#so it was really frustrating to just have her sitting in my files so long
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enthusiastic-nimrod · 2 years ago
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My carnie girl! I've had her sketch sitting in my files for a long time now, so it's a relief to finally have her done.
Does she count as a clown? I feel like she's clown-adjacent...
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dollgxtz · 3 months ago
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His Watchful Eye Pt.8
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Word Count: 23.4k
Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, mentions of pregnancy, forced pregnancy, mentions of breeding, attempted murder, mentions of murder, tw attempted car crash, manipulation, pet names like, kitten, sweetie, honey, Xavier appears, tw vomiting, mentions of blood, cramping, nausea, very plot heavy chapter wld recommend not skipping, its well worth the read!
Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti , @m0onlustre , @ve1vet-cake, @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglmela @connorsui, @iluvmewwwww75, @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer, @mysssticc, @babygirl-panda19, @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1, @honnylemontea, @altariasu, @the-slytherin-poet, @sorryimakira, @pearlymel, @emidpsandia , @angel-jupiter, @hwangintakswifey, @webmvie, @housesortinghat, @fading-twinkle, @shoruio, @gojos1ut, @solomonlover, @cheesenjam, @elegantnightblaze
AN: Hi all! This is of course on A03! I totally forgot about my wisdom teeth removal surgery and therefore added a LOT more words to make up for it for the late upload. Also, readers symptoms are based on what a friend told me it was like for her so please be aware of that going in if you've been pregnant and don't find readers timeline aligning with your own. Its a lot different for everyone! (Plus considering Sylus isn't even human in the first place I doubt the pregnancy would be normal anyways lol). Anyways, please enjoy this chapter! /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
“No, I’m not pregnant,” you whimpered, shaking your head as tears started to spill down your cheeks. “I’m just sick…I'm just sick...” “Only one way to find out, honey,” he murmured, his voice soft, soothing. Like he was comforting a child. He could feel your fear, could see the way you were choking on the sobs that kept spilling from you. But there was no rush. He had all the time in the world.
Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.9
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Sylus sat on the couch, fingers drumming absently against the wood of the arm rest as he packed away files and data chips for the upcoming trip. The low hum of the N109 Zone’s endless night buzzed through the small cracks of the window, a constant, oppressive reminder of where he lived. But his mind wasn’t on the trip, not really. His thoughts kept circling back to you—you sitting on the bed, wrapped in a blanket, probably confused at the coldness he’d been showing you for days.
He had expected this. Of course, you would try to leave him. That’s what all this distance had been about—your inevitable attempt at escape again. It was frustrating, yes, but not surprising. You had been stubborn from the very beginning, always resisting, always challenging him. And in truth, that was part of what drew him to you. Your defiance. But the fact that you had actually gone through with it that night, tried to walk out on him... that cut deeper than he was willing to admit.
He had said too much. Far more than he should have in his drunken state. Words spilled out of him, cracking through the cold, calculated exterior he usually maintained. He had shown you something raw, something he didn’t even think he was capable of—vulnerability. And for a brief moment, he had hoped—foolishly, he knew—that his words had reached you. That, despite everything, you would see what he was offering. That maybe, just maybe, it had tugged at your heart enough to make you stay. To choose him over the open door, to choose him over the freedom you so desperately craved.
But, just as he expected, you made your choice. And it wasn’t him.
The sting of it gnawed at him, the rejection simmering under his skin. He had allowed himself to feel something he had long considered a weakness, let down his guard for just a fleeting moment, and you had turned your back on him. He had given you the chance to see him as something more than the cold, possessive figure he had been. And yet, you had gotten out of bed, chasing the illusion of freedom.
It wasn’t just that you had tried to leave—it was that you had chosen to leave him. That, even after all the effort he had put into controlling, guiding, and shaping you, you had slipped away. He had thought he could bend you to his will, that with time, you would see there was no life for you beyond him. But clearly, you still hadn’t learned.
This wasn’t over. It couldn’t be. You were his, even if you didn’t fully understand it yet. He saw something festering in your eyes. In your mind. You could run from your feelings, but Sylus knew better. You could try to escape, but in the end, you would come back. Either by choice or by force.
Either way, vulnerability was a mistake he wouldn’t repeat.
He told himself it was nothing, that your defiance was natural, a part of who you were. You just needed time. Time to understand, time to adjust. Time to realize that you were better off here, with him. You didn’t know it yet, but you needed him just as much as he needed you. Maybe more.
And forcing it? He had tried that. It didn’t work. The chain, the teasing, even the brief moments of affection, none of it had broken through yet. That was why he was ignoring you now, why he’d stopped giving you the attention he knew you craved, whether you admitted it or not. You had to come to him, and maybe a little distance would push you toward that realization. You just needed a little… push.
Sylus sighed, running a hand through his hair as he stood up, glancing toward the bed. He didn’t want to make things so cold between you two. It hurt him, too, to ignore you like this. Every time he saw you sitting there, doing something as simple as folding your clothes, his heart clenched. You didn’t even realize how cute you were, the way your face twisted in concentration as you neatly tucked each item away. The way you fumbled with the edge of your blanket, lost in thought, was enough to drive him mad.
Sometimes he’d catch himself watching you when you weren’t paying attention, your intricate fingers working on some small task, and he had to fight the urge to go over to you, to touch you, rip that nightgown off and hear those cute sounds you make as you squirm under him. There was something sweet, almost delicate, about the way you moved, unaware of how captivating you were.
But then, there was the chain. The damned chain.
His eyes darkened slightly as his gaze flickered toward the weight of that metal around your ankle. It bothered him more than it should have, seeing you restrained like that. It didn't suit you. It was large and imposing on your skin. He didn’t want you to feel trapped, at least not in a way that made you fear him. The chain was a necessity—for now. It was for your own good, to keep you safe, to keep you from running again. But the sight of it weighed on him, a small reminder of the lengths he had to go to keep you by his side. One day, you won’t need it, he promised himself.
One day, you’d stay because you wanted to. Right?
Sylus continued to gather the last of his belongings, his thoughts already on his impending return. The journey ahead was fraught with danger, much like the rest of his work. Business in the N109 Zone was never without risk, especially when it involved the kind of deals Sylus specialized in. The ones outside of it though...could be a little unpredictable. A new weapon had surfaced in the market, and with supply running low and demand soaring, things were bound to get chaotic. But Sylus had already secured his piece. Not because he needed it—no, it was merely bait. He had his eyes on a particular "fish," one that had been slipping through his fingers for weeks.
He had been keeping close tabs on your cycle, watching the days go by on the calendar. You had stopped bleeding while in captivity with Reese and now, it was just a matter of time. By the time he came back, he was sure his seed would take hold. That was why your recent "punishment" hadn't really been about discipline. It had simply been a means to ensure his seed was planted, without too much resistance. He knew you well enough by now. Had he hinted that you were ovulating, you would’ve fought, screamed, maybe even tried to hurt him—only to harm yourself in the process. Disguising it as punishment had been the simplest way to get you to comply.
He was well aware of your fear. He knew that if he pushed hard enough, you would obey. It wasn't what he truly wanted, but if playing mind games was what it took to reach the future he envisioned, so be it. Sylus was no stranger to playing the bad guy.
He would have everything he wanted by the time he got back—you by his side, in more ways than one. The thought of you swollen with his child, completely his, was enough to stir something dark and possessive inside him. He felt his cock slight stiffen at the thought, pooling almost desperate desires to have you under him one last time before he left. To ensure his seed would take.
Sylus moved quietly through the room, packing the last of his things into a sleek, black briefcase. His movements were slow, calculated, betraying nothing of the thoughts racing through his mind. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, now curled up in bed, your form tense beneath the blanket. He could sense your unease, feel the anxiety radiating off of you even though you hadn’t said a word.
Cute.
A silent chuckle echoed in his mind as he noted the way you stiffened the moment he began to approach. You gasped, almost imperceptibly, and tensed like a rabbit sensing a predator. He wanted to close the space between you, to cup your face, trace his fingers along your skin, and feel the heat of your breath against him before he left for the trip. But he held back. No, he had to maintain the cold distance he’d imposed. It was for your own good.
But damn, it was hard. He wanted to mark you, to remind you that you were his—no matter how far he went. Still, there was something delicious about your reaction, the way your eyes widened as he stopped beside the bed.
Why was everything you did so adorable?
You sat up slightly, your gaze locking onto him, every muscle in your body tense. You were clearly waiting for him to say something, to finally break the silence that had lingered like a heavy fog between you for days. Instead, he reached down, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair that was near your face. A piece of lint had gotten caught in it, likely from the laundry you’d folded earlier—one of the small, mundane tasks you’d taken to doing in your isolated state.
Sylus plucked the lint from your hair with an easy, almost gentle motion. It was such a simple, unassuming gesture, but it left you staring at him, taken aback. The look on your face was a mixture of confusion and something deeper, something Sylus could feel but couldn’t quite define. You were shocked by the touch, the sudden break in his cold routine. And then, before you could process it further, he turned his back on you, preparing to leave.
The silence was unbearable.
"Sylus..." Your voice broke through the quiet, trembling ever so slightly, and he felt something tighten in his chest. His back was still to you, but he could hear the frustration, the desperation lacing your words. "What's wrong with you?"
Your question hung in the air, and he felt his resolve waver for the briefest of moments. He wanted to turn around, to explain, to tell you that you hadn’t done anything wrong—that this distance, this coldness, was a game he hated just as much as you. But he couldn’t. Not yet.
"Stop playing your stupid games," you continued, your tone hardening as the frustration bled into anger. "You bring me back, chain me up again, just to ignore me? Asshole." There was venom in your voice, but it was laced with hurt, and Sylus could feel it.
A pang of guilt settled in his chest, but he pushed it down. You had tried to leave him, after all. He had expected it, even understood it, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt. Still, he had to maintain control. She just needs a little more time. He sighed softly, his back still turned to you as he gathered his thoughts.
You weren’t done, though. "You leave me alone for days, barely say a word, and now you’re going on some mysterious trip like nothing’s wrong?" Your voice cracked just slightly, betraying the emotion you were trying to hide. "Why do you even bother keeping me here if you’re just going to act like I don’t exist?"
Sylus swallowed, his jaw tightening. He wanted to answer you, to give you some reassurance, but the distance was necessary. For both of you. And besides, he had seen that look in your eyes before—confusion, anger, frustration. You were close. Close to realizing that he was the only constant in this world, the only one who cared enough to keep you safe, even if you didn’t understand that yet.
"This may be the last time we talk, kitten," he said, his voice colder than he felt. It pained him to keep up the facade, but he forced himself to continue. "Why not be nice in our potential final moments together?"
The words were a joke—he wasn’t planning on dying, not anytime soon—but the way your face contorted in shock, the hurt that flashed in your eyes, made something twist deep inside him. It was cruel, yes, but it was part of the game. You had to see what life would be like without him, even if only for two weeks.
He turned slightly, just enough to catch the look on your face. You were staring at him, wide-eyed, stunned by the cold indifference in his words. Your lips parted as if you were going to say something, but the words seemed to catch in your throat. The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.
What were you thinking? Were you hurt, confused, angry?
Sylus wanted to take it back. He wanted to tell you that he wasn’t going to die, that this was just another dangerous job, but it hurt him to say it. It hurt him to see you looking at him like that, but he couldn’t back down. He had to keep his distance. He had to let you come to him on your own terms.
But then, you broke the silence. "Well," you spat, your voice hardening again as the hurt morphed into anger, "at least if you die, it’ll be a lot easier getting away from this hellhole."
Sylus chuckled softly, though there was no real humor in it. He wasn’t surprised by your words—they were expected, even—but they stung nonetheless. He turned his back to you again, straightening his suit jacket as he prepared to leave.
"I’ve arranged for you to be fed three times a day," he said, his voice smooth and detached once more. "Mephisto will be keeping an eye on you while I’m gone. Any refusal to eat or bathe will be reported directly to me." He paused for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle over you. "And I wouldn’t want to hear about any attempts to run again, kitten."
"I'll be sure to take apart that stupid bird while you're gone" you spat, laying back down again.
He walked toward the door, his hand resting on the handle, ignoring your tantrum. He didn’t turn around, didn’t give you the chance to say anything more. This was the hardest part—leaving you like this, with so much unsaid. He could feel the turmoil radiating from you, the confusion and anger clashing with something deeper, something he knew you weren’t ready to admit to yourself yet.
But he had to wait. Forcing it hadn’t worked, and now, with the distance between you growing, you’d have time to think, to realize that you needed him as much as he needed you. He would return, and when he did, he hoped that the time apart would have made you see things more clearly.
Without another word, Sylus stepped through the door and left, the weight of your gaze burning into his back the entire time.
Sylus descended the staircase of his mansion, his steps silent, but his thoughts anything but. His mind, which had been lingering on you, now shifted to something else that had been gnawing at him for some time.
The boy from Linkon.
He had recently received reports of a disturbance at the shoe store—one of his covert fronts for an illegal drug operation. It was nothing major, just another petty interruption. But the details? They were unmistakable. A man had walked in wielding a sword, babbling about protocores, asking questions about the twins and a missing girl before escaping in a ball of searing light. His associates had been nearly blinded in the chaos. They hadn’t managed to catch the culprit, but Sylus didn’t need confirmation. He knew exactly who it was.
Xavier.
The name burned in his mind like a festering wound. Sylus had always known that dealing with Xavier would be no easy feat. The boy was reckless, persistent, and—most infuriatingly of all—he still loved you. And worse, you loved him back. Sylus could feel it in every interaction, every fleeting look you gave when you thought he wasn’t watching. It was in the way you hesitated sometimes, the way you still held back, despite everything. You may not have spoken Xavier’s name since Sylus had threatened his life, but that hope—that dangerous, foolish hope—still flickered inside you. The hope that Xavier would come bursting in like some white knight to rescue you from his place.
Like hell Sylus would let that happen.
The mere thought of it stirred something violent inside him. He had worked too hard, done too much, to let some delusional hunter ruin his plans. You were his, and no one else had any claim to you. Not Xavier, not anyone. And if the boy thought he could just sweep in and steal you away, he would quickly learn how wrong he was.
Sylus’s grip on the banister tightened as he reached the bottom of the stairs, his jaw clenched in cold resolve. The game with Xavier was nearing its end. Sylus would not allow this boy to remain a thorn in his side much longer. Xavier’s love for you made him reckless, vulnerable. He would exploit that, get rid of Xavier once for all. Sylus would ensure he never got the chance to try a second time.
As Sylus stepped off the last stair, Luke appeared from the kitchen, casually munching on an apple with his mask tilted up just enough to expose his mouth. The moment he spotted Sylus, his demeanor shifted entirely. Panic flashed across his face as he hastily yanked the mask back down to cover himself, the half-eaten apple forgotten as he tossed it into a nearby trashcan. He quickly straightened his posture, standing rigidly at attention.
“Er-boss! Everything’s packed for you!” Luke stammered, his voice betraying his nervousness. “I can take your suitcase as well!”
His gaze flickered nervously toward Sylus, clearly unsettled. He had seen that energy in Luke's posture before—fear, the kind that made men trip over their words and scramble to stay in his good graces. Luke's hands fidgeted at his sides as if unsure whether to reach for the suitcase or wait for further orders.
Sylus didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch for a moment too long, just enough to make Luke sweat. His cold, calculating gaze swept over him, taking in every detail of the young man’s anxiety, before finally giving a subtle nod.
Sylus sighed, releasing the tight coil of tension that had built up in his body. There was no need for uncontrolled anger—at least, not yet. The pest would soon be dealt with, and once that distraction was removed, there would be nothing left to stand in the way of the future he envisioned. A future where everything fell perfectly into place.
“I have something to take care of first,” he said, his voice cool and deliberate, as if every word was a command in itself. “Make sure the chefs fully understand the strict instructions I gave about her meals while I’m away. Balanced nutrition. Have them repeat it back to you—every single detail.”
He paused for a moment, his gaze narrowing slightly as he fixed Luke with a look that could freeze blood. “I don’t want any mistakes.”
Without waiting for a reply, Sylus tossed the suitcase into Luke’s hands with casual indifference. Luke’s eyes widened as he scrambled to catch it, his fingers slipping momentarily on the leather handle. The weight of it nearly sent him teetering off balance, but he managed to steady himself, face flushed with embarrassment.
“Yes, boss! I’ll—uh—I’ll make sure of it!” Luke stammered, standing rigidly at attention, as if that might somehow erase his clumsy fumbling.
But Sylus had already turned away, his attention far beyond the room, far beyond Luke’s awkward attempts to regain his composure. His long strides took him toward the door with an air of certainty, as if the world itself bent to his will with every step.
Xavier. Xavier. Xavier.
The name echoed in his mind, an insistent drumbeat. He could feel the anger simmering beneath the surface again, but it was controlled—held in check by sheer force of will. Xavier. The boy had become more than a nuisance. He was a threat. A distraction that had lingered for too long. But that would soon change. Sylus had no intention of letting anything—or anyone—interfere with his plans.
Xavier had dared to love you, dared to think he could save you from the inevitable. The thought of it sent a dark thrill through Sylus’s chest. How naive. How foolish. Did Xavier truly believe he could stand between you and your rightful place at Sylus’s side?
Not a chance.
He would deal with Xavier swiftly, thoroughly. Once the boy was removed from the picture, there would be no more obstacles. No more fantasies of rescue. You would see things clearly, finally understand where you belonged. With him. Always with him.
As the door swung shut behind him, Sylus’s lips curled into a faint smile. Xavier had no idea what was coming. But Sylus did. He had planned for everything, anticipated every move. And soon, Xavier would be nothing more than a forgotten name. A foolish memory.
Nothing—absolutely nothing—would prevent Sylus from claiming the future he deserved. The future he would have with you.
Sylus had always been ten steps ahead. As soon as he had caught wind of Xavier’s desperate attempts to escape the N109 Zone, he had put his plan in motion. Word had spread quickly through the Zone's shadowy network—the kind of word that made people look over their shoulders and shut doors the moment they saw the boy approaching. No one dared to help him as the days passed. Not with the subtle but ever-present threat of Sylus looming over their heads. They knew what would happen if they defied him, and no one was foolish enough to test that.
Mephisto had been watching Xavier from the skies, tracking every move the boy made. It was almost pitiful, Sylus thought, how determined Xavier was, knocking on doors, pleading with anyone who would listen, trying to get someone—anyone—to process the SIM card he had found. The card that held all the damning evidence of what had happened in Reese’s basement. But it was futile. The boy had no idea why people turned him away with frightened eyes, why they avoided him as if he carried some curse.
Sylus felt a flicker of pity for him—how bewildering it must be for Xavier, seeing doors shut in his face, confusion mixing with anger as hope slowly bled out of him. But that pity was short-lived. Xavier had made his choice, and Sylus was about to make sure it was his last.
As Mephisto tracked Xavier’s latest movement, Sylus watched from the GPS feed in his jeep. The boy had finally given up on finding help within the N109 Zone. Likely desperate, he had chosen the hard way—going on foot, sword strapped to his chest, with nothing but determination keeping him moving. He was heading back to Linkon, likely hoping to catch some cell service once he left the Zone's signal-dead perimeter. It was a hopeless task, but Xavier didn’t know that. Not yet.
The boy was relentless, Sylus had to give him that. Mephisto’s feed showed Xavier’s ragged state—his clothes dusty, his eyes sunken with exhaustion. But he kept walking.
What a fool. Maybe he'd like some help.
Wasting no time, Sylus tracked him to his location and pulled up alongside the road in his sleek black jeep, eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, his suit perfectly pressed despite the rough terrain. He brought the car to a slow roll as he neared Xavier, careful not to appear too eager.
He took in Xavier's disheveled appearance and stifled a laugh as he finally got a real life glimpse of the man you dared to call your lover. This was your knight in shining armor?
Xavier glanced over his shoulder at the approaching vehicle, his hand already gripping the hilt of his sword with wary blue eyes. Sylus could feel the boy's suspicion even through the tinted glass. He cracked the window, letting in the cold, arid air, and called out in an easy, practiced tone.
“Need a ride?” Sylus asked casually, his voice carrying the hint of a smile. “You look like you could use one.”
Xavier’s eyes narrowed, scanning the jeep and the man inside it. “And you are?” he asked, his voice rough, a mixture of caution and exhaustion. He didn’t let go of the sword, though it remained sheathed at his chest.
Sylus feigned mild surprise, raising an eyebrow as if the question had caught him off guard. “Just a passerby,” he said smoothly, adjusting the cuff of his suit sleeve. “I just got back from my daughter’s birthday dinner and thought I’d offer a lift. Figured you’d be tired of walking by now.”
Xavier’s suspicion deepened. His gaze flicked over Sylus’s clean hair, the well-tailored suit that seemed out of place in the desolate outskirts of the Zone. His grip on the sword tightened slightly, though he didn’t draw it. “You’re wearing a suit,” Xavier said, his voice dripping with distrust. “Why would you be all the way out here, wearing that?”
Sylus had anticipated the boy’s suspicion, but it didn’t faze him in the slightest. In fact, it was almost amusing. He had expected Xavier to be cautious, to scrutinize every word, every detail, but in the end, none of it really mattered. The boy wouldn’t figure out who he was—how could he? Sylus was an enigma, a shadow in the dark corners of the N109 Zone. His reputation may have spread like wildfire, but few had ever laid eyes on him. Not even a glance.
The genius of it all was that Sylus had made himself a ghost, a figure of whispered warnings and vague threats. His power rested not in his appearance but in his influence, his ability to control from a distance. To orchestrate chaos while remaining completely invisible. As far as Xavier knew, the man sitting behind the wheel of this sleek, black jeep could be anyone—just another passerby, another face in the crowd. That anonymity was what made Sylus dangerous.
So when Xavier narrowed his eyes, suspicion etched into every line of his face, Sylus remained perfectly calm, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at his lips. Let the boy wonder. Let him think. It wouldn’t change the outcome. Sylus always got what he wanted.
His fate was sealed.
Sylus smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He let the silence stretch just long enough to feel heavy between them. “Like I said,” Sylus replied, his voice smooth as silk. “I just came back from my daughter’s party. The restaurant was out of town, and this is the route I take back home.”
Xavier didn’t move. His eyes bored into Sylus, searching for cracks in the façade. Sylus could almost hear the boy’s thoughts, could feel the way Xavier was picking apart every word, every detail. But Sylus was calm, unbothered. He had done this dance too many times. He could see the exhaustion in Xavier’s posture, the way his legs trembled with fatigue, the faint glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, this stranger could help him get out of the Zone.
But the distrust remained. The boy wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t be easy to trick.
“You look too calm,” Xavier said finally, the edge of accusation in his voice. “No one from around here is that calm...or helpful.”
Sylus chuckled softly, as if the remark amused him. “I’ve lived in the N109 Zone for a long time,” he said, shrugging lightly. “You get used to the chaos after a while.”
Xavier’s eyes flickered with indecision. His instincts were telling him something was off, but the exhaustion in his limbs and the desperation gnawing at his mind were wearing him down. Sylus watched, a faint smile tugging at his lips as the boy’s resolve wavered. It was only a matter of time.
“You sure you don’t want a ride?” Sylus asked, leaning back in his seat. “The next town’s pretty far. It’s a long walk—especially on foot.”
For a moment, Xavier just stared at him, his brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. He knew something was wrong—Sylus could see it in his eyes. But fatigue was a powerful weapon, and Sylus knew just how to wield it.
The silence stretched on, thick with tension, as the two men sized each other up—one desperately looking for a way out, the other calmly calculating the exact moment to strike.
“No thanks,” Xavier muttered, his voice curt as he adjusted the strap of his sword and continued his walk past the car, not bothering to look back.
Sylus’s jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation flashing across his otherwise calm demeanor. The boy wasn’t just persistent—he wasn’t stupid either. It was becoming clear that Xavier’s survival instincts were sharper than he had anticipated. Fine, two could play at that game. Sylus needed the boy in the car, and he wasn’t about to let his plan slip through his fingers over something as trivial as Xavier’s mistrust.
Without a word, Sylus reached over, twisting the keys in the ignition until the engine went silent. The mechanical purr of the jeep ceased, leaving only the sound of the wind rustling through the desolate landscape. He opened the door and stepped out, calling after Xavier before the boy could get too far.
“Wait,” Sylus said, his voice carrying with a casual ease that belied his annoyance. Xavier slowed, turning halfway to glance back, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Sylus could sense the boy’s reluctance, the wariness etched in his every movement.
With a nonchalant flick of his wrist, Sylus tossed the car keys in Xavier’s direction. They spun in the air before landing in Xavier’s open palm, the boy catching them reflexively but frowning down at the unexpected gesture.
“How about this,” Sylus said smoothly, his tone relaxed, as though they were discussing something as simple as the weather. “You drive yourself to your destination, and I’ll drive myself back. No strings attached. Sound fair?”
Sylus knew Xavier couldn't refuse such an offer, and even if he wanted to, his love for you was more important to him than his own safety.
He would take the bait.
Xavier’s brow furrowed as he stared down at the keys, then back up at Sylus, who had already moved around the vehicle to the passenger side. The offer, on the surface, seemed absurd. What kind of stranger would be so willing to give up control of his own car to a random traveler on the side of the road? And yet, there Sylus stood, casually opening the passenger door as if they had made some mutual agreement. The ease with which Sylus handed over the keys was unnerving.
Xavier’s instincts screamed at him to keep walking, to leave this strange man and his too-kind offer behind. Something about this whole encounter was off—way off. But there was another part of him, the exhausted, desperate part, that couldn’t ignore the fact that his journey to Linkon was still painfully far from over. He had been walking for hours, pushing himself past the point of exhaustion, and the weight of the sword on his chest felt heavier with each step. He couldn’t shake the urgency pounding in his chest. He needed to get back to Linkon, and fast.
The SIM card tucked away in his pocket was his only lifeline. Without it, any hope of uncovering the truth of what happened in Reese’s basement would be lost. He needed to see it. But the odds of finding anyone out here who could process it? Slim to none. He was running out of time, and every step he took on foot made him feel like the distance between him and his goal was growing wider.
His eyes flicked back to the car keys in his hand, their weight oddly unsettling. Why was this man so eager to help? And why the hell was he offering the keys to his own car?
Xavier’s gaze darted back to Sylus, who had settled into the passenger seat without a trace of concern, leaning back as if this was the most normal thing in the world. His expression was calm, almost too calm, as though the outcome had already been decided in his favor. It unnerved Xavier. This man—this stranger—was too willing. Too casual. Too smooth.
But Xavier didn’t have time to figure it all out. His priority was clear: getting back to Linkon, getting the SIM card processed, and making sure the truth came to light of what happened to you. Without transportation, he could be walking for days, and every minute he spent out here increased the risk that he'd never find you.
The keys felt heavier now, the weight of the decision pressing on him. He didn’t trust this man, not by a long shot. But the idea of having control of the car, of being the one behind the wheel… it was tempting. Too tempting. If he was driving, there's no way this could be a trap right?
It would be fine. Yes. Anything for you. Even if it meant putting himself in danger.
With one last glance at the man, who was patiently waiting in the passenger seat, Xavier’s grip on the keys tightened. He didn’t say a word as he took a tentative step toward the driver’s side. Every instinct told him to keep walking, to leave this stranger behind and take his chances on foot. But exhaustion and desperation were powerful motivators, and right now, he needed to get back to Linkon more than he needed to figure out why this man was offering help.
Xavier climbed into the driver’s seat, the worn leather creaking beneath him as he adjusted to the unfamiliar space. His hand hovered over the ignition, eyes still darting toward Sylus, who sat quietly beside him, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.
“Take us wherever you need to go,” Sylus said softly, his voice like velvet, as though the game had already begun. “I’m just along for the ride.”
The tension between them was palpable, thick in the confined space of the car. Xavier could feel it in the air, in the way Sylus’s gaze lingered on him, calm but unrelenting. He knew this wasn’t right—none of it was. But he was too far in to back out now.
With a sharp turn of the key, the engine roared to life, and Xavier gripped the steering wheel, feeling the weight of every decision he had made in the last few minutes. The road ahead seemed endless, and as the car pulled away from the desolate stretch of highway, he couldn’t help but glance sideways at the man again.
This...this could end badly.
The two men sat in crushing silence as Xavier navigated the unfamiliar roads, the hum of the engine the only sound between them. Each mile passed with a suffocating weight, the tension in the car palpable, like a storm ready to break. Xavier kept his eyes locked on the road ahead, hands gripping the wheel tighter than necessary, his knuckles pale under the strain. He hadn’t wanted this stranger to know where he lived, so he punched City Hall into the GPS instead. From there, he could make his way around Linkon without anyone trailing him. He needed to get the SIM card processed, and fast, before time ran out.
Every few minutes, he fiddled with the GPS, his body coiled with a mix of exhaustion and adrenaline. He could feel the man's eyes on him, his name still unknown, even despite the sunglasses. He hadn’t said much since they set off, but his presence in the passenger seat was unnerving. His calm was unnatural, unsettling. He didn’t fidget, didn’t speak, didn’t even glance around the car. He just sat there, arms crossed, studying Xavier with a level of intensity that felt out of place for someone offering a simple ride.
Xavier tried to sneak glances at the man beside him, but every time he did, he found the mans gaze already on him, sharp and unblinking, as though he had anticipated Xavier’s every move. The man’s lips twitched with something like amusement, though he didn’t say a word.
What’s his deal? Xavier thought, forcing his eyes back to the road. The whole situation felt wrong. He had expected tension in the N109 Zone, but not this. This was different. The man beside him wasn’t just casually observing him—he was waiting for something. Every second that passed felt heavier than the last, like time itself was stretching, tightening the knot of anxiety building in Xavier’s chest.
Still, Xavier didn’t let any of it show. He had learned long ago how to hide his fear, how to stay calm when every nerve in his body screamed at him to run. He’d dealt with dangerous people before, people who could smell weakness like blood in the water. He wasn’t about to let this guy see that. But the silence between them was unbearable, thick with the weight of unspoken things.
Finally, Xavier broke it, his voice low and careful. “I didn’t get your name…” He asked, eyes darting between the GPS and the road, trying to sound casual, though he was anything but.
The man took a moment to respond, as though he were weighing the question, wondering if he should even answer it. His eyes flickered with a hint of something—amusement, perhaps. Or something darker.
“Skye,” he said eventually, his voice smooth, detached. He crossed his arms, leaning back in the passenger seat, as though the conversation were nothing more than a formality. “And you are…?”
Xavier’s heart kicked up a notch, but he kept his expression neutral. No way was he giving this guy his real name. “Anthony,” he lied easily, the false name slipping out without hesitation. His voice didn’t waver, his hands stayed steady on the wheel. But he could feel Skye watching him, a slight smirk pulling at his lips.
He knows I’m lying, Xavier thought, his gut twisting with unease. But Skye didn’t press. He didn’t even seem surprised. He just watched Xavier with that unnerving calm, as if the lie were nothing more than an expected move in a game they were both playing.
“Anthony,” Skye repeated softly, his tone almost mocking, though he didn’t push the issue. Instead, he let the silence fall between them again, a silence that felt even heavier now. He seemed content to let Xavier stew in it, the tension building with every second that passed.
Xavier’s eyes flicked back to the road, his mind racing. Something about this guy was all wrong. The way he moved, the way he spoke—it was all too calculated, too smooth. People didn’t act this calm in the N109 Zone, not unless they knew something everyone else didn’t. And Skye definitely knew something. The question was, what? And how much?
Xavier kept his gaze focused ahead, trying to ignore the weight of Skye’s eyes still on him. The man hadn’t looked away once. He could feel it, the silent scrutiny, the way Skye seemed to be measuring him. Assessing him.
“Where are you headed?” Skye asked casually, his voice cutting through the silence once more, though there was nothing casual about the way he said it.
Xavier didn’t miss a beat. “City Hall,” he answered, a little too quickly. He glanced at the GPS, as if confirming the destination would make the lie feel more real. He wasn’t taking this man to his home—no way. Not with the way things were already playing out.
Skye raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “City Hall,” he repeated, his tone light but laced with something that made Xavier’s skin crawl. “Not a bad place to end up, but pretty unusual for a first destination."
Xavier’s pulse kicked up, but he kept his face neutral, refusing to look over at Skye. Something in the man’s tone made his stomach tighten, like a hook had just been baited and dropped in front of him, waiting for him to take it.
Unusual? Why the hell would that be unusual? The thought ran through his mind, but he forced himself to stay calm. His plan had been simple—get to City Hall, lose this guy, and handle his business. But now, it felt like every move was being scrutinized, every choice questioned.
“City Hall's the easiest place to get a read on things in the city,” Xavier replied, his voice steady, though the defensiveness crept in at the edges. “I need to handle some things, and it’s central. Easier to move around from there.”
He could feel Skye’s eyes still on him, could almost hear the smirk in his voice when the man chuckled softly. It was the kind of laugh that got under your skin, not because it was loud, but because it carried a quiet, unsettling amusement.
“Smart,” Skye said slowly, nodding as if Xavier’s explanation made perfect sense. But something in his tone felt off, like he didn’t fully buy it. “But still… after some time in the N109 Zone, you’d think you’d want to rest somewhere less… official. Get off the radar. A nice bed, maybe.”
Xavier tightened his grip on the steering wheel, feeling the weight of Skye’s persistent questioning pressing down on him. Each word from Skye was like a carefully placed needle, poking at his decisions, making him second-guess everything. He hadn’t expected the guy to be so relentless, and the pressure was building with every exchange.
“I’ve got some stuff to take care of,” Xavier said, trying to keep his voice steady, casual, but the tension in his body betrayed him. “Time’s running out to save her, so I can’t waste a single second.”
The moment the words left his mouth, doubt flickered in his mind. Was that too much? Too rushed? The urgency in his voice—had it come across as desperate? Or worse, suspicious? His heart hammered in his chest as he mentally replayed what he had said, wondering if he had tipped his hand. Or had he been too vague? The ambiguity of his answer might have made Skye even more curious, pushing him to dig deeper, ask more questions.
Xavier kept his eyes on the road, refusing to look over at Skye, but he could feel the man watching him, studying him. The silence that followed his response was unnerving, stretching long enough for Xavier to feel like he’d made a mistake. He fought the urge to glance over, to see if Skye’s expression had changed, but his instincts screamed at him to stay composed. Any sign of weakness now, and Skye would pounce on it.
Too much, Xavier thought, cursing himself internally. I shouldn’t have let the urgency show.
Skye’s sudden shift in demeanor caught Xavier off guard. The icy coldness that had made the air feel suffocating was replaced with something else—something that felt even more dangerous. Concern. Pity. It dripped from Skye’s voice like honey, smooth and deliberate, but just artificial enough to send a ripple of unease through Xavier’s chest.
“Oh?” Skye said, his voice almost soft, a note of worry creeping in. “Seems serious.”
Xavier’s breath hitched slightly, his guard wavering for just a moment. He wasn’t prepared for this shift. The relentless scrutiny, the probing questions—he could handle that to a point. But this? This sudden turn toward sympathy, as fake as it felt, was a punch to the gut.
“It is,” Xavier muttered, his voice betraying the strain he was under. The words felt heavier than he intended, a sign of the cracks forming in his defenses.
Skye shifted slightly in his seat, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as if he sensed something in Xavier’s voice. “You know,” he began, his tone deceptively gentle, “I understand what it’s like. When you want something so bad. And its almost in reach, yet so far. You feel like you've failed already."
The words struck hard, like a knife twisting in Xavier’s gut. For a brief moment, his mind went blank, the weight of Skye’s words sinking into him. The man’s voice, though still edged with that unsettling calm, carried a truth Xavier couldn’t deny.
Skye had unknowingly—or perhaps very knowingly—touched a raw nerve.
Xavier’s fingers flexed against the steering wheel, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. He tried to block it out, tried to keep his walls up, but he couldn’t stop the flood of emotion that came crashing through. His breaths quickened slightly, the tension in his body shifting from vigilance to something more raw, more vulnerable.
Skye was quiet, but Xavier could feel him waiting, giving him just enough space to fill the silence. His mind screamed at him to stay quiet, to shut it all down, but the pressure building inside him was too much to contain.
“I…” Xavier’s voice cracked, his throat dry. His hands trembled slightly as the words formed on his tongue. “I have someone waiting for me. She’s in danger. And I feel like I’m failing her with each passing second.”
The admission came out before he could stop it, the weight of his guilt and fear spilling into the space between them. He’d been holding it in for so long, running from one obstacle to the next, always trying to keep moving, to keep fighting. But now, in this moment, it all felt too heavy to carry alone. The pressure of failing you—of not getting back in time—had gnawed at him relentlessly, and now, it was too much to keep inside.
For a moment, the silence was deafening, his vulnerability hanging in the air like a fragile thread.
Xavier’s chest tightened, panic seeping in as the reality of what he’d just said hit him. He’d let his guard down—completely. He’d shown Skye more than he ever intended, more than anyone should know. He could feel the walls he’d carefully built crumbling around him.
And Skye was still watching, listening, absorbing every word.
He shifted slightly, his voice lowering, becoming softer, almost understanding. “You know,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “I’ve seen it before… that look in your eyes. Like you’re carrying something too heavy for one person. Trying to fix it all yourself. You can push as hard as you want, but…” He paused, letting the silence settle for just a beat before he continued, “the weight of failure starts to crush you, doesn’t it?”
Skye glanced out the window, his tone still calm, still smooth. “And the worst part? It’s when you realize that maybe, no matter how much you fight, you won’t get there in time. That you might be too late to save the people who need you.”
Xavier’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t expected much from this man—this stranger who seemed so out of place on these roads—but this? He had expected more questions, more veiled curiosity, maybe even some vague attempt at comfort. But what Skye had just said—those words, that insinuation—hit him like a punch to the gut.
The casual mention of failure. The suggestion that he was already too late. Was this guy trying to be an asshole?
Xavier’s chest tightened, his pulse quickening as the words churned in his mind, cutting deeper than he wanted to admit. “No,” Xavier said, his voice shaking slightly, the denial rising like a defense against the weight of Skye’s statement. “That’s not true. It’s not too late. I can still find her. I just—” He cut himself off, his voice thick with desperation.
But before he could even finish the thought, Skye’s demeanor changed in an instant. The false pity drained from his face, replaced by something far colder, sharper. His voice dropped, his tone void of the faint warmth that had laced it earlier.
“People like you should know when to quit.” The words were flat, cutting like ice. Skye lowered his sunglasses, his eyes gleamed with a new cruelty, his expression as still as stone. “It’s a shame you even tried in the first place.”
Xavier, caught slightly off guard by the crimson color of the eyes now boring into him, opened his mouth to argue, the frustration boiling over. How dare this guy—
But then something hit him, something beyond words. A creeping cold, seeping into his skin. At first, it felt like a mist settling over him, faint and barely noticeable, but it spread quickly, a numbing chill that slithered through his body, wrapping around his limbs like an invisible fog. His chest tightened as panic started to rise.
The cold red mist crept up his neck, stretching outward, reaching his arms, his fingers. And then—nothing. No feeling. His hands. He couldn’t feel his hands.
Xavier’s heart raced, his breath coming in short, frantic bursts as he looked down at the steering wheel. His hands were still there, gripping the wheel tightly, but the sensation was gone. His fingers felt as though they no longer existed, and worse, he couldn’t move them. He tried to force his body to respond, to shake off the creeping cold, but it was as if his muscles had turned to stone.
The steering wheel suddenly turned under his grip, and the car began to drift. Panic surged through him. He tried to shout, tried to move, but his body refused to obey. The cold mist had taken control, and now it stretched through every inch of him, locking him in place, paralyzing him completely.
This wasn't him moving it.
What the hell is happening?!
He wanted to scream, to fight, but his limbs remained useless, his mind screaming in terror as the car veered off its course. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe properly, and then it hit him—this was him. Skye. Skye was doing this.
Skye hadn’t moved from the passenger seat, but the aura around him had darkened, the shift in his demeanor unmistakable. The cold that gripped Xavier’s body—this mist—was him. And this wasn’t some accident. This was planned.
Skye had been waiting for this moment.
Xavier’s mind raced as the reality sank in, dread curling in his gut like a beast ready to devour him whole. He could see it in the cold gleam of Skye’s eyes now, the man having removed his sunglasses completely. The man had never intended for this to end peacefully.
He tried one last time to move, to will his body to do anything, but the cold mist had stolen everything from him.
Skye leaned in slightly, his presence looming over Xavier like a shadow, cold and unrelenting. His tone dropped, devoid of any warmth or pretense. “Don't bother fighting. I’ve already decided how this ends.”
The car was fully off the road now, speeding, barreling toward a tall tree. Xavier’s mind screamed, the terror paralyzing his thoughts. He was about to be made into a casualty, another statistic—a crash that would look like an accident, neat and tidy. He couldn't even shut his eyes to brace for the inevitable impact.
Closer. And closer. And-
Xavier's phone ringing cut through the chaos, snapping both men's attention.
The sudden, shrill sound sliced through the thick tension in the car, jarring Xavier out of his rising panic. The ringtone echoed in the confined space, pulling his attention away from the tree, from the creeping red mist that had taken over his body. The sound was so out of place, so normal amidst the terror, that for a moment, it didn’t seem real.
It must've caught signal again.
Skye’s eyes flicked toward the phone, his expression unreadable, but Xavier saw the faintest twitch of something—something like interest or annoyance—cross his face. The car suddenly veered back on course as if it was not just about to plunge into a tree, dooming its driver.
The phone continued to ring, vibrating against the dash, relentless.
For a brief second, the pressure on Xavier’s hands loosened, the grip Sylus had on him flickering, just enough for Xavier to feel the tiniest bit of control return. It wasn’t much—he still couldn’t move fully—but it was enough to know that the phone had interrupted something, that it had momentarily disrupted Skye’s hold.
Skye’s gaze darkened, his calm demeanor slipping ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing at the sudden disruption. The mist that had coiled around Xavier’s body seemed to pause, just for a moment, as if Sylus was reconsidering. Calculating something.
The phone kept ringing.
Xavier’s heart pounded, a mix of hope and fear swirling inside him. He looked down at the contact name.
Captain Jenna
His phone had stopped the inevitable, if only for a moment. His eyes darted toward the screen, the bright contact photo lighting up the car. This was his lifeline, the only thing keeping Sylus from finishing what he had started.
Skye’s lips curved into a tight smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Duty never stops for Linkon's best hunters hm?”
His voice was low, almost mocking, but there was something behind it, a flicker of curiosity, as though the phone call had shifted something in his mind. Sylus’s hold on Xavier wasn’t entirely broken, but the red mist began to recede ever so slightly, its grip loosening as Sylus seemed to consider his next move.
For a moment, it felt like the world had stopped, hanging on the precipice of whatever decision Skye was about to make. The phone rang again, insistent, demanding attention.
Skye leaned back slightly, his cold demeanor returning, but with a spark of something else. “Maybe,” he grinned, almost to himself, “I should let the other person on the line hear your screams before your imminent death?"
The mist, which had been suffocating Xavier moments before, suddenly retracted, slithering away like a serpent disappearing into the shadows. The sensation returned to his limbs, though weak and shaky. His hands were his own again, but Xavier couldn’t bring himself to move.
Skye eyes gleamed with amusement as he watched Xavier’s shock and confusion, the boy still frozen in the driver’s seat. “Answer it,” Skye said softly, a quiet command, but with an underlying threat. “Let’s see what she has to say.”
Xavier’s hand trembled as he reached for the phone, still feeling the lingering numbness from the mist that had wrapped around him moments before. His heart was pounding, but he forced himself to answer, trying to regain control, trying to steady his breathing. His mind raced as he glanced nervously at Skye, whose amused smirk remained firmly in place.
“Hello?” Xavier managed to get out, his voice shaky but improving.
“Xavier?” Captain Jenna’s voice crackled through the speaker, filled with a mix of relief and frustration. “Where exactly have you been? No one’s been able to contact you! You can’t just go off and disappear like that for days and days on end!”
Xavier winced at the urgency in her tone. She had always been direct, never wasting time sugarcoating things. He could hear the worry layered underneath her sternness, and for a moment, a wave of guilt hit him. He had been so focused on his mission, on everything happening in the N109 Zone, that he hadn’t even thought about how it might look to his colleagues.
“I…I’m sorry,” Xavier said, shooting a quick glance at Skye, who raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Something came up that I had to take care of. I didn’t mean to disappear.” His eyes darted back to the road, the weight of Skye’s gaze still heavy on him. He kept his tone measured, trying to sound calm. “I’m on my way back now.”
There was a pause on the other end, followed by a deep sigh from Captain Jenna. “Regardless, I’m glad you’re safe. We need you for an operation in—”
Xavier’s heart raced. He couldn’t let Skye overhear anything about the association, about their secrets or what was going on back at headquarters. Whatever this man—this monster—was after, it wasn’t something he could afford to share.
Before Captain Jenna could continue, Xavier cut her off, his voice a bit too sharp in his haste. “You can explain everything when I get there,” he said, trying to keep his tone casual but failing to mask the underlying urgency. “I’m almost there.”
There was a brief silence on the other end, and for a moment, Xavier worried he might have raised her suspicion, but Captain Jenna eventually replied, her voice softer. “Alright. Just get back safe. We’ll talk soon. We also need to talk about your...partner”
Xavier gulped at the mention of you, but simply exhaled slowly as the call ended, his hand lowering the phone from his ear, feeling the intensity of the moment crashing down around him. He didn’t dare look at Skye just yet, trying to collect his thoughts, trying to figure out what his next move would be.
When he finally glanced over, Skye was leaning back in his seat, arms crossed, his expression calm but with an unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes.
“Well,” Skye said, the smirk deepening, “it seems like you’ve been keeping busy.”
Xavier felt the weight of the man’s words, the way they lingered in the air like a challenge. Skye knew more than he was letting on, but he wasn’t pressing—for now. It was as if he were waiting, watching, enjoying the little puzzle Xavier presented.
But Xavier wasn’t about to give him any more pieces. He’d already said too much. This guy wanted something from him, something to do with the Hunter's Association. Why else would he target Xavier?
“I don’t know what you want from me,” Xavier began, forcing his voice to sound steadier than he felt, “but I can promise you I don't have it. If you're after the associations secrets, killing me wont get you any closer".
He forced himself to meet Skye’s gaze, trying to hold onto whatever composure he could muster. But the way Skye looked at him, with those unreadable eyes, made it impossible to know whether his words were even having an effect. His tone had been sharp, maybe too sharp, but he couldn’t afford to show weakness now. Not with someone like him.
For a moment, the air in the car grew even heavier. Skye’s expression barely shifted, but Xavier caught the brief flicker in his eyes—was it intrigue? Curiosity? Or was there something darker lurking just beneath the surface? Xavier couldn’t tell. It was like staring into the depths of an ocean (a very red one at that), unsure of what might lie beneath the calm.
Skye didn’t respond right away. His gaze remained steady, almost too calm, as if he were savoring the tension, letting it stretch between them like a taut string ready to snap. Xavier’s stomach twisted, his mind racing with possibilities—was Skye sizing him up, or just toying with him? It was impossible to know.
After what felt like an eternity, Skye tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Who said I wanted the association’s secrets?”
The words sent a chill through Xavier. The way Skye said it—so casually, as if the association wasn’t even part of the equation—left Xavier feeling more vulnerable than before. Skye had just dismissed his entire assumption without a second thought. If he wasn’t after the association’s secrets, then what was he really after?
Xavier’s pulse quickened, his mind scrambling to keep up. If Skye wasn’t interested in the association, what could he possibly want from him? And worse—why was he keeping him alive?
Skye leaned back in the passenger seat, his amusement clear now. “You think too small, Xavier,” he said, his voice smooth and unhurried, as though they were simply having a conversation. “I don’t need to kill you for information. That’s too… crude.”
Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest, the rhythm wild and erratic, but he kept his face neutral, refusing to let the panic show. His mind raced, trying to grasp what had just happened. Skye had called him by his real name. And Xavier was sure—positive—he had introduced himself as Anthony. But Skye hadn’t hesitated. He knew.
“How do you know my name?” Xavier asked, keeping his voice steady, though inside, the tension coiled tighter. His thoughts were a blur, his instincts screaming at him that something was very, very wrong.
Skye tilted his head slightly, a small smirk playing on his lips, as if Xavier had just said something amusing. “What do you mean?” Skye replied, his tone light, almost playful. He leaned back, eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. “Didn’t your captain just call you Xavier?”
Xavier blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. His mind scrambled, piecing together the conversation, and then it hit him. Of course. The phone call. His captain had said his name during the call. Skye had been listening the entire time. Idiot. He mentally slapped himself, feeling foolish for even asking the question.
He sighed, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He was losing control of the situation, and the casual way Skye was toying with him only made it worse. But Xavier couldn’t afford to get rattled now—not when his life was hanging by a thread.
“What do you want?” Xavier asked, his voice quieter now, more measured. He could feel the weight of Skye’s gaze on him, sharp and calculating. “What do you want in return for my life if not information on the Hunter's Association?”
Skye chuckled softly, the sound light but dripping with malice. He looked out the window for a brief moment, as if pondering the question, then slowly turned back to Xavier, his smile deepening. “I don’t usually make deals where I don’t get more of a benefit.”
Xavier swallowed hard, his heart racing faster, though he kept his face expressionless. He didn’t respond—he was waiting, watching Skye carefully. The man’s words were a game, just like everything else he’d said. Xavier knew there had to be more, some twist, some condition that hadn’t been revealed yet.
Skye leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “However…” He paused, as if savoring the moment, watching Xavier closely. “I've realized you're much more useful to me alive than dead. If you stay away from the N109 Zone—and everyone in it—you’ll live.”
Xavier’s breath caught in his throat, the weight of the ultimatum settling over him. Stay away from the Zone. That meant cutting ties with everything he’d worked to find, abandoning the hope of finding you, abandoning you. Could he even afford to do that? Would agreeing with this deal mean he'd never get the chance to see you again?
Also how was he useful to Skye?
"And if not..."
Skye’s smirk widened, sensing the internal struggle playing out behind Xavier’s calm facade. He leaned in closer, invading Xavier’s personal space, his presence suffocating. Xavier instinctively tried to pull back, but there was nowhere to go—the car’s cabin suddenly felt too small, too enclosed.
“Lets just say I don't really give second chances,” Sylus whispered, his voice low, dripping with menace.
Xavier swallowed hard, his body tensing, but he forced himself to maintain eye contact, even as the urge to run surged through him. Skye was too close, too calm, too dangerous. The warning wasn’t just a threat—it was a guarantee. Sylus had already proven what he was capable of, and Xavier knew that crossing him again would mean death, or worse.
The silence in the car was heavy, suffocating, as Skye leaned back again, his smile never fading, his eyes never leaving Xavier.
“So,” Skye said, his voice almost casual now, as if they were discussing something far less deadly. “What’s it going to be?”
Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest as Skye’s words echoed in his mind. Stay away from the N109 Zone—and everyone in it? The weight of the ultimatum pressed down on him, suffocating. He didn’t want to abandon the N109 Zone, and even more than that, he couldn’t abandon you. The thought of leaving you behind gnawed at him, the sharp pain of longing cutting through him like a blade.
He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining your face—how much he longed to see you again, to hold you, to feel your warmth. It had been too long since he’d last heard your voice, since he’d last felt any sense of peace. But now, this? This deal with a devil, this impossible choice?
Xavier wasn’t sure why Skye was so insistent on keeping him away from the N109 Zone. Maybe it had something to do with his work as a hunter—his job was to take down people like Skye, after all. But that didn’t matter. What mattered now was survival. Because if he didn’t agree, if he didn’t concede right here and now, Skye might just kill him on the spot.
And then who would save you?
The thought gripped him like a vice, twisting his insides. No. He couldn’t let that happen. If he died here, there would be no one left to protect you. No one left to pull you out of whatever darkness was festering over the N109 Zone. He had to live, for you.
Xavier took a slow, deliberate breath, forcing the words out, even as they weighed heavy on his soul. “Fine,” he said, his voice low, barely more than a whisper. “I agree. I’ll stay away from it.”
Skye’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, the faintest smile curling at the edges of his lips. He nodded, his demeanor cooling instantly, the menacing presence he’d exuded just moments ago receding into something more neutral. “Good,” Skye said, his voice soft but still holding that dangerous undertone. “I knew you’d see reason.”
The tension in the car seemed to shift, though the air was still thick with the unspoken threat that hung between them. Skye leaned back in his seat, his posture relaxed now, as if the deal had wiped away any lingering tension. Skye was certainly dangerous, but seemed to be a man of his word at least.
Xavier forced himself to nod, though the weight of the decision felt like it was crushing him. I’ll find a way, he told himself, his mind racing. Skye’s only one guy. He can’t keep me out of there forever, right? There had to be a way back in. A way to find you. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—abandon you.
The rest of the drive passed in silence, the tension still hanging in the air but now subdued, like a coiled snake waiting for the right moment to strike. Xavier’s thoughts churned, his mind battling with itself as the distant lights of the city began to appear on the horizon. The rising sun painted the sky with hues of orange and pink, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Xavier saw the light breaking through the darkness.
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the sun brush against his skin. How long has it been? Too long. He had missed the sun. He had missed the light, the feeling of something familiar, something safe. But most of all, he missed you.
But this wasn’t the end. Skye was only one man. He couldn’t keep Xavier away from the N109 Zone forever. Xavier would find a way back—he had to. He wouldn’t rest until he found you, until he knew you were safe. And once he did, Skye would regret ever making this deal.
As the city drew closer, the familiar skyline of Linkon coming into view, Xavier’s pulse quickened. The tall buildings glistened in the morning light, their architecture grand and imposing. But even with the comforting familiarity of home, his mind remained restless.
Finally, the car pulled to a stop in front of City Hall. The building stood tall and unyielding, its imposing columns and grand facade casting long shadows across the street. Without wasting a second, Xavier pushed the door open and stepped out hurriedly, the weight of his decision still heavy on his shoulders.
He stood for a moment, looking up at the structure, taking in its architecture. It felt strange, being back in the city after everything that had happened. But he wasn’t here for reflection. He was here for answers.
Xavier’s hand instinctively moved to the pocket on his chest, patting the place where the SIM card was safely tucked away. The key to everything. Whether Skye was after associations secrets didn't matter now, the information on that SIM card was everything Xavier needed right now. It could give him answers, maybe even lead him to you. It was his only chance to understand what had happened in Reese’s basement, and where you had possibly gone.
With a deep breath, he turned back toward the car—only to find that Skye had already sped off, leaving nothing but the faint smell of exhaust in the air. The man was gone, disappearing into the distance as if he’d never been there at all.
Xavier stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space where the car had been, his mind still whirling with thoughts. This isn’t over, he told himself again. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Skye’s shadow would loom over him, no matter where he went.
But for now, he had work to do.
With one last glance at the distant city skyline, Xavier turned and made his way past city hall, heading straight for headquarters, the weight of the SIM card in his pocket a constant reminder of what was at stake.
And of what was still to come.
“Caw! Caw!”
Your eyes snapped open, the sound cutting through the suffocating darkness. For a moment, you couldn’t tell where you were—the inky blackness of the N109 Zone was so complete that it pressed in on you from all sides. There was no light here, not even the faintest glow filtering in through the windows. Just endless, crushing darkness.
You groaned, pulling the blanket tighter around your body as if it could shield you from the cold reality of your situation.
Not yet. You just wanted to get lost in your dreams for a little while longer.
Through the thick stillness of the room, you could hear the faint rustling of feathers, and even without seeing, you knew exactly what had disturbed your sleep.
“Go away, you stupid fucking bird…” you muttered into the blanket, your voice hoarse and tired. But the familiar flap of wings told you the crow wasn’t going anywhere.
There was a slight rustle at the head of the bed, and then you felt it—the sudden weight of the bird landing on the pillow next to you. Its presence was unmistakable, a cold, ominous shadow in the already oppressive darkness. You didn’t need to see the bird to feel its eyes on you, watching, waiting.
You sighed heavily, pulling the blanket away from your face just enough to squint into the darkness. Mephisto's shape was barely visible, a faint silhouette against the dim outline of the room. Even without light, you could sense the bird’s beady eyes, glowing with unnatural intelligence, watching your every move.
“Why are you always here?” you groaned, turning your head to the side but not making any real effort to shoo the bird away. It wasn’t the first time you’d woken to find the crow lurking in the shadows, unsettling and always too close for comfort.
The bird didn’t move, only cocked its head at you, its dark feathers rustling in the silence. A low, throaty caw escaped it, the sound strangely muffled by the thick blackness of the Zone. The air felt heavier here, like it was weighing down on you, draining what little energy you had left. Fatigue clung to you like a second skin, making it hard to even lift your head from the pillow.
“Go on, then…” you muttered, voice trailing off as exhaustion tugged at your body. You were too tired to fight, too tired to care. Whatever strange game the bird was playing, you didn’t have the strength to resist.
Mephisto's soft caw echoed in the suffocating stillness, the sound barely audible but enough to gnaw at your nerves. The scrape of his claws on the pillow sent an uncomfortable chill through you, his dark presence creeping closer, settling into the shadows like it belonged there. The oppressive darkness of the N109 Zone outside made it impossible to see him clearly, but you didn’t need to. You could feel him—watching, waiting, like he always was.
For a moment, the room was silent again. Then, without warning, Mephisto took flight, the sharp flutter of wings cutting through the air as he landed somewhere across the room. You didn’t bother to follow his movement, too tired to care. Not until his caw broke the silence once more. And again. And again.
The crow’s incessant cawing drilled into your already frayed nerves, each sound louder than the last. You groaned, pulling the blanket tighter over your head in a futile attempt to block him out. But the bird’s persistence didn’t stop. Caw. Caw. Caw.
“Are you serious?” you muttered into the pillow, your voice muffled. But Mephisto continued, relentless, as if mocking your exhaustion. The weight of the past few weeks pressed down on you—sleepless nights, endless fatigue, nausea creeping at the edges of your mind. The last thing you needed was this damn crow breaking what little peace you had.
Finally, you had enough. With a frustrated groan, you sat upright and turned the lamp on, ready to scream every obscenity you could think of at the annoying bird.
But before you could let the words fly, the sound of metal scraping against metal stopped you.
Your eyes darted to the door just as a small slit opened, and the tray was pushed through with a loud clank. On the tray sat a plate of buttered French toast, syrup drizzled generously on top, fried eggs glistening with oil, and three thick slices of bacon.
You blinked, staring at the meal as if it were the most absurd thing you’d ever seen.
Breakfast? All of that noise and irritation—for breakfast?
You glanced at Mephisto, who had now stopped cawing and perched himself smugly atop a shelf in the corner of the room. His beady eyes seemed to gleam in the darkness, and you could swear there was a mocking glint in them. As if he were proud of himself for his part in waking you.
“The hell, Mephisto?” you muttered, rubbing your temples in frustration. “You woke me up…for breakfast?”
The crow gave a final, low caw, as if satisfied with himself. You glared at him for a moment before your stomach growled, betraying your irritation. The rich smell of bacon and syrup filled the room, and despite your fatigue and frustration, your body responded.
“Unbelievable…” you sighed, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “I guess I can’t be mad at you. But next time? A little less cawing, alright?”
Mephisto tilted his metal head, as if considering your request, then fluffed his feathers and settled into silence. For now.
You dragged the tray toward the couch, the familiar clank of metal chains following you with every step. The buttery smell of the French toast filled the room, a comforting contrast to the cold, oppressive dim darkness of the room. It was a simple pleasure, one you rarely allowed yourself to enjoy. Sitting down, you tucked your legs beneath you and began to eat, the warm toast melting on your tongue, the crisp bacon adding a much-needed crunch to the silence.
But as you chewed, your thoughts began to drift, slipping away from the meal in front of you. Unwillingly, they went back to him.
Sylus.
The room was empty now, and yes, you had often eaten breakfast alone—but more times than not, Sylus had been there. His presence had always loomed, a constant shadow in your confined world. Sometimes he was silent, simply watching you with those cold, unreadable eyes. Other times, he would speak, absently chatting about his ventures outside the N109 Zone, about deals made or enemies eliminated. You had never cared much for the details—most of it sounded like distant noise, some half-forgotten memory—but even then, it had been more entertaining than staring at these four black walls.
A scowl crept across your face as you took another bite. Why the hell are you thinking about that prick now?
You shook your head, frustrated. You were alone now. Sylus was gone, off somewhere dealing with whatever business had called him away, and you should be enjoying this time without him. You should be savoring the silence, the freedom from his looming presence. You should be grateful that he wasn’t here, filling the space with his mind games, his cold, possessive gaze always tracking your every movement.
Fuck him.
You stabbed at a piece of bacon, chewing aggressively as if it could help rid him from your thoughts. He was a manipulative bastard. And yet… despite your best efforts, his presence lingered in your mind, as persistent as ever.
Your gaze drifted to the empty space where he would normally sit, his absence both a relief and an unsettling reminder. You had despised him, hated every moment he had been there, the way he made you feel like a pawn in whatever twisted game he was playing. But now that he was gone, the space felt… strange.
Stop it. You shouldn’t be thinking about him. Not now. Not when he was out of your life—if only for a while.
But even as you tried to push him from your mind, one of his last words echoed in your head, an unshakable whisper: “This may be the last time we talk, kitten.”
The way he had said it, that cold finality in his voice, had stuck with you, nagging at the back of your mind ever since. He had called you that damn pet name after days of ignoring you, his voice dripping with condescension, as if he were giving you a final warning. Or a promise.
You hated it. You hated how those words seemed to hang over you, even now, as if he had left part of himself behind in this room, even after he was gone.
“Kitten.”
You shook your head again, harder this time, trying to shove the memory aside. No, you told yourself. You wouldn’t let him get to you, not like this. He was gone. For now, you were alone. Enjoy it while it lasts, you thought bitterly, taking another bite of French toast, the syrup coating your tongue in sweetness.
But no matter how hard you tried, that final word—kitten—kept echoing in the back of your mind, a lingering reminder that Sylus might be gone for now, but he was far from finished with you.
You forced yourself to focus on the meal in front of you, determined to push any lingering thoughts of Sylus away. You chewed quickly, finishing the French toast, the syrup leaving a sticky sweetness on your lips. The bacon and eggs soon followed, and though the food was far from satisfying, it was enough to momentarily distract you. You let the warmth of the food settle in your stomach, willing the heaviness in your chest to dissipate with it.
"No drink to wash this down?" you muttered, annoyed that the chefs had seemingly forgotten yet again.
With the last bite taken, you placed the empty plate back on the tray and rose from the couch, the clink of metal cuffs reminding you of your ever-present situation. The chains dragged behind you as you moved toward the bathroom, passing Mephisto, who had settled back onto his perch in the corner. His black feathers were fluffed up, his head tucked beneath a wing, and for once, the bird seemed content to leave you in peace.
You shot him a glare, but it was half-hearted. At least now, with breakfast behind you, you could take a moment for yourself.
The bright lights of the bathroom strained your eyes as you flicked them on. The chill of the tile beneath your feet made you shiver as you moved toward the shower, feeling the exhaustion settle deeper into your bones. The mirror reflected your tired eyes, the dark circles beneath them, the weight of sleepless nights etched into your face. You needed this—the chance to feel clean, to wash away the grime of the past few days. Maybe then you could feel a little more like yourself.
With a sigh, you began to undress, your fingers reaching for the clasps at the sides of your underwear. You couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of gratitude as you unclasped the sides with ease. Sylus had, at the very least, provided you with something that made life a little more bearable. You didn’t have to go bare for two weeks, which had been your fear the moment you realized the cuffs restricted you from putting on anything that required more movement.
At least he wasn’t completely cruel, you thought, though you hated giving him even that much credit.
The underwear unclasped easily, falling to the floor as you stepped into the shower. The hot water hit your skin like a wave of relief, and for a moment, you let yourself breathe, closing your eyes and letting the steam rise around you. The weight of the cuffs dragged slightly at your wrists, but you ignored it, focusing instead on the heat that loosened the tension in your muscles, if only temporarily.
As the water washed over you, you forced your mind to stay present, to focus on the warmth, the small comfort of being alone in this space. You scrubbed your skin, letting the soap and water cleanse the sweat, the fear, the exhaustion that had clung to you like a second skin.
You weren’t thinking about him. Not now.
The shower passed without incident, the warm water a brief respite in an otherwise unchanging routine. You let it wash over you, not bothering to rush. There was no need to hurry—nothing would be different when you stepped outside the bathroom. The four black walls of your confined world would still be waiting, the ever-present weight of captivity pressing down on you.
You dressed slowly, fingers lazily fastening the clasps on your new underwear and pulling on the rest of your clothes. It was a mundane task, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care much. What was the point? Nothing was going to change outside of this small space. Nothing ever did.
With a sigh, you stepped through the bathroom opening and stepped back into the main room. The dim light from the lamp did little to brighten the space, but something caught your eye near the door—a small bottle, sitting neatly on the floor.
You walked over, the clink of your chain echoing in the silence as you crouched down to pick it up. A small bottle of apple juice. You stared at it for a moment, turning it over in your hands. Ah. So the chefs finally remembered your drink.
You examined the label, noticing the word "organic" printed in bold letters across the front. A scoff escaped your lips as you raised an eyebrow. Organic? Really?
It wasn’t like you had asked for anything fancy. Just apple juice. Something simple, a small comfort in a world that was anything but. But the idea that the chefs had gone out of their way to make sure it was organic felt almost laughable. As if the quality of the juice would somehow make up for everything else. As if this one, carefully selected bottle could erase the chain around your ankle or the suffocating darkness that clung to every corner of the N109 Zone.
You shook your head with a faint smirk, unscrewing the cap. The liquid inside swirled lazily as you brought the bottle to your lips, the familiar taste of apples flooding your senses. It wasn’t bad. In fact, it was probably the best thing you’d had in days.
Still, the absurdity of it lingered, and the small humor in the situation wasn’t lost on you. Organic apple juice, of all things, in a place like this. It almost made you laugh—almost.
You took another sip, walking back to the couch where your breakfast tray still sat, the weight of the cuffs dragging slightly as you moved. You sat down, staring at the empty plate, the apple juice bottle still in hand. For a moment, the silence stretched, and the thoughts you’d been pushing away started to creep back in.
But no. You wouldn’t let them take over. Not now. Not yet.
Instead, you focused on the small sweetness of the juice, the faint taste of apples grounding you in the present moment. A small comfort in an otherwise impossible world.
Time passed, though you weren’t sure how much. Minutes? Hours? The stagnant silence of the room made it impossible to tell. The dim light never changed, the walls never shifted. Everything felt stuck in place, leaving you floating in a haze of monotony, barely tethered to the reality outside your mind.
It wasn’t until you heard the familiar scrape of metal against metal that you realized lunch had been passed through the small opening in the door. You glanced toward the tray and sighed. Another meal, another reminder of how routine your captivity had become.
Grilled chicken sandwiches with a side salad, the tangy scent of vinegar dressing wafting up as you sat back down on the couch. For a drink, water. The sight of it barely registered. You gave the chef your dirty dish from earlier and took your new meal. You ate out of necessity, chewing mechanically as your thoughts drifted away from the plate in front of you.
Xavier.
His name filled your mind suddenly, unbidden, and a sharp pang of worry twisted in your chest. You tried to swallow it down with a bite of chicken, but it lingered, heavy and insistent.
Was he okay?
You hadn't allowed yourself to think about him much since you’d been taken here. The thought of him searching for you, desperately trying to figure out what had happened, was too much to bear. The last thing you wanted was to feel hope. Hope was dangerous, a slippery slope into despair. But now, as you sat alone in this suffocating room, your thoughts strayed to him without your permission.
Had he given up searching for you?
You forced yourself to take another bite, trying to ground yourself in the present. But the idea gnawed at you. Xavier was relentless. He wouldn’t stop—not unless… No. You shook your head. You knew him better than that. If there was even the slightest chance that you were alive, Xavier would be searching, tearing apart the world to find you. He wasn’t the type to give up. He couldn’t give up.
But still, even as you tried to cling to that thought, the darker possibility crept in. Slowly, insidiously, like a poison sinking into your veins.
What if… he couldn’t find you because Sylus wouldn’t let him?
A chill ran through you, cold and unsettling. Even if, by some miracle, Xavier had tracked your location, there was no way he’d get anywhere near this place without Sylus knowing. Sylus had eyes everywhere. He controlled everything in the N109 Zone. No one could move in or out without his permission. If Xavier had found you, Sylus would have stopped him.
Or worse.
Your stomach churned, the food on your plate suddenly unappetizing. A horrifying thought started to crawl its way into your mind, gripping you tightly. You tried to push it away, but it clawed its way to the surface.
Had Sylus… killed him?
You swallowed hard, the tang of vinegar burning your throat as you forced the food down. The thought stuck in your chest like a stone. Was that why you hadn’t felt any hope? Why everything had felt so bleak, so final? Because somewhere, out there, Xavier was—no. You couldn’t let yourself believe that. Not now. Not when the possibility of his death could unravel you completely.
But still, the idea sat there, festering, filling the silence with dread. Sylus wouldn’t have hesitated if he saw Xavier as a threat. The cold, calculated way he moved, the ease with which he eliminated obstacles in his path—it was entirely possible that Xavier had become just another casualty in Sylus’s game.
You set down the sandwich, your appetite gone. Your mind raced, heart hammering against your ribs as you sat there, staring at the black walls that had closed in around you for what felt like an eternity. If Xavier was dead, then what? What did that leave you with? Nothing but these four walls and Sylus’s twisted version of captivity.
No.
You couldn’t think like that. Not now. You couldn’t give up. Not yet.
Xavier had to be alive. He had to be out there, still fighting, still searching. He wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t abandon you. You refused to believe anything else.
But no matter how hard you tried to push it away, the seed of doubt had already been planted. And it wasn’t going anywhere. You clutched your stomach as a surge of pain cramped in your lower abdomen. But just as quickly as it came, it was gone. Chalking it up to the food, you decide to lay down.
The fifth day. At least, you thought it might be. Time had blurred into a strange, formless thing, slipping through your fingers without any markers to distinguish one day from the next. You had no way of knowing how long it had been since Sylus left, or even what day it was. You were just staring at the ceiling now, your mind slowly unraveling from the sheer weight of boredom.
The darkness of the N109 Zone outside was relentless, pressing in from all sides, and the oppressive silence only seemed to make it worse. You had run out of things to think about, your mind turning over the same memories, the same thoughts—where was Xavier? Was Sylus really gone?—until they became noise. Background static.
You turned your head, your eyes landing on Mephisto, perched nearby. He was preening his feathers, utterly unconcerned with your slow descent into madness.
“Hey…” you muttered, breaking the silence. The bird paused, one red eye shifting toward you.
“You should’ve told your owner to leave me a clock,” you said, sarcasm dripping from your voice. “A calendar... books. Something. I’m going crazy here.”
Mephisto stilled, cocking his head slightly as if he were processing what you said. He blinked, staring at you with his unnervingly intelligent eyes. For a brief, absurd moment, you wondered if he understood you. You let out a soft, bitter laugh, turning your head away from him.
“Yeah, I figured.”
The silence settled in again, the darkness heavier now. Your body felt sluggish, your mind clouded with exhaustion. Sleep had become your only escape from the monotony, so you let it take you. You felt odd. Like something was wrong in your gut. Despite this, your eyelids fluttered shut, and soon you were drifting into a restless slumber, the weight of the world outside slipping away.
When you woke, the room was still dark—unchanged, like always. But something was different. Your eyes drifted to the door, and you blinked in surprise. A small bundle of items lay just inside the door. Food, probably. You were used to meals being passed through the metal slit in the door, arriving without ceremony.
But this wasn’t food.
You sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you stared at the items. Your pulse quickened, curiosity gnawing at you. You shuffled across the room, the clink of your chain barely registering as you crouched down in front of the bundle.
A calendar. And an old, slightly battered record. On the record a note reads:
Listen to this if you're bored. Should help.
-Sylus
You stared at the items in disbelief, your fingers hovering over the calendar as if touching it might cause it to disappear. A calendar? It was such a simple thing, but it felt monumental in this place, where time had become meaningless.
Mephisto let out a soft caw from his perch, but you ignored him, your thoughts spinning. You reached for the calendar, flipping it open to find a bookmarked page and a date circled in bright red ink.
February.
It was February now. The realization hit you like a wave, and you froze, staring at the circled date. How long had it been since you’d arrived here? Days? Weeks? It was impossible to tell. Time had slipped away from you, leaving nothing but this void of endless darkness. And now, suddenly, a date was staring you in the face, mocking your inability to track time.
Your heart thudded heavily in your chest. Sylus probably had the chef leave these things for you. A reminder. A subtle way to toy with you maybe? Reminding you that no matter what you did, he was always watching? Or was it really a nice gesture?
You glanced at Mephisto, who was once again preening his feathers, seemingly oblivious to your shock. The absurd thought crossed your mind—could this bird telepathically communicate with Sylus?
No. You shook your head, trying to push away the ridiculousness of it. There was probably a live feed in his eyes. Sylus had eyes everywhere. This was just his way of reinforcing the fact that you were never alone, no matter how much you wanted to be.
But even with that realization, a small, giddy excitement bubbled up inside you. A calendar. An actual date. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Something real. Something you could hold onto, in a place where everything felt so distant, so out of reach.
You rushed to open the calendar fully, your fingers flipping through the pages, tracing the days you had lost. How long had you been here? You couldn’t tell anymore. The days blurred together, the passage of time meaningless in this dark, suffocating world.
February. You had been here for longer than you thought. But how much longer? Weeks? The time was slipping away from you, and even now, with the calendar in your hands, you weren’t sure what it meant.
Still, you clung to it, flipping through the pages again and again, as if the answers you sought were hidden somewhere in the numbers. You sighed, settling back against the couch, holding the calendar in your lap. The small victory of having something, anything, to mark the days felt like a lifeline.
You glanced at the record. Another piece of the puzzle. Was it just an old record, or was it something more? Maybe a way for Sylus to toy with you, another way to keep you under his thumb.
For now, it didn’t matter. You had a calendar, a way to tell time. February. It was something to hold onto.
But the unsettling thought still lingered in the back of your mind—how long had it really been?
Your gaze shifted to the record player in the corner of the room, one that had been there since you arrived but had remained untouched. Shelves lined the walls, filled with records you had never bothered to look at. They felt like relics of another time, useless in the darkness of your current world. Besides, you had never known how to use one, and even if you did, the thought of music felt distant, disconnected from the stark reality of your life here.
But now, with the record in your hand, the idea of playing it stirred something in you. The room was suffocatingly quiet—always had been. Maybe music, any music, could break the monotony, even if only for a little while.
It couldn’t be that hard to figure out.
You stood slowly, the weight of the chain dragging slightly as you crossed the room toward the record player. The shelves of records loomed next to it, untouched and collecting dust, but your focus was solely on the player now. You stared at it for a moment, feeling a small flicker of uncertainty. You’d seen record players in movies, but you’d never used one. Still, how complicated could it be?
Placing the record down carefully on the turntable, you fumbled with the needle, your fingers shaky as you tried to set it up the way you remembered from vague recollections of old movies. The needle slipped a few times, scratching lightly over the surface of the record, and you winced.
“Come on…” you muttered under your breath, frustration building as you fiddled with it, adjusting the speed and placement. For a brief moment, you considered giving up entirely. What was the point of this? It wasn’t like playing some music was going to change anything.
But just as you were about to pull the needle away, the record began to spin. You held your breath as the sound of soft crackling filled the room, and then—music.
A hauntingly beautiful tune drifted through the air, slow and melodic, the soft notes of an organ echoing in the stillness. The melody was deep, resonating with something inside you that had been silent for too long. The music wrapped around you, filling the empty space, pulling at emotions you had long since buried.
You stood there, frozen, as the music enveloped the room. It was strange, hearing something so beautiful in a place that had become nothing but a prison. The contrast made the music feel almost ghostly, like it didn’t belong here. Like it was an echo from another life, another time.
For a moment, you just listened. The sound washed over you, the haunting notes tugging at something deep inside. It was almost too much. The weight of the loneliness, the fear, the uncertainty—all of it seemed to rise to the surface with each note that played. You hadn’t realized how much you had been holding in, how much you had forced yourself to push down, until now.
The haunting tune was a reminder. A reminder of everything you had lost, everything that had been stolen from you. But it was also… comforting, in a strange way. It was the first thing in this place that had touched you—really touched you.
You closed your eyes, letting the music sink in, every note heavy with meaning, every chord reverberating through you. For a moment, it was as if the darkness of the N109 Zone didn’t matter. As if the four black walls that surrounded you had disappeared, leaving you in a space where only the music existed.
The tune swelled, filling every corner of the room, its melody bittersweet, carrying an unspoken sadness that felt far too familiar. It wrapped around you like a soft blanket, drawing you into its haunting embrace, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to feel. To let the music stir something inside you that you had locked away for too long.
As the song played on, you sat down on the edge of the couch, the record player spinning quietly in the corner. Your fingers absently traced the label of the calendar in your lap, your mind floating somewhere between the haunting melody and the strange sense of calm it brought.
It had now been two days since you first played the record, two days of trying to distract yourself from the endless monotony of your existence in the N109 Zone. You’d made it a habit now—when you woke up, you marked the calendar with a ballpoint pen you’d found in Sylus’s desk, scratching a line through the date as if it could somehow bring you closer to freedom. Or at least closer to understanding how long you had been trapped here.
Your circadian rhythm was the only other way to tell what time it was.
The haunting melody from the record still played in your mind sometimes, but you hadn’t touched it again. There was something about the music that unsettled you. Too emotional. Too revealing. So, for now, you kept your distance.
In an attempt to stave off the boredom clawing at your mind, you finally agreed to join Luke and Kieran for a game of Kitty Cards—something they had pestered you about for days. You figured it was better than staring at the walls, waiting for nothing to happen.
At first, the game was almost enjoyable. Luke’s awkward attempts at jokes and Kieran’s quiet intensity made for an interesting dynamic, and for a brief moment, you let yourself relax. It was a small respite, playing cards with these two in the dim light of the room, their presence a distraction from the oppressive weight of your thoughts.
But then, slowly, you started to feel it.
The familiar aches. A dull, persistent cramp settling in your lower half, tugging at your body like an unwelcome reminder. You shifted in your seat, trying to ignore the discomfort, but the tiredness crept in next, sudden and heavy. The exhaustion weighed down on your eyelids, your muscles growing sluggish.
You sighed softly, knowing what was coming.
“Sorry, guys,” you said, trying to keep your voice light as you gathered the cards in front of you. “I think I’m done for now. Just… feeling off.”
Luke blinked, his mask tilting slightly as he looked at you. “You okay?”
Kieran’s eyes followed you as you rose from the table, his expression unreadable. You nodded quickly, not wanting to explain.
“Yeah, just tired. I’ll catch you both later.”
Without waiting for a response, you made your way back to the small bathroom. The cramping in your lower half was more noticeable now, pulsing with every step, but you welcomed it. At least it means something’s happening, you thought bitterly.
Once inside the bathroom, you heard the door close as the twins left, your body aching as you lowered yourself onto the toilet. You exhaled sharply, leaning forward slightly as the cramps continued to tug at your abdomen.
Then, as you glanced down at your underwear, you saw it—tiny specks of blood, dark against the fabric.
Relief washed over you, heavier than you expected. That time again? Already? You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, feeling the tension drain from your body. The blood meant your period had come. It meant everything was still functioning normally, despite the chaos of your life. And most importantly—it meant you weren’t tied to him.
You weren’t pregnant. You weren’t carrying his child.
Your stomach unclenched slightly at the thought, and you leaned back against the cool tile wall, closing your eyes. Sylus had tried to plant that seed in you, that much you knew. But your body had fought against it, and now, seeing the blood, you knew for sure—you weren’t tied to that monster in the way he had planned.
Relief mingled with anger. How dare he even try to bind you to him like that? As if forcing you to bear his child would somehow solidify the twisted power he had over you.
But now? Now you were free from that possibility. You pressed your hand against your lower abdomen, feeling the faint ache of cramps beneath your palm, and allowed yourself to feel grateful. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A small victory in a place that gave you so little.
You dressed again slowly, wincing slightly as another cramp rolled through your body. You were exhausted—your body already begging for sleep—but you felt lighter. Freer, even. The blood meant you weren’t Sylus’s pawn, not in the way he had wanted.
And for now, that was enough.
Week one without Sylus had passed, but the moments that passed blurred together. You woke up feeling more drained than the last. No matter how many hours you spent in bed, you couldn’t shake the exhaustion that clung to you. It felt like a weight pressing down on your entire body, your limbs heavy and uncooperative, as though sleep was nothing more than a brief interruption in the long strain of fatigue.
You rubbed your eyes, the dull ache of sleepless nights pounding behind them. It’s just the insomnia, you told yourself, convincing yourself that the exhaustion was simply from the tossing and turning that plagued you every night. After all, how could anyone sleep well in this place?
But deep down, you knew this tiredness was different. It wasn’t the usual grogginess from a restless night—it was deeper, more persistent. No matter how long you tried to rest, you woke up feeling like you hadn’t slept at all.
With a groan, you forced yourself out of bed, each step slow and heavy as if your body had to drag itself from the sleep it never really got. You winced, pressing a hand to your stomach as you moved. The bloating was worse after every meal now. Every time you ate, your stomach would swell uncomfortably, tight and distended, like something inside was pushing against your skin. The discomfort was constant, and by the end of the day, you could barely stand it.
It’s the damn period, you thought, grimacing as you placed your hand over your abdomen. Has to be.
Periods always made you bloat. That wasn’t new. And with all the stress you’d been under lately, it made sense that things weren’t exactly running like clockwork. Still, the bloating felt different this time—more intense, more persistent, as though it was refusing to settle. Even after hours had passed, the discomfort clung to you, making you feel like your body was swelling from the inside out.
You shuffled to the bathroom, trying to focus on anything but the nagging fatigue and the bloating that made your movements stiff and awkward. A cramp twisted briefly in your abdomen, but it was dull, barely noticeable. You sighed, pulling down your underwear to change your pad, expecting to see the usual gushing blood.
But there was hardly any.
You blinked, staring at the emptiness on the pad. Yesterday, you had bled more—definitely. The first day had felt like a normal start to your period, but now, there was barely anything.
Huh?
You sat there for a moment, staring down at the pristine white of the pad. Your fingers traced the waistband of your underwear as confusion settled in. The cramping had mostly faded, too, just a slight ache now, nothing like the intensity of what you usually felt during your period.
Where is it?
You pressed a hand to your lower abdomen, the discomfort of bloating still lingering beneath your fingers. There should have been more blood. There should have been more something. But now, all that was left was a faint stain and a gnawing sense of unease.
It’s fine, you told yourself, standing up and trying to shake the feeling off. Periods can be irregular. It’s just stress.
That had to be it. The sleepless nights, the strain of living in the N109 Zone, the constant tension pulling at you—it was all catching up to you. Your body was just reacting to the emotional and physical stress. It made sense.
But still, the small voice of doubt in the back of your mind was growing louder. You’d always had unpredictable cycles, but this? This didn’t feel right. The bloating, the exhaustion, the lack of blood—it was all off. Yet, you forced yourself to ignore it. What else could it be?
You shook your head, forcing a laugh under your breath as you stared at the nearly empty pad. It’s fine. Just stress.
But no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, the nagging discomfort remained. And as you changed your pad and moved to wash your hands, the question gnawed at you with every breath.
Where is it?
It didn't help that with every meal from that day forward you'd get a slight pang of sickness in your belly. Maybe the chefs weren't that great of cooks after all.
But as time passed, the nausea only become more unbearable. It was no longer just an inconvenience that popped up here and there—it was constant. It churned in your stomach from the moment you woke up, creeping up before you even thought about food, making the thought of eating feel like a battle. Each meal now brought a wave of queasiness that lingered long after you forced yourself to swallow a few bites. The food you once ate out of necessity now felt impossible to keep down.
It wasn’t just the nausea, either. The small comforts you’d relied on—like lying on your chest when you finally collapsed into bed—were gone, too. Your breasts had grown tender, so sensitive that even the thought of pressing them against the mattress made you wince. Rolling over had become a challenge, and any attempt to settle into your normal sleeping position left you frustrated and sore.
You sat on the edge of the bed, gingerly pulling on a loose shirt, hoping the fabric wouldn’t irritate your nipples any further. Every little thing seemed to be falling apart inside you. Between the nausea, the tenderness, and the bloating that hadn’t eased up, your body felt like it was turning against you.
It was the same with everything else, too. Even simple things—like playing another round of Kitty Cards with Luke and Kieran—had started to feel overwhelming. You had hoped the game might distract you from the constant discomfort, but it wasn’t working. Every time you sat down to play, your mind would drift, thoughts swirling around Sylus, his absence, and the creeping uncertainty that gnawed at you.
The twins were patient, at least. They sat across from you, dealing the cards and chatting casually, oblivious to the storm brewing in your mind. But today, the pressure felt different. Everything felt different.
You stared at your cards, barely processing the game as it unfolded in front of you. Your head was spinning, your stomach twisting uncomfortably. You had lost again—no surprise there. Normally, you’d shrug it off, crack a sarcastic joke about how the twins were impossible to beat. But this time, you felt something break inside you, something small but undeniable.
Before you could stop it, the tears welled up in your eyes.
“Damn it,” you muttered, your voice trembling. You quickly wiped at your eyes, trying to will the tears away, but it was too late. They fell fast and hard, streaming down your cheeks before you could control them.
Luke and Kieran exchanged a panicked glance at each other through their masks, their playful demeanor evaporating as they rushed to your side.
“Whoa, hey, it’s just a game!” Luke said, his voice soft and cautious as he reached out, clearly unsure how to handle your sudden outburst. “It’s not a big deal, we can play another round, yeah?”
Kieran didn’t say anything at first, just shifted closer, his presence more of a quiet comfort than anything. He placed a hand gently on your shoulder, his voice calm but concerned. “You okay?”
You shook your head quickly, choking back a sob as you tried to speak. “I’m fine. I’m fine, really. It’s just… I don’t know.” The words felt flimsy, hollow, even as you said them. You didn’t know what was happening—why the sudden flood of emotions, why you felt so completely out of control. It wasn’t like you.
“It’s just everything,” you whispered, more to yourself than to them.
The twins stayed close, Luke rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly while Kieran quietly handed you a tissue. You wiped your face, embarrassed by the sudden outburst. This wasn’t you. You weren’t the kind of person who broke down over losing a card game, and yet here you were, crying in front of two people who probably didn’t know what to do with you.
“I’m sorry,” you muttered, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck. “I don’t know why… it’s just been—everything’s been so off lately.”
The twins exchanged another glance, but they didn’t push you. Instead, they nodded, offering small smiles of reassurance.
“We get it,” Luke said softly. “It’s a lot. You don’t have to explain.”
But as you sat there, sniffling and trying to regain control, the spinning in your head worsened. Your mind whirled with a thousand thoughts, none of them settling. What was happening to you? The nausea, the fatigue, the sensitivity, the tears. It didn’t make sense. You had blamed it all on stress and your period, but now the doubts were creeping in again.
And with those doubts came the nagging thought you’d been avoiding for days now: When is Sylus coming back?
The last time you’d seen him, he had left without giving you any real answers. His cold, detached demeanor had sent chills down your spine, and the memory of his final words replayed in your mind over and over again, like a taunt you couldn’t escape.
"This may be the last time we talk, kitten."
You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the words away, but they echoed louder than ever. Was he dead? Had something happened to him? No… that wasn’t possible. Sylus wasn’t the kind of man who went down easily. He was always ten steps ahead, always in control. But then why did his words haunt you like a final goodbye?
Your chest tightened, your stomach churning as the weight of it all pressed down on you. You needed answers, but you had none. And without Sylus here—without knowing if he was ever coming back—there was nothing to do but sit with the spinning confusion, the unease, and the gnawing fear that something was very, very wrong.
Days pass in a blur and you were getting tired of feeling god awful. And thirsty? You couldn't stop drinking.
You kept finding yourself asking Mephisto, of all things, if he could somehow pass a note to the chef for more drinks. Water, juice, anything you could get your hands on. The constant thirst gnawed at you, as relentless as the rest of the changes you couldn’t understand. The more your body demanded, the more frustrated you became.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” you muttered under your breath, staring into the mirror after pushing away yet another meal you couldn't finish. Your reflection stared back at you, tired and drawn, with dark circles under your eyes that hadn’t been there a few weeks ago. Your body felt foreign—heavy, sluggish, like something you couldn’t control anymore. You weren’t even sure what was happening to you, but you hated it. You hated how powerless you felt inside your own skin.
It was as if your body was betraying you in slow, painful ways. And it was getting harder and harder to hold yourself together.
You stepped back from the mirror, and the weight of it all—everything you had been pushing down—suddenly crashed over you. A sob escaped your throat, and before you could stop it, you were breaking down. Again. You slid to the floor, pressing your hands to your face, trying to stifle the tears, but they came faster than you could handle. The frustration, the exhaustion, the endless confusion—it all bubbled over.
Your hands were shaking as you cried, your body feeling too weak to even hold yourself upright. You were falling apart, piece by piece, and there was nothing left to keep the walls up.
After what felt like an eternity of sitting there on the floor, tears streaming down your face, you glanced over at the calendar. Through tear-stained eyes, you caught a glimpse of the circled date—the day Sylus was supposed to come back.
Your heart sank, a hollow pit forming in your chest as the realization hit you like a blow.
Three days.
Three days had already passed since he was supposed to be back.
Your breath caught in your throat as the thought consumed you. Shit. He’s dead. That’s the only explanation that made sense. Sylus was dead, and now you were trapped here, in this miserable, suffocating prison, forever.
And what made it worse—what twisted the knife in deeper—was that you cared.
You shouldn’t. You knew that. Sylus had kidnapped you, manipulated you, left a scar on your arm and worse, scars in your mind. He had controlled you, twisted your life into something unrecognizable. And here you were, crying—actually crying—because he wasn’t coming back?
Fuck him, you thought, angrily wiping your tears away. Why do you even care?
But even as you tried to convince yourself, the tears kept falling. Why did you care? What was wrong with you? Why did the thought of Sylus being dead, of him never walking back through that door, tear you apart in ways you couldn’t explain?
Your head spun, the weight of your emotions crashing over you, dragging you under. You hated him. You hated everything he’d done to you. He’d stolen you from your life, cut into your skin, ripped away your freedom. You should be celebrating the thought of him being gone. You should want him to be dead.
But you didn’t.
You leaned your head against the wall, pressing your hands to your chest, trying to quiet the storm inside of you. The nausea was back again, swirling in your stomach, making it harder to breathe. Your body felt like it wasn’t yours anymore, like you had lost control in more ways than one.
Tears dripped down your cheeks as you shook your head, whispering to yourself. “What is wrong with me?”
There was no answer, only the suffocating silence of the N109 Zone, pressing in on you from all sides. And in that silence, one thought kept repeating itself, over and over again, haunting you with every breath:
"This may be the last time we talk, kitten."
“FUCK YOU!” The words ripped from your throat before you even realized it, raw and filled with a fury you didn’t know you still had in you.
You surged to your feet, your vision blurred with tears and rage as you grabbed the calendar from its place on the wall. The innocent object, the one thing that had grounded you to the passing of time, now felt like a mockery. Every marked date, every circled day—it was all a lie. He wasn’t coming back.
Without thinking, you hurled the calendar across the room with all the strength you could muster. It hit the opposite wall with a dull thud before falling to the floor, pages crumpling as it landed. The sound echoed in the room, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the roar inside your head.
You stood there, chest heaving, your heart pounding in your ears. The room felt too small, too suffocating, the darkness pressing in on you from every side. You wanted to scream again, to throw everything in the room, to tear it all apart until there was nothing left to remind you of him, of this place, of the horrible truth you couldn’t escape.
Sylus. His name was a bitter taste in your mouth. He had controlled you, twisted your life into this nightmare, and now he had the audacity to leave you here—alone. The anger burned in your chest, mixing with the sadness, the confusion, the overwhelming feeling of being lost.
You wanted to hate him. You did hate him. But in that same breath, the thought of him being gone forever, of him never walking through that door again, left you hollow. Why?
You felt an intense pain in your chest. In your heart. Physical, longing, brimming underneath all the hate when you thought of Sylus.
Tears streamed down your face as you stood there, fists clenched at your sides, staring at the crumpled calendar on the floor. The broken mess of it mirrored the way you felt inside—shattered, with no way to piece it back together.
“Fuck you,” you whispered, your voice breaking. It wasn’t just for Sylus anymore. It was for everything. For the N109 Zone, for your broken body, for the endless spiral of confusion and fear that had taken over your life. You didn’t know who to scream at anymore, who to blame, because everything felt like it was crumbling.
You wiped your tear-streaked face with the back of your hand, your breath shaky. The calendar sat motionless on the floor, a reminder of time slipping away, of promises not kept. And with it, a reminder of the haunting words Sylus had left you with, the ones that echoed in the hollow space inside your chest.
"This may be the last time we talk, kitten."
You sobbed, eyes turning toward the record player. You had been avoiding it. But now you longed for its song.
You sobbed, knees giving out as you slid to the floor, your body trembling with the weight of everything crashing down at once. The room spun around you, the tears blurring your vision, and for a moment, all you could do was sit there, letting the raw emotion pour out of you, your chest heaving with every breath.
Through the tears, your eyes drifted across the room, falling on the record player sitting in the corner, covered in a thin layer of dust. It had been sitting there for days, untouched, and you had purposefully ignored it, trying to avoid the haunting melody that had stirred too much inside you the first time. You’d been afraid of it—afraid of what the music had made you feel. Too much.
But now, as you sat there in the suffocating silence, the world collapsing around you, you longed for it. You longed for the song.
There was something in that music, something that had connected with you in a way nothing else here had. The haunting melody had pierced through the walls you’d built, allowing you to feel, really feel, in a place where emotions were a dangerous luxury. And now, in the midst of your grief and anger, you craved that connection again, that strange, bittersweet comfort.
Wiping at your tear-streaked face, you slowly pushed yourself up, your legs shaky beneath you as you staggered toward the record player. You hesitated for a moment, standing before it, your fingers hovering over the record that sat waiting, as if it had known you would come back.
Your hand trembled as you placed the needle on the record, the familiar crackling sound filling the room as it began to spin. For a moment, there was nothing but static, a brief, fragile pause before the music began.
And then, the first notes hit.
That hauntingly beautiful melody. It drifted through the room, filling the empty space with its ghostly echo. The sound wrapped around you, soft and delicate, but heavy with meaning, with emotion. The organs slow, mournful tune carried through the air, each note pulling at your heart, drawing out the feelings you had tried to bury.
You sank to the floor again, leaning against the wall, your head resting back as you let the music envelop you. The tears didn’t stop, but the sobs quieted, replaced by a deep, aching sadness. The melody tugged at your soul, a reminder of everything you had lost, everything that had been taken from you.
But in that sadness, there was a strange comfort. The music understood. It mirrored your pain, your frustration, your confusion. Every note felt like it was speaking directly to you, like the song itself was mourning with you.
The organ swelled, and your chest tightened, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over as the emotions surged again. But you didn’t fight it this time. You let the music carry you, let it take you wherever it wanted to go. There was no point in resisting anymore. You were tired of fighting.
As the melody continued, you closed your eyes, the sound pulling you deeper into its embrace. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to truly feel everything. The sadness, the anger, the fear—it all poured out of you, spilling into the notes of the song.
Sylus’s absence still loomed over you, his words still echoed in your mind, but for now, the music dulled the edges of that pain. It was a small reprieve, a brief moment where the chaos of your mind quieted.
And even though the haunting melody was filled with sorrow, in this moment, it was exactly what you needed.
Sylus stepped into the room quietly, the soft click of the door unlocking barely audible over the faint hum of the record player. He exhaled slowly, exhaustion weighing heavy on him from days of endless travel, but as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, they landed on you, and the fatigue seemed to fade into the background.
There you were, curled up on the floor, fast asleep, your chest rising and falling in steady, peaceful breaths. The haunting melody from the record player filled the air, casting a strange, melancholic atmosphere over the room. Sylus’s gaze flickered to the spinning record and, with a small smirk, he turned the player off, cutting the music short. It pleased him to see you had actually played it.
For a moment, he simply stood there, watching you sleep. There was something oddly vulnerable about the way you lay there, your body relaxed in sleep, your face free of the tension that so often creased it when you were awake. His eyes traced the faint tear tracks on your cheeks, the puffiness around your eyes, the clear evidence that you had been crying.
You’ve been sobbing, he realized, his smirk fading as he studied you more closely. Dried tears clung to your skin, and your face looked stressed and worn, as if you’d been fighting a losing battle with your emotions for far too long. He could see it now—the exhaustion, the way your body seemed to have given up.
His gaze softened, lingering on you for a moment longer. You stirred slightly in your sleep, your eyelids fluttering as if caught in some dream. Your chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, and for the briefest moment, he allowed himself to simply observe the small details—the way your breath hitched every now and then, the way your lips parted slightly, the faint twitch of your fingers.
It was strange, this feeling. Sylus had seen you broken before, had seen the moments when you were at your most vulnerable, but watching you like this—so peaceful, yet so fragile—something else stirred in him. A flicker of something softer, something he quickly brushed away.
He stepped closer, kneeling beside you as he reached out to gently shake your shoulder. “Wake up, honey” he murmured softly.
Your eyes flew open, wide and startled at first, darting around the room in confusion before finally settling on him. For a split second, something flashed in your gaze—relief? But it was quickly replaced by something else. Worry? Concern?
Before he could say anything, you grimaced, your face twisting in discomfort, and then you were dry heaving. Instinctively, Sylus moved quickly, slipping his arms under you to help guide you toward the bathroom. The sudden movement caught you off guard, but he held you steady, his grip firm but not rough.
“Easy,” he said, his voice low as he helped you to the bathroom. You could barely focus, your body convulsing with the effort of dry heaving, but Sylus kept you upright, guiding you with surprising gentleness.
Once inside, you collapsed near the toilet, and he crouched beside you, watching as your body struggled against the nausea. His hand rested lightly on your back, a quiet, stabilizing presence as you fought to regain control.
One dry heave. Your body convulsed, a sharp, painful spasm that left you gasping for breath. Sylus's grip tightened slightly, his hand steady on your back as he helped guide you to the edge of the toilet. The nausea had been building for days, and now it was finally pushing its way out, relentless and overwhelming.
Then came another heave, your stomach twisting violently, your muscles contracting as if your body was trying to wring itself dry. Your vision blurred, and the room spun as you tried to fight it, but it was no use.
The final heave hit hard, and this time, you couldn’t hold it back. The contents of your stomach surged up, and you vomited into the toilet, your whole body trembling from the effort. The acrid taste burned in your throat as you retched, your eyes squeezing shut as tears leaked from the corners.
Sylus remained silent, his hand still resting on your back, his presence a quiet anchor in the chaos of the moment. He didn’t speak, didn’t react—just stayed there, watching as you emptied yourself, each convulsion wracking your already exhausted body.
When the retching finally subsided, your shoulders sagged, and you leaned against the toilet, your breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. The nausea still lingered, but the worst had passed, leaving you feeling weak, drained, and raw. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, still shaking, your entire body feeling like it might collapse at any moment.
Sylus knelt beside you, his gaze fixed on you, studying your every movement. There was no mocking smirk this time, no cruel amusement. Just a quiet, almost clinical focus as he watched you recover. His eyes flickered over your tear-streaked face, the sweat glistening on your skin, and the unmistakable exhaustion that had settled into every fiber of your being.
"Better?" he asked quietly, his voice softer than you expected.
You nodded weakly, though you weren’t sure if that was the truth. The nausea had faded, but your head was spinning, and your body felt foreign, like it didn’t belong to you anymore. You slumped back, resting against the cool tile floor, trying to steady your breath as the overwhelming fatigue took over.
“Were you so excited to see me that you threw up?” Sylus’s voice slipped out, laced with dark amusement as he eyed you laid on the bathroom floor. The corners of his lips tugged into a smirk as he watched your exhausted figure, trembling from the aftermath of your retching. The sight of you, so vulnerable yet still so defiant, stirred something in him. It was quite adorable.
Your head snapped up, eyes red and watery, and shot him a glare that would’ve been more effective if you weren’t barely holding yourself together. That was what he liked about you, though—you still had fire, even when everything else was crumbling.
“I hate you,” you muttered, barely audible, your voice weak and strained.
He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in the quiet room. Of course you did. You’d spat those words at him more times than he could count, but they never carried the weight you thought they did. “I'm hurt, kitten,” he said, letting the pet name slip out with just enough bite to remind you of your place.
He shifted, straightening up slightly but still crouched beside you, watching the way your body slumped against the cool tile. You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand again, trying to recover, but he could see how drained you were. Your limbs looked heavy, like they’d given up on you, and the flush of your cheeks told him you were still fighting that lingering nausea.
But it wasn’t just the exhaustion that interested him—it was the way you looked up at him, the fire still burning behind your eyes despite the tears and the clear discomfort. Even now, as broken as you were, you fought. That was what intrigued him, what kept him coming back to you.
He couldn’t help but chuckle again, this time quieter, more to himself. The sight of you like this, caught between rage and weakness, pulled at something in him. You didn’t want him here, and yet, your body still leaned into his support, still let him guide you when you needed it most. Whether you hated him or not didn’t matter. You still needed him.
He watched you for a moment longer, his eyes scanning your face, the way your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath. The tear tracks were still fresh on your cheeks, and he could see that you’d been crying long before he’d arrived.
The silence stretched between you, and Sylus felt it settle—heavy, weighted with something more than just your physical exhaustion. He could feel it in the way you looked at him, as though you were grappling with something you didn’t want to admit. And then there was that brief flicker in your eyes, something that looked almost like relief before it shifted to concern.
It intrigued him. What were you so worried about?
He could see your body still trembling, and before you could react, your face twisted again, and you dry heaved once more. His amusement faded as his hands instinctively moved to help you, his grip firm but not rough, guiding you back toward the toilet just in time as you retched and gagged again.
“Don't fight it,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something quieter. For once, the teasing tone was gone. You were still shaking, still fighting the nausea, and he kept his hand on your back, steadying you as you vomited again, your whole body convulsing with the effort.
He knelt beside you, watching the way your frame trembled, the way your body seemed to be betraying you. His eyes narrowed slightly. Something was different—off. This wasn’t just exhaustion or sickness. He’d seen you in pain before, seen you in worse states, but this… this felt heavier.
He kept his hand on your back, waiting until your body stopped shaking, until you slumped again, too weak to do anything but rest against the cold tile.
"You okay?" he asked, keeping his voice low, though he doubted you had the energy to do much more than nod.
And sure enough, you gave a weak nod, not even trying to speak. He watched as your chest rose and fell, your breath coming in shallow gasps. The fight hadn’t left your eyes, but the exhaustion had taken over now, and he could see it in the way you struggled to keep yourself upright.
Sylus stared at you for a moment longer, something cold and calculating behind his eyes. You were breaking, yes, but not in the way he had expected. Something else was happening—something deeper, beyond the physical symptoms. He could feel it, a shift in the air between you.
Sylus remained there for a moment longer, his eyes tracing over your trembling form. You looked so small, so fragile in this moment, slumped against the cold tile with tear-streaked cheeks and watery eyes. The sight of you like this stirred something inside him—a mix of satisfaction and curiosity, though he wasn’t entirely sure which feeling dominated. He could see how much this had taken a toll on you, how every day without answers had chipped away at your resolve. But this? This was different. This was the moment he had been waiting for—the moment where the walls finally came down.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, keeping his tone even and composed as he turned away, heading toward the bathroom drawer. He could feel your eyes on him, glaring into his back with what little strength you had left. You were trying to hold onto that defiance, trying to summon some kind of fight, but he knew better. You were unraveling, and the truth of what he was about to show you would tear down whatever was left.
He rifled through the drawer, his movements slow and methodical, savoring the quiet tension building in the room. His fingers brushed past a few irrelevant items before closing around the small box. It felt almost anticlimactic, the weight of it so light in his hand, yet what it represented was monumental. He straightened and turned back toward you, holding the box just high enough for you to see.
Your reaction was immediate—your mouth opened in shock, and your eyes widened in horror as realization dawned. There it is, he thought, a small smirk tugging at his lips. He watched the shift in your expression with a quiet, controlled satisfaction. It was like watching a puzzle piece snap into place, watching you connect the dots and realize just how deep in this you really were.
“No…” you whispered, your voice cracking, barely more than a breath. The desperation clung to your words, and for a fleeting moment, Sylus felt something akin to pity stir in his chest. But he quickly brushed it aside. This is how it has to be. He knew it. You were spiraling, trying to cling to the lie that everything was normal, that your body hadn’t betrayed you in the way you feared most.
“No, I’m not pregnant,” you whimpered, shaking your head as tears started to spill down your cheeks. “I’m just sick…I'm just sick...”
Why lie to yourself?, he thought, though there was no cruelty in those words. He didn’t enjoy seeing you like this—no, not quite. But there was something about your vulnerability, something about watching you come to terms with this new reality, that intrigued him. You were always so strong, so determined to fight him at every turn, and now, with this one tiny box in his hand, he had you crumbling.
Tears poured from your eyes now, and your voice wavered as you kept trying to convince yourself, to convince him, that this wasn’t real. That you were just sick, that this was something else, something manageable. He could see the panic rising in you, the way your hands trembled, the way your breath hitched between sobs.
But Sylus just watched, his eyes soft, yet calculating. He wasn’t surprised by your reaction—he’d anticipated it, even counted on it. You weren’t ready to accept the truth yet. That’s why he was here. To guide you into it. To show you that, whether you wanted it or not, you were his in ways you hadn’t even realized.
He stepped toward you, his movements slow, deliberate. Kneeling back down, he reached out and wiped the tears from your face, his touch unnervingly tender. The way he was looking at you displayed the same tenderness but also something else. Control, This was control—calm, steady control. He had been waiting for this moment for weeks, watching the signs, knowing where this was all leading.
“Only one way to find out, honey,” he murmured, his voice soft, soothing. Like he was comforting a child. He could feel your fear, could see the way you were choking on the sobs that kept spilling from you. But there was no rush. He had all the time in the world.
He watched the panic bloom in your eyes, the way the tears kept coming, your body shaking with the effort of holding back the reality you didn’t want to face. It fascinated him—the sheer desperation in your every movement. The fear of being tied to him in a way you couldn’t escape, in a way that would bind you together forever.
She’s terrified, he thought, his thumb brushing away more of your tears. But beneath that terror, there was something else—a kind of inevitability. You already knew. Deep down, you must have known. He could see it now, in the way your sobs became more frantic, the way your body shook as the weight of the truth crashed over you. You weren’t just crying from fear anymore. You were crying because this was real.
The satisfaction he felt wasn’t born of cruelty. It was born of the quiet control he had over you now, a control that went beyond the physical, beyond the chain that kept you tethered here. This was a different kind of control—one that reached into your mind, your soul. And it was deeper than anything he had ever seen in you before.
As you burst into sobs, your whole body trembling with the force of your breakdown, Sylus stayed right there, crouched beside you, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. The box sat between you like a looming reminder of what was coming, and he knew there was no turning back from this.
Watching you crumble like this, completely undone by something as small as a pregnancy test, brought a strange sense of finality to the moment. You were his now. Not in the way you had been before—this was something more permanent, more inescapable.
All that was left was to confirm it. Show you its real.
And as your sobs wracked your body, Sylus watched with soft, patient eyes, knowing that no matter how much you cried, no matter how much you resisted, there was only one way out.
The truth.
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exhaslo · 1 year ago
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Hello! This is something kind of niche but I was wondering if you could write a Pornstar!Miguel x Pornstar!Fem!Reader, where he is a new pornstar and meets with her the day before their shoot. He’s like super sweet to her and they have an informal hangout/date to like be comfortable around each other. Reader tries their best to ease his worry him cuz he seems kinda shy, but the day of their shoot he’s a total freak in the sheets and it totally catches her off guard? Dirty talk, dom and all.
I love your writing so much and I know you’ll do a great job writing whatever your heart desires for this one! Thx in advance <333
No lie this sounds cute as fuck! Here we go!
Warning: MINORS DNI, Smut, rough sex, dirty talk
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It was another beautiful day. You were ready to receive your next paycheck, but first, you had to help the new guy. A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you walked into a popular coffee shop. You were actually excited for this secret meetup. Normally, it was informal to meet your coworkers before a shoot, but this new guy? Oh, he was your type!
You were a pornstar. It is a long story on how you got into the business, but you were good at acting. A little too good. As you waited in line, you let out a soft sigh. While the paychecks were nice, you were really ready for something new. Cue, your manager making you a teacher and setting you up with newbies.
"Two extra shots of espresso." You muttered, trying to avoid groaning at the thought.
Despite the struggle of your job, you were eager for tomorrow. The new porn star, Miguel, was going to be your next partner. You saw his file and the man was huge and good looking. He was the one who actually asked to meet you in person. It was cute how shy he sounded over the phone.
"(Y/N)?" Miguel waves slowly, sitting in a corner table. You approached him with your drink,
"Hi, Miguel!" You said with a chirp, "My god, you're so tall."
"Sorry," Miguel went to shake your hand before immediately sitting down towards your comment.
You sat across from him, admiring his features. The man chose to become a porn star than a model? He was going to be an instant lady killer! Hopefully his acting was decent.
"Thanks again for meeting me. As you can tell, I'm a little nervous with this being my first shoot and all." Miguel said. You smiled,
"It's no biggie. It's kind of fun breaking the rules like this. Why don't we just chat about ourselves, get more comfortable with each other? I'm sure it will help you out a lot." You offered.
Miguel took the suggestion and the two of you spoke for hours. There was a chemistry there and you sensed it. You were disappointed when you had to leave for the night. Miguel parted ways with and kiss to your hand. He was such a gentleman! You were already imagining the slow and soft sex he was going to give you tomorrow.
It would be different for sure, but you were looking forward to it. Hopefully, Miguel won't disappoint you like all of your other coworkers. It was frustrating to work in the porn industry, but could never cum in your own videos. You always had to fake an orgasm and pleasure yourself later.
"Let's not think of the negative! Just...look forward for tomorrow," You told yourself.
-----------
"Alright, you know the rules. First shoot, newbie gets to pick the theme. We will go from there afterwards," Your manager called out to the crew.
You glanced at Miguel, seeing him nervously look around, "Hey, it's going to be okay. I promise I won't bite, unless you want me too."
"Haha," Miguel smiled towards you, "Is it okay if we do something simple?"
"You get to pick. Why not something that will get you in the mood?" You suggested and showed him the costume room, "Is there something you want to see me wear?"
Miguel looked around, his eyes sparkling at some of the outfits. He glanced back at you,
"I know what I want to do."
---------
"Mhm~ I don't have any money for this massage~ Is there any other way I can pay you?"
You laid against a soft bed, spreading your naked legs apart. Your gaze towards Miguel as you slowly rubbed your own clit. Miguel had chosen a massage sex scene. Something where he could feel your body to get you prepped. How kind and generous of him. You hummed sweetly, faking a moan as you dove your fingers towards your hole.
"No money? That's fine, I'll just have to massage one more place before you can leave."
You're eyes widen as Miguel removed his pants. He hovered over you, stealing your lips in a forceful kiss before his hands roamed your body. You pressed yourself against him, your hand heading towards his cock. Miguel grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head before growling lowly,
"I'm giving the massage. Not you, chica (girl)"
For once, you felt a shiver run down your spine. What happened to the shy man from yesterday? You're eyes widen as Miguel's fingers started to enter your pussy. He started with one, stretching you out more than some of your coworker's dicks. You raised your hips slightly, wanting to help him get more access, but once again he pinned you down.
"Tsk, tsk, do you come onto all your massage therapists?" Miguel spat lowly, "Being such a slut?"
You shivered once more to his cruel tone. He sucked against your breasts while another finger entered your pussy. Miguel's fingers were wandering around your gummy walls, searching for that sweet spot. This was different. You're eyes widen once he curled his fingers, making you moan for real.
"That's right. Pay your bill in full." Miguel whispered.
You gasped lowly as Miguel pumped his fingers against that spot. He removed himself from your breasts, keeping you held down. His thumb pressed against your clit, causing you to squirm under him. Miguel just kept making eye contact with you. It was as if he wanted to watch you break because of him.
"What a slutty face. You like this kind of massage right?"
"Y-Yes." You whimpered, feeling your body burn with pleasure.
This was actually happening. You felt a tight knot growing in your lower abdomen. Miguel's fingers only went faster. It wasn't long until he entered a third finger that really made you break. You arched your back, moaning and whining as he wrecked your pussy with just his fingers alone. With one more curl, you finally felt that tight tension burst.
"You're getting my work area dirty, that's going to cost extra."
You were panting softly from your intense orgasm. Miguel withdrew his fingers, causing you to shiver slightly. You were feeling the need, the want. Your pussy was throbbing and begging to be filled. Miguel was the first person who actually made you cum. You gasped, forcing a smile as you saw him position his dick right against your folds.
He was fucking big! You spread your legs, teasing your entrance for him. This was just part of the job. Miguel grunted as he grabbed your legs, placing them over his shoulders. He bit against your inner thigh before pushing his dick inside you. You whimpered, arching your back as you pretended to be fine.
Miguel's dick was stretching you out. This was a first. His dick felt hot and strong. Once he was fully inside you, Miguel pinched your clit, causing you to moan and whine. He smirked, pounding the life out of your pussy, breaking you down even more.
"So fucking tight. You don't get much exercise here, do you?" He mocked.
You moaned in response, focusing a little too much on how good this felt. His dick beating against your pussy with each rough and wet slap of his hips. His tip kissing your cervix each time, threatening to remind you that this was his moment. You were his fuck toy. You whined, your eyes nearly rolling back as Miguel rubbed your clit again.
"You're going to have to come back. I'm going to have to remind this pussy that it owes me payment." Miguel grunted as he went faster.
You felt your growing orgasm once more. Miguel held your body down against the bed, pressing his dick further inside you. Your mouth formed an 'o' as you started to see stars. Whimpers and moans were all you were able to say as you cam hard against his dick. Even after a second orgasm, you still could not believe that this was happening.
"That's a good fucking sign. My little slut is finally relaxing," Miguel spat as he griped your hips tightly, cumming inside you.
Your body trembled as you felt his hot, sticky load fill you. With a pop, Miguel pulled out, leaving your pussy a mess. A mixture of your juices and his cum pouring out of your abused hole.
"Cut! Good job (Y/N), Miguel! I think that's going to be a killer!" You managed yelled out.
"Are you okay?" Miguel asked as he helped you up. You panted softly, regaining your composure,
"Y-Yeah,"
"I didn't go overboard, did I? You're not hurt?" He kept asking, giving you a towel to wrap yourself with.
"You did amazing. I'm the opposite of hurt," You told him as the two of you walked towards the showers, "In fact, you did something none of my other coworkers could do."
"I did?"
"Yes, and I would love to be your partner for ongoing shoots. If not, then...maybe we can meet outside of work?" You whispered the last part to him, feeling slightly embarrassed. Miguel just smiled,
"I would love that."
You watched Miguel enter the shower first, wondering to which part he agreed to. Unsure, you followed him into the shower, still daydreaming about his dick.
You found out afterwards that Miguel agreed to both.
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I hope you liked it!!! Not really sure how porn videos actually work, haha
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crescentbelle · 2 years ago
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Liability
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Miguel O’Hara x Fem Reader 
Angst
Word Count: 1.2K
Summary: After a failed solo mission, Miguel’s punishment makes you feel as if you’ve become a liability.
finished this at 4am with my botchy Spanish skills so please forgive me.
It had been two weeks since your last fight, and equally two weeks since you had stepped foot out the careful watch of your boss, Miguel O’Hara. You weren’t given the luxury to mistake his hovering. His mindset was clear, you weren’t to be trusted.
One slip of a web was all it took, the anomaly you spent the last month tracking down slipped away, snatching your travel watch on the way out. You let the time pass crying out of frustration and being pushed down by a glitch each time you rose from the cracked pavement.
Maybe it was the amount of time it took for you to muster up the courage to tell Miguel you lost him again, or the fact that he then spent the next two days cleaning up the mess the escapee made. Either way, you had committed your biggest mistake since joining the famous group of vigilantes. Not that you could say their band together was infamous to any universe, but that’s what they were to you, and you had utterly failed.
One of Miguel’s star players had let him down, made a mistake so embarrassing to his reputation, that he couldn’t trust you outside his view. Banished to the filing of any and all reports that came through; that was the dignified job you took on. The only thing keeping you sane was to believe it was all just a humiliation tactic from his end, the more you fought against it, the more he succeeded. At this point you didn’t know what to think. The man barely spoke to you, even on his rarely chipper days.
Sat crossed-legged in a chair; you continued the boredom-striking task. Click drag. Click drag. You missed the moments when Hobie came to visit, the small times where you got genuine interaction and not awkward stares.
“you’re free to go now.”
Silence strung together with tension rose thick in the air. Will that ever fade?
He didn’t turn to look at you, his broad frame still turned to his own screen, eyes cold and cruel as ever. God, he really did find you pathetic after this one.
A beat passed. You always wondered if you should thank him, but that just seemed stupid. Thank you so much Mr. Miguel O’Hara for another silent day stuck at your brooding side. You chose the silent approach, slowly uncurling from your awkward position.
Making your way to the door, you heard him call on Lyla, muttering about a mission he needed to put another man on, one that wasn’t you.
“Just take her name off as an option, I don’t want her out right now.”
The words broke you down, weirdly in a way that no other snide comment from the man had before. Since you arrived all you strived for was the acknowledgment of your skills, to show you could become useful. Now, it feels like the rug had been pulled from under you. How long until you get sent back home? How long until Miguel admits you have become a liability?
Please just say anything else, anything so I know you don’t hate-
Miguel calls your name, sharp and devoid of any readable emotion.
“you’ve forgotten your day pass. That’s the second time this week.”
You gritted your teeth, “Thank you.”
“Try not to do that again, you’re glitching has gotten worse.”
That was it, The final stroke. Storming forward, you swipe the scanner off the desk, cheeks burning red with emotion. “You don’t have to scold me like I’m a child, Miguel.”
“Trust me, I know I don't.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m not doing this right now, you can leave.” 
Beat. 
“It was one mistake! How does that constitute shunning me away?” Your body was hot, a magma bubbling into adrenaline. With a racing heart, you refused to back down. Everyday sitting in his office like a lap dog for all your friends and accomplices to watch, you couldn’t take it.
The man’s shoulders stiffen, his body toughening to a cold, ridged stance. Slowly, his gaze fell onto you. There they were, those piercing eyes.
That silent tension melted into something thicker and harder to hide from, fear. Fear that radiated off you in waves he could sense like a strike to the face.
“You don’t get to make those choices,” His voice spoke as a mutter, like he was hiding a seething tone from slipping out. “You don’t get to tell me how I choose to keep you safe.”
“You don’t get to talk about me like I’m not right here! I’ve always been on top of things- ever since I got here. Why do I slip up once and you get to treat me like I’m in idiot? Am I that humiliating for you?”
Beat. This one is too long, his eyes shift for just a moment, caught between thoughts. It’s a second of weakness that makes you apprehensive.
“I’m not letting you on any more missions.”
No-
“You’re sending me back.”
He shakes his head, dejected. “No, I’m not- just shit. Please don't make this harder than it has to be. For your sake.”
“Are you kidding me? You're asking me to never fight again!”
“Please-”
You take another step forward. “You’re asking me to throw away what I was built for! This is my meaning, why are you doing this to me?”
With the confidence he had left to muster up, Miguel stalked over to your frame. This was the closest you had been since he picked you up out of the alleyway you pathetically collapsed in, and the desperate feeling followed. To beg and kick like a child until he let you back in. It felt horrific and you wondered if he felt it too.
“I cant help it. Por favor, no te quiero lastimar. Please don't make me risk you again.” His hand moved up, close enough to your cheek that it makes your senses tingle, before its dropped down to his side again. “Please.”
“You’re hurting me.”
Beat.
With what feels like an instant, you’re being pulled into his chest. his broad arms caught you in his embrace, a hand coming to rest against your temple. Its simple, but it makes your heart ache. Never have either of you come this close. This is that desperate feeling bubbling up again.
You wonder if you should have pushed away; told him he's pathetic and walked away from this cryptic language you now share. But you cant anymore, not with his touch like this.
“I’m sorry.” The mumble of his words reverberated through your body like a purr. 
A single drop of a hot liquid hits your forehead and manages to roll down onto his thumb. You scan up to his face. That stoic stare he managed to always hold stood strong, staring off into a void like there's something better to worry about. But his eyes watered and the trail of a tear glimmered on his pronounced cheek. 
He guided your head back down to lay against him again and moved his gaze to the side, anywhere to avoid the way you look at him now.
“Don't leave, okay?”
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diamond-champagne · 6 months ago
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3. I Don't Deserve You
Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd
Warnings: more angst
As always, please give me feedback. And Thank you for the support <3
The night was going fine until it wasn’t. 
After Azzi and Paige interacted in the kitchen, the air was filled with tension. For starters, Azzi insisted on no longer sitting on Riley’s lap. She claimed that she didn’t want the volleyball player to see her cards. It was an innocent enough excuse and to be fair, the game of UNO was cutthroat. But then, Azzi didn’t pay attention to Riley. If the girl initiated contact of any sort, it was returned half assed by Azzi. She had shrugged off her arm when Riley wrapped it around her shoulder. Everytime the volleyball player went in for a kiss, the basketball player turned her head so that it landed on her cheek. She also didn’t stop looking at Paige. The blonde-haired girl could feel her eyes on her all night. As a result, Riley was frustrated that her girlfriend was ignoring her for Paige. That’s when the night began to go downhill.
“Should we play Never Have I Ever” RIley proposes. There’s a chorus of agreement amongst the room before everyone is shuffling to get ready. Most of the team heads to make drinks in the kitchen, while the rest start to clear the table. It takes about 10 minutes for the game to begin after the girls get settled.
KK starts. “Never have I ever gotten back together with an ex. It’s an easy one to start with. Majority of the team drinks.
Ines is next. “Never have I ever been caught having sex” The group laughs while Nika, Ice and Amari drink. 
“Never have I ever hooked up with a friend.” Jana says. There’s a slight shift in the air. It’s thick and awkward. Paige swears everyone is looking at her and Azzi. They both take a sip of their drink. 
“Never have I ever been in love” Aaliyah says. Paige, along with some of the other girls drink. Azzi doesn’t. Paige feels as if her heart will crack in two.
“Never have I ever gotten my heart broken.” Q says. 
Paige throws back the rest of her drink. 
-
It’s nearing 2am when the team slowly but surely leaves Aubrey’s place. Everyone cleaned up a little bit of the mess before filing out in their respective groups. Paige and Blair are the last to leave. Both, tired from the night. The pair decided to share an uber. They schedule it to go to Paige’s apartment and then Blair’s. Silence fills the car comfortably until Blair begins to speak.
“You deserve better.” The words are softly spoken.
“I know.” It’s all Paige can say really, because she does. 
“You need to move on.” Blair presses harder.
“I know.”
There’s a long pause before Blair speaks again. “Carter invited me to Europe for Thanksgiving and Christmas.” Paige nods in acknowledgement. “When do you leave?” The blonde-haired girl isn’t dumb. She knows that this is what her new friend has been wanting. “Next week” Blair starts. “I would stay through the holidays and come back next semester. All of the classes are online so I don’t really need to be here.”
“I’m happy that the two of you are figuring this out.” Paige says because she is. Just because she can’t have the person she loves, doesn’t mean that Blair should have to suffer.
“Thank you.” Blair says and Paige can tell she’s being sincere. The car comes to a stop and Paige moves to get out of the car. A hand on her wrist keeps her from exiting the vehicle.
“Take care of yourself, Paige. You’re too full of life to be half loved.” Blair whispers.
“Good night, Blair.” The words come out soft but they’re laced with defeat.
“Good night, Paige.”
-
Paige isn’t even surprised that Azzi is waiting for her when she gets into her apartment. The curly-haired girl is sitting on the couch this time. They make eye contact briefly before Paige walks into the bathroom to start getting ready for bed. She hasn’t said a word and she honestly doesn’t want to. Azzi follows her into the bathroom but still doesn’t speak. The only sounds that fill the room are their breathing. 
Wordlessly, Azzi sits on the counter and begins to help Paige take off her makeup. She rinses the washcloth with warm water before running it over Paige’s face. She repeats the action until her best friend’s face is bare. Just how Azzi likes it. She tosses the washcloth aside before moving Paige to take out the braids in her hair. The two make eye contact in the mirror. There’s too many emotions between them now.
The friends make their way to Paige’s bedroom. The sight was enough to make the older girl chuckle. On her are her favorite pajamas: boxer shorts and an old Hopkins t-shirt. On the nightstand is her purple water bottle and Advil.
The gesture alone has her spiraling but it annoys her for reasons she can’t understand. She suddenly hates the silence between them so she demands answers instead. 
“Do you feel guilty?” Paige asks. Her voice is low and curious. She begins to strip out of her clothes from the night. 
“What?” Azzi asks. It’s obvious from the way her eyes are locked in on Paige’s body that she didn’t process what she was being asked.
“Do you feel guilty?” Paige repeats. “Like even a little bit?” 
Azzi stammers to start her response. “I- I-” she starts but Paige cuts her off.
“I feel guilty all of the time. I slept with someone’s girlfriend. I smiled in her face after fucking you on the couch not even two feet away.” Paige lets out a chuckle at the last bit. They’re so fucking messy. 
Azzi grows irritated at the admission. “If you felt so bad, why did you sleep with me?” She scoffs and rolls her eyes. Azzi knows she isn’t a saint but she’ll be damned if anyone thinks she’s the only sinner.
Paige grows silent. There isn’t much she can say. The silence settles between them again. The air is thick and heavy. The two are staring at each other, wordlessly.
“Who are you in love with?” Azzi asked after a beat. The question throws Paige off kilter. She almost doesn’t remember that it was a question from the game. “Don’t ask me that.” Paige scoffs. “Why?” Azzi pushes. “It doesn’t matter.” Paige sighs. “Doesn’t it though?” Azzi counters.
Paige walks out her bedroom into the living room. The four walls of her bedroom were closing in on her. She needs more room. Azzi follows her; hot on her trail. “Tell me!” the younger girl pleads. 
“Why?” Paige exclaimed. “It doesn’t change anything. You’ll still be in a relationship with RIley all the same, so why does it matter?” The volume increases in her voice. She’ll probably wake the neighbors but she doesn’t care. “It ends the same regardless, Azzi, because you don’t have feelings for me. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if you did.” Paige exasperates. She plops on the couch with a sigh. The blue-eyed girl blinks rapidly to prevent the tears in her eyes from falling. “Tell me.” Paige begs. The crack in her voice strikes something deep in Azzi’s core. “Tell me you have feelings for me.” 
Emotions charge the air. The silence is the loudest sound to both of their ears. Paige and Azzi look at each other. The friendship between the two will never be the same as it once was. They both feel it. They both know it. Azzi stands to leave. She doesn’t give Paige an answer because she knows that Paige knows. 
Her hand is on the handle, ready to leave when she hesitates. Azzi turns back to face Paige. The sight of tears running down her face is heartbreaking. Azzi swore at one point that she’d do whatever was necessary to never see such a pained look on her face. Azzi also never thought she’d be the reason it was there.
“I feel guilty all of the time, too” and then she’s gone.
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wileys-russo · 1 year ago
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childhood sweethearts (3) II a.russo x reader
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series playlist part one part two
this fic really does have my heart tbh childhood sweethearts (3) II a.russo x reader
alessia exhaled shakily, tapping her foot nervously as her eyes flickered repeatedly between the time on her phone and the door to the cafe, counting down each second which passed that you didn't arrive.
maybe you just weren't going to show up at all, could she even blame you if you didn't? it had been six years since the two of you really spoke, and your last words exchanged were hardly on friendly terms.
when her mum had called her to invite her to dinner with your family, her heart leapt into her throat. your name was something that hadn't crossed her mind in years, well no actually that was a lie.
alessia often wondered what you were up to, occasionally in a moment of weakness imagining what would be different had things not gone the way they had between you both.
but she'd banish those fleeting thoughts and insecurities as quickly as they arrived, knowing she'd just spiral into a tornado of overthinking if she dwelled on them too much.
alessia tried to trick herself into believing she was fine with how things had ended, pushing her real feelings deep down away and filing them under painful memories she'd rather not resurface ever again.
but they always did, and no more so then when you'd walked into that restaurant beside her brother and every thought, feeling, memory and emotion she'd repressed the last six years came soaring to the surface, she could have thrown up with how suddenly she was swamped by them.
the pain only grew when you refused to even meet her eye, greeting everyone else first and alessia was almost certain if you hadn't had to sit beside her the two of you likely wouldn't have even conversed that entire night.
"hi i'm so sorry i'm late i got held up at work." she was snapped out of the depths of her overthinking as you hurriedly dropped down into the seat across from her, exhaling heavily and dropping your bag on the floor beside you.
"that's alright, i hope everythings okay?" alessia rushed out, playing with her fingers which sat dormant in her lap as you nodded, starting to ramble on about the frustration of substitutes not doing their assigned pick up duty so you'd had to fill in.
realising you were getting on a tangent and meeting those ever so familiar ocean blue eyes you suddenly stopped, clearing your throat and apologising.
"you don't need to be sorry, you've clearly found the right career. mum was right when she said she was sure you're an amazing teacher." alessia complimented with a soft smile as you nodded, admittedly still unsure quite how to interact with her after so much time.
"so...how have you been?"
~
"-no because that time was entirely your fault! you were always getting us in trouble." you chuckled, shaking your head at the grinning blonde across from you, your coffees long finished, empty mugs pushed to the side.
"i was not!" alessia defended herself with a playful offended scoff, unable to stop the smile spreading on her face. "you so were! every single time we had detention it was your fault, and any time we got in trouble with our parents it was one of your genius ideas that lead up to it." you couldn't help but smile yourself at the fond memories.
"miss!" your head turned as you heard a voice call out for you, spotting one of your students frantically waving at you from the counter. "sorry, he insisted on saying hi. i tried to explain that you have your own life outside of the classroom." his mum smiled apologetically as the boy hurried over and she chased after him.
"thats perfectly alright. i always say if you guys see me around to give me a wave and thats what you did, charlies one of my best behaved students! aren't you?" you smiled fondly, holding your hand out for a high five which he happily gave you with a grin, waving goodbye as his mum smiled gratefully and hurried the two of them away to another table.
"sorry about that." you apologized to alessia, a slight blush coating your cheeks as the blonde shook her head. "don't be, that was quite adorable. your class clearly love you and who could blame them." alessia complimented with a dangerously familiar look in her eyes as you forced a small smile and glanced down to your phone, eyes widening as you realised you'd been here well over two hours now.
"i should really get going, i've got dinner to cook and lesson planning to do for tomorrow." you smiled apologetically, alessia nodding in understanding as you both reached for your bags. "could we do this again, soon?" the girl asked hopefully as the two of you stood outside, causing you to bite the inside of your cheek.
"look alessia it was great catching up and i'm really glad that football and everything else is working out so well for you. but i just, i don't know if i can make this a regular thing." you admitted with a slight wince, watching as her face fell at your answer.
"why not?" as soon as the hurt was plain on her face it was gone, replaced instead with a firm look of defiance, folding her arms over her chest. "you know why, please don't make me say it." you responded quietly, shuffling uncomfortably and adjusting your bag on your shoulder.
"god you are so frustrating." alessia dragged her hands down her face with a shake of her head. "whats that supposed to mean?" you were now the one to respond with a frown.
"its like i said at the restaurant y/n we were best friends for years before anything changed. we've just spent the however many hours reflecting on how good that time was, i know the way things ended wasn't ideal but why can't we just work on getting a friendship back?" alessia almost begged, taking a step toward you and frowning as you immediately took one back away from her.
"before anything changed...the way things ended? you are so arrogant, as if it was nothing!" you scoffed and shook your head in disbelief that she could dismiss what happened so easily. "that's not what i fucking meant and you know it, don't put words in my mouth." alessia warned, jaw clenching tightly.
"no i think it was exactly what you meant. at least to me alessia what went on between us meant a hell of a lot, and it hurt when everything fell apart. for god sakes we were each others first everything! i can't just go back to being your friend after six years like none of it even happened." you had to stop yourself from shouting at her, well aware that she was a public figure now and though the cafe behind you wasn't crowded, you never knew who was inside listening.
"you are putting words in my mouth. just-" "no alessia, i've spent too fucking long getting over you to fall back into the trap of caring again." you regretted the words from the moment they fell from your lips, cringing with a shake of your head.
"i need to go i'm sorry. i really didn't want to argue with you but i just-I can't do this with you again alessia, good luck with everything." you forced a pained smile, the strikers stomach plummeting as you reached out, your fingertips just ghosting hers sending a bolt of electricity up her arm at the feeble touch, hurrying off away before she could even open her mouth to respond.
~
it seemed your words had struck a chord as you didn't hear a single peep from the girl the entire week following, it had been days of radio silence between you both and you had spent the whole time convincing yourself that was what you wanted and it was for the best.
you weren't sure what alessia had said to her own mum but yours seemed to be relentless in pestering you about how catching up for coffee went, you once again dismissing that too much time had passed and it was awkward.
though the ever persistent woman didn't take the hint it wouldn't be happening again and had tried time after time to press you for more, and you'd taken to dodging her phone calls all week just to avoid the ongoing conversation.
on the bright side you'd made it through another week and you were settling in well to life back in london.
you'd found a favorite coffee spot for your much needed morning brew on the way to work, loved your new school and your class, had dinner and drinks last night with a few co-workers at a local tapas bar and genuinely enjoyed their company, you were on top of your workload and despite needing to currently dodge her you were enjoying living closer to family again.
however you were a creature of habit and so saturday nights were always your night to relish in your own company, recharge for the week and properly switch off. armed with a face mask, a chinese and a glass or bottle of wine at your side, finding some sort of trashy reality nonsense to engross yourself in for the evening.
your family knew this and knew to leave you be, your friends knew this and had long given up trying to drag you out with them unless it was for some sort of holiday or celebration, and your co-workers you'd only gone out with last night and weren't yet all that close to.
which is why it caught you so off guard for your phone to be ringing at half past eleven at night, you'd almost dozed off with a bowl of crisps in your lap, snapping to attention at the ringtone.
rubbing your eyes you fumbled around in the blankets adorning your body for your phone, eventually finding it and answering without looking at the contact, assuming at this time of night it was either an emergency or a scam.
how you regretted that choice.
"you actually answered!" you winced as a loud and very intoxicated voice slurred in excitement, holding the phone away from your ear at the unexpected volume, music pumping away and people laughing in the background.
"alessia?" "baby! what you doin?" the girl slurred and you could already imagine the dopey smile which would be plastered on her face at her words, and the way the corner of her eyes would crease as she squinted.
you grimaced at how much one simple word could cause years of healing to wash instantly away. one little baby and you were suddenly sixteen again, wrapped up in her strong arms sharing soft kisses and giggling about something that happened at school that day.
growing up alessia wasn't one to ever drink all that often given how much time and energy she invested into being an athlete. though on the rare occasions she did drink you quickly learnt the girl couldn't handle her alcohol.
she was a messy drunk to say the least and anytime a drop of alcohol passed her lips you'd abandon your own, knowing you needed to be there and sober to look after her.
"why are you calling me? and at...half past eleven at night." you sighed, collapsing back into the lounge and tiredly rubbing your eyes. "because i wasn't lying when i said i missed you." she laughed and you shook your head at her words.
"alessia you're drunk. i'm going now, please be safe." you tried to wrap up the conversation, knowing she'd likely be embarrassed about this when she sobered up tomorrow, finger hovering over the little red button to end the call then and there.
god how you wished you'd pressed it.
"wait! i'm really smashed and my friends all left me, i can't find them and i need to go home. i'm seeing double babe!" the blonde groaned and you heard a smash and some yelling, your eyebrows furrowing at the noise.
"call an uber home then, or get a taxi." you remanded firmly but softly, knowing that in times like this she needed things very clearly broke down for her.
"i don't know how! i can barely see my fucking phone screen, can you come and get me?" she continued as you withheld a groan, sharply pinching the bridge of your nose at the seemingly never ending flow of possibilities for whatever you answered next.
"where are you?"
~
"god what am i doing here?" you mumbled to yourself, insecurely playing with the strings of your hoodie, feeling incredibly under dressed as patrons of the bar you were stood outside of stumbled around with giggles and drunken cheers.
"y/n?" you turned at your name, frowning at the unfamiliar voice as your eyes finally landed on alessia, who was not alone. "oh wow it is you, hi?" lotte spoke in surprise, eyes wide as alessia cheered when she spotted you, you weren't particularly close to many of the girls football friends but that hadn't meant you'd not known or become fond of some of them over the years, lotte and ella in particular were two names who came to mind.
"baby you actually came!" alessia stumbled her way over with her heels in hand, wrenching her bicep away from lottes careful grip. she was dressed in blue jeans and a charcoal coloured knitted vest, toned arms on full display as a rolex which probably cost you a months salary glinted on her wrist under the streetlights.
you shoved her away as she placed a sloppy kiss to your cheek, but had no choice but to grab her hands and steady her to stop her from falling over right afterwards.
"i didn't know you two were..." lotte trailed off with an awkward pause of uncertainty as you quickly shook your head, smacking away alessia's hands which poked at and clung onto you.
"we're not anything. we caught up for coffee once and it didn't go well, and then she called me tonight saying she was drunk and her friends left her and she needed a lift home." you sighed at the realization you'd clearly been played, feeling stupidly gullible as you swallowed the urge to yell at the tall dopey blonde beside you who really you knew had minimal control over her actions right now.
"well she ran off for a bit when we changed bars but then we found her again, we were actually going to send her off home but we weren't sure if a taxi would even take her, she's had a few too many." lotte winced apologetically as you nodded along with a sigh, knowing exactly how the older girl behaved when she drank.
"russo has a secret missus?" a brunette with a thick irish accent shouldered her way to the front of the group, slinging an arm around lotte and you shifted somewhat uncomfortably as her eyes narrowed and scanned you up and down.
"used to, not anymore. she hates me now!" alessia rolled her eyes moodily and you winced, knowing that sober she wouldn't have likely confessed that, especially given how much the brunettes eyes widened at the new information.
"wouldn't have pegged you for the type to drunkenly dial an ex russo, i learn new things about ya every day. she's quite fit though!" the brunettes lips curled into a smile and you felt a hot flush creep up your neck.
"lay off mccabe!" alessia scowled as her arm draped over your shoulder and you grunted as her body weight bore into you, struggling to keep the taller girl upright.
"oo and you're also the jealous type are ya russo!" mccabe continued to wind the drunken blonde beside you up with a grin, another girl stepping in to drag her back to the group with an apologetic smile flicked your way.
"are you sure you're right with her? i can get her in a taxi." lotte offered sincerely, glancing over her shoulder as someone from her group yelled at her to hurry up.
"no its fine, don't let her ruin your night. i know she's ruined plenty of mine before with her drunken antics." you sighed sparing alessia a glance who scoffed and stumbled slightly as you grabbed her.
"did not!"
ignoring her you again urged lotte to join her friends, sending her a reassuring smile and bidding her a good night as you struggled to move alessia through the crowd of drunken party goers and won the street towards where you'd parked.
"for fuck sakes just get in you idiot!" you grunted as you all but shoved her into the passenger seat, clicking her seatbelt in and slamming the door shut.
"why me? why?" you looked up to the sky with a sigh of defeat, rubbing your temples for a second before moving around to the drivers side and sliding inside, wincing at the strong smell of alcohol wafting from the girl beside you.
"don't touch anything!" you swatted her hands away as she reached for the gearstick, sinking back into her chair with a huff. "you're so bossy now, you weren't this bossy before. you used to do whatever i told you!" alessia slurred with a roll of her eyes as you started up the car.
"yeah? well then it took me six years to grow a backbone. now where am i taking you?" "home." "well obviously alessia but i don't know where that is, do I?" "god can you stop that!" "pardon?" "the whole alessia thing, i hate the way you say it. call me less, or lessi, literally anything else!"
"just tell me where the hell im driving you so i can go to bed? please!" you sighed in frustration, looking at her expectantly. "fine. only if you agree to hang out with me again!" the blonde tilted her head at you, staring with half lidded eyes.
"that is not how this works. i'll kick you out right here and you can walk home!" "if i end up dead in a ditch cause you left me i don't think your mum or my mum would be very happy." "maybe not but you know what? you are no longer my problem to deal with or my mess to clean up anymore alessia. you're responsible for your own shitty choices and their consequences! like calling your ex and lying about your situation to come and get her to pick you up, and then trying to manipulate her into doing what you want." you exploded suddenly, hands balled into fists as you let out your pent up frustration at this entire messy situation.
there was a thick silence that followed afterward and you refused to look at her, feeling her eyes bore holes into the side of your head.
"god you look so good when you're angry."
you let out a groan, head thumping down onto your steering wheel in defeat. the comment took you right back again to being a lovesick teenager, alessia's blatantly charming cockiness both equally attractive as it was infuriating even back then.
"just please tell me where you live so i can take you there and be done with all of this." "um...i forget." "you forget? how the hell do you forget where you live!" "stop yelling at me i'm drunk! all i can think about is jager and vodka and tequila and-" "i don't need a walk through tour of the bar cart currently sitting in your stomach alessia. can you seriously not remember your address?" "nope." "give me your phone then, its gotta be saved in there somewhere."
you grabbed it out of her hands with a roll of your eyes when she refused to hand it over, but trying to open it was a fruitless activity as the screen remained black.
"its dead." alessia commented with a lopsided smile and you almost threw it out of your window. your fingers drummed the steering wheel trying desperately to think of a way out of this. you didn't have lottes number so that was out, and you couldn't just leave her here as tempting an idea as that was.
you didn't have any of her families numbers, you knew where she used to live with them but that was hardly close by and you didn't even know for certain if they'd moved or not, and you did not want to call your mum for support right now.
which painstakingly and infuriatingly left you with all but one option as you sighed and shifted your car into drive, pulling away from the curb.
"where are we goin?" "home."
~
"this is really nice babe!" alessia slurred as you stumbled through your front door precariously balancing the intoxicated footballer clinging onto you, kicking it closed behind you and tossing your keys on your hallway table.
"stop calling me that." you mumbled, dragging her into the living room and pushing her to sit down on your lounge as you rubbed your neck, which was throbbing from having to cart around the girl who was easily a foot taller than you, and being so drunk meant leaning her entire body weight into you.
"make me some food please." alessia demanded, head thumping back into the sofa as her eyes fluttered closed. "what do you think i'm your on call taxi driver and personal chef?" you scoffed, kicking her sharply in the leg to wake her back up as she whined at the action.
"the last thing you need is anything else in your system which could wind up on my floor later. are you sure you don't feel the need to be sick?" you asked for the fifth time this evening as the blonde nodded wordlessly.
"c'mere and gimme a cuddle baby girl." her lips curled into a dopey smile as she opened her arms expectantly, barely able to hold her own head up as your entire body cringed at the long familiar endearment.
"absolutely not, and stop calling me names. you're going to bed!" you refused, wishing the ground would swallow you up as alessia groaned.
"you're so stubborn, and so hot. i miss you!" the blonde slurred as you grabbed her hands, hauling her to her feet with a grunt and stumbling your way to the guest bedroom, sighing in relief as you dropped her onto the mattress.
"no you don't, you're drunk." you replied firmly, running a hand through your hair with a sigh. "i do! i have for years, the one that got away." alessia shrugged, arm flopping across her face as her eyes closed.
with a roll of your eyes you left her for a moment, hurrying across the hall to your own bedroom and grabbing out some clothes. she may right now be the most infuriating person on the planet but you weren't about to make her sleep in jeans.
you hated yourself for caring, why didn't you just ignore the phone earlier?
"jesus alessia." you sighed as you returned to find her with her jeans around her ankles and her vest stuck over her head, meaning you quickly averted your eyes from her half naked form.
"help! i've gone blind!" the blonde yelled and you bit your lip to stop the smile breaking out on your face, shaking your head firmly. "stop that, god you're useless." you couldn't help but chuckle as you helped her strip off the rest of her clothes, again careful your eyes only remained on her face.
"made you smile." alessia slurred with a stupidly attractive smirk, poking at you as you pulled a black baggy shirt over her head, handing her a pair of shorts which she promptly threw over her shoulder.
"alessia!" you huffed as she shrugged, mumbling something about sleeping naked as she rolled over and with much struggle managed to get into the bed.
"god you're a nightmare." you turned to leave her as a hand gripped at the back of your hoodie, firmly yanking you downwards.
"no! get off." you grunted, struggling to wrench her hand away as she attempted to pull you into a hug. "i want a hug! i'll probably never see you again." alessia whined needily as you continued to fight her.
"ohh you always did like when i touched you there." the blonde laughed as her hand accidentaly grazed your bum and your breath hitched momentarily before you pulled yourself free, shoving her back down into the bed.
"jesus christ alessia please shut up before you embarass yourself any further, the less i have to explain to you tomorrow the better." you flared your nostrils and took a deep breath, counting to three and turning away.
"where you goin?" "to bed alessia, go to sleep." "isn't this your bed?" "no this is my guest bedroom, not that i can even really call you that given i had no choice in you staying here." "you can afford a two bedroom flat on a teachers salary? wow baby you're doing good!" "please stop calling me that, now go to sleep." "can't we cuddle? for old times sake, friends cuddle!" "we're not friends." "ouch, way to land a blow babe." "i told you to stop calling me that, now please just go to sleep."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
part four
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manfuckthisimout · 9 months ago
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This look RAHHHHHH
Your relationship with your boss was an odd one. It was obvious to everyone in the precinct that you and the detective were more than just boss and secretary. But you would never admit that, and August D had a weird way of showing his fondness. It was the same way every workday—come in at 6:30, find the detective already at his desk, make him coffee, start the day. He would fuss and scold you for little things, make excuses to stay at your desk and talk to you.
You two kind of danced around each other, an unspoken possessive from the detective, and you playing coy until he finally fesses up that he likes you.
He storms out of his office while you’re scheduling his next meeting.
“Didn’t I tell you not to mix up these documents?” he says, holding up a manila file folder. He looks quite frustrated, cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth, suit jacket off and sleeves rolled past his forearms.
Yelling at you like this does virtually nothing in his favor—if anything it just makes you rub your thighs together. “I’m sorry sir,” you smooth out, batting your eyelashes up at him. “I thought your desk needed some tidying, and you were out in a case so..” He gives you a pointed look. “That doesn’t give you a reason to touch anything in my office. If I want you to tidy anything of mine, I’ll ask you to.” You nod, turning your attention back to the computer screen in front of you.
“Did you schedule my meeting with Captain Jung?” He asks, leaning over the front of your desk. You can feel him staring into your forehead, almost trying to make you squirm in your seat. “Of course sir, I just finished. Your meeting is for 4:30 today.” “Good.” He gives you one last long look over before pushing off your desk and walking back into his office.
You look up from your computer, staring at the deep mahogany that separates you and your boss. “Y’know, we have a running bet pool on which of you is gonna confess first.” Your coworker, Su-min slides over to your desk and props her hand under her chin. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing going on between me and him,” you sigh. “Sure. Tell it to the rest of us.” She chides back. “Don’t you have a case to be doing right now? That missing girl right? How long has it been?” “About a week or so. I really hope we can find her alive, but it’s starting to look grim.” She grimaces. “I hope you end up finding her either way—“
“Y/N! My office, now!”
Suddenly his door was cracked, and you could see him walking back to his desk, waiting for you.
You turn to Su-min and grimace. “Duty calls. Tell me about the case after I get done with this.” She grins at you. “Don’t start fooling around in there, keep it PG!” You roll your eyes, standing from your desk and walking into the detective’s office.
“You called for me detective?” You answer sweetly. “Sit. I have something to talk to you about.” You sit in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, feeling his eyes on you the whole time. He gets up and rounds the front of his desk, leaning against it to look at you better. “We’ve known each other for quite sometime now,” he starts, arms folded and head down. He smirks. “You and I both know that I’ve been dancing around you these past years-“ “Is that what you call it sir?” He pauses. “Excuse me?” “Is that what you call it, this situation I mean. I was very aware of your feelings about me from the day we met sir. The whole precinct knows how you act around me.” “..I’ve been that bad at hiding it then?” “Pretty much.”
He sighs. “I know I haven’t been…vocal..about my feelings for you. I’d like to fix that. Do you want to go to lunch with me sometime?” You smile at his bluntness. He’s always been bad with words like this, saving his poetical vocabulary for high-stress situations with criminals. “What’s so funny?” He asks, brow raised, smile on his face. “You are. You’re so bad with words sir..” You giggle. He leans down, gripping either side of the arms on the chair. He’s so close to you now, noses almost touching. “I am, hm? And that’s funny?” You nod. He chuckles. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you.” “Lunch right? What time?” “Lunch time.” You grimace. “Well, I assumed that much. 12 or 1?” “12:30.” “12:30 it is. I’ll mark it on your personal calendar.”
He lifts himself from his position, rounding his desk again and sitting in his chair. He stares at you longingly. “I’d suggest you get back out there. Wouldn’t want to keep the office waiting on who won that bet.” You chuckle. “Yes sir.”
Second fic rawr
This came to me in a feverish daydream
Also because of boredom
Hope you like!!
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hothothotch · 1 year ago
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Heeey ! I have a Hotch request 😄
Context: she’s one of his first case, some young girl who hacked the Pentagone to make a point to a teacher that you don’t have to be good in class to be a genius in something. They try to arrest her but she didn’t did anything just enter their server and disconnect. But all the way into interrogation she flirts with him. They let her go and he sees her a couple years later?
I don’t know how to end this, but yeah just a thing I got in my head for a while 🥹
hey! i loved writing this one and, again, i want a part two of it, so maybe you should expect one haha. i hope you like it, anon <3
Requests are open!
1991
"I'll plead the fifth in this one..." you smirked up at Agent Hotchner, batting your eyes seductively — or as seductively as you believed you could be — as you observed him through your eyelashes, "And I'm very good at pleading, just so you know".
Aaron didn't react visibly, even though the urge to roll his eyes was definitely there. After a few minutes of interrogation (probably ten, but he wasn't sure, since you were a delight to hear — ironically speaking), Aaron had lost count of how many flirtatious comments you had thrown at him, the situation way more annoying considering that his boss, SSA Gideon, was sitting by his side, observing everything with as neutral as an expression he could have, clearly as unamused as Aaron.
"Oh, come on!" you groaned, clearly unpleased with Aaron's lack of response to your flirt, "You can laugh, right? There's nowhere on your contract saying 'FBI Agents have to be stiff and serious, even the hot ones'!".
"I don't usually laugh when interrogating someone" Aaron replied, opening up the file he had in front of him to read your name out loud, "Much less when they invade the Pentagon's system".
You tried to bit back the proud smile that showed up on your face at the acknowledgment of what you've done — you highly doubted one of those Agents would clap their hands at your achievement, and still you'd rather face them than your parents, that were probably fuming on their way to the Bureau.
If SSA Hotchner and Gideon's faces were the last things you'd see for the rest of your life (that probably wouldn't be as long as you once thought it would), you might as well fall in style.
"That was impressive, wasn't it?" you asked, your voice clearly smug as you leaned against your chair, "I'm really good at that!".
"Not that much" SSA Gideon intervened, "I can name a few hackers that can do the same".
You raised one brow in defiance, trying to mask the way his words had evidently hurt your ego, "I didn't say I'm unique, I said I'm impressive. There's a difference" you pointed in a matter-of-factly way, before turning back at Agent Hotchner, "From now on, I'm only answering your questions, pretty boy".
"It's Agent Hotchner".
You chuckled, "Okay" you nodded curtly, "Pretty Agent Hotchner boy".
That time you saw the way he reacted, his body language denouncing you was starting to frustrate him. If you didn't know it was overstepping — more than you've already overstepped — you probably would make a joke about how you could help him with his frustration, but you weren't really into going to jail over harassment.
Trying to exhaust his patience was one thing. Crossing the line between amusement and crime was something you didn't want to do.
Oh, yeah. You had hacked into the Pentagon.
"Okay, look..." you started, straightening your pose on your chair, grimacing when the metal of the cuffs (an unnecessary accessory, if you will) skimmed on your skin, a clear indicative that you'd soon have a new bruise at that spot, "I've hacked into the Pentagon, true" she directed a pointed look at Gideon, rolling her eyes, "Yes, I'm aware there are a lot of other hackers that can pull that out, but I had a point to make!".
"Which was?" Aaron questioned, his eyes still trained on you. With a quick look to his hand, you noticed he was wearing a wedding band — golden, brilliant; he was probably freshly married. You questioned if he looked at his wife in that intimidating way, or if it was reserved to people like you, or that he judged to be like you.
You took a deep breath, leaning against your chair, "I'm graduating on MIT" you started explaining, even if you knew they could find that information on your file, and that they probably already knew that, considering you'd been smart enough to hack into the Pentagon from your college's computer, but not enough to hide your tracks, "And I was unlucky enough not to get good grades at this specific subject, and my teacher made a point to humiliate me in front of everyone. So I made a point in showing her that while she's theoretically smart, I'm technically smart".
The single raise of Agent Hotchner's brow was enough to reveal what he was thinking about you after your explanation — that you were a spoiled child, that you couldn't have things any other way except for yours, that he could have you arrested solely by how bad your reasoning had been.
"Yeah, pretty Agent Hotchner boy..." you crossed your arms in front of your body, "Not everyone is born with everything on a silver plate, y'know? My attention is not as good as it was supposed to be".
Aaron switched a quick glance with Gideon, his demeanor betraying nothing as they kept their eyes locked for a few minutes, expectation suddenly building on your body along with the urge to pick at your nails, an anxious behavior you had.
"Let her go" Agent Gideon finally said, standing up from his chair, turning his back on you both to walk out of the interrogation room.
"What?" you squealed in confusion, placing the palms of your hands on top of the metallic desk you had between Agent Hotchner and you, "That's all?".
Aaron hummed in agreement, standing up to grab the cuff keys' in his pockets, his hands brushing with yours for a second, and you could swear there was a sudden electricity on that touch, causing you to push your hand away.
He looked up at you with one brow raised again, his voice a bit more humored now, "What? You want to be arrested?".
"You arrested me, pretty Agent Hotchner boy" you reminded, shaking your cuffed hands, "And while I think being cuffed is sexy, I can't wait to remove those. They're hurting my pulse".
"You should've told us, we'd lose it a bit" he shrugged, opening the lock expertly, before sitting on the desk, "You only logged into the system and turned it off. We can't arrest you for turning the computers off, so you're free to go".
You faced him for a while more, trying to find something to say, maybe a snarky remark — a joke? But nothing came to mind. So you only nodded, standing up from the chair with a smile.
"So off I go" you told him, massaging your pulses, "Guess we won't see each other again, pretty Agent Hotchner boy".
Aaron shook his head, crossing his arms, "I hope not".
"Ouch" you put your hand over your chest dramatically, "You wound me, honey. Hope you don't miss me too much".
Aaron finally allowed himself to roll his eyes, standing up from the desk to walk toward the door, "It won't be a problem".
...
2011
You were honestly — and positively — surprised when the message arrived in your inbox, the (a rather last minute) white invitation warming your heart in a way you didn't think it would.
JJ and Will were getting married.
It was a surprise not because you thought you wouldn't be invited, but because you didn't think it would happen at all; the last time you and JJ talked (only a year prior to that date), the woman had been pretty straightforward about not being ready to get married, even if Will clearly was. You were surprised to know that he supported her and it wasn't an issue, even though JJ sometimes complained about how they ended up fighting over the topic.
You were happy they finally got to an agreement. And even happier that their agreement gave her an excuse to leave her house, even for only a few hours.
"You look beautiful!" you stated once you spotted JJ on the dancefloor, bringing her for a hug when she finally recognized you.
"I can't believe you're here!" JJ held you against her body happily, and you could feel her smile on your shoulder as she rocked you from side to side, "I thought you were in Paris!".
You nodded when she pulled back, allowing you to move and embrace Will, that had a similar smile on his face, "I was. But the Pentagon called me back and I was forced to come back. Which is a loss, because I was starting to get used with the accent. And the paycheck".
Will shook his head, laughing at your last comment, "I'm sure Interpol will be missing a great Agent".
"That they will" you nodded eagerly, playfully throwing your hair over your shoulder, "I was their jewel, and now they have nothing. But I'm happy to be back home. Will be even happier when I find a good house for me, since I've sold my old house".
"Oh, that's your lucky day!" JJ commented, immediately taking your hand in hers, already guiding you through the dancefloor to a table where a few people were gathered, laughing at something one of them had said, "My friends' neighbor just passed away, and their old apartment is vacant. Maybe you can rent it".
You smiled, ready to give JJ an answer when you looked at the table again, your eyes widening at the sight of one man in the middle of the group. You froze in your place when you recognized him, your jaw slightly dropped when your eyes met, recognition clearly passing through his eyes as well.
You heard JJ saying your name, and you were fairly aware that she was introducing you to the group, though the only name you managed to hear was, "This is Aaron Hotchner, my boss, and friend".
Boss. It was curious — last time you've seen Agent Hotchner (or pretty Agent Hotchner boy, as you once called him), he was an Agent working under Jason Gideon's supervision.
Ten years had gone by, though. A lot had changed. You, to begin with.
"Oh, huh... hi!" you waved at the group, trying to pretend you had gathered any of their names, "JJ was telling me that one of you had a neighbor who had passed and may have an apartment free for me?".
Aaron — who seemed to be on a trance just as you'd been in the past few seconds — cleared his throat at your question, trying to brush away the embarrassment of how you kept looking at each other. If someone in his group noticed, though, none of them made a comment about it.
"That would be me" he stated, and you held the urge to mutter an 'of course that is', "Maybe we can talk—".
"On the dancefloor" the old man beside him suggested, nudging Aaron slightly with a mischievous smirk on his lips as he took a sip of his drink (whiskey, you deduced), "Do you like to dance?".
"Very much" you nodded, directing your response at the man who asked the question, but your eyes were focused on Aaron, "That's one of my technical skills".
If there was any doubt to Aaron that you remembered him, this doubt fade away at that exact moment — and you noticed it by the way his body language immediately changed, going from an almost nervous one to a more relaxed one.
"I guess you can show me, then" Aaron offered his hand to you, a smile appearing on his face when you immediately accepted it, guiding you back to the dancefloor, "Let's just try and not be arrested tonight, okay?".
You snorted, patting on his shoulder when the song turned into a slower one, and your eyes met one more time before you replied, "I won't make any promises".
Thank you for your request ���
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sailorholly · 2 years ago
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Strictly Business Pt 2
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Summary: Spencer wants to gain sexual experience before asking out his dream date. You just want a way to release stress. What could go wrong?
Pairing: Spencer Reid x F. BAU Reader
Warnings: Smut. Oral (f. receiving). 18+ only. Minors DNI. Typical Criminal Minds violence and case descriptions.
W/C: 1.2K
See the Strictly Business Masterlist here
Catch up here: Part One
The morning after Rossi’s, you got called in on a case. Three bodies were discovered and you all knew you had to work quickly or there would be another.
You and Spencer decided to wait until after you were home from the case to begin your physical relationship. You quickly learned it was easier said than done. Hotch paired the two of you on the way there. So you were around each other constantly. Your body was hyper aware of every move he made.
You were sure you had a similar effect on him. He would sneak glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking. You could tell he was thinking about it too. You had caught him checking you out on more than one occasion.
It was like you were drawn together like magnets, always finding excuses to touch each other. His long legs would brush against yours while sitting. You would touch his back when you walked by. When going over files, both of you placed your hands on the other’s and let it linger a little too long. You were practically bubbling with anticipation.
It was taking longer than usual to find this unsub. The stress was affecting the whole team. You were starting to take your frustration out on each other. It all came to a head when Derek and Penelope started fighting when she couldn’t find the answers he needed.
His misplaced anger was the last straw for Hotch. He told everyone to take the night off. He wanted you to relax and try to rest.
You just got out of the shower. You stayed in longer than you expected, but you were enjoying the spray of the warm water on your tired body. You put on a tank top and shorts. Your nightly skincare routine is interrupted by a knock on your hotel room door.
You look through the peephole to find Spencer pacing the hallway outside. You open the door letting him in. “Hey, was there a break in the case? I can be ready in a few minu-“ Spencer cuts off your sentence by placing his large hands against the sides of your face, his lips moving eagerly against your own. He pulls away as quickly as he began. You didn’t have time to reciprocate the kiss.
“I’m so sorry. I’ve wanted to do that all week. I thought if I just did it quickly, my nerves would subside. But it didn’t work.” He smiles at you sheepishly, his whole face turning different shades of red.
“It’s okay. I’m really nervous too. It’s all I can think about. Do you want to start tonight?” “Yes!” Spencer answers almost too quickly. You giggle and take his hand leading him to the bed. “Let’s talk about what you’ve done before so I know what you’re familiar with.”
“I’ve had sex once.” he replies. “Okay, what did you do during sex? Did you use your fingers?” He keeps his eyes on yours shaking his head no. “So you went down on her?” “No, I didn’t do that either.” Your eyes widen.
“So you just put it in?! Spencer, you have to get women ready first.” “I know that!” he says defensively. “You’ve read so many of my romance books, surely you know what to do.” He clears his throat. “Yes, in theory, but having you right here in front of me is completely different.”
“I wanted to do something to her, but she didn’t give me the chance. She started kissing me. One thing led to another and she lifted her skirt and got on top of me. It was over before I knew it.” You sigh, “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
You decide to start with kissing to get comfortable with each other. This time the kiss isn’t rushed. It almost feels natural. Spencer pulls away first. He nips at your earlobe. Your breath hitches when his lips latch onto your neck. He sucks the tender skin there causing a moan to escape your lips.
He pulls away, his gaze falls to your face trying to gage your reaction. You place your hand on his thigh. “That was great. I think we can move on now. Is there anything in particular you want to start with?”
Spencer lowers his eyes to your tank top, your nipples visible through the thin fabric. You take his hand placing it on your breast. Spencer loudly swallows. “It’s okay, Spence. I want you to touch me.”
That was all the confirmation he needs. Slender fingers begin toying with your nipple. His other hand pushes you gently against the bed. His mouth descends on your hardened peak through your shirt. You arch upward into him.
His movements are more confident now. His hands travel to the hem of your tank top, lifting it over your torso and off you completely. Wandering hands find their way back to your chest. He gently kisses down your stomach while he rolls your nipples between his long digits.
When he reaches the waistband of your shorts, he stops looking up at you. “Is this okay?” You squirm under his intense gaze. “Yes, please touch me.” Your response comes out needier than you expected. He smiles, loving the effect he’s having on you.
He slowly slides your shorts down your legs, leaving you exposed to him. He swipes a finger down your center, collecting the wetness already gathered there. “You’re so responsive. So wet and I’ve barely touched you.”
You watch incredulously as he places his finger in his mouth. He gently sucks before removing it with a loud pop. “Can I taste you?” he asks as casually as if he was asking to borrow a pen.
You raise up on your elbows to look down at him posed between your open legs. “I think I might die, if you don’t.” Spencer scrunches his nose before responding. “Actually it’s not possible to die from-“ “Spencer, please?!” You interrupt him with your begging.
He smirks lowering his face to your waiting heat. You almost fly off the bed when he licks a hot stripe up your center. One hand grabs your hip pulling you down. He places the other over your stomach to hold you in place.
He dives in, eating you like you’re the best meal he’s ever had. His lips tug on your clit. You reach down tangling your hands in his curls, pulling him closer. His moans vibrate against you, adding to the pressure building low in your stomach.
He laps at your core taking everything you give him. Your body arches toward him, but he firmly presses you back into the mattress. You dig your heels into his back. You can feel his fingers pressing into your hips, you know there will be bruises in their place tomorrow. But you don’t care.
He fastens his soft lips around your clit, lightly sucking while his tongue flicks rapidly against you. He doesn’t slow down when you shatter. Your legs shake around his head, cries of his name fill the otherwise silent room.
When you come back down, Spencer pulls away. He places a light kiss to your inner thigh. You sit up, handing him your discarded tank top to wipe his mouth. “You got a little something there.”
You point to your own mouth failing to conceal your smile. Spencer snakes his tongue out, licking your remaining arousal off his lips. Although he said it was impossible, you weren’t sure you would survive this.
Part Three
Tags (if you wanna be added let me know!)
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aurumacadicus · 1 month ago
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Sigh. You can find more of this under 'mr stark's murder mysteries' because obviously I have no self control.
--
"Janet Van Dyne should have been hired by the CIA," Steve said, feeling wrung out, like an empty orange rind.
Peggy slanted him an unimpressed frown. "The CIA can't afford her."
Steve wondered if all socialites were equal parts baffling and infuriating. Ms. Van Dyne had been an extra shade of terrifying, though, so he didn't really want to ask more questions. "She was so thorough, Bucky had to rescue me before I finally admitted I was Steve Rogers and not Roger Stevens."
"Good, because I know she's reporting everything back to Tony," Peggy replied, turning back to her computer. "He's used to being the smartest person in the room, and I think it chaps his ass that he can't find out anything about you beyond your bogus file."
Steve sighed, tipping his head back to try and ease the tension in his neck. "I don't understand why we don't tell him."
Peggy frowned at him again. "If word about you gets back to Howard, it will blow our cover at the gala. Once this gala is over and we've hopefully detained the Hydra moles, then we can tell him you're here and alive."
Steve rubbed a hand over his face. "I just feel like you're setting me up to be stabbed."
"You'll heal," Peggy deadpanned, and Steve let out a reluctant bark of laughter.
--
"He's single," Jan said, sweeping into the Stark library.
"That's not what I wanted you to find out," Tony sighed, looking up from the seating arrangements he'd spread out on the table.
"Well it's what I wanted to find out," she retorted, plopping elegantly down on the couch beside him. "Especially if he's going to be your date."
It was unfair that she could be so elegant while doing anything like 'plopping,' but Tony didn't say so. "If you don't start talking, I'm going to sit you next to Justin Hammer."
Jan turned to give him a shark-smile, lips spread wide and eyes devoid of emotion. "It will be your funeral."
He glanced back at her, allowing a scoff to really nail home he wasn't afraid of her. "I'm busy, so if you're not going to talk, leave."
"God, you really are no fun when you're planning galas," Jan huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against the cushions. She watched him discard a set of seating arrangements to look over another, then rolled her eyes and sat up again. "He's definitely hiding something, but I can't quite put my finger on what," she finally said, tapping her finger against her chin thoughtfully. "It didn't feel malicious though, so."
"Well, he's a spy," Tony answered with a shrug. "So as long as it doesn't feel malicious--actually." He lifted his head, squinting across the room thoughtfully. "I can't say I wouldn't be into that."
"I know," Jan huffed, and he ducked his head apologetically, because the last alpha he'd let 'be mean' to him, she'd had to chase him off with a fireplace poker. "But he mostly just seems like an awkward golden retriever? I don't know. I'm doing some subtle digging."
Tony blinked and turned to face her. "Uh? SHIELD probably already knows."
"They fear me too much to call me on it, so I'm being nice and asking around places that won't ruffle their feathers," Jan explained.
"Oh," Tony said with an understanding nod.
She continued as if she hadn't heard him. "As far as personality, he was willing to listen to his posse's opinions but they definitely deferred to him as the leader. They must be friends outside of work, too, because I almost got Roger to crack and his hipster friend swept in to rescue him like he'd done it before. I'm thinking, divide and conquer."
"I'm going to be too busy to press Roger at the gala," Tony sighed.
"Don't worry. I'll think of something," Jan assured him, reaching out to pat his hand. "I managed to get a third suit done so they could bring anther agent. I think you should seat him next to Justin Hammer. I overheard him talking to the hipster about how he'd gotten frustrated setting up his DVD player and cut all the wires because they got tangled up."
"What's his name?" Tony answered immediately, and gleefully scribbled 'Clint Barton' next to Hammer's.
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augustvandyne · 1 year ago
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Angela lopez x reader
Lucy and Nyla try to set up their two best friends
-🖇
hey again! this one’s really long, and i’m not sorry.
setup
Everyone could see it from a mile away, even Sergeant Grey. So the question was, why couldn’t the two of you see it?
I mean, Angela is a detective, for goodness sake!
How could she not see that the two of you have the biggest crushes on each other?
Well, that was Nyla and Lucy’s mission for this week. To get you and Angela to, for one, see your feelings for each other. Because it’s been oncoming since the first day the two of you met. And then for two, they want to get you two together.
Yesterday, Nyla had found Lucy at lunch, and proposed this plan.
And now, I know what you’re thinking. Nyla came to Lucy?
Well, she was tired of the unknown flirting, longing looks, the touching.. it was making her annoyed. You guys were basically dating at this point, but every time Nyla brought it up, Angela denied it.
Let’s begin!
Monday
You rode with Lucy almost everyday, so imagine your surprise when Lucy told you she was going to be riding with mostly Nyla this week.
You kind of just shrugged it off, figuring she might have wanted to broaden her horizons and try out detective work. Which didn’t really make sense, because you thought her heart was set on undercover work.
Little did you know, they were plotting against you and Angela.
You also didn’t mind because that meant you would be with Angela. You two were friends, and hung out every once in a while, but you did enjoy her company and talked to her whenever you could.
Today you and Angela were mostly staying at the station, so you’d talked a bunch.
Nothing you hadn’t already known about her, though.
Eventually her phone starts dinging repeatedly, and you look up to see her scrunched up face, and you knew what that meant. She was frustrated.
“Jeez,” Angela finally gives in and flips the phone over.
You watch her as her frown grows deeper, and her frustration turns into anger. She rolls her eyes, placing her phone on silent and into her bag on the floor.
“Everything okay?” You ask, making her look up you.
Her features and voice soften, “Fine.”
She sits there and begins tapping her foot on the floor, which you pretend not to notice as you focus on the case files in front of you. She lets out a loud sigh that has you dropping the papers and gives her your full attention.
“It’s Wesley,” Angela admits. “Do you like him?”
You try your best not to make a face. You knew Wesley well.
He made his appearance throughout the station due to him being a defense lawyer. He often represents criminals in your interrogation room.
You’re best at interrogating criminals, so most people seek you out to do their interrogations, which is how you know Wesley so well.
But did you like him?
Well that was a whole different story.
He’d taken Angela out a few times, to which you didn’t like. He’d annoyed you now that he went out with her. You couldn’t explain why it bothered you, but it did.
The two of them had broken things off about a week ago, Angela’s doing, but you couldn’t get the reason out of Angela.
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” You raise one shoulder.
“You’re a terrible liar,” Angela pursed her lips. “Tell me the truth.”
“He’s kind of.. uh, an asshole?” You wince thinking of what Angela’s reaction to your opinion would be.
“Hm,” She doesn’t look fazed, which is good. But that could also mean she was upset and was just hiding it. “Well, he’s the one blowing my phone up.”
“I figured as much,” You say.
“He wants to try again.”
There was that feeling again. Deep in your stomach. You wanted this conversation to stop, but you loved listening to Angela talk. You could listen all day.
“What do you want?” You tilt your head slightly.
“I don’t know,” Angela bites the inside of her cheek. “That’s why I’m talking to you. He’s been texting me a lot lately, asking me to go out with him again, but I ended things for a reason.”
“And what reason was that?” You thought you’d at least try, but you already knew her answer.
She hesitates, and you think she might actually tell you, but then she just shook her head.
“Mm,” You clear your throat and put the files away neatly on Nyla’s desk. You reach to grab for your bag, ready to get out for the night, the overwhelming sensation to cry hitting you. “I’m gonna head out.”
“Oh,” Angela parts her lips. “I can walk you out—“
“No,” You clench your jaw, putting your walls back up. “I’ve got it.”
“Well doesn’t Lucy normally drive you—“
“I said I’ve got it.”
Tuesday
Lucy was devastated to find out about the small fight that took place between you and Angela last night.
She found out when she found you with your comfort movie on and a pint of ice cream in hand.
She was able to get what happened out of you easily, and immediately messaged Nyla with the news.
They were hoping yesterday would be enough, but apparently not.
You were relieved to find out you’d be riding with Nyla the next morning in roll call. You were interested in becoming a detective, so it worked out for you.
Only, it wasn’t going so great now that you were cornered by two men.
Nyla had been tied to a chair back further into the room, and you were being cornered close to the top of the stairs.
You called for backup about five minutes ago, and you prayed Lucy or anyone else would hurry to your location because you wouldn’t be able to hold out two men for more than a few minutes.
Next thing you know, Nyla is yelling something that sounds like a, “Watch out!”, and you’re tumbling down the stairs.
Your vision goes blurry and your head is pounding. You feel like throwing up and you have a pain in your ankle.
Thankfully, you’re put out of your misery when you pass out.
You wake up in the hospital, a doctor shining a light in your eyes.
As you thought, Lucy was there by your side when you woke up, which was a relief.
You’d gotten a bad concussion from hitting your head off the floor after tumbling down the steps, as well as a sprained ankle.
Lucy dropped you at home, which is where you spent the rest of your night—alone.
At least you did until Angela came knocking on your door.
“Oh,” You let out a sharp breath when finding the woman at the other end of the door.
“Hey, I heard what happened,” Angela steps into your apartment without even asking, concern written all over her face. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” You say as her hand touches the bruise that formed on the side of your face from the fall.
Her hand is cool on your face, and even though the bruise hurts to the touch, you hold her hand there.
“Does it hurt?” She lightly moves her hand from the side of your face, and softly grips your chin, turning your head so she can see your bruise.
“Keep your hand there,” You dodge her question, grabbing her hand that’s not on your chin, and place it back on the side of your face. “Your hands cold. Feels good.”
Wednesday
You were placed on desk duty for the rest of the week. Just great.
It tampered with Nyla and Lucy’s plan, but it’s nothing they couldn’t handle.
Lucy stayed back today, but kept her distance from you and Angela. The two of you were in the same seats at Monday. Sat across from each other.
You could feel Angela watching over you as the day went by.
Lucy ate lunch with you and asked how Angela was but you did your usual show when someone asked about her.
You looked down, hid your blush, shrugged your shoulders and muttered an “I don’t know.”
Later into the shift, you had gotten up for coffee.
You and Angela stayed back a bit late to finish the case you were on. You were so close, you could feel it.
But that also meant Lucy and Nyla were at home, as well as the rest of the day shift.
They were at home conspiring against the two of you as you make your coffee.
Angela followed you into the break room, and good thing she did, because your ankle decided to give out three seconds later.
Angela speeds to catch you just in time, you falling back into her arms. You swallow nervously, your faces awfully close.
All you could see were her sparkling brown eyes, and her kissable lips.
But you beat yourself down for even thinking about that. So when she leaned in a fraction, you cleared your throat and stood up.
“Sorry about that,” You scratched the back of your neck.
“You should really be more careful,” Angela tries to play it off as if she didn’t just try to kiss you and got rejected.
“I know,” You chuckle awkwardly.
“Was it your ankle?” Angela frowns.
“Yeah, it’s been bothering me,” You shrug. “I should stay off it.”
“Damn right you should,” Angela said sternly. “From now on I’m confining you to Nyla’s desk.”
You let out a breathy laugh, “Fine by me.”
“Okay.. so go sit down,” Angela raises her brows. “You think I’m joking? I’m not. Go sit. I’ll bring you your coffee.”
Smirking, and watching you leave the room, she does just as she says.
Thursday
Today would be an exciting one.
You were with Nyla again, and Lucy was with Angela.
But since Angela forced you on desk duty, you and Nyla would be hanging back at the station.
The fun part is how all Nyla’s been talking about is Angela.
Nyla had somehow found out about your almost kiss with Angela last night, and yet she hadn’t asked about why you’d pulled back, you had a feeling she would soon.
“You know she broke things off with Wesley?” Nyla looked up, smiling at you.
“Yeah. I mean, she was thinking about it,” You try not to get too hung up on the question, trying to figure something out for Nolan, but coming up with nothing due to your mind being on the Lopez woman. “But why?”
“You really want to know?” Nyla leans on the desk, her hands intertwined together on top of the surface.
“Will you actually tell me?” You sit up excitedly.
“It was because of you.”
That caught you off guard. Why would she say something like that?
“That’s not funny,” You start blinking repeatedly.
“I’m not laughing, am I?” Nyla gave you her serious face.
“But why would she do that?” You asked yourself, and ended up with an answer from Nyla.
“Because she likes you.”
You scoff.
“What, me?” You’re taken aback at the seriousness of Nyla’s tone and face. “No. I’m just a patrol officer. And she’s a detective. She could have anyone. And she wants me? Are you sure?”
“Positive. You’re all she talks about.”
“You’re all she talks about,” Lucy looked over to look at Angela who had her thinking face on.
Angela had Lucy driving today, because she felt like sitting back today, rather than dealing with assholes on the road.
“I don’t buy it,” Angela shrugged. “I would know. I mean, I’m a detective.”
“You know, that’s exactly what Nyla and I thought.”
“What— Nyla?” Angela turns her whole body. “She’s in on it?”
“Well, I mean—“
“Are you sure? I’ve liked her since, well, I don’t know..”
“Since your first day training her? Yeah, her too,” Lucy was jittery, excited for their plan to finally come together. Even after having to go to plan D.
“Well, what do you think I should do?” Angela bites her nail nervously. “Should I ask her out?”
“Of course you should!” Lucy is basically bouncing in her seat, she can only imagine how you feel.
“Tonight?”
“Yes!” But then Lucy remembers tonight in the night your show comes on, and you almost never miss it. “Oh, no, wait, no.. here’s the thing. Thursdays are not so good, you see.”
“Her show?”
Lucy is surprised by her words, but it just points out the obvious fact that the two of you like each other.
“Yeah, yeah, how did you know that?” Lucy shakes her head.
“It’s all she talks about on Fridays, so I have no choice but to assume it comes on on Thursday nights.”
“You know what you should do? Bring her takeout! Yes, I’m going out with a friend tonight, so it works out perfectly,” Lucy beams. “You know her favorite place?”
“Of course,” Angela rolls her eyes. “I know it by heart.���
“So it’s a date.”
“Whatever,” She shrugs it off, but is secretly planning out her outfit.
A knock at the door later that night has you bouncing on your toes.
Lucy had hinted at how her conversation went with Angela earlier in the day, but wouldn’t tell you how it went.
When you open your door there she is, looking gorgeous as always, your favorite takeout in her hand.
You smile widely, trying your best not to check her out, but fail.
“You gonna invite me in, or what? Your shows coming back on,” She jerks her head in the direction of you and Lucy’s huge TV.
“Oh, come in,” She shreds off her coat, placing it on the hanger by the door.
She was wearing a black tank, which you weren’t complaining about, as well as jeans that complimented her perfectly.
When she catches you staring, you fake cough, and hide your face in the fridge, grabbing the both of you some water.
“How was desk duty?”
“As well as it should be,” You shrugged.
“Speaking of, you should be sitting,” She pushes you towards the couch, a smile across her face. “Go sit. I’ll bring you some.”
You talk as you eat, and learn that Angela doesn’t know anything about this show, besides what you’ve told her. So you pause the show, and you spend the next hour and a half explaining the show.
At this point, she isn’t even paying attention to what you’re saying, she’s just watching your mouth and the column of your throat move as you talk.
“Angelaaa you aren’t even listening. How are you going to understand what’s happening?”
“I am listening, and it’s very interesting,” Angela tries to lie her way out.
“What did I just say?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what do you know?” You squint at her.
“That I want to kiss you.”
You hadn’t realized that there was only about an inch or two between your faces.
This time, when Angela leans in, you don’t stop her. You let her grip the sides of your neck, her thumbs rubbing across your neck.
You wrap your arm around her neck, moving yourself closer, all but on her lap. You begin running your hands through her hair.
You pull slightly, making the woman groan, which gives you access to her mouth.
It would have gone farther, had Lucy and Nyla not chosen that second to walk in.
“Oh! I guess our plan worked,” Lucy turns her head as you scramble off Angela.
“I guess it did,” Nyla smiled. “We’ve got moves.”
“Yeah, yeah we do,” Lucy nodded, sticking her fist out for Nyla, who bumps it.
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lewkwoodnco · 7 months ago
Text
the tortured poets department - george karim x reader
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George stiffened and shut his eyes regretfully as if he couldn’t bear to see that look on her face. A faint flush started creeping up his throat, peeking out from behind his starchy collar. “Don’t,” he whispered.
“Tell me,” she pressed, taking yet another step closer until their noses were barely an inch apart, “who else is going to know me? Truly know me?”
He let go of the breath he was holding and it fluttered across her cheek like the ghost of a kiss. They were venturing into intolerably intimate territory, and she could feel her pulse racing under the distracted brush of his thumb on her wrist.
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a/n - HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH thats it thats the a/n also happy birthday to ali hadji-hesmati ia m NOT late shut up
tropes/warnings - slight nsfw towards the end (idk tho??), angst (what else is new lmao), tw slight mention of suicide, ft locklyle wedding (a bit) happy ending tho, i am very sick wrote this entirely on my phone and cannot be held accountable for any of this
word count - 3.7k!
TAGLIST | MASTERLIST
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Who uses typewriters anyway?
That was what she had mouthed at her friend from across the Fittes office. They were brand new hires; scribes assigned to different researchers under an apprenticeship programme. Things were off to a rougher start than she had expected. From what she could see, her friend had been assigned to a perfectly normal-looking researcher who, now that introductions were complete, was explaining his filing system to her.
On the other hand, the first thing her oddly intense researcher had asked was if she knew how to use a typewriter. She had laughed, thinking it was a joke, before very quickly realising that he was being perfectly serious. He started explaining how the contraption worked far too quickly for her to catch anything, and she had taken the chance to shoot her friend a look.
“L/N?”
She whipped her head back around, immediately apologetic. “Sorry. I think I get how it works now.” Really, it was just bad luck that she had gotten the short end of the stick.
The next thing she learnt, over many months, was how to pick up on and decrypt George’s nonverbal cues. Namely, knowing what his every sigh, muttering or frown meant. While it had felt frustrating similar to banging her head against a wall in the beginning, he started to grow on her. Learning how George Karim ticked was like figuring out an intriguing puzzle all on her own. Besides, he wasn’t unkind. He could be understanding, so long as he had the patience for it on that particular day.
But there were times when she decided that no, he wasn’t all that compassionate of a coworker. Particularly on nights when he’d have her write up chapters worth of research summarised from his scrawled notes. And woe betide her should she make one too many mistakes.
Who the hell uses typewriters anyway?
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"Do you ever think about leaving Fittes?"
Her typing stopped abruptly, her flickering train of thought completely demolished by George's appalling suggestion. They were sitting at their adjacent desks at the Fittes office, her typing up the previous night's case report while George twiddled his thumbs and fiddled with a pen in increasingly creative ways.
"Leave? And go where?"
She followed the line of his hateful stare towards one of the thick metal doors along the corridor which led to a more restricted part of the offices. Like most others, she felt no pressing inclination to snoop around and stumble upon information she would rather not find. But for someone like George, she could practically see how it gnawed at him - libraries of secrets just begging to be known.
Her gaze flitted anxiously between his face and the door. It was both a frightening and thrilling thing when George decided to put his mind to something, using his brain at its full capacity in some sincerely earnest hunt for knowledge. It was also the thing that was going to get him killed sooner or later, mesmerising as he was. It. Mesmerising as it was.
"Start our own agency. Play by our rules."
She laughed nervously, too artificial even for her own ears as she wrung her stiff hands. George's voice had a distant quality to it that told her he was on the way to making some very bad decisions if she didn't step in soon. "Oh, George, you say the…the darnedest things. You're no Tom Rotwell, you know."
"You're not Marissa Fittes yourself, either."
"Rude."
His gaze flickered to her at that, the barest hint of a smile ghosting his lips as the tension in his shoulders dissolved. She visibly relaxed as well, satisfied that it would be a decent while before he once again latched onto this bizarre notion.
Which was why his abrupt switch in employment to some small, crumbling agency had left her more than shell-shocked. Coming into work on a normal, gloomy Monday and seeing George's desk cleared out and painfully sterile of the ideas and theories he buzzed with left her feeling lost at sea in the worst way. And he didn't bother to reach out to her either - not a call, not a letter, not a visit.
That is, not a visit until he turned up at her door in the middle of the night, pale as the Visitors that skulked outside her door.
"Sorry.”
For one stupidly miraculous moment, she thought he might be apologising for a month’s worth of grey days and sleepless nights.
“I know it’s late, but I think I left my typewriter here."
She felt stupidly disappointed.
"You're making a mess of my - what are you doing?"
George had located his otherwise untouched typewriter positioned at one corner of her dining table and was now furiously typing away, a sickly, pallid sheen to his forehead.
"Don't worry, I'll be qui -"
"Karim."
His typing faltered, and for once he had the decency to look marginally embarrassed.
“Sit down. Start from the beginning.”
So he did. He told her everything about some Type Two case at 62 Sheen Road, short of coming out and saying that he had put his associates' lives in danger, but she could hear it in his voice. It was an almost welcome return to the old days of picking out the relevant parts while his mind ran ahead at the speed of light; so much to think and agonise over. When his voice finally started to run thin, she fetched him a cup of tea, taking a moment to process it all.
"Okay, so, if I have this right, none of this is your fault. No - don't argue with me. Drink your tea. You told him to wait, that you needed more time.“
He mumbled something incoherent as he pulled off his glasses, dragging a hand across his eyes, looking far too young and worn. He glanced up to meet her gaze, the look on his face as much of a wreck as the rest of him. He looked down again, staring at his hands splayed on her dining table. George never was one for letting his feelings show, let alone hysterics, and it rubbed at something raw to see him spiralling this badly.
“They’d be better off with a researcher who could actually do his job.”
She suppressed the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes.
“Oh, please, this has nothing to do with being altruistic. This is just you trying to punish yourself over something that isn’t even your fault.”
He showed no sign of having heard her. She sighed and slid into the seat next to his, her fingers nearly brushing his.
“Look - what's done is done. Possibly the worst thing you could do now is leave them in the lurch like this. Of course, it's not going to be smooth sailing throughout, but you made a commitment, so for the love of God keep your head up and stick it through.” She reached out to loosely cover his wrist. “Okay?”
George stayed silent but glanced up at her. Okay. She pulled her hand away. He finished the last of his tea and stood.
“I should get going, I suppose.”
She looked out the window, eyeing the eerie green glow of the ghost lamps critically. “It’s a bit late, don’t you think? Not very safe.”
“I have my rapier on me.”
The corners of her mouth tightened.
“I’d feel better if you left in the morning.”
And so they ended up in her living room, him sitting on the floor and her sitting on the couch, dragging her fingers through his soft curls. They talked about everything and nothing, like the recent layoffs at Rotwell’s and what George’s new associates were like. He made them sound marvellous. It was obvious why he’d leave Fittes. Why he’d leave her.
“The three of us…we live at 35 Portland Row.”
“Mhm.”
“And there’s this doughnut shop down the street from there.”
She lightly scraped his scalp teasingly.
“So that’s why you left.”
She could feel him smile despite himself.
“We should go, someday. You’d love it.”
A vision trickled into her imagination - she and George standing at the end of some empty cobblestoned road with soft, pillowy doughnuts dripping sugar down their knuckles, sprinkles melting into their fingerprints. It’s evening, and the sun is almost painfully intense, beating down a lovely glow over the scene. She’s distantly aware of the impending danger of the rapidly approaching nighttime, but for now, George is standing in front of her in a soft shirt, the edges of his face kind and blunt, the almost permanent furrow of his brow melted away in the liquid sun, reaching out to swipe a thumb at the corner of her mouth -
“Get some rest.” Her voice was thick with a longing for such golden yet treacherously illusory days. George leaned back, resting his head on the couch with half-lidded eyes, his breathing evening out as he drifted off. She gently slipped her fingers out of his hair. She gently pulled his glasses off but before she could put them someplace safe, she was out like a light herself.
She had a fitful sleep and blearily woke up a few hours later, George’s head an oddly comforting weight against her knee. She groggily pulled herself up and tossed a blanket at the figure slumped against her couch before fetching a glass of water and some paracetamol.
Shortly after, George lurched awake like he was sweating out a fever, heart thudding and eyes restless. He groaned, no doubt wincing at the pounding behind his eyes. He caught sight of the water and medicine placed next to him but looked away after a moment of consideration. She raised her eyebrows pointedly, knowing only too well the kind of hell his overactive mind was capable of putting him through.
“How’s your head?”
She hadn’t meant to sound that sarcastic, but it was enough for him to get the hint. He relented, taking a sip of water and then one of the pills just for good measure.
"Good. Now go home and get some proper rest, you moron."
She watched him stumble down the road till he turned the corner, trying to hide how shaken she was by his panic. She sighed wearily. Only a month at Lockwood & Co. and already he would be a desperate wreck without them. She turned back inside, trying to ignore how empty her dining table looked without his typewriter and how vacant she felt without that flimsy excuse for him to see her again.
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Years passed. She and George somewhat kept in touch, but it had still been extremely startling when Lockwood & Co. reached out to her with plans to expose her employer, Marissa Fittes. Amongst the tragedy of Portland Row being reduced to rubble, Kipps nearly dying and the Skull almost moving on, unemployment was the least of her concerns.
Still, it wasn’t all sad once Lucy had proposed to Lockwood after one too many failed attempts by the latter party. They had planned a relatively intimate affair, only inviting some old friends of the ex-Fittes employees of the group.  
They held it at an inexpensive banquet hall just a few minutes away from Portland Row. Lucy looked gorgeous and glowing with happiness under the gentle warm lighting, and Lockwood looked dashing in a suit not much more formal than his regular one. He spent the majority of the reception denying that he had teared up at the first glimpse of Lucy at the end of the aisle, insisting that his best man was a pathological liar.
After the main event, the guests milled around, having drinks, and occasionally congratulating the happy couple. As expected, Lockwood became very drunk very quickly, enough to pull out some terribly nonsensical yet oddly stirring comment.
“Here’s to the first day of the rest of our lives.”
She glanced across at George. He met her eye. They immediately looked away. She could have sworn she felt a hitch of some breath between them. She felt the prickle of tears behind her eyes. Lucy was desperately trying to shut up an overly emotional and hence overly talkative Lockwood who looked ready to launch into a speech no one asked for.
“That’s enough now, or we’ll have Kipps bawling all through dinner.”
It wasn’t exactly a sit-down dinner, though there was appropriate seating. Half of the guests were eating and the other half were having fun with some party games. She was watching Holly struggle at Twister when she felt someone slide into the seat next to hers - namely, the best man, George.
“Hey.”
She grinned, flushed from the champagne she had been sipping all evening. “Hey.”
“Having fun?”
“Lots.”
He couldn’t help but return her smile, looking a little tipsy himself. “I can tell.”
They ate in silence for a while, only the tinny sound of the radio’s strain and cheers from the party games filling the space between them.
“I think I missed you at the bouquet toss earlier.”
She nearly swallowed her spoon. He had noticed? He noticed her? She didn't know how to tell him that she couldn't see herself marrying anyone that wasn't him. How could she wake up every day knowing her better half was somewhere out there miles away, wondering if he wished for someone as moron-shaped as her?
“Oh, well, that’s not really my thing. More of a bridesmaid than a bride.”
She resumed eating, presuming that line of conversation to be over until she noticed he was still looking at her strangely, his cutlery stationary in his hands. Her chewing slowed in an attempt at dignity.
“…what?”
He lifted her right hand off her knife, making her heart thud dangerously. Wordlessly, he pulled off the sapphire ring on her middle finger and oh-so-delicately slid it onto her ring finger instead.
“I think you’d make a wonderful bride.”
She stared at the ring, speechless. It wasn’t a proposal, but it wasn’t nothing either. Maybe…maybe this was a second chance at something. Maybe he wouldn’t screw this up this time.
He almost reluctantly relinquished his grip on her hand. She didn’t dare meet his eye. Even his voice, quiet yet slightly rough, felt unbearable to hear.
“Were you mad? When I left without telling you?”
She had waited months to hear those words.
“I wished you'd talked to me about it first. Just...just to make sure your head was screwed on straight.”
He nodded, and they returned to their food, the silence a lot less giddily amicable now.
“So, would you have - “
“Absolutely not. God, no. I would have told you to stay ten feet away from Anthony Lockwood at all times.”
They looked over to where Lucy was helping Lockwood sit down, having unfortunately thrown his back out at Limbo. She winced. “He’s such a wild card.”
“I suppose I am too.”
She turned, curious, and he looked as though he regretted letting that slip out. Her voice dropped, taking on a softer edge.
“Not to me. Not when it’s you.”
He stared at her like there was something bloodied and hungry behind his eyes. She felt this twinge of something in her chest. Oh, how could she bear this? How could she bear him?
Sometimes, part of her wished she were a book - one completely enthralling and riveting, chock-full of secrets eager to slip out and lose themselves in thin air. Perhaps that was just a manifestation of her paralysing desire to be known and to be known by him.
“I should go,” George was saying as he finished up the last of his food. He stood, wiping his mouth, wandering off to find his coat. Maybe it was the liquor or the unfamiliar buzz of hope in the air tonight, but there was some odd tone of finality to his voice. She watched him leave, chewing her food thoughtfully, not feeling very hungry anymore.
As the minutes trickled by, it began to feel exhausting to be surrounded by so many happy couples, happy people, all that revolting joy and merriment. Only a short while after George had left, she located her own coat and weeded Lucy out of a throng of people doing the Macarena.
“I think I might head out now. Congratulations once again, Luce.”
“You too? Aww, thanks. Have you decided about the job offer from Madison?”
“I haven’t written back yet, but I think I’m going to turn them down. I was thinking about talking to Lockwood someday to see if he could take on one more employee. Plus, Madison’s a bit far out, and I’m pretty comfortable where I am.”
“Good. George might have just offed himself if it weren’t for his course at Edinburgh. I mean,” Lucy tripped over her words over the stunned look on her face, “I’m sure he was just kidding.”
“Hang on. Edinburgh?”
“Yeah. For his supervisor training. Did he not tell you? I thought for sure he…”
Lucy’s words muffled into oblivion and bled into some horrible ringing sound. Her mouth felt painfully dry. No. This couldn’t be happening.
“…he wanted to wait till after the wedding to tell Lockwood. Didn’t want to put a damper on things. Don’t get me wrong - I’m just as cut up about it, but…” They looked over to where Lockwood was watching the limbo game from afar with a forlorn expression. “…you know Lockwood.”
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“What the hell, George.”
He jumped, freezing with his hand buried deep in his pocket, tediously hunting for his keys. She had managed to catch him at the front porch of Portland Row, looking especially guilty under the tepid glow of the ghost lamps.
“You’re training to become a supervisor?”
His face briefly twisted in annoyance. The audacity. “I told Lucy in confidence -“
“When were you going to tell me, Karim? Or were you just going to let me find out all on my own, like last time?” She wanted to laugh cruelly. There was nothing merciful about this knife in her chest. “I mean, why do this? Why lead me on and make me feel things and give me hope?”
“When have I ever led you on?”
“Then what was all that with my ring? Huh?” Tears sprang to her eyes once again, hot and shameful, stinging like a caustic disinfectant to an open wound. She felt so, so stupid.
“You said you didn’t care.”
“I did care!” she snapped. “Of course I fucking cared. I don’t think I could have stopped myself from caring, not when I know you like the back of my hand.”
“But you don’t care. No - tomorrow you’re going to board a train and move out of my reach and meet someone new to soothe the turmoil in your head and you won’t feel my heart bleeding for you. And if you’re very, very lucky, you might find some semblance of happiness -“
“I weigh you down!” The tirade died at her lips. Fury lined every shadow, every crevice of George’s face. He spat his words out with such venom, utter distaste. “I weigh you down…like a child. You pick me up when I fall down and kiss it better because that’s the kind of person you are. I can’t sentence you to a lifetime of running around trying to save me. I won’t do it. I’ll find someone else.”
A burden. He looked through her eyes and all he saw was a shrivelled excuse of a companion, dragging her into his depths of despair. She’d be lying if she said she never felt suffocated by his baggage. But there were some burdens you didn’t mind shouldering, not when you loved them so tenderly.
After all, who was going to unravel his every pause, stutter, sigh, and ache as she did?
“But who else is going to decode you like I do?”
George stiffened and shut his eyes regretfully as if he couldn’t bear to see that look on her face. A faint flush started creeping up his throat, peeking out from behind his starchy collar. “Don’t,” he whispered.
“Tell me,” she pressed, taking yet another step closer until their noses were barely an inch apart, “who else is going to know me? Truly know me?”
He let go of the breath he was holding and it fluttered across her cheek like the ghost of a kiss. They were venturing into intolerably intimate territory, and she could feel her pulse racing under the distracted brush of his thumb on her wrist.
There was a brooding, resigned look in his eye as if whatever he had been running from had finally caught up to him. He bowed his head and their foreheads touched. Her arms nervously reached around his neck, his hands on her waist steadying her as if to keep their balance on whatever strand of peace the moment had proffered them.
Her lips hovered over his shoulder, clavicle and jaw. She felt him reflexively tighten and loosen his grip, restless fingers fiddling with the folds of her dress and how they wrapped around her body. She brushed against the shell of his ear and felt a shiver run up his spine.
“Who else is going to hold you…like me?”
He turned a fraction and she briefly registered the lack of hesitation in his dark eyes before he finally closed the last of the gap between them. He pressed his lips to hers, soft yet intentional. He tasted like champagne and smoke and promises long-forgotten yet unbroken. It was a dizzying sort of relief to feel that years-old desperate want coiled inside finally melt through arms and fingertips buzzing with curiosity.
After that first touch, it felt as though they couldn’t get close enough, let alone pull themselves apart and have the brisk evening air rush in and nip at sensitive skin. She heard the doorknob rattle as George fumbled with it. After a short struggle, they stumbled into a nearly pitch-dark Portland Row, urgently shucking off each other’s coats and scarves. Her mind was running a mile a minute, her scalp tingling with electricity; white noise over the scrape of his teeth against her skittering pulse.
Her thoughts fragmented. At Fittes. In his room. In her apartment. His typewriter sitting glossy, polished, untouched, maddening -
George Karim was the most affected prick she had the misfortune of knowing. It was bad, bad luck that she was so irrevocably tied to him.
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goldenempyrean · 2 years ago
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Hey! I have a request. Could you write something where Wanda has been a bit stressed with work, and R had the flu. R doesn't want to add to Wanda's stress, so R hides their sickness. R has to go and do something outside for whatever reason (even though Wanda protests) and when R comes back in, their so delirious and out of it, they tell Wanda they feel sick, even though they don't really know what's going on. Thank you for your time!
Don't You Worry About Me
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〚 Notes  - Hey! Just another lil piece to fill the gap as I work on the AU :) Oh, please lmk what yall think about the new lil colours for the titles and stuff. I think it looks pretty cool! Also my amazing @lyak12 helped me out with the main idea for this too!〛
〚 Pairing- Wanda Maximoff x Reader 〛
〚 Summary - Wanda's been swamped with work lately and the last thing you wanted to was to add to her stress. Even if it means hiding the truth from her. 〛
〚 Wordcount - 3140 〛
〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙
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Wanda had spent the last few days battling a nasty case of the flu. She had been feeling weak and achy and was fighting a fever which just wouldn't break, no matter how hard you tried. But she was finally starting to feel better and had even managed to drag herself into her online work that morning. Unfortunately, she’d quickly realised that she was behind schedule on her reports. For some dumb reason Fury had decided to shorten the deadline and now she was quickly running out of time to complete them all. 
She tried to focus on her work, but her head was still a bit fuzzy from the fever. She kept having to stop and reread things, and it was taking her twice as long as it should have. She could feel her stress levels rising as the clock ticked on and her to-do list seemed to be getting longer rather than shorter. And despite your best efforts to keep her calm, every little thing only seemed to add to the growing pile of stress pressing down on her. That was probably why you hadn't even registered the aching feeling in your bones, you were far too busy.  
But as the day went on, you couldn't ignore the sick feeling that was slowly creeping up on you. Your head was starting to throb, and your throat was beginning to feel scratchy. You tried to push through it, but every time you stood up to grab something, you found yourself feeling dizzy and disoriented.  
Around noon you'd decided to make some tea and that's when you'd first noticed it, the weakness in your arm as you went to lift the kettle. That’s when it really clicked for you that you were getting sick, and you had to stifle an annoyed groan. Of course you’d caught it from her. Just great... But it wasn't exactly like you had the time to dwell on it – if you did you’d only end up alerting Wanda to your condition, which was the last thing you wanted, especially when she was already so stressed with her work, so instead you finished up the tea and came to sit beside Wanda in the living room, attempting to clear a space on the coffee table between the piles of paperwork and files to place her mug down. 
You could see the frustration and exhaustion written all over her face as she loudly tapped on the laptop settled on her knees. It made your heart ache. You knew that she was the type of person who hated falling behind on her work, especially when deadlines were involved. 
Wanda looked up from her laptop and smiled weakly as you placed the mug of tea in front of her. "Thank you," she murmured before turning her attention back to her work. You settled down beside her, trying to ignore the growing ache in your bones. You really didn't want to worry Wanda, especially since she was already stressed enough as it was. "How's your day going?" She asked casually, her voice still a little hoarse from days of coughing. 
You shrugged. "Busy, but nothing I can't handle," You replied, trying to sound optimistic, “Can I do anything else for you though sweetheart?” you offered sweetly as you reached out to gently squeeze her thigh. 
“Is there any way you could help me with these?” She motioned to the stacks of paper littering the coffee table, “I know it wasn’t your mission but I’m so far behind and Fury’s going to have my head chopped off and hung up for public display if I don’t get this all done.” 
You nodded, Fury was known for being strict with deadlines, “Okay baby, do you want me to look over these?” You asked, picking up one of the denser files. 
“That’d be amazing.” Wanda sighed in relief as she leant over to kiss your cheek, “You’re doing me such a huge favour baby.” 
As you both started working on the reports, you could feel your own weakness and fatigue growing with every passing minute, not to mention the constant feeling like your nose was running leading you to sniffle quietly every so often. But you pushed through it, determined to help Wanda get her work done. Much to your annoyance, over the next few hours, your sniffles only increased, and you were frequently having to take breaks to go and discreetly blow your nose in another room. On a normal occasion you would’ve told Wanda the second you began to feel like something was off, but you knew that telling her would only stress her out further and there was no way you wanted to do that. So, you stayed painfully silent about the growing pressure in your sinuses and continued to diligently help Wanda with her work. 
As the day wore on, you could feel the exhaustion starting to take its toll on you. Your body felt heavy, and your mind was starting to feel foggy. You knew you should probably take a break and rest, but you didn't want to let her down so when Wanda suggested taking a break, you instantly jumped on the opportunity. 
By the time the two of you were going to bed, you felt thoroughly exhausted. Even just moving felt like a monumental task and you had to fight to stay awake as you brushed your teeth. By some miracle, you managed to finish getting ready for bed without falling asleep, it was just as you were giving yourself a final look over in the mirror when you felt the annoying itch in your sinuses. 
“Hh'ishu! Ish'chu! HeH’TSHiew!” Despite your best efforts to stay quiet, your last sneeze ended up being on the louder side prompting Wanda to call out a ‘bless you!’ from the bedroom. You waited hesitantly to see whether she’d say anything else, but it seemed her poor mind was too preoccupied with the looming work of tomorrow for her to connect the dots, so you took the opportunity to thoroughly blow your nose before padding back into your bedroom. 
“You tired my love?” Wanda asked, as you sank into the bed, welcoming the warmth of your blankets, “Thanks for helping me out so much today.” 
“A little.” You mumbled – ‘a little’ was a huge understatement, “and you don’t need to thank me darling, I just want you to be able to get all this work done.” 
“You helped a lot. I'm really thankful.” Wanda murmured quietly as she yawned widely before nuzzling against you, “Goodnight baby.” 
“Goodnight Wands.” 
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When you woke up the next morning the bed was cold. Painfully cold. You rolled over into the spot where Wanda would usually be led, only to be met with an empty bed. You felt awful, you’d barely opened your eyes when you were struck with a harsh, painful headache nestled deep behind them. Groaning, you tried to sit up, though admittedly it did numerous attempts, and you began slowly massaging temples in a feeble attempt of getting some form of relief. 
Pulling your aching body out of bed seemed almost impossible but you did it anyway, trying to take a deep breath as the room span around you. There was no way you were getting properly dressed today, instead you opted to pull on one of Wanda’s fuzzy cardigans instead before heading over to the bathroom. 
You really should’ve prepared yourself better for the reflection staring back at you in the mirror. You looked awful. Thick purple bags hung beneath your red, tired eyes, only extenuated further by your sickly, white skin. You hadn’t even had the chance to criticise your fever flushed cheeks before your sinuses reared their complaints and sent you bending at the waist with two strong sneezes only to be followed by a harsh bout of thick coughing which left you trembling and breathless. 
After the coughing fit subsided, you stumbled over to the sink and splashed some water on your face. The cool liquid brought a small measure of relief to your pounding head, but it wasn't enough to stop the dizziness from overwhelming you. You leaned heavily against the counter, willing the room to stop spinning. Humouring yourself, you decided to take your own temperature and even that was a huge task, especially when you weren’t able to breathe out of your overly stuffy nose. 
However, you managed to hold your breath long enough for the small device to beep loudly, announcing its verdict. 
“Oh shit...” You mumbled to yourself, looking down at the numbers on the slightly blurry electronic screen. 39.1 - that really wasn’t good, truthfully it wasn’t just the screen that was blurry, everything around you seemed to be muffled by a thick wall of cotton and you only found yourself cursing again when you opened the bathroom cupboard to see an almost-empty bottle of Flu medicine sitting on the shelf. 
Wanda had used the last of it. 
Great. 
Speaking of. You wished Wanda was here. You needed her more than ever, you craved her comfort and longed for her to tuck you up into bed but no, you were stuck here staring at your pitiful reflection, feeling like death warmed over. Just as you were about to call out for her something stopped you.  
She still had her work to do, calling out for her now would only distract her. Muffling another round of harsh, chesty coughs into your sleeve only made tears well up in your eyes. But you didn't cry. You only sniffled and reminded yourself that you were an Avenger too. You might not have powers, but you had resilience and determination, and you weren't going to let the flu defeat you. You just had to toughen up. How far even was the shop anyway? All you needed to do was go out and by yourself some medicine. That’s all you needed to do. 
Taking a deep breath, you pulled yourself away from the bathroom counter and slowly made your way to the door. The room spun as you tried to focus on the hallway in front of you. Every step felt like a marathon, your body ached and shivered with every move. But you pushed on, driven by the desire to get better and not let this illness get the better of you. 
Ignoring Wanda’s call of ‘goodmorning’ from the kitchen, you reached the front door, opening to only be blinded by the intense light beaming down from the blue sky. It was a beautiful day, the kind of day you would usually spend outside, enjoying the warmth and taking in the sights of the city. But today, all you could think of was getting to the pharmacy and getting back to bed. 
With shaky hands, you stepped outside, continuing to ignore Wanda’s calls of confusion. The cool air hit you instantly, and you shuddered, pulling the cardigan tighter around yourself. The pharmacy was only a few blocks away, but each step felt like an eternity. You could feel your temperature rising, your head pounding, and your breathing becoming more and more laboured. 
You didn’t know how long you were walking for before you decided to turn back, everything was too much, the light, your wheezing exhausted breathing, everything. Hell, you could barely make out your own hand in front of your pale face as the world spun around you. It was a miracle you’d even made it this far without collapsing. 
And so, by the time you’d stumbled back into the safety of your home, all your energy had been thoroughly drained, and you clutched the wall for support, knowing it was the only thing keeping you upright. 
“Sweetie? Where did you go?” Wanda called out as the sound of the door closing echoed through your home, hearing no answer, the witch stood up from the table and slowly padded over to peek round the corner only to frantically rush to your side when she saw you leaning weakly against the wall for support, “Oh my god, Y/N?! Holy shit, you’re on fire, why on earth were you outside? When did you get this sick? Fuck Y/N-” 
Truthfully, you were only hearing about half of the worried words frantically spilling from her, you were too busy on attempting to keep yourself lucid which was proving to be a very difficult task when the room around you wouldn’t stop spinning, “We need’d med’cine.” Your words came out in a jumbled mess as Wanda pulled you into her arms, cradling your trembling body. 
“No, no baby you need to be in bed. Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling sick? When did you even get sick? This can’t be new.” Her anxious tone was impossible to miss as you felt yourself being lifted up into her arms as she carried you in the direction of your bedroom, “Why didn’t I notice this...” 
“Yo’ were busy wit’ work.” Your slurred word were barely decipherable and you soon felt yourself being lowered down onto the familiar softness of your bed; a thick blanket being tucked over your shaking body.   
Wanda’s face was etched with worry as she looked down at you, “No, I should have noticed. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. My work is nowhere near as important as your health is.” She pressed a cool hand to your sweat-soaked forehead, “You’re beyond burning up...” 
Your response was only a mutter of unaudiable words as Wanda quickly rushed out of the room. It felt like she was gone for hours, but in reality, it was only probably a few minutes. But when she returned, she was tightly clutching a small bottle in her hands, “I got this from the neighbours, it isn’t too strong but it’s the only thing we have on hand.” 
“Mm?” you tried sitting up, but a firm hand kept you in place. 
“No baby, lay down. I just need you to drink this, okay?” Wanda’s words soothed you as she poured out a dose of the medicine and held it to your lips, rubbing your back as you sipped it weakly.  
The medicine was bitter and made you scrunch up your face, but you were too weak to protest. Wanda continued to stroke your hair and hum a gentle tune, trying to calm you down as the medicine began to take effect. Gradually, you felt the heat in your body subside a little and your breathing became easier. 
“Poor baby, I'm so sorry that I got caught up in all that work.” She whispered quietly, reaching over to grab some tissues when you began fussing with your running nose. 
She must’ve been physic or something because only seconds later, you felt your nose burn with that pestering itch again and you only had to energy to turn your head away in the opposite direction to her before...  
““Ihsheiueww! Hih...hihhEHHHSHIEW!” 
“Awh my poor baby, bless you.” Wanda sighed, taking another handful of tissues to wipe your face before running her hand through your slightly-damp hair, “This bug’s really doing a number on you, isn’t it?” 
You could only manage a weak nod in response, feeling utterly drained and exhausted. But as Wanda continued to care for you, you couldn't help but feel grateful for her presence. Her gentle touch and soothing words were the only things keeping you grounded in reality. 
As the medicine began to take full effect, you felt your eyes start to droop and your body relax into the mattress. Wanda must have noticed because she leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead before whispering, "Get some rest, my love. I'll be right here with you." 
And with those words, you allowed yourself to drift off into a peaceful slumber, feeling safe and comforted in Wanda's loving embrace. 
The next time you opened your eyes, the room was dark, and you could see the faint outline of Wanda sitting in a chair beside you, still keeping a watchful eye. She must have fallen asleep at some point because her head was resting against the back of the chair, her breathing slow and steady. You didn't want to wake her, but your throat was parched, and you needed water. 
You mustered up all your strength to croak out her name, "Wanda?" 
She stirred slightly and opened her eyes, rubbing them to adjust to the dim light. "Hey there, how are you feeling?" she asked softly. 
"Thirsty," you managed to say, your gravelly voice barely above a whisper. 
Wanda immediately stood up and grabbed a glass of water from the bedside table. She helped you sit up and slowly raised the glass to your lips, supporting your head with her other hand. The cool water felt heavenly on your parched throat, and you gulped it down greedily. 
"Thanks," you said, your voice a bit stronger now. 
Wanda smiled, "Anything for you, my love." 
You settled back down into the bed, feeling a bit more comfortable now that you had some water in your system. Wanda pulled the covers up to your chin and tucked you in, her hand lingering on your forehead to check your temperature. 
"You're still warm," she noted. "But your fever has gone down a little, I was seriously debating taking you to hospital earlier y’know.” 
The next few days were a blur of fever dreams and fits of coughing, but Wanda remained by your side throughout it all. She made sure you were always comfortable, bringing you hot soup and a cool washcloth to soothe your burning forehead. 
Despite the pain and discomfort, there was something oddly comforting about being so vulnerable around Wanda. She never judged you or made you feel weak for being sick. Instead, she loved and cared for you even more, making you feel truly cherished. 
As the days passed, your symptoms gradually began to subside, and you started to feel more like yourself again. Wanda was always at your side, encouraging you to take it slow and rest as much as possible. 
Finally, the day came when you felt strong enough to get out of bed and move around a little. You stumbled into the living room, feeling a little unsteady on your feet, but Wanda was there to catch you. 
"Easy there," she said, smiling gently. "How are you feeling?" 
"Better," you replied, your voice still a little raspy from all the constant coughing. "Thanks to you." 
Wanda's smile widened, and she pulled you into a warm embrace. "I'm just glad you're feeling better," she whispered. "I was so worried about you." 
You hugged her back, feeling a sense of gratitude wash over you. Despite the illness, it had brought you even closer to Wanda, and you knew that you would always have her by your side, no matter what. 
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wheatnoodle · 2 years ago
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MMMMMMMMMPART FOUR BARK BARK BARK
other parts
part 1 | part 2 | part 3
eddie’s squished in the corner of his own couch, mike wheeler’s bony knee digging into his thigh. why couldn’t they pick someone else’s house? code red, group meeting, maybe the wheeler basement? not his tiny trailer?
one by one, they file in. nancy, mike, max, lucas, erica, robin, dustin-…dustin shuts the door behind him. he shuffles over to stand next to robin, scrubbing a hand over his face and staring at the floor.
“i bet you’re wondering why we um…we called this meeting,” dustin clears his throat, adjusts his hat so he has something to do with his hands. lucas looks around and he holds up a hand to stop dustin from continuing.
“everyone’s not here,” he says, leaning around to look at everyone. eddie sits up, takes his own glance at the group and does an internal head count.
“where’s steve?” he asks and sits up to look out his front window. maybe steve was just running late. he could’ve been far away or something, who knows. there’s a choked off sob that has his head flicking over to robin. she covers her mouth with her hand, turns to face away from everyone.
“that’s what we called you guys to talk about,” dustin says after a deep breath. he can’t look any of them in the eye.
“okay…what’s going on? You’re making it seem like he’s…like he’s dead, or something,” nancy scoffs softly. she crosses her arms over her chest, her face taking on a look of concern.
“holy shit, is he dead?” max asks. silence fills the room, all eyes on the pair standing front and center. why them? why’d they have to be the ones to deliver the news? robin wipes under her eyes, releasing a heavy sigh that turns into a groan of frustration. she turns back to face everyone.
“okay…um…a few days ago, at the bonfire, i tried to talk to steve because he…he’d been really quiet all night. like, nance and i were walking back up and he was still sitting there. so- so i went to talk to him. and he just seemed…really…out of it. jumpier than usual…s-sadder than usual?” she paused, needing to squeeze her eyes shut and clench her fists to keep from crying more than she had on the way over. “and he…he wasn’t at work for a few days. guess he called keith and told him he was sick and would be out for a bit.
“day he was supposed to come back, he doesn’t show. keith can’t get in contact with him. i can’t get in contact with him. dustin can’t either,” robin explains. she sounds exhausted.
“alright, now you’re freakin’ me out…did he fuckin’-…is he dead?” eddie cuts in, his forehead creasing in the center. he hears max’s sharp breath in and reaches behind mike to grip her shoulder.
“no, no he’s not- he didn’t kill-…he’s not dead,” is what robin settles on. her fingers are itching for a cigarette, she doesn’t even smoke. “dustin went to go check on him and he’s just…gone? like- like all of his things, his car, his pictures, him. he’s just gone.”
“what, he just packed up and left?” mike asks, his voice edging on anger. he furrows his thick brows, leaning forward on the couch. he looks ready to square up with someone.
“that’s…yeah. that’s what it looks like.” dustin sighs heavily.
“and nobody’s looking for him? after- after everything?” mike scoffs and shakes his head before pushing the long locks behind his ears. he stands up, moves to grab his coat.
“mike-“ nancy tries and rises as well. she reaches out to take his arm but he shakes her off.
“no, nance! look, he’s not my favorite person in the world, he’s your ex and he used to be a dick. but he’s family now, whether i like it or not, and i don’t fuck around when it comes to who i pick for family,” he starts, “also, it’s steve! y’know, hundred and one concussions? you want him just…out there? on his own? with his shit memory and his headaches, hell, he can barely hear! so you guys can sit here, be sad, whatever. i’m looking for steve.”
“‘scuse me,” eddie mumbles, barely even audible to himself before he’s putting his hands on his knees and standing up. he doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes, instead just slips a cigarette from his pocket between his lips and pushes through the small crowd in his living room. he can hear dustin call his name but he keeps going until he can shut his bedroom door and twist the lock behind him.
steve was gone. he may never see him again. he may never see him again. he may never get to smoke with him again and listen to the wild stories from high school that he never seemed to share with anyone else. he won’t get to shuttle the kids to his house or meet them somewhere and listen to the way steve mothers over them, fixing collars and reminding them to walkie if they need anything.
eddie would never be able to look into his eyes again. those big, brown, beautiful eyes that glow like the moon when eddie gives him his full, undivided attention. those eyes that eddie’s realizing he wishes he could look into them forever. and if not forever, maybe just one more time.
he wouldn’t be able to tangle his hands in his hair and feel the way the strands slip like silk through his fingers. it always looked so soft. and now he’d never know. eddie wouldn’t be able to hug him and god, what he would give to smell him right now and what kind of a thought is that to have about your fellow man friend? slow your roll, edster.
not that it would even matter anymore that just thinking about him makes eddie’s heart ache. because steve is gone. steve is gone.
and suddenly, all at once, eddie can’t breathe and he’s drowning in his own saltwater tears. the unlit cigarette falls from his lips and he’s sliding down the door, all dramatic movie style, until he’s sitting with his knees to his chest. broken sobs are yanked from the deepest parts of his chest against his will, collapsing his ribs with the force. he crumbles forward into his knees, pressing his forehead into the skin that sticks out from his ripped jeans. one hand is trying to cover his mouth and muffle himself, the other finds it’s way into his hair.
steve is gone and eddie didn’t know where he went. steve is gone and he left eddie behind. steve is gone and he is going to find new friends. he is going to find someone who makes his heart race and he is going to take them out on cheesy dates and dance in the kitchen at three in the morning and kiss them like his life depends on it and eddie is going to throw up oh my good he’s gonna be sick stop it stop it stop it.
he loves him.
steve is gone and eddie loves him.
steve is gone and eddie was too late. too late too late and now everything makes too much sense. all those nights he stayed awake in bed, staring at his ceiling with thoughts of steve harrington running through his brain. every time he was in the room with the jock, eddie gravitated towards him. he’d stand behind him, prop his chin on a toned shoulder and wrap an arm around his waist. tell himself it’s just because he liked making steve jump when he doesn’t see him coming, but really he just…fits. so well against eddie’s chest. and the blush that rises in his cheeks.
steve is gone and eddie loves him.
there’s a tentative knock on the door that pulls him from his sorrow and has his head snapping up. he smacks his hands against his face to swipe away any tears, scrubbing at his eyes before he stands up.
“eddie…?” it’s robin. she sounds nervous, uncomfortable. shit. they’re probably all listening to him cry like a baby. “it’s just robin. i kicked everyone else out.” is she listening to his thoughts? “um…no, no you’re just…y’know, talking.”
oh.
“oh.” he takes steadying breath and cracks open the door, only a couple inches, enough to look at the disheveled girl on the other side.
“eddie…” robin says in a sad sigh, her shoulders slumping as she takes in the sight of him. she wants to reach out and take his face in her hands, wipe his tears and tell him how they still had each other, but she knew it wasn’t the same. and right now, she feels as though she is approaching a wild animal recently caged and cornered. reaching into his space is not what he needs.
“robin.” his voice wavers and eddie’s pulling his wobbly lower lip between his teeth to chew on.
“i’m right here.” she’s quick to reassure him. eddie turns his head behind the door as a fresh wave of tears floods his waterline and he chokes on a whimper. he sticks his hand out of the crack in the door and she tangled their fingers together, letting him cling to her as hard as he needed.
robin rests her forehead on her side of the door, lets her own tears slip as she listens to him feel his world come crashing down around him, the same she had. she wants to scream. wants to smash all of the harrington’s windows in and set the place on fire and run into the middle of the lake with rocks tied to her feet and scream.
instead, she squeezes eddie’s hand tighter and cries with him through his bedroom door.
september rolls around and the kids are back in school. a whole month without steve. that’s how long she makes it before max is cracking open her lined math notebook to a blank page and uncapping her pen with her teeth.
dear steve,
i don’t know if you remember even giving me this address. you were pretty drunk when you did. but, you left, and this is the place i hope you ended up. you seemed happy when you talked about it.
things are different now. we’re different. not a good different, but i have hope. dustin is pretty mad all the time. doesn’t talk except to bitch at people which was funny at first, but now it’s pretty annoying. lucas quit the basketball team. he said that his teammates kept bugging him about what happened to you since they know he was close to you. but hey, now he has time for me to teach him how to skate. (fyi: he’s shit)
part of me wants to be mad at you. like, how dare you leave me, you bastard! but i saw how you were before you left. you were so tired. i’m really proud of you for looking out for you. i would much rather know you’re alive on the other side of the country than dead here because things got too much.
robin misses you so much. she talks about you every day even though it always makes her cry. but she keeps doing it. i think she wants to make sure everyone remembers you. she writes poetry now? all starring you or this girl in marching band. but what i mean is she’s got an outlet at least. which is good. she’s good at it.
eddie…isn’t around too much anymore. he stays in his trailer most of the time which now reeks of weed and has music blasting 24/7. i will say though, he’s been playing a lot of smiths on his guitar. can you believe it?! eddie! the smiths! which brings me to reminding you that your “special friend” seems more than willing to wait.
i hope this reaches you. you don’t need to answer or anything. i just wanted you to know that i’m happy for you. and i’m proud of you. i like you more than the rest.
that random girl,
max
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inevitablysomber-dark · 2 months ago
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Under The Radar 6
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Dark! Steve Roger x Kiwi! Reader
Dividers by @Strangergraphics
Warnings:
This story contains themes of emotional manipulation, power imbalance, dubious consent, toxic relationships, and psychological control. It deals with difficult subjects such as forced dependency and mental/emotional abuse. Reader discretion is advised.
Description: Kiwi thought she had her life under control—until a chance invitation to the Maldives from her former friend pulls her into a web of manipulation and control. What starts as a luxurious vacation turns into a slow descent into captivity as Steve, the wealthy man funding her escape from reality, begins to tighten his grip on her life. Now trapped in a toxic relationship where affection becomes control, Kiwi must navigate a world where every decision is made for her, every boundary crossed, and escape seems impossible.
Is it too late to reclaim her freedom, or will she succumb to the life Steve has crafted for her?
Story Masterlist
The weight of it all felt crushing as I sat in my small, dimly lit apartment. The furniture I’d once been so proud of now mocked me a reminder of how quickly everything can fall apart. The life I’d fought so hard to build, the independence I’d clung to, was crumbling right in front of my eyes.
Sitting at my kitchen table, I stared at my laptop, scrolling through the same job listings I’d seen a thousand times. Every option felt like a dead end. My heart raced each time I filled out another application, hoping this one might be different. But deep down, I knew better.
No matter how many resumes I sent, how many interviews I nailed, Steve had his boot on my neck, and it felt like he was pressing down harder every day. This was a long, drawn-out game for him, and I was trapped on the board with no way off.
Out of sheer desperation, I grabbed my phone and started dialing a few of the connections I’d made back when I worked for Rogers and Co. Maybe one of them could offer some advice, a lead, anything to help me claw my way out of this nightmare. But each call was met with awkward hesitations and thinly veiled excuses.
“Sorry, Kiwi. I wish I could help, but…we’re not hiring right now.”
“We’ll keep your resume on file, but, you know…the market’s really tight.”
It was painfully clear: no one wanted anything to do with me. Not with Steve Rogers involved.
"Just say sorry," Natasha said. She’d called to check on me, and with everything piling up, I ended up venting it all. And this was her big advice.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I replied, feeling the frustration build.
“It doesn’t matter,” she sighed. “Steve feels wronged. So, unless you want to go back to barely scraping by or, worse, moving back in with your parents, you’re going to go to him and apologize."
The weight of everything was crushing me. My savings were dwindling fast, and rent was looming. With no steady income, my anxiety was through the roof. I needed answers. I needed him.
So, I called Steve. Blocked. His work number? Blocked. I even tried reaching out to human resources. No one picked up. It was like I didn’t exist anymore.
With no other options left, I did the only thing I could think of, I went to his house.
By the time I got there, I was a wreck. My mind was a mess of emotions—desperation, anger, shame. I had no idea what I was going to say or how this would go, but I needed to see him. I needed to fix this.
The guard, Curtis, stepped in front of me just as I reached the gated mansion. “I’m sorry, Kiwi, you can’t come in.” Sympathy softened his eyes.
Not that long ago, he’d greet me with a big smile and a cheerful "good morning." Amazing how quickly things could change.
“Please, Curtis, I just need to talk to him,” I pleaded, my voice shaky.
He shook his head, unmoved. “You know I can’t let you in. You’ll need to leave.” His voice soft and regretful
Panic was clawing at my chest. I knew Steve had to be home by now. As long as he didn’t have any impromptu meetings, he should be here. I just needed to stall a little longer.
I continued to beg, keeping Curtis distracted when I saw Steve’s sleek black SUV pulling up to the gate. My breath hitched as the window rolled down.
“Steve! Please!” I rushed to his car, desperation leaking from every word. But then I froze when I saw a girl in the passenger seat. Small, delicate, and almost terrified.
Steve rolled down his window, sunglasses on, face completely unreadable. "This is Lemon," he said smoothly, like introducing her was the most natural thing in the world. "She's my new PA."
The world tilted beneath me. My replacement. Lemon. She looked at me with wide, uncertain eyes, like she didn’t know whether to be worried or sorry.
I couldn’t speak. All I could do was stare at her, then back at Steve. She was everything I wasn’t-thin, polished, perfect. Her nails were immaculate, her hair shiny and neat. I glanced down at the soft pooch of my belly, the wideness of my hips. I could feel every flaw like it was magnified under a spotlight.
The car inched forward, and just as Curtis started to pull me back, I whispered, “Please... I’ll do anything.”
Steve’s car came to a sudden stop. He turned to me, then, after what felt like an eternity, he told Curtis to let me go.
It took me a second to process what he’d said. He was letting me in. I scrambled into the backseat, heart pounding, unsure of what to expect.
Steve was calm, collected, as he spoke to Lemon about tomorrow’s schedule. He told her which meetings to cancel, which to reschedule, even what kind of coffee he wanted in the morning. I listened in disbelief. He’d never done this with me. I always had to guess what he wanted, figure things out on my own. But with Lemon? Everything was smooth. Easy.
I couldn’t help the sinking feeling that washed over me. I felt like I was being crushed under the weight of my own inadequacy.
The car stopped at in front of Steve’s mansion as a servant came to collect the keys from him. Lemon stepped out, her heels clicking against the pavement, and Steve followed, giving her a few more instructions before dismissing her. I watched them, feeling completely out of place.
Steve knocked on the window, signaling for me to get out. I scrambled out of the car, still trying to make sense of everything as I followed him up the grand staircase. My breath was shaky, my legs heavy, and with each step, it felt like the walls were closing in around me.
By the time we reached his home office, I was suffocating under the realization that I had just walked right back into his world, willingly. And this time, I wasn’t sure how I was going to make it out.
Steve moved around the room, his back to me, busy with something I couldn’t focus on. My mind was spinning, trapped in the loop of my own panic and anger, trying to think of my next move. What the hell am I doing here?
It wasn’t until he stopped and stood directly in front of me that I snapped back into the moment. Without thinking, without giving myself time to reconsider, I slapped him…hard.
The sting on my palm wasn’t nearly enough to calm the storm inside me. Before he could even react, I hit him again, this time pounding my fists against his chest, pushing with everything I had. But he didn’t budge. It was like hitting a brick wall. He just stood there, solid, unaffected.
“How could you do this to me?” I screamed, tears burning my eyes. “How could you ruin me like this?”
My fists kept slamming into him. I couldn’t stop. “I worked so hard! I wasted so much time, so much effort on you!” My voice cracked, spilling out every bit of frustration that had been boiling beneath the surface for months.
Eventually, the fight drained out of me, my hands falling limp against his chest. But the words kept coming, tumbling out as tears streamed down my face. “You knew, Steve. You knew my situation. You knew I was struggling, and you still choose to play with my livelihood like it’s some kind of fucking game.”
I was sobbing now, choking on the unfairness of it all. “I did everything right,” I whispered “and I’m still fucked.”
I looked up at him, my vision blurry from the tears, and the truth spilled out before I could stop it. “You ruined my fucking life.”
Another wave of rage surged through me, and I raised my hand to slap him again. But this time, he caught me. His grip was firm as he grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward one of the chairs in his office, forcing me to sit down.
Steve didn’t react to my outburst. He didn’t even look angry. Instead, he stood in front of me, calm and collected, like I hadn’t just tried to claw at him.
“This is life,” he said, his voice maddeningly leveled. “No one’s going to cater to you for free.”
I screamed back, “I was your employee! You were supposed to treat me with some decency!”
He shook his head, as if I didn’t get it. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
His hands slid into his pockets; his gaze fixed on me. It was then that I noticed the way he positioned himself, never quite lowering to my level, leaving me at eye-level with his crotch. My stomach churned with the realization.
"I'm attracted to you," Steve admitted, his voice calm and unsettling. "I've had a thing for you since university." He paused, letting the words sink in. "I convinced Sharon to invite you to the Maldives so I could see you again, to... reconnect." He smirked, as if the memory amused him. "And during the trip, I fell for you all over again. It’s always been you."
"Did Sharon know?" I asked.
"Of course she did. Sharon always knew. She was just keeping your spot warm until you were ready for it. But her ego eventually got in the way."
I stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. What kind of twisted logic was this?
"She tried her best to keep you from going on the trip, but I was always a step ahead."
"And when she got sick? Was that your plan too?"
"Just luck," he replied, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. "But it made it a hell of a lot easier to get close to you."
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, looking away, not sure what else to say. “I didn’t realize.”
Steve’s expression hardened, a flicker of something darker crossing his face. “Bullshit,” he spat. “You didn’t want to realize.”
I opened my mouth to argue but stopped myself. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered now. I was ruined, jobless, broke, and desperate.
“Please,” I began, my voice trembling, “if you won’t hire me back as your assistant, could you at least help me get hired at another department? Or, if you’re still interested in... dating me…maybe you could find me something elsewhere, another company maybe?”
Steve chuckled, the sound low and dark, making my skin crawl. He began to circle me slowly, touching my hair in the process. But when he spoke again, his voice was firm and cold. “Dating?” He laughed again, this time with more venom. “We’ll be doing a lot more than just dating.” He stopped in front of me, leaning down just slightly, and I could feel the weight of his presence pressing down on me.
“What do I get in return?” he begins in a low voice, then raises it, “Ungratefulness? Boundaries?!”
 I froze.
Steve’s eyes locked onto mine, his voice dropping into a whisper that chilled me to the bone. “I want you. And I don’t mind giving you a comfortable life. A life where you’ll never have to worry about money again. But if you want that, you’ll live under my thumb. You’ll have to be mine, in every way.”
My breath caught in my throat. I knew what he was offering, it was everything I thought I wanted at the cost of my freedom, my dignity. “It’s up to you.” He straightens his body slightly widening his stance “What do you want me to do?” I whispered. Silently accepting the offer.
I swallowed, my pride sinking into my chest. I had always been so careful, so determined to keep Steve at a distance, to not let him pull me into this world entirely. But now…
The room felt too small, the air too thick. My hands trembled as I clenched them into fists on her lap.
Steve just smirked and his eyes trailed downwards, I followed his line of sight. A sizeable bulge formed, struggling against the zipper of his slacks. I wanted to cry again, Steve probably sensing this “It’s ok, you’ll be able to handle it, you were able to before”
His words take me aback. "What’s that supposed to mean?" I ask.
“You don’t remember all the fun we had that last week in the Maldives? Or when we got back to my mansion?”
I try to recall, but it’s all a blur. Every memory from that time feels hazy; all I remember is feeling constantly nauseous and exhausted.
“What did you do?” I asked
He grins, as if he’s holding on to a secret.
“Welp, it doesn’t matter now.” He moves to unzip his pants freeing his cock from its constraints, and there it was. Solid, looking angry and red with thick veins bulging all over. “We have other matters to attend to.”
I start shaking my head frantically, trying to pull away, but Steve grips my shoulder to hold me still.
"Ah, ah," he says, tone firm. "We're way past that. And remember, things can only get worse from here on out. Don’t just think about yourself, consider your parents and everything they worked so hard for. I can drag this out for as long as I want"
My attention broke once his cock twitched in my face.
This was thrilling for him. Whether it was the idea of me submitting or the prospect of a twisted game of cat and mouse, it hit me…I would never be free of Steve Rogers. I looked up at him, eyes pleading, silently begging him to let me keep my dignity. But he didn’t care.
"I'm waiting," he says in a mocking tone, lifting my chin with his finger before resting his hands on his hips, clearly patronizing me.
I look up to the ceiling a moment trying to hold my tears back, before being forced to face his cock again.
With shaky hands, I went to grab his shaft, it felt so hot, burning almost.
“Go ahead.” He coaxed.
I drew my head closer, sticking out my tongue, this was actually happening. Steve wasn’t going to stop me, and I will forever be known as the woman who whored herself out for a fucking job. God only knows what they’d say, if Steve decided to make this a habit. ‘Oh, look it’s the girl who trades pussy for benefits,’.
My tongue made contact with the head, it felt warm, and his musk quickly invaded my senses.
Fuck it.
I just needed to get to the other side of this, and the best way to do it was to dive in it. I did my best to pull him into my mouth, but he was so big, and girthy. When I heard his moans, I started a game plan, building a rhythm I could get used to, so I wouldn’t be too uncomfortable.
But as always, Steve had to fuck that up. He immediately grabbed the back of my head and began swiftly pushing his cock in and out of my mouth. At first, he was gentle, or as gentle as one could be in this situation. Then he was forcing more of himself deeper, and before I knew it, his pubic region was pushing right up against my nose, hairs and all.
I couldn’t take it; I could feel my body preparing to vomit as I began to wretch. I frantically slapped at Steve’s thighs, to make him stop, but he just went harder. My spit started foaming around the areas where my mouth met his cock, dripping down my chin and falling onto my chest.
Tears pouring through my eyes as I begged for this to be over. Steve eventually did meet his climax, forcefully pushing my head into his crotch as he came down my throat, shivering from his climax. making it extremely difficult to breathe. I tried to push against him, but he was so much stronger.
Just as it felt like I was about to faint, he let go. I coughed and gagged, doing my best to compose myself despite the circumstances.
“That was your punishment” he made a grab for my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “Next time I won’t be so nice.”
He paused, looking deeply into my eyes, as I struggled for air, a breathless chuckle escaping from his lips “You look so fucking beautiful right now” the smile on his face looking so genuine. Then he pulled me into a deep kiss, his tongue invading my mouth. After what feels like several minutes, he finally separates from me.
“Get up, let’s go.”
He stands straight, and begins fixing his clothes, tucking in his shirt and zipping up his pants.
I find a tissue box on his desk and reach for, before I could pull out a sheet, his hand slaps my own away.
“No, I want you to stay like that for the rest of the day”
I try to protest, but then there’s a knock on the door. I’m unable to gather my thoughts before Bucky walks in, he stops looking between the two of us before smirking and greeting Steve.
"Hey, Kiwi, long time no see." He strolls over to the couch near the entrance and sits down. "Heard you had a great time in the Maldives, too bad I couldn’t make it." He grins, throwing me a wink as he settles in.
Lemon comes in behind him, and I’m just about ready to start crying again, I expected a look of judgment from her, but she seemed more apologetic, and a bit off kilter. Her clothes ragged, and though still shiny, her hair wasn’t as neat as I saw it earlier that day. Steve sits on the chair next to mine. Lemon and Bucky on the couch off to the side.
They start talking business, as I do my best to shrink into myself trying not to burst into tears from embarrassment.
I peeked up at the trio once more and as Steve and Bucky were speaking Lemon was looking right at me. No judgment, and for once, oddly enough, I felt understood.
That couldn’t be a good thing.
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After Steve's meeting with Bucky, he gave me a subtle gesture to follow him. My legs felt heavy, but I couldn’t resist. I glanced at Lemon, who looked shaken, her eyes wide with the same fear I felt inside. That’s when it hit me: both of us were trapped. Steve had me, and Bucky had her. We were just pieces in their game.
I followed Steve down the hall, the sound of my footsteps echoing off the polished floors, my mind flashing back to the last time I was in his bedroom, after the Maldives trip. The memories of that night started creeping in, tightening my chest. I swallowed the fear as Steve led me to the bedroom.
Without saying a word, he started undressing, peeling off his shirt, then unbuckling his pants. Every movement made the panic in my chest rise, and my body stiffened. I was bracing for... something. Something I wasn’t ready for.
But then, he stopped. His pants halfway down, he looked at me with a strange expression, irritation lacing his voice. "What are you doing? You know where the bathroom is. Go and get cleaned up."
His command stunned me. I hadn’t expected the reprieve, but I took it. I turned and made my way to the bathroom, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease slightly. When I entered, I noticed a silk nighty hanging from the shower curtain rod. It was dark red with black lace trim. My fingers instinctively reached out to touch it, the fabric smooth and delicate under my fingertips. Next to the sink was a packaged toothbrush and new toothpaste…the exact brand I used at home.
I stared at it for a moment, my mind swirling with questions. How did he know? How long had he been preparing for this?
I shook myself out of my daze and focused on getting clean. The warm water from the shower helped ease some of the tension, but my thoughts were everywhere, wondering what would happen next.
As I scrubbed myself clean I heard the bathroom door open I scrubbed myself clean, brushed my teeth, and finally slipped into the nighty. The material clung to my skin, unfamiliar and intimate. I still had my underwear from earlier, but I couldn’t help but feel exposed, and a little gross.
When I stepped out of the bathroom, the room was dark. Steve was already in bed, his back turned, but his presence filled the space. I hesitated in the doorway, unsure what to do next. The weight of the night felt suffocating.
Apparently, I stood there too long because his voice cut through the darkness, annoyed and sharp. "Turn off the bathroom light and come to bed."
I flicked the switch, plunging the room into complete darkness, and carefully made my way to the bed. Sliding onto the mattress, I tried to stay on my side, giving him space. But before I could settle in, Steve shifted. He moved closer, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me toward him.
I was his little spoon.
His chest pressed against my back, his warmth radiating through the thin fabric of the nighty. His breath was slow and steady against my neck, but my own breathing became shallow, panic clawing at my insides. I could feel the weight of his arm holding me in place, his grip firm but not aggressive.
Still, it felt like a cage.
I tried to calm myself, counting my breaths, telling myself that this was just sleep. But every inch he moved, every time his body shifted closer, I felt the walls closing in. Panic started to set in again, and I didn’t know how to stop it.
As Steve closed the space between us, his body pressed firmly against mine, something felt off, too much skin, too much warmth. A sudden realization hit me like ice water down my spine.
"You’re not wearing any underwear," I said quietly, my voice betraying the unease building in my chest.
I felt his hand travel down to my pelvis, fingers brushing against the fabric of my underwear. There was a pause, and in a low, disappointed tone, he muttered, "And you are."
The words sent a chill through me, sharper than the night air. His disappointment felt like a judgment, hanging between us in the dark. My mind raced, but my body remained frozen, trapped in the tension of the moment.
“Take it off” he demands
At first, my body tensed, ready to fight back, a surge of defiance pushing through me. But a quick glance at my surroundings. the darkness of the room, the heaviness of Steve’s presence, and the knowledge of how trapped I really was.
So, I relented.
I moved to slip off my underwear, trying to keep my breaths steady, hoping the tremor in my hands wasn’t too obvious. Steve shifted slightly, pulling away just enough to give me space to do what he wanted, his silence suffocating as I removed the last piece of fabric that gave me any kind of security.
When I was done, he wasted no time. His arm wrapped around me once more, tighter than before, pulling me in like I was something he owned. His hand settled back on my pelvis, the warmth of his skin against mine, and I felt his breath hot against my ear as he whispered, "That’s better."
The words crawled under my skin, leaving me cold despite the heat of his body pressed against mine. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to lie still, my mind racing even though my body was now as motionless as his grip allowed.
He started moving, his hands roaming over my body, rubbing, groping, pulling at my skin like I was clay in his hands. He couldn’t seem to stay still, his movements growing more aggressive with each passing second. His fingers kneaded my hips, his palms pinched the soft flesh of my thighs, and his body ground into mine, the weight of him pressing me deeper into the mattress.
I could feel his breath quicken, hear the faint growl rumbling in his chest as he kissed down my ear to my neck, his lips hot and greedy against my skin. Every kiss, every touch, sent a wave of nausea rolling through me, but I was too overwhelmed to push him off.
The scent of him, clean, sharp, and suffocating was all I could breathe in, clouding my senses, making it hard to think straight. My body felt heavy, pinned beneath him as his weight shifted, trapping me further against the bed.
His growling became louder, more animalistic, as his lips moved lower, his hands grasping me tighter. I closed my eyes, willing myself to detach, to float above the moment even as his presence consumed every inch of me.
With a careful thrust he pushed his cock between the crease of my thighs, pushing against my pussy.
A sigh released from his chest as he stills. The space naturally damp due to my just getting out of the shower, alongside my plumper physique.
A few moments pass before he starts moving again, causing friction against my lower lips, occasionally rubbing up against my clit. As his movements become more frantic, he grabs of my breasts, and begins pinching and pulling at my nipples.
My own excitement begins to flourish as his movements speed up, and before I know it he stills as his warm liquid spills between my legs.
He takes some time to gather himself, and when I think he’s done, a hand is pulled off one of my breasts, traveling down to my pubis, and pressing his fingers against my clit. Carefully, he begins rolling my button between his fingers, whispering in my ear. “You feel so good” I feel him shift, pulling back slightly before I realize what’s happening. He pushes inside me, and a sharp squeal escapes my lips. Steve growls, his grip tightening around me, holding me firmly in place with no room for escape. Every thrust is deliberate, his body pressing harder into mine as his fingers find their way to my most sensitive spot.
The sensations hit me all at once, my body betraying me as the overwhelming pressure builds. I can’t hold back, and before I know it, I’m trembling, the wave of pleasure crashing over me as I reach my climax.
I rarely experience this feeling, so I keep still, trying to pull myself back from the edge of euphoria. My body was betraying me, and I could hear the wet, unmistakable sound of his movements filling the room. Steve suddenly stops, letting out a breath before chuckling softly.
He hugs me tightly, his body pressing firmly against mine as if nothing had just happened.
"Goodnight," he says, his voice low and satisfied, as though everything was perfectly normal.
I lay there, frozen, the weight of him pinning me in place, unsure if I’d ever truly wake from this.
I close my eyes, trying to make sense of everything, but my thoughts tangle like a knot I can't untie. The weight of the situation pressed down on me, suffocating, yet exhaustion finally won. As the darkness pulled me under, I could only hope that when I woke up, this would all turn out to be a nightmare, one that I was desperate to escape from, waiting for it to end. 
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enbysanavi · 1 year ago
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Resident Lovers: Bela
Bela Dimitrescu hunts down her vice President in an unlikely place.
Warnings: N/A
Bela Dimitrescu always held herself higher than everyone in the Student Council, she was their president after all and being the leader of such a vital club meant she had to be on top of any problem that she came across. Which also meant that if one of her colleagues weren’t pulling their weight, she would figure out why.
That’s how she found herself searching through the library to find her second in command. They were reliable almost all of the time but for the past week they haven’t been handing in the work that she assigned. Normally she wouldn’t confronted them earlier but due to a sudden push in workload from President Miranda even Bela couldn’t take a break.
She peered down a long line of bookshelves to find it empty yet again. This process of checking study area and book shelves were beginning to wane on Bela’s patience. She tried calling them multiple times but the call never connected.
Bela walked down the steps and fished out her keys to get into the archives, maybe her second in command was just doing some research for their Romanian heritage class.
The archives were covered in a thick layer of dust, Bela packed the idea away to get the cleaners down here more often. She walked through the sh lives and filing cabinets with her phone light illuminating her way. Bela would never admit it but being down in the archives always freaked her out, there was just something about the dark that unnerved her.
It wasn’t until she heard the familiar sound of opening and closing filing cabinets that she steeled her fears. “What do you think you’re doing?” She asked, causing the student to jump almost out of their skin and turn to her with wide eyes.
“Woah, calm down. It’s just me.” Bela felt a little more sympathetic to her second in command when she saw how frightened they were. There was something familiar about their fearful face, it concerned Bela and yet she doesn’t remember a time where she saw such wide eyes and laboured breathing on her vice President.
They blinked a few times, almost as if they were actually seeing Bela and not some monster from the darkness. “Bela, you scared me.” They breathed a sigh of relief and put a hand on their chest. “Is this about the council work because I’ll get it finished soon I am just really swamped with work at the moment.”
Bela sighed with frustration and pinched the bridge of her nose. Just as she was about to respond she noticed something weird. “Have you been looking through files without a light? How have you even been reading what’s on it?”
They looked down at the open case file in their hands with a sheepish expression. “I just… I can see very clearly in the dark.”
Pressing her lips into a frown, Bela crossed her arms and looked at her vice President. “What has been going on with you lately? It has even gotten as bad as my sisters bringing up their concerns with me about you.”
“What? Nothing is wrong.” They said sharply and mirrored Bela’s stance. “I’ve just been busy.” They said dismissively and stared back at her with the same tenseness that Bela reciprocated.
“Busy,” Bela scoffed. “Daniela told me that you got drunk so bad that she found you sitting in the kitchen with empty bottles surrounding you.”
The vice president looked down at the floor, seemingly caught off guard for once. “That was a one time thing.” They said quietly.
Bela took a step forward, surprised to see that her friend took two steps back. “You have been acting weird ever since the play finished, hell, even Cassandra is concerned.”
They perked up slightly, looking at Bela curiously. “Well, I…” They trailed off before turning around and shutting the filing cabinet drawer. They sighed and rested their head against it. “I’m just really busy and it’s all piling up.”
Bela took another step forward and gently put her hand on their back, deciding to ignore the way that they tensed against the contact. “Midterms are over, you don’t have a play up soon, you haven’t been going out with Daniela and Angie to party.” She sighed. “The only thing you have to do is the student council and even that workload has gone down.”
Another sigh escaped from their lips as they stood up straight and turned to Bela. She could almost swear that their eyes glowed in the darkness with her light shining upon them. Similar to how a cat’s eyes would reflect the light.
“I’ve been working on personal projects. Something my… family sent me to complete.” They huffed and watched Bela from the corner of their eye.
Bela’s face contorted with worry as she gently guided their face towards her with the use of her hand. “You never talk about your family.”
“It’s complicated.”
Bela snorted with a chuckle. “Trust me. I know how complicated family can be.”
Making light of the situation didn’t seem to be the right course of action with how Bela’s vice president turned their head away.
They grabbed the file that they had set on top of the filing cabinet and tucked it under their arm. “I’m sure you do.” They said shortly. “I should be going. I have a lot of work to catch up on.” And just like that, they disappeared into the rows of filing cabinets before Bela could stop them.
Bela huffed with frustration when she let them escape. “Now I have to track them down again.” She groaned as she leaned against the filing cabinet, pulling back her hand to see some weird black dust on the top. “Gross.”
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