetering on the edge of something that feels much darker than a misplaced phone.

But you’re not laughing. You’re staring at the device in your hand, gripping it like it might disappear if you don’t hold on tight enough.

You don’t remember leaving it there.

And that fact? It sends a cold shiver crawling up your spine.

Your thumb hovers over the power button, almost as if your body knows it shouldn’t make the decision. The screen lights up with a cold, blue glow, harsh against the dim library lights. You squint at the familiar lock screen, but the unease slithers in before your brain even registers it.

It’s subtle at first, just a gnawing feeling deep in your gut—a flicker of something wrong. A creeping whisper at the back of your mind urging you to put the phone down. But before you can think it through, your eyes catch the notification on the call log.

Unknown Number.

No name. No details. Just there, sitting at the top of your contact list like it’s always belonged. Like it’s always been waiting for you to see it.

You freeze. Your pulse stutters, your heart skipping a beat. The silence in the library feels suffocating now like the walls are closing in. You don’t know how long you’ve been staring at that name—or rather, the lack of it—but it feels like an eternity before the first message pings through.

Ding.

The sharp chime shatters the stillness, and your breath catches in your throat. Your hand goes cold, and you stare at the screen.

Unknown Number: “You ask about me like you miss me.”

Your stomach drops, cold dread crawling up your spine. Your mind races, trying to connect dots, to make sense of this. You want to swipe the screen away, to forget this moment, but you can’t.

You can’t look away.

Another message appears before you have the chance to react. Your fingers tremble as you read it.

Unknown Number: “You look cute when you’re desperate.”

You can feel the room shrinking around you, the air thick with tension. It feels like you’re drowning in it, and the phone is suddenly too heavy in your hand.

Everything starts to feel wrong. The world tilts on its axis. A creeping sense of violation, of being watched, wraps around you like a suffocating fog. You try to steady your breath, but it’s like the whole library is closing in on you. And then, just as you think you can’t take any more, the last message comes in.

No words this time. Just an image file.

You hesitate, your fingers hovering over the screen as a cold dread settles deep in your stomach. Every instinct screams at you to stop—to put the phone down, to close your eyes and pretend it isn’t happening. But something keeps you rooted in place, some twisted part of you that needs to know, that craves the truth, no matter how sickening it might be. Maybe you're hoping it's a mistake. A glitch. Some absurd error. Or maybe you're just too far gone to walk away from this now.

With a shaky breath, you press the image.

The photo loads with agonizing slowness, each second stretching out like an eternity. Your heart pounds in your chest, the sound deafening in your ears as you watch the image unfold before you. The sense of wrongness, of violation, begins to seep into your bones.

And then you see it.

Your stolen black lace underwear.

The sight hits you like a punch to the gut. It’s your underwear, unmistakably. But it’s... different. The fabric is wrinkled and crumpled in a way that doesn’t make sense. It’s sitting there, in the photo, folded neatly—almost too neatly—on some unfamiliar surface.

And then the weight of it crashes into you. This isn’t some coincidence. This isn’t an innocent mistake.

Toby’s been watching.

He’s been tracking you. Watching your every move.

And now, he’s making sure you know it.

You stare at the underwear again, your breath caught in your throat. And that’s when it hits you. It’s not just that they’re there, it’s how they look. The lace, once pristine, now looks... ruined. Tattered, in places. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but it doesn’t look like something that’s just been forgotten. No, something about it feels off. Like it’s been used.

The realization slams into you with the force of a freight train.

This motherfucker has been jacking off to your underwear.

For a split second, your body goes rigid, a sickening wave of disgust crashing over you, twisting your stomach in ways you didn’t think were possible. It’s enough to make you feel like you need to throw the phone across the room as if you can somehow purge the image from your mind. But, you can’t. It’s already burned into you, like an indelible mark that won’t fade.

And then, strangely, you can’t help but laugh on the inside. It’s a dark, twisted laugh, almost like you can’t even believe how fucking sick this is, but the absurdity of it all hits you all at once. Toby—of all people—using your underwear. A weird, sick trophy. It almost feels like a joke, doesn’t it?

Of course, he’d do something like this. Why not? Toby’s always been a little off, a little too twisted. But this? This takes the cake. And it’s almost funny how fucked up it all is.

A shiver crawls up your spine, and the dark humor you felt moments ago fades into something colder. The laughter dies in your throat as the full weight of what this means finally settles in. Toby’s not just some background stalker anymore. He’s not some random hook-up that you can brush off.

No, now, he’s something else entirely. He’s toying with you. He’s playing a game, and you’re the unwilling toy in his twisted little scenario.

But you? You’re no toy.

Does he think he can play games with you?

Well, then, let’s play. After all, two can play this game. And you’re going to make him regret ever thinking he could fuck with you.

The tension gnaws at you as you stand before the same frat house once again, but something’s different. It’s too quiet. Not the kind of silence that comes with a hangover or the weight of exams looming shortly. No, this silence is heavier. More oppressive. The air feels thick, stagnant—almost suffocating.

Something is festering beneath the surface, something unspoken that makes your skin crawl. Because, let’s not forget, someone did die here.

And not just any random partygoer—one of theirs. A freshman who had just crossed over into their brotherhood.

At first, the cops called it hazing. A tragic case of initiation gone wrong. That would’ve been bad enough, something dark and twisted that the university could still pretend was just a mistake. But then the body showed up with two hatchets buried deep in his back.

And suddenly, that story didn’t make sense.

Like yeah, the frat guys might be assholes. But they’re not that creative.

Still, the university isn’t convinced. Neither are the cops. Whispers slip between students like a sickness, each theory worse than the last. Some say the frat is covering something up. That they know more than they’re letting on. And if that’s true—then maybe, just maybe, they know something about Toby.

You don’t want to be here. Every bone in your body tells you to turn around, to forget about this. But that’s the thing about you.

You don’t let things go.

So you lift your hand and knock. Twice. Sharp, firm. A few seconds later, the door cracks open just enough to reveal a guy with messy brown hair, the kind of unshaven face that says he’s been too busy—or too stressed—to care. His eyes flick over you, full of mild irritation, like you’re already wasting his time.

“What?” No frat boy charm. No lazy grin. Just tired.

“I need to ask you about this white dude at the party,” you say smoothly. There’s something just beneath your voice, a sharpness, like a blade hidden under silk. “The one with the gash on the left side of his face. Orange yellow-tinted goggles.”

The guy hesitates. Just for a second.

It’s small—barely noticeable—but you see it. The way his fingers twitch. The way his jaw tightens. The way his eyes dart to the guys on the couch behind him. A silent conversation flickers between them, and you know, you know, that they recognize the description.

But then, just as quickly, he fixed his expression into something unreadable. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says flatly, and before you can call him on his bullshit, he moves to shut the door in your face.

Your foot slides into the gap, firm and unmoving, keeping the door from closing. His eyes snap down to it, then back up to you, realization dawning that you’re not leaving.

You smirk. Slow. Sharp. “Oh, come on,” you say, voice dropping just enough to be dangerous. “You really wanna make me report you guys for the little stash you had at the party? Alcohol, drugs, minors—you know, all the fun stuff that could get your charter revoked?”

His throat bobs. Behind him, one of the guys on the couch mutters, “Dude, just—just let her in.” After a long pause, he exhales through his nose, “All right, all right, chill. I’ll tell you what I know.” He reluctantly steps back. “But if anyone asks, this conversation never happened.”

You step inside, and just like that, the game shifts. Eyes flicking between you and the frat dude that let you in. They weren’t expecting this. You see the moment they realize you’re not some naive young woman who can be shrugged off, and the power shifts. The dude in front of you swallows, his posture shifting from cocky to uncomfortable.

The others stay silent, watching you like you’re a predator who’s already got them cornered. “…yeah, we know him,” he starts, his voice lowering like he’s deciding just how much to let slip. “He’s been our dealer for about four months now. We’ve been buying from him since the fall semester. The dude’s smooth runs a tight game. Don’t ask questions, just deliver.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t say anything.

“Then the spring semester hit, and things started to get weird,” the guy continues, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Prices went up. A lot. Like, from $10 a hit to $25, and that’s when he started bringing in freshmen, getting them to pay even to be part of the circle. Made ‘em think they needed the ‘in’ to get good stuff.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, disgust curling in your stomach. Freshmen are getting scammed for some easy cash. Classic. Desperate kids want a taste of the so-called ‘college experience,’ only to get wrung dry by a bunch of losers who think running a glorified middleman operation makes them untouchable.

But the pieces are falling into place now, slotting together in a way that makes your skin prickle.

Toby’s been keeping a low profile—not just from you, but from everyone. The sudden price hikes, the freshmen he’s been pulling in, the way he’s moved from just dealing to controlling access altogether… That’s not just business. That’s survival. He’s hiding.

And whatever he’s running from? It’s bad, of course, as you figure.

You exhale, shaking off the lingering sense of unease. You got what you came for—at least for now. “All right,” you say, turning toward the door. You pause just long enough to glance back at the frat guy still lingering there, relief evident in his slack posture. Like he’s just barely dodged getting torn apart. You let the silence stretch for just a second too long, enjoying the way it makes him shift uncomfortably. “And thank God you let me in for free, huh?”

Your lips curl into a smirk, playful, but with that signature sharpness laced beneath it. “Guess I just look hot enough to get the VIP treatment.”

He snorts, trying to play it cool, but you can tell you’ve gotten under his skin. “Yeah, sure, whatever you say…”

You turn away, stepping off the porch, but just as you hit the sidewalk, you pause. There’s still something sour in your mouth, a lingering irritation. You glance back at them, the group of them still loitering near the doorway, watching you leave.

And then, just for the hell of it, you bark at them.

Loud. Sudden. Sharp. The reaction is instant. One of them flinches so hard he almost drops his drink, another curses under his breath, and the frat guy in the doorway? He just stares at you, stunned into silence. You laugh under your breath, shaking your head as you walk away, hands in your pockets.

Cowards. But whatever.

They gave you what you needed.

You return to your dorm, pushing your personal room door and clicking shut behind you as you toss your leather bag onto your bed, the skull keychain and grey fox fur charm swaying with the movement. The weight in your chest hasn’t eased—not after what you just found out. Or, more accurately, what you didn’t find out. You have enough information to find Toby.

And that thought alone is enough to make you grin.

The reflection in the mirror barely feels like you as you move with practiced ease, wiping away the remnants of the day and replacing it with something sharper, something darker. You smear a deep shade of lipstick across your lips, press them together, and watch as your own gaze hardens. There. That’s better.

With quick, fluid movements, you strip off your casual clothes and slip into something more fitting for the night ahead. A loose off-the-shoulder black top drapes over your frame, half-tucked into studded short shorts that sit snug on your hips. Your ripped black tights cling to your legs, the delicate fabric holding on by threads, a look of controlled chaos.

You lace up your boots—low-heeled, ribbons threaded through the worn-out lace holes, their weight familiar as they clunk softly against the floor. Every piece you put on is intentional. The studded bracelets stacked high on your wrists, the layered silver chains hanging low against your collarbone, the rings that glint under the dim light of your vanity. Finally, you grab your leather jacket, the soft fur lining brushing against your neck as you shrug it on. It’s more than just a piece of clothing—it’s armor.

With a steadying breath, you shove your phone into your bag, along with your skull-emblazoned pocket knife, a lighter, and a few other essentials. The night is unpredictable, but you’ve learned to prepare for anything.

You’re just finishing the last swipe of your eyeliner when the door swings open, making you jump slightly.

Vidia.

She steps into your room like she owns it, moving with that effortless, almost grace of hers. Dressed in an oversized shirt and short shorts, her hair bundled into a bonnet, she looks almost too casual—except for the sharp amusement in her eyes as she takes you in.

“Well, well, well.” She sidles up behind you, her arms draping lazily around your shoulders, chin propped against your head as she watches you in the mirror. “And where exactly is my dear, morally-questionable roommate running off to tonight?”

You don’t answer immediately, fixing the last touches on your mascara. Vidia hums, like she’s already forming a dozen theories in her head, each more ridiculous than the last.

“Lemme guess,” she continues, her voice playful but prying, “you’re off to summon a demon, break into a museum, or—oh, oh—are we robbing a bank now? Because, bitch, I need a cut if we are.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Just out.”

Vidia rolls her eyes. “Yeah, no shit. Out where?”

You sling your bag over your shoulder, glancing at her through the mirror. “Following up on something.”

That wipes some of the amusement from her face. She straightens slightly, arms loosening around your neck. “Following up?” she repeats, voice dipping in suspicion. “You’ve been acting weird as hell since that party. And considering what happened…”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Weirder than usual?”

She points at you, toothbrush still clutched in her hand like a weapon. “Yes. And that’s saying something.”

For a moment, you debate brushing her off, but the truth sits heavy on your tongue. If things go sideways tonight, someone should at least know you went looking.

You meet her gaze in the mirror. “If I’m not back by ten…” You hesitate, then smirk, voice dropping into something more deliberate. “Hit and run.”

The playful glint in Vidia’s eyes vanishes. Her grip on your shoulders tightens.

“Wait—”

But you don’t give her time to press. You step past her, boots heavy against the floor as you move straight for the door.

Because tonight, you’re finally getting some real answers.

Outside, you lean against the cool brick of a nearby building, the faint glow of the streetlights flickering like distant stars in the late-night quiet. The cigarette between your fingers burns slowly, the smoke curling up in delicate tendrils, dissolving into the night air.

It’s a small comfort in everything—something familiar, something that lets you breathe, even if just for a moment.

The gas station across the street hums with the low buzz of neon lights. The smell of gasoline mixes with the stale scent of the night air, and for a brief second, everything feels so… normal. Like this town hasn’t been tainted by whatever's been happening, by all the things you've discovered. But you know that’s a lie. It’s not normal anymore.

It hasn’t been for days.

The events at the frat house hang over the entire campus like a cloud, casting a long, dark shadow over everyone. Most students have retreated to their dorms, staying inside, clutching whatever comfort they can. The usual buzz of parties and late-night drinking is absent. No one is passing around bottles of cheap liquor. It’s like the very air is holding its breath, waiting for something to break.

And you’re waiting for something, too. You're waiting for Toby. Because you’re starting to put the pieces together.

You crush the cigarette under your heel and pull out your phone, staring at the screen, still haunted by the last message, the photo. The stolen underwear. The message that told you exactly what kind of game he’s playing.

And now you need to find him.

You turn your head, casting a glance at the nearby woods that border the edge of the college town, the trees silhouetted against the dim glow of the horizon. You’ve heard rumors about the woods. About the things that go on there when the sun sets, when the air goes still and thick with the promise of secrets.

With a quick decision, you push off from the wall, the gravel beneath your shoes crunching as you move toward the shadows. You cross the street and head down a narrow alley, passing the broken-down bar where students used to hang out, now practically deserted. The air feels thicker here as if the whole town has been holding its breath.

As you walk, your mind races. You’ve been hearing whispers. People at the library. Students in the dining hall. They’ve been talking about Toby, but never in any serious way. Just in passing. But that’s when you hear it—the mention of the frat house again. Drug dealer. Secret deals. Low-key operation.

The pieces click together.

It’s not just about sex, about teasing. Toby’s deeper into something darker than you could’ve imagined. The whole thing with your underwear wasn’t just some sick little game. No, that was the warning shot.

You stop, your gaze scanning the area. A couple of drunk students stumble out of a nearby building, laughing too loudly for this hour, but they stop when they notice you standing in the shadows, eyes narrowed in your direction. You don’t care about them, though. You care about one thing, and one thing only.

You walk up to the group, forcing your voice to sound casual. “You guys know a dealer around here?”

The two guys exchange a look, clearly uncertain. “Dealer?” one of them repeats, scratching his head. “Uh… don’t know him well. He’s a quiet guy, always hanging around with the frat boys. You know, that one? He deals… stuff.” He waves his hand vaguely in the air.

“Stuff?” you push.

The guy stares at you, trying to gauge your seriousness. “Yeah. Drugs, I think. Not sure what, though. I heard he’s got connections, really low-key. But it’s all hush-hush. Don’t mess with that guy. Trust me.”

You keep your voice steady, suppressing the surge of adrenaline coursing through you. "Do you know where he deals? Where I can find him?" you ask, looking directly at the guy. He hesitates for a second, clearly trying to figure out if you're bluffing or genuinely looking for trouble.

His eyes flicker around, checking the quiet street, before he leans in a little closer, lowering his voice. “I heard he does most of his deals out by the old abandoned warehouse on the south side of off-campus. Not many people go there anymore, but... yeah, that's where he usually pops in and out..”

A thrill runs through you at the mention of the warehouse. That was exactly the kind of place Toby would hide in, away from prying eyes. You give the guy a quick nod of thanks, not waiting for any more unnecessary chatter.

You don’t have time to waste.

Your feet crunch against the gravel as you walk away, quickly but quietly, the cool night air tugging at your jacket. You’ve got one thing on your mind—finding Toby.

Whatever game he thinks he’s playing with you, it ends tonight.

You cross the street, your pulse quickening as you head toward the path that leads to the empty south side of campus. The abandoned warehouse is just beyond it, tucked away behind a cluster of trees. It’s so quiet now. No drunken crowds. No obnoxious parties.

Just the occasional sound of a car passing, its tires humming against the road. The further you get from campus, the more desolate it feels, as if you're stepping into a place where no one belongs.

A chill creeps up your spine, but you push it down. You’re not scared. You’re pissed. As you round a corner, you stop in your tracks.

Up ahead, parked near the back of the warehouse, is a sleek black truck. The engine is still running, and the low growl of it vibrates in the air. The driver’s side door swings open, and out steps a man in an orange jacket, his movements swift and purposeful. He’s followed by another guy in a mustard-yellow hoodie, his head tilted down, hiding his face.

You squint, trying to make out more, but they’re too far, too blurry in the darkness. But then—

There he is. Toby.

He steps out from the other side of the truck, his silhouette cutting through the dim light like a blade. Even from this distance, you recognize him immediately. The way he moves—calm, unhurried, carrying that same cocky arrogance in every step. Like he has nothing to fear. Like he’s in control.

The bastard has been playing games with you. The messages, the pictures, the feeling of always being watched—it all leads back to him. And now? Now you finally have him in your sights.

He doesn’t even glance your way as he walks toward the warehouse, his focus elsewhere. The two men follow close behind, their presence just as unsettling. Older, more seasoned. You can tell by the way they move, the way they keep close but slightly behind Toby. Like they’re equals in whatever the hell this is. Or maybe they’re watching him just as much as he’s watching them.

The truck’s engine rumbles softly, headlights flickering as the warehouse door clicks shut behind them.

You should be back at your dorm.

You should be calling the police.

But instead, you’re here—standing at the edge of something dangerous, heart-pounding but mind-sharp. You exhale slowly, steadying yourself. “Don’t rush this.” You keep to the darkness, moving low and careful, each step precise. Recklessness gets people killed. You’re not stupid enough to charge in blindly, not when you don’t know what’s waiting on the other side of that door.

No, you’re going to do this right. You settle into position, hidden in the dark, eyes locked on the building. Watching. Listening. Calculating.

If Toby wants to play games, then fine.

You’ll play too.

But on your terms.

You look down at your phone for a sec before looking at the two men. They’re clearly not college students or even people your age—these guys are at least in their mid-30s, their grizzled features giving them away. One of them has a sharp jaw and a slight scar across his chin, while the other’s got graying hair at his temples, making him look out of place in the shady world they’re operating in.

Toby, on the other hand, still looks like he’s in his early 20s—too young for this, you think, but there’s no doubt in your mind he’s right in the thick of it. He’s standing with his back to the truck, a smirk playing on his lips as he talks to the two men.

You squint, listening carefully as their conversation drifts your way, just low enough that you can’t make out every word, but enough to catch fragments.

“Everything’s across campus now,” one of the older men says, his voice rough, sounding almost too calm for what’s being discussed. “Gotta keep it clean. The cops are getting nosy.”

Toby responds with a quiet laugh, the cockiness in his tone clear even from this distance. “Yeah, we’ve been laying low. Nobody’s really looking in the right places. But I’ll admit, the pressure’s on, especially with all the weird shit happening on campus.”

The other guy in the mustard hoodie just grunts, tugging at his sleeves. “Our job’s done, yeah? Clean up’s all that’s left, then we’re out.”

Job? What job are they talking about?

You frown, trying to piece it all together. “Clean up” sounds like something more than just dealing. Were they cleaning up a mess? You don’t know what kind of mess it would be, but it doesn’t sit right with you. Not at all.

Could it be... connected to the student who died in the frat house?

Your thoughts are interrupted by a faint rustle behind you. The hairs on your neck stand up. The night feels too quiet all of a sudden. And then, out of nowhere, you feel a pair of hands slam into your neck, pinning you harshly to the dirt floor beneath you.

You try to gasp, your lungs seizing, but it’s impossible. You’re trapped—held down with frightening strength, unable to fight back. The pressure around your neck tightens, and your head spins. You can’t see who it is at first, everything happening too fast, too violently. But then, you hear the sound of fabric rustling, the force of weight pressing down on you.

Your phone’s flashlight flickers weakly, its glow barely enough to cut through the darkness. But it’s enough to make out the figure above you.

A woman.

Her face is hidden behind a white mask, blank and haunting, its surface smeared with dirt and something darker, something crusted into the fabric of her hoodie like dried blood. The hoodie’s sleeves are shoved up, exposing lean, sinewy arms, the muscles tensed with barely contained energy. Her dark wash jeans are loose, but nothing about her posture is. She’s coiled like a live wire, electric with something feral. Something unhinged.

Before you can react, her hands snap around your throat.

It’s not just a grip—it’s a full-body attack, her weight slamming you into the dirt like a predator taking down prey. The ground is cold beneath you, damp with the earth’s decay, but the pressure around your throat burns. Her fingers dig in, nails biting into your skin as she squeezes, tighter and tighter, cutting off everything—your breath, your voice, your control.

Panic surges. You try to pry her hands off, but she’s stronger than she looks. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. It’s like she wants you to suffer. Like she lives for the fight.

You thrash, legs kicking up dirt, arms scrambling for anything—her wrists, her face, a rock—something. But she doesn’t budge. She leans in closer, her breath ragged through the mask, and you can feel the violent tremors in her body, the sheer force she’s pouring into this.

The world around you starts to shrink. Your lungs burn, your vision swims with dark spots, and the muffled roar of your own pulse drowns out everything else. It’s a slow, suffocating descent, the kind where time stretches and your body knows—knows you’re running out of seconds.

But then—flash.

The beam from your phone flickers, catching the mask again. The light hits her dead-on, exposing the stains, the dirt, and the eerie emptiness of the featureless face.

She jerks.

Like an animal recoiling from fire, she flinches, her whole body shuddering with something violent. And then—just as suddenly as she attacked—she lets go.

Air rushes back into your lungs, burning like acid as you gasp, choking on relief. You cough, your whole body trembling from the shock of it, your vision blurred with tears. Your hands clutch at the dirt beneath you, desperate for something solid, something real.

The woman stumbles back, her breathing frantic. But she isn’t running. Not yet.

She raises her hands—not in defense, but in shame. Covering her face. Clutching at the fabric of her hoodie like she can somehow disappear into it. Like she needs to.

“Don’t…” Her voice is hoarse, unsteady. “Don’t look at me.”

Her words hit like ice in your veins.

She’s not just hiding. She’s terrified.

Your flashlight flickers again, throwing a shaky, erratic glow across her body. She cowers from it, shrinking into herself, the bloodstains on her hoodie almost glowing in the dim light.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Her voice cracks, the desperation threading through her words almost unhinged. She’s backing away now, dropping to her knees as if the weight of her own body is too much to bear.

Your head spins, the world still tilting from the lack of oxygen, but your mind clings to the words.

What the hell does that mean? Who is she?

And why did she try to kill you?

None of it made sense. You tried to move, to push yourself up, but your body refused to listen. The weight of everything—the fight, the fear, the lack of oxygen—dragged you down like an anchor, pulling you deeper into the abyss.

Your vision blurred, flickering between the dim glow of your phone and the swallowing darkness. Your body tingled, a numbing sensation creeping into your limbs, making them heavy—too heavy. Every breath was a struggle, each inhale weaker than the last.

The world tilted the edges of your perception distorting like ripples in water.

And then—nothing.

It was as if the air itself had thickened, pressing down on you, suffocating your senses into a muted void. Your mind drifted, untethered from reality, sinking into unconsciousness as the last traces of awareness slipped through your fingers.

When you woke up, it felt like you were underwater.

The world was sluggish, muffled. Your head pounded with a dull, relentless ache, and your limbs felt impossibly heavy, as if they weren’t your own. It took a moment for your senses to return—to realize that something was wrong.

The cold, hard surface beneath you wasn’t the forest floor. It was rough, and industrial, the vibrations beneath you sending small jolts through your aching bones. The scent of stale air and gasoline clung to your nose, mixing with something metallic—blood?

Your thoughts were a mess, tangled and sluggish, but the first thing you knew for certain was this: You were moving.

Not by choice.

Your eyes flickered open, disoriented by the dim lighting. It was cramped, the space too small to stand, too enclosed to be anything but—

A van.

Panic surged through your veins like ice. You tried to move, to sit up, but something pulled at your wrists. Tight. Restrictive. The unmistakable bite of zip ties dug into your skin, keeping your hands wrenched behind your back. A second struggle confirmed your legs were just as bound.

Trapped.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe, to think. The low hum of the van’s engine filled the silence, steady and rhythmic. But then—voices.

Two men.

Their words were distant at first, muffled by the barrier separating you from the front seats, but the more you strained your ears, the clearer they became.

“I had a feeling this was gonna bite us in the ass,” one of them muttered, his voice rough and edged with frustration. “Who would’ve figured she’d track us down just to find him?”

A tense pause. Then, the second man grunted. “Yeah. They’ve been sniffing around for a while now. Too much digging.”

Your breath hitched. They were talking about you.

Your pulse roared in your ears, drowning out the sound of the tires grinding against asphalt. Every nerve in your body screamed at you to move, to run, but you were trapped, bound, and helpless in the back of a moving van with no idea where you were being taken.

And worse?

You weren’t alone.

Your gaze shifted, and that’s when you saw him.

Sitting right in front of you, as if he were just another passenger—as if nothing had happened—was Toby.

The man you’d been chasing. The one you couldn’t forget.

Toby sat there with unsettling ease; his posture relaxed as if this were just another casual meetup instead of a kidnapping. His hoodie—multi-colored in faded shades of beige and dark blue—looked worn, like it had seen its fair share of seasons. The orange-yellow goggles resting on his face caught the dim interior light of the van, casting eerie reflections that masked his expression. A dark bandana covered his mouth, but it did nothing to hide the weight of his gaze.

His eyes—cold, dark brown, and unwavering—locked onto yours with no fear, no hesitation. He wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even amused. He was just... watching.

Like he already knew exactly what was running through your mind.

The silence between you stretched, thick, and suffocating. Your heart pounded in your chest, but your body remained frozen, still bound and helpless.

You swallowed, your throat dry and tight, before shifting against the restraints, your lips fumbling to pull the dumb cloth from your mouth. When you finally spoke, your voice came out shaking but determined.

“Why are you doing this?”

For a second, he didn’t answer. He just kept watching you, head tilted slightly, the way someone might study an animal in a trap. Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips—not a full grin, just a ghost of one, something cold and distant that never reached his eyes.

“You were getting too close to the truth,” Toby said simply, his tone void of any real emotion. Like he was explaining the most obvious thing in the world. “Thought you could dig around, ask questions, play little Miss Detective.”

Your breath hitched, and your mind scrambled to piece it together. “That frat guy…” you started, but Toby cut you off.

His eyes flickered away for the briefest moment before he spoke again. “It wasn’t about him,” he said, voice low and controlled.

You furrowed your brow, confusion twisting in your gut. The pounding headache still clawed at your skull, but you pushed through it, grasping for understanding. “What? Then why—why was everyone acting like it was related to him?”

Toby shrugged, casual as ever, as if none of this truly mattered to him. “Because it’s easier that way,” he said. “People hear ‘frat party death’ and assume it’s some overdose, some accident. They don’t think to look deeper. They don’t think to ask the real questions.”

Your stomach twisted. You’d been asking those questions.

That’s why you were here.

Toby’s gaze flickered back to you, sharper now. More focused. “You were poking your nose where it didn’t belong,” he continued, his voice quiet but firm. “Digging into my deals, my business. Asking around about me and my crew.” His fingers tapped idly against his knee, rhythmic and steady.

“And I didn’t like it.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears, the pieces slowly clicking into place—but something still didn’t fit. “You’re just a dealer,” you said, though the words felt hollow even as they left your lips. “You—”

Toby let out a short, humorless chuckle. “Just a dealer?” He tilted his head as if he were genuinely considering it. Then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You never really thought about what else I could be, did you?”

His words sent a cold shiver down your spine.

What else he could be?

Your breath stalled, your mind reeling as you stared at him, searching his face for some kind of answer, or denial. But he gave you nothing—just that same quiet, unwavering look.

And then, he gave you something worse.

A slow, creeping grin stretched beneath his bandana, the faintest glint of amusement flickering in his dark eyes. His voice dipped into a hushed whisper as if savoring the moment, drawing it out like a cat playing with a wounded mouse.

“You got lucky, y’know,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Most people who figure me out? They don’t live long enough to be warned.”

Your breath hitched.

A serial killer.

The words burned into your mind, branding themselves deep in your consciousness. He wasn’t just some dealer, some criminal lurking in the shadows of frat parties and campus gossip. He was something far worse.

He killed that guy at the party.

Before you could fully process the horror unraveling before you, Toby moved. Fast. Too fast. He was on his feet in an instant, boots thudding against the metal floor of the van as he closed the distance between you.

A sharp yank. Pain exploded across your scalp as he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled it, dragging you up with brutal force.

A muffled cry tore from your throat, but the gag kept it from escaping beyond the walls of your prison. Your body jerked against the binds, instinctively trying to recoil, but his grip was unrelenting, like iron chains wrapped around your skull. He studied you, his head tilting slightly to the side. Amusement flickered across his face—sick, entertained amusement.

“Pretty enough to sell off,” he muttered to himself, as if considering his options, as if you weren’t even human, just another item to be weighed, evaluated, discarded at will. A cold, twisted smile tugged at his lips, but before he could revel in his own depraved thoughts any further, something inside you snapped.

The terror, the panic, the helplessness—it all boiled over into something sharp, something furious. Your eyes burned with a mix of rage and defiance as you wrenched against his grasp, a snarl ripping from your throat. “Don’t you dare touch me!” Your voice was raw, cutting through the air like a blade. “You stay the hell away from me!”

For a moment—a split second—Toby actually paused.

His grip on your hair loosened just slightly, his head tilting as though intrigued. Those goggles hid his full expression, but you swore you saw something flicker behind them. Surprise? Curiosity? Annoyance?

But then, just as quickly, the smirk returned.

“Maybe I won’t,” he mused his voice light, teasing as if the thought genuinely amused him. Then, his head tilted the other way, and his fingers curled just a bit tighter around your hair. “But then again… what are you gonna do about it?”

The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, pressing against your ribs like a vice.

This was all a game.

That’s what this was to him.

Toby wasn’t some reckless criminal stumbling through a crime spree. He was precise. Calculated. He had planned this, orchestrated every moment, every step, every mistake you had made.

And you had walked right into it.

The van lurched to a sudden stop, the force jerking your body forward before slamming you back against the cold metal interior. The low hum of the engine faded into silence, replaced by the eerie creak of the back doors swinging open. A rush of crisp night air hit your face, sharp and unforgiving, sending a shiver down your spine.

Then, the silhouettes appeared.

The same two men stood in the doorway, their forms backlit by the pale glow of distant headlights. The first wore an orange hoodie, its fabric stained with deep, dark smudges—blood? The longer you stared, the more it looked like a grotesque, distorted face staring back at you.

The second man was more unnerving. He donned a mustard-colored jacket, his face hidden behind a white, doll-like mask. The featureless stare was somehow worse than if he had been sneering at you. The lifeless gaze made your stomach twist into knots.

Who the hell are these people?

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, your mind racing through every possible outcome. Were they here to help Toby? To kill you? To take you somewhere even worse?

Toby stepped forward, his boots crunching against gravel as he moved toward the open doors. He gave the two men a slight nod—wordless confirmation. The tension in the air thickened, choking you like an invisible hand around your throat.

Think. Think.

“Wait!” The word shot out of your mouth before you even realized you had said it.

Toby’s head tilted, his goggles catching the dim light as he looked at you. He didn’t say anything, but his body language told you everything—you had exactly three seconds to say something that would interest him.

“Let’s make a deal,” you forced out, your voice steady despite the sheer terror pounding against your ribs.

Toby’s posture relaxed slightly. He rolled his shoulders back, amusement flickering beneath his bandana. “A deal?” His voice was smooth, deceptively light, but there was a razor-sharp edge just beneath the surface.

You swallowed hard, trying to read his expression through the obscurity of his mask. “Yeah… like a game?”

The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted it. You had no idea what kind of sick, twisted shit Toby and his so-called friends were involved in, but you knew one thing—people like him loved games. And the ones they played? They were never fair.

Toby considered you for a long, agonizing moment. The air between you both felt charged, the weight of the unknown pressing heavily on your shoulders. Then, without looking away, he reached up and adjusted the bandana covering his mouth.

“All right,” he murmured. “I’ll play a game.”

Your stomach dropped. The two men in the doorway exchanged glances, one of them chuckling under his breath. Toby stepped back, motioning toward the open doors of the van. “It’s simple. If you win, you get to leave. You go back to your lame little college life, pretend none of this ever happened.” He paused, letting the silence stretch long enough for dread to seep deep into your bones.

“And if I lose?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Toby’s grin was slow, smirking.

“Well… you know what happens to you.”

The answer was obvious. Your blood ran ice cold, but you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. You couldn’t let him see the fear creeping in, couldn’t give him the satisfaction. You had no idea what kind of game he was about to throw you into, but one thing was certain—losing wasn’t an option.

Toby’s voice cut through the thick night air like a blade, sharp and taunting.

“Still wanna do it, babe?” His tone was almost mocking, daring you to back out, to admit you had made a mistake. But you weren’t going to give him that satisfaction.

“Yes,” you said, forcing steel into your voice. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” The words tasted like a death sentence the moment they left your lips.

Toby’s grin stretched wide beneath his bandana, amusement flickering in his eyes. Without warning, he slammed his fist against the van’s metal frame. The impact sent a deep, resonating thud through the vehicle, reverberating in your bones. The sudden noise made you flinch, but Toby? He was enjoying this. The tension, the fear—it fed him.

What the hell had you just agreed to?

Before you could process it, he moved. Toby approached with a slow, deliberate stride, each step uncomfortably calculated. His presence loomed over you, suffocating in its intensity. Even in the dim light, you could see the way his shoulders were relaxed, the slight tilt of his head—it was all a game to him, and he was playing for keeps.

You barely had time to react before his fingers reached for the gag tied around your mouth.

For a fleeting second, hope sparked. Maybe he was giving you some form of freedom, maybe he wanted to hear you speak, maybe—

The thought was ripped away when, instead of removing it, he shoved the cloth deeper into your mouth, pulling the knot tighter with a cruel yank. A muffled grunt of pain escaped you as the rough fabric cut into the corners of your lips.

“Good,” he murmured, the word dripping with satisfaction. He turned his head toward the two men outside the van, motioning lazily with his hand. “Stay put.”

They didn’t move, didn’t speak—just stood there, their masked faces as unreadable as before. Silent sentinels in the dark.

Toby’s fingers wrapped around your shoulder, his grip firm, cold, and unyielding as he yanked you forward. The ropes binding your wrists dug deep into your skin, burning against every movement. You winced but bit down the noise. You weren’t going to let him see your pain.

“Just me and you,” he said, voice quiet, like he was savoring it.

Something about those words made your stomach twist.

The two men hung back as Toby shoved you out of the van and into the creepy woods like the world was just one big horror movie set and you were the unsuspecting victim. The cold air slapped you in the face, and the ground beneath your feet was a minefield of rocks and loose gravel, making you feel like a baby giraffe trying to walk for the first time.

Toby gave you a lazy push forward like he wasn’t even trying, just enjoying the show. He stayed just behind you, his footsteps light—almost like he was walking on air. It was creepy as hell. Not only did you know he was right there, but it was also the fact that he wasn’t saying anything.

Silence was his weapon, and he was wielding it like a pro. You could feel his gaze on your back like he was tattooing his presence into your skin.

But honestly, it wasn’t even just Toby that had you on edge. It was the whole damn woods. You couldn't shake the feeling that the trees had eyes, like they were watching you. They creaked and groaned in the wind, casting creepy-ass shadows that danced around you. Every time you dared look away from the path, the darkness seemed to creep closer, like it was alive and hungry for a snack.

And your brain? Oh, it was having a panic attack. Thoughts scattered everywhere, like someone knocked over a jigsaw puzzle and you had to put it all back together while trying not to piss yourself.

What the hell kind of game will this be?

What the hell is Toby even trying to do?

Toby’s grip on your arm tightened, and for a second, you thought he was going to snap it like a twig. He dug his fingers into your skin, the pressure like a vice, and then—without warning—he shoved you to the ground.

The earth was cold, hard, and unwelcoming, and your knees hit it with a sickening thud. You gasped, trying to push yourself up, but no dice. Toby was already on top of you, like a bad dream you couldn’t escape from.

You barely had time to even process what was happening before his hands were all over you again—rough, unrelenting. He yanked your arms behind your back like he was trying to turn you into a pretzel, and the pain shot through your shoulders.

You winced as the rope bit into your skin, tight and unforgiving, leaving you gasping for air, your wrists already burning. Every instinct screamed to fight, but your body was just… not cooperating. All you could do was brace yourself for whatever new hell Toby was planning to unleash.

Then, just when you thought things couldn’t get worse, he yanked the half-undone cloth out of your mouth, like it was some kind of prize. The sudden rush of cold night air on your face hit you like a punch, and you nearly choked on the wind as you sucked in a desperate breath.

Your chest burned as your lungs tried to catch up, and for a second, all you could do was breathe, focusing on just that—breathing. The shock of air hitting your lungs made everything feel a little too real like you had just woken up from a bad dream and had no idea where you were.

Toby stood over you, watching you like a damn predator, his eyes cold and calculating. He looked like he was enjoying every second of your struggle, his grin twisted into something that made your stomach turn. The silence between you two felt thick, almost suffocating, and with every second that passed, your heartbeat hammered louder in your chest.

You could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on you, that gut-deep dread clawing its way up your throat. Then, finally, he broke the silence, his voice low and rough, dripping with venom. “You wanted a game, right?” His grin stretched wider, almost too wide like he was relishing every second of your discomfort. “Here it is.”

Toby moved slowly like he was savoring the moment, circling you. The sound of his boots against the ground felt like a reminder that you were trapped—nowhere to run. When he finally came back around to face you, he crouched down, his face just inches from yours.

The moonlight caught his features in a way that made him look even worse, like the shadows themselves were twisting his face into something monstrous. The light bent around his features, turning him into something almost unrecognizable like he wasn't even human anymore.

Then, without warning, his hand shot forward, grabbing your chin with a grip that felt like iron. He jerked your head up, forcing you to look at him, his fingers digging into your skin so hard it hurt. You winced, a sickening shudder crawling up your spine as he held you there.

His eyes locked onto yours, dark and unblinking, and for a second, you thought you might just drown in them. He was too close—too close—and you could feel his breath on your face, the faint smell of smoke mixed with something metallic, like blood, lingering in the air.

“Don’t even think about it,” he hissed, his voice cold as ice, a warning in the way his eyes bore into yours, daring you to even try something.

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard, your pulse racing. You could feel the full weight of the situation now—whatever sick game he had in mind, you weren’t walking away from this easily.

Toby let out a sharp, breathy chuckle, tilting his head as he watched the fear settle into your bones. He was drinking it in, savoring it like a fine wine. His fingers twitched at his sides, restless, eager.

“The rules are simple,” he repeated, slower this time as if speaking to a child. “Cat chases mouse. Mouse runs. If the mouse is fast enough—” his voice lifted slightly, playful, mocking, “maybe it gets away.” He took a slow step forward, boots crunching against the dirt, his gaze never leaving yours.

“But if the mouse loses…” His grin stretched wider, a grotesque, gleeful thing that made your stomach churn. “Well—” He lifted his hand, thumb dragging across his throat in a slow, deliberate slice.

Your breath stilled.

“F-Fuckin’ simple, right?” Toby let out a sharp cackle, rocking back on his heels like this was the funniest thing in the world. “B-But, uh—here’s the fun part—” His voice dipped lower, almost conspiratorial. He leaned in slightly, just enough that you could catch the scent of blood and oil clinging to him.

“I’m the cat, babe.” He tilted his head, his grin twitching at the edges.

“And you?” Toby reached and pulled something from behind his back, the glint of metal catching in the dim moonlight. You couldn’t help but stare as he brandished the hatchet, its blade sharp and gleaming—ready to cut down whatever stood in its way.

“You’re the mouse.”

You closed your eyes as you felt something cold and sharp slid against your wrists, and suddenly, the ropes fell away. Your hands trembled as you realized what he’d done.

He was letting you go.

The ropes fell away with a dull thud, and you flexed your fingers, the circulation rushing back into your hands with a painful sting. But before you could even take a breath, Toby stood up, towering over you, his cold eyes boring into yours.

“Run.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It wasn’t a taunt. It was a demand.

And you didn’t need him to tell you twice. You didn’t need to be told anything. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to run—to get the hell out of there before things got any worse. You pushed yourself to your feet, stumbling slightly. But you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t hesitate.

You took off into the woods, your feet pounding against the earth, heart racing, breath coming in sharp, frantic bursts. The trees blurred past you in the darkness, the dense underbrush grabbing at your legs as you pushed forward, not daring to look back.

Behind you, you heard Toby’s voice cut through the silence like a razor, a countdown, slow and deliberate.

"Ten..."

The words hung in the air, each one a cold reminder of what was waiting for you.

"Nine..."

Your feet slipped in the dirt, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t afford to. Not when your life depended on it.

"Eight..."

The rustling of the trees, the soft whisper of the wind, it all felt like a trap. The woods were alive, closing in around you, the darkness suffocating. But you pushed on, adrenaline giving you the strength to run faster than you ever thought possible.

"Seven..."

Your pulse hammered in your ears, drowning out the sound of your surroundings. You couldn’t think about the shadows that moved just beyond the corner of your vision. You couldn’t think about the suffocating fear creeping up your spine.

"Six..."

The air was thick with the scent of earth and pine, but all you could taste was the bitter tang of panic in the back of your throat.

"Five..."

A sudden crack of a branch behind you made your heart jump into your throat. You didn’t dare look back. You couldn’t afford to.

"Four..."

The path ahead was unclear, but you kept running. You knew where the black van was, knew what it meant to get there. It was the only way out. It was the only chance you had.

"Three..."

You could hear him now, the heavy sound of Toby’s footsteps growing louder, closer. The rustle of leaves underfoot. The sharp sound of the hatchet slicing through the air.

"Two..."

The woods were a maze, but you didn’t care. You had no choice but to trust your instincts. Keep running. Keep going.

"One..."

The final countdown echoed in the night, the sharpness of the moment making your skin prickle. And just like that, the sound of Toby’s footsteps stopped.

For a moment, the woods fell into an eerie silence. You could feel the weight of the night pressing in, the darkness stretching out before you. You weren’t sure if Toby was still following, or if he had somehow disappeared into the shadows. But you didn’t dare stop to find out.

You kept running, faster now, your breath ragged, heart hammering in your chest.

You had to make it.

You had to survive.

The adrenaline coursing through your veins was enough to keep you moving, but Toby was right on your heels. You could hear him getting closer, his heavy footsteps pounding the ground as he pursued you. Your breath came out in ragged gasps, your heart pounding in your chest as you fought to stay ahead.

Suddenly, you felt a cold breeze sweep past your ear, and a horrifying whoosh followed by a sharp, metallic slice through the air. Toby’s hatchet missed you by inches, but the force of it scared the hell out of you, causing you to stumble.

Without thinking, you darted sideways, narrowly avoiding the swing of the blade as Toby's arm cut through the air where you had just been. Your heart skipped a beat, terror coiling in your gut.

But it was enough. You had a moment—a split second of reprieve.

Instinct kicked in.

You pushed yourself forward, launching yourself into a desperate sprint, but as you did, you pivoted, whirling around and slamming your fist right into Toby’s face.

His head snapped back with the force of your punch, and you could hear the sickening crunch as his mouth guard went flying off. Blood sprayed from his lips as he staggered back, spitting out crimson between ragged breaths.

“Shit!” you hissed, realizing you might have just made a serious mistake.

You didn't wait to see his next move. You turned and ran, faster than ever, knowing that you couldn’t let him catch up again. Thank God your parents forced you into sports when you were younger. You needed that conditioning now more than ever, every muscle screaming as you pushed yourself harder through the thick underbrush of the forest.

But just as you thought you might have a chance to escape, you felt something like a vice grip on the back of your head. A hand twisted into your hair, jerking you backward with brutal force.

“Ah, playing dirty, huh?” Toby’s voice was a low, mocking growl in your ear as he yanked you back, his breath hot against your skin. “You think you’re faster than me? You think you’re clever?”

You struggled, but his grip on your hair was unrelenting, a fistful of pain and control that yanked your head back until you were nearly off balance. You let out a strangled gasp, trying to push him off, but his laugh sent chills crawling up your spine.

“Sweetheart,” he cooed, dragging you further away from where you had been running. “You’re playing dirty, but I don’t mind. I like a girl who can fight back.”

“Sweet Cheeks, Pretty Girl,” he teased, his voice sickly sweet as his hand moved from your hair to your shoulder, the grip tightening as if he were savoring every second of this. “I can’t get enough of you.” His breath stank and you recoiled, but before you could react, he shoved you down to the ground.

Then your lungs burned as you gasped for air, and you suddenly felt the crushing weight of Toby pressing you deeper into the forest floor. The damp earth clung to your skin, its scent thick and suffocating. You twisted beneath him, your muscles straining as you tried to break free, but it was useless. He was stronger, faster, and, worst of all, he had planned this.

Toby let out a sharp, breathy laugh, the sound laced with something sickeningly satisfied. His grip on your wrists was vice-like, his fingers pressing so hard into your skin you could feel the dull throb of your pulse against them.

“Y’know, you actually did pretty well,” he murmured, his voice low, amused—like he was humoring you. “But, uh—” His knee pressed harder into your ribs, knocking the breath right out of you. “Not good enough.”

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out the rustling trees, the distant chirp of insects—everything except him.

You bucked your body, jerking against his grip, but Toby barely flinched. If anything, he enjoyed it. He tsked softly, shifting just enough to slide one hand up to your throat, his fingers curling around the delicate skin. He wasn’t squeezing—not yet—but the threat was clear.

“You really thought you could outrun me?” His voice dipped lower, the words edged with a dark amusement. “Me?”

His breathing was steady, almost too calm for someone who had just chased you down like a damn animal. His thumb brushed idly against your pulse, feeling how it hammered beneath his touch, drinking in every ounce of fear rolling off of you in waves.

“You should’ve known better,” he purred, his face lowering until his masked mouth was mere inches from your ear. “B-but, hey! No hard feelings, right?”

He tilted his head, his grip tightening just enough to remind you that, even now, he controlled everything.

“After all…” His voice was almost playful, but the sadistic edge beneath it made your stomach twist. “Game’s over.”

Your breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, every fiber of your being screaming at you to fight—to do something—but his grip was unrelenting, his presence suffocating. Toby had you right where he wanted you, and he fucking loved it.

The smirk on his face was infuriating, smug, and teasing like he was just toying with you, seeing how far he could push before you broke.

“Now thinking about it, you’re just like the rest of them,” he taunted, voice dripping with mock disappointment. “Man, and here I thought you were better.”

Wait. He thought you were better?

No. No, fuck that.

Rage boiled up, cutting through the fear clawing at your throat. You grit your teeth, something sharp and bitter twisting in your chest. Your body burned with frustration, your muscles aching from the struggle, but you weren’t about to just lay down and take this.

Toby’s fingers skimmed along your skin again, and something in you snapped.

“Get the fuck off me!” you snarled, your voice raw with fury. You thrashed, your body surging against his hold, but he only laughed, his grip tightening, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“Oh-ho,” he hummed, tilting his head like a curious animal, his grin splitting wider. “There she is.”

His voice was dark, teasing, but there was something else there, something unreadable flickering in his gaze.

You sucked in a breath, eyes blazing as you glared up at him. “I am not some fucking plaything,” you spat, fury twisting your features. “And I sure as hell am not like the rest of them.”

Toby let out a sharp breath of laughter, shaking his head. “Really? ‘Cause from where I’m sitting—” He pressed down harder, just enough to remind you who was in control. “You look pretty helpless to me.”

You bit down the growl rising in your throat, every muscle in your body coiled tight with frustration. His smugness was unbearable, his amusement dripping from every word like venom.

Then he sighed, like this was all some mild inconvenience. “Shame, really,” he mused, tilting his head in mock contemplation. “I actually liked you. Thought you were… different.” His fingers brushed your cheek, deceptively gentle, and your stomach churned with disgust.

That did it.

You jerked your head back violently, breaking free of his touch. Your voice came out like a hiss, venomous and sharp.

“Fuck you, Toby.”

His grin widened, eyes sparking with something wild and hungry. “Ohh,” he drawled, his tone downright delighted. “Now that’s more like it.” Toby’s lips curled into a smirk as his eyes gleamed with something far from kind. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk, but with an edge that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“You just gave me a great idea.” His words dripped with mischief, the kind that made you question your reality. His gaze never wavered, almost as if he were savoring the moment, letting the silence stretch between you like a taut wire.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he added, though the way he said it, with a tone that was too casual, was anything but reassuring. He leaned in closer, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin.

"I’m just gonna fuck you."

Your mind went blank, the shock of his words leaving you speechless. You blinked, trying to wrap your head around what he just said. “Wait… what did you just say?” you stammered, your voice shaky. “You… you’re gonna what?”

This couldn’t be real. It had to be some kind of joke, some twisted misunderstanding. But the look in his eyes told you otherwise.

Toby raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk that was equal parts amused and condescending. His expression was one of exaggerated confusion, as if you were the one being unreasonable as if you were the one who had missed something obvious.

“Did you not hear me?” he asked, his tone dripping with mockery. It was as if he were toying with you, enjoying the way your confusion only seemed to fuel his confidence.

Then, without warning, he bit his lower lip, a playful gesture that felt completely out of place given the tension in the air. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin, and his voice dropped to a low, almost teasing whisper.

“I said... fuck you.”

The words hit you like a slap to the face, delivered with such casual confidence that it left you reeling. It wasn’t just the words themselves—it was the way he said them, the way he looked at you as if he knew exactly how much power he held at that moment.

You swallowed, your mouth dry. His words were a sickening blend of challenge and threat, and you weren’t sure if you should be terrified—or curious.

Toby leaned in even closer, his face mere inches from yours, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. He was close enough for you to feel the weight of his presence, heavy and undeniable.

“Let’s see if you can last,” he said, his voice thick with an unsettling promise.

The situation you found yourself in was far more dangerous and complicated than you had ever anticipated. The air was thick with tension, a mix of fear, desire, and something darker you couldn’t quite name. You were in deep—way deeper than you had ever imagined you’d be. And yet, despite the danger, even though you should have been screaming for help or fighting back, you weren’t.

A part of you wasn’t complaining at all. Was that wrong? Maybe.

But this wasn’t your first time with him, and that twisted familiarity made the situation feel almost… thrilling.

His lips were on yours again, rough and demanding, moving with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel the heat of his body pressing against you, his hands roaming freely, gripping and pulling at your skin like he owned you. And maybe, in some twisted way, he did. He had always been possessive, hadn’t he?

From the moment he stole your underwear, to the way he seemed to always know where you were—stalkerish tendencies that should have sent you running. But here you were, letting him manhandle you, letting him take control.

The forest floor was cold and unforgiving beneath your knees, the damp earth seeping into your skin as he forced you down. His hands were tangled in your hair, gripping tightly as he pushed himself into your mouth, his cock sliding deep, almost to the back of your throat.

You gagged, tears welling up at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you looked up at him, your vision blurred but still able to make out the expression on his face. It wasn’t the usual cocky smirk you were used to seeing. No, this time it was different—softer, almost guilty like he knew exactly how wrong this was but couldn’t help himself.

“F-Fuck…” he groaned, his voice low and strained, his hips moving rhythmically as he used your mouth for his pleasure.

You could feel every inch of him, the way his cock hit the back of your throat, the way his hands tightened in your hair, pulling just enough to make you whimper. It was overwhelming, the mix of pain and pleasure, the way your body reacted to him despite the danger.

You were choking, struggling to breathe, but there was a part of you that didn’t want it to stop. Maybe it was the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered at that moment. Or maybe it was the way his touch, rough as it was, still sent sparks of electricity through your body.

The tears welled up in your eyes, glistening like fragile crystals before they spilled over, tracing delicate paths down your flushed cheeks. You kept your gaze locked on him, your lips stretched wide around him, your throat flexing and contracting as you struggled to take him deeper, to accommodate the fullness of him.

The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of suffocation and surrender, as your body fought to adjust to his presence. His breath came in ragged, uneven bursts, each hitch and gasp betraying the intensity of his pleasure. His hands, strong and possessive, gripped you tighter, fingers digging into your skin as if to anchor himself in the moment, to ensure you couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to.

“Fuck, I’ve been wanting to try this,” Toby groaned, his voice low and rough, almost a growl. His hips shifted, pushing himself deeper, and you choked slightly, tears streaming faster as your throat worked to take him. “God, your mouth—shit, it’s even better than I thought.” He let out a shaky laugh, his fingers tangling in your hair, guiding you with a firmness that left no room for hesitation.

“Should’ve done this at the frat party. Hell, I should’ve skipped the whole damn mission and just fucked you instead. Would’ve been way more fun.”His words sent a jolt through you, a mix of humiliation and something darker, something that made your stomach twist and your pulse race.

You tried to pull back, but his grip tightened, holding you in place. “Nuh-uh, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone playful but edged with something sharper. “You’re not going anywhere. Not when you’re doing such a good job.” His hips rolled again, and you gagged, your nails digging into his thighs as you fought to keep up. “Yeah, just like that. Take it. You’re gonna swallow every damn drop.”

And you? You were suspended in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, a storm of fear and exhilaration that left you trembling. There was danger in this—danger in the way he loomed over you, in the way his control felt absolute, in the way your body was being used for his pleasure. It was wrong, you knew that, and yet the thrill of it was undeniable.

The powerlessness, the vulnerability, the sheer audacity of what you were doing—it was intoxicating. Your mind raced, torn between the instinct to resist and the dark, forbidden desire to give in completely.

He was lost in the moment, his movements becoming more urgent, more primal. The playfulness that had been there earlier—the teasing, the testing of limits—had given way to something raw and unrestrained. He was no longer holding back, and you could feel it in the way he thrust deeper, in the way his grip on you tightened almost painfully. It was as if he had crossed some invisible line, surrendering to the heat of the moment, to the pleasure you were giving him.

“Damn, you’re perfect,” he muttered, his voice strained, his breathing uneven. “Should’ve done this sooner. Should’ve had you on your knees for me every damn night.” His words were crude, almost careless, but they sent a shiver down your spine.

And when he finally released, it was with a guttural groan that seemed to come from the very depths of him. His release was hot and insistent, flooding your mouth, and you had no choice but to swallow, to take all of him in.

Toby’s laughter rang in your ears, a low, satisfied hum that sent a shiver down your spine. His fingers traced the line of your jaw, deceptively gentle as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. “Good job, pretty,” he murmured, his voice dripping with approval, thick with something smug. “Knew you had it in you.”

You barely had a second to process the praise before his grip shifted, hands curling around your wrists as he yanked you forward, dragging you off your knees with an ease that made your stomach twist.

“I’m sooo lucky my buddies in there didn’t put a bullet in you,” he mused, his tone lighthearted, almost playful—like he was joking. But the way his fingers tightened around your wrist?

That was anything but a joke.

“For real,” he continued, grinning as he spun you around, shoving you back against the nearest tree. “They don’t like loose ends.”

The impact sent a rough jolt through your spine, the bark biting into your skin as Toby moved in closer, eliminating any space you might’ve used to slip away. His body radiated heat, wild energy rolling off him in waves as he caged you in, arms braced on either side of your head.

His brown eyes flickered, sharp and unreadable, scanning your face like he was drinking in every flicker of emotion—every sharp breath, every slight tremor. Amusement curled in the corners of his lips, but there was something else lurking beneath it. Something darker. Something he wasn’t saying.

Still, he kept the act up, tilting his head with a dramatic pout. “Aw, don’t look so tense,” he teased, his voice lilting, full of that familiar, chaotic charm. “I didn’t let ‘em kill you, did I? Kinda sweet of me, if you think about it.”

His fingers ghosted over your hip, a barely-there touch that sent sparks shooting up your spine. “Could’ve been long gone by now,” he went on, his voice dipping lower, smoother. “Next town, few states down, fresh start. But nah.”

His grin faded, just a little, and somehow, that made your pulse quicken even more.

“Truth is, I didn’t wanna leave you.”

The weight of those words settled between you, heavy and certain, laced with something Toby wasn’t quite willing to admit outright. Instead, he let the silence stretch, watching the way you swallowed hard, the way your breath hitched just enough for him to notice. His lips curled into that smirk that drove you insane. "I’m a little sentimental, y’know? Didn’t really wanna see you go out like that.”

You scoffed, trying to ignore the way your pulse spiked at his words. “Oh, so I should be thanking you?”

He tilted his head as if considering it. “Yeah, actually. A lil’ gratitude wouldn’t hurt.” His fingers ghosted over your waist before gripping your hip, holding you there.

You swallowed hard. “That’s funny. ‘Cause all I remember is you disappearing and turning me into some kind of ghost-hunting idiot trying to track you down.”

His smirk returned, sharp as ever. “C’mon, you liked the chase.” His free hand reached up, brushing a stray hair from your face before tracing the line of your jaw, slow and deliberate. “Knew you’d miss me, too. And even if you didn’t—” He pulled back just enough to reach into his pocket, fishing out his phone. With a flick, he brought up the messages.

“Remind me who kept opening my texts, huh?”

Your stomach twisted. Shit.

Toby’s lips curled into something smug, something hungry as he kissed you—slow and deliberate like he was savoring the way you tensed beneath him. His grip on your wrists loosened just enough to let them fall, giving you the briefest moment of freedom before he took hold of something else—your leather jacket.

His fingers curled around the fabric, tugging it away from your shoulders with an ease that sent a chill creeping down your spine. He didn’t rush. He didn’t need to. There was something almost methodical in the way he worked, his hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, fingertips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your waist.

“Don’t act like you didn’t want me to find you,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. His lips hovered near your face, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. Then he chuckled, soft but knowing, like he was in on a secret you weren’t ready to admit.

“I’ve been watchin’, babe.”

Your breath hitched.

“Kinda cute, honestly. You goin’ about your lil’ college life, actin’ like you ain’t got me in the back of your head.”

His hands slid higher, trailing over your ribs, up to your chest—slow, teasing, like he was memorizing every inch of you with his touch alone. His thumbs brushed the underside of your tits, a deliberate squeeze following the motion, like he was testing just how much he could get away with.

That snapped you out of it.

You grit your teeth, shoving at his chest, trying to push him off. But he barely budged.

If anything, the struggle just seemed to amuse him.

His knee slotted between your legs, pressing just enough to keep you still, just enough to make it clear who was in control here. His grip tightened ever so slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he was still calling the shots.

“But now I’m here,” he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours with a quiet intensity. That wild, unpredictable edge still lurked beneath the surface, simmering just beneath the cocky smirk he wore. “And I gotta ask…” He leaned in, so close you could feel his words against your lips.

“You still think you can run?”

Toby hummed against your skin, his lips dragging along your jaw before pressing open-mouthed kisses up to your ear. His breath was warm, teasing, each word dripping with smug amusement as he whispered, “…Fuck, you smell good, y’know that?” His nose brushed against your neck as he inhaled, slow and deep, like he was trying to commit your scent to memory. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this for weeks.”

His hands didn’t stop moving, fingers sliding up, grazing your bare skin under your shirt, feeling you—possessive, yet unhurried. He squeezed your tits again, thumbs flicking over your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra, like he was testing your reaction.

You clenched your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sound.

Toby just laughed, his lips pressing against your pulse, right where he’d left those marks last time. His tongue flicked out, just enough to send a shiver through you, before he sank his teeth in, nipping at the already-sensitive skin.

“Mm, nah,” he murmured, voice muffled against your throat, “bet this wasn’t enough for you either, huh? You were feelin’ it, weren’t you?” Another bite, sharper this time, as if to prove his point. “Bet you were touchin’ these, thinkin’ about me.”

Your breath hitched. “Fuck off.”

Toby grinned against your skin. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t start lyin’ to me now.” He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his own flickering with something dark, something utterly pleased with himself. “You wanna know why I sent those messages? Why I didn’t just let you go?”

You swallowed hard, saying nothing.

He kissed you again, deep and slow, before pulling back just enough to speak.

“Your panties weren’t enough.”

Your stomach twisted.

His lips twitched into a smirk. “Had ‘em for weeks, babe, but it wasn’t doin’ it for me. I thought it would, y’know? Thought maybe I’d get you outta my system, maybe I’d move on…” He tilted his head, watching your reaction closely. “But nah. I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you.”

Toby’s fingers dug in just a little, his touch becoming firmer, more demanding.

“Every time I closed my eyes, I saw you.” He kissed the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then back down to your neck, inhaling deeply as he did. “Every time I touched myself, it wasn’t enough.”

Your breath stuttered, but he only grinned, eating up every reaction.

“So, I figured… why the hell would I leave?” Toby leaned in again, his nose brushing yours, his voice dipping lower, more intimate. “Why would I go when I could just… take you with me?”

Your thoughts were spiraling, torn between the weight of what he was saying and the undeniable pull of him—of this.

Leaving town? Leaving everything behind? Your classes, your plans, your family? What would you even become? Some run away, tangled up in Toby’s mess? A ghost of who you were, trailing after a killer with no real future? The idea sent a sharp pang through your chest.

But then again… what the hell were you planning to do after finding him?

Because, deep down, you knew. Toby was right. You liked the chase. The obsession. The thrill of it all.

You had no clue what came next.

But before the panic could take hold, before you could wrestle with the consequences of what he was offering—what he was taking—Toby’s lips crashed into yours again, drowning you in the taste of him. It was rough, and consuming, leaving no space for doubt.

The world around you blurred into a haze of sensation and sound as Toby’s hands gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. Your back pressed against the rough bark of the tree, the jagged edges scraping against your skin, but the discomfort was a distant echo compared to the heat of his body against yours.

His strength was undeniable, his movements deliberate and commanding as he pinned you in place, leaving no room for escape—not that you wanted to. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, your body betraying the conflict in your mind.

His fingers moved with practiced ease, unbuttoning your shorts and yanking them down along with your tights and panties in one fluid motion. The cold air nipped at your exposed skin, sending a shiver through you, but it was quickly replaced by the searing heat of his body as he pressed into you, his weight anchoring you against the tree. His breath was hot against your neck, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke, his voice low and dripping with a dangerous charm.

“Y’know,” he mused, his hands sliding up your thighs, his touch both teasing and possessive, “you think too much, babe.” His fingers dug into your skin, pushing your legs apart just enough to make you gasp.

“You’re sittin’ here, goin’ back and forth about leavin’—what, you think you got a real shot at normal?” He laughed a dark, throaty sound that sent a thrill down your spine. “C’mon. You came lookin’ for me. You wanted this.”

His words were a challenge, a reminder of the choices you’d made, the line you’d crossed when you sought him out. There was no going back now, and deep down, you knew it. His grip tightened on your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as if to imprint himself on you, to mark you as his.

“You don’t need to think, baby,” he murmured his voice a low growl that vibrated through you. “I’ll make the choice for you.”

And then he was inside you, his cock stretching you, filling you completely, his movements rough and unrelenting, each thrust driving you harder against the tree. The bark scraped and bit into your back, a sharp contrast to the searing heat of his body pressing into yours. But the pain only amplified the pleasure, the intensity of it all making your head spin.

Toby’s hands gripped your ass, lifting you slightly to meet him, his rhythm relentless, each stroke deeper, harder, more demanding. His breath came in ragged, uneven bursts, his forehead pressed against yours as he stared into your eyes, his gaze dark, unyielding, and utterly consuming.

“This is it, babe,” he panted, his voice thick with desire and something darker, something primal. “This is the life. No rules, no chains, just you and me and the open road. My buddies, they’ll take care of you too. We’ll keep you safe, keep you close. You’ll never wanna go back to that boring shit you called a life.”

His words were intoxicating, a dangerous promise that wrapped around you like a vice. But before you could even process them, his lips were on your neck, teeth sinking into your skin with a possessive hunger that made you gasp.

The sharp sting of his bite sent a jolt of electricity through you, your body arching against his as he sucked and nipped at your flesh, marking you as his. His hands tightened on your hips, his grip almost bruising as he held you in place, his thrusts growing more urgent, more desperate.

Then his hand slid up, his fingers wrapping around your throat, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your breath hitch, your pulse racing under his touch. He loved the way you looked at him, completely dazed, your lips parted, your eyes glazed with a mix of pleasure and submission.

“That’s it,” he growled, his voice low and rough, his thumb brushing over your jaw as he tightened his grip just slightly. “Look at you, takin’ me so good, beggin’ for more without even sayin’ a word.”

And you were.

You were begging, your body trembling, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, your hips rocking against his, desperate for more. The way he controlled you, the way he owned you at that moment, it was overwhelming, intoxicating. His hand on your throat, his teeth on your skin, his cock buried deep inside you—it was too much, and yet you never wanted it to end.

“Please,” you finally gasped, the word slipping out before you could stop it, your voice shaky, broken. “More, Toby, please…”

He smirked, “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. You could feel yourself being pulled deeper into his world, into the chaos and the thrill of it all. His hands moved to your hips, gripping you tightly as he thrust harder, his pace becoming almost frantic.

The sound of skin against skin, the feel of his body against yours, the way he filled you completely—it was overwhelming, consuming.

His breath was hot against your lips, the scent of sweat and something darker—something possessive—coiling between you like a silent promise. His hands gripped your hips, his body pressing you so deep into the mattress that it almost felt like he wanted to fuse you into it, to make sure you’d never leave.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered, voice rough and uneven, the words bleeding into a growl as he snapped his hips against you. His teeth grazed your jaw, your throat, a silent claim with every drag of his lips against your skin. “*Mine.* And I’m never lettin’ you go.”

His pace turned brutal, driven by something animalistic—something desperate. The bed creaked beneath you, the room thick with the sound of skin against skin, his breaths ragged as he pushed you closer to the edge. His fingers wrapped around your throat, not tight enough to scare, but *just* enough to make your pulse hammer beneath his grip.

Your vision blurred, pleasure winding tight in your core, your body shuddering beneath him as every thrust sent you spiraling higher. His grip tightened, his movements rougher, more erratic, until—

Heat. Pressure. His body stiffening against yours as his release tore through him. He groaned low in his throat, his grip faltering as he collapsed against you, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven gasps. And with that final push, that last overwhelming wave, you followed—your body trembling, pleasure wracking through you in waves so intense they left you breathless.

Toby didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just held you there, tangled in him, his face buried against the crook of your neck, his lips brushing your skin with every shaky breath. His arms curled around you, pulling you impossibly closer, as if afraid you’d slip away the second he let go.

And for a moment, you let him believe it. Let him believe you were his. Completely. Utterly. That you had fallen.

Well…

At least, that’s what he thought.

THWACK!

A sickening crack split the air.

Toby’s body jerked—then went completely still.

His breath hitched in his throat, the pressure in his skull overwhelming, disorienting. His vision swam, the world tilting violently as he tried to move, tried to make sense of what just happened—

But it was too late.

Darkness crashed over him like a tidal wave, sudden and absolute, drowning out every thought, every breath, every sound.

And just like that…

Toby went limp.

Somewhere in the haze of his mind, voices filtered in. Loud. Agitated. Familiar.

“What the fuck, Vidia? You knocked him out with a bat? A goddamn steel bat?”

“Oh, I’m sorry! Would you have rather let him keep going?” Vidia’s voice snapped back, breathless and full of righteous fury. “Because from where I was standing, you were real into it. And excuse me for not wanting to sit front-row for your ‘feral woodland creature fucks a serial killer’ special! You were supposed to grab him, not let him rearrange your spine against a tree!”

A snort. Amused. Disbelieving. “I’m not tackling a grown-ass man while he’s mid-stroke,” Vidia deadpanned, and you could practically hear the eyeroll. “You broke our two rules. Watch your back. Don’t get caught. And what do you do? Stalk a serial killer just to let him dick you down again? God, you’re not just stupid—you’re horny and stupid.”

You groaned, rubbing the back of your head as you sat up. “Can you not make this a whole thing?”

“Oh no, we are absolutely making this a thing.” Vidia’s voice was sharp and dripping with mockery, her presence looming over you like a judge about to pass a particularly scathing sentence. “You always go for the same type. The rugged, white boy rejects who aren’t even that cute.”

“First of all—shut the hell up,” you shot back, still breathless, still recovering from the sheer whiplash of events. “Second, you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m talking about,” Vidia said smugly, crouching beside you with an infuriating smirk. “You, my dear dumbass, are the worst decision-maker I have ever met. If your dumb choices were spells, I’d be throwing counter-charms every damn day.”

You gave her a flat look. “If my bad decisions were spells, you’d be out of fucking eye of newt by now.”

“And mandrake root,” she added, grinning.

You rolled your eyes, looking over at Toby’s unconscious body. He was completely knocked out, his body slumped in the dirt, mouth slightly open like a damn idiot. “Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah, yeah, Jesus indeed.” Vidia clapped her hands together, standing up. “So what’s the move, genius? Because from where I’m standing, it’s definitely not a hit-and-run anymore.” She nudged Toby’s foot with her boot. “Y’know, since you got dicked down and all.”

You shot her a glare. “Can we stop talking about that?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” She grinned wider. “I will be bringing this up at every possible opportunity.”

Suddenly, Toby’s eyelids fluttered, head still throbbing as reality rushed back to him. His limbs felt weird—weighted, restricted. His back pressed against something rough and solid. Slowly, blinking through the harsh glare of car headlights, his vision adjusted.

The first thing he saw?

You.

Still looking disheveled from before, your clothes hastily adjusted, but the evidence of what happened still lingered. Skin marked up, lips swollen, posture tense. You were standing next to a woman he didn’t recognize.

Toby’s gaze flicked to her—Vidia, was it?

Off-shoulder black long-sleeve top, purple maxi skirt swaying slightly as she shifted her weight, platform boots clicking against the pavement. Silver charms dangled in her hair, her twists framing her face in a way that made her annoyance look downright beautiful as well.

And then he realized—

His arms were tied up.

His expression darkened instantly, muscles tensing as he tugged against whatever was binding his wrists. “Oh, what the fuck?” His voice was rough, thick with irritation and leftover exhaustion.

Your head snapped toward him just as Vidia rolled her eyes. “Great, sleeping beauty’s awake.”

Toby’s lip curled into a smirk, eyes narrowing as he took both of you in. “Is this some freaky-ass threesome? ‘Cause, not gonna lie, this is not how I pictured it.”

Vidia made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “Yeah, right.” She turned on her heel and started toward the car, shaking her head. “You better handle your little problem before I do, bitch.”

“Bet, I will.” You mumbled.

Toby’s gaze flicked back to you, the smirk never quite leaving his lips. His head still ached, and he was pissed about being restrained, but goddamn—if this wasn’t interesting. He flexed his fingers, testing the restraints again, but damn, whoever tied him up actually knew what they were doing. His head still pounded from the bat-to-the-skull special, but his focus was locked on you—your nonchalant stance, the way you checked your phone like this was just another Wednesday night.

“Well, well, babe,” he drawled, voice still hoarse but laced with amusement. “Looks like you got some explaining to do.”

You barely glanced at him before flipping your phone screen toward him.

Vidia Location, next to yours.

Toby’s eyebrow twitched. “Oh shit, I should’ve taken your phone, I mean that’s… uh, cute? Kinda stalker-ish, actually.”

“Yeah, I’m not the one to talk about stalking here, Rogers,” you deadpanned. “Besides, Vidia and I have a system. I take action, she’s the cleanup crew. Like an efficient crime duo, except, y’know, college edition.”

Toby blinked, his smirk faltering just a bit. “Wait—hold the fuck on. How do you know my last name?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a thick folder, the edges worn like it had been flipped through more than once. You gave it a little shake, then let it fall open in your hands. The top page, in clear bold letters:

Tobias Erin ‘Toby’ Rogers

Also known as Ticci-Toby.

Toby’s stomach did a weird flip. Not fear—more like… baffled amusement. His eyes flicked from the file back to your smug little expression.

“Oh, no fucking way—”

“Oh, yes fucking way,” you cut him off, grinning as you flipped through the pages. “Shoutout to Vidia for this one. I told her about the creepy as fuck messages you were sending, and, well—turns out she’s kinda better at stalking than you are.”

Vidia, shouted and gave a lazy salute. “What can I say? I get bored.”

Toby stared, “You dug me up? Like, what—a full government background check? Social Security number, too? Jesus.”

You ignored him, scanning the file. “Mmm… childhood trauma, big surprise there… oh, look at that, arson! Fun stuff, love the classics—ah! Here we go.” You tapped the paper, eyes flicking up to him. “Nowadays, selling drugs for extra cash, and—oof, killing the buyer at the end if they don’t pay up. Real entrepreneur behavior.”

Toby rolled his eyes. “C’mon, it’s not that simple—”

“Frat boys disagree,” you sing-songed, tilting your head. “They told me all about you. How your prices just magically kept going up. That’s how I figured out where to find you, by the way. So, really, you played yourself.”

Toby groaned, tilting his head back. “God, I hate frat dudes.”

Vidia snickered out loud. “Bro, you literally sell to them.”

“Yeah, well, I’d rather kill them than talk to them.”

You smirked, snapping the file shut. “Guess that plan backfired, huh?”

Toby squinted at you, his smirk creeping back. “Yeah, okay, sure, whatever, you got me. But, uh—r-remind me again why you went through all this trouble? ‘Cause, like… not that I mind being stalked, but this is kinda giving crazy ex-girlfriend vibes.”

You clicked your tongue, stepping closer. “Because I was curious, Toby.”

He raised a brow, eyes gleaming as you leaned in.

“And,” you whispered, tapping his nose with your finger, “because I kinda like the chase.”

Toby inhaled sharply, and for the first time since waking up tied to a chair in a fucking parking lot, he actually felt a flicker of something close to thrill.

“Well, well, well,” he murmured, voice low, “aren’t you just full of surprises, babe.”

You shrugged, shoving your phone back in your pocket. “Boring-ass college town, might as well have some fun. Ruining dudes’ lives is kinda our extracurricular.”

Toby blinked. “You are so much worse than me, holy shit.”

Before he could argue further, the crunch of boots against gravel turned both your heads.

Vidia strolled back into the headlights’ glow, carrying a very concerning red gasoline canister in one hand and adjusting her leather gloves with the other. Her expression was deeply unbothered.

“Aight,” she said, tilting her head toward you, “so we killing him, or what?”

Toby choked on the air. “EX-FUCKING-SCUSE ME?”

You turned to Vidia, looking genuinely confused. “What? No? Who said anything about killing him? You always want to kill a dude after we are done.”

“Aww…” Vidia gestured lazily with the gasoline can. “I mean… it kinda felt like that was where we were going.”

Toby was fully invested in survival mode now, eyes darting between you and your disturbingly nonchalant roommate. “Okay, real quick, let’s all agree that murder? Not the move here. Like, I get it, I’m an asshole, I stalked you, I may or may not have terrorized a few people—”

“Understatement,” Vidia muttered.

“—BUT,” Toby pressed on, “if I suddenly go missing? That’s a huge problem for you.”

You folded your arms. “And why’s that?”

Toby’s smirk returned, though there was a flicker of actual warning in his eyes. “Because of my buddies—Kate, Brian, Tim? Yeah, they kinda like me. If I don’t come back, they will come looking. And trust me, babe, you don’t wanna be on their radar.”

Vidia exhaled through her nose, rolling her eyes as she very slowly put the gasoline down. “All right, fine. You got a point.”

Toby let out a relieved breath. “Oh, thank God—”

“But now what?” Vidia cut in, turning back to you. “Because this ain’t a hit-and-run anymore. We just kidnapped a dude, roughed him up, and now we’re in a very awkward hostage situation. So what’s the plan, genius?”

You pursed your lips, pretending to think.

Toby, still tied up, still half-dazed from the bat, muttered, “Oh, I hate where this is going.” He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “All right, babe, you gonna torture me? Maybe have your girl over there cut me up while you monologue about how you ‘won’?”

Vidia scoffed, adjusting the leather gloves on her hands. “Dude, I don’t have the patience for torture. And I don’t monologue—that’s her thing.”

You shot her a look, but she wasn’t wrong.

Toby watched the exchange, eyes flicking between you both before he spoke again. “Right, well. If y’all aren’t gonna kill me, what is the move here? ‘Cause lemme tell ya, leaving me alive? Probably not the smartest idea.”

You shrugged. “Never said we were smart.”

Vidia sighed, stepping up beside you. “Listen, I’m all for ruining men’s lives—”

“—she really is,” you muttered.

“—but,” she continued, “this is not just some dude. This is a serial killer with, like, friends in the business. Friends who will notice if he goes missing.” She jerked a thumb toward Toby. “And if we kill him, that’s just extra work for me.”

Toby grinned. “So, I live? That’s sweet of you.”

Vidia gave him the driest look imaginable. “Not what I said.”

You sighed, tapping your chin. This had started as just a game—track down the dangerous guy who thought he was in control, flip the script, and then… well. You hadn’t exactly thought past this part.

Dipping town with Toby? Leaving everything behind—college, your boring little life, your hard-earned reputation? That was a huge fucking leap. But at the same time, what else was there? You didn’t have a grand plan for your future. The closest thing you had to excitement was this—and the fact that you didn’t know what came next? Kinda thrilling.

You glanced down at Toby, who was watching you like he could see those gears turning in your head. His smirk was lazy, but there was something sharp in his eyes.

“Y’know, babe,” he murmured, voice dropping low, “I could help you figure it out.”

Your lips parted, but before you could speak—

“Absolutely not,” Vidia cut in, glaring at you. “Do not get wrapped up in this shit.”

Toby raised a brow. “Damn, you don’t trust your bestie to handle herself?”

“Oh, I do—I just don’t trust you to not be a psychotic little gremlin who drags her into some fucked-up murder cult.”

Toby made a face. “Wow. Hurtful.”

“Good.” Vidia sighed again, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Okay. New plan—we leave, he stays, and we pretend this never happened.”

Toby scoffed. “Yeah, like I’ll just let you walk away after all this.”

Vidia narrowed her eyes. “What are you gonna do, Rogers? Bark at us? Jitter threateningly?”

Toby’s smirk widened. “You are kinda funny. I get why she keeps you around.”

You bit back a laugh, and Vidia shot you a betrayed look. “Don’t encourage him.”

You shrugged, crossing your arms. “You did hit him in the head with a bat. I feel like we gotta let him have at least one-joke.”

Toby tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Y’know, babe, I’m real tempted to like you.”

“Yeah?” You leaned in just a little. “Then maybe you should prove it.”

His grin turned downright feral.

Vidia groaned. “Oh my god. I hate you both.” She turned her head to see the horizon was bleeding into a dull shade of orange, morning creeping over the city like a nosy neighbor. The distant hum of patrol cars still echoed through the streets, their searchlights carving through alleyways and abandoned lots.

They were looking for someone like him, no doubt.

Toby Rogers, Ticci-Toby, the boogeyman with a shit-eating grin. And yet, here he was, tied up, smirking like he held all the cards.

"Y'know, babe," he started, voice lazy, teasing, "technically, I'm supposed to kill you for all this."

You tilted your head, unconcerned. "Technically, you already tried to kill me once, and look where that got you."

Vidia snorted, arms crossed. "Yeah, tied up like a dumbass."

Toby just grinned wider. "See, that's exactly why you two should join us."

Your brows raised. "Join?"

"Yeah. I mean, you did hunt me down, crack me over the head, and nearly set me on fire," Toby said casually. "And, uh—no offense, but most people who try that shit end up dead."

Vidia scoffed. "Most people aren't us."

"Exactly," he said smoothly. "That’s why I’m offering—we could use people like you. Well, I could, at least." He glanced at you, then at Vidia. "You? Sharp, quick thinker. A little impulsive, but I dig it. And her?" He nodded toward Vidia. "Efficient as hell. Probably smarter than half the guys I work with."

Vidia rolled her eyes. "That’s a low bar."

Toby ignored that, his grin never faltering. "Look, there's only one chick in the group right now, and honestly? You two would be a perfect fit."

You and Vidia exchanged a look.

Vidia squinted at him. "Wait… you mean that same chick that deadass almost choked her out?" She jabbed a thumb toward you.

You sighed. "Yep. That's the one."

Vidia blinked. "Kate?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, no. Hard pass."

Toby laughed. "Okay, in her defense, she's a little on edge. But hey—she's got her quirks."

"Quirks?" Vidia repeated flatly. "Dude, she's scared of the flashlight on my phone."

Toby blinked. "…Oh. Yeah. She does hate that thing." He thought for a second, then shrugged. "Anyway, my bad about the whole choking thing. If it makes you feel better, I’ll tell Tim you guys are off-limits."

"Tim?" Vidia echoed. "And what? Do you think we're just gonna sign up for murder club? Like, 'Oh wow, what a great opportunity, where do we apply?'"

Toby smirked. "Hey, I get it. Big decision. Life-changing and all that. But let's be real—it's not like you guys got some grand future lined up. You're already playing with fire. Why not burn something down?"

You inhaled deeply, considering. It was a tempting offer.

A little murder. A little chaos. A little more of this.

Vidia sighed, rubbing her temple. "This is a terrible idea."

Toby grinned. "But you’re considering it, aren’t you?"

You exhaled through your nose, looking up at the sky. The night was fading, the real world creeping back in. But standing here, with Toby still tied up and grinning like a madman, with Vidia beside you rolling her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out—

You were starting to think… maybe the real world wasn’t where you belonged.

At the end of the day?

It was a hit or run.

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ckret2 · 23 days ago

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Hey gang, time for Crowdsourced Brainstorming Time

for reasons, I've got to write Mabel and Bill watching (at least large chunks of) a full Color Critters episode, which means I need something more in-depth than the quick snips & summaries I've done for previous episodes, and I feel like brainstorming a kids' cartoon plot is the kind of thing where twenty brains are better than one.

The goal: episode plotlines that sounds like something you'd find in an 80s Care Bears or Rainbow Brite episode. We're going for "run-of-the-mill episode," not a plot you'd expect in a pilot or a finale or an exciting two-parter special event

the premise of the show: anthropomorphic animals are defending colors, which are magically tied to different concepts. Example: the color green and friendship: when friends are fighting it kills nearby green things and if green things are destroyed it negatively impacts nearby friendships. it's for kindergarteners and teaches simple life lessons that people in the 80s thought were a good idea.

And if you haven't lost interest in this post yet, I'm sticking the available characters under the read more

Good guys, the colors they're in charge of, and what that gives them power over:

Prisma the Rainbow Fairy - rainbows, white, light - she's basically just Rainbow Brite. Everyone else's boss. Unofficially the main character.

Glory the Unicorn - pink - no particular domain, just Prisma's second-in-command and bestie. A bit of a worrywart.

Leo Proud - Red - life, exercise, playing (especially active play like sports)

Teddy Tender - orange - health/healing, fun & enjoyable things (less active play like board games)

Sunny Cat - yellow - sunlight, self-confidence, personal strength/power/assertiveness. she and Leo are cousins

Love Bunny - Green - friendship, love, nature

Howell Wolf - Blue - creativity, storytelling, magic (he's a wizard, he's got a wizard hat). he's besties with Leo

Misty the Dolphin - indigo - serenity/harmony, cooperation. She can't travel most places due to being a dolphin and gets used in well-intended but dated episodes about accommodating your friends with disabilities.

some bird I haven't named yet, maybe a peacock - purple - spirit

Bad guys:

Duke of Smog - the Big Bad, floating cloud of purple-gray smog with red angry eyes. He only takes an active role for special occasions like the pilot episode and season finales; otherwise the other characters frequently reference him but he's rarely seen. Wants to destroy color and goodness. No Heart mixed with that one creep in the Rainbow Brite pilot two-parter, what was with that dude anyway, they built him up so much as a villain and then bam he doesn't even survive to be part of the actual show

Serpent Grey - the second-in-command and most frequently seen bad guy. snake that has a mane for some reason. Bosses around the rank-and-file bad guys, cowardly dumbass who thinks he's a courageous genius. Shreeky mixed with G1 Starscream if he wasn't trying to overthrow megatron. If this show actually existed in the real world and I had watched it at age 7 then Serpent would be my favorite character and I'd probably have shipped him with the Duke.

a big fuzzy tarantula I haven't named yet - well-meaning bumbling dumbass who doesn't seem to realize he's one of the bad guys and is just happy to be included. Think Lurky.

a bee I also haven't named yet - the most important thing to know about him is that in season 1 he was a bad guy but then a special interest group angrily wrote the TV station to say that bees are so important to nature and agriculture and it was shameful for a children's cartoon to teach kids that bees are bad guys and so in season 2 he inexplicably joined the good guys and it took half the season for them to air an episode showing he switched sides because the other bad guys were bullying him and the good guys were nice.

"Hey Puff how come you can describe the bad guys in so much more detail than the good guys even though they're much less important?" don't look at me

#about my writing

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navydoves · 9 days ago

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Blood Bag — Chapter 2

“Does it hurt?”

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✎ᝰ. summary. you’re a vampire, you need blood. sylus is the most powerful man on this side of the planet. he has what you need.

✎ᝰ. cw. you’re a vampire/sylus is a human, yearning sylus, depressed sylus, lonely sylus, luke and kieran are side characters, not unrequited but maybe a little, ANGSTY, erotica, lots of pining here bro, sylus is currently getting more pathetic! ✎ᝰ. wc. 6.7k

✎ᝰ. a/n. alright a little bit overdo for a second chapter but here it is! hoorrraaay! sorry for the delay, i’m still a student and i do this in my free time. if you have any questions about the story, i answer all dms so feel free. this is not proof read because i wanted to get it out asap but i will try n fix things as time goes on. hope this chapter is satisfactory to you all and if anyone wants to be tagged for chapter 3, lmk!

chapter 1

he couldn’t believe he was in this position right now, both literally and figuratively. cradling the soft hair of this vampire’s head and pushing them further into the crevice of his neck, encouraging them to suck blood that even his enemies didn’t have privilege of seeing.

that first sink of your fangs stung a lot more than any normal nicks he’d gotten, but his body didn’t flinch away. he barely made a face as the room filled with groaning and slurping noises, all coming from you and your eager, insatiable hunger.

he thought maybe a few minutes of sucking would be enough time—enough blood—to pull you away and finally start questioning you, but you were insistent. and sylus, he was generous.

you were pawing at his chest, gripping onto his shirt and anchoring yourself closer as you reveled in what was the best blood to ever cross your tongue. you didn’t have the mental capacity to think about how he wasn’t pulling you away, how he just sat there compliant in your feeding. even when blood dripped down his neck and collarbones he made no move to clean it. he just held you.

but that generosity is why you were able to survive, and why the two of you are here where you are now.

his voice is a low rumble, interrogative but not angry. “who are you?” sylus asks once you finally pull back. he mentally remarks how much better you look, health gracing your face in a way that wasn’t there minutes earlier. you turn your head. defiant? maybe. scared? he wouldn’t believe it. “speak up. you don’t get to choose when and how you’re fearful. you weren’t hesitant when you broke into here, you don’t get to be hesitant now.”

he hooks a finger under your chin and turns your face to face his. one of his eyes glow, you notice, but that wasn’t your issue right now. you say your name quietly and it causes an identifiable feeling to sprout in sylus’s chest. it seemed so familiar… but it wasn’t the name on the report.

he holds up the slightly crumpled paper to you, eyes piercing into yours as if daring you to lie. “and who is this?” he sees you avert your gaze again but before he could force your face back to him, you answer.

“me.”

it takes a few moments but an incredulous chuckle escapes sylus throat. “can you see why i’m a little confused then?” he rasps, frustration lining his voice. all this time. “what’s a dead girl from philos doing in my fucking house? ah sorry, supposed to be dead.” sylus leans in closer, his hot breath crowding your face and forcing you to back up into the corner. “and you fucking bit me. you bit me in hopes of turning the strongest man in the n109 zone into a vampire, but guess what sweet thing? it didn’t fucking work. i’ll bring your dead body back to whomever you work for and show them myself how much of a fucking failure they are. would you like that? because death is mercy compared to what they’ve done to you.”

the monologue does little to disturb you, sylus notices. you instead keep still with your eyes squinted and brows furrowed, like you were a little disgusted at him and his threats. but whatever you were feeling was irrelevant to sylus. how you got yourself here and why was the only thing on his mind.

he was near seething at this point. seeing the stress he’s dealt with over the last several weeks be given a face and a weakness was nirvana itself for him. all the ways he could make you suffer and make an example out of you; he could show all other nations just exactly how to deal with a vampire.

“silence huh? it’s fine, i can play the long game,” sylus grins. you were still unmoving but there was unspoken emotion in your eye. behind what seemed like disgust, you looked a bit defeated. and despite wanting to explore what you were hiding, sylus couldn’t bring him to stare at your eyes for too long. it was painful. it felt painful, like he knew those eyes and that pain too well.

sylus stands, grabs you by the nape of your cloak, and almost drags you out of the room. he was so sick and tired of this, he needed a break even if he did also need answers.

“luke, kieran,” sylus mumbles while stepping out of his office door, you stumbling behind him. “take her to security and confine her in a silver cage. any and every camera in there should be pointed at her. keep the lights low, i don’t want to kill her yet.”

the twins perk up seeing sylus and the strange, staggering girl. when they caught her she could barely walk or fight back, but now she was up on two feet.

“silver? lights?” luke mumbles, not believing the conclusion he was about to come to.

“vampire,” kieran finishes that thought telepathically.

both their faces were a little horrified-looking. a vampire? here? in their estate? the same string of questions that crossed sylus earlier was now being shared by the twins.

“wait but, h—“

sylus raises his hand and cuts kieran off. “i gave you orders, none of which say ‘ask sylus questions.’ take her there, do what i asked and then come back up. no interrogating, no torturing, nothing. you speak to me only.”

the twins exchange a glance and nod imperceptibly before moving toward you and hooking you tightly against their bodies with their arms. without question, without fuss, they stumble you to the elevator and give sylus one last concerned look before disappearing from the hall.

sylus stays still for several moments before grasping at his hair and groaning.

“fuck me.”

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“she… she bit you?” luke whispers.

kieran wasn’t able to even formulate words at the impossible scenario, but this was neither impossible nor a scenario, it was the reality.

“she did… twice,” sylus responds, his hands rubbing at his face. after weeks of high stress all he could do now was sit in his exhaustion and not even triumph in catching his prey. and sylus loved catching his prey. “but… i let her the second time. the first time, i don’t know how or when but she got to me but i was asleep. the second time was just now. she was dying and… i couldn’t let the vermin perish without knowing how she infiltrated the n109 zone and the estate.”

the twins stay uncharacteristically still while they absorbed sylus’s words. the quarantining and stalking of the house was finally being explained to them; a vampire under their noses this whole time.

“so then… boss are you…” luke continued, “are you… a vampire now?”

there was tense silence between the three. “no, i’m not. a dragon like me can’t be taken down so easily, but i do feel weaker.” he sighs, sitting up and looking to the ceiling. “not just physically, but mentally. like i’ve been duped and that i’ve gone soft. she got me in a weak spot i didn’t know i had, and i hate having weak spots.”

with his head angled up, kieran could see the fresh bite mark on sylus’s neck. it made him wince. “what’re you gonna do then?” he asks softly.

sylus gives the question a few moments of thought. torture was almost a guaranteed way to get anyone to talk, but he still wasn’t a fan of that idea even to a nuisance like you. your refusal to speak could mean an indefinite amount of things. as hypocritical as it was; maybe you were scared. or maybe you (rightfully) didn’t trust sylus, or you were still dying, or that you didn’t want to give up the name of the people you were working with. if you were with others anyway—that conclusion was one sylus came up with on his own. but how could you not? this couldn’t have been a one-woman-show.

“i don’t know…” sylus exhales, “i’m going to get what i need to out of her, but this entire thing is… more than complicated. i do know what we aren’t going to do, though.” the twins lean in a bit interested as sylus readjusts himself. “we aren’t going to torture her. we have to keep her at least stable. she can’t start withering away under our noses and all of the sudden, next day we walk in on a dead vampire in my house.”

luke glances down as if he didn’t really like the idea. “sounds like we’re treating her more like a guest and not an intruder,” he mumbles, “an intruder that tried to turn you, by the way.”

“luke,” sylus warns, “listen i don’t need the remarks, okay? i know… it’s not what you guys want but we can’t just kill her and… i just can’t bring myself to torture her. it’s never been my sort of play and it’s not now.”

another tense silence follows.

“so then…” kieran whispers, “how’re you gonna keep her ‘stable’?”

“as long as we keep the lights low and give her blood—“ sylus cuts himself off. fuck, blood. you need blood. you need blood to survive and he can’t just give you half-assed meals to eat. you’re a vampire, that’s the whole fucking issue here. “listen,” he continues, “let me worry about the logistics. i don’t want you two going near her until i deem it safe. god forbid you two get hurt in someway, it’ll be in my conscience until i die myself.”

the twins perk up slightly. “really? you’d care if we got hurt or died?” luke asks almost cheerfully. kieran simply looks at his brother to reprimand him.

“i’m not gonna entertain that question,” sylus gruffs. “all i ask of you two is for some space while i consider where to go from here. if i need your help, ill come to you, but for the most part, just go on about your duties like normal. is that understood?”

the twins look at each other and then back at sylus before giving him a slight nod of understanding. being asked to pretend like everything was normal when there was a vampire a few floors down was insanity to them, but they knew better than to fight their boss on this. sylus needed his time, and they trusted him to effectively handle this.

“alright, boss,” kieran sighs softly, “but if your condition gets any worse, tell us okay? we at least wanna be there for you. y’know… even if we can’t do anything about it.”

the twins slump slightly—kieran’s word came off a lot more solemn they he intended. boss wouldn’t die, right? they hoped boss was stronger than a few vampire bites. but that look on boss's face did not quell their anxieties. that look of pure exhaustion.

instead of fighting them on their insistence, sylus simply nods at the two, acknowledging their care for him even if he felt it unnecessary. he motions for them to leave his office and doesn’t bother wishing them a goodnight. the last thing on his mind was pleasantries.

alone, in his office, with nothing but his thoughts and an aching body affected by the vampire bite, sylus was unsure of what to do next. he had to talk to her, of course, but how to was the issue. another issue was just how to feed her.

former hostages, criminals, suspects, all that galore didn’t compare to this simple vampire. because at least with them, coaxing the truth with threats and humiliation came easily. humans were easy to crack, but vampires? maybe not this one.

when his eyes glance over it, sylus immediately goes back to the discarded death report on the side of the room. this was another thing he wasn’t sure how to interpret. was this another fake report? but no, you said it yourself, this was you. well this was supposed to be you. a human from philos.

staring at the paper would do him no justice, though, and the answers had to come directly from you otherwise he would find dead ends all day. so for the time being, he would just… be calm. the ache from the bite was still strumming through sylus’s veins and he needed it gone before he could make his way to you. no way was he gonna let you see your effect on him, he’d already been humiliated in your wake once.

sylus stands, moves over to the black and red encrusted mirror on the wall, and faces a man he no longer recognizes. today that man would become more of a stranger.

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clink, clank, clink, clank.

those were the sounds of sylus’s boots stepping down the stairs to the security room where you were kept away. he opted for the stairs and not the elevator to give himself time to… think, of course. he wasn’t stalling. he had no reason to… this is just some silly vampire that he could deal with. just another obstacle in his life that would make him stronger, coming out the end of it.

at the bottom of the stairs, he sighs. the air was already tense with the sound of generators and electricity humming throughout. he knew you were in there, he could see you vaguely from the door separating the stairs and the room. you were quiet as a mouse and still as a possum. he hoped what he had would change that, make you more lively to talk.

in one hand was a silver box filled with jars of animal blood that he hoped you would drink for food. in the other hand was a notepad and pen, something for you to use to write if you refused to verbally speak. if you could write at all.

it took him a few more moments of “thinking” before he decided to step into the room. his strides were long and calm, no doubt or hesitation in his movements. he knew better than to come off as anything but confident. he was confident and still all the more irritated at the situation.

outside of your silver cage he pulls a rogue wheely chair and sits on it quietly before setting his things down. he could see your face peeking out of your hood, scanning his lower half.

there’s a heavy silence between the two of you. it was understood that you weren’t going to speak first anyway, so the man across from you took that liberty.

“are you hungry?” sylus asks lowly, not concern in his voice but a neutral tone for a very simple question. as expected, you don’t answer. he reaches down to the silver box and clicks it open. one by one, he places the jars of blood in front of your cage, just out of your reach. “i have blood here, ready for you. i’ll give you some morsels… but your vow of silence will prevent me from doing so. you should understand it’s in your best interest to speak.”

no reply. he sees just slight interest in your very subtle movements, but nothing more. the jars are in eyeshot of your vision, but whether it be disinterest or defiance, you weren’t making any attempts at them.

sylus places the box down and picks up the pad and pen. he slides it through the slivers between bars around your cage, right where you can reach it. “if this vow of silence is so important to you,” he drones on, “then it’d be easier for you to write. either way, i’m the only one who can keep you alive now. you know how desperate you were for blood just yesterday, it wasn’t a fun feeling was it? starvation. so i’d advise you to communicate if you want to avoid that pain.”

sylus inches one of the jars to you with his foot, watching carefully how you react. for several moments you were perched the same—huddling at the farthest edge from him in your cloak, hiding your form and face from him. but in the next second, you were moving. with one snatch you took the jar from the other edge and just when sylus thought you were about to scarf it all down, you instead threw it to the side of the cage and smashed it into pieces. blood was now soaked onto the floor and dripping down the bars, some of it on your cloak.

from under your hood, sylus could see seething anger from your eyes. in the short time he’s known you, he’s seen you desperate, upset, fearful, disgusted, and now angry. the sudden violence took sylus aback for a moment, but he recovered quickly.

he scoffed. “throwing a fit now? i’m not here to talk morals with a vampire but i don’t know if you have the right to be angry when you’re the cause of all of your problems.” sylus tilts his head and taps the side of his cheek with a slow, pondering finger. “there goes one of your meals. i won’t be providing more so think rationally before you break another jar.”

sylus watches you tentatively now. you were so interesting and annoying all at the same time. he couldn’t let you starve to death, so his words were more-so puffery—somewhat lies. he couldn’t say that he was desperate for your answers because it gave you the power, and you’ve had enough power over him at this point.

he had to play his cards right. he couldn’t seem too soft, but he couldn’t threaten you too much because he wouldn’t be able to go through with threats. you’d catch onto his bluff real quick. if you were to break all the jars, what was he gonna do next? go back on his word and give you more? an unfortunately smart vampire like you would just continue using him.

but thankfully… he didn’t need to do all that overthinking.

“i don’t want this… fucking animal blood,” you grit out lowly.

for the first time, sylus was hearing your real, normal voice. not the voice that was dried up and begging for blood and not the meek one you used to point yourself out on the report. a full, hearty voice. a voice he… felt distantly familiar in his chest somewhere. but sylus tries not to let his surprise show.

“so, you’d rather starve?” he chuckles, “i’m fine with that. means i won’t feel guilty when you die cause it’ll be a death by suicide.”

he wasn’t fine with that.

“you’re not fine with that.”

sylus raises a brow. you pull your cloak back and let your true anger show in the very dim light of the security room. you still looked healthy and nourished, at least enough to give you this newfound energy you had. what a soft face for such a cruel creature.

“i don’t plan on starving,” you continue, “but i don’t plan on drinking animal blood. it has no nutritional value to me.”

another low laugh rips from sylus’s chest. “you think you have the right to be picky as well? may i remind you where you are and who you’re speaking to? this is the last sovereignty on earth to be so pompous. humor me then, how do you plan on surviving?”

a beat, then your voice. “sylus,” you whisper rather softly.

“huh?” sylus grumbles.

“that’s who i’m speaking to, but that’s also how im gonna survive. im gonna survive off of you. your blood.”

sylus takes a moment to just simply stare at you and take in your indignation before a small fit of laughter broke into him. it welled up from a few chuckles to a genuine and hearty sound from his chest, pure amusement and disbelief lacing every sound. you simply stare back, annoyed and somewhat unsure of what to make of the situation.

“i’m being serious.”

“i’m aware, and that’s why it’s funny,” sylus retorts. “you’re trying to use my own desperation against me like i’m feeble enough to just give into your demands. let me take a little guess. you want my blood so that in exchange, i get information out of you? yeah? not a chance.”

sylus would be lying if he said he didn’t already consider this deal. he figured that if there was any negotiation between you two, it would have something to do with him being generous with you. you had something he wanted; so despite you being the one in the cage, you were leading this discussion—and he didn’t like that.

“i’m not quite sure why you’re laughing like the idea is outlandish,” you respond with a slightly offended tone. “it’s not like you can’t take it. for the things i could tell you, a few pints of blood to hold me over is cheap. sylus, head of onichynus and overseer of the n109 zone, turning down a bargain that could uplift his sovereignty to even greater heights… because he can’t part with some blood? pathetic.”

sylus’s amusement quickly falters at your words. your words could be bluff or exaggerated, he wouldn’t be able to tell anyway. at the very least you had some insight on him and his sovereignty enough to speak with such familiarity. i mean, fuck, you made it into his estate—if anything you knew intimate details about his own personal life.

sylus tilts his head in irritation and bares his teeth slightly. “i’m sure you didn’t come all the way here to give me some sort of extraordinary intel out of the goodness of your heart. you broke in and bit me, not much of a conversation there.”

you smirk slightly. “it’s true, i came here for your blood. but i also didn’t come here to share my life story with you. i’m only negotiating now because i’ve been caught.”

blood? fuck, he was one step into the door now. a motive—he has some sort of motive as to why you’re here, but that answer of yours only begs more questions. why his blood specifically? it didn’t seem like you wanted it because of his status, but what other reason could you have.

“my blood?” sylus repeats mockingly. “surely a quick-witted, mouthy vermin like you could get her hands on any human that walks by. there are two healthy young men in my estate, blood surely fresher than mine. the n109 zone is filled with young vigilantes with blood surely more course than mine. and not to mention… philos—if that is your birthplace—is populated by high-ranking officials and families, with blood surely sweeter than mine. and yet, you’ve chosen me? why have i been hexed?”

there’s a slight flicker of dejection in your expression that adds such a human element to you. every new emotion in your face feels so utterly familiar to sylus, it was starting to feel uncomfortable.

“i think you know why i chose you,” you whisper back.

“what?”

there was silence from you now. of course there was. you were still playing games with him and for him to play with you, it would cost him some blood. in the silence that ensues, sylus considers your words. what did he have that regular humans didn’t? apart from his status and power, what could make him a target for blood?

and then.

an idea hits him.

but it was… unfathomable.

he could almost feel the horns growing on the sides of his head, the cold scales prickling at his skin, the phantom tail moving behind him. that body that he once was was luxurious but also all the more hated. luke and kieran were born from a human woman. the vigilantes in the n109 zone were unreformed, outcasted humans from other nations. philos was regal, but not divine. their people and rulers were all human.

but sylus… sylus is a dragon.

or at least, was.

he furrows his brows and eyes you down in your cage. you meet his gaze with an equally challenging look. there was unspoken tension between you two, secrets that both of you were unsure how or if to unravel.

you broke the tension first.

“i need blood,” you whisper. “i’m getting hungry again and i wither away quickly. i don’t want whatever pigs blood you’ve brought. stop fighting me, just give me what i need.”

another short silence.

“i have every weapon you could imagine perfected in silver and stocked up in this very room,” sylus states very, very carefully. he gestures to the crates around them. “if i sense even the slightest bit of threat from you, i kill you with no hesitation. and i will do it in the most painful way possible.”

you simply look at him, resolute unshaken. you nod.

with no words to continue his threat, sylus reached into his jacket pocket and takes out a small knife foldable knife. he clicks it out and brings it to his palm for a cut before your voice stops him.

“no,” you jut in rather loudly, “i need it… from the source. it’s not as good otherwise.”

sylus opens his mouth to denounce that idea but your voice once again stops him. a small, almost pitiful, and unusually earnest, “please” that falls from your lips. he stills with the knife against his palm for a few more moments before clicking it back and putting it away. while at the beginning of all this, giving into your demands would’ve been humiliating, the idea of you knowing about his past is even more so. so now, it’s easy to unlock the door to your cage and gesture you to come to him.

and you, so as to not wear him out or risk your life, come to him slowly and quietly. once close, gently, you climb his lap and tilt your head into his neck. his scent was all too familiar to you, it almost made you sob right there, but your hunger was more pronounced.

the bite was a soft and almost imperceptible nick to sylus’s throat, followed by the sting of your sinking fangs.

the only thing sylus could do at this point was wait until you had your fill like he did when he first caught you. you weren’t as loud as the day before, though. instead of desperate slurping and groaning, you were quietly gulping with soft sighs to accompany it.

he felt quite humbled by letting this happen to him, but at this point, maybe it was too late for him to care that much.

sylus felt the crowd of your body against his as you sank in for more. he was unsure of what to do with his hands so, with a bit of resignation, he placed them on your hips and savored your familiar warmth against his body.

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two crow masks were discarded to the middle of the couch. luke and kieran faced each other on opposite ends of it.

“do you think he’ll be okay?” luke asks softly. him and his brother spent the last few hours after they put the vampire away, worrying and mulling the situation over.

“we’ve seen boss get through worse. he’ll be alright. there’s no reason to worry luke,” kieran responds trying to reassure. except, the worry between them didn’t let up one bit.

“but has he been through worse? forget conflicts and trade wars and everything else between the sovereignties. no one has gotten to boss this personally before. i mean… almost killing him? kieran…”

“luke,” kieran sighs softly, “you saw him. two vampire bites and he’s still holding up. i can’t think of anyone else who could do that. we can worry all we want but… but it’s not our place to do anything. boss won’t listen to our advice anyway.” kieran rubs his face and perches his chin on his palm. a soft sigh escapes him. “plus… he has his own weird way of caring for us. he won’t let us help ‘cause he worries we’ll be like… traumatized or something.”

luke chuckles just slightly, “at least he cares.”

the twins both laugh a little painfully at the slightly morbid humor. they meet eyes, their identical faces mirroring identical expressions of exhaustion.

“what’d’you think he’s doing now?” kieran asks.

“hm, probably threatening her with all his weapons to get a confession or something.” luke responds.

well it wasn’t going to be that difficult.

“does it hurt?” you ask softly while looking at sylus through the bedroom mirror. you were sat decorously at the small round table in the room, glancing over to sylus who was standing before the mirror and patching up the bite mark.

“doesn’t matter, don’t small talk me,” he responds straightly.

after a few more moments of ensuring the bandage patch was securely on, sylus strode to the small table where you were sat quietly. apart from your need for blood, there was unfortunately nothing odd about you. the politeness was strange. he doesn’t waste any time.

“how did you get in here?” sylus presses.

you glance around, a little unsure of how exactly to answer this. “well, you. you told me,” you respond.

sylus knits his brows together and almost laughs. he shakes his head incredulously. “no i didn’t. how did you get in here?” he repeats.

“the bar,” you state simply. “you were at a bar a about a week ago. you were downing shots and racking up a tab. first ten or so it was my coworker who served you, then it was me. unprovoked, you started complaining about the renovations of your home. i simply continued asking questions and you… well you essentially told me the security was off until they were done. i asked you at some point how you’d get home so drunk and you told me the numbers of your chauffeurs. once you were finished with your drinks, i offered to call them and went into the back, got my male coworker to do it, and took off before the renovations were done. i made it just before you did and overheard your… twins? talking about their bedrooms on the fifth floor. so i took a chance and went up there to also find your room, where i hid until you came back home.”

the monologue of your story leaves sylus absolutely bewildered. it was the first time he really was showing something genuine to you. his face was crumpled up in some sort of upset and disbelief, and despite his racing thoughts, he couldn’t really say anything. you both look at each other in practiced silence. what could he make of this?

“you were plotting against me? working for that bar knowing i frequented it to get me at my most vulnerable,” sylus laughs humorlessly, “and you found a blessing just that day.”

you shake your head. “that’s only half true. i wasn’t working there knowing you frequented it. in fact i’d only been there a week before you showed up. but i did take advantage of you and your situation once i had the chance.”

yet another tense silence. sylus couldn’t really believe how direct and open you were being. everything you said seemed honest to him, a man who’d dealt with dishonesty from criminals his whole life. but what sylus couldn’t believe more-so was how much of an idiot he had been. his loose lips and foggy mind haphazardly put him and the twins in danger and he couldn’t even be proud to finally figure out some of the mystery.

“but that doesn’t make sense,” he grits, “you were in the n109 zone as a vampire? we have border security checks for threats. are there fucking more of you?”

he notices how you hesitate to answer. the last thing he needed was for you to say there was some vampire affiliated gang in his sovereignty.

“no, not that i know of,” you respond softly. “i came to the n109 zone a long, long time ago. when i first turned, that is. i came from philos. the outbreak there was bad and there was worldwide panic due to vampirism. after i got bitten, i escaped because i knew if anyone found out i’d be staked immediately. the n109 zone seemed the safest because of its reputation of taking in outcasts. no one would question me here, everyone minds their business. so i’ve lived here for the last… i guess many decades.”

“many decades?” sylus repeats. the disgruntled expression on his face couldn’t properly portray the mess that was his mind. it felt like week after week for the past almost month, he’d been beaten down with a stick and left to lay in exhaustion. his worldview was constantly changing.

“have you killed?!” he barks. “tell me, have you killed anyone for blood?! you’ve killed haven’t you? you’ve gone this many years living under the radar, you’ve surely killed—“

“i haven’t!” you yell, stopping sylus’s growing anger. “i haven’t! i haven’t at all. i’ve been barely getting by with animal blood. fucking… killing rats in alleyways and stray cats and dogs… stuff like that. i’ve rationed frugally, okay? stake me for trying to fucking live, but i’ve never hurt anyone.”

“how do i know that’s true?” sylus breathes out. there’s his eye, glowing again and really boring into you.

“well, i guess you don’t. but maybe you should. this is your nation after all, these are your people after all. if i really did kill someone, maybe you should’ve been fucking aware of it like a good leader. but you don’t know about killings because i didn’t kill. i hid so well and adapted to your society so perfectly that to you and to everyone else, i was human. so don’t go fucking pointing fingers at me saying i did shit i didn’t.”

sylus could feel his heart beating harder now. he was upset at you but more-so himself. but during all these decades, has he stumbled upon you? has he seen your face and heard your voice that now he thinks—

“is that why i recognize you?”

the question immediately shuts you up. he sees you move back into the chair and immediately relinquish any type of aggravation you had. you looked hurt, but he didn’t understand why.

“no… no. i’ve always hid away from you. i made sure i never saw you in person and you never saw me.” you whisper. you could feel a bitter ache in your stomach. he didn’t remember you.

sylus also backs down, sitting back in his chair.

“i need you to answer this again, and i want an honest answer,” he states firmly. “why my blood?”

a long, impending silence follows. sylus is patient. you are worried.

“dragon’s blood. your blood is more potent than any human’s. after decades of living on scraps… i needed it. when i saw the opportunity at the bar i took it, and every single bite afterward felt so, so fucking good. like nothing i’ve ever tasted before. you don’t even understand.”

dragon’s blood.

it was true that sylus was a human now, but his dragon heritage was still apart of him. it was quite literally in his blood, but that heritage was always kept a secret. sylus wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t have that boyish fear of being judged. after all, it has been instilled in him for years. outcasted as a baby dragon to a full grown one, there wasn’t a day where he didn’t face ridicule and torture for being what he was. he wasn’t cruel, but people made him cruel. only faintly did he know happiness and love brought upon a person he can no longer make out.

“why… how… do you know about my…?” sylus trails off. he hasn’t talked about his past in literal eons, and now the topic of this conversation was getting to him. similar to you, there wasn’t bitter ache within him.

“they talked about you in philos, told tales and stories about evil dragons and teach them to the kids, even. i learned about it when i was young. they never specify you, though. i just… um… happen to know.” your whispered truth was only half the truth. you couldn’t bare to be fully honest.

“…do you believe them?” sylus whispers. his eyes were squinted down at the table and searching for an answer in the air. “the stories… tales.”

you shake your head gently. “no. i don’t. and it’s not because i’ve learned differently or something. i just never have.”

sylus takes a moment to consider your words and lift his head back up. this sort of dejection was unfamiliar him, but you seemed to quell that feeling. he’s never met someone accepting of what he was. maybe it was because that disgusting form with horns and tail wasn’t before you now, but he’d take anything.

“why do you want to live?” sylus asks simply. that tired, dull look was back.

you curl your lip in thought. “because… i deserve to? i haven’t hurt anyone. i’ve lived a quiet life. i’ve paid my dues and my sins with my human life. i may be immortal but i will die one day. i’ll choose when that day is. it’s not now.”

i don’t want to be reborn. i don’t want to be reborn.

sylus lets out a small breath of surrender. he couldn’t fight you on this anymore. even with the lingering confusion in his head, you’ve answered most of his questions. a week ago, he’d imagine this moment where he finally reached the end of this mystery to be triumphant and empowering.

but he felt none of that right now. he felt a little empty. unrecognizable. like his weaknesses are loud to everyone around him.

the fog clouds him and through it he can hear your voice.

“sylus,” you whisper.

he looks to you, patient.

“can i have more blood?”

silently, he pushes out his chair and nods.

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“do you think he’s in there?” luke whisper shouts to his brother. they were both huddled at the end of the hallway where the bedrooms were.

“i mean,” kieran whisper shouts back, “we’ve checked his office, the living rooms, the kitchens, the security room, he wasn’t anywhere there. this is the last place.”

“do you think something happened, kieran? i mean that damn vampire girl wasn’t in her cage!”

kieran sighs. “no, i don’t. he’s probably out at base with her or something. we never know what’s going on in his mind, he’s probably out handling this his own way.”

luke exhales in defeat. his brother was right, boss did never clue them in on his plans unless they were directly needed. he always took care of things in a very specific way that only he knew how to do. this whole situation was only worrying them because they did not like the idea of a vampire in their estate. they even made it a routine to check for bites and nicks on their bodies before and after bed, just to be sure.

“okay,” luke stands straight, “let’s just go check his bedroom and we’ll go back to our rooms before he gets mad at us for bothering him. if he’s in there anyway.”

kieran nods at his brother. the two very quietly scuffle down the hall until they were right by sylus’s bedroom door. up until this point, they were next to convinced that he wasn’t in the estate. but that was until they heard noises from behind the door.

voices, but not speech.

one of which was definitely sylus’s but the other of which was unrecognizable. they tense but decide to knock anyway. the sound is soft and non-intrusive, but it did nothing. no one came to the door and the noises didn’t stop.

kieran reaches out to knock again but luke stops him at the wrist. “let’s just…” he trails off while reaching for the doorknob, “go in.”

kieran was unsure but nods anyway. slowly, they open the door all the way in and take a moment to understand the sight they were met with.

you, the girl they recognized as the vampire, perched on sylus’s lap on the bed with your teeth sunk into his neck and sucking like it was your last meal. sylus, their boss, gently petting your head and giving you infrequent pecks to the cheek. it didn’t take long for everyone in the room to stop dead in their tracks and notice what was happening.

they froze. sylus froze. you froze.

“b-boss?”

tl: @seventeen-x , @webshooterrr9 , @theycallmesoup , @satansdaughter123 , @tyasmaple , @jaynawayna , @jadeymeciela , @namjooningera , @phisen , @eepamaawo , @lolaisoffline

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