Cult leader!reader and her harem five devoted followers.
CW: 18+ (mdni), yandere!LIs, manipulative!reader, cult dynamic, religious violence, slight favouritism towards caleb (guilty), not proofread.
AN: might be ooc for the other lis. Would you guys believe me if i said this was inspired by saja boys your idol…
Dividers by: @uzmacchiato
🕊️Cult leader!reader, or as your followers call you, Mother, is the kind of presence that doesn't just enter a room… you fill it. There is no need to command silence. Your very existence bends the air around you. You do not shout or plead. Your voice is silk-wrapped steel—soft, slow, and measured like a spider descending from its thread.
“Oh, sweet believer…look how far you’ve come.”
Each word is a sermon. Each pause, a test. People lean in to hear you. They always do.
You are charismatic, yes, but not the kind that smiles brightly or dances in the spotlight. Yours is the kind of allure that creeps into the bones. The kind that makes people dream of you before they’ve ever heard your name.
🕊️Cult leader!reader who is manipulative but maternal, the kind who brushes hair from their faces while whispering poison into their ears. You offer comfort and control in the same breath, feeding them doctrine with the tenderness of a lullaby. They trust you because you never raise your voice. You never need to.
“Rest now, my lamb. You’ve carried enough.”
You wear garments that seem to flow like smoke—white when you want to appear divine, midnight blue when you want to become the void. Your movements are slow and ritualistic, as if you float rather than walk, as though the earth itself dares not make a sound beneath your feet. Always barefoot, or always veiled but never both, that is your law. Only the chosen see your full face, and those who do often weep, unsure whether from awe or fear.
Above your heart, there is a mark: a tattoo, a scar, maybe both—shaped like a heart, but imperfect, split and fractured. As if even your symbol of love has been made into something sacred through suffering.
🕊️Cult leader!reader who carries the past like incense smoke, clinging, fragrant, and heavy. You escaped a devout and violent household, where your worth was measured in silence and obedience. You tore away from it, not quietly, but burning. You did not just survive, you resurrected and when the world refused to give you salvation, you made it yourself.
You became your own messiah.
Now, you give them what you never had: purpose, structure, worship. They think they follow you, but really, they kneel at the altar of your pain, and you let them. You let them believe you love them all equally.
After all… Mother loves all, but she chooses few.
🕯️The Martyr - Caleb
“Pain brings me closer to her. My body is hers to ruin if it pleases her.”
The Martyr, your purest soul, the one who believes that pain is the highest form of love.
He kneels before a shrine not one assigned to him, but one he built himself in secret. Tucked away in a candlelit alcove beneath the chapel, behind rusted metal gates and rotting wood beams, it is his personal altar to you.
He carved it by hand: a cracked, uneven stone slab with your symbol etched into the surface using fragments of leftover glass he stole from Rafayel. Draped in white cloth soaked with dried blood and scented with crushed petals from your garden, it stands as his most sacred place. Around it, he’s placed relics only he would dare collect—a lock of your hair fallen during a sermon, the faint outline of your footprint in dried soil, a strip of ribbon from your robes. To anyone else, it would look mad but to him, it is holy.
And it is here—in the candlelight, beneath the scent of wax and iron—that he kneels every night, bare from the waist up, body bowed in reverence. His back is a living scripture of faith: scars, open lashes, bruises. Each strike of the whip across his flesh is not just punishment, but an offering.
"Forgive me, Mother," he whispers, voice hoarse but unwavering. "Forgive me for wanting what I should not."
Because he does want you, he aches for you.
You, who reward him with a hand on his chest when he succeeds. You, who brush your lips across his cheek, just once, just enough. You call him “my purest soul,” and the moment you do, he goes rock hard, the shame rushing in so violently that he nearly weeps, but he doesn’t stop.
He never pulls away.
Because shame is sharp and his skin receives it easily, desire is punishment, and pain is redemption.
He keeps a small pendant close to his heart—a worn locket engraved with a delicate apple design. To him, it is more than just a token from you; it is a symbol of his purest soul and the burden he carries. When doubt creeps in, he clutches the locket like a lifeline, clinging to its weight as a reminder of your presence and approval.
He once whispered that it reminded him of Adam and Eve—of temptation and fall, of innocence lost and the hope for redemption. But you silenced that notion with a soft reprimand: “Don’t use that nonsense. We are different.” And yet, in his heart, the image lingers, an emblem of the fragile line between sin and salvation that he walks every day for you.
He punishes himself not because you asked him to, but because he believes he must. Believes that every impure thought is a stain on the gift of your love, and only suffering can wash it away. Whether it be fasting, kneeling, bleeding and enduring, these are his prayers. This is how he loves you.
He craves your approval more than life. Your praise? A sacrament. Your gaze? A benediction and your silence? A trial he must pass.
He never questions your commands. Not once. He is the first to obey, the last to rest, and the one who takes your silence as scripture. If you asked him to die, he would not hesitate. If you asked him to live in agony for eternity, he would thank you for the chance.
Sometimes he sleeps beside the shrine, curled on the cold stone, the whip still clutched in his hand like a rosary. He dreams of you—never as a woman, but as a saviour, bright and terrible. In his dreams, you never touch him. You only look, and that is enough to bring him to tears.
Because The Martyr suffers not for your love but because he believes your love must be earned.
🗡️ The Shield - Sylus
“Let me be your wrath, Mother. I will make them kneel.”
The Shield, your beast, your blade, your violence made flesh.
Sylus does not kneel, not unless you command it. His faith is not quiet or tear-streaked like the others. It is molten, violent and sacred in its rage. He does not pray with folded hands…he prays with blood.
He guards your temple like a dragon coils around its treasure, unyielding, territorial, and ancient in his instincts. Every stone, every shadow belongs to him because they belong to you. He circles your sanctum barefoot and bare-chested, shoulders scarred, knuckles raw, the fire in his veins never cooling. His tattoo, your symbol, was not drawn but branded into his flesh during his initiation.
Still red. Still raised. Still burning. A scar he gave himself to prove that his body was no longer his. It was yours.
Disrespect does not escape his notice. Even a glance too long, a voice too sharp, and Sylus is already moving, silent and brutal, as if the shadows learned how to kill. He does not wait for permission. He drags the offender out by the throat, slams them into stone, and breaks their bones like kindling. They disappear beneath the chapel’s roots, where even the worms do not speak of what they’ve seen.
“They didn’t deserve to look at you,” he mutters, breathless and trembling, not from regret, but restraint.
The other followers part when he passes, instinctively, as prey parts for the predator. They don’t make eye contact. They don’t dare, but he softens at your voice. Only you can hush the fire that burns beneath his ribs. Only you can press a hand to the storm and make it still.
You don’t speak to him often, not like you do with the others. But when you do, it's always when no one's around. In the quiet of the night, when he’s standing guard outside your private chambers, you open the door just enough to place your hand against his chest, over the burn where his heart still beats too fast.
You say nothing. You never have to.
“Good boy,” you whisper once, and he nearly crumbles beneath the weight of it.
Sylus’s devotion to you is not gentle, it’s not even holy. It’s primordial.
He doesn’t crave your affection. He needs it, needs to know he still has purpose. That he is not a weapon forged in grief but one still worthy of being held. If he cannot be soft for you, then he will be sharp for you.
No one touches you without his permission. Not even the other followers, especially not the filthy ones.
Once, a young disciple confessed quite shamefully that he’d dreamt of you. Zayne told him, of course, he did. Sylus said nothing.
He found the man that evening and dragged him into the chapel’s dark corners. No words. No mercy. Just the sound of bone giving way under his boot. He shattered his jaw, then his hand, joint by joint, until the trembling stopped. When the others found the disciple, Sylus was already gone, but they knew.
Everyone knew. Even the bones beneath the chapel stirred. Even the maggots squirmed in silence. Even sin stepped back, humbled by his fury.
No one has spoken of dreams since.
And sometimes after punishments, his hands are stained—blood dried in the cracks of his knuckles. He says nothing as you kneel before him, setting down the basin. You take his hand without asking, lowering it into warm water. The blood dissolves in slow red threads.
“No one else should have to touch what I’ve done,” he mutters.
“Then you’ll just have to bear that it’s me,” you say, gently pressing the cloth to his skin.
Your fingers reach up, brushing damp strands of hair from his brow. “My dragon,” you whisper. “Even fire rests when I ask it to.”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, but the breath he releases trembles.
Because The Shield does not protect you in the hopes of being redeemed, he protects you because he doesn’t believe he ever will be and yet you still choose to touch him.
🖋️ The Poet - Rafayel
“Her voice is the gospel. Her breath, poetry. I only wish to immortalise her.”
The Poet, your artist, your dreamer, your architect of worship.
While the others bleed, strike and guard, Rafayel builds shrines not from stone, but from longing. He immortalises you. He is the one responsible for every image, every sculpture, every mural that graces the cult’s sanctuary halls. He carves your likeness into marble, into glass, into the damp earth around the temple walls until it blooms like a fever dream. Every brushstroke is a psalm in your name.
He designed the sanctuary itself—not a church, no, but a home. One that belongs to you and only you. He traced your silhouette into its every corner: the arch of your spine in the entryway, the curve of your lips in the window frames, the hollow of your throat echoed in the well at the centre of the grounds.
You do not walk through the cult’s home. You walk through his love for you.
People come not for the sermons, but for the visions. For the stained glass that catches your face in the morning light. For the marble statue that weeps in candlelight. For the paintings of you with stars in your eyes and entire galaxies blooming behind your ribs. He makes you look like salvation. Like pain and desire and God—all in one.
His work brings in more followers than any sermon Xavier could preach because Rafayel captures something no one else can: your holiness, your impossible and untouchable beauty.
And yet, the most sacred pieces—he hides. Behind the curtains, in locked rooms, those are only for him.
“No one else sees her like I do,” he once whispered to a blank canvas. “No one else ever will.”
Rafayel aches to be the one who understands you best—the only one who can read your silences, who sees you not as others do, but as something more: a divine pattern in motion, a living scripture only he has the eyes to decipher. He wants to capture what no one else notices. The curve of your smile before a command. The way your shadow falls differently at dusk. The weight of your gaze when you say his name.
He speaks of you as a muse, a god, and a lover—all in the same breath, never quite separating where worship ends and longing begins.
In the centre of the cult’s main hall stands a sculpture of you, your visage carved from white stone, perfect and still, the centrepiece of their sacred space. But hidden within that marble form is a detail only he knows: a faint, pressed handprint over your symbol, embedded in the clay before it hardened.
His hand. His touch. It was the closest he dared to be near you. The only moment he allowed himself to pretend.
And sometimes, when you pass by his work, when your fingers trail along the frame of a painting or down the stone jaw of a statue, when you pause to say, “Beautiful,” in that hushed, reverent tone, he can hardly breathe. His hands tremble. His vision blurs. He nearly wept.
Because The Poet doesn’t worship you simply because you are divine, he worships you because he’s the one who made you divine.
🎼 The Voice - Xavier
“You’re lost. I can see it in your eyes. But she can fix you. Come with me.”
The Shepherd, your voice, your strategist, your judge of worth.
Where others kneel in agony or madness, Xavier stands. Not because he lacks devotion, but because his loyalty is structural, methodical and architected in clean lines and efficient systems. He speaks softly and acts deliberately.
To the outside world, he is the cult’s face—the one who recruits, organises, and filters. The one who guides new sheep to your light, weeding out the weak before they ever reach your presence and when they do reach you, it's only because he deemed them worthy. Only he is the one who can determine who may approach you.
He doesn't call you a god. He calls you the anchor, the calm at the centre of their storm. He tells the others that you don’t offer salvation—you offer clarity, purpose, stillness, and they believe him.
Xavier makes belief sound rational, inevitable and pure. He is the one who draws borders around your world—who writes doctrine not as poetry, but as law. When there is unrest, he silences it not with punishment (that’s Sylus’s role), but with reason, with cold, intelligent words that make rebellion feel ridiculous and unworthy.
“She doesn’t demand faith. She deserves it.”
“If you doubt her, the fault lies with your understanding.”
“You don’t worship her because you’re weak. You worship her because, for once, something makes sense.”
He keeps records, files, names, sins, and schedules. No one knows the inner workings of the cult better than he does, not even you, and he likes it that way because it makes him indispensable.
He never touches you unless invited. He never oversteps, but he watches everything, and when you seek his opinion, he offers it with precision, not flattery. He knows how to speak so that you feel powerful just listening.
You once asked him, “Do you love me, my star?”
He replied, “More than love. I believe in you.”
Xavier shapes the cult’s structure like a cathedral of logic. He manages your image, your mythos, with precision, ensuring order where chaos might slip in. He does not see you as a myth, but as a destiny. Not a fantasy, but a certainty. A future that must be built and protected.
He doesn’t worship your body or your voice. He worships what you mean. What you could become. What the world will be when it is finally worthy of you.
He keeps a thick, leather-bound Book of Her—its pages filled with notes, observations, careful analyses: things you say, patterns in your behaviour, what pleases you, what doesn’t. It’s not an obsession, he says, it’s a strategy.
Understanding you is the foundation upon which everything else must stand.
Xavier personally trains every recruit before they are allowed to see you. If they break too easily, he sends them away. If they ask too many questions, he sends them to Sylus.
There are moments when your hand brushes his shoulder in approval, or when you look at him and softly say, “I trust you,” he closes his eyes. Just for a moment. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move, but something inside him breaks open.
Because The Shepherd does not serve you because he is lost, he serves you because he wants to build a world where you are never lost again.
🗝️ The Confessor - Zayne
“You can tell me everything. She doesn’t need to hear your shame.”
The Confessor, your mercy, your hollow vessel, your gentle hands.
Zayne does not shout, just like you, he does not strike, he listens. When followers sob into his lap, broken by shame or longing, he holds their hands like sacred offerings and absorbs every whispered sin without judgment.
“Tell me,” he says, his voice like warm water. “Let me carry it for you. She will forgive you.” And they believe him because Zayne never flinches, he makes guilt feel survivable.
But the one secret he never speaks aloud—the one he would only ever whisper to you—is that he sins too. Because he dreams of you, because he wants you, and because every time he offers comfort to the others, he aches with the knowledge that he has no absolution of his own.
So he kneels alone with his forehead pressed to your feet, hands clutched in prayer that tremble.
“Forgive me, Mother. I try, I do, but I think of you and it never stops.”
Zayne is not only the keeper of your flock’s sins—he is their caretaker in the aftermath.
When Xavier’s training leaves someone broken, bruised from failure, Zayne is the one who finds them in the corner, cradling their ribs. When Sylus punishes without mercy, he is the one who returns with bandages and balm, unspoken understanding in his gaze. He never shames them for their weakness. He simply treats it like something holy.
Even when Rafayel injures himself—a slipped chisel, a cracked thumbnail from his artistic frenzy— Zayne says nothing. He simply takes the sculptor’s hand, cradles it with tenderness, and binds the wound like it is an offering.
He never calls it weakness. He treats every wound as something sacred.
“You endured for her,” he whispers as he cleans a split lip or wraps a shattered wrist. “She sees you still.”
To be hurt in your name is not failure. It is proof of faith.
He’s especially close to Caleb, whose body bears more self-inflicted wounds than any punishment Sylus could deliver. Zayne has grown used to the sight of Caleb on his knees, bleeding and proud, face bowed before the shrine, but when it's over, Zayne is always there.
In quiet rooms behind drawn curtains, he unrolls linen, rinses blood from flesh, and presses cloth to bone. “You don’t have to hurt so much,” Zayne murmurs. “You don’t have to carry it alone.”
“Neither do you,” Caleb sometimes says in return.
It is the closest either of them comes to healing.
Zayne wears linen gloves during rituals—he claims it is out of respect, a sacred barrier between him and the divine. But the truth is far more fragile: he is terrified of what it would feel like to touch you with bare skin. That closeness, that physical connection, terrifies him in its intimacy.
When a follower threatens to leave, they always send Zayne in last because no one knows better how to twist doubt into something holy—how to cradle their fear and reshape it into reverence. His voice is soft, but his words cut deeper than any punishment.
And on the night he finally confesses, truly confesses, it is not in the chapel, not behind a veil or through whispered mantras. It is with his head bowed in your lap, trembling like a penitent child as your fingers thread gently through his hair.
His voice breaks over every word, every sin he’s kept hidden even from himself. He tells you of his guilt, of the doubts he’s buried, of the moments he feared he was unworthy to serve you.
You listen in silence, then, with the softness of a prayer, you say, “I don’t need you to be pure, only to be mine, my quiet one.”
The words struck him deeper than any punishment ever could.
He clutched the fabric of your robe, knuckles white, as a shudder tore through him—an unravelling he’d never dared admit. Tears welled, unbidden and fierce, tracing silent paths down his cheeks.
In that moment, the fortress he’d built from guilt and devotion crumbled into dust, leaving nothing but raw, aching need to belong.
Because The Confessor does not serve you simply to cleanse others, he serves you because you are the only one who might one day forgive him.
love island but it’s a whole ass villa that’s head over heels for you.
just imagine. you, a pretty woman, are trying to find that good romance you’ve been missing all your life. So when you meet up with the 6 other villa girls that you quickly connected with, you didn’t expect 7 fine ass men to come one at a time to greet yall.
6 fine ass women and 7 fine ass men. You felt like you were in heaven.. until shit got deep.
Imagine your surprise the next day when you had countless of chats in different places. There was never a moment to rest, and the camera crew was working overtime to capture each moment you had with these men.
You thought everyone was happy with their couple form yesterday (though you noticed it took quite a while for each men to pick their partner.. especially since you were taken first), but it seems like there was something else you had missed.
“[Name], may I pull you for a chat—”
“Oh fuck off! We just started talking.”
“You were talking to her for 2 hours, asshole! You’re not even suppose to be back here—nobody can even see you!”
You didn’t mean to cause drama on your second day in the villa. Hopefully it won’t turn into another season of baddies.
Valko had grown up being told that when he'd meet his mate, he'd know. He would stay up so many nights, asking his mom to tell the story of how she met his dad, how she knew that his dad was the one. No matter how many times he'd hear the story, he'd never get tired.
Maybe that was why he believed in love stories. Because how could he not? His parents' was the love story for the ages.
However, seeing how old he was now, he was starting to lose hope.
He had travelled the world, met countless people, and never once had he ever met someone that made him pause. That stole his breath, that made his wolf go wild, that pulled him as if they were meant for him.
Sure, there had been relationships, good fucks- some were genuinely nice women. One relationship had even lasted two years because it was so comfortable. But that was all it was. Comfortable. No one ever captured his heart. No one ever made his soul burn. No one ever made his wolf yearn for them.
Not the way his mother had always told that she did for his father.
So he told himself that love could wait. It would have to wait. He just focused more and more on the company. On his career. On everything other than what he wanted to seek out.
Even now, he was sitting at his desk, overseeing some papers when his assistant knocked.
"Sir?" He popped his head in the office. "We have a bit of a situation downstairs."
"What now, Simon?" Valko sighed and looked up.
"Uh.. there's a woman downstairs. In the lobby. Won't leave until she sees you." Simon explained.
"So? Call security or whatever-" Valko waved him away.
"That's the problem part." Simon swallowed. "She's not doing anything. She's just sitting there. Says that she needs 5 minutes only. Says that she'll wait."
"Wait?" Valko's brows furrowed and Simon nodded. He inhaled deeply and paused. "I'll handle it." Valko said slowly and then took another deep breath.
There were the usual smells. Office cedar, air fresheners, stale coffee, and something new. Different. Sweeter.
Valko closed his laptop and took out his nasal blockers. He usually wore them so his sense of smell wouldn't constantly be assaulting and distracting him. He took another deep breath and suddenly felt his wolf pawing at the back of his throat.
That was new. His wolf never did that. Had never done that.
He walked out of his office and the smell grew stronger. He followed it all the way down to the lobby and there you were. His heart stuttered, his wolf practically tried to claw out of his chest. He had to put his nasal blocker back in so to not lose control and show the whole building his tail.
"I heard you were looking for me." He said smoothly with a smile, offering his hand.
"Mr Ao! Hello!" You smiled brightly and his knees almost buckled. "I'm so sorry for showing up like this but I called and no appointments were available until next month and-"
He wasn't listening. He couldn't. You were shaking his hand and that's all that mattered. All this time he'd spent looking- Somehow you'd come to him. Just shown up out of thin air.
"But anyway- I found a backdoor vulnerability in your new healthcare app-" You pulled away from his hand and he almost reached out to grab you again. You didn't notice that. You were too busy opening your laptop to show him what you'd found. "I have a small cyber security start up." You explained. "And I thought that if I'd emailed you about this, it might look like a scam or something -"
You were still talking but all Valko was doing was looking at you. Your hair, your eyes, your smile, the way your mouth moved as you spoke, your hands as they glided over the keys on your laptop. Whereas his wolf was purring because he was just near you. A soft chant churning in his head. Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate.
"See?" You smiled, showing him your laptop screen. "That could lead to potential data leaks." Valko nodded. He had heard absolutely nothing you'd said. "Whoever built the authentication layer probably forgot to tie up the loose ends- It's nothing catastrophic. Yet." You turned to him and he was just... There. Without a single working braincell.
"Right... Can you show me the code again please?" He tried to piece together what you'd said.
You nodded and put your laptop on the receptionist's desk. Valko moved closer to look at your laptop over your shoulder and definitely not to smell you.
The nasal blocker was there but this close, he could still smell you. Like pine after rain. Like a warm beach day. Like midnight after a thick snow. Everything was so crisp and you were showing him a code that looked like hieroglyphics at the moment.
"Mr Ao?" You asked, unsure if he was even listening.
"I'm sorry." He gave an easy smile to cover up the torment inside him. "I'm a little distracted. Work and all-" He lied. Oh god I just lied to my mate what would mother say? He cleared his throat. "If you could give me your number, perhaps we can arrange a proper sit down and discuss this?" And then afterwards I'll throw you over my shoulder and we'll disappear for at least a month.
You smiled again and his wolf preened. You were smiling at him. For him.
"Of course." You handed him your business card.
"I'll take very good care of this." And you. Oh god I'll take such good care of you. He slipped the business card into his pocket.
You nodded, "Well.. um- I should go- I'm sorry for causing a scene and-"
Cause as many scenes as you want. Anything you want. His brain was burning up. This was everything and more than what his mother had told him would feel like.
"Thank you." He breathed out as you put your laptop on your bag. "For finding this." And me. Thank you for finding me. "We would have landed in a lot of trouble and lawsuits if you hadn't."
"It's really no problem. You're doing good work. I didn't want it to stop just because someone made a mistake." You assured him. "Thank you again for your time, Mr Ao."
"Valko. Please, call me Valko." He said softly. You'll be saying it for the rest of life, soon enough.
"Valko." You repeated and his wolf purred in his chest.
He shook your hand again, his other hand coming to cover yours completely. "I hope to see you again soon." And then never let you go.
Okay so I just saw this tiktok vid that basically says: Top then cruelest thing you could say to me "I used to like you back then." And then the LADS boys came into mind and I was like, that's cliché, classic. But I'm down for it, then I imagine the boys saying that to you and I stare at nothing for a moment and was like. Hell nah, what about the opposite?
Anyways the scene goes into something like this because I'm too lazy to make a full fic out of this buttt.
Your main spend the most of his life chasing MC that you eventually give up, but did stay close to him. And now years later, you and your mutual friends get together and you were lowkey drunk, chatting together as you happily ramble about nonsense. And one of your friends just started teasing you at him, stating how bad your crush was on him back in the days and you just started laughing, looks at him and told him, nevermind them, that was a very, very long time ago. And kind of get this weird feeling on his stomach about it but since you weren’t making a big deal of it, he brushed it off.
But then you turned to him, look at him so seriously it made him nervously chuckle and was like, what's wrong? And you stare at him for a couple more of seconds and was like, you know what? Fuck it. Its been years and I think I deserve to get it off my chest one way of another. He stares at you quietly and you stare back at him he was almost mesmerised by your eyes. Then you smile, genuinely, without holding back and say, I used to like you back then. Then you laugh, and he stops, he just stopped. But you continued anyway saying, you might as well crush that, because you were pretty sure you were head over heels for him. And how him, being all over MC just lowkey breaks you so you distance yourself away from him. And the thing is, you dont look hurt when you said that. You were just story telling. And then you look up from your drink and look at him again saying how all of that was all in past now and stopped taking halfway before laughing, asking him why he's making that face. Then stood up, tapped him by the shoulder and jokingly said that there was no need to make a big deal out of it because that was all in the past, that you're over him before excusing yourself, leaving him all alone by the bar.
But the thing is, he was over MC years ago. One thing he realize after you started distancing yourself at him. (While you were still a constant presence in his life, it's not as consistent as it was before.) Is that he was busy looking at someone else to realize who was there by his side all along, and by the time he realised it. The distance between the two of you was something he could no longer reach out for. But then again, you never stopped talking to him, still replied to him. He probably never realised he was actually into you, until you said that.
Because what you mean by that? Because as soon as those words came out of your mouth, if felt like everything make sense, the way MC stares at him whenever you walked by and greet them. MC would stare at him, then at you, then back at him again and he would stare back into her eyes asking her what's wrong and she would just shake her head.
Anyways, long story short, he likes you. He had probably loved you all along. And have been throwing all sorts of party, reunions, gathering just to catch a glimpse of you these past few years. And let's just saying having you throw those words right at his face, really did something inside of him.
But the thing is, you had already moved on. Already married to someone else, could be a side character, or just your second ml. Could be anyone. Because as he stares at you by the bar. He saw a glimpse of light reflected by the ring on your finger.
: Yeah, something like that. I'm too lazy to continue. So what do you think. I'm definitely not thinking. Also, this is like an example of by drafts, this is usually how they look on my notes before I have to fix them with proper narrative and dialogue. So yeah XP X(
: Also, a random update, I'm almost done with Caleb's Fiance 3, and I'll me uploading Sylus' Parent trap teaser :D
two can play that game. (yan! sugar daddy! lex luthor x sugar baby! gn reader x yan! superman)
reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.
— masterlist !
a/n: all i ask for is comments/inputs, alongside reblogs, and that's it. this is a very fun concept to write for honestly. the thought of being sandwiched between two buff guys, one rich, one a hero. both powerful... yummy.
the potential of yandere! sugar daddy lex luthor x sugar baby reader x a yandere superman with a savior complex insistent on "getting you out" of the "terrible" situation you've (willingly) put yourself in...
just imagine the bloody game of tug of war between these two.
lex doesn't understand why, superman, of all aliens, wants to save — the word angers him so much to the point you have to hold his body back with all your weight to cease him from throwing another desktop item across the already jagged floors — his sugar baby when the contract and your consent has been all set before superman even came into the picture.
you're aware of the risks of being in a relationship with lex, you've slept in his bed for nearly a year or two, you've been by his side every time he enacts another one of his evil deeds, dolled in the clothes he chose for you— you're really just in it for the bag and the easy life. and yet this monster keeps insisting you're not truly happy, that he must've done something, threatened you perhaps, to keep you obedient by lex's side.
superman claims that nobody sane should be able to stand beside lex without the fear of messing up and turning into a lab experiment. so you must not be sane, you must be under a spell or heavily drugged.
a claim which enrages him so much. not just because superman paints him out to be under such insufferable light but also because he had the audacity to believe you're incapable and crazy for choosing him?
no, lex luthor is a better choice than all the other contenders asking for your hand in marriage. superman doesn't stand a chance when you've already decided. he's just a bitter man for being too late to claim you for himself.
and even if he wasn't, you'll still choose lex because he's infinitely better.
seriously, what part of his brain can't comprehend that irrevocable fact?
out of irritation, he'd almost have built an anti-superman chamber meant to lock you inside just so he could have a day of peace with you without the annoying hero always clambering and knocking on the glass windows of his highrise penthouse, taunting the billionaire to let you out or he'll be "forced" to let himself in to "save" — once again!? — his so-called hostage.
if he thought the level of delusion was already bad enough before, then the longer you and lex have been spotted out on fancy restaurant dates, which somehow find its way conveniently plastered on the very front page of the city's newspaper every time— the more lex is inclined to actually build that chamber because superman's already been spotted the next day flying over your oblivious figure, ready to go about another session of "talking" you out of your beneficial relationship with lex.
and of course, lex knew about this for certain, because the second you find yourself alone with superman somehow, away from the security guards hired to scout the area, the advanced recorders and superman recognition devices plastered in every inch of your belongings have already picked up on the sound and presence of superman's irritating, grating voice greeting you in that condescendingly nice crescendo.
you, already used to superman's own tactics, and also bound by contract to never entertain any of the hero's questions, let alone even be near a four foot radius within him, would only shrug at his concerned questions — about your wellbeing and domestic life. if lex is treating you right. if you're not satisfied blink twice. if he's keeping you hostage, blink thrice.
to which you don't.
to which superman is dumbfounded at your calm reactions.
you keep your cool demeanor when you hear the heavy thud of his boots landing on the ground as he approaches you.
if you're being honest, you never really cared about the hero. despite your questionable standing with lex, you're quite grateful that he remains the palpable symbol of hope for your city. it's a hypocritical take, really, since you're well aware how even if you're almost always by lex's side, and he has had his fair share of secret misdeeds he's skillfully hidden from you— it wouldn't truly discredit any service superman has done for the city, for the entire world. he's kept it safe and sound from extraterrestrial force and from another one of lex's plans.
but as it stands, you're still tempted to pull out the kryptonite ring in your bag. not because you hate heroes, but because he's yet again stuck in a trance worriedly asking you if you're really safe, and willing, and content with lex's treatment while his hands have found its way on your shoulders. his gestures akin to an old friend displaying concern over a friend with a problematic relationship, akin to a 911 dispatcher asking questions to assess violence against a victim.
which you're not, you really are not.
before you can even peep another word in, a bunch of your guards (finally) have already pointed their weapons against superman. you can see some of them visibility shaking whilst they announce, with quivering voices, for superman to halt. you're aware their hesitance is not from the fear of facing the metahuman but from messing up and leaving you with superman instead.
ah, you'll have to talk lex out of punishing these poor workers once again.
(it was no wonder why every supervisor from a division would always confront lex about problems on his upcoming projects in front of you. you're the only person allowed to speak your mind and promise lex he could take his anger in a completely different way with you instead. it's corny, but it's what works. it's what makes them survive from his petty retributions).
realistically, superman could take out these people without incapacitating them— yet there you go again, pretty eyes batting towards him (you're glaring at him), begging (asking, exasperated) to let the topic go for now because you already feel bad enough for the people forced to babysit you.
your request was enough to hold him off. of course it does, every worker surrounding you two could see it's not just lex infatuated with you but the superhero too. they don't complain, though, because it at least made the job easier when superman had instead given you a small, sheepish smile and a nod, finally flying off to god knows where.
at least today was easier. the previous attempts to tell him off were... something else.
you don't have to remember that, though, because a phone is already shoved in your face with lex's name as the contact person before you could even take a step.
you can feel exhaustion settle into your bones. you could already hear his frustrated voice chatting your ear off about the dangers of kroptonian exposure.
but you're too tired for a massive sermon right now...
... guess it's time to use your pathetic card against lex again tonight.
it always works somehow.
still, you remind yourself that lex's sermons are better than whatever complex the superman feels for you. at least it doesn't feel superficial in your eyes, at least you're aware that lex is constantly tracking you while superman is a wild car. always finding himself to you even if lex locks you up in the most isolated part of the world.
but don't think that just because he relented on bothering you for today guarantees no visit within the next hours.
apparently, even a supposedly intimate night with lex — complete with hot, expensive, and scented candles already blazing through the dark, the low hum of the music from the premium speakers, and silky bedsheets topped with petals from your favorite flowers — is all ruined by superman bypassing all the locks the moment the sound of your body hitting the bed is registered through his super-hearing.
it doesn't matter wherever he is in the world, he always blitzes back to metropolis at the sign of any danger towards you.
... but is it imperative that lex fucking you silly is one of it?
if your almost naked body didn't already feel incredibly warm from the jacuzzi you'd just gotten out of, then by now it's already overheating when even in the darkness can you pinpoint the tip of superman's ears reddening from the sight of your own chest exposed to the hero.
fuck.
if you're going to be honest once more, it'd be kind of hot if superman joined in on the fun. being sandwiched between superman's big, burly chest and lex luthor's clean-shaven ones sounds like great news. include their desperation to be devour every part of you is basically double the people wanting to touch you, please you—
pleasure you.
two powerful men trying to one up each other to win the favor of your heart felt all too reminiscent of pompous peacocks flaunting their colored feathers to their future mate.
it's hilarious, but also endearing to your already far too gone imaginations.
but telling your ideas to lex would be a damage to his ego. telling that to superman, too, would make him believe you're not actually satisfied with your arrangements.
it should be losing game.
but.
if these two were always in an intellectual fight on who gets to actually claim your mind, body, and soul. if you don't want lex to throw another fit and possibly destroy the earth uprooting every piece of land just to find kryptonite to murder superman. if you want superman to stop acting all hot and bothered every time you kiss lex too deeply in front of the paparazzi cameras, just by giving him a small taste of your body, then...
it's only fair if you make them prove they deserve it.
CHARACTERS: Wesley, you/Reader, various minor characters
WARNINGS/TAGS: Infantilization, medical facilities, drugging, murder (no major characters), stockholm syndrome(?), nonsexual nudity, parental yandere, injuries, dehumanization, needles/injections, medical malpractice
WORD COUNT: 7.6k
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry for the absence yet again! ^^; life has been a bit busier than usual. Feel free to send asks about this writing, and I'll try to get to other asks soon! This writing has been a WIP forever so I just decided to finish it real quick haha, I hope you enjoy <3
You felt as if you were floating—literally.
There was an odd sensation of weightlessness, like you were suspended in the air. You didn't know where you were, what you were doing, how you even got here, or who you were.
You simply... existed.
The clear blue liquid around you was beginning to drain, you noticed. You were slowly drifting downwards. As you reached the bottom of the pod, you fell to your knees, struggling to take in your first breaths of air. Your eyes were shut tight, not used to the bright lights surrounding you. Your hands were clenched tightly, your body shaking with cold and fear.
A soft click sound rang in your ears.
The pod opened, a warm rush of air hitting your face. Your eyes slowly opened, blinking away the harsh light. You looked around the room, seeing nothing but white walls, machinery, and screens displaying data. To you, though, they were just squiggly lines.
Your attention was suddenly drawn towards a tall, lanky man dressed in a white lab coat. He looked down at you, his green eyes twinkling behind his cracked glasses. His silver-streaked black hair fell over his face, partially obscuring his features.
Emotion was still an unknown concept to you. All you could observe was that his eyes were wide, and his hands were over his mouth.
"Look at you," he whispered, crouching down to meet your gaze. "You're finally here." His voice was low, yet gentle. He reached out and cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing below your eye. "Aren't you just the most precious thing I've ever laid eyes upon?"
You couldn't understand him. It was just noise.
In an earnest attempt to communicate back, you made a noise between a gurgle and a babble.
The man grinned widely, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh, you're just so cute!" he squealed, lifting you up from the pod and into his arms.
He was so warm compared to the coldness of the room. Your small hands reached up, grabbing onto his lab coat. He chuckled, his arms wrapping tightly around your body.
"Father's little miracle," he cooed, his cheek nuzzling against yours. He clearly didn't care about how you were soaking him in the liquid.
You took the moment to truly take in his appearance. His face was angular, with a prominent jaw and sharp cheekbones. There were scars across his features, his right eye milky white and blind with a large patch of reddened and scarred skin around it. You curiously reached up, touching his face.
He froze for a moment, his eyes widening. Then he laughed, his chest rumbling. "Well, aren't you a curious little thing? Yes, Father is quite handsome, isn't he?" He nuzzled his face into your hand, sighing contently.
For a moment, the two of you just stayed there, basking in each other's presence.
"Alright, now," he said, pulling away. "Let's get you all cleaned up. I'm sure you're freezing."
He tried to help you up after bundling you in his lab coat, but your legs wobbled at the unfamiliarity. You had to grip onto his arm for support.
"Like a baby deer," he adoringly cooed. "Your father's joints aren't the best, so... ah, I had a wheelchair around here somewhere..." He eased you back to the floor and made a vague hand gesture, then went to the far corner of the room.
You looked around curiously, seeing the many machines that surrounded you. Most of them were turned off, but a few had blinking lights and buttons. You were tempted to touch them, but you were quickly pulled away as the man returned with the wheelchair.
He lifted you up, gently placing you onto the seat. "There we go, now you're all set."
You looked up at him, a soft squeak escaping your lips.
He grinned, leaning down to press a kiss on your forehead. "I love you too, dear."
With a nod, he began to push you out of the room and down a long hallway. The walls were lined with various pictures and diagrams, most of which you couldn't comprehend. He had to push the wheelchair with one hand since you were holding onto his other.
He led you to another room, this one much warmer than the previous one. There was a large bathtub in the center, filled with warm water and bubbles. Next to it was a table with various bottles and containers.
"Time for a bath," he said, helping you out of the chair and half-carrying you over to the tub.
He gently placed you in the water, the warmth immediately soothing your skin. You let out a soft sigh, relaxing into the tub. He chuckled, grabbing a washcloth and some soap. You've never felt so warm.
He hummed a soft tune as he washed you, his hands gently scrubbing away the remnants of the pod's liquid. When he was done, he washed your hair, massaging your scalp with the shampoo. His fingers felt heavenly, and you couldn't help but close your eyes and enjoy the sensation.
Once he was done, he grabbed a towel and dried you off, wrapping you in it.
He led you over to a small bed in the corner, helping you onto it. He sat down next to you, brushing your damp hair out of your face.
"Isn't that better?" he asked, smiling down at you. "I bet you feel much cleaner now."
You stared at him blankly.
He laughed and shook his head. "I know, you can't understand a word I'm saying. You'll learn. In the meantime, I just hope you enjoy hearing my voice." He grabbed several pieces of fabric, all pastel-colored. "Dr. Peña recommended scrubs, but between you and me, he's dreadfully boring. Now, green or blue?"
Once again, you stared at him.
"Hmm... how should I go about this..." He lifted the fabrics in his right hand in emphasis. "Green," he said more slowly, before lowering it and lifting the fabrics in his left hand, "or blue?"
You blinked for a moment. "'een."
His face lit up like a Christmas tree—not that you'd know what that was either. "Oh, you're such a fast learner! Father is so proud of you!"
The door behind him suddenly hissed, and Wesley's expression changed instantly. You followed his gaze, seeing a man standing in the doorway.
"Peña," Wesley greeted.
The man, Dr. Peña, glared at him. "Wesley," he replied curtly, stepping inside and approaching the bed. "We detected vocalization from Subject—"
"Don't call them that."
"—and I wanted to make sure that they were—"
"They're fine, Peña." Wesley shifted to block his view of you.
Even though Peña seemed annoyed at his colleague's brusque attitude, he didn't call him out on it. Instead, he changed his wording into a simple observation. "They spoke."
Wesley glanced at you before responding. "Yes, and they're a fast learner. They're already choosing clothes."
Peña sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Wesley, we need to document every single step of their development. The vocalization is a breakthrough, and we have to—"
"Last time I checked, I was the one overseeing the development of [Name]."
"You already named it?"
"Of course I have. I think it suits them, don't you?"
"Wesley, this project has been waiting for viable results for eight years."
"And I have been waiting for my child longer than that."
Silence followed. Peña seemed to struggle with finding the right words. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, slowly exhaling through his nose. When he opened his eyes, they were filled with resignation. "I'm not going to argue with you about this. I will have the record updated."
"Thank you, Peña. I knew I could count on you."
He rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Just...be careful, okay? I don't want anything happening to them."
"Never in a million years."
Peña nodded, then turned to leave. Just before he stepped out, he paused and looked back at you. "Welcome to the world, [Name]."
Once he was gone, Wesley turned back to you and smiled. "Now, where were we? Ah yes, clothing." He held up the green fabric. "Let's get you dressed and ready for bed. I have a lot to teach you tomorrow."
...
The first few days were a blur for you.
Wesley kept you busy with various activities, all of them designed to teach you basic skills. He taught you how to talk, read, write, and even how to walk properly. He was a patient teacher, never getting frustrated when you struggled with something.
In fact, he seemed to enjoy every moment of it.
He would often talk to you while you were learning, his voice soothing and calm. He would tell you stories about his past, though he never went into too much detail. He would also talk about the world outside the facility, describing the people, places, and things that existed beyond the walls. However, he always stressed that you were to never go outside.
You couldn't quite comprehend everything he was saying, but you enjoyed listening to his voice.
One day, while he was teaching you how to read, he noticed you staring at the window. The glass was tinted, and you could only see a blur of colors. You reached out, your fingers pressing against the cool surface.
"What's wrong, dear?" he asked, setting down the book.
You turned to look at him. "Wanna go outside."
His expression softened. "I know, but it's not safe out there. You're better off here with me."
"Why?" you asked, tilting your head. "What's out there?"
He hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "There are...bad people out there, [Name]. People who would want to hurt you."
Your eyes widened. "Why?"
"They just...do." He reached out and cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. "But don't worry, I'll always protect you. You're safe here."
You frowned, not fully understanding his words. But you trusted him, so you nodded and leaned into his touch.
"Good," he murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss on your forehead. "Now, let's continue with our lesson."
He picked up the book again, but you could still see the worry in his eyes.
...
The other staff were nice, even if Wesley was very particular about who came near you.
Dr. Peña was cold and sometimes a bit annoyed, but you could tell he had a soft spot for you, as did most of the doctors and nurses.
The only other doctors allowed near you were Dr. Cordova and Dr. Horn. Cordova and Horn were both warmer than Peña, and Wesley often joked around with them. They were the ones who helped you with learning how to use technology and how to understand the various machines in the facility.
There were also some guards, though they mostly stayed in the shadows. They were there to protect you, Wesley explained, though he never elaborated on what you needed protection from.
You had a sense that they were more there to keep you from escaping.
Oh, right, and you had powers. You didn't really understand what the big deal was, but you supposed they had become so normal to you that you didn't think much of them. You had super strength and retractible fangs and claws. Dr. Horn once claimed you looked like a "little chupacabra", whatever that meant. You remembered Wesley getting offended on your behalf.
Life was pretty leisurely, but that meant it was also, well... boring.
Every day was the exact same. The same routine, the same people, the same walls. You were tired of it. You wanted to see more, to experience more. You wanted to go outside.
"Tomorrow I turn one," you informed Wesley, even though he was the one who had reminded you just this morning.
He was busy typing away at his computer. He hummed in response.
"You said I can have a present of my choosing," you added.
He paused, then turned to look at you. "Yes, I did. What do you want, dear?"
You hesitated. You knew what you wanted, but you also knew Wesley would say no. Still, you decided to take a chance. "I wanna go outside."
His eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. "No."
You frowned. "But you promised!"
"I said I'd give you anything within reason," he argued, his voice rising. "Going outside is not within reason."
"Why not?" you asked, crossing your arms. "Dr. Cordova said she thinks the sunset is beautiful. I've never seen it before."
"And you never will."
You flinched at his tone, your eyes widening. He never raised his voice at you before.
His expression immediately softened, and he got up from his chair. He walked over to you, kneeling down despite you not being much different in height.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, his hands resting on your shoulders. "I didn't mean to scare you. But you have to understand, the outside world is dangerous. I can't risk losing you." You went silent, and his frown deepened. "[Name]..." He pursed his lips in thought. "How about a compromise? You may watch the sunset through the window."
You shrugged. "It isn't the same."
"I know it isn't," he replied, "but it's the best I can offer you."
You bit your lip, considering his words. After a moment, you nodded. "Okay, I guess."
He smiled. "Good. Then it's a deal."
...
The sunset was just as Cordova described, but it didn't do much to satisfy you. Outside looked so beautiful, even if behind a layer of bulletproof glass that was still just slightly tinted. You couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to feel the grass beneath your feet, to smell the fresh air, to see the world with your own eyes.
Wesley watched your reaction closely. He didn't miss the longing in your expression.
He sighed, placing a hand on your back. "Come on, [Name]. It's getting late. Time for bed."
You didn't move. "But—"
"No buts. You need your rest."
You reluctantly followed him to your room. He helped you change into your pajamas, tucked you in, and kissed you goodnight. You stared at the ceiling, your mind racing.
You wanted to go outside.
You needed to go outside.
You just had to figure out how.
...
"Dr. Horn. I have a request," you said, pulling at his sleeve.
He glanced at you. "Mhm, kiddo?"
"Could you let me take a walk outside? Just for a few minutes?"
He chuckled. "Yeah, I don't think Dr. Page would appreciate that."
Sometimes you had to remember Wesley was not simply "Wesley" or "Father" to the others, but Dr. Page. "We wouldn't need to tell him."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're asking me to lie to my boss? Sorry, I like having my head attached to my body."
"You won't get caught," you insisted.
"And how do you know that?"
You didn't have an answer for that, so you stayed silent.
He sighed, patting your head. "Look, kid. I get it. You're curious. But you gotta understand, the world out there isn't as great as you think it is. It's better for you to stay here where it's safe. People outside are shitty, anyway. You got your own little family in here, don't you? We're way nicer than anyone else could be. Well, except for maybe Peña, but he's getting there."
You didn't laugh at the awkward joke. "I'm only asking to walk around a little."
His face grew serious. "No. I'm sorry. I can't risk it."
So much for that.
...
Another week passed. Wesley was typing away while Dr. Cordova was scanning you. You were getting antsy.
"So, what do you wanna be when you grow up?" Cordova asked you.
"I am grown up," you responded.
She laughed. "No, you aren't. You're still a baby."
You huffed. "I'm just as big as you and the others. I know what actual babies are like." You sighed. "Normal ones, at least."
"Okay, okay," she conceded. "You have the body of an adult, sure, but you're still a child in here." She pointed to her head. "You haven't experienced enough of life to be considered an adult."
You rolled your eyes. "I'm never going to experience life, though. I'm stuck in here forever."
Wesley stopped typing. "Hey. We talked about this."
"I'm sorry," you muttered, "but it's true."
His jaw clenched, and he looked like he was about to argue, but he stopped himself. He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. "I know you're frustrated, [Name]. But you have to trust me. I know what's best for you."
You were silent, not wanting to push him any further.
Cordova cleared her throat. "Uh, scans are done."
"Good," he said, standing up. "You're dismissed."
She gave you a sympathetic smile before leaving the room. Wesley walked over to you, sitting down next to you.
"I'm sorry," you said softly.
"Don't be." He placed a hand on your knee. "I understand why you feel this way. But I need you to understand that I'm doing this for your own good."
You nodded, though you didn't fully believe him. You didn't want to argue anymore, so you just leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.
He wrapped an arm around you, holding you close. The two of you stayed like that for a while, neither of you speaking. Eventually, he broke the silence.
"Tell you what," he said, "why don't we do something fun tomorrow? Just the two of us. Maybe watch a movie. You like those, don't you? We can even get some popcorn, make a blanket fort...?"
Movies were nice. They were the closest thing to outside you could get. "Okay."
"Good." He kissed the top of your head. "I love you, [Name]."
"I love you too," you replied. "Even if you're annoying."
He chuckled, squeezing you gently. "I'll take it." He went back to the computer. "Why don't you go get ready for bed? I'll be there to tuck you in soon, m'kay, dear?"
You nodded, getting up and heading to your room.
...
The craziest part about everything, was that you didn't even mean to get into this mess; you just wanted a glass of water.
You had pressed on the button for assistance from one of the nurses, since the doors to your room locked around nighttime.
"Here ya go, kiddo," she said, handing you the glass. "Anything else I can do for you?"
"...could you stay until I fall back asleep?" Normally, you'd only request such a thing from Wesley, but he was busy. You didn't feel like sleeping alone right now.
She gave you a sympathetic look. "Sure thing." She sat on the edge of the bed after shedding her coat and lanyard with it, folding the coat and placing the lanyard on top of it. She placed it behind her on the bed before giving you her full attention.
You didn't even concentrate to her words, you knew they were all just nonsensical rambles, but it did make your eyes heavy. You were almost fully asleep when she left the room with a fond chuckle.
Just as you shifted positions, your socked feet felt something at the edge of the bed. You sleepily reached over, picking up what felt like a piece of plastic. Then you opened your eyes and realized what it was.
It was her lanyard.
You knew the right thing to do. You should've gotten up and returned it to her. But you didn't. You couldn't. This was your chance. If you could just get out for a bit, you could see the sunset without any windows blocking it. And then you would come back. You would be back before anyone noticed. You were sure of it.
You grabbed the lanyard and got out of bed, tiptoeing to the door. You swiped the card through the reader, and the door clicked open. You peeked outside, seeing no one in the hallway. You quickly slipped out, closing the door behind you.
You had a vague idea of where the exit was, but you were still nervous. You walked as quietly as possible, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be wandering around. Luckily, the facility was mostly empty at this hour.
Eventually, you found the exit. It was a large metal door with a keypad next to it. You hesitated for a moment, then swiped the card. The door beeped, then slowly opened.
You took a deep breath, stepping outside.
The air was fresh and crisp. It smelled different than the filtered air inside the facility. You looked around, seeing nothing but trees and bushes surrounding the building. The sun was just beginning to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink.
You walked further away from the building, your eyes wide in wonder. The grass was soft beneath your feet, the wind blowing gently through your hair. It was everything you imagined and more.
You continued to walk, not realizing how far you were getting from the facility. You were so lost in the moment that you didn't notice the gate until you nearly bumped into it, too busy gazing up at the sky.
The top was looped with barbed wire, the front of it closed off with a metal sign that read:
WARNING: NO TRESPASSING. PROPERTY OF PAGETECH INDUSTRIES. VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED.
You frowned, looking around the gate. It was too high for you to climb, and you didn't see any other way out. Not that you were really planning on a way out.
That was, until you heard the yell of a man.
"Hey! Hands up where I can see 'em!"
You looked back and saw someone dressed in a security uniform running toward you, a heavy black gun pointed in your direction.
You didn't plan on running, you honestly didn't. For a heart-stopping moment, you thought about being taken back in and Wesley's reaction to knowing his beloved child had pulled such a stunt. It sounded dreadful, but you considered it your only option.
That was until the man shot something at you, but missed.
It didn't occur to you that there were anything other than bullets in that gun. So, in a panicked last-moment decision, you ran.
The man yelled for you to stop, chasing after you. You didn't know where you were going, just that you needed to get away. You dodged trees and jumped over bushes, your heart racing. You could hear him gaining on you, but you refused to give up.
You saw the gate coming into view. You didn't think twice, jumping up and grabbing onto the barbed wire. You were hoping you could just climb over, but the wire was too sharp and cut into your hands. Still, you held on, pulling yourself up.
"Stop right there!" the man shouted, grabbing your leg.
You cried out, kicking him away. You underestimated your strength, because next thing you knew, he was absolutely pummeled into the ground by the force of your kick. You covered your mouth to muffle a scream of horror, then focused back on your escape.
You pulled yourself over the gate, wincing as the wire dug into your skin. You dropped to the other side, landing hard on your feet. Your legs were sore, but you ignored the pain, running as fast as you could.
You didn't stop until you couldn't hear him anymore. You looked back, seeing no sign of him. You were safe.
For now, at least.
...
"...sir?" Peña's voice was laced with uncharacteristic anxiety.
It had been three hours since you left. Wesley's eyes were bloodshot, his nails bitten down to the quick. He refused to sit still, pacing around the facility and barking orders at anyone who got in his way. His entire office was a mess, papers scattered all over the floor, his computer screen cracked from throwing it at the wall in a rage.
There was no reply from the man.
"Wesley?" Peña gently called again.
"What?" he spat, not even looking at him.
"We... we found the guard."
That made him freeze. He slowly turned around, his eyes wild. "And?"
Peña hesitated, swallowing hard. "He's...dead."
The room fell silent.
Wesley stared at him, his breathing heavy. Then he let out a guttural scream, grabbing the nearest object and throwing it across the room. It shattered against the wall, pieces flying everywhere.
Peña flinched but didn't move. "We have reason to believe Subject—uh, [Name]—is the one who killed him."
"I could've guessed that on my own," Wesley sneered.
"The... the autopsy said he was kicked so hard that it caved his ribcage in."
Wesley's face paled. "Oh, God..."
"They were in a panic," Peña tried to reassure him. "They didn't mean to."
Wesley gave an offended glare. "I know that! Don't you think I know that?!" He began to pace again, muttering to himself. "They must be so scared. I have to find them. I have to bring them home."
"We're doing everything we can," Peña said. "But they could be anywhere by now."
Wesley stopped, turning to face him. "No. They wouldn't go far. They wouldn't leave me." His voice cracked. "They love me."
"I know, but—"
"Find them!" Wesley yelled, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Find them, or so help me God, I will burn this whole place to the ground!"
Peña nodded, swallowing thickly. He quickly left the room, leaving Wesley alone with his thoughts.
Wesley fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. He buried his face in his hands, his body shaking with sobs.
"Come back to me," he whispered. "Please, come back."
...
You didn't know where to go or what to do.
You were lost, scared, and alone. You had never felt so vulnerable in your life. The world was so much bigger than you thought, and you were just a small speck in it.
You found yourself in a city, the bright lights and loud noises overwhelming your senses. People walked past you, not even giving you a second glance. You felt invisible.
You wandered around, your hands stuffed in your pockets. Your clothes were dirty and torn, your face smudged with dirt and tears. You looked like a mess, but no one seemed to care.
You eventually found a park, deciding to rest on a bench. You watched as people walked their dogs, children played on the swings, and couples sat together on blankets. It was a major contrast to the sterile environment you were used to.
You couldn't help but feel a bit envious. They were all so... normal.
You sat there for hours, just observing. You were too scared to move, too scared to interact with anyone. You just wanted to go home. You wanted to be back in your room, with Wesley tucking you in and telling you everything was going to be okay.
Oh, Wesley.
Was he mad? Was he worried? You wouldn't blame him if he was both. You just hoped he wouldn't hate you for what you did.
You felt tears well up in your eyes, and you quickly wiped them away. You didn't want to cry, not in public. You didn't want to draw attention to yourself.
But it was too late.
"Are you okay, hon?"
You looked up, seeing an older woman standing in front of you. She had kind eyes and a warm smile. You nodded, not trusting your voice.
She sat down next to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. "You don't look so good. Are you lost?"
You hesitated, then nodded again.
She frowned. "Do you need help? I can call someone for you."
"No!" you said quickly, shaking your head. "No, I'm fine."
She gave you a concerned look. "Are you sure? You can tell me the truth."
You bit your lip, looking away. You didn't know what to do. You wanted to go home, but you were scared of what would happen if you did.
The woman seemed to sense your inner conflict. "Why don't you come with me? My house is just around the corner. You can clean up, have something to eat, and then we can figure out what to do next. How does that sound?"
You looked at her, seeing nothing but kindness in her eyes. You slowly nodded. "Okay."
She smiled, standing up and offering her hand. "Come on, then. Let's get you out of here."
...
You went with the woman, whose name was Eleanor. She was a widow, her husband having passed away a few years ago. She lived alone in a small house, but it was cozy and welcoming. She gave you a change of clothes, a warm meal, and a bed to sleep in. She treated you like family, and for a moment, things felt okay.
She didn't pry into your past, but she did ask you questions about yourself. You answered as best as you could, not revealing too much. She seemed satisfied with your vague responses, not pushing you any further.
You stayed with her for a few days, helping her around the house and keeping her company. She was a sweet lady, and you enjoyed her presence.
Even though you missed Wesley and the others, you had to admit it was nice being out in the real world. You were learning new things, experiencing new emotions. It was scary, but also exhilarating.
You had almost forgotten about the incident at the facility, pushing it to the back of your mind.
But it all came crashing back when you saw the news.
It was a quiet evening, and you and Eleanor were sitting in the living room, watching TV. Suddenly, a breaking news alert appeared on the screen.
"Authorities are still searching for the escaped patient from the CRYO Industries facility," the reporter said, showing a picture of the gate and a grainy image of you climbing over it. "The patient is described as dangerous and unstable. If you have any information, please contact the police immediately."
Your blood ran cold. You looked at Eleanor, seeing her eyes wide with shock.
"Is... is that you?" she whispered, her hand covering her mouth.
You didn't know what to say. You just sat there, frozen in fear.
She turned to you, her expression a mix of fear and concern. "Is it true? Are you... are you dangerous?"
You shook your head. "No, I swear. I'm not."
"Then why are they saying that?"
"I... I didn't mean to hurt anyone," you explained, your voice trembling. "I was just scared. I didn't know what else to do."
She stared at you for a moment, then sighed. "Oh, honey..."
"I'm sorry," you said, tears forming in your eyes. "I should've told you the truth. I just... I didn't want you to be afraid of me."
She reached out, placing a hand on your cheek. "I'm not afraid of you. I just... I don't know what to do."
You leaned into her touch, closing your eyes. "I don't, either."
...
Wesley was losing his mind.
Days had passed since you disappeared, and there was still no sign of you. He was barely sleeping, barely eating. He was a wreck, his sanity hanging by a thread.
Peña and the others tried to calm him down, but it was no use. He was too far gone.
He spent most of his time in his office, staring at the security footage from the night you escaped. He watched it over and over again, trying to find any clues that could lead him to you. But there was nothing.
He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. His eyes were bloodshot, his face pale and gaunt. He looked like a ghost of his former self.
Suddenly, his phone rang. He picked it up, his voice hoarse. "Hello?"
"Dr. Page, it's Horn. We... we might have something."
He sat up straight. "What is it? Did you find them?"
"Well, not exactly. But we found CCTV footage of them in a nearby city."
Wesley's heart skipped a beat. "Show me."
Horn sent him the file, and he quickly opened it. He watched as you walked through the streets, looking lost and scared. His chest tightened at the sight.
"Where is this?" he asked, his voice strained.
"Bedford Park," Horn replied. "We're sending a team over there to search for them."
Wesley nodded, his eyes glued to the screen. He watched as you interacted with people, looking so out of place. He wanted nothing more than to hold you in his arms and tell you everything was going to be okay... and then scold you for how you broke his heart after nearly making it stop completely.
He paused the video, zooming in on your face. You looked so tired, so defeated. It broke his heart even more, if that were even possible.
"I'll find you," he whispered. "I promise."
...
You were in the kitchen, helping Eleanor make dinner, when there was a knock on the door. She went to answer it, leaving you alone.
You were stirring the pot on the stove, lost in thought. You were still scared, but you were trying to stay positive. You hoped that soon, everything would be resolved, and you could go back to your normal life. Whatever that was.
Suddenly, you heard a commotion from the living room. You turned off the stove, wiping your hands on a towel before walking towards the noise.
You froze when you saw a group of armed men standing in the doorway, their guns pointed at Eleanor. She had her hands up, her face pale.
"What's going on?" you asked, your voice trembling.
One of the men turned to you. He didn't dignify you with a response. Instead, he nodded to his men, who quickly grabbed you.
"Wait, no!" Eleanor cried. "Leave them alone!"
They ignored her, dragging you out of the house. You, in a state of further panic, shoved them away. Two of them were flung back from the sheer force of your push.
"Shit, they're not lying about them being dangerous," one of them spat. "Grab them, now!"
You never realized how enhanced your reflexes were until that moment, dodging and weaving through their desperate grasps. But they kept coming at you, and there were more and more of them surrounding you. You couldn't hold them off forever, and the exhaustion was already catching up to you.
After twisting one of the men's arms in your grasp (with a panicked, "sorry!"), you bolted as fast as you could. Your eyes were stinging with tears as you ran, your heart pounding in your chest. You didn't know where you were going, just that you needed to get away.
...
Wesley stepped out of the black SUV, his eyes scanning the area. The neighborhood was quiet, the only sound being the chirping of crickets. He adjusted his tie with a stoic expression.
He had told the guards to wait for him, but of course no one seemed to be able to follow orders. Wesley would make sure to find who was responsible for such carelessness later.
Cordova walked up next to him, holding a tablet. "We got a tip that they were seen in this area," she said, showing him a map. "We're not sure if they're still here, but it's worth a shot."
He nodded, not taking his eyes off the houses. "I want this entire block searched. I don't care if you have to break down every door. Find them."
She nodded, relaying the orders to the team. They split up, going in different directions.
Wesley started walking, his hands in his pockets. He didn't know what he was expecting to find, but he had a feeling in his gut that you were close. He could sense it.
"[Name]?" he called out, his voice echoing through the empty streets. "Where are you, dear? Please, just come out. I'm not mad."
That was a lie. He was many things, and mad was definitely one of them. But he didn't want to scare you. He just wanted you to come home.
He heard heavy breathing coming from behind a dumpster and froze. He slowly approached, his heart racing.
"[Name]?" he called out again.
You poked your head out, your eyes wide with fear. You were a mess, your clothes torn and dirty, your face smudged with dirt and tears.
Wesley's breath hitched at the sight of you. He quickly closed the distance between you, pulling you into his arms. "Oh, thank God," he whispered, holding you tightly. "I was so worried."
You hesitated for a moment, then wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. "I'm sorry," you said hoarsely. "I'm so sorry."
He stroked your hair, shushing you. "It's okay, dear. I'm just glad you're safe."
The two of you stayed like that for a while, just holding each other. Eventually, Cordova and the others found you, but Wesley quickly waved them away. He didn't want anyone else near you right now.
He pulled away slightly, cupping your face in his hands. "Are you hurt? Did they do anything to you?"
You shook your head. "No, I'm okay."
He examined you closely, his eyes scanning for any injuries. He sighed in relief when he didn't find any. "Good."
You looked down. "Did I kill him?"
He furrowed his brows. "What?"
"The guard," you clarified. "Did I...?"
He hesitated. He didn't want to lie to you, but he also didn't want to upset you further. "It was an accident, [Name]. You didn't mean to."
Your voice shook with horror. "Is that why the news called me dangerous?"
He nodded. "They don't understand. They don't know you like I do."
"I don't know how to control my strength," you said, tears filling your eyes. "I'm a monster."
"That's why the world isn't meant for you, sweetheart. That's what I've been trying to tell you. No one will accept and love you like me," he crooned. "I was hoping to spare both of us the heartbreak of you realizing it this way..." He closed his eyes with a sorrowful sigh.
"I'm so sorry, Father." You threw your arms around him again. "I just wanted to see the outside."
He rested his chin on top of your head, rocking you back and forth. "Was it worth it?"
Despite the question being condescendingly knowing, it was also genuine.
You thought about it for a moment, then shook your head. "No."
He smiled slightly. "Good. Because I don't ever want to lose you again."
...
The drive back to the facility was quiet. You sat in the backseat, Wesley's arm draped around your shoulders. You leaned into him, feeling exhausted both physically and emotionally. You were relieved to be going home, but you also felt a sense of dread. You knew you were in for a lecture, and you weren't looking forward to it.
Once you arrived, Wesley led you to his office. He sat you down on the couch, then poured you a glass of water. You took it gratefully, taking small sips.
He sat down next to you, his expression serious. "We need to talk about what happened."
You nodded, setting the glass down on the table. "I know."
He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "I don't even know where to begin. You disobeyed me, put yourself in danger, and... and killed someone."
You flinched at his words, looking down at your lap. "Am I going to prison?"
In your short lifetime, you knew only of the concept—a place where bad people went. Now you were wondering if you would be next.
Wesley shook his head, looking briefly horrified at the idea, or that you'd even consider he'd let that happen to you. "No. I've taken care of it. No one will ever know what happened."
You looked up at him, your eyes wide. "But... how?"
He gave you a brief smile. "I have my ways. But that's not important right now. What's important is that you disobeyed me. Do you understand how dangerous that was? I could've lost you, [Name]. Do you have any idea how that made me feel?"
You looked down at your lap. "You could just make another me."
He took a sharp breath. "Don't say that. Don't ever say that. You are irreplaceable to me. There will never be another you."
You felt a pang in your chest. "I don't understand why I mean so much to you. If I'm not just an experiment, what am I?"
"You're my child," he said, his voice filled with conviction. "You're my everything. I created you because I wanted a family, someone to love and cherish. And I do. I love you more than anything in this world."
You went silent.
He studied your face for a moment, then took a shaky breath. "Did I ever tell you why I look like this?" He didn't even bother trying to gesture to himself—he didn't need to.
Despite that, you sometimes forgot Wesley didn't look normal, at least not by typical human standards. He was the first ever face you saw in your life. To you, his scarring was just part of his appearance. You'd never considered that he may have a complex about it.
You shook your head.
He nodded, looking away. "I... I was in an accident. A lab explosion. It... it changed me. I lost my job, my marriage, half of my vision, and some would argue half of my mind. All I had ever wanted was a family of my own, but after the accident, I realized that wasn't going to happen. That's when I decided to take matters into my own hands. I created you."
You looked at him in surprise. You had never heard this story before. "Why didn't you just adopt?"
He gave a wry chuckle. "There's many reasons. One, I have the ability to create life. That isn't an opportunity I could simply pass up. Two, we can spend much more time together like this, under the excuse of me working. And three... I wouldn't want my child to ever experience what normal children go through. It's a cruel world out there, [Name], and I don't want anyone to ever hurt you. You deserve to be happy and loved, and I can give you that. You don't ever have to grow up, like most children are expected to do. You'll never have to leave me."
"I'll never have the option to leave you, you mean," you corrected before thinking twice.
He raised his brow. "Oh? You want to leave me?"
"No," you replied without missing a beat. "But... it's scary knowing that I can't. That's not fair, is it?"
"It's fair in the sense that I brought you into this world. You wouldn't even exist if not for me. Don't you think I should have a say in what you do?"
"But then wouldn't every parent get that excuse?"
"Fine, then how about the fact that you're not human?" he retorted. "That you're stronger, faster, and more enhanced than any normal person? You think the world would accept you with open arms if they knew?"
"You don't want them to. You're just happy to use that as an excuse to do all of this. That's why you didn't adopt."
He narrowed his eyes. "You're awfully defiant all of a sudden. I thought you were sorry for what you did."
"I am sorry for worrying you and hurting someone," you said, "but I'm not sorry for wanting to see the outside world."
He stood up, his jaw clenched. "You're not going to win this argument, [Name]. I'm your father, and I know what's best for you. You're staying here, and that's final."
You stood up as well. "Then I'll just find another way to escape."
He laughed, but it was bitter. "Then I suppose I'll just restrain you at all times of the day. You'll be confined to your room completely unless I decide otherwise. Is that what you want?"
You glared at him. "You wouldn't."
"Try me."
The two of you stared at each other, the tension in the room thick. You were the first to look away, your shoulders slumping in defeat. "I don't want that."
He sighed, his expression softening. "Neither do I. I hate having to be the bad guy, but you leave me no choice. I'm only doing this because I love you, [Name]."
You looked at him defeatedly "I know."
He reached out. "Come here."
You stepped forward, letting him wrap his arms around you. "I'm sorry," you mumbled into his chest.
"Oh, [Name]," he cooed. For a brief second, his arms tightened around you, before one reached into his pocket. "Me too."
You were about to ask what he meant, but then you felt a sharp prick in your neck.
"Shhh," he soothed, his arms tightening around you once more. "Don't fight it, just sleep..."
You tried to struggle, but it was almost as if he had super strength, too. "Why?" you demanded. You had never felt so betrayed.
"I want you asleep when I insert the tracking chip," he responded, gently guiding your head to his shoulder. "It was a procedure I should've done from the very start, but I thought my baby loved their Father enough to never try and run away from him." You could hear the bitterness in his voice, the hurt.
"I do love you," you said weakly, your vision starting to blur.
He gently swayed you. "I love you too, which is why I need you to stay with me forever. Even if that means having to resort to these measures."
You wanted to argue, but your body was giving out. The last thing you heard was his voice.
"Goodnight, sweetheart. I'll see you in the morning."
CHARACTERS: Nightfall/Anton, you/Reader, various minor characters
WARNINGS/TAGS: Light infantilization, heavy stockholm syndrome, parental yandere, injuries, blood, hero!Reader, panic attacks, escape attempts, isolation as punishment, yelling, crying, Reader is highly overlooked and underappreciated by everyone but Anton
WORD COUNT: 9.7k
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This one was also in the drafts forever XD tysm for 2k followers, I really am so happy to be in this community, y'all are the best <3 I'll get to my other asks soon, but until then, I hope you enjoy this!!
Being a hero definitely had its advantages.
You got to help people and you were admired by millions of fans. The pay was good, there was job security, and the hero agency was very kind about giving days off for healing. Which was a nice touch, since your powers weren't exactly kind on your body.
In fact, you were discouraged from even becoming a hero due to your powers. You didn't blame anyone from telling you so—if you overdid yourself, you'd get the worst migraines and temporary blindness. A doctor told you if you overdid yourself in the long-term, you might even get permanent blindness.
Still, you were determined to help people, and your drive to protect others far outweighed any potential drawbacks.
Most of the time, anyway.
You were crouched behind a car, trying to catch your breath. Your lungs were burning, and your skin felt like it was on fire. The villain you were facing was a big guy who had the ability to turn parts of his body into molten rock.
You took another shaky breath and rubbed your eyes. Your vision was getting fuzzy at the edges, but you had to get rid of the guy. You had to.
You peeked around the car and almost got a stone fist in your face. You dodged it and fired a beam from your hands, blasting him backwards.
The ringing in your ears was starting to get worse. You ignored it; there was no backup, the remaining heroes had been incapacitated.
Just as the villain recovered and you prepared to hit him with another blast, someone shifted out of nowhere in front of you, dark wisps of smoke curling around their legs.
Oh, this bastard.
"Prism," he curtly said. "It's past nine. Shouldn't you be in bed?"
Your eye twitched in annoyance as he hit the villain with several blasts of darkness.
Nightfall's powers were the opposite of yours; he could form anything out of darkness and disappear into the shadows like nothing. Umbrakinesis, you're pretty sure was what it was called.
His powers also didn't have even half of the negative effects yours had on you.
What annoyed you most about this man wasn't the envy you had over his powers—it was the fact this man was a villain, and a villain who had the audacity to act like some kind of know-it-all dad.
He refused to hurt you. You'd honestly prefer if he did over the way he'd gently scold you for doing your job. As if he cared about you, or even knew you.
You sighed and launched another beam of light, the villain knocking over another car as he tried to dodge the attack.
"Why are you helping me?" you asked through gritted teeth.
A tendril of darkness curled around you and yanked you away from the villain's next punch. It carefully set you down further away.
"I'm against children getting hurt, including ones playing dress-up and pretend."
"For the last time! I am not a fucking kid!" You used your anger to shoot a larger blast towards the rock-villain. It made direct contact, and he slumped to the ground with a groan.
You leaned against a wall and took deep breaths, feeling the migraine setting in.
"I'm not a child," you repeated weakly.
Nightfall sighed. "Could've fooled me." He didn't sound like his usual smug, teasing-self. Now he just sounded exasperated and worried. "Sit down. You're injured."
"Don't need your help," you grumbled.
A shadow curled around your leg and tugged you down to the ground. "Humor me."
You huffed and sat against the wall, trying to blink away the fuzziness.
"Oh, honey," he whispered, so quietly that you couldn't hear it over the ringing in your ears. He took off his coat, ripping at the sleeve.
"What're you doing?" you practically slurred.
He ignored you and tied the makeshift bandage around your arm. Your suit had been torn during the fight, and you hadn't even noticed you were bleeding. The pain felt numb, distant, like everything else around you.
You felt yourself being lifted, cradled against his chest. You peered up. Despite your blurry vision, you could see his dark purple mask. Even if it hid his expression, you didn't need to see it. You knew he was concerned and pissed off.
You wanted to hit him. You wanted to fall asleep in his arms.
"Nightfall!" a nearby, familiar voice yelled.
Even through your sleepiness, the voice made you jolt. You looked over to see your mentor, Smolder. His power was the ability to create and control fire. He was a top-hero, and he was the one who taught you how to fight and control your powers.
"Smolder," Nightfall said coolly. "Seems you're a little late. It feels as if I'm playing hero more than you as of lately."
You wiggled in his arms, but his grip tightened. "Put me down," you said, your head swimming.
"Shh, just rest. You've done enough," he murmured.
Smolder stepped forward, flames curling around his fingers. "Give me Prism."
Nightfall let out an annoyed huff. "I think you're just intimidated that I obviously care about their safety more than you. But very well." He carefully set you down on the ground.
You stumbled towards Smolder, your legs shaking. "H-hey, thanks for showing up—"
Smolder gripped your shoulder tightly, making you wince. "Get in the damn car, Prism." As you struggled to get in, Smolder glared back at Nightfall. "I don't know what you're playing at, but you need to back off. And stay away from my protégé."
Nightfall tilted his head. "Funny. I'm not the one who lets them get injured."
Just as Smolder lunged forward to grab Nightfall, the villain disappeared into thin air.
...
It took you a few days to heal, and although you wouldn't say you were anywhere close to being fully recovered, you were well enough to return to the agency.
There had been an anonymous tip to you, that there was suspicious activity coming from a warehouse down by the docks. It was probably a trap, but you decided to check it out anyways. You didn't want to risk anyone getting hurt.
And besides, you were itching for some action.
You crept into the warehouse, looking around. It was dark, save for a few scattered, dim lights here and there. Crates were stacked high, and there was a faint smell of sea water and mold in the air.
You held your hand out, a small ball of light forming in your palm to illuminate your surroundings.
There was nothing. No sounds, no people. You were about to leave, when something shifted behind you. You spun around and raised your other hand, ready to fire a blast.
You froze when you saw who it was.
Standing there, just a few feet away from you, was Nightfall. He was wearing his dark suit, his hands in his pockets.
"Great, it's you," you dryly said.
The corner of his lips quirked upwards. "Good to see you too, Prism. How's the arm?"
"What do you want?" you snapped. "And don't play coy, I know you're the one who tipped me off."
He hummed and took a step closer. "I'll admit, I wasn't sure if you'd come. I figured you'd be smarter than that. Do you blindly obey every anonymous tip you get?"
"No. But I wasn't just gonna ignore it and hope no one gets hurt. What the fuck do you want, Nightfall?"
He took another step forward. You tensed, feeling a little more nervous. His powers were the only thing that could counter yours. And in a place this dark, he was practically at his best.
"I'm simply trying to have a little chat with you. I'm concerned."
You raised an eyebrow. "You barely know me. Why the hell would you be concerned?"
He chuckled and crossed his arms. "Is that what you think? That I don't know you?"
You frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I know more than you think I do, [Name]."
You took a step back, raising both your hands, ready to fire. "Okay, what the fuck—how the hell do you know my real name?"
"I know a lot of things. I know you spend long nights alone in your apartment, staring at the wall and wondering if anyone actually cares about you. I know you've been skipping meals, not getting enough sleep. I know you've been having migraines so bad you can't even open your eyes without feeling nauseous."
Your breath hitched as he stepped closer.
"Your "best friend" is your coworker, Whirlwind—also known as Ivy Floris. Did you know she talks badly about you behind your back?" He circled you like a vulture. "Your birthday is in two weeks. No one will do anything for you. You'd be lucky if anyone even remembered, including your mentor and supposed best friend."
You didn't want to admit it, but he was right. It was like he'd been watching you. And it scared you. It scared you more than any fight you'd been in before.
"Stop," you whispered.
But he didn't. In fact, he began speaking with even more conviction. "Your favorite color is [favorite color], your favorite animal is [favorite animal], and your favorite food is [favorite food]. You love [favorite hobby], but you don't have time for it because your job keeps you too busy—"
"Shut up!" you yelled, firing a blast.
Nightfall sighed and waved a hand, the blast absorbed into the darkness. "You're so worked up. It's sad, really. All you want is to be loved. Taken care of. You want someone to tell you it's okay to rest. Or someone to at least acknowledge all your hard work and tell you they're proud of you."
Tears were pricking your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. "I don't need someone telling me that! I don't need anyone to take care of me—I'm a hero! My job is to take care of others!"
He sighed deeply and lifted a gloved hand. Your breath hitched once again as he took off his mask.
Nightfall looked pretty average—short auburn hair, gray eyes, and an aquiline nose. The only thing that seemed striking were the dark circles under his eyes.
He gently tucked his mask into his pocket before holding out his arms to you. "Come on. Come here. It's okay, I promise."
But you couldn't. You were frozen in a mixture of fear and confusion. If he were Smolder, you would've jumped at the opportunity, but the fact of the matter was, this guy is not Smolder. You couldn't pretend otherwise.
"You're insane," you finally said. "I'm leaving."
You turned away and stormed off, but stopped in your tracks when the shadows shifted in front of you, creating a black wall.
"You're not leaving, kiddo," he said softly.
"Don't call me that!" You turned around and fired another blast, your eyes burning. You felt so tired, so drained. And the attack barely left your hand before it was swallowed up.
Nightfall looked you over with a sad expression, before sighing. "You're not gonna make this easy, are you? Stubborn little thing."
"Fuck off!"
His eyes turned darker. "Watch your mouth. I'm trying to help you."
You almost choked on a laugh. "Help me? You're a villain, how the fuck are you helping me?!"
"I'm giving you an out. I'm giving you a life where you don't have to put yourself in danger. Where you don't have to hurt yourself to help others." He gestured towards you, his expression softening once more. "I can give you the life you want, honey. You don't have to be a hero anymore. You can just... be a kid."
It almost sounded like a good offer. The thought of not having to be responsible for everyone's lives, not having to use your powers... it was tempting. But you couldn't do it. You couldn't give up being a hero. It was all you'd ever wanted.
"No," you said firmly. "I'm not going with you."
He shrugged, a small smile on his face. "I had a feeling you'd say that."
And then, the floor opened up beneath you, and you screamed as you fell through the darkness.
...
When you woke up, you were in a bed.
You jolted up and looked around, panic rising as you realized you weren't in your room.
The room was large yet cozy, the walls painted a light shade of your favorite color. A large window was to your left, sunlight streaming in. You were in a soft bed, with a dark blue blanket draped over you. There was a white dresser in the corner, and a door that led to the bathroom. It looked like a room for a teenager, but it definitely wasn't yours.
What the fuck happened?
You pushed the blankets off and swung your legs off the bed, standing up. You felt a little dizzy, but not too bad. You glanced down and saw you were wearing a white t-shirt and black pajama pants.
You quickly stumbled to the door and tried to open it, only to find it was locked. You rushed to the window and tried to pull it open, but it was also locked. You lifted your hand to form a blast of energy, only for nothing to come out.
You stared at your hand in horror. No. No, no, no—
The door unlocked, and you spun around. Nightfall walked in, wearing casual clothes and a soft smile. You almost forgot this was Nightfall, so used to seeing him in his mask.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," he said. "How are you feeling?"
"What did you do to me?!" you yelled, your voice shaking. "What did you do to my powers?!"
He held up his hands in a placating manner. "Calm down, [Name]. I didn't take them away, I promise. But I had to do something to keep you from hurting yourself. Or me." He lifted his hand and made a gesture to his own wrist.
You stared in confusion, then looked down at your wrist. There was a bulky bracelet—almost a cuff—attached to your right wrist. It looked sleek and dark. It was slightly heavy. You supposed it was the adrenaline that prevented you from noticing it immediately.
"This will dampen your powers. It won't completely get rid of them, but it'll prevent you from doing anything too drastic. Like, I don't know, blowing up my house?"
You glared at him, tugging at the cuff. "Take it off."
He shook his head. "No, I don't think I will. At least, not until I can be sure I can trust you."
"Trust me? You're the one who kidnapped me, you son of a bitch!"
"Language."
You sneered and tried to tackle him, only for him to effortlessly restrain you in the shadowy tendrils again.
"Okay, let's try this again," he gently said. "My name is Anton Jurkowski, also known as Nightfall. But you can call me Anton or dad."
You stared at him in disbelief. "Dad? Are you out of your mind?"
He chuckled. "Maybe. But I'm serious, [Name]. I want to take care of you. I want you to be safe. And I can't do that if you're out there fighting villains and hurting yourself."
"I'm a hero, it's my job to fight villains!"
"Well, not anymore. You're retired." He gently patted your head. "And I'll make sure you never have to go back to that life again."
You were so angry, you could barely see straight. This man, this villain, was trying to take away your life's work, your dream, all because he thought he knew better. You wanted to scream, to cry, to lash out. But the damn cuff on your wrist prevented you from doing any real damage.
You took a deep breath and forced yourself to calm down. Lashing out wouldn't help. You needed to be smart about this.
"Okay," you said, trying to sound as reasonable as possible. "I understand you're worried about me. But you can't just keep me here. People will notice I'm missing."
"What if I told you after I brought you to your new home, I detonated a bomb in the warehouse? The place where your suit and its tracker were last?"
You froze. Oh, fuck.
"Don't worry," he assured you. "No one was hurt. And everyone is convinced you died in the explosion."
You felt dizzy, and you suddenly wanted to throw up. "You... you made everyone think I'm dead?"
He nodded. "It was the only way, kiddo. I'm sorry."
You sat back on the bed, trying to process everything. This couldn't be happening. There was no way.
But it was. Anton was standing there, looking at you with such a soft expression, as if he wasn't the reason your life had just been turned upside down.
"Why me?" you quietly asked. "I don't understand..."
The shadows around you unfurled, and he sat beside you on the bed. "It's a little embarrassing to admit, but I've had my eye on you for a while. You were so young when you first debuted, and I couldn't believe the agency was letting a kid become a hero. I became your 'arch-nemesis' so I could keep an eye on you, and make sure you didn't get hurt. But the more I watched, the more I realized just how much you were struggling."
He shook his head, his expression turning angry.
"You're so sweet, and kind, and... the thought of you losing that spark, thanks to the trauma heroes deal with regularly... the thought broke my heart," he confessed.
"And you don't think getting kidnapped and having my death faked isn't traumatic?" you snidely remarked.
He winced and looked away, shame crossing his face. "I'm... aware of the irony. But at least here, you're safe. You don't have to worry about getting hurt, or having to hurt others. You can just... live."
You didn't know what to say to that.
At your silence, he added, "Of course I'm doing this for selfish reasons too, I won't deny that. I always wanted kids of my own, but the villain life isn't exactly conducive to raising them. When I saw you, I just... couldn't let you go. I wanted to keep you safe, to take care of you."
You stared at him, trying to see if he was lying, but you couldn't find any trace of deception. He genuinely believed he was doing the right thing.
You were in shock. You wanted to go home. You wanted your old life back. But as you looked at the man sitting beside you, you realized that wasn't going to happen.
He was going to keep you here, whether you liked it or not.
But you wouldn't give up. If demanding and yelling wouldn't work, maybe genuine pleading would.
You grabbed onto the sleeve of his shirt, making him look back at you. "Please," you whispered. "Please, let me go. I promise, I'll be careful. I won't push myself too hard. Just... don't keep me here."
He looked at you with such pity. It made your heart ache.
"I can't do that, honey. I'm sorry." He gently patted your head. "I know this is a lot to take in. But I promise, I'll make you happy here. You'll see."
You could feel the tears finally falling down your cheeks. "I hate you."
His expression fell a little, but he nodded in acceptance. "I know. But I'll love you enough for the both of us."
...
A day after that, you were allowed to leave your room.
"Your room isn't a prison, it's just a place to sleep," Anton had assured you. "As long as you behave, you can go anywhere in the house, except my office or the basement. Okay?"
He had given you a tour, showing you the living room, kitchen, and the backyard. It was a nice house, you had to admit. It was big and spacious, with lots of natural light and comfortable furniture. It was like something out of a magazine. If you weren't being held captive, you might've actually liked it.
There were no neighbors around for miles. The house was in a remote location, surrounded by trees and hills. You had no idea where you were, and you had no way of finding out. You didn't have a phone, and the cuff on your wrist prevented you from using your powers to even signal for help.
You were stuck.
After the tour, Anton sat you down at the kitchen table and gave you some breakfast. It was simple, just some scrambled eggs and toast, but it was still better than what you usually ate. You had to admit, he could cook.
He sat across from you, sipping his coffee and watching you eat. You tried to ignore him, focusing on your food, but it was hard.
"So, what do you want to do today?" he asked.
You huffed. "What can I even do? I have no phone, can't use my powers, and there's no one for several miles out here."
"There's me," he said, offering a soft smile.
You rolled your eyes and stabbed your eggs with your fork. "Great. My kidnapper is my only source of entertainment."
He chuckled. "I know this is hard for you, but I'm sure we'll figure something out. Maybe we can watch a movie, or play a board game. Or we could go for a walk in the woods."
He sounded so excited, like a dad trying to connect with his estranged child. It would have been almost endearing if the circumstances were different.
You sighed. "Fine. A walk, I guess." At least that'd give you the opportunity to map the area out a bit.
He beamed and stood up. "Great! Let's finish up breakfast and head out."
...
The walk was nice, but it was also frustrating.
Anton kept trying to make small talk, asking you about your favorite movies and music. You gave him short, clipped answers, not in the mood to humor him. He didn't seem offended, though. He just kept talking, telling you about his own interests and hobbies.
"Oh, look at that," he said, pointing to a small stream. "We could go fishing here, if you'd like. Or maybe have a picnic. Would you like that?"
You shrugged, not really paying attention. You were too busy trying to memorize your surroundings, looking for any possible escape routes. But the more you looked, the more hopeless you felt. You were in the middle of nowhere, with no idea where you were or how to get back to civilization.
Anton noticed your distraction and sighed. "You're not even listening to me, are you?"
"No," you bluntly said.
He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "I know you're angry with me, but I'm trying here. The least you could do is meet me halfway."
"Why?" you snapped. "So you can feel better about kidnapping me?"
He frowned. "No. I just... I want to get to know you. I want to bond with you. Please, just give me something to work with here."
Maybe if he gained more trust in you, you could get this stupid bracelet off quicker. Just a little bit of your pride would have to be sacrificed.
You sighed and rubbed your face. "You seem to know me a lot more than I know you. I think I'd rather ask you questions." Your own sentence sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn't believe this guy was stalking you.
He perked up. "Okay. Ask me anything."
"Why did you become a villain?"
He blinked, as if not expecting the question. "Oh. Well... I've always had this power, ever since I was a kid. But when I started using it more, I realized I could do things no one else could. I could help people, but in a way that most wouldn't agree with. I guess I just... like the freedom of being a villain. I don't have to answer to anyone."
That wasn't a bad answer, honestly. You could understand where he was coming from.
"What about you?" he asked. "Why did you become a hero?"
You shrugged. "I have these powers. I owe it to the world to help people with them."
He shook his head. "That's a terrible reason. You shouldn't be putting yourself in danger just because you feel like you have to."
"It's my choice," you argued. "And it's what I want."
He sighed. "Well, it doesn't matter now. You're not a hero anymore."
You gritted your teeth, but didn't respond.
The rest of the walk was mostly silent. You asked him a few more questions, but the conversation was strained. You knew he was trying, but you just couldn't bring yourself to care.
Eventually, he led you back to the house. It was almost sunset, and you were tired from the day. All you wanted was to take a shower and go to sleep.
But Anton had other plans.
"We should celebrate your first day here," he said, as you entered the kitchen. "We could have a nice dinner, maybe watch a movie together."
You sighed. "I'm not really in the mood."
"Nonsense," he said, already going to the fridge. "I'll make us something nice. You go take a shower and relax. I'll call you when it's ready."
You opened your mouth to protest, but he gave you a look that told you he wasn't going to take no for an answer. You grumbled and trudged up the stairs to your room.
After taking a shower and changing into fresh clothes, you laid down on your bed and stared at the ceiling. You felt exhausted, mentally and emotionally. You wanted to go home. You wanted your life back.
But that wasn't going to happen. Not anytime soon.
You closed your eyes and tried to sleep, but you couldn't. Your mind was racing, thinking about everything that had happened and what you were going to do. You were stuck here, with a man who claimed to care about you, but had taken away your freedom.
After what felt like hours, there was a knock on your door.
"Dinner's ready," Anton called out.
You reluctantly got up and opened the door. Anton was standing there, wearing an apron and a bright smile. You rolled your eyes and followed him to the dining room.
The dinner was nothing special, just some spaghetti and garlic bread. But it tasted better than the meals you'd been making for yourself. You ate in silence, not really in the mood for conversation.
Afterwards, he insisted on watching a movie. You sat on the couch, as far away from him as possible, while he put on some cheesy action film.
About halfway through, you felt your eyes getting heavy. You tried to fight it, not wanting to fall asleep around him, but it was no use. You were exhausted.
You didn't even notice when your head fell onto his shoulder, or when he carefully wrapped an arm around you. You were too far gone in your dreams to care.
...
A whole month passed. You and Anton had settled into a routine, as weird as it was. He'd make breakfast, you'd go for a walk or do some chores around the house, have lunch, and then spend the rest of the day however you wanted. Sometimes he'd make dinner, other times you'd have leftovers.
He was always trying to get you to talk to him, to open up. You resisted at first, but eventually, you found yourself actually engaging in conversations with him. It was... nice, in a way. He was easy to talk to, and he seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say.
But you still wanted to go home.
You boredly watched him from the lawn chair outside as he watered the flowers. He was humming to himself, looking completely content. It was so strange seeing how different he was from Nightfall, like two separate people completely.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked, not looking at you.
You blinked, surprised he knew you were watching. "Nothing. Just... how different you are from your villain persona."
He chuckled. "Well, Nightfall is a character, more or less. I have to put on a show, keep up appearances. But this," he gestured to himself, "this is who I really am."
You judgmentally looked him up and down. "A clingy, emotionally unstable old man with bad taste in fashion?"
He shot you a playful glare. "Hey, I'll have you know my fashion sense is impeccable. And I'm not old."
"Not denying the 'clingy, emotionally unstable' part?"
He smiled sheepishly and turned back to his flowers. "Well, I'm not gonna lie to you."
You smirked, but it quickly fell as you thought about the situation you were in. You stared up at the sky, bored once again.
Your boredom was interrupted by the sound of ringing.
Anton took his phone out and cursed under his breath. "Dad's gotta take this, okay? Wanna take over hose duty? Might give you something to do." He lifted the hose as an offering.
Was he really willing to leave you outside? He really trusted you not to run?
You shrugged. "Sure. Go take your stupid call."
He handed you the hose and walked inside, already talking to whoever was on the other line. You could barely hear him from here.
You sighed and started watering the flowers. It was mindless work, but it really was something to do. You looked around the yard, seeing the high fence surrounding the property. Even if you wanted to make a break for it, you wouldn't get very far.
You stopped watering and went to the fence, peering through the slats. Nothing but trees for miles. You were truly isolated out here.
But maybe if you just could get this stupid cuff off of you...
You looked around. Maybe there'd be something outside to break it with. You weren't really sure what would work. The cuff seemed pretty sturdy. But you had to try something.
You quietly made your way around the yard, checking every nook and cranny. There was nothing that seemed useful. Even all the rocks weren't big enough to do any actual damage.
But then you spotted the shed.
It was small, but it might have something inside. You quickly made your way to it, trying the handle. It was unlocked. You quietly opened it and looked inside.
There were tools. Hammers, screwdrivers, wrenches. Maybe you could use one of them to break the cuff. It was worth a shot.
You reached for a hammer, just as the door to the house opened. You quickly shut the shed door and turned around, trying to look as casual as possible.
Anton walked towards you with a frown. "What were you doing?"
"Just, uh, checking out the shed," you said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Wanted to see if there was anything interesting in there."
He raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Really. And what did you find?"
"Nothing, really. Just some tools."
He hummed, not looking convinced. "Well, come on inside. I'll make us some lunch."
You nodded and followed him, trying to hide your disappointment. So close.
...
Another day passed, but all you could think about was the shed.
You wanted to get in there, to find something that could help you get the cuff off. But Anton was always around, always watching you. It was like he knew what you were planning.
But you had to try. You couldn't just sit here and accept your fate.
That night, after Anton had gone to bed, you quietly snuck out of your room and made your way downstairs.
You crept to the back door, slowly opening it. You winced at the slight creak it made, but continued on. You quickly made your way to the shed, praying he didn't have cameras out here.
The crickets were chirping loudly. You hoped it'd cover up the noise you were about to make.
As you made your way to the shed, your face fell when you saw the door had a lock on it that had definitely not been there before.
Of course he would've locked it. He wasn't an idiot.
The bastard had noticed, smiled at you over lunch, and then quietly changed things the second your back was turned.
You tried to remember what hero training had taught you.
Observe and assess the situation before acting.
You circled around the shed, looking for any weak spots or windows.
There was a broken window on the side, but it was too high for you to reach, barely large enough to crawl through. You looked around for something to stand on. There was the small table by the lawn chairs. You quietly dragged it over.
Once it was in position, you climbed on top of it and reached for the window. You winced as the broken glass cut your hand, but you muffled a cry by biting your tongue.
You carefully pulled yourself through, trying not to cut yourself further. You ended up tumbling into the shed, hitting the floor with a thud. You groaned and sat up, checking yourself for injuries. Your whole arm was already beginning to bleed, but nowhere else had taken any damage. It hurt, but you had faced much worse before.
You stood up and looked around. It was dark, but you could make out some shapes. You made your way to the workbench and fumbled around, looking for anything that could help.
You found a heavy wrench and gripped it tightly. This could work.
You placed your wrist on the workbench. You took a deep breath, then brought the wrench down on the cuff as hard as you could.
The sound of metal on metal was deafening in the silence. You cringed and hit it again, and again, each time wincing at the noise.
Come on, come on...
On the fifth hit, the cuff finally cracked. You let out a sigh of relief and hit it one more time, the cuff falling off your wrist.
You quickly stood up and threw the wrench aside, feeling a surge of power run through you. You hadn't realized how much you missed it until it was gone.
There was no more time to waste. You blasted a hole through the wall. Normally your powers were dimmed at nighttime or in darker spaces, but it was as if not using your powers for such a long period of time had strengthened them.
You climbed through the newly-made hole and ran. You didn't know where you were going, but you knew you had to get away from here.
Noise was the last concern of yours now. You blasted another hole through the fence, running through it. The trees were dark and intimidating, but you didn't care. You just had to get away.
As you were running, you heard a distant shout. Anton had woken up. You pushed yourself harder, ignoring the burning in your lungs. You couldn't let him catch you. You wouldn't go back.
You didn't dare stop, but slowed only slightly to look up. There were no planes as far as you could see. No convenient heroes flying overhead.
Your legs were sore, your body aching. You'd forgotten how hard it was to run this much, especially in bare feet.
Looking up while running was apparently a horrible idea, because you tumbled down a hill, rolling in dirt and leaves. You grunted as you hit the bottom, your vision spinning.
You stood back up and blinked the dizziness away. You were deep in the foliage. There was a nearby shallow creek and several trees scattered around.
On top of everything, you were pretty sure you sprained your ankle. You leaned against a nearby tree to regain your breath.
"[NAME]!"
Anton's voice was still fairly far away, but you knew you had no time to spare. As soon as he sees you, all it'd take is one snap of his fingers and his shadows could easily bind you.
You wanted to flash your light at the sky to get anyone's attention, but you feared that'd just give your spot up to Anton even quicker.
The only other thing you could do was hide.
You stumbled behind the largest tree and crouched down, trying to calm your breathing. You heard Anton get closer, calling your name. You covered your mouth in a desperate attempt to muffle your heavy breaths.
"Do you know how much this is hurting me?" Anton sneered. You'd never heard him sound so angry, even when he was fronting as Nightfall. "I'm just trying to protect you! To keep you safe! And this is how you repay me?!"
You could hear his footsteps crunching on the leaves. You squeezed your eyes shut.
"Did you want to play hero again? Is that what this is?" He laughed, but it was humorless. "You're not a hero anymore! You're just a brat who doesn't know what's good for them!"
The sound of leaves crunching began getting unsettlingly close.
"They've already replaced you," he darkly continued. "Smolder's already got himself a new favorite protégé. Your 'best friend' did an interview and didn't even shed a tear for you. I bet they were less impacted than I am right now, just at the thought of you injured! And you still want to go back to them?!"
You could hear his footsteps stopping, just a few feet away from your hiding spot.
In a rage, he used his shadowy tendrils to grab a nearby tree, hauling it out of the ground. It crashed to the ground, echoing loudly in the forest.
For a moment, he was rooted in place, panting. He exhaled shakily and ran a hand through his dark hair. "I'm not mad at you, baby. I'm just... I'm hurt. I'm hurt that you don't see how much I care about you. How much I love you."
You could hear his voice cracking. He was seriously crying.
"If you come out now, we'll just go home and talk. That's all. No punishment, no yelling. And you're hurt, aren't you? We'll take care of that, too. I'll try my hardest not to freak out. Wouldn't you like that?" He took a deep breath. "I love you. And no matter what, I'll always love you. But you're scaring me right now, [Name]. Please come out."
He went silent. He was waiting for you.
But you couldn't. You couldn't let him find you.
After a few moments, he sighed.
You thought that was it, that maybe he'd walk away.
"Alright, fine. Hard way it is, then."
You felt tendrils of darkness quickly creeping around the tree, grabbing you before you could even run. You gasped as they pulled you out of your hiding spot.
Anton stood there with a grim expression on his face. He was sweaty and disheveled, his clothes dirty. But his eyes were what scared you the most. They were dark and cold.
You lifted a hand at him and let a burst of light escape, hoping to get him away. It hit him directly in the chest, and he stumbled back with a grunt.
The tendrils around you dropped you, and you used the opportunity to run.
You could hear him behind you, yelling your name. You pushed yourself harder, ignoring the pain in your ankle and the exhaustion in your body.
But you were too slow.
You felt the shadows wrap around you again, this time tighter. They pulled you back, and you fell to the ground. You struggled against them, trying to break free, but it was no use.
Anton stood over you, breathing heavily. He had a hand over his chest, where you had hit him. You could see the burn mark on his shirt. You felt a sliver of satisfaction at that, but it quickly faded when you saw the look on his face.
He was angry. No, not just angry. He was furious.
"[Name] Jurkowski, you are in so much trouble," he hissed.
You didn't even have time to express distaste at the shared surname before the shadows dragged you back to the house. You noticed he was still careful not to hurt you, even though he was clearly pissed.
When you got back, he slammed the back door shut and threw you onto the couch. He stood over you, his eyes blazing.
"Stay there," he ordered.
You wanted to fight, to run, but a shadow kept you tethered in place. You could fight it, but you didn't think it'd be worth the risk right now.
Anton disappeared for a few minutes, coming back with a first-aid kit. He roughly grabbed your arm and started cleaning the cuts you had gotten from the window. It stung, but you didn't show it.
You refused to look at him, staring at the wall instead. You were angry, but you were also scared. You had never seen him like this before.
Once he was done, he wrapped your arm in bandages and moved on to your ankle. It was swollen and bruised. He gently touched it, making you wince.
"You sprained it," he said coldly.
You didn't respond. You just wanted this to be over.
He wrapped your ankle and stood up, crossing his arms. "Now. What am I going to do with you?"
You finally looked at him with a glare. "Let me go."
He laughed, but it was bitter. "Oh, no. That's not happening. You've proven that I can't trust you." A shadow slithered across the wall and came back with a cuff like the last one, but it looked almost twice as bulky. You stared at it with wide eyes. "This," he said, holding it up, "is one of the prototypes. Less comfortable, but just as effective."
You tried to scoot away, but the shadow kept you in place. "You can't be serious."
"Oh, I am. You brought this on yourself." He sat down beside you and roughly grabbed your uninjured wrist, locking the cuff around your wrist.
It was just as heavy as it looked.
"There," Anton said, his voice still cold. "Now you can't go around hurting yourself or others."
You slumped in defeat. You were back to square one. No, worse than square one. Now he was mad at you. And you had no idea what he was going to do.
He sighed and rubbed his face. "Why did you run?"
"Because I want to go home!" you yelled. "I want my life back!"
Anton gave you a glare, then grabbed the remote to the TV.
Almost immediately, you were met with the news.
"Tonight we have a special segment on the new hero that's been making waves," the news anchor said, and your heart sank when you saw Smolder.
He looked different than when you saw him last. He was wearing a new suit, and he had a cocky grin on his face. He looked like he was having the time of his life.
But it was someone else that was next to him. A younger kid with bright blonde hair and a flashy suit. They looked excited to be standing next to their new mentor.
"Smolder," the reporter said, "how does it feel to have a new sidekick so soon after losing Prism?"
"Prism was never my sidekick, just a student," Smolder quickly corrected. "And of course we will all miss Prism, but we're heroes. Loss is simply... part of the job."
The reporter nodded. "And what about the rumors that you were planning on retiring Prism before their unfortunate demise?"
Smolder waved it off. "Those are just rumors. And who cares about that now? We have a new hero to focus on!" He placed his hand on the kid's shoulder. "This is the future. Don't worry about the past."
You felt like you were going to be sick. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Anton wasn't lying. Smolder, the man you had trusted, was just... moving on. Like you meant nothing to him. And you knew that kid was going to be pushed to their limits, forced to grow up too fast, just like you were.
And Ivy... did she really not care that you were gone? Was the friendship you thought you had just a lie?
Anton turned off the TV, making you look at him. He was no longer angry, but he looked tired and sad.
"See?" he said softly. "They don't care about you like I do. They never did. You were just a tool to them."
You wanted to argue, to defend them. But how could you? The evidence was right there. They had moved on, just like he said they would.
"I don't care if they've moved on," you said, but your wavering voice said otherwise. "I don't care if they're celebrating my death! I don't care if everyone in the world thinks I'm the easiest person to hate, I still don't want to be here!"
He sighed and shook his head. "You're too stubborn for your own good." He stood up, grabbing a towel and change of clothing with his shadows's assistance. "Here's what's gonna happen, kiddo; you're gonna clean up, put on these change of clothes, and meet me back here. Can I trust you to do that without trying to escape again?"
You looked away and nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.
"Good. And one more thing," he said, making you look back at him. "I love you. And I'm not giving up on you. You're stuck with me, whether you like it or not."
For a moment, you were frozen. You stared at the floor, and he didn't shoo you away. He only stared at you.
You finally shuffled to the bathroom. Your ankle still throbbed, but the pain was much better than before.
You took a quick shower, trying to ignore the sting of the water on your cuts. Once you were done, you changed into the clothes Anton had given you—a simple t-shirt and shorts.
When you came back, Anton was on the couch, waiting with crossed arms.
He didn't need to make any gestures or movements. You stood in front of him, avoiding his gaze.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked quietly.
You blinked back tears and finally looked at him. "I don't know."
"I'm not mad at you," he gently said. "I'm just disappointed. And worried. You could've gotten seriously hurt. What would I have done if you died, [Name]?"
You bit your lip and looked away. "I've been through way worse."
"That's exactly my point. You shouldn't have gone through that in the first place." He gestured to the couch. "C'mere."
You hesitantly sat next to him. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you close. You tensed, but didn't fight him.
"You're safe here," he whispered. "I won't let anyone hurt you. Not even yourself. And I'll do everything I can to make you happy here. But I need you to trust me, okay? Can you do that for me?" He felt you nod against him. "Good. Then you should understand what happens next."
"...what do you mean?" You pulled back with wide eyes.
He sighed and stood up. "Follow me."
Half of you was tempted to run and fight again, but you knew it was useless. You just tiredly followed him to a door that you had always overlooked before, at the end of the hall. Anton took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. You peeked inside, expecting to see a dark room out of a horror movie.
Instead, it was a small room—half the size of your room—with nothing but a mattress, a thin blanket, and a small bathroom attached. The walls and floor were stark white. The only light was from a dim lightbulb in the ceiling.
You turned to Anton with a horrified expression. "You're locking me in here?!"
"It's just a time-out room," he explained. "It breaks my heart to do this too, sweetie, but I can't just let you get away with what you did. I need you to understand that there are consequences to your actions."
You were speechless. You couldn't believe he was doing this.
"Please, don't do this," you begged. "I won't do it again, I promise."
He shushed you softly, guiding you in. "You'll still get three meals a day. I can give you any comfort items, but other than that, you..." He trailed off at the sight of you clutching your chest, breathing hard and sliding down against the wall. "Honey? Hey, hey, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"
You couldn't answer. You were too busy having a panic attack. Everything just hit you at once. You were trapped, your hero life was gone, no one was coming to save you. You were never going to see your friends again.
Anton kneeled down next to you. His expression was almost just as pained as yours. "Oh, baby, don't cry. It's okay, it's gonna be okay."
You shook your head and buried your face in your hands.
He ever-so-gently pried them away from your face. "Come here," he whispered, pulling you into a hug. "You're alright. I've got you. Dad's here."
His words only made you cry harder. You no longer fought as he pulled you into his lap and swayed the both of you gently. He guided your head to the crook of his neck, burying his nose against your hair.
"Just breathe," he whispered. "Dad's got you, kiddo. Just breathe."
You tried to do as he said, focusing on his breathing.
He kissed the side of your head. "There we go, that's it. You're doing such a good job, I'm so proud of you. In for four, hold for four, out for four..." He guided you through the breathing exercise until your chest stopped heaving. He pulled back and wiped your tears away. "Oh, [Name]..."
"Please don't do this," you begged. "Please, Dad. I'll be good. I'll never run away again, I'll never disobey you again..." You desperately leaned into his hand and squeezed your eyes shut. You could already feel another panic attack coming on.
He pursed his lips and exhaled through his nose. He hugged you again, pressing a few more kisses to your hair. "I can't do that, sweetie. I want to, believe me, I do, but I can't. You need to learn."
You shook your head and clutched onto his shirt. "I promise, I promise I'll learn. Please, please, I can't stay in here—"
"Shh, it's alright. Just for a week, okay?"
"Just?!"
"And we'll see from there." He pulled back again, and you were once again met with a sad smile. "I know you hate me right now. But I do love you. And I'll see you in a week." He stood up, and you reached for him, almost instinctually. He took your hand and gave it a squeeze. "You're safe, baby. I'll be right in the house. I'll bring you your meals. Just take this time to think, okay?"
You opened and closed your mouth. "Can... can you at least stay for a few minutes? I—please..." You couldn't believe you were begging to spend time with your kidnapper. You felt pathetic.
He was quick to nod and sit on the mattress, beckoning you to sit beside him.
You sat next to him, your hands trembling. He took them in his and gently rubbed them.
"Would you like me to talk to you?" he asked. "Or would you rather I be quiet?"
You shrugged. "I don't know."
"That's okay. I'll stay as long as you need, okay? I won't leave you like this."
You nodded and leaned against him. He wrapped his arm around you and held you close.
You felt so small. So powerless. You hated it.
But for now, you just wanted to be held.
So you let him.
...
The first day was the worst.
You refused to eat, refused to do anything but sit on the mattress and stare at the wall. Anton tried to coax you into eating, but you ignored him. He sighed and left the food there, saying he'd be back later.
You didn't touch it.
The second day was a little better. You were bored out of your mind, so you actually ate the food. It was cold, but you didn't care.
Anton seemed relieved that you ate. He asked you if you needed anything else, but you just shook your head. He nodded and left.
The third day, you were starting to go stir-crazy. You paced the room, tried to do some exercises, anything to pass the time. It was miserable.
On the fourth day, you finally broke down and asked Anton to bring you something to do. He only sadly shook his head and said this was the point of the time-out. You cursed at him and told him to go away.
On the fifth day, you apologized. He didn't respond—he tried to avoid giving more than one or two words each time he came in—but you could see the pain in his eyes.
You were going crazy in this small white room. So crazy that you missed him so much.
The first few days you tried to deny it. But you couldn't anymore. You missed his hugs and his voice. You missed the way he'd gently pat your head or scratch your back. You missed feeling loved.
What if he hated you after this? Would he stop giving you affection? Would he be distant? Would he let you go?
Wait, shouldn't you have wanted the opposite? Wouldn't it be better if he hated you and let you go?
You didn't know what you wanted anymore. All you knew was that you were miserable.
On the sixth day, you saw the camera. It was placed only to make sure you wouldn't hurt yourself, but there was a small area of space for your privacy's sake.
You didn't take advantage of that small pocket of space. Instead, you pleaded, sobbed, and begged the camera—the man behind it—to just let you out.
Unbeknownst to you, there were several times Anton nearly caved. He'd been watching you all day, noticing how your behavior had slowly changed as the days passed. But he had to be firm, for your own good. It'd all be worth it in the end.
But fuck, he was tempted to break the rules and wrap you up in a blanket and cuddle you to sleep.
On the seventh day, you didn't even move. You laid on the mattress, curled in a fetal position.
You just wanted this to be over. You wanted Anton. You couldn't even think of how humiliating this all was, it didn't even matter to you anymore. You didn't even have it in you to think about your hero days, the days that had felt so long ago. All you could think about was the present and future.
Anton was right. He was the only one in this world who seemed to love you.
If he hadn't known your death was staged, if he had been in Smolder's place, he'd be hysterical in grief. You knew it.
He went through so much just to keep you here. Wasn't that the most ultimate form of love? No one else would do half of what he's done for you.
You didn't even hear the door open. You didn't even realize the mattress had dipped.
"Hi, pumpkin."
You lifted your head and stared for a moment. It took you a moment to process Anton was really there. You quickly sat up and threw yourself into his arms, clinging to him.
He hugged you back tightly. "I'm here. I'm here, it's okay."
You sobbed into his shoulder, muttering apologizes between each cry.
"It's okay, I forgive you. It's over now. I promise."
"Please don't leave me," you begged. "I'll be good, I promise. I won't run away again. I'll do whatever you say. Just don't leave me."
He rubbed your back and kissed your hair. "I won't leave you, ever. You're stuck with me, remember?"
You nodded and held onto him tighter. Your whole body shook with the force of each sob. He rocked you gently, humming a soft tune. You didn't recognize it, but it was soothing.
After a while, your cries subsided to quiet hiccups. Anton pulled back and wiped your tears away.
"I'm so sorry," you whispered. "No more. Please, Dad."
The title wasn't thrown on to manipulate him this time.
You meant it.
He smiled softly and kissed your forehead. "I know. It's all over now. Let's go get you cleaned up, okay? Then we can cuddle on the couch and watch a movie. How does that sound?"
You nodded, still sniffling. "Okay."
You barely paid attention to anything after that. Anton spoke, but you didn't register anything he said. You were too focused on being back in his arms and out of that damn room.
You took a quick shower, brushed your teeth, and changed into fresh clothes. Anton had prepared your favorite snack and drink for the movie.
You sat on the couch, Anton right next to you. He draped a blanket over the both of you and pulled you close. You rested your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It was calm and steady, and it made you feel safe. You felt like you could finally relax.
He kissed the top of your head. "You okay?"
You didn't respond, only burying your head in his side and hugging him like a koala, much to his overjoyment.
Just a week ago, you would've thrown up at the thought of clinging to your kidnapper. Every movie night, you'd sit at the farthest end of the couch away from him. You'd argue, sneer, and throw insults at him.
Now you were snuggled up against him like a scared child. You didn't care anymore. You couldn't find the energy to even pretend to hate him.
He was all you had now. And you needed him.
Maybe you liked the fact he seemed to need you, too.
I tried making this gender neutral but idk if I did it right, please tell me any mistakes i made!
—————————————————-
The royal family has always been held to high standards. how they dress, how they act, everything has to be perfect in the eyes of the public
But a corpse sprayed with perfume is just a corpse nonetheless
Behind the closed doors of the royal chambers, anything was fair game; that was what your mother taught you: nobody is your friend, nobody is your ally. Do what you must to survive.
You never understood why you, being the youngest of 7 siblings, would have to fight to survive. The crown was never yours to take. So you stayed in your room, read books about knights in shining armor and princesses in castles, dreaming that maybe when you inevitably get sold to the highest bidder with the disguise of a political marriage, you could escape and live an adventure of your own
Oh, how foolish you were
you the one that was never seen as a treath and lived a quiet little life in your room, while your siblings, their mothers and allies stabbed eachother in the back.
one after the other the numbers where decreasing, 8 at the start now only one remains
your father very past his prime not able to have more children, so there’s only one heir to the throne.
long live the new ruler Y/N
You were never meant to be the next ruler of this kingdom, with all the responsibilities that came with being the head of the empire also came with a lot of expectation, one particularly was the one that gave you the most headaches
children.
you were expected to have multiple children ideally with different people to make political alliances and join new lands into your territory.
and a couple people were more than eager to bear them.
kalos the knight
Kalos was your friend, Was.
He was a trainee for the royal guard, he was an extraordinary strategist but lacked a lot of physical strength due to an illness he had.
you two met as kids bonding over a book you were reading, he used to pretend to be the knight in your stories and made promises of saving you when the time comes. You never meant to make him join your harem, you only suggested it when you found out that as a consort he would be able to join war meetings and go up the ranks as a knight.
it was a simple plan really, one with not much thinking behind it, he would get to use his brain as a war strategist and you had the excuse of starting a harem with somebody you had no interest in touching you or you touching them.
That was until in one of your personal tea parties kalos came dressed in silky clothing, one that showed his chest and shoulders. He put make -up on that day to accentuate his beautiful eyes and keep playing with your hair and trying to make excuses to touch you, after all you were so very tired of being a ruler and he was so very capable with his hands after all.
you understood too late that his devotion as a knight was not to the crown but to you
Bella the scholar
Bella had once been the apprentice of your father's most trusted advisor. After his passing, she inherited both his position and, much to her dismay, the responsibility of advising you. She often claimed she'd much rather spend her days tending to plants than attending council meetings, yet somehow she always managed to have the answer to every problem placed before the throne.
For a scholar, Bella looked nothing like the stories described. There were no flowing silk gowns or delicate gloves hiding ink-stained fingers. She favored practical tunics and sturdy boots, clothes that could survive crawling through forests or kneeling in muddy garden beds. Her hands were rough, littered with tiny cuts, calluses, and dirt permanently lodged beneath her nail,a testament to countless hours spent cultivating rare herbs and studying botany.
Rumor had it she could outlift half the royal knights, and after watching her haul sacks of soil across the palace gardens without breaking a sweat, you were inclined to believe it. She had little patience for etiquette, even less for nobles who mistook appearance for competence. More than one arrogant lord had learned the hard way that the woman they dismissed as a mere gardener possessed both a sharper mind and a stronger punch than they did.
Bella joined the harem by a dirty trick she pulled on you, the way you spend countless sleepless nights trying to solve problems for your people charmed her heart very quickly. One day while having some tea in her chambers you found that this new brew she prepared was specially sweet.
the next thing you knew was that you were passed out on her bed.
according to her you were just so sleepy and so vulnerable that she just let you sleep on her bed for the night.
After all, if any noble or servant saw their ruler in that state, they would talk and talk and that could harm your reputation.
oh but the implications of spending the night in another’s one chambers was so scandalous!
and thus she became part I of your harem as a “cover up”.
is not like she has been planning for months no, that would be foolish
Midas the foreigner
Midas was the only one that was disgusted to join the harem at first, he was more or less a gift sent by their parents to promote good relationships between lands.
When you two meet he was disgusted by you, not that he found you ugly or unattractive but that the thought of somebody using people for pleasure the same way one would use a new shirt everyday makes him feel inhuman.
he was very surprised when you made the statement of having not intention of touching them. A wave of relief washed over them, but only followed by skepticism, this must be a dirty trick to make them lower their guard, well news flash is not gonna happened.
they didn’t lower their guard for the first two weeks, even when you offer pastries and books about music that he adored so much.
Even when you got him his very own arp to perform in front of a banquet of people, something he's been dreaming of since he was a child. He didn’t lower his guard.
even when he tried so hard to convince himself that the ache in his heart and pant was not because he caught a whiff of your perfume.
when he finally lower his guard, full expecting you to take him, he got offended by you not doing anything.
not offended at YOU exactly. Maybe you were just too shy?
what if he wasn’t beautiful enough?, he was selected for you rather than his sibling, then why. Won’t. You. Take.him
he was breathtaking in any sense of the world
he could be more beautiful, he could be stunning he could be whatever you want him to be
I’m a bit confused yandere fam aren’t being questioned by the police after readers was token to the hospital because in real if the victim commit suicidal police and investigator will be investigate the case
the family would be arrested for the abuse and neglect of the child
To me, they're the same as influential people today that have done a lot of atrocious stuff but people still excuse their actions and be their internet warriors.
You really just have to factor in how influential they really are and their influence to the masses. Considering the fact that they were able to improve the quality of life of the people all around the world on a significant level, most would practically see the yan!fam as their gods. Charles and Priscilla was able to create a way to make mortality rate for people with almost incurable diseases (ie latter stages of cancer, AIDS, Alzheimers and etc) decrease by half of what it was before.
So, you would kind of get the idea that they've helped millions, if not billions of the people all around the world.
People already have some sort of image of them as kind people who could not hurt a single soul. And as much as the media is always on their ass 24/7, they always chalked your presence as a disgrace.
Even if they haven't personally met them yet, they already respect every single person in the family. They always tried to find excuses to their horrible behavior towards you because, why on earth would the same people that have saved so many people would be that abusive to their own child?
They're literally uncancellable celebs that aren't celebs lol.
reader who has stockholm syndrome for yan yuta? (,,>﹏<,,)
hi anon!! thank you for the request :3 i know this is short but if you have any other yan/captor yuuta thoughts please send them my way... i'm sorry if this turned out fluffier than expected >///<
word count: 400ish
-content warning: kidnapping, (very early) stockholm syndrome
“Yuuta?”
Your voice was quiet and creaky, barely a whisper. If it had been anyone else, you would have gone unanswered. Yet, Yuuta still heard your voice in his haze of sleep. Honestly, a single word from you could probably revive him from death.
“My love?” He turned over in bed, searching for you in darkness. He sat up and reached for the lamp.
“Don’t.” He could barely make out your trembling silhouette at the door. “Don’t turn the light on.”
“Okay.” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to get a better look at you. “What’s wrong?”
The bed dipped from your weight and he quickly made room for you. Yuuta could see your face now in the moonlight that trickled in from the window, could see the tear stains streaking your puffy cheeks. He resisted the urge to spring out of bed and make whatever made you cry regret it. That could wait, given how willingly you made yourself comfortable in his bed when only a few weeks ago you spit at him whenever he tried to touch you.
“I had a bad dream.” You murmured, not quite looking at him.
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
“No…” you sniffled. “I just… missed you.”
You choked on the last part, fingers crumpling into his sleep shirt. Yuuta tutted, wiping the fresh tears as they spilled from your eyes. You finally met his gaze with scared eyes, but they were different than usual. They were no longer scared of him.
“I… I had a dream that you…” you could barely say the words as they competed with your sobs. “That you didn’t come home.”
His heart throbbed and he took you into his arms. “Oh, baby…”
“I was afraid.” You buried your face into his chest as he rubbed your back in soothing circles. “And when I woke up I was alone in my room and… and so I came in here to… to make sure you were still here.”
“My love.” Yuuta gently grabbed your face to have you look at him again. “I will always be here. I will always come back home to you.”
He saw your lips curve into the semblance of a smile. He guided your face into the crook of his shoulder to let you cry, and to save you from seeing the sick grin that he couldn’t possibly suppress or hide.
“Even if I have to crawl my way out of hell, I will come home to you. I swear.”
Finally a quiet night in. Your daughter is asleep in bed, you finally have a chance to read your book, and Leon is home next to you.
"Mama."
You look up from your book to see your daughter standing in the doorway of your bedroom, plushie tucked under her arm with her blanket held in the other.
"What is it, baby?" You say softly, closing your book and placing it on your nightstand.
"Can I sleep in here with you and daddy tonight?"
"Baby, we talked about this. You need to at least try to spend the night in your own room."
"You're getting bigger, you can't sleep in our room forever." Leon says.
"But... But.... Daddy is a grownup, and he clings to you every night!" Your daughter exclaims, stomping her foot.
Leon lifts his head from your chest, his arms still weapped around you, "No I don't."
-
I'm in the middle of watching return to silent hill, and it's so bad why are video game adaptations almost never good. This isn't proof read because I'm having a terrible time right now.
What do you know about fae? 👀 perhaps one that wants to keep reader all to themselves?
Yandere fae x oblivious reader
honestly not a lot but I've read a bit of fae stuff so hopefully i got everything right and stuff 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯...
You don’t really know why you started your daily walks. Well, maybe you do it was supposed to be for your health. At first, you didn’t think it worked, but once you realized it actually made you happy, you started planning different routes.
It got boring, seeing the same things all the time, anyway, and wandering around places you've never seen before made it fun.
That’s how you ended up here, standing before a seemingly abandoned forest. The only other thing in sight was a sign that urged you to stay on the path if you valued your life…that you did.
The forest itself was breathtaking there were so many flowers, wild berry bushes, and plants just off the path. Still you were one to follow rules.
Yet, the deeper you went, the taller and lusher the trees became, and you kinda felt like you were shrinking or something.
Soft laughter could be heard just a little ahead. Without realizing it, you quickened your pace through the trees. Time seemed to blur the farther you went, and you couldn’t quite remember how long you’d been walking, only that you couldn’t turn back now.
That’s when you saw it, a clearing like something out of a movie and in its center, someone just as if not more beautiful. They looked…well, you kinda couldn't tell, but they were stunning, their gaze caught yours, and they smiled.
“Come join me, honey,” they called, voice as sweet as their word choice. “It’s so lonely here, you know?”
You hesitated, hands fiddling nervously at your side. “Ah, I thought we weren’t supposed to go off the path? Won’t you get in trouble?”
They smirked fondly. “How sweet, worrying about me. But who would catch us? There’s no one here but you and me, and I’d never tattle.”
You stepped into the clearing, the long grass curling around your legs. “Were you here for a walk too?”
They shook their head, “Oh, no. I came here to find something. I thought this might be an easy way.” They patted the moss beside them. “Are you hungry, dear?”
You hesitated. “Oh, I don’t want to be rude…”
“Rude? Honey, I’d find it rude if you didn’t take my offer.” They pulled out something you didn't quite recognize and pressed it into your hand. "It's quite good, you know"
“T-thank you,” you didn't notice the way their smile sharpened, but they were so kind, and your head felt a little dizzy.
“And what did you say your name was, honey?”
“Reader?”
That earns you a soft pat on the head. Normally, this might be a little condescending, but with them, it felt different.
And as you eat the food they offered to you, you start to feel more and more tired, like you couldn't keep your head up. Slowly, they guided your head into their lap, it was like a pillow.
“Are you comfortable?" they giggle, "just let yourself relax." They run their fingers softly along your forehead. "That’s it, I'll keep you safe with me. Just listen to my voice, let it settle deep in that small head of yours. No need to think, just let the worries slip away.”
You muster up a nod as the world around you spins. “Thank you,” you mumble again.
They hummed, delighted. “So polite. You’ve given me your name, your thanks, your trust. You really are a treasure- well, my treasure, now.”
They pull you into their lap. “Just rest. I’ll take care of everything. All you have to do is listen, and you’ve been doing so well, haven’t you?" They placed a soft kiss on the top of your head
"Let your thoughts drift away. Let your eyes grow heavy. You have nothing to worry about, because you’re mine now, and I take very good care of what’s mine.”
You blinked your eyes slowly before fully closing them.
Gah, your head felt so weird…please, you just wanted them to keep petting you, it felt so good. like a puppy cuddling in their owner’s lap, is that who this was? You can't really remember all that well, but it must have been true.
(warnings: yandere(?), mei mei being weird, gojo fantasizes about killing her TT, dubcon but not rlly)
Satoru knew she shouldn’t have invited you.
Not because of you. There is nothing wrong with you. She’s so happy you made it to her birthday party, no matter how nonchalant she acts. There isn’t anything wrong with her either, at least, not anymore. These days, she’s gotten good at hiding the lump in her throat every time she sees you. She can ignore the jolt in her heart every time she hears your laugh. She can catch herself from staring at you like she’s in–
So, no, Satoru shouldn’t have invited you because of you. Satoru shouldn’t have invited you because she knew you would bring Mei Mei.
“You’re glaring, again.” Suguru comments.
Satoru works her jaw, but she can't seem to rip her gaze off you two. You were giggling at something Mei said that could not possibly be that funny. Mei's hand had not left your hip since the beginning of the evening.
“I’m not,” Satoru says.
“You’re glowering, actually.” Shoko corrects and Satoru’s pretty sure she’s only here for the free booze. Shoko could hardly care about the expensive restaurant Satoru rented out for the night or anything else she set up. She came to drink and judge.
“I’m not,” Satoru hisses, but even she can hear the venom in her tone. It’s thick, the kind that sticks to the top of her mouth. She clicks her tongue, like she’s trying to roll back the poison.
“I just don’t get what’s so great about her.” She starts as you laugh at yet another joke Mei made. If she’s so funny, she should consider a career in comedy.
“Can you stop thirsting over my enemy’s boobs, please?” Satoru tried not to look down at her nearly non-existent pair.
They weren’t even that big, anyway. Mei probably padded them. Or they were fake. Besides, Satoru was sure you didn’t care about looks or how big her tits were. You go for personality. Satoru has a great personality.
“What are you talking about? Your personality is shit,” Suguru tells her.
“So is Mei’s.” Satoru argues.
“Somehow, she’s slightly less arrogant than you are.” Shoko takes a sip of her drink. “You two would make a perfect couple, honestly.”
Satoru wrinkles her nose. “Eugh, don’t even joke about that. I’m pretty sure she’s like…a distant cousin, or something.”
Maybe a family friend, she isn’t sure. She’s known Mei Mei since she was a kid. Her family was on the outskirts of the Gojo’s for as long as she can remember. She used to call those types of people leeches, the kind that try to mooch off of her family and wealth and status, eager for a morsel of what she is.
“If you hate her so much, then why did you invite her?” Suguru asks.
“I didn’t.” Satoru groans.
She invited you and then you invited your girlfriend because, of course you did. It’s not like Satoru could say no, either. Technically she knew Mei longer than she knew you. It’d be weird if she invited her acquaintance’s girlfriend and not the acquaintance.
“I’m just saying I could be…” Toru trails off.
“Better?” Suguru finishes her sentence.
Satoru gives a helpless shrug, but yeah, she did think she was better than Mei. She’d never ask directly, but she’s heard rumors of your relationship. Apparently Mei insisted on you paying, even though she came from old money herself. Satoru also heard that Mei forced you into an open relationship where she gets to go out on weekends while you have to stay home alone.
If you’d chosen her, Satoru would never dare make you take out your wallet. She would never leave you alone at night. Satoru may have been a pretty shit girlfriend in her previous relationships, but she knows with you she’d be different. Being with you would change her. You’d make her softer and less guarded. You might even convince her to get the therapy she and the rest of the Gojo family line desperately needed. You’d fix whatever was wrong with her. She knows it.
If only you’d chosen her.
Shoko steps on her foot. Satoru hisses.
“Your ‘one and only’ is headed our way,” Shoko tells her.
Sure enough, you’d slipped out of Mei’s grasp, walking up to them with a large smile on your lips. When your eyes meet hers, you give an excited wave. Satoru returns it.
Satoru tries not to fix her hair. She looks amazing. She always looks amazing. People have told her she looks like a model when she’s practically rolled out of bed. Hell, agencies have practically begged her to model for them. She gets confession letters from strangers every week. She always looks effortlessly amazing. You just have a bad habit of making her want to double check.
“Don’t say that.” Satoru mumbles as her eyes cling to your form. “You act like I’m obsessed or something.”
“You are, though.” Suguru reminds her. “To the point where you ignore every red flag waving in your face.”
Satoru fights the urge to grimace. You have no red flags. You’re just caught in a really bad relationship right now. Before she can defend you, you’ve reached their table.
You greet Shoko and Suguru first. They return your hug just as enthusiastically. Your eyes glimmer when you turn to Satoru. She feels a lump form in the back of her throat.
“There’s our birthday girl! Toru!” You cheer, swathing Satoru in the tightest hug. She gets a whiff of your perfume. It’s something light but expensive. She memorizes the scent, breathing you in. She hopes you can’t hear the thudding of her heartbeat. It’s loud in her ears. Almost painful. Being around you is painful.
“Hey.” Satoru says, returning your hug. “I’m really glad you made it.”
You lean back, meeting her eyes. Your eyes crinkle in warm affection. The music switches to something a little more upbeat on the dance floor.
“Of course, Toru.” You tell her. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Satoru’s stomach flip flops and she tries not to think too much about your words.
“So.” You lean on her table, tilting your head in her direction. “What’s it like finally being 21?”
You reach into your bag, grabbing your over priced lip oil that might be cherry or strawberry flavored. She’s always wanted to know, but she can’t bring herself to ask. Instead, she watches as you smear it all over your lips. It’s not even meant to be seductive. You just have that effect on her, sometimes–all the time.
She glances over at her watered down drink. She hates alcohol. She’s stuck to soda all night.
“Drinking legally isn’t as fun.”
To be honest, she only says that to hear your sweet laugh. It works. You sound like bells in the wind or whatever romantics are supposed to think when they’re in love. She's not the best with words. You sound beautiful. She loves your laugh.
“That’s what everyone says.” You tell her like you’re decades apart and not just a couple years older than her.
You act like a mother sometimes. A part of her hates it when you do that. She wishes you could see her as the woman she is instead of the stupid pudgy kid you met all those years ago. She wishes you wouldn’t be as coddling or borderline-condescending with your voice and tone.
Another part of her wonders how you’d react if she called you mommy.
“Girls.” On cue, your voice is low and strict. Satoru squeezes her thighs together.
You look at the three disapprovingly.
“Why are we sitting here instead of the dance floor? Up up up! Let’s go dance!” You urge.
Shoko shrugs and gets to her feet. Suguru follows, but Satoru knows she’s only going to piss her off. As if to prove that, Suguru lingers by your side, like she’s trying to get a whiff of your perfume. She gives Satoru a smug look. Satoru tries not to react.
As much as she wants to grind on you, Satoru doesn’t move as you drag her friends to the dance floor. Shoko downs the last of her drink. Suguru carries her cup with her.
“I’ll be there in a bit.” Satoru gestures to her drink. “Lemme finish up.”
You wave her off as you continue tugging on her friends. You had your nails done—a light pastel pink. It’s her favorite color. She loves pink. It looks incredible on you.
Your dress is short, ending just below your thigh. If you bent over, she would probably see your ass. The dress hugs your curves so nicely. It’s a shade of blue. Her shade of blue.
It means nothing. She knows nothing you did tonight meant anything. Your words, your voice, your clothes were all just coincidences she was seeing because she was an idiot who was head over heels in love with someone she couldn’t have.
Suguru was right. She was obsessed with you. She thought about you every day. Sometimes she even dreams about you and your smile and she swears she wants to keep her dreams family-friendly but she can’t help fantasizing about you in even less clothes.
She can’t help but wonder how you’d sound in bed. What sort of noises would you make? Are you loud or are you quiet? She really hoped you were the latter. She really hoped you played hard to get, the type who’d have to make her work for your moans and whimpers. She wanted to earn pleasure from you.
This isn’t healthy. She’s not delusional enough to think it is. Her friends are right. She needs to move on, find someone else. Clearly, you’re happy with Mei, you won’t be leaving her anytime soon. She lost hope in that a long time ago. No matter how many times you two broke up and spent time apart, you always ended up finding each other. From the outside, it’s borderline painful to watch.
It would be nice to have a bit of closure, though. Maybe she should tell you about her feelings so she can completely move on? Then she could cut contact and never think about you again.
It would be nice to have closure. A drop. Barely a crumb.
“Drooling over my girlfriend while I’m right here? That’s bold of you.”
Immediately, Satoru wipes her mouth. Shit, she was drooling.
She doesn’t turn in Mei’s direction. She already knows her face would be smug and detestable and punchable.
“I was just thinking.”
Mei hums, sliding into Shoko’s seat despite being uninvited. Satoru’s forced to sit in an uncomfortable silence for eons. After a while, she starts to squirm off her seat, eager to join you and her friends. You three seemed to be having way more fun than she was on her birthday. Shoko’s already drunk and laughing, tripping in her heels as you try to hold her up. You’re laughing too. You’re so pretty underneath the lights. The shade of the dress really brings out your eyes.
“I’m surprised you’re still carrying a torch. Thought you would’ve given up by now.”
She knows she should walk away, Mei is always looking to antagonize. Still, she keeps herself planted in her seat.
“Maybe I’m just waiting for your girlfriend to realize how shitty you are and finally dump you.”
Mei nods along, barely reacting to the bait. It makes Satoru even angrier. She can never get this woman to go lower. It’s aggravating that she always appears to take the ‘high road’ even when they both know that’s not true.
“That might not happen for a while.” She muses. “We’re more alike than you think.” She sends Satoru a coy smile through pointed lips, like she is laughing at a joke and Satoru’s the punchline.
Satoru averts her gaze.
“Why do you care about me anyway?” She prods. “Afraid I’ll steal your girl right under your nose?”
That’d probably never happen, not when Toru can see with her own eyes how much you adore Mei and treat her like a little sister. At this point, she’s saying words for the hell of it.
Mei laughs. It makes Satoru bristle.
“Steal? You’re a funny one.” Mei assures before contemplating something a bit more.
“Hm, maybe for the night. For a hefty sum, of course.”
It took Satoru a minute to understand what Mei insinuated.
Satoru’s face screws up in disgust.
“Don’t fucking joke about pimping out your girlfriend.” Satoru hisses as she swallows down the lurch of excitement. She squashes it down, pretending disgust was the only thing she felt at Mei’s words.
She laughs again.
“I wouldn’t exactly call it that,” she corrects.
“It’s something a bit tamer.”
“I’m leaving,” Satoru says.
She doesn’t move from her seat, as much as she knows she should. She should run and forget about Mei and how creepy she is. She should go to you and tell you how gross your girlfriend is.
Satoru doesn’t.
“I’m sure you always wished for closure as you pinned away,” Mei wonders, “wouldn’t it be nice to finally get that closure? For just one night?”
What she’s proposing isn’t closure. Closure is something Satoru gets herself. That was the only right answer.
Satoru opens her mouth. Nothing comes out.
Her gaze drifts over to where you were— smiling and happy. You look beautiful tonight. She never got the chance to tell you.
“Anything has a price, if you’re desperate enough,” Mei says.
Satoru’s eyes cling to your hips and the way you sway to the music. Her throat feels dry. She can feel her heart right in her mouth. She shouldn’t, she really shouldn’t.
“How much?” She finally brings herself to ask.
~
Even now, Satoru knows she could walk away.
Sitting here in Mei’s penthouse, twiddling her thumbs as she waits. The home the two of you shared was nice. Clearly, you decorated most of the living room. The glass coffee table held a tiny porcelain elephant. Soft washes of pastels filled the surrounding paintings. She could sniff out the lingering scent of linen in the air. She can’t imagine Mei doing a chore so domestic like laundry. The trace of you is everywhere. It makes her dizzy.
It’s so…couple-eque. Double. Complete. Every detail screams that she does not belong.
She could walk away. She should walk away. She still can.
Yet, she waits until Mei Mei comes back with a coy smile. Toru tries not to jump up when Mei points to the room sitting innocently behind her.
“All yours.” She trills sweetly.
Toru watches with a rabbit heartbeat as Mei starts putting on her jacket.
“Where are you going?” She calls.
“Giving the two of you some alone time.” Mei responds. “So you can go all out. No need to feel shy.”
Toru’s about to bristle, argue she isn’t shy, or maybe she’s about to leave herself. She doesn’t know what she’s about to do, because Mei’s already gone and the apartment is quiet all over again.
She could still walk away.
That’s what Toru repeats to herself over and over again as she slowly makes her way to the bedroom. She hasn’t gone too far, yet. She could turn back, forget about whatever she was about to do. Everything would be fine if she turned back right now.
Her hands shake as she turns the golden knob.
Satoru’s heart drops into her stomach the moment she sees you.
You’re gorgeous, as you always are. In public, you never show that much skin, leaving everything up to the imagination. In your private sanctuary, she can see every curve and roll of soft skin she fantasized about for years. The frilly babydoll you wear perfectly accentuates your tits. Your thighs are open and casually laid out, giving her a hint of lacy blue panties–her color. You’re splayed out on your velvety soft bed, ripe for the taking.
It’d be perfect, if not for one thing.
You were blindfolded.
“Where did you go off to?” You ask in a tone Toru’d never heard before, blindly reaching for her.
You thought she was Mei–your girlfriend.
Satoru wondered how Mei convinced you into playing along. Toru hadn’t realized Mei just hadn’t. That was just like her to take the easier option in the name of profit. Like she has this entire night, Satoru curses out Mei’s name.
She could still turn back. She hasn’t gone too far, yet. Nothing’s been ruined. If she walked out now, everything would be just as it were.
“Come here.” You coo, grabbing onto air again. “I’m getting cold.” Your voice sinks into a sultry whisper.
She follows your voice, helpless to your pleas. When she barely touches the bed, you reach for her, tugging on her hand, bringing her close to you.
She can feel you as she slowly crawls into the bed. Every inch of your shape and form. Toru traces shaky fingers across your neck. You sigh in delight as she touches you, letting her map out every trace of your skin.
“You feel so nice,” you purr as she cups your face. She wants to say something too, but she’s too scared of breaking this fantasy she’s dreamed of for so long. She wants to keep it for just a bit longer.
Your lips are wet with desire. It’s clearly a trap. Once she does this, there’s no going back.
She falls for it: hook, line, and sinker.
The kiss is slow and tentative, like she’s trying not to break you. You kiss her back, melding your lips back into her own. It’s sweet. She tastes a bit of that cherry lip oil you were teasing her with earlier that night. It’s just as addicting as your perfume.
Eventually, she can’t help herself. Neither can you, from the way you grab her hips, allowing her to straddle you. The kiss turns ravenous–like you want to devour her just as desperately she wants to devour you.
When you pull away, there’s a trail of blood on your lips. It’s not yours.
“Someone’s excited.” You giggle before she really needs you to stop talking and make her forget she’s doing something terrible. She kisses you again, pushing you down into the bed.
You collide into a pile of pillows. She follows. It’s so easy–you make things so easy. When you silently tug off her clothes, she can’t help but blindly follow. She shrugs off her dress, letting it fumble onto a heap on the floor as she gets back on top of you. At this point, she’s more naked than you–barely clothed in her bra and panties. She’s more than happy to level the playing field.
She’s more eager to tear off your own clothes. You giggle again as she shrugs off the straps of your dress, revealing your perfect tits. The way they bounce is almost pornographic. She freezes as she stares.
As if to guide her, you reach for her, grabbing her by the back of the neck to coax her down. She follows, instinctively opening her mouth just as she meets your plush tits.
Once she starts, it’s like she can’t stop. You’re intoxicating as she latches onto your nipples, feeling at your skin. Her other hand reaches for your other one, not wanting to abandon any part of you as she continues to worship your breasts. Above her, you’re moaning like you’re being paid for it, your sighs and hitches turning into whines and meaningless words.
You encourage her with your hand on the back of her head, delicately carding through her hair as she continues to take your fill. Only when she snaps out of her euphoria and lifts herself up, does she realize her panties have severely dampened.
She’s never been this wet in her life.
And apparently, you’re just as greedy.
“Hurry up,” you whisper, tugging on her again.
“Need you.”
‘Gimme a second, pretty girl,’ she desperately wants to say but she keeps quiet because this fantasy is hers and hers only, ‘so needy.’ Not that she’s complaining.
You’ve already spread your legs by the time she’s gotten her panties off. She receives a good look at your pussy, barely covered by your thin panties. Her heart is going a mile a minute. She doesn’t know if it’s hotter to keep your panties on or if she should just rip them off right now. She doesn’t know what she wants to do with you first. Eat you out? Ride you until you’re both screaming?
You make the decision for her.
Firm hands grab her hips, hoisting her down as you straddle her. Your skin is sheen with sweat as you lower your hips onto hers, slightly pushing her back. She can barely compute what you’re doing until your clit kisses hers.
A small ‘oh fuck’ leaves her lips, before she’s slapping a hand over her mouth. You barely even registered it, practically mewling as you grind on her pussy. You’re insatiable, riding her like your life depended on it.
Sex crazed. Needy. Craving everything she could possibly give you and more.
Satoru has to bite her tongue so she doesn’t accidentally yell ‘I love you, I love you, I love you’ in the middle of the greatest fuck of her life.
A terrible thought crosses Satoru’s mind that has her rolling her eyes to the back of her head as yet another bolt of pleasure goes through her.
Is she fucking you better than your girlfriend?
It’s a terrible thought. A horrible one. But your breathless moans are making her pussy tighten and spasm in ways she’s never felt before.
You yelp when she grabs your hips, forcing you to go faster than before as you sink into her. Her grip is so tight she knows she’ll leave marks on you tomorrow. Mei Mei might even be the one who finds them.
Mei, you basically pimped you out the moment she knew she had something to gain. Mei, who only cares about money, not the beautiful girlfriend she has at home, who’s currently making Satoru see stars.
Satoru wants to fuck you better than Mei. She wants you to scream louder than you ever have with her. She wants you to have the best sex of your life before she has to let you go, back to your poor excuse of a girlfriend.
Satoru can treat you better, and she can fuck you better.
If she were Mei, she’d never even dream of sharing you, no matter how many millions anyone threw at her.
You’d be hers, until your bodies crumbled into ash and dust, and even in the afterlife she’d still be fucking you. She’d fuck you until the end of time and even then some. No one would be able to pull her away, not even the devil himself. There’s no place she’d rather be than grinding on top of you, feeling your pussy clench against hers. She reaches out to rub at your clit. You whine and you shake above her as you grow closer and closer to the edge.
She comes at the same time as you do. You slump onto her shoulder, too weak to do anything as you both ride out your orgasms in a silent scream. She clings onto you after the last wave has passed and her pussy is still clenching at nothing. You pepper her neck with chaste kisses. She closes her eyes in the aftercare, laying you on the bed right next to her.
She fits against you perfectly, like a jigsaw puzzle. Your head settles in the crook of her neck, leaving love bites on her collarbone. Satoru lets you snake your arms around her waist. She brings you closer to her side, wanting to inhale your comforting scent.
You’re an addiction. She already knew that. There was no way she could stop at just once. She needed this fix for the rest of her life.
She had to do something about Mei. She knows a few people who could get things done. She’d just need an excuse to get it done. An alibi. Then she could pathetically worm her way into your heart when it’s all said and done. You’d need a shoulder to cry on, right? She could be that shoulder for as long as you need her to be. She could be anything you wanted–
“Oh, and Toru?”
Satoru goes cold. Out of panic, she lifts herself up. Your grip tightens around her waist, keeping her there. Your blindfold is still on. She wonders if it’s all that opaque as she initially thought.
“Yes?” she finally squeaks out.
You laugh, giving her a chaste kiss on her cheek.
“Happy birthday.”
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