#I feel like he should be distrustful as a treat

[osohchoso]

Blood and Chains

Chapter Six- Bleeding Hearts

Choso x F!reader

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Content: Multiple POV, trust issues, stalking, blood and violence, cursed techniques

You followed him in silence, the only sounds to be heard were the light drizzle of rain pitter-pattering on the sidewalk and the occasional car passing by. Each step you took with careful confidence, doing the best to minimize the sound of boots scuffing on the concrete. Slinking around in the shadows as you followed your boyfriend through the city streets. Losing track of how long has passed and just how far you have wandered from your apartment. 

When Choso reached an alley, he stopped and looked around, maybe he had a feeling someone was tailing him, but you were out of sight. He hesitated, staring off in your direction for a second that felt like it lasted a year, before finally disappearing around the corner. Should I turn back? You question yourself over and over, frozen in place as you watch the darkness of the alley swallow him whole. But it's too late, your curiosity and fears have already pushed you this far. Might as well see this through to the end, or the anxieties in your mind will never forgive you. Staying a constant nagging fear, living in the back of your head. The only way to extinguish the dark storm plaguing your thoughts is to follow through with your personal mission. So you push on, entering the alleyway Choso walked down. The alley was even darker than the city streets. Not a single light to illuminate the path, no longer able to see the outline of his pigtails as you made your way through what you hoped was the correct way. 

As you walk, you bump into something hard, hitting your hip on a sharp corner. Shit. His clunky shoes stopped in their tracks, he heard the clamoring of the large item you ran into. Pressing your palm to the side, feeling cold metal and something sticky and rotten smelling stuck to it. A dumpster, you ran straight into a dumpster. Standing in fear beside it, you could almost feel his piercing gaze scanning you, even in the dark. Heart beating wildly against your ribcage, holding your breath. This is bad, this is so bad. Closing your eyes tightly, you hope and pray to whatever higher being is out there, that he can't see you in the darkness.

His thick shoes take one step closer to you, but by some wicked twist of fate, you are saved. The lid of the dumpster shakes, and a raspy meow of a street cat echoes off the alley's brick walls. The click-clack of its untrimmed claws on the pavement grows quieter as it walks further away from you, toward the direction of Choso. He lets out a low chuckle, his clothing crinkling as he lowers himself to the ground.

“You scared me little one,” he whispers. The cat's loud purr fills the air. Even during your distrustful stalking, you can't help but smile. Finding it cute how your secretive boyfriend stopped to pet a stray cat on his late-night stroll. “Was it you following me all along?” He asks the cat. The cat responds with a loud meow, rubbing its head harder into Choso’s petting hand. 

“Go home,” his voice brings you back to reality. A shiver runs down your spine that you try to suppress. You're not sure if he's talking to you or the cat at this point. Surely, he has no idea that you're there hiding beside the dumpster? Muscles tense, not daring to move an inch. You half expected him to say something more, to call your name out and question you. It isn't until you hear his footsteps pick up again, that you realize you're in the clear. The clunk of his shoes grows quieter as he makes his way through the alleyway. You wait until you can barely hear him before you make another move.

The cat turns and makes his way toward you, purring as it rubs around your ankles. Bending slightly, you scratch him under his chin. Feeling the greasy fur and flea bites, typical of an alley cat.

“Thanks,” you whisper, “I promise to come bring you treats, you saved my skin.” You tell the cat, who lets out a content meow in response like he understood every word you just said before he jumps back up on top of the dumpster. 

This is so stupid. Hesitating before you follow him once again. Hearing Choso's words replay, go home. And you almost listened, almost turned your body toward the way you came and let your feet carry you back to the safety of your home. 

But you didn’t.

You push forward through the alley and spot Choso on the other side. Walking on a beaten-up sidewalk that leads to a neighborhood. This time you are even more careful, creating a bigger distance between him as you follow. However, it seems he is more relaxed now, not constantly checking over his shoulder to see if he's being followed. Walking quicker than before. You wonder if he knows he's on the bad side of town, if that's why he's picking up pace. You were always careful to avoid this street, not wanting to get caught up in the violence you've seen on the news. 

As you continue, you follow Choso through the neighborhood. Many of the houses look abandoned and worn down. Which confuses you, why is he here? What could be so important about this place that he had to abruptly leave you? You continue to follow, a few of the homes you pass do have lights on, signs of life inside. Though even the lived-in houses look just as bad as the abandoned ones. 

He finally stops, pausing in the front yard of a large house, lights on inside but the tattered curtains are drawn. Whose house is this? You crouch down behind an overgrown bush at the edge of the yard as you watch him stand there. Blood roaring in your ears as you jump to conclusions. He’s cheating, he's just like the other men. Hot tears prick your eyes as you wait to see the woman he left your home for. 

“Hey!” Choso’s head turns to the sound of the voice and you follow his line of sight. Instead of seeing a pretty woman, you see the cheerful pink-haired boy.

Yuji.

And now you have even more questions than before.

Yuji approaches his older brother, too far away for you to hear their conversation. You know Choso well enough by now that you can read his body language, his shoulders slightly slumped, his weight shifting back and forth between his feet. He's irritated. If it's directed at his brother or something else, you have no clue. You can hear the loud sigh leave Choso’s lips from your hiding place. The two boys then turn and enter the home, leaving the door wide open. As you watch them disappear into the house, guilt immediately floods you. Guilt for not trusting him, for thinking he would cheat. Still not sure what he's up to with Yuji, but you are now certain it's nothing concerning you. Maybe he really was on a last-minute call for his work.

You should have turned and left the second you saw them turn their backs, but you still had more questions. And maybe, if you stayed and observed just a bit longer, maybe there would be answers.

So you stayed, watching from the bush as you heard them run around inside the house. Incoherent shouting. The curtains hanging in the windows blowing as they run past. A splatter of blood decorates the downstairs window like a Jackson Pollock painting. Maybe your theory about Choso being an assassin wasn't so far off after all. Though it's hard to believe, golden retriever boy Yuji is also caught up in this line of work. Another thick splotch of blood hits the glass, causing you to flinch. I shouldn't be here. The danger of the situation really starts to sink in. 

Rising to your feet quickly, you give the house one last look. Not wanting to stick around and see the faces of the victims inside. Or to see the look on Choso’s face when he realizes you followed him all the way here. 

Too late for that.

Choso stands in the doorway, his eyes on you. Shouting your name as he begins to run out of the house in your direction. His voice loud enough to shake the earth you stand on, but not out of anger. Out of fear. From the corner of your eye you see a hunch-backed humanoid figure rushing toward you on long legs. It's moving at incredible speed, Yuji running behind it as he reaches forward. His fingers trying to grasp purchase on its wrinkly pale skin. Yet the creature remains faster as it barrels toward you. Yuji’s eyes wide with terror while the three eyes of the creature twinkle with blood lust. 

Everything happens in slow motion, your blood roaring in your ears as you stand still. A deer caught in headlights. Unable to do anything but watch. Watch as the terrifying monster runs at you, its arms shaped like curved blades. Watch as Yuji tries and fails to reach for it again and again. Watch as Choso cries out your name, sounding as fearful as you feel. You look down at your feet, trying to send a signal to move. Knees daring to buckle beneath you when all you want to do is run away.

A sharp press to your back, a pain like you've never felt. Still looking down, you can't seem to tear your eyes away as you watch a deep hole open up in your abdomen. The blade cut straight through to the other side, accompanied by unbearable pain. The once pale green skin of the creature now a deep crimson from your blood. Red drops pool on the flattened grass below your feet. The sounds of the world cut out, muffled and numb. Like your ears are underwater. You lift your gaze up and find Choso, his face paler than ever before and his face tattoo almost looks distorted and sharper, crossing over his eyes as he glares at the creature with unmatched anger. The last thing you see is him standing across the yard, his palms pressed together as his mouth moves. Your heavy eyelids flutter shut as the head of the creature explodes, painting your hair in warm blood. The blade arm exits your body and you feel Yuji catch you before you collapse to the ground. 

“Choso…I’m sorry” you manage to weakly get out before completely losing consciousness. 

˚　　　　✦　　　.　Choso's POV　 . ✦　　 . ★⋆.

~A few minutes before~

Choso looks down at the purple skin of the transfigured human as it stills on the ground, blood leaking from the fatal wound he gave it. The call was right. Mahito had been here. This poor family had enjoyed their last dinner together before the curse waltzed in and transformed them all. Choso sighs as he checks the time. He was thankful for Yuji meeting him here. The faster the brothers took care of the two curses, the faster he could get back to his girlfriend. He really wanted to send Yuji on his own and stay home with her, but the risk that Mahito could still be around scared him far too much to ditch him. Yuji runs down the stairs toward him, his shoes hitting each step loudly.

“Finished yours off?” Choso asks. Yuji nods, though there is a touch of sadness. No matter how many times he does it, having to end the transfigured humans always seems to break a piece of him.

“Yup. Was kinda a small one, so it wasn't much trouble.” He claims. Yuji bends down to pick up a family portrait that fell from the wall, his thumb smearing the blood across the glass to reveal the picture underneath. It shows three of them. Mother, father and a young girl. 

“Choso…” Yuji trails off, eyes wide. Choso takes a step closer as Yuji turns to him. “I think there is a third-” Yuji can't even finish his sentence before a tall pale green figure runs out the back door. Yuji instantly drops the frame, glass shattering as it hits the floor, and chases after it. Choso lets out an exaggerated sigh as he walks toward the front door. He’s confident Yuji will finish it off, but just in case, he wants to prepare for backup. Just one more and he can return home to you. 

You, who should be back safely at home, snuggled into your blankets as you await his return. You, whose beautiful eyes stare at him across the yard as you stand from behind a bush. Choso blinks. Once. Twice. Hoping you would disappear like a figment of his imagination. Three times, and you're still here. He can’t imagine why or even how you knew where he was. Did you follow him? Do you not trust him? He should be angry, but he's not. Not when he knows the weight of the situation you're now involved in. He’s absolutely terrified. 

From his peripherals, he sees Yuji chasing after the transfigured human, running straight toward you. His worst nightmare, this is why Choso swore off relationships. He didn’t want you hurt because of him and his dangerous lifestyle. He shouts your name, as loud as possible. Hoping that will activate your fight or flight, hoping you pick the latter and you can run faster than you did the day he found you in Shibuya. Yet you don't move, still as a statue.

He cries your name over and over, desperate for you to move as he quickens his pace toward you. Vocal cords straining as he tries to reach your thoughts hidden away in the unmoving husk of your body. Yuji is gaining on it but this transfigured human has longer legs, moving at a slightly faster speed. It's going to be close, unable to tell if Yuji will reach it first or if it will reach you first. Choso is rushing forward, but the wet sound of the blade stabbing through the left side of your stomach makes him pause. Time froze as he stared at you, the gaping wound and the creature's sharp arm stuck through it. This is worse than a nightmare, this is a living hell. 

No…no no no no no! This can't be happening, this isn't real! His breath is caught in his throat. Narrowing his eyes at your attacker, he sees red. He hasn't felt this angry in a long time. Clapping his palms together, fingers pointed at the head of the transfigured human, gathering all his strength. 

“Piercing Blood!” He releases the condensed beam of blood, shooting straight through the middle eye of the creature. It’s head explodes on impact, coating the back of your hair in thick, sticky blood. Yuji pulls the transfigured human away and catches you in his hands, gently lowering your body to the already red-stained grass. Choso hurries forward, falling to his knees before you.

“Choso…I’m sorry” He barely hears the words leave your dry cracked lips. 

“This can't be happening…this isn't happening” he mutters to himself, picking up one of your hands and holding it in his. “Yuji, tell me this isn't real,” he lifts his gaze to his brothers, tears already streaming down his cheek. Yuji frowns, dropping his gaze to the serious wound. 

“It is, Choso.” He can't lie to his brother, not when you're bleeding out right here in front of both of them. “I’ll call Shoko, she should be able to save her.” Yuji says, gently adjusting you so your head lays on Choso’s lap. Then standing, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and dialing Shoko, pacing in the yard a few feet from Choso.

Choso is holding your hand tightly, trying to get you to wake up and say something, anything. He doesn't understand why you are here, why you were apologizing. But he doesn't care. He just wants you back, alive and safe. Seeing your smile, hearing your laugh. He needs you back.

“Wake up, little flower.” He whispers, bending to place a soft kiss on your brow. “Please…please…wake up, stay with me. I ca-can’t lose you,” his voice cracking as he pleads for you. Tears rain on your cheeks as he watches your lifeless expression. 

Your hand grows cold in his blazing hot palm, fading further and further. No, no. Not again. Please not again. Choso looks over at Yuji who is still talking to Shoko. 

“We are losing her!” Choso cries out.

“Shoko is on her way” Yuji does his best to stay calm, not wanting to heighten Choso’s anxieties further. 

“There is no time, she is losing too much blood!” He’s yelling back at him, there is no calming him as he eyes the deep wound in your stomach. Blood oozing out. “She…she’s not going to make it.” Choso swallows hard.

“She will, Shoko is hurrying. She will be here soon I promise,” Yuji assures him, even though he isn't certain. He truly doesn't know if you are going to be fine. But Choso panicking more isn't helping anyone. “Hmm? Yeah, I'm still here.” Yuji continues pacing as he talks to Shoko, giving directions to their location. Choso looks down at you, watching each shallow and labored breath, seeing the last signs of life drain from your face.

There has to be something I can do. He tries to think of an idea, he knows you won't last another five minutes unless he can do something. He racks his brain trying to formulate a plan, willing to try anything if it means he won't have to watch you exhale your last breath in his arms.

Then, he forms an idea. Maybe a stupid one. Maybe one that won't work. Honestly, it might get you killed or worse. The risks are high, with maybe a 1% chance your body will respond positively. Choso doesn't care, he would take any risk if it meant he doesn't lose you today.

He glances over at Yuji, his back turned to the both of you. He doesn't bother asking his brother for his opinion on this plan because he already knows what Yuji would say. No.

But you need blood, now.

Choso grips one of your hands tightly with his, holding the other hand up, palm to the starry sky. Gathering his blood into a small sphere in the center of his palm. Taking a shaky breath before he begins.

He's never attempted using his blood manipulation for a blood transfusion before, and certainly never even considered doing this on a regular human. His blood is considered poisonous, and if this doesn't work he may be the reason you end up dying. Desperate for any chance at life, even a slim chance that the toxin won't instantly kill you, he takes the risk. If he can give you just enough until help arrives, just enough to replace what is necessary, you may survive. Afterward, Shoko can probably just give you something to counteract the negative effects. He doesn't think too much about the consequences of his cursed blood and won't allow him to think about what it might do to you.

He places his palm with the sphere of blood to the hole in your stomach. Letting his blood mix with your own. Flowing freely through your body, traveling to every limb and organ. Filling you with life, his life. He would give his whole life for you if he could, if he knew it would keep you breathing. Wouldn't even hesitate to sacrifice himself for you. He closes his eyes as he takes control, his blood pushing alongside yours. Mixing inside you like a cauldron creating a potion of endless love. His other hand, the one clutching yours like a lifeline, starts to feel a hint of warmth radiating from you again. A sign you have been granted at least a few more minutes of life, hopefully, that's enough until a real doctor can stabilize you. 

“Choso?” Yuji’s shocked voice cuts into his thoughts, causing him to flash open his eyes. Twisting his head to look over at his brother, whose eyes are wide with horror. Mouth agape as he witnesses the act.

“What have you done?” Yuji asks him.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Taglist: @lavenderdaydream97 @angel04-01

[variousobsessions]

The past few days have really been Hyrule Loving Hours. He is often characterized as just the soft healer or Wild's partner in crime and yes he IS both of those but he's so much more. He survived a desolate wasteland as a child likely alone. He saw an old woman getting attacked and didn't hesitate to help her even thought he didn't have a weapon. He had no instructions, just a general idea of a quest from Impa and a sword from the old man. He was 10 years old when he defeated Ganon without the Master Sword. For six years he survived the Eyes of Ganon on the hunt for his blood. The hidden cult members in Saria Town definitely affected how much he trusts people. He proved himself worthy of the entire Triforce and awoke the sleeping princess. Even if you don't headcanon him having Fae blood (I do lol) he is still a powerful magic user. I may be incompetent but Adventure of Link was hard. And yet even after all of that (the highlights) he still struggles with self-esteem and self-worth. He is soft and he is a healer and he does love shenanigans but he is also so much more. Please, please don't think this is saying Hyrule is better than any other Link, because he isn't. I just see people leaving him behind or minimizing his struggles a lot and I want to tell everyone out there that Hyrule is just as great as all the other Links. This was not meant to be an entire essay but thank you for reading ❤️

[wereshrew-admirer]

conflicting desires for lyke and duvall in sangfielle season 2:

-duvall low-key resenting lyke over the chine thing

-lyke high-key resenting duvall over the oratorio thing and EXPECTING duvall to resent him over chine but instead it's the same one-sided tension that they had on the jade moon

i want them to be involuntary friends. I want it to look like a huge 8ft tall straight* guy calling his obviously gay best friend a wretched bitch and everyone is a little uncomfortable about it except for duvall, who may or may not be behind lyke's bizarrely bad luck when it comes to flies landing in his drinks.

(*i don't think lyke is straight but i do think he's the type of bisexual man that people assume is straight)

[garlic-sauc3]

versions of booster gold made by people who obviously dont know much about booster can be so infuriating because they tend to depict him as stupid or as a joke and then people who only know him from these depictions in more popular media have a skewed impression of him

[cloudzoro]

Girl, since you mention the OP dilfs, I would LOVE to see some headcanons or something about either how they flirt with you or when they realize they like you 👀👀👀

you can add who you like but I’m begging for Shanks and Mihawk ✨🧍🏽‍♀️

hi!!!!! I went with 'realising they like you, and I actually added most of the dilfs. hope you enjoy 🤤🙏

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Realising He's In Love | ♡

characters: beckman, buggy, crocodile, dragon, mihawk, shanks, smoker

cw: fem!reader, crocodile's is suggestive,

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Beckman

Beckman realises his love for you on a random cold morning.

It's a very rare calm day aboard the force. Beckman, sitting in a chair on the deck, listens to those of his crewmates who are awake this early, navigating around the ship. He hears your voice humming a pretty tune. He hears the clanking of pans in the background, giving away your location.

When he enters the kitchen, he sees you dancing around and helping yourselves to Lucky Roux's ingredients.

“Whatcha doing?” he asks. He laughs as you jump, startled by his interruption.

“It's kind of chilly out, and you were running a little cold this morning, so I'm making us some nice warm breakfast,” you say, adding ingredients to a pan. Your desire to take care of him warms him up enough already. He walks up to you and wraps his arms around your waist. He buries his face into your neck as he hums in response. The domesticity of it slaps him in the face. A warmth spreads through his body. He understands, in this moment, what it is to truly love someone, but he'll keep it as his little secret for a while longer

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Buggy

Everyone is so mean to him. All his life, he's been treated poorly. Then he meets you; you're a subordinate of Mihawk's that he's brought along to the cross guild. Mihawk is a solitary creature, so the fact he keeps you around must mean you hold some value to him. This fact scares Buggy; it makes him distrust you, even if you're so kind to him.

You talk to him gently, offer to pour him drinks when he stops by Mihawk's tent and patch him up when his two business partners beat him down. At first, he thinks you have alternative motives, that this is a ploy, and you're going to hurt him in some way. Then, he thinks you're patronising him and taking pity on his poor soul.

It takes Mihawk stomping his boot down a little too hard, which causes you to step in and beg your boss to back off, to make him realise you genuinely care about him. You standing up to Mihawk despite what repercussions it may have is the day he realises that he doesn't ever want you to leave.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Crocodile

He's pretty into you from the beginning, but he doesn't fall quickly. You're a colleague, a hard worker, and he likes you. He takes you to many galas and events and proposes that the two of you should work together more often. That leads to the two of you being tangled in the sheets, and Crocodile makes it clear to you that this ‘relationship’ is sexual in nature and nothing more. You're fond of the man, but you keep your feelings to yourself. Until one night when he needs to take his stress out and finds himself unable to be rough with you.

He doesn't lay your back against his sheets, doesn't flip you onto your front and squish your head into the pillows. Instead, in a move that baffles you, he asks you for a kiss. You oblige, seated on his lap on a soft velvet sofa. His hook caresses your leg, keeping you pressed to him while his hands explore you. You gently ask if he's ok, careful not to anger the beast beneath you. He nods, moving his kisses down to your neck. He feels it in his heart, his chest crumbling from the inside as he bares it to you with every kiss placed on your skin.

He laughs at himself as he remembers telling you this was nothing more than sex. What a fool he was.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Dragon

Dragon and you are dating, and you have been for a while. He's quite frankly terrified of love. He's been there once, and it didn't work out for him. He takes things slowly with you. Every late-night talk and comforting hug in the privacy of your room pulls his heart deeper and deeper.

He realises just how deeply in love he is when he sees you standing with Koala, giving her some advice. Your heart is what attracted him to you in the first place. Seeing you so readily help other people makes him realise just how strongly he feels about you. He more than loves you; he admires you. He approaches you as Koala leaves, looking much calmer than she did before.

“Is she ok?”

“She's fine, honey. Are you ok?” It's a simple question of concern, but it still has his heart squeezing in a way he's never felt before. He kisses you softly, hoping the action will convey his feelings properly.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Mihawk

He's very straightforward and to the point. He knows what he wants. He realises he likes you pretty much immediately after meeting you.

The first time he meets your eyes from across the bar, he plans to take you back to your home, entertain you and leave you before you wake the next morning. Then he strikes up a conversation with you, and everything changes.

“Can I buy you another drink?” he asks, sliding into the seat next to you.

“Please don't, this cheap wine tastes like shit. I could probably use this as a truth serum against my enemies” You bite, smacking your lips together at the bitter taste. Something about your attitude lights a flame in Mihawk. He's found a kindred spirit in you. A fine woman with a fine taste. Now he's intrigued by you, suddenly struck with a desire to know more.

So he starts talking to you about wine. There's no flirtation in his words, no exaggerated flattery or innuendo. He asks about you, divulges very little about himself and then tells you he found you interesting. He asks if you'd like to go home with him and see his much more impressive collection of wine. Of course, you accept. He lets you break open a well-aged bottle, drinking happily with you.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Shanks

Oh, he's pathetic, actually. Everyone else realises before he does. He denies it with every fibre of his being. You've known each other for a long time. Every time you touch him, talk back to him, even look at him, his heart stirs. He has to tell himself the tightening of his chest is just the drink catching up to him.

After a night of drinking and joking, you go off to bed. When you part with your captain, you're so drunk that you don't even realise what you're doing and press a goodnight kiss to his cheek. You cart yourself off to bed, tiredly waving at your crew. You go to sleep, completely oblivious to the fact that Shanks is currently turning the colour of his hair while Yasopp and Roux tease him for it. Beckman gives him a look that says, ‘I told you so’.

“I'm not in love with her”, he groans as he's hit with flashes of all the times you've made his heart skip a beat. “ I just think she's beautiful, smart, talented, fun and” he pauses his sentence when he realises he's rambling, rambling about you. “I'm in love with her,” he sighs, putting his head in hand. What kind of captain falls for his crewmate?

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Smoker

Smoker doesn't realise until it's almost too late. The two of you are co-workers and have known each other for years. While working together, an enemy you hadn't noticed takes a shot at you, and Smoker puts himself in the line of fire. The bullet hits his ribcage, and enough of the soldiers under his command help him away to be seen by a doctor.

Seeing that bullet fly towards you had every missed opportunity to kiss you, cycling through his brain. He moved to save you, knowing it would harm him because he realised at that moment he would rather die than spend a single minute without you. He needs you to eat, breathe and sleep. He convinced himself at one point that you two were just inseparable friends, but the singular bullet in his torso had the truth bleeding out of him.

When he wakes up from surgery, you're sat in his hospital room, asleep in a chair next to his bed. His busy heart relaxes, seeing you safe and sound. He considers the bullet a silent vow of protection. A vow he will never break.

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thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading. comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡

tag list: @bloodfixnd @sexysapphicshopowner @beachaddict48 @lem-hhn @quanxifangirl @mythicallystupid

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[sunderwight]

SV fic where Shen Yuan transmigrates into the former sect leader, Yue Qingyuan's shizun, right before Yue Qi shows up at the selection trials.

Shen Yuan is not sure why he's in one of his all-time hate-reads, let alone why he's gone so far back before the story actually begins (his system appears to be malfunctioning? something about an error and emergency backup...?), but he's making the most of it. This despite the fact that being a sect leader is a much more prestigious and political role than he likes.

But Shen Yuan is, at heart, actually a pretty good teacher, and he's spent enough time witnessing administrative work secondhand that he can competently tackle most of his duties. Whatever he can't handle, luckily there are other masters on Qiong Ding who always seem eager to curry favor by volunteering at the least hint that they should. Apparently his predecessor was known for being kind of cold-blooded and ruthless. (Shen Yuan gets checked for possession and it's concluded behind his back that he most have lost some of his memories, again, but also everyone kinda prefers this version anyway, again.)

But, so, he picks Yue Qi at the trials without even realizing at first who he's selecting, but just because that kid seems really determined to get in and clearly has been through it. Reminds him of Luo Binghe. Even when he puts it all together, all he feels mostly is kind of bad about it? He never thought Yue Qingyuan was sufficiently villainous to merit his end, even though he didn't blame Binghe for it either. He was always a mystery, an apparently kind person who nevertheless had some inexplicable fondness for the scum villain, turned a blind eye towards his abuses, and got dragged down with him. Shen Yuan feels even worse when he actually gets to know his solemn, smiling, secretive little disciple.

Yue Qi is very determined to advance, and as quickly as possible. Shen Yuan admonishes him. Obviously this kid has a protagonist-like aura and a similar drive to get places quickly, but you can't speedrun your disciple era, Mr. Future Sect Leader! There's no montage mode! Most of his attempts at intervening meet a brick wall that is Yue Qi's impenetrable smile and polite deference if he even hints at displeasure (this kid's gonna make a great politician one day), but Shen Yuan changes tactics and starts manufacturing excuses for breaks, taking Yue Qi on him with trips off the mountain and finding reasons to stop at local festivals and hot springs and etc. He can tell something's off with the quality of frustration that his disciple sometimes expresses, with how there's fear to it, but he's at a loss for the cause and it's difficult to get Yue Qi to talk. Despite appearances, he's actually very distrustful of adults.

When Yue Qi asks to claim his sword early, Shen Yuan says no. He remember how reputedly powerful Xuan Su was, and his disciple definitely needs a stronger base if he's going to pull a sword of that caliber. But he suspects this won't go over well, and when he catches Yue Qi sneaking off to Wan Jian Peak on his own, his disciple finally breaks down and admits that he needs to get strong in order to save his most important person.

Shen Yuan is moved. The way Yue Qi speaks, he's certain this person is a young maiden whom his student has fallen in love with. Truly, the sect leader was so very similar to Luo Binghe at heart! He must have failed in the original story, and that contributed to his difficulties and sorrows later on. Of course Shen Yuan will help him rescue his sweetheart!

Even if his sweetheart is... surprisingly butch? And is a slave owned by the Qiu family, and, wait a second, that name is kind of familiar... oh.

Oh dear.

Shen Yuan is internally screaming even as he helps buy Xiao Jiu out of bondage, even as he gives Yue Qi money to get his newly rescued friend all cleaned up and suitably dressed for the trip back to Cang Qiong, even as he buys the boys tanghulu for a treat, even as the System cheerfully informs him that his new quest is to get Xiao Jiu accepted onto Qing Jing Peak, even as Yue Qi tears up for the first time when he thanks him for helping.

He can only get to sleep that night by consoling himself with the knowledge that his generation is going to retire well before Luo Binghe and The Plot actually show up.

The System: (〜￣▽￣)〜

5 Years Later:

Huan Hua Palace Master: Sect Leader, we need your help! A terrible Heavenly Demon has come to threaten the whole of human society!

Shen Yuan: That's not possible. He isn't even born yet.

HHP Master: What?

Shen Yuan: What?

[zombolouge]

The thing is, it's not about the Therapy Speak. It's not that everyone who disliked DAV hates healthy communication as a dynamic in fiction. It's not even about only being allowed to be a good guy, really, because most of us did do that anyways (though the option not being there is a loss I grieve even if I never chose it myself, but that's another rant for another day).

It's that DAV does all that stuff at the expense of being believable. At the expense of characters being permitted to have personalities. At the expense of emotions behaving the way emotions actually work for people. At the expense of letting the plot build tension through the stakes we're forced to grapple with.

Half the fics out there take the conflicts between the characters in the previous games and resolve them. I do it myself ALL THE TIME because I like to find a path to resolution through just about any conflict, that's what fascinates me about telling these stories. But the higher the stakes, the harder a conflict is to resolve. You CAN resolve any conflict, you CAN communicate healthily through any emotion, but you can't skip the time it takes to process it all to even be able to communicate it. As someone whose got CPTSD and recovered from many Traumas, I can tell you that the TIME it takes to work through it is not something you can fast track, and the ups and downs of your emotions on that journey can't be skipped. It doesn't matter if you know exactly how to do it, exactly how it's going to feel, or exactly what the end state will be, you CAN'T speedrun it.

DAV has stakes that are astronomical, but nobody treats them that way. Nobody experiences denial - a common psychological reaction to being presented with information that shatters your worldview. Nobody expresses any distrust in the establishments handing out this information - something common among cultures that have at times been at war, even if those wars are "resolved" in the present. Nobody really ever breaks down - something that any person is capable of under extreme circumstances, especially when facing multiple crises of faith that challenge everything they thought they knew about themselves. Nobody blows their lid because they've been repressing the hell out of everything. Nobody grieves for southern Thedas, the entire thing dying off screen and giving you, the player, NO way to engage with it in any way.

Not to mention there are barely any inter-party conflicts, when there should be a lot more. Why is everyone (except Spite) fine with it if Emmrich sacrifices Manfred to become a lich? Why is everyone fine with Illario potentially being set free if he was working with the venatori and Elgar'nan, two sources that have actively attacked everyone in the party? Why doesn't Neve resent Lucanis if Treviso is picked? Why doesn't Harding get pissed off at Nevarra for having a secret society of liches that never helped during the Inquisition's war against the breach and corypheus? Why doesn't Harding feel ANYTHING about Ferelden and the rest of the south? Shouldn't Harding resent the fact that she's stuck in the north while her home dies?

All of these conflicts ARE resolvable, but not easily. And it's not believable that they're never brought up. It's not believable that these characters skip through everything that happens with like, barely a frowny face most of the time. In DAO, Alistair leaves if you don't treat his conflicts with respect. In DA2, your party members try to kill each other if you don't pay attention to their conflicts/emotional needs. In DAI, people can leave or betray you, Cassandra throws a chair at Varric and tries to body him out a window. ALL of these can be resolved but it takes effort, and the characters get to SHOW that they're bothered by them and struggling the way a person would when faced with those emotions.

The problem isn't the therapy speak, or that everyone is loyal and won't leave, or that they aren't mean to each other enough. It's that it's toxic positivity. It's toxic as fuck to imply that anger or grief should be smiled over or else you're giving up, and it's damaging to people to avoid engaging with their own negative emotional responses to extremely negative stimuli. It's pasting optimism over very real, very weighty issues, sweeping it all under the rug, and you keep waiting for the lid to blow off the pressure cooker that creates, but it never does. It never becomes anything that emulates real emotions, which is why the whole damn thing feels hollow. Everything's dying and nobody cares, not even about themselves, and that's NOT healthy communication.

It's bullshit, half-assed storytelling that didn't tell us the actual story, just the vague idea of what it could have been.

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt.13

Word Count: 18.2k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, forced pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, tw if u have tokophobia, some smut, masturbation, forced orgasm, pet names like kitten, sweetie, honey, xavier appears, gunshot, slight bloodshed, attempted murder

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti, @exorcxqsm, @ve1vet-cake, @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @connorsui, @iluvmewwwww75, @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer, @mysssticc, @babygirl-panda19, @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1, @honnylemontea, @altariasu, @sorryimakira, @pearlymel, @emidpsandia , @angel-jupiter, @hwangintakswifey, @webmvie, @housesortinghat, @shoruio, @gojos1ut, @solomonlover, @cheesenjam, @elegantnightblaze, @mavphorias, @babylavendersblog, @burntoutfrogacademic, @sinstae, @certainduckanchor, @ladyackermanisdead, @sh4nn, @milkandstarlight, @lilyadora, @depressedwhore, @nyumin, @kiwookse, @anisha24-blog1, @weepingluminarytale, @xxhayashixx, @hesperisms, @adraxsteia, @hargun-s @cayraeley, @xxfaithlynxx

AN: This is on A03! Sorry this took so long yall, I had a lot going on in my personal life! You guys get to find out the baby’s gender in this chapter so buckle up <33

“Why?” you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible. “Why would you show me something like this?” His gaze softens, and he leans closer, resting his forehead against yours. “Because I love you,” he says simply. “And I’ll never let anything take you from me. Nothing, not even death can keep us apart.”

Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9 Pt.10 Pt.11 Pt.12 Pt.14

“You cheater!” Luke’s voice rang out, his mock outrage echoing through the living room.

“I am not! You just don’t know how to bluff!” Kieran shot back, motioning smugly as he held up his cards.

Their playful bickering was punctuated by the sound of your laughter, bright and unrestrained. “Oh, come on, Luke. Even I could see that bluff coming a mile away,” you teased, playfully nudging his arm.

From his office, Sylus heard every word through Mephisto’s watchful feed. The robotic crow perched unnoticed in the corner, its camera lens fixed on the lively scene. Sylus barely glanced at the open laptop on his desk, his attention locked on the display showing you sitting on the couch, basically sandwiched between his two henchmen.

He should have been reading the stack of files in front of him. Instead, he found himself captivated—and annoyed—by the scene unfolding in his living room. His grip tightened on the edge of his desk as he watched you laugh again, this time leaning closer to Luke.

His jaw clenched. That laugh. The one you’d been so stingy with around him lately. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t logical. But it stung to hear it so freely given to anyone else.

What was this feeling gnawing at him? Jealousy? Sylus almost scoffed at the thought. How absurd. How ridiculous. To feel envious of his own henchmen? Of Luke, who couldn’t bluff his way out of a paper bag, or Kieran, who treated life like one endless game? And yet, when he saw Luke’s body shift ever so close to yours as he dealt another hand, Sylus felt a flare of irritation that was hard to ignore.

Then you laughed again, harder this time, doubling over and putting a hand on Luke’s shoulder as he said something undoubtedly stupid. Sylus didn’t even hear the joke. He didn’t care. The sight of your hand lingering there for just a second too long made his chest tighten.

With a sharp motion, he snapped his laptop shut, the sound echoing through the quiet of his office. He couldn’t watch this anymore. His thoughts swirled as he rose from his chair, straightening his cuffs and adjusting his tie.

It wasn’t as though he distrusted Luke or Kieran. They were loyal, dependable—idiots, perhaps, but loyal ones. This wasn’t about them. No, this was about you. The way you laughed so easily with them. The way your guard seemed to drop just a little in their presence. The genuineness of your laugh.

Why did you never look at him like that?

He didn’t want to be thinking this way. He didn’t want to feel this irrational, suffocating jealousy. But the ache in his chest, the bitterness that twisted his thoughts, refused to be ignored.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Sylus made his way to the living room.

The energy in the room shifted the moment Sylus entered. His presence was a tangible thing, heavy and commanding, cutting through the casual warmth like a knife. Luke and Kieran stiffened immediately, their playful banter dying on their lips. Kieran subtly adjusted his posture, sitting up straighter, while Luke avoided Sylus’s gaze altogether, pretending to be very interested in his cards.

And you? You froze for just a fraction of a second, your smile fading as your eyes flicked to him. Then, as if remembering the role you were supposed to play, you quickly plastered on a fake smile and greeted him, “Sylus. I didn’t hear you come in.”

The sound of your voice, so polite, so calculated, made his chest ache. He hated the mask you wore around him. Hated that you still felt the need to pretend. And yet, seeing your fleeting moment of unease just before the mask slipped into place was enough to soothe his earlier jealousy—if only slightly.

Sylus’s gaze swept over the room, landing on Luke and Kieran, who were doing a poor job of hiding their discomfort. He couldn’t blame them. They weren’t stupid. They knew when they’d crossed an invisible line.

“Luke. Kieran.” His tone was calm, but the undercurrent of authority was unmistakable. “There’s something I need you to take care of for me. Now.”

Luke glanced at Kieran, and the two exchanged a silent look before nodding in unison. “Of course, boss,” Luke said quickly, already rising from the couch.

“What is it?” Kieran asked, his usual bravado tempered by the tension in the air.

Sylus didn’t elaborate. He simply fixed them with a pointed look, one that said, You don’t need to know. Just go. They got the message loud and clear.

Luke hesitated for half a second, glancing at you as if to say goodbye, but a sharp glance from Sylus sent him scurrying after Kieran. As the door closed behind them, Sylus felt a faint sense of satisfaction. The air in the room was quieter now, calmer.

It was just the two of you.

You leaned back on the couch, crossing your arms as you looked at him. “That seemed urgent,” you said, your tone light, but he could hear the faint edge beneath it.

Sylus tilted his head, studying you with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You seemed to be having fun.”

“I was,” you said simply, your expression unreadable.

Sylus’s gaze flickered to you as you shifted on the couch, adjusting the hem of your dress absentmindedly. The soft fabric stretched over the faint swell of your belly, a small but undeniable reminder of the life growing inside you—his child. His chest swelled with a mixture of pride and possessiveness as his eyes lingered on you. You were around 14 weeks now, well into the second trimester, and the subtle changes in your body were impossible to miss.

Yet, your next words snapped him out of his thoughts.

“When do you think Luke and Kieran will be back?” you asked casually, your tone light and conversational, but it struck Sylus like a slap. He kept his expression neutral, but inside, irritation flared.

Oh? So you’re eager for their company again? Why?

The question churned in his mind, and despite the years of self-control he’d mastered, it took effort to keep his irritation from showing. He tilted his head slightly, studying you with a small, unreadable smile. “I’m not sure,” he replied smoothly. “Why? Missing them already?”

The way you hesitated, your eyes darting to the side before giving a half-hearted shrug, only added fuel to the quiet storm brewing inside him. “They’re fun to be around,” you said, your voice nonchalant, but Sylus didn’t miss the faint trace of genuine fondness in your tone. It made his blood simmer, though he kept his composure.

Fun to be around? Was he not enough? Sylus’s jaw tightened imperceptibly as he kept his gaze steady on you. Had he been spending too much time away? Between overseeing Onychinus operations and ensuring your comfort, had he let too much distance form between you?

He exhaled slowly, keeping the irritation buried deep as he considered the past few weeks. Yes, he’d been away from you for longer stretches, monitoring operations and handling things you didn’t need to be involved in. But that was for your safety, for your comfort. And yet…was this the result? You sitting here, glowing in a dress he bought, carrying his child, but asking about them?

He’d seen it in the way you laughed with them, the way your walls seemed to come down just a little when they were around. They were playful, easygoing—no doubt filling some gap you felt in this new life. But you didn’t need them. You wanted a playmate? He was all you needed. And he’d make sure of it.

His gaze drifted back to the small curve of your belly, visible now even when you sat. The sight grounded him, softened the sharp edge of his irritation. There was no denying that he wanted to be closer to you. That he needed to be closer to you. Perhaps he hadn’t been as attentive as he should’ve been lately. Perhaps he needed to show you that you didn’t need anyone else.

“I see,” he said finally, his tone light but carrying an undertone of finality. “Well, I’ll make sure they’re not gone too long. But perhaps…” He paused, allowing himself a small smile as he leaned against the armrest of the couch, his gaze locking onto yours. “We should spend more time together, too. You and I.”

Your head tilted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing your features before you masked it with a polite smile. “Sure,” you said softly, though your tone lacked the warmth he’d been hoping for. Still, it didn’t matter.

He waited, expecting you to say more, but when you didn’t, the silence between you grew heavier. Finally, Sylus broke it. “You spend a lot of time with them,” he said casually, though his voice was carefully controlled. “You never ask to spend time with me like that.”

You hesitated, glancing away. “Oh, well…” You trailed off, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who plays card games, I guess.”

Sylus chuckled at that, a low sound that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Is that what you think of me?” he asked, his tone almost amused, though there was a distinct sharpness to it.

When you didn’t respond immediately, he let the silence stretch, studying you. The way your gaze flicked downward, your subtle shift in posture—every movement spoke volumes to him. You weren’t oblivious to the tension.

“I think,” he said finally, his voice dipping lower, “that you’re underestimating me, kitten.”

For a moment, you didn’t respond, your gaze fixed on a random spot on the floor. Then, you forced a small smile and looked up at him. “Maybe I am,” you said softly. "I just...know you get busy with running Onychinus. The twins are good company."

Sylus’s thoughts solidified as he watched you shift uncomfortably, his irritation fading into a calm resolve. Yes, you wanted company. He could give you that. He would give you everything you needed and more. Luke and Kieran’s involvement? That would be limited. They had their roles to play, but you were his. They didn’t belong in this picture the way he did.

His fingers twitched with the urge to reach out, to feel the baby growing inside you, to remind you that no one could provide for you the way he could. But instead, he straightened and adjusted his cuffs, his smile never faltering.

“You don’t need them,” he said, his voice soft and low, more to himself than to you. “I’m all you need.”

And he would make sure you believed it.

Sylus sat across from you, his gaze sharp, unwavering. He didn’t miss the irritation in your posture, the way your arms crossed defensively, or how you deliberately avoided looking at him. He let it slide, deciding to wait until the right moment to address it—or ignore it entirely. He reached into his pocket, retrieving a small bottle of pills. The sound of the capsules rattling against the plastic broke the tension in the room.

He watched as your eyes flicked to the bottle, curiosity sparking in your expression. "What’s that?" you asked, your tone laced with suspicion.

Sylus allowed a small, knowing smirk to tug at the corner of his lips. He raised the bottle slightly, watching your reaction as he spoke. "Prenatal vitamins," he said plainly, enjoying the flicker of confusion that crossed your face.

Your brows furrowed as you processed his words, and you reached for the bottle. Sylus, of course, pulled it back just out of your reach, a subtle power play he couldn’t help but indulge in. "Prenatals?" you repeated, your tone sharpening. "Shouldn’t I have been taking those a lot sooner?"

Sylus nodded, his expression softening. "Yes, you should have," he admitted, surprising even himself with the hint of vulnerability in his voice. “I didn’t want you taking any pills without being absolutely sure they were safe."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze locking onto yours. "I made sure everything you needed was in your meals instead," he continued, his voice calm but firm. He didn’t add how much work had gone into ensuring every bite you took was perfectly tailored for the baby’s growth. That wasn’t the point.

The point was that now it was time to adjust.

Your reaction was predictable. Annoyance flickered in your eyes, quickly replaced by a restrained sort of frustration as you processed his words. He could almost see you weighing your response, debating whether to argue or let it go.

Before you could choose, Sylus shifted in his seat, his voice lowering as he let the full weight of his authority settle into his tone. "From now on, you’re going to take these. Non-negotiable. Same rules as your meals."

He saw the moment you realized what he was about to say, the slight stiffening of your shoulders, the tightening of your jaw. Still, he said it anyway. "If you don’t, Xavier-."

"Stop," you snapped, cutting him off before he could elaborate. Your voice was sharp, laced with anger, and for a moment, Sylus was struck by how fierce you looked. Your hands were trembling slightly, but your glare was unwavering. "I don't want to hear about that."

He let the words hang in the air for a moment before leaning back, his expression unreadable. "Then don’t make it an issue," he said quietly, his tone lacking the edge it had held moments ago. He didn’t particularly enjoy making you upset, but he wouldn’t hesitate to do so if it meant ensuring the health of the baby.

You stared at him for a long moment, your emotions flashing across your face in quick succession—anger, frustration, and something softer, something he couldn’t quite place. Finally, you snatched the bottle from his hand, muttering a begrudging

"Okay."

Sylus tilted his head slightly, studying you as you turned away. He could see the tension in your shoulders, the way you gripped the bottle tightly in your hand as though it was the last thing in the world you wanted to hold. He could feel your resentment radiating off of you, and it hurt him a little. it wouldn't always be like this.

You'd eventually come to understand his strictness for the sake of the baby.

Sylus watched as you curled up on your side, facing away from him, clearly making a pointed effort to ignore him. His lips curved into a faint smile. It was...endearing, in its own way—this little display of attitude. He leaned back against the couch, his arms resting casually on the cushions. He could chalk it up to your hormones, or perhaps just a passing mood, but either way, it didn’t bother him as much as it intrigued him. You were becoming bolder these days, and he wasn’t entirely sure whether to find it amusing or concerning.

His gaze softened slightly, taking in the sight of your belly against the fabric of your dress. The sight tempered his initial urge to tease you further. He leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but firm.

"Now that that's out of the way, what do you want for lunch?"

You didn’t answer, your silence deliberate and pointed. Sylus arched an eyebrow, watching the way your body tensed as if bracing for some unseen battle. A flicker of amusement played across his features. It was like you were daring him to push harder, to pry the answer from you.

He let the silence stretch for a moment, studying you. Then, leaning back into the couch, he crossed one leg over the other, his tone softening as he tried again.

"Sweetie," he said, his voice low and coaxing, "don’t pretend you didn’t hear me. I asked you a question."

You shifted slightly, and for a moment, it seemed like you might continue ignoring him. But then you turned over abruptly, fixing him with a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

"What?!" you snapped, your tone edged with irritation.

Sylus arched his eyebrow higher, his expression cool and measured as he held your gaze. His silence was deliberate, calculated—a quiet reminder for you to rethink your tone. He didn’t need to say anything. The weight of his gaze was enough.

You faltered almost immediately, your defiance softening as you glanced away, your face tinged with frustration and what might have been embarrassment.

"Sorry," you muttered, the apology reluctant but still sincere enough to pacify him.

Sylus let the moment linger before nodding, his expression easing as he leaned forward slightly. "It’s okay," he said, his voice gentle now. "Just tell me what you want to eat."

You sighed, curling in on yourself a bit more, your knees pulled closer to your chest. Well...as much as you could anyway. Your hand absently moved to your stomach, a gesture that caught Sylus’s attention. He watched the way your fingers brushed over the curve, your touch almost absentminded but protective.

"Something light," you murmured finally, your voice quieter now, almost tentative. "My stomach hurts...French onion soup. And the chai tea the chef made last time."

Sylus considered your request for a moment, taking in the way you avoided his gaze, the subtle downturn of your lips. You were still moody, clearly uncomfortable, but there was something vulnerable about the way you were curled up like that. He felt the faintest pang of sympathy—or perhaps fondness.

Reaching out, he brushed his fingers gently over your shoulder, the touch brief but deliberate. "French onion soup and chai tea," he repeated, his tone soft and warm. "I’ll let the chef know."

He straightened, standing to his full height, and smoothed the front of his shirt with practiced ease. "Just rest, kitten. I'll handle it." His voice held a note of authority, but the underlying affection was unmistakable.

As he moved toward the kitchen to speak to the chef, he glanced back at you once more. You’d turned away again, but this time, your movements seemed less defiant, more resigned. The corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile. Your moods were a puzzle, but they were a puzzle he was growing fond of solving.

You glanced at him briefly, a flicker of something grateful passing across your face before you looked away again. Sylus allowed himself a small, satisfied smile, feeling the odd mix of protectiveness and amusement that you often stirred in him.

Your moodiness didn't surprise him though, in fact, he quite enjoyed being on the other end of your feistiness. You reminded him of a kitten hissing at its owner only to ask for pets and food right after. You could snap, glare, even ignore him, but in the end, you still depended on him. He would always ensure you had what you needed, no matter how stubborn or sullen you became.

His steps slowed again as he noticed your figure slumped slightly, your head resting against the plush cushions. You had fallen asleep, the soft rise and fall of your chest confirming that another wave of pregnancy-induced exhaustion had overtaken you.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. You’d been napping more and more lately, another symptom of the life growing inside you. It was amusing in a way—how quickly you could go from irritated to fast asleep. He made a mental note to wake you up before the food was ready. He didn’t want your soup going cold.

Going back over to you, he grabbed a blanket from the armchair of the couch, and gently covered you before making his leave.

As he entered the kitchen, Sylus gave the chef specific instructions on your meal, detailing everything from the flavor of the chai tea to the amount of sodium in the soup. He wasn’t one for micromanaging in most cases, but when it came to your comfort, he left nothing to chance.

Satisfied, Sylus made his way down the hall to meet with Luke and Kieran. The twins were waiting in the den, their expressions shifting the moment he walked in. Luke scratched the back of his head, his usual easy demeanor replaced with something sheepish, while Kieran gripped his hands together as though he was ready to say something but hadn’t quite mustered the courage.

Sylus arched an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Something on your minds?”

Luke cleared his throat, shuffling slightly. “Uh, boss...about earlier...” He avoided eye contact, his voice lower than usual. “I wanted to apologize for...getting too close.”

Sylus’s gaze narrowed slightly, studying Luke’s awkward stance. He knew exactly what the man was referring to, and while Sylus appreciated the apology, it didn’t erase the irritation that lingered in the back of his mind.

Kieran stepped in, his tone more matter-of-fact. “And, uh, we’ve got an update. Finally caught a lead on the guy we’ve been tracking.”

Sylus’s expression shifted at the mention, his focus sharpening instantly. During his two-week trip, he’d been following every scrap of information about the human trafficking ring, determined to see it dismantled. Exterminated every pest involved possible. But the ringleader had proved elusive, vanishing without a single trace after Reese’s death.

“And?” Sylus prompted, his tone calm but expectant.

Kieran exchanged a glance with Luke before continuing. “We traced a connection back to Reese. Turns out, the bastard’s father isn’t happy about his son dying. He’s been sniffing around, looking for answers.”

Sylus let out a short laugh, the sound cold and humorless. “His father, huh? Funny. Didn’t seem to care much about his precious son when he left him to rot in that old house surrounded by crack.”

The twins didn’t respond immediately, though Kieran’s let out a faint laugh at Sylus’s remark. Luke shifted uncomfortably, his hands tucked into his pockets as if unsure whether to laugh or remain serious.

Sylus crossed his arms, his mind churning through the implications. So, the ringleader wasn’t completely off the grid after all. His son’s death had stirred him into action, but whether out of vengeance or a twisted sense of pride, Sylus didn’t care. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that this lead could be the break they’d been waiting for.

“Do we have a possible location?” Sylus asked, his voice sharp with intent. "Any information on the woman?"

“No location,” Kieran admitted, his tone tinged with frustration. “But it’s only a matter of time. We’ve got eyes on his usual contacts. The woman responsible for the blood draws...her name is Serene Grey. Twenty six years old, originally from Snowcrest. Father is Adam Grey, former chief medical officer of Asko Hospital. Has a brother that works at Asko as well by the name of Noah Grey."

"Upon digging for more info on Noah, we discovered he actually works for E.V.E.R as...head researcher."

Sylus nodded, the gears turning in his mind as he considered the next steps. Reese had been an obstacle, an annoyance at best. His father would likely prove more challenging—but Sylus welcomed the opportunity. If the man was bold enough to seek revenge, he would find nothing but destruction waiting for him.

As for the woman....this was getting interesting.

“We'll pay a visit to her old man soon,” Sylus instructed, his tone firm. “And Luke?”

“Yeah, boss?” Luke replied, his shoulders stiffening slightly.

Sylus fixed him with a pointed look. “Don't let it happen again.”

Luke nodded quickly, muttering a hasty, “Got it.”

They further discussed some details and with that, Sylus dismissed them, his thoughts already shifting back to you. As he made his way back toward the living room, he glanced at his watch. The food would be ready soon, and he wanted to wake you gently. You might not realize it yet, but your comfort and safety were his top priorities—and he would ensure they stayed that way.

When Sylus stepped back into the living room, you were still curled on the couch where he’d left you, your figure bundled into a loose throw blanket, your breathing slow and even as you napped. His chest tightened as he paused to look at you, taking in the subtle changes in your form—the swell of your belly, the softness in your expression as you slept.

It was almost too peaceful to disturb, but he knew the chef would soon be done with the food. You needed to eat, and he wouldn’t let your soup grow cold, not when you’d been struggling to keep anything down for weeks prior.

He knelt beside the couch, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. “Honey” he murmured softly, his tone low and coaxing. “It’s time to wake up.”

A faint groan escaped you, your brows furrowing as you shifted under the blanket. Your eyes fluttered open halfway, barely registering him as you burrowed deeper into the cushions, your face half-hidden.

“Go away,” you mumbled, your voice muffled and thick with sleep.

Sylus smirked, resting his arm along the edge of the couch as he leaned closer. “Come on, kitten. You’ve been asleep for a while. The food’s almost ready.”

“Don’t want food anymore,” you muttered, turning your head away from him. “I want to sleep.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and indulgent. “Well I'm sure the little one wants food. You'll be irritated later too if you don't eat now.”

You huffed, clutching the edge of the blanket like a shield. “I’m not a baby, Sylus. I can decide if I’m hungry or not.”

“Mm, not a baby, but you sure whine like one when you’re woken up,” he teased, his hand lightly stroking your arm through the blanket. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be, you know.”

You cracked one eye open, glaring at him with as much annoyance as you could muster in your half-asleep state. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re adorable,” he replied, his voice softening as he leaned closer. “Now, come on. Sit up for me. Let’s not make a fuss.”

You sighed dramatically, but ultimately shift to a sitting position. With a groan, you pushed yourself up, the blanket slipping down your shoulders as you blinked groggily at him.

“See? Not so bad,” he said, his tone soothing as his hand found the small of your back, steadying you. “You’re doing so well, kitten. I’m proud of you.”

The words seemingly caught you off guard, your sleep-fogged mind taking a moment to process them. You gave him a half-hearted glare, though the obvious nervousness in your demeanor gave you away.

“Don’t patronize me,” you mumbled, brushing your hair out of your face.

“I’m not,” he said, his expression softening further. “You're growing a baby, its a lot of stress on the body. It’s okay to need rest, but you need to eat too. Let me take care of you.”

His words, though tender, only seemed to add to your frustration. You didn’t want to need him, didn’t want to rely on his care. That much was obvious. But he hoped you were going to start realizing how much you needed him as time passed and your body grew heavier.

“Fine,” you muttered, folding your arms over your chest as you leaned back against the couch. “Not like I have much choice.”

His lips quirked into a small smile as he brushed his fingers against your cheek, his touch gentle and reassuring. “I’ll take that as a thank you.”

You rolled your eyes, but Sylus didn't miss the tiniest of smiles that appeared on your lips before it disappeared just as quickly. He felt his heart flutter at the sight of it. Was it genuine? Did he actually manage to make you smile genuinely?

“Wait here,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’ll bring the food over when it’s ready. Don’t fall back asleep on me, alright?”

Sylus glanced back over his shoulder as he stepped into the kitchen, his sharp eyes catching the way you shifted on the couch. You hadn’t quite settled back under the blanket, but you looked like you were contemplating it, your hand absently brushing over the soft fabric.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. You could be stubborn, but there was something about these moments—the quiet vulnerability you tried so hard to mask—that softened him in ways he didn’t expect.

“She’s exhausted,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else as he reached for the tray the chef had prepared. “And moody as hell.”

But even as he said it, there was no trace of annoyance in his voice. If anything, there was a quiet fondness, an odd warmth that settled in his chest. He didn’t mind your little barbs, your occasional defiance. It kept things interesting, kept him on his toes.

What bothered him more than your sharp tongue was the exhaustion he’d seen in your eyes, the weight you carried despite his efforts to make things easier for you. He knew he couldn’t fix everything—not all at once—but he could do this much. He could make sure you ate, rested, and had everything you needed.

Carrying the tray back into the living room, he found you still sitting upright, albeit reluctantly, your gaze flicking toward him as he approached.

“There we go,” he said, setting the tray down on the table in front of you. “Just like you asked—French onion soup and chai tea. All exactly how you like it.”

You didn’t respond immediately, your expression a mix of irritation and reluctant gratitude as you reached for the tea.

Sylus knelt beside the couch, his hand resting on the armrest as he looked up at you, his tone softening into a laugh. “You’ll feel less moody once you eat.”

He meant it, not just about the food, but about everything. He would keep at it, keep working to wear down the walls you’d put up between you. He had time, after all.

"Yeah yeah...whatever...".

As he watched you take your first tentative sip of tea, a quiet determination settled in him. He didn’t necessarily need your approval—not yet, anyway—but he wanted it. He would earn it. Slowly, steadily, he would prove to you that this wasn’t just about the baby.

This was about you too.

The days had started blending together, each one marked by the strange chaos your body seemed determined to throw your way. For the most part, the nausea had subsided—thank God for that small mercy—but other symptoms had eagerly taken its place. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so achy, so irritable, so out of control. Your body didn’t feel like yours anymore, and the thought made your chest tighten if you lingered on it for too long.

The bump was the worst reminder. It wasn’t big yet, not obvious to anyone but you and Sylus, but every time you caught your reflection or brushed your hand against your stomach, it was there. An unignorable swell that seemed to grow more pronounced with each passing day.

Is it too early for this? you wondered earlier that evening, turning sideways in the bathroom mirror. You’d stared at the slight curve with a mixture of denial and disbelief. Shouldn’t I be smaller at sixteen weeks? The idea that your body might be working faster than normal made your stomach churn, but you shoved the thought aside. You couldn’t afford to let paranoia swallow you whole.

Still, the changes were hard to ignore. Your moods swung like a pendulum, flipping between cranky, melancholic, and just plain tired. And then there was the neediness—a subtle, insidious thing that snuck up on you when you weren’t expecting it. It wasn’t just the way you barked orders at Sylus, demanding more tea or a specific meal; it was how much you found yourself leaning on him, sometimes without even realizing it. He seemed to thrive on it, which only made it worse.

Sometimes you caught yourself bossing him around just to test the limits of his patience. But when he didn’t snap, when he indulged your whims with that strange mixture of love and affection, you hated how grateful you felt. It was annoying. Frustrating. And a little comforting, though you’d never admit it to him.

“This tea is cold,” you say flatly, setting the cup down on the table in front of you with a soft clink.

Sylus glances up from his seat across the room, where he’s casually flipping through files. He quirks an eyebrow at you. “Cold already? Didn’t I just bring that to you?”

You cross your arms, leaning back against the couch cushions. “And yet, here we are. Cold tea.”

He chuckles under his breath, setting the files aside and standing. “Since when did I become your butler?”

“Blame your baby,” you say, giving him a tired but pointed look. “I didn’t ask to feel like this, you know. The least you can do is keep my tea warm.”

He smirks, picking up the cup and holding it up as if weighing it. “You know, I could just let you drink it as is. Room temperature isn’t so bad.”

You glare at him, narrowing your eyes. “Sylus...”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he laughs softly, shaking his head as he heads to the kitchen. “Anything for you, sweetie,” he says over his shoulder, his tone dripping with smugness.

When he returns with the reheated tea, he hands it to you, his gaze lingering on your face. “Better?”

You take a sip, giving a small nod. “For now.”

“For now?” he repeats, amusement flickering in his voice.

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “I might need a refill later.”

Sylus leans against the arm of the couch, watching you with an almost infuriatingly amused expression. “Anything else, kitten? Or are you just going to keep ordering me around all day?”

“Well…” you pause, shifting slightly and pretending to mull it over. “A pillow for my back wouldn’t hurt.”

He doesn’t move at first, just stares at you with a grin that’s both indulgent and teasing. “You’ve got quite the list it seems.”

“I’m pregnant, remember?” you reply sharply, looking him square in the eye. “That was your idea. So now you get to deal with it.”

He chuckles again, shaking his head as he grabs a pillow from the other chair and places it behind your back with surprising gentleness.

“There,” he says, his tone mockingly sweet. “Anything else, or am I allowed to sit down now?”

You smirk, taking another sip of tea. “I’ll let you know.”

Sylus leans down, his lips curling into a smirk just inches from your ear. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re like this,” he murmurs, before straightening and sitting back in his chair, his smugness still palpable.

“And you're lucky my tea is warm now” you quip again, enjoying the brief flicker of surprise in his eyes before he bursts into quiet laughter.

For now, you’ve won this small battle—and it feels pretty good.

Tonight, though, that confidence was nowhere to be found. You woke up drenched in sweat, your back aching as you tried to stretch out against the mattress. The room felt stifling, like the air was pressing down on you, and your throat was parched, so dry it felt like sandpaper. Your breasts, now twice the size they normally were, ached. Your back didn't feel any better. Your stomach felt like it was on fire. You groaned, reaching blindly for the glass of water on the nightstand, only to find it empty.

“Ugh, seriously?” you muttered, rolling over to look across the room. Sylus was there, sitting in his usual chair with a book in his lap. He looked calm, almost serene in the dim light, and for a moment you hated him for it.

“Sylus,” you called weakly, your voice hoarse. He glanced up, his eyes softening when they met yours.

“Hmm?”

“Water. I need more water,” you said, your voice bordering on a whine.

“I’ll get it in a bit, sweetie,” he replied, not moving from his seat.

You blinked at him, disbelief turning quickly to anger. “Please do it now. I feel like I’m gonna die of thirst!” you snapped, your voice breaking slightly as frustration bubbled up inside you.

Sylus raised an eyebrow but still didn’t move, clearly not taking your outburst too seriously. “You’re not going to die,” he said with a faint chuckle.

That did it. Hot tears welled up in your eyes before you could stop them, spilling over as a sob broke from your throat. “You don’t get it! I’m fucking thirsty, and I’m sweating like crazy, and my back hurts, and—”

Your voice cracked, and you covered your face with your hands, tears spilling between your fingers as you sob. Sylus was on his feet immediately, crossing the room to kneel beside you.

“Okay, okay,” he said softly, his hands brushing yours aside to reveal your tear-streaked face. “I’m sorry. I’ll get your water right now, alright?”

You sniffled, nodding miserably as he stroked your cheek with surprising tenderness. He really was being more lenient with you. He stood and disappeared into the adjoining bathroom, returning moments later with a freshly filled glass.

“Here,” he said, handing it to you as you struggled to sit up. “Drink slowly.”

You did as he said, the cool water soothing your throat and easing some of the heat in your chest. When you handed the glass back, Sylus sat beside you, his gaze warm and amused.

“You’re being extra fussy tonight, kitten” he teased gently, brushing a strand of hair from your damp forehead.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, turning your face into the pillow to hide your embarrassment. You hate him. You hate him. You hate him. Stupid pregnancy hormones.

He chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “It’s okay to be fussy,” he murmured. “You’re allowed to feel however you need to feel. I'm here, and I promise I'll move faster.”

You didn’t respond, your exhaustion pulling you back toward sleep. But as you drifted off, you couldn’t help but feel a small, grudging sense of gratitude for him. The situation was still awful...but at the very least he was helpful more often than not.

As the days drag on...something else begins to get harder and harder to ignore. It starts in your chest, spreading lower like a slow burn, and you shift in your seat, trying to shake the feeling off. There’s no reason for this. You’re just tired, emotional—pregnancy hormones doing what they do best. And yet, the ache persists, coiling in your stomach, a dull and relentless reminder of something you don’t want to acknowledge.

You curl your legs beneath you, drawing your arms around your knees as if the action alone could protect you from the thoughts creeping into your mind. Thoughts of warmth. Of touch.

It’s pathetic, really. You’ve spent every waking moment fighting against Sylus’s suffocating presence, building walls to keep yourself sane, and now your own body is betraying you. A part of you craves the very thing you swore you’d never ask for.

The realization hits you hard, and your fists clench against your knees. You’re horny. There’s no other way to describe it. The longing has burrowed into your core, gnawing at your resolve, and it’s almost unbearable.

Your lips press into a thin line as an image flashes in your mind—Sylus’s broad chest, the toned muscle beneath his shirts that you’ve tried so hard to ignore. The memory of his deep voice rumbles in your ears, soothing and infuriating all at once. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to force the image away, but it lingers, like an unwelcome guest taking up residence in your thoughts.

You shake your head violently, gripping the pillow behind you as though it’s a lifeline. No. Absolutely not. You’re not doing this. You’re not going there. You won’t let yourself fall into this trap, no matter how loud the ache screams inside you.

Sylus is attractive. Objectively, maddeningly so. That fact you can’t deny, but it doesn’t erase the monster he is. The outside may look like something out of a magazine—perfectly crafted to draw you in—but the inside? That’s where the truth lies. Beneath that chiseled exterior is someone who has taken everything from you, someone who thrives on control, who manipulates and twists and owns every space he inhabits.

And yet…

Your hands shake slightly as you rub at your temples, the guilt swelling alongside the ache. How could you even entertain this? How could you feel something—anything—that even bordered on desire for him? It feels like a betrayal of yourself, of everything you’ve endured.

You glance toward the other side of the room, where Sylus sits, his long legs stretched out as he reads something on his tablet. He'd been oddly quiet this morning. He’s entirely unaware of the storm raging inside you, his calm, confident aura infuriatingly unshaken.

You can’t do this. You can’t let this get the better of you. Whatever this feeling is, it’s nothing more than hormones. You’ll fight it, like you fight everything else. Because no matter how tempting his warmth might seem in this moment, you know better.

The outside may be beautiful, but the inside is rotten. And you refuse to let yourself forget that.

Fighting it proved to be harder than you thought though. You found yourself drifting into indecent thoughts about Sylus despite how hard you were trying to distract yourself. And while it seemed he was none the wiser, you couldn't let yourself be caught. So...you come up with a plan. Its simple. Just wait for him to leave for awhile. Then you can find relief. No doubt he'll end up taking Mephisto with him, and the twins never enter without knocking first.

Yes. Simple...

With finally Sylus gone on one of his many business endeavors, the silence of the room beckons you, offering a rare moment to chase the relief you crave. You lie back on the bed, your breath shallow, heart racing with anticipation and desperation. Your hands move with a familiar urgency to your heat, seeking to quell the storm of emotions raging inside you.

You close your eyes, trying to summon the faces from the flickering screens of porn you once watched, fantasies that used to bring you to blissful release. Yet now, they feel hollow, like echoes in a cavernous void.

Xavier's face appears unbidden, a ghostly specter that twists your heart with longing and pain. You shove the image aside, unwilling to let it linger, to let it hurt you more than it already has. The more you fight against it, the more the ache in your core swells, an insatiable beast that refuses to be tamed.

Your fingers move against your aching clit with increasing urgency, but the pleasure you seek dances just out of reach, a cruel mirage. Frustration mounts, your body tense with the effort of chasing a release that remains elusive. Each attempt feels more futile than the last, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you strain against the confines of your own mind.

It feels as if your body has turned traitor, mocking you with its stubborn refusal to yield. The need is a fire burning inside, consuming you from the inside out, leaving you raw and exposed. A low, guttural cry escapes your lips, a sound echoing in the empty room, testament to your solitary struggle.

Your hand falls away, defeated, your body still thrumming with that desperate ache. It remains, a relentless reminder of your captivity, both within these walls and within yourself.

Why can't you finish? This should be easy...is it nerves? Maybe the trauma you've been through is making this difficult? It has to be. No way in hell that bastard stole your ability to orgasm. You try and try for what seems like forever, growing increasingly frustrated with each failed attempt at reaching bliss.

Come on, just… just relax. It's just your body. Don't think about it. Don't think about him. Don't think about why you're even in this situation. Just…

Red eyes. Sharp jaw. Deep voice. Chiseled abs. Your mind begins to swim with him and you hate it. You hate it so much and yet as if your fingers have a mind of their own you begin to actually feel immense satisfaction at the thought of his face.

How did it come to this? A prisoner in your own body, at the mercy of a monster. And now, this…this ache that refuses to subside ? It's like your body is betraying you, craving touch, any touch, even as your mind screams in revolt.

"You could've just asked for my help."

You snap up, pulse quickening as Sylus comes into view in the doorway, watching as if he just caught a mouse in a trap. A small smile plastered on his face as he takes in the disheveled state of your body.

His voice is smooth, dripping with a confidence that makes your skin crawl even as it sends a shiver down your spine. He steps into the room, closing the door behind him, the air charged with his presence.

"Get out," you snap, trying to muster defiance, but your voice betrays you, laced with a tremor of desperation. You snap your legs together as he draws closer to the bed.

Sylus chuckles softly, moving closer with a predator's grace. "Stressing yourself isn't good for the baby, honey" he murmurs, as if offering a kindness. He sits beside you, his gaze assessing, the weight of his attention a tangible force.

"Open your legs. Let me help you."

Your heart races, every nerve in your body on edge as he reaches out, brushing your hand aside with a gentle insistence. His touch ignites a war within you, your mind screaming in protest even as your traitorous body responds with a shiver of anticipation.

He gently but firmly pushes your legs furthur apart and slides down to circle your clit with his thumb.

You loathe him, despise the power he holds over you, yet the heat of his fingers against your sensitive clit sends a jolt of pleasure through you, sharp and undeniable. His touch is maddening, a mix of precision and pressure that leaves you gasping, your back arching involuntarily against the thin mattress.

"Stop," you breathe, a plea tangled with a moan, your body at odds with your will. But he ignores you, his fingers moving with a practiced expertise that draws reluctant cries of pleasure from your lips.

"Ah! Mghn..."

You hate this. But your body loves it. You try and push yourself back against the headboard, further away from his hand but he just follows, even going as far to take his free hand and pin you down by your chest, ceasing any further struggle to get away.

No. No. No. No.

Sylus's touch is gentle, yet insistent, coaxing a response from your body. You try to resist, to will yourself into numbness, but it's no use. Your clit pulses under his fingers, the sensation building, growing, until you're on the cusp of orgasm.

"You're fighting it, kitten" he whispers, leaning closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Let go."

The words are a dark caress, and despite the hatred simmering beneath your skin, the relentless pleasure he coaxes from you drags you towards a precipice you can't deny. Tension coils in your belly, tighter and tighter, until it snaps, a white-hot explosion of sensation that leaves you trembling and breathless.

You lay there, shattered and whole, the aftermath of your climax a bittersweet balm against the reality of your captivity. Sylus withdraws his hand, leaving you bereft and aching, a reminder of your betrayal by your own desires.

Sylus watches you carefully, his gaze soft yet piercing as he strokes your cheek with deliberate tenderness. His fingers brush away the stray tears slipping down your face, and his voice drops to a near whisper, low and soothing as he leans in close.

“That feels better, doesn’t it, sweetie?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours in the gentlest of kisses.

Your breath catches, shame clawing at your chest like a vice. A fresh wave of tears wells in your eyes, spilling over as his words echo in your ears. How could you let this happen again?

You nod.

The warmth of his arms encircles you, his presence overwhelming yet inescapable. Every part of you screams to push him away, to reclaim some piece of yourself, but you can’t move. You’re frozen in his hold, trapped between the comfort he offers and the revulsion that churns in your stomach.

Sylus shifts slightly, his hands moving with care as he adjusts your clothes, ensuring every part of you is covered once again. His touch is meticulous, deliberate, as though he’s putting the pieces back together, though you know he’s the one who broke them in the first place.

You don’t resist. You don’t say a word. The tears flow silently as he presses a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there for a moment too long.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, cradling you closer, his voice laced with something you can’t quite decipher—satisfaction, maybe, or perhaps something deeper. “Just let it out.”

And you do. Because there’s no one else. No one else to turn to. No one else to hold you in this moment, no matter how much you wish it weren’t him.

Sylus’s arms tighten around you, his steady heartbeat pressing against your own, a cruel reminder of how much power he holds over you. He reaches down and caresses the now very obvious curve of your pregnant belly. This is what he wants. The realization strikes you like a blow to the gut, but it doesn’t change the reality.

He’s made it very clear: there’s no one else.

The tears continue to fall, the weight of your shame and helplessness crashing over you. The relief, the longing to hold him close, the urge to shove him away. It all swirls in your head and escapes in the form of wet tears. And Sylus holds you through it all, his presence consuming, suffocating, and maddeningly inescapable.

The days following that night are...strange. You can’t quite put your finger on it. There’s no anger bubbling beneath the surface, no fire demanding you lash out or rebel in some small, insignificant way. You just feel...drained. Exhausted. It’s as though the pregnancy has drained you of everything, leaving you with only enough energy to exist in this fragile limbo.

You avoid Sylus more than usual, though it’s impossible to fully escape him. He notices, of course—he always does. His eyes track your every movement, his brow furrowing in concern each time you pass him with barely a word.

“Are you feeling sick again?” he asks one evening, leaning against the doorway of the library where you’ve buried yourself in a pile of books you aren’t even reading. His voice is softer than usual, tinged with something almost like worry. “Do you want anything?”

You shake your head quickly, not looking up. “No. I’m fine. The pregnancy’s just...taking its toll, that’s all.”

It’s a half-truth. Physically, the changes to your body are draining—your back aches constantly, your feet swell more than you’d like to admit, and your appetite has become a ravenous, insatiable beast. But none of that is what’s really bothering you. No, what keeps you quiet and withdrawn is something you can’t even begin to say aloud.

You’re scared.

Scared of the way your heart stutters when Sylus brushes past you. Scared of the way your pulse quickens when his hand lingers on your lower back or brushes your cheek. Scared of the heat that rushes to your face when you see him changing, his toned chest and sharp features invading your thoughts in ways you don’t want them to.

Why is this happening? You hate him. You hate what he’s done, how he’s stolen everything from you. So why does your stomach flutter when he smiles at you? Why do you find yourself leaning into his touches before you even realize it?

It’s confusing, maddening, and you can’t let yourself dwell on it. So you don’t. You shove those feelings down, deep enough that they can’t reach you.

Instead, you turn to food. It’s one of the only things that makes sense anymore, one of the few sources of comfort that doesn’t terrify you. But tonight, nothing in the house appeals to you. Not the chef’s carefully crafted meals, not the endless trays of snacks Sylus insists on having ready for you. No, you want something specific—something from a bakery back in Linkon. Its a craving that's been bothering you for awhile.

You sit on the couch, fidgeting with the hem of your dress, working up the courage to ask. It feels ridiculous, but eventually, you can’t help yourself.

“Sylus?” you say softly, glancing over at him.

He looks up immediately, his piercing gaze locking onto you. “Yes, sweetie?”

You hesitate for a moment before blurting it out. “I...I want a dessert. From a bakery in Linkon.”

His brows furrow slightly, a mix of suspicion and curiosity playing on his face. “Why there? The chef can make you anything you want.”

“It’s...it won’t be the same,” you insist, trying to sound casual. “The baby wants that specific one.”

At that, Sylus chuckles, the deep sound sending an irritating warmth through you. “The baby wants it? Or you?”

You bite your lip, refusing to meet his gaze. “Both.”

He smiles slightly, studying you for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before nodding. “Alright. I’ll get it for you soon. I think I have an idea of which one you're talking about”

The words catch you off guard, and before you can stop yourself, you murmur, “Thank you.”

Sylus smiles, clearly pleased with your response, but you can’t help the heavy feeling in your chest. Thanking him...for a danish. The irony isn’t lost on you. This man has stolen everything from you—your freedom, your life as you knew it—and yet here you are, expressing gratitude over something as trivial as a pastry.

It didn't shock you that he already knew the bakery you were talking about. He had stalked you for quite awhile. Of course he knew.

Nothing was a secret with him. He always knew.

You turn your face away, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach as Sylus leans back in his chair, content. And once again, you’re left alone with your thoughts, spiraling in the confusion and bitterness of it all.

Later that day, Sylus presents you with the danish you’d requested, the golden pastry nestled neatly on a small plate. Its flaky layers glisten under the soft light, and the smell alone—warm, buttery, and slightly tangy—makes your mouth water. You can tell he’s proud of himself, standing there as if awaiting praise.

“A lemon-raspberry danish,” he says with a slight grin, watching as you reach for it.

You hesitantly pick it up, the texture soft under your fingers, and take a cautious bite. The tangy sweetness of the raspberry filling bursts against your tongue, perfectly balanced by the buttery flakiness of the pastry and the sharp zest of lemon. It’s exactly how you remembered it—nostalgic, comforting, and bittersweet all at once.

The flavors transport you to a memory you hadn’t revisited in a long time. You and Tara sitting on the steps outside that very bakery in Linkon, sharing a box of pastries. It was a sunny afternoon, the kind that made the city feel alive in the best way. Tara had just finished a long rant about some guy who ghosted her after three dates, her dramatic hand gestures making you laugh so hard you nearly choked on your own danish.

“Seriously, if he’s not texting back, it’s his loss. You’re too good for him anyway,” you’d said between bites, nudging her with your shoulder.

“Oh, stop. You’re only saying that because I shared my last danish with you,” Tara teased, swiping at a smudge of powdered sugar on her lip.

The two of you had laughed until your sides hurt, the world feeling light and uncomplicated in a way it hadn’t in a long time.

But as the memory fades, your smile falters. No doubt Sylus had been watching then too—stalking, waiting. His shadow had been there even in your happiest moments, lurking unseen, ready to strike when you least expected it. A wave of nausea creeps up your spine as the realization settles in. Your grip on the danish tightens for a moment, then slackens as tears prick at your eyes.

Just as you’re about to take another bite, something strange happens. A sudden flutter in your stomach, light and quick like a butterfly’s wings. You gasp audibly, your fingers losing their hold on the danish, sending it tumbling to the floor.

Sylus’s brows knit together in confusion as he steps closer. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You press a trembling hand to your stomach, your heart racing as you feel it again—another flutter, faint but undeniable. “I—I think…the baby moved,” you whisper, barely able to process the words as they leave your mouth.

Sylus’s eyes widen, his gaze immediately dropping to your bump. The softness in his expression surprises you, and when he speaks, his voice is uncharacteristically gentle. “Can I feel?” he asks, his hand hovering uncertainly over your stomach, not quite touching.

You hesitate, your mind a chaotic mix of emotions. Do you even have a choice? You swallow hard, nodding slowly. “Yes…sure. Go ahead.”

His large hand presses carefully against the curve of your belly, warm and steady. The room falls silent, the air thick with anticipation as neither of you move, waiting for something to happen. Then, there it is again—a faint, fleeting flutter, like the soft brush of a feather.

Sylus’s face lights up with unmistakable joy, his grin wide and unguarded. For a brief moment, he looks almost boyish, overcome with awe and excitement. “Did you feel that?” he asks, his voice just above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might scare the baby away.

You nod, still in shock, your hand joining his on your bump instinctively. “I did,” you murmur, your thoughts a whirlwind. It feels so surreal, this moment of connection with the life growing inside you.

“It’s the sugar,” Sylus explains, his tone light and filled with a wonder you’d never seen in him before. “I read somewhere that babies tend to move more when their mothers eat something sweet. It must’ve gotten a rush from that danish.”

You glance up at him, his eyes still glued to your stomach, and for a moment, you see nothing but pure, unfiltered happiness. It leaves you feeling...confused. While Sylus basks in the moment, your own feelings remain a tangled mess of shock, fear, and something you don’t dare name.

The words tumbled out of your mouth almost unconsciously:

"That’s cool."

Cool? Cool was not the word. It wasn’t even close. You were reeling, overwhelmed by the undeniable reality. It’s alive. It’s real. The bump you’d been trying to push out of your thoughts, the changes to your body, the way your emotions and cravings had pulled you in so many directions—it all had culminated in this undeniable moment. The baby moved. The life growing inside you, something you’d been pretending didn’t truly exist, had just made itself known in the most undeniable way.

Your hand lingered on your stomach, frozen there as if pressing harder might help you process it. Your breaths quickened. Your chest felt tight. This was happening. It was all happening. There was no pretending anymore. No amount of denial or mental gymnastics could take this away now. You were going to be a mom. And the weight of that realization hit you like a wave crashing over your head, pulling you under, leaving you gasping for air.

Your vision blurred, the edges of the room spinning. “I need to sit down,” you murmured, your voice shaky and uneven.

Sylus was by your side in an instant, guiding you gently toward the couch. His hands were steady on your arms, his voice soft and soothing as he helped you ease down onto the cushions. “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he said, his tone reassuring but filled with a concern that only made the knot in your chest tighten further.

The moment your head hit the couch, the tears started. Quiet at first, a few strangled hiccups that escaped before you could stop them. Then the floodgates opened, and sobs wracked your body, shaking you to your very core. You didn’t even know why you were apologizing as the words slipped out between gasps for air. “I'm-I'm sorry...I’m just-hic-scared…I’m not ready to be a mom. I don't know what to do with a baby.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, the raw emotion pouring out of you. Anger, fear, sadness—they all collided, creating a storm in your chest that you couldn’t contain. This wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. You hadn’t asked for this. You hadn’t wanted this. And yet here you were, forced to face a future you weren’t ready for, a responsibility you couldn’t escape.

Sylus knelt beside you, his expression filled with a tenderness that only made the ache in your heart worse. He didn’t look angry or frustrated, didn’t seem irritated by your outburst. Instead, he cupped your tear-streaked face, his thumb gently brushing away the dampness on your cheeks. “I know,” he murmured, his voice calm, steady. “I know it’s a lot, sweetie. And I know you’re scared.”

You shook your head weakly, wanting to protest, wanting to shout, to blame him for all of it. But the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was cry as his touch stayed constant, grounding you in a way you didn’t want to admit you needed. His presence, his warmth, the way he was handling you like something fragile—it was infuriating and comforting all at once.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Sylus continued, his voice low, almost a whisper now. “I’m right here. Let me worry about everything else. All you have to do is focus on the baby. Just focus on staying healthy, on taking care of yourself. That’s all I want. You’re not alone, I promise.”

His words wrapped around you like a blanket, both suffocating and oddly reassuring. You didn’t want to be comforted by him. You didn’t want to feel like he was on your side, like he cared about you. But the way he was looking at you—his eyes soft, his touch gentle—made it harder to resist the crack in your armor.

The sobs quieted, your breathing slowing as his hands moved to gently rub your back. “It’s okay,” he whispered again, his tone as soothing as the repetitive motion of his hand. “You’re okay.”

But were you? You didn’t feel okay. You felt trapped, lost, like the world was crumbling around you. And yet, there was this flicker of something in your chest. A tiny, almost imperceptible spark of hope that maybe…just maybe…you could survive this. You didn’t know if you’d ever be okay, but for now, you let yourself lean into his touch, your body too drained to push him away.

You felt his hand move to your stomach again, resting there lightly. “You’re doing so good,” he said softly, his voice laced with something that sounded almost like awe. “Better than you think.”

Sylus's hand lingered on your stomach, his thumb gently tracing slow circles over the fabric of your dress as if he could soothe you through the small gesture. His gaze flickered between your face and your bump, his expression an almost unreadable mixture of tenderness and determination.

“You know,” he said softly, his voice breaking the quiet, “in just a week, we’ll find out if it’s a boy or a girl.”

The words hit you like a second wave. A week. Seven days. The thought of knowing felt surreal, overwhelming. Another tangible piece of this puzzle that had forced its way into your life. You didn’t respond immediately, your mind swimming with the implications. Finding out the gender would make it feel even more real.

Sylus’s lips curved into a small, warm smile as if he were savoring the thought himself. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” he continued, his voice low and steady. “What they might be like, who they’ll look like more…you or me.”

His eyes softened further as he looked down at you. “I’m hoping they’ll have your kindness, your strength. But maybe with my stubbornness,” he teased gently, as if trying to coax a smile from you.

You said nothing, too caught in the tidal wave of emotions crashing over you. A baby. A week from now, you’d know more about the life growing inside you, and there was no running from it. The warmth of his hand against your stomach, his voice filled with quiet excitement—it was too much. It felt suffocating and yet oddly comforting, as if a small, rebellious part of you wanted to hold onto that warmth even as the rest of you wanted to push him away.

Sylus must have noticed your silence because his hand moved from your stomach to your cheek again, gently cupping it. “I know this is a lot,” he murmured, his voice soft. “But you’re doing so well. Just one step at a time, okay?”

You swallowed hard, nodding slightly even as fresh tears welled in your eyes. You hated that you couldn’t hold it together, hated how easily he could break through your defenses with his touch and his words. But as the exhaustion weighed you down, you found yourself leaning into his hand, too drained to fight back any longer.

“A week,” you echoed weakly, the word barely a whisper. Your voice cracked, betraying the emotion bubbling just under the surface.

“A week,” Sylus repeated, his tone full of quiet promise. “And no matter what, I’ll be right here with you.”

Dr. Merrill's voice was calm and measured, a steady rhythm that filled the small, sterile room. “So far, everything looks fantastic,” he said, his gaze fixed on the screen as he maneuvered the ultrasound wand over your belly. The cool gel smeared across your skin sent shivers up your spine, but it was nothing compared to the anxiety tightening in your chest.

“The baby is progressing much faster than anticipated. Based on the measurements, it appears that your 19 almost 20 weeks despite being only 18 weeks currently."

Your stomach clenched, your mind latching onto his words like barbed wire. Faster than anticipated? How could that even be possible? What did that mean? Was there something wrong? A flurry of questions raced through your mind, fear bubbling up and threatening to overwhelm you.

Dr. Merrill seemed to sense your panic because he glanced at you, offering a reassuring smile. “It’s nothing to worry about,” he said quickly. “The growth is steady and healthy, which is what matters. Every pregnancy is unique, especially in cases like yours. The baby’s just growing a little ahead of schedule.”

You nodded faintly, but his words did little to ease the knot in your stomach. Your eyes flicked to Sylus, who sat beside you, his gaze unwavering on the monitor. He looked calm, composed, but there was an intensity in his eyes that made your skin prickle. This was his doing, wasn’t it? Whatever...abnormality he had passed on to the baby was now manifesting, and you were the one who had to carry it.

“Are you both still wanting to know the baby’s gender?” Dr. Merrill asked, breaking through your spiraling thoughts.

Before you could even open your mouth, Sylus responded. “Yes,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for debate.

You blinked, your throat tightening. Of course, he wanted to know. Of course, he would make the decision without asking you. You wanted to feel angry about it, but the truth was, you weren’t sure if you wanted to know. The idea of knowing made it all so much more real, more permanent, and you weren’t ready for that.

Dr. Merrill hummed, turning back to the screen. “Let me get a clearer image here,” he said, adjusting the wand slightly. “Sometimes they like to get in weird positions, and it can be hard to tell.”

The room fell silent, save for the rhythmic whooshing of the baby’s heartbeat echoing through the monitor. Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at the screen, watching the grainy, shadowy outline of the baby move. It was surreal, seeing the small, growing life inside you, knowing it was real, that it was happening.

“Ah,” Dr. Merrill said, his face lighting up with a smile. “There we go. Congratulations—it’s a girl.”

A girl.

The words hit you like a freight train. A girl. Your whole world tilted, the ground beneath you crumbling as a rush of emotions surged through you. You didn’t know how to feel, didn’t know how to process the news. A girl. An innocent, fragile little girl.

Your chest tightened painfully as the reality of it sank in. Sylus was going to be her father. This little girl, this pure and precious life, would grow up with him as her role model, her protector. The thought made your stomach churn. He didn’t deserve her. He didn’t deserve the chance to shape her, to mold her.

He didn't deserve a girl. Or any child for that matter.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, and you had to fight to keep them from falling. You couldn’t cry here, not in front of him. But the overwhelming wave of despair was suffocating, threatening to pull you under. Despite the conflicting feelings of having this child, you still felt this innate need to protect an innocent life. But how could you, when you were trapped, powerless yourself?

Sylus’s voice cut through the haze, soft and filled with a soft tenderness. “A girl…” he murmured, his gaze fixed on the screen. His lips curved into a small, genuine smile, and for a moment, he looked almost human. Almost. “She’s perfect.”

You had to clench your fists to keep from glaring at him. Perfect? How dare he call her that? How dare he speak about her as if he had any right to feel pride, to feel joy? The tears threatened to spill over, and you bit the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to stay composed.

“She is,” Dr. Merrill agreed with a smile. “Everything looks great. Strong heartbeat, good development. You’re doing a wonderful job.”

You couldn’t respond. Your throat felt too tight, your chest too heavy. A girl. The word echoed in your mind, over and over, until it was all you could hear. You wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything to release the storm raging inside you. But you couldn’t. All you could do was sit there, nodding faintly, as if everything was fine.

The words "It's a girl" echoed in your mind, even as the room fell back into a quieter rhythm. Dr. Merrill continued his commentary, pointing out the baby’s developing features, but his voice faded into the background. A girl. Your world felt like it was spinning, the weight of the revelation pressing on your chest. Your hands instinctively moved to your stomach, palm resting on the faint bump that seemed more real than ever before.

As Sylus’s gaze remained fixed on the screen, a smile softening his features, you felt a chill run down your spine. Would he hurt her? Would he hurt you again? The thought struck like lightning, sharp and unwelcome, jolting you back into a reality you thought you had begun to adjust to. Sylus had always been unpredictable—dangerously calm, calculated. He claimed to love you, but that love came with chains, both literal and metaphorical.

Your pulse quickened, fear worming its way through you, coiling tightly around your heart. You thought about the punishment weeks ago, the cold detachment in his eyes even as he had cooed reassurances afterward. He had meant to teach you a lesson, or so he said. Was there a limit to what he would do? What if his twisted vision of love clashed with the reality of raising a child? Would he lash out? Would he expect you to be the perfect mother, the perfect partner, and punish you if you weren’t?

Your fingers dug into your dress, clutching the fabric as a wave of nausea swept over you—not the kind brought on by pregnancy, but the kind born of dread. You glanced at Sylus out of the corner of your eye. He looked so…tender, so impossibly gentle as he studied the ultrasound image of the baby. It was jarring, a dissonance you couldn’t reconcile. How could someone so dangerous appear so human in moments like this?

You tried to push the fear away, reminding yourself of the past few weeks. He’d been softer, more attentive, letting you get away with small defiance here and there. But was it guilt? Or manipulation? Was he lulling you into a false sense of security, only to remind you later who held the power?

The thoughts swirled, relentless, until you couldn’t take it anymore. You turned your gaze back to the screen, focusing on the tiny outline of your daughter. The tears you had fought earlier pricked your eyes again, and you blinked rapidly, willing them away. You couldn’t cry, not now. Not in front of Sylus.

“Are you okay?” His voice broke through your spiral, soft and tinged with concern.

Your throat tightened as you looked at him, his expression gentle but expectant. You forced a smile, a weak, hollow thing that didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

Sylus reached out, his hand brushing yours as he gave it a small squeeze. “It’s okay to feel overwhelmed,” he said softly. "You’re not alone. I’m here.”

The words should have been comforting, but they only made the fear twist deeper. You managed a small nod, not trusting yourself to speak. As Dr. Merrill continued, explaining the next steps in the pregnancy and when your next appointment would be, your mind kept drifting back to the same question.

Would he hurt you again? Would he hurt her?

You weren’t sure you wanted to know the answer.

The dim light of the hospital room flickered softly, casting a pale glow over Xavier’s prone figure. The IV line in his arm fed him a steady drip of the experimental treatment Dr. Grey had promised would revolutionize recovery. The liquid in the IV bag shimmered faintly, almost unnaturally, as if alive. Xavier had been staring at it for hours now, unwilling or unable to look away.

Pain wracked his body. His bones ached, deep and constant, as though the marrow itself was burning. His broken ribs throbbed with every breath, his arm screamed with a phantom intensity, and his leg...He grit his teeth against the agony that threatened to drown him entirely. This was what he had agreed to—this hellish, unrelenting torment.

He had to keep reminding himself why.

You.

The image of your face swam before his closed eyes, your smile now tinged with shadows of fear and sadness. It was the only thing keeping him grounded as his body betrayed him. The treatment worked fast, Dr. Grey had said. But it didn’t work gently.

The first sign of its effects had come on the second day. His bruises, deep and grotesque, began to fade with alarming speed, mottled greens and yellows overtaking purples and blacks. But with that strange acceleration came a new kind of pain. The kind that started from the inside. It felt as if his bones were knitting together too quickly, the cells regenerating faster than his body could handle. His skin itched and burned around the fractures, and he found himself clawing at his casts in a desperate attempt to relieve it.

By the third day, he was writhing in his bed. A low, guttural groan escaped him as his body contorted, trying to find a position that would ease the agony. Every movement felt like needles piercing his skin, his muscles spasming involuntarily. The nurse came in once, her face pale, clearly unsure of how to handle what she was seeing.

"Mr. Xavier, should I—should I call Dr. Grey?" she stammered, her fingers hovering over the emergency button.

"No," Xavier growled through clenched teeth. His voice was hoarse, guttural, almost feral. "I can handle it."

He had to handle it. There was no choice.

By the end of the first week, the pain began to transform. It didn’t lessen exactly, but it shifted, becoming a deeper, heavier pressure. His body felt foreign, as though it was no longer his own. He stared at his hand one night, flexing the fingers that had been nearly useless days before. The movement was smoother, stronger, almost unnervingly precise.

The dreams began soon after.

They started as whispers in the dark, strange, disjointed voices calling his name. They spoke in languages he didn’t understand, yet somehow the meaning seeped into his mind. Images followed—the deep, glowing eyes of something monstrous, endless fields of bone and ash, and your voice, soft and distant, calling for him to save you. He’d wake drenched in sweat, his heart pounding in his chest, the pain in his ribs a dull echo compared to the terror in his mind.

Dr. Grey visited him on the tenth day, his expression equal parts excitement and curiosity as he examined Xavier.

“Remarkable,” Grey murmured, his gloved hands tracing over the edges of Xavier’s still-healing ribs. “The calcification is nearly complete. The rate at which your body is mending itself is unprecedented.”

“It doesn’t feel remarkable,” Xavier muttered, his voice gravelly. He shifted in bed, wincing as a sharp jolt ran down his leg.

Dr. Grey chuckled softly. “Yes, I imagine it doesn’t. Pain is a natural byproduct of accelerated cellular regeneration. Your body is essentially rewriting itself. Old cells are being discarded, new ones are forming, stronger, more efficient. It’s fascinating.”

“Fascinating,” Xavier bit out. “Tell me this is worth it.”

Dr. Grey’s gaze met his, and for the first time, there was something almost reverent in the doctor’s expression. “Oh, it’s worth it. You’re not just healing, Mr. Xavier. You’re becoming...something more. You’re going to feel it soon.”

“Feel what?” Xavier demanded, but Grey only smiled.

By the twelfth day, he felt it.

Strength. Pure, raw strength coursing through his veins like fire. His muscles no longer felt weak and atrophied, but alive, buzzing with energy. He tested it hesitantly, clenching his hand into a fist. The simple motion made the metal frame of the hospital bed groan.

“What the hell…” he muttered, staring at his hand in disbelief.

The dreams grew more vivid that night. This time, it wasn’t just whispers and shadows—it was you. You stood before him, your hand outstretched, your eyes filled with fear and longing. But before he could reach you, Sylus appeared, his form larger than life, his presence suffocating. His laugh echoed around Xavier like a taunt.

He regularly woke up gasping, his entire body drenched in sweat.

By the two-week mark, Dr. Grey returned for another check-in, this time bringing a portable scanner to examine Xavier’s progress.

“The bone density is incredible,” Grey said, almost giddy. “You’ve surpassed even my most optimistic projections. Tell me, how does it feel?”

“Like I’m being ripped apart and stitched back together,” Xavier said flatly, though there was a hint of awe in his voice. “But…I feel stronger.”

Grey nodded, his eyes gleaming. “You are stronger. Faster, too, I imagine. Your body is adapting to a level of efficiency most humans could only dream of.”

Xavier clenched his fists, testing the strength he could feel bubbling just beneath the surface. He looked at Grey, his expression hard. “I need this to work. I need to be ready.”

“It’s working,” Grey assured him. “You’re already becoming something extraordinary.”

Xavier’s jaw tightened as he looked out the window, his resolve hardening. He would endure whatever it took. The pain, the dreams, the uncertainty—none of it mattered if it meant he could stand against Sylus and win.

And bring you back where you belonged.

The hospital room was no longer a place of recovery—it had become a crucible. Xavier sat on the edge of the bed, his posture rigid, his face etched with exhaustion and determination. His body felt alien, heavier, more robust. Each breath he took was deeper, his lungs expanding with a power he hadn’t felt in years. The IV, once a lifeline, had been removed days ago, though the marks on his arm remained, faint reminders of the transformation he was enduring.

He flexed his fingers, watching as veins bulged beneath his skin. His hand felt like it could crush steel. His leg, the one that had been shattered, now supported him with ease. He stood, testing his weight experimentally, and the floor beneath him groaned faintly. The pain, once constant and unrelenting, was now gone, replaced by an intense, simmering energy that coursed through his veins like electricity.

But this wasn’t just healing.

This was something else.

The night before, the dreams had taken a dark turn. You weren’t in them this time—Sylus was. His face loomed larger than life, his voice a haunting echo in Xavier’s mind.

“You still think you can save her?” Sylus’s laugh was sharp and cruel.

“You’re weak. I’m not.”

The dream shifted, and Xavier was in a room of mirrors. His reflection stared back at him—at first. Then it began to change, the features warping into something unrecognizable. His body grew monstrous, his skin taking on a faint shimmer, his veins glowing faintly beneath the surface. His own voice boomed, low and guttural.

“You can’t win by becoming me.”

Xavier had woken up in a cold sweat, his heart pounding in his chest. But the worst part wasn’t the dream—it was the lingering sense of truth in Sylus’s words.

What even is he?

Dr. Grey entered the room now, his presence a sharp interruption to Xavier’s spiraling thoughts. The doctor’s face was alight with excitement, a clipboard in hand as he approached with brisk steps.

“Xavier,” Grey began, his voice almost reverent, “you’re beyond what I could have imagined. Your scans are perfect—better than perfect. Your bones, your muscles, even your cardiovascular system have all strengthened exponentially. You’re no longer recovering—you’re evolving.”

Xavier looked up, his expression unreadable. “What exactly am I evolving into?”

Grey hesitated, his professional composure faltering. “Something better.”

“That’s not an answer,” Xavier said, his voice low and dangerous. His hands clenched into fists, and the sound of his knuckles cracking echoed ominously in the room.

Grey took a step back, holding his clipboard defensively. “We’re still learning. But Xavier, this isn’t a curse—it’s a gift. You’re stronger, faster, more resilient than any hunter we’ve seen. And this is just the beginning.”

Xavier’s jaw tightened as he processed the words. A gift? It felt more like a curse. His body was different, yes, but his mind… his mind felt fractured. The dreams, the voices, the way he could hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears—it didn't seem human. And that terrified him.

Later that night, the pain returned. It wasn’t the sharp, acute agony of before—it was deeper, more primal. His body burned from the inside out, the energy coursing through him reaching a boiling point. He doubled over, gasping for air, sweat pouring from his body as he collapsed to the floor.

“What’s…happening…” he groaned, his voice barely audible.

Dr. Grey burst into the room moments later, his expression a mixture of fascination and concern. “It’s the final phase,” he said, almost breathless. “Your body is adjusting. You need to ride it out.”

“Ride it out?” Xavier snarled, his voice laced with anger and desperation. “It feels like I’m dying.”

“You’re not,” Grey assured him, though his wide eyes betrayed his own uncertainty. “Your body is adapting to the new cellular structure. This is the turning point.”

Xavier growled, his fingers digging into the tiled floor as he fought against the searing heat that consumed him. His veins pulsed visibly beneath his skin, glowing faintly as the transformation reached its peak. He let out a guttural roar, his entire body convulsing as the energy erupted within him.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

Xavier collapsed onto the floor, his chest heaving, his body drenched in sweat. He looked himself over. He still looked the same. Nothing had really changed in appearance. But he felt it—a new strength, raw and untamed, thrumming through every fiber of his being. He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, the floor cracking beneath his weight as he moved.

Grey approached cautiously, his eyes wide with awe. “How do you feel?”

Xavier looked up, his eyes meeting Grey’s with a piercing intensity. “Stronger,” he said simply, his voice low and steady.

Grey nodded, a triumphant smile spreading across his face. “It worked...it fucking worked. After all this time".

Xavier stood slowly, testing his new body. He felt…unstoppable. The fear, the pain, the weakness—all of it was gone, replaced by an unshakable resolve. He clenched his fists, turning to the doctor.

"Explain what the hell just happened to me. Now".

The nursery was almost done. The soft pastel colors you’d chosen covered the walls, delicate stenciled clouds floating above the crib. The rocking chair you’d insisted on was placed just right near the window, and Sylus had made sure every little touch met your exact specifications. It should have filled you with pride—or at least contentment—but instead, your chest felt heavy. Each item in the room was a reminder of the life being built here. One you weren’t sure you could ever truly belong to.

The past month had been...interesting. For one, everything hurt. Boobs, back, legs, feet. The cravings had been intense too. Sylus had been more than happy to indulge you of course, and he never complained when you would be up all night eating snacks in bed. Your need for touch and attention had been getting...intense. You refused to have Sylus touch you in that way again though. Thankfully he had backed off. You had gotten noticeably bigger and it seemed as though was trying to be careful.

It still clawed at the back of your mind though. An unknown, festering longing. But you shoved it down.

Sylus had even gotten a custom pregnancy pillow made for you, curved just for your shape. It was incredible. And the best part, was now you had an excuse not to be so close to him in bed now. He had even joked that the pillow might replace him. If you didn't know any better you'd say that things had gotten...normal. Everyday was a internal battle in your head but on the outside? You were just his pregnant fiancé.

Nothing more.

You stood in the middle of the room, admiring the handiwork. So much time had passed. How many weeks had it been now? You had to be at least six months. A life so distant from your own, yet you’d molded yourself into the role so well. Too well. You could feel Sylus’s presence behind you, a constant weight at your back, as if he were as much a part of this space as the furniture. His gaze was heavy, observing your every move.

You masked your true feelings with a small smile, directing Luke on where to place the stuffed animals and instructing Kieran to adjust the curtains for the hundredth time.

“They’re not even, Kieran. Please fix it.”

"Yes m'aam!"

The twins didn’t protest. They simply obeyed, accustomed to your meticulous demands over the past few weeks. Sylus stood at the doorway, his sharp gaze following every movement. His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable, but you could feel his eyes on you like a brand.

“Actually,” you said after a moment, turning toward Sylus, “don’t you think they deserve a break? They’ve been working hard.”

Sylus raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking slightly as if amused by your suggestion. “A break? You think they need a break?”

You nodded, feigning innocence. “Of course. They’ve done a lot, and we’re almost done here. I think they’ve earned it.”

The room went silent for a moment, the tension thick as Sylus studied you. You held your breath, wondering if you had pushed too far. But then, to your surprise, he nodded.

“Fine,” he said, his voice calm but laced with suspicion. “Luke, Kieran, take an hour. Go.”

The twins didn’t need to be told twice. They quickly gathered their things and left, exchanging another glance as they passed you, their steps echoing down the hall. The silence they left behind was deafening.

You let out a small sigh, your gaze drifting to the room. It was beautiful, almost surreal. So much time had passed since you started this charade, and yet it felt like no time at all. You’d molded yourself into this role so well it almost scared you.

“This is nice,” you murmured, running your fingers along the edge of the crib. “Really nice.”

You had gotten really used to lying through your teeth.

“It is,” he replied smoothly. “Thanks to you.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, but you refused to let it show. Instead, you focused on the closet, noting the empty shelves waiting to be filled. That gave you an idea—a reckless one. “We should go to Linkon,” you said suddenly, turning to look at him. “There’s so much more we need. Baby supplies, clothes, toys. It’d be nice to pick some things out myself. Linkon has some really nice stores.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them. Sylus’s eyes darkened slightly, his brow arching as he studied you. “Linkon?” he repeated, his voice calm but laced with suspicion. “And why, exactly, would you want to go to Linkon? So you can run and take my baby to your ex-lover?”

The accusation hit you like a blow, and for a moment, your breath caught in your throat. Was he onto you? Had it been that obvious?"

“Seriously?” you snapped, unable to keep the frustration from bubbling over. “Do you have to see ulterior motives in everything I do? I just want to pick out some things for the baby. Linkon is my birthplace. Of course I'd want to get my own daughter's stuff from there. That’s all.”

Sylus stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate. The heat of his body seemed to surround you as he gazed down at you, unblinking. “Don’t lie to me,” he said softly, but his tone was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing? Don’t think for a second that I actually believe you’ve accepted this.”

You felt your heart pounding in your chest, anger and fear battling for dominance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, feigning innocence, but your voice wavered.

He chuckled, a low, humorless sound. “You’ve gotten good at lying, I’ll give you that. But not good enough.”

Your pulse raced as he leaned in closer, his presence overwhelming. You could feel the walls closing in, the nursery that had felt so spacious moments ago now suffocating. Your mind scrambled for something—anything—to diffuse the tension.

“I just thought it would be nice,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “To pick out a few things out for the baby myself. Isn’t that normal? Isn’t that what you want? For me to be...invested in this?”

"Are you truly invested though? “Why don’t you just tell me what you’re really thinking?” he says, his tone soft but firm, each word cutting deeper than the last.

"Lets end this little game of ours, kitten".

Your pulse quickened and you felt like your heart just dropped in your stomach. Fuck. Fuck. He had known the entire time?? The entire time?

You step back instinctively, your shoulders brushing against the wall as he closes the space between you. His presence is overwhelming, his gaze pinning you in place. “Sylus, I don’t—”

“Don’t,” he cuts you off, his voice low and commanding. “Don’t insult my intelligence. I’ve given you everything. I played along. Don’t think for a second I'd be dumb enough to think you've accepted all of this the second I propose.”

Your mind races as you scramble to regain control of the situation. “Sylus, no,” you say, your voice trembling with false sincerity.

“I want to be with you,” you blurted out, the words bitter on your tongue. They felt like shards of glass cutting through your throat as you forced them out. You hated yourself for saying them, but you hated him more for putting you in this position.

He stares at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours as if he’s weighing your words. Then, slowly, he reaches for your hand, his fingers closing around yours with deliberate care. “Prove it,” he whispers, pulling your hand to his chest. “Resonate with me.”

“What?” you whisper, your breath hitching.

“I know all about your Aethor core,” he says, his voice steady but laced with a quiet intensity. “It’s controlled by your heart, isn’t it? If you want to be with me, truly, then you should have no problem resonating with me.”

The words felt like a trap closing in around you. Where did he even get information like that? Your mind raced, your chest tightening as the weight of his demand pressed down on you. His hand held yours firmly against his chest, and you could feel the faint flicker of energy radiating from him. The room seemed to shimmer, faint bursts of light and energy sparking between you as his Evol intertwined with yours.

But nothing happened.

The flickers of energy faded, the room falling into silence once more, leaving only the sound of your labored breathing and the thundering of your heart. Nothing. There was nothing.

Sylus’s jaw tightened, his fingers slowly releasing your hand as the weight of the failure settled between you. His eyes darkened, the cold edge of disappointment cutting through the air like a blade. “I knew it,” he muttered, his voice low and heavy with something deeper than anger—hurt.

“Sylus, please,” you started, but he stepped back, his expression a storm of emotion that left you reeling. Hurt. Anger. Sadness. It all seemed to blur together in the lines of his face.

“I wanted to believe you,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with bitterness. “I wanted to believe that you were finally…” He trailed off, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he turned away from you.

The weight of his disappointment crushed you, but fear and anger burned hotter in your chest. “What do you want from me, Sylus?” you snapped, your voice breaking. “You think I can just forget everything you’ve done? Everything you’ve taken from me?”

He turned back to you, his eyes blazing with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “I’ve given you everything you could ever need,” he said, his voice rising. “I’ve protected you. I’ve provided for you. All I’ve asked is for you to let go of the past and accept what’s here, what’s now. You can’t even give me that.”

You feel your own emotions boiling over, the weight of his accusations too much to bear. “Well maybe if you weren't a fucking freak who kidnaps girls off the street and impregnates them, maybe you'd have someone that loves you!” you say tears streaming down your face.

There's nothing but silence. Sylus says nothing, unmoving. You can feel his irritation radiating off of him but he stays still.

"Is that how you really feel?"

"Yes. There hasn't been a day where I haven't hated you. I hate you. All want to do is murder you right now."

Sylus’s movements were slow and deliberate, each step toward you carrying a weight that made your breath catch in your throat. His expression remained unreadable, his eyes locked onto yours with a calmness that only made your panic worse. Then, to your utter horror, he reached to his side and pulled out a sleek, black gun, holding it firmly in his hand.

Your heart slammed against your ribcage as he extended it toward you, pressing the cool metal into your trembling hands. "W-what are you—" you stammered, your voice breaking as you stared at the weapon.

His voice was low, steady, almost too calm. “You said you wanted to murder me,” he said, his gaze never wavering from yours. “Here’s your chance.”

Your heart pounds erratically in your chest, your entire body trembling as you grip the weapon tighter. “Sylus…” you whisper, your voice breaking.

His hands come up slowly, his movements deliberate as he guides yours, positioning your finger over the trigger. “I’ll make it easy for you,” he murmurs, his gaze steady and calm, but his words are laced with an unsettling challenge. “End it. If you hate me that much, take your shot.”

“What...!” you cry, shaking your head as tears stream freely down your face. “Sylus, stop!” But his grip on your hands is iron, unyielding, as he guides the barrel steadily to his chest.

“This is what you wanted,” he says softly, his voice carrying a mix of defiance and something heartbreakingly tender. “To kill me, isn’t it?”

The room feels like it’s spinning. Your chest tightens, your breath shallow and erratic as his words twist deeper into your mind.

Do I hate him? Do I really want this?

Your thoughts clash violently, a storm of anger, fear, and confusion tearing through you.

“You’re fucking crazy,” you sob, your voice cracking. “I hate you. I fucking hate you!” The words leave your mouth like venom, but even as you say them, a flicker of doubt lurks in the back of your mind.

Do I hate him enough for this?

Sylus doesn’t flinch. His gaze is steady, his eyes locked onto yours, filled with an unnerving combination of determination and something heartbreakingly tender. He presses the barrel harder against his chest, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Then prove it. Pull the trigger."

“I...wait,” you choke, shaking your head as sobs rack your body. The gun feels impossibly heavy in your hands, like it’s tethered to the weight of the entire world. “No, I can’t...I can’t do this.”

“Why not?” he challenges, his grip firm but not forceful, his words cutting deep. “You’ve said it over and over—how much you hate me, how much you want me gone. Do it. End it.”

Your mind is in chaos. You see flashes of everything—his cruelty, his control, his moments of tenderness. You hate him. You hate him. Don’t you?

But then why does your hand tremble so much? Why does your heart ache as you look into his eyes, calm and accepting? He deserves this. He deserves this, doesn’t he?

"Do you want some help?" he asks, seemingly unaffected by your tears.

“Sylus,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, shaking your head. “Please…stop.”

He ignores you and simply gives you a small smile, his eyes boring into yours. "I'd rather die by your hands anyways".

Before you can process his words, his finger joins yours on the trigger, and in a single, horrifying moment, he pulls it. The deafening crack of the gunshot echoes in the room, reverberating in your ears as Sylus staggers back.

The recoil jolts through your arms, and the force sends the gun clattering to the floor. Sylus staggers back a step, his hand clutching his chest where the bullet tore through him. Blood blooms against his shirt, dark and stark against the fabric, spreading rapidly.

Your knees hit the floor as a strangled scream rips from your throat. “No! No, no, no…Sylus!” you cry, crawling toward him, your hands reaching out instinctively. “You can’t die…You can’t die!” Your voice cracks with desperation as you press your palms to his chest, trying to stop the flow of blood. “Are you fucking crazy?!”

His breathing is shallow, his body warm as blood pulses out of him. You feel your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, your vision blurring as you sob uncontrollably. “Sylus, please,” you whisper, your voice breaking as you clutch at him. “I didn’t mean it… I didn’t mean what I said…I'm sorry. Please I'm sorry.”

And then, just as your hands grow slick with his blood, something impossible happens. The wound begins to close. Slowly, impossibly, the torn flesh knits itself back together, the blood retreating as if drawn back into his body. The hole in his chest seals completely, leaving only unbroken, unmarred skin.

Your mouth drops in horror, your mind spinning, every rational thought crumbling under the weight of what you’ve just witnessed. “Wh-what…what are you?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Sylus sits up slowly, brushing your hands aside with a faint smile. “Yours,” he says softly, as if the answer should have been obvious.

You scramble back, your body trembling as you struggle to process what you’ve just witnessed. “No…no, this isn’t possible,” you whisper, shaking your head. “You can’t… you shouldn’t…”

“Does this show you,” he murmurs, leaning closer as his voice drops to a soothing tone. “That I’m not going anywhere? No matter how much you fight me, no matter how much you think you hate me. I’m here. Always. You wanted to take my life, now you've taken it.”

"I-I...you're alive? After getting shot...?"

You sink even lower to the ground, beginning to tremble on your side. Relief, confusion, distress all encompass your mind. Your hands fly to your face, trembling as you try to block out the sight of him, the impossibility of what just happened. Hot tears spill freely, soaking your palms, and the sound of your ragged breathing fills the suffocating silence of the room.

What are you?

The words burn in your mind, a question you can’t force past your lips. You shake your head, trying to push away the horror of his unbroken gaze, his calm acceptance of the bullet meant to end him. The very same man who pressed a gun to his own chest and showed you the futility of your anger.

He's actually a monster...? A real monster...?

The tears come harder, your body shaking as the truth of your situation sinks in deeper than ever before. You’re trapped with a man who defies the very laws of life and death. You can’t fight him, can’t win, can’t escape. And now…now you carry his child.

Your hands drift to your belly, the slight curve that has grown over the past weeks now feeling heavier than it ever has. A new wave of anguish wells up in you as your mind spirals. What kind of child has he put inside you? Is this baby even human?

The thought fills you with dread, and you cry harder, burying your face in your hands as the room blurs around you. You can still feel Sylus’s presence, his eyes on you, unwavering. But you can’t look at him. You can’t bear to see the man who holds you captive, the man who claims to love you, the man who just proved he’s more than a simple man.

The sound of his steady breath fills the room, a sharp contrast to your sobbing. But then, as you finally look up through tear-blurred eyes, you see it—his chest, the place where the bullet tore through, now whole. The blood remains on his shirt, a stark, visceral reminder, but the flesh beneath is unbroken, smooth. Impossible.

Your breath hitches, and a new wave of sobs wracks your body. What kind of monster is he? What kind of thing are you trapped with? You shake your head, trembling, as you bury your face in your hands again.

You don’t hear him approach, but then you feel it—his hands, warm and steady, gently cupping your shoulders to lift you up onto your feet. His touch doesn’t feel cold or monstrous. It feels human, tender even, and it only makes your sobs harder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice low and thick with emotion. “I had to show you. I had to…” There’s something fragile in his tone, almost pleading, as if he’s begging for you to understand.

His hands slide down your arms, wrapping around you as he pulls you close. You stiffen instinctively, your mind screaming at you to pull away, but your body is weak, wrung out from the flood of emotions and the unbearable reality pressing down on you.

“You’re scared,” he murmurs, his lips close to your ear. “I know. But you don’t have to be. You’ll never have to be afraid of me harming you, sweetie. Not ever.” His arms tighten around you, his warmth radiating through your shaking form. “I’ll protect you. I’ll protect her.”

His words break through the storm of your sobs, a reminder of the life growing inside you—the child he forced upon you, the child who’s part of him. The tears don’t stop, but they shift, mingling with a deep, guttural dread.

He pulls back slightly, his hands moving to cup your tear-streaked face. His thumbs brush softly against your cheeks, wiping away the tears. “I’m sorry,” he says again, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “I know I scared you, but I needed you to see that no matter what you do, I’ll always come back to you.”

You stare at him, your mind a swirling storm of emotions—fear, relief, anger, confusion, and, beneath it all, something you don’t want to name. Something terrifying.

“Why?” you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible. “Why would you show me something like this?”

His gaze softens, and he leans closer, resting his forehead against yours. “Because I love you,” he says simply. “And I’ll never let anything take you from me. Nothing, not even death can keep us apart.”

You feel the weight of his words, their suffocating finality, and you squeeze your eyes shut, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. You hate him. You hate him so much. But in this moment, with his hands so steady and his voice so soothing, you feel yourself falling apart, breaking into pieces in the arms of the man who shattered your life.

You cry against him until your chest aches, until the tears won’t come anymore, until you’re left hollow and trembling in his arms. Your breaths slow, but your heart still pounds, fear and confusion swirling in your mind.

And then you feel it.

A small, sudden flutter in your stomach, faint but unmistakable. Your breath catches, your body freezing as the sensation repeats, soft yet insistent, like a tiny whisper from within.

Your hand flies instinctively to your belly, fingers trembling as they press against the fabric of your dress. The baby kicks again, stronger this time, as if responding directly to your overwhelming emotions. The realization crashes over you like a tidal wave, and fresh tears pour down your face, your vision blurring under the weight of this new reality.

She can feel it.

Your baby—this innocent life inside of you—is aware. Aware of your turmoil, your anguish, your fear. She’s not even born yet, and already she’s being touched by the chaos swirling around you. The thought steals the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping in the stillness of the room.

She can feel everything.

The truth sears through you, sharp and unrelenting. You feel your body quaking, your hand pressing harder against your stomach as though you can shield her, protect her from the storm you’ve unwittingly pulled her into. You can’t let her feel this. You can’t let her suffer for your despair.

You close your eyes tightly, willing yourself to take deep, even breaths. It’s okay. You’re okay.

The words echo in your mind like a mantra, shaky but desperate, as you fight to calm your racing heart. You try to project it outward, to send a wave of reassurance down to her, to let her know she’s safe, even if you don’t fully believe it yourself. You don’t know how to love this baby yet, not completely, not with everything you’re carrying. But if there’s one thing you can do, one thing you have the strength for, it’s this: you can at least let her feel that everything is okay.

She deserves that much.

But as your breathing steadies and the kicking subsides, replaced by a faint, comforting stillness, the weight of the same question slams into you once more. Your mind spirals with questions, each one darker and heavier than the last. But one in particular prevails.

What kind of monstrosity is he?

Your gaze shifts toward Sylus, who’s gazing down at you, his face a mixture of concern and an unsettling calm. He’s too much—too strong, too powerful, too inhuman. His very presence warps reality, bends it around him in ways that leave you gasping for air. He isn’t a man, not really. He’s something else entirely, something that defies everything you thought you knew about the world.

“Sylus…what are you?”

The question echos unanswered in the stillness of the room, their weight pressing down on you as the last shreds of your hope slip further from reach.

[tinyfantasminha]

OC introduction

[Thank you @haryuwu, @stestylius-arts and @ai-kan1 for the templates they look so clean and organized and I love them 😋]

Personality:

At first glance, Vic comes across as reserved and ordinary, maintaining cordial relationships without actively seeking friendships. However, once she grows close to someone, her brighter, more playful side shines through—she’s witty, bantering, and a bit tomboyish. She dislikes feeling restricted and tends to rebel against rules she finds unfair or unreasonable. While she firmly denies being a "mom friend," (she repulses the thought even) her actions often tell a different story. She’s fiercely loyal, quietly looking out for her friends and always stepping in to support them when they’re in need, even if she doesn’t admit it outright.

Though Vic sometimes comes across as naive or a bit of an airhead, it’s often by design—she purposefully plays the fool, keeping others guessing about her true thoughts and intentions. Why does she do this? Well… whatever the reason, there’s more to her than meets the eye.

Backstory:

Vic was once a naive, pure-hearted child, eager to please and willing to follow anyone’s whims. That all changed after a traumatic incident during a school trip to the woods. A classmate told her, “Wait right here and don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Obediently, she stayed put, unnoticed by her teachers or classmates. Hours passed as she waited, terrified and alone, until she was finally found by school staff after her mother reported her missing. This event left a deep scar on Vic, and the phrase “I’ll be right back” still triggers a wave of unease in her. Afterward, her submissive tendencies only worsened. She believed that by doing everything people asked, she’d be liked and accepted, avoiding the risk of being abandoned or badmouthed. Throughout middle school, this behavior made her an easy target for manipulation and psychological abuse. By her final years of high school, something within her snapped. The years of mistreatment awakened a rebellious, sharp-edged side. Vic stopped letting people walk all over her, becoming grumpier, colder, and more distrustful. She built a fortress around her true emotions, frequently lying or feigning indifference to protect herself. Though she hated the version of herself her pain had created, she learned to survive in her own way.

After graduating, Vic celebrated the end of that painful chapter in her life and vowed to reinvent herself. But just three days later, her plans were upended when she was hit by a mysterious carriage.

After the events of the prologue and her enrollment at NRC alongside Grim, Vic was struck by the mortifying realization that she’d have to relive high school all over again. Adding insult to injury, she remembered that, at the time she was hit by the mysterious carriage, she had been on her way to celebrate her graduation with an açaí smoothie—a treat she never got to enjoy. To this day, she can’t help but lament the smoothie that never was.

Notable relationships:

Jack Howl 🐺

At first, Vic was intimidated by Jack, fearing he’d be as condescending and judgmental as her classmates from middle school. However, once she got to know him, his caring and loyal nature quickly won her trust. Because of her magicless status and petite stature, Jack’s protective instincts naturally kick in around her. He often escorts her across campus, which leads to them spending more time together and growing closer.

Vic admires Jack’s honesty and strong sense of justice—qualities she found rare during her school days. His loyalty and protective behavior deeply touch her, even when he tries to hide it behind his tsundere demeanor (which she secretly finds adorable). Around Jack, Vic feels safe in a way she hasn’t before.

As their bond deepens, they begin to pine for each other, turning what should be simple interactions into painfully awkward moments. Jack’s straightforward and genuine nature makes Vic’s carefully constructed mask of aloofness crumble in his presence, leaving her vulnerable and overwhelmed by her emotions. Her feelings for him force her to confront her fears and insecurities, often leaving her shaken.

"If only there was someone like you by my side back then… maybe I wouldn’t have…!”

Leona Kingscholar 🦁

Initially, Vic and Leona barely interacted. He seemed indifferent to her presence and quietly appreciated that she didn’t nag him or try to change his lazy ways. However, her frequent visits to Savanaclaw piqued his curiosity, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was some kind of thrill-seeker. Her seemingly fragile, harmless appearance contrasted sharply with the boldness it took to linger in a dorm full of beastmen, leading him to nickname her “little mouse.”

Vic usually treats Leona with sweetness, but he sees right through her doe-eyed facade. Her true motives remain a mystery to him, and that intrigue makes him determined to unravel her secrets. To that end, Leona enjoys teasing and flustering her, just to watch her carefully constructed mask crack.

Leona is also keenly aware of Vic and Jack’s feelings for each other, which he finds highly entertaining. He takes great pleasure in cockblocking taunting them about it, using his sharp wit to nudge them closer to confronting their emotions. His teasing is particularly merciless with Jack, often warning him with sly remarks like, “You’d better keep a close eye on your prey, or she might just wander into the lion’s den.” What exactly does he mean by that? Who knows…

Ace Trappola ❤️ and Deuce Spade ♠️:

Vic’s first friends at NRC, Ace and Deuce quickly became two of her closest companions. The trio spends much of their time hanging out and bantering, creating a dynamic full of playful teasing. Her provocations often escalate with Ace, leading to occasional spats, though they’re always quick to reconcile.

With Deuce, Vic adopts a softer, almost sisterly demeanor, though she doesn’t hold back from teasing him—just not as intensely as she does with Ace. Around them, Vic maintains her cool, tomboyish exterior but will sometimes show emotional vulnerability when she needs comfort or support. Ace, however, never misses a chance to mercilessly tease her about her crush on Jack, much to her frustration (and embarrassment).

Idia Shroud💀:

Vic and Idia became friends through the Board Game Club, bonding over their shared interests and similarities. During club activities, they often team up to gently? bully and bicker with Azul, much to their mutual amusement. While Vic enjoys their camaraderie, their interactions mostly happen through DMs, as Idia’s shut-in nature makes face-to-face meetings rare—despite her frequent insistence that they hang out more in person.

Idia has developed a crush on her, which makes him even more hesitant to meet up outside of the club. He’s painfully aware (and secretly salty) about her preference for the athletic types in Savanaclaw, which makes his hopes—if he had any—practically nonexistent. For now, he keeps his feelings to himself, hoping to drown them. Vic, ever the supportive friend, often encourages him and occasionally flirts or gets touchy to tease him, delighting in his flustered reactions. Is she aware of his feelings? Who can say...

Azul Ashengrotto 🐙:

Vic initially had a strong dislike for Azul, finding his sweet-talking, calculating nature, and tendency to demand repayment for even the smallest favors uncomfortably reminiscent of her old classmates. She was openly hostile toward him, often meeting his charm with sharp-tongued, vulgar retorts. Yet, Azul remained undeterred.

Over time, as they spent more moments together in the Board Game Club, their constant bickering and competitive banter began to grow on her, almost without her noticing. She realized Azul was more "relaxed" during club activities, which made him easier to talk to. Vic now views him as a sort of rival, someone who challenges her wit and strategies, though neither likes to show vulnerability or weakness around the other.

If asked whether they’re friends, Vic will promptly deny it with a firm “no,” while Azul confidently responds with a smug “yes.” Despite their clashing personalities and opposing morals, they quietly look out for each other in their own way—remembering birthdays, exchanging souvenirs, and occasionally offering subtle gestures of support. Deep down, Vic knows Azul is an important friend, but she’d rather swallow a rock than admit it. Tsuntsun

Jamil Viper 🐍:

Vic harbors a superficial, puppy-like crush on Jamil, idolizing him and finding everything he does impossibly cool or impressive. Jamil, however, doesn’t seem to return her affections—or trust her, for that matter. He usually cuts her off with polite but firm indifference, which only seems to intensify her fascination, much to his exasperation. To Jamil’s dismay, Vic sighs dreamily whenever he’s cold or sharp-tongued with her (masochist much??) but gets utterly confused and flustered when he shows any hint of worry or care for her.

While Jamil would never admit it, he doesn’t entirely dislike her attention. Her admiration strokes his ego, and perhaps—just perhaps—he’s considering how he might use it to his advantage... t this doesn't seem very healthy...

Rook Hunt 🏹:

Like most people, Vic initially felt uneasy around Rook’s overly flamboyant and romantic demeanor. She couldn’t understand his fascination with her or his flowery praise, often responding to his compliments with pragmatic retorts or modest deflections. However, as time passed and she recognized the sincerity behind his words of encouragement, her wariness faded, and she began to trust him more.

Knowing it’s nearly impossible to keep secrets from Rook, Vic sometimes reluctantly vents her frustrations and insecurities to him. In turn, he offers thoughtful advice and unwavering emotional support. He nicknames her “Mademoiselle Fantôme” (ghost) and seems to see right through her composed exterior.

Like Leona, he’s aware there’s more to her than meets the eye and enjoys analyzing her hidden depths. Rook takes particular delight in evoking various reactions from Vic, describing her as a “kitten with hidden claws,” always intrigued by her blend of aloofness and fire.

Trivia:

While Vic appears tomboyish and sisterly with the first years, Jack is the exception. Around him, she’s notably sweeter and more bashful.

The more nervous or flustered she becomes, the higher-pitched (and more pathetic) her voice gets.

Vic used to be close with her older sister, a prosecutor. Her strong sense of justice and argumentative nature were heavily influenced by her sibling.

When heated, Vic becomes highly argumentative, delivering well-constructed, logical points to dismantle her opponent’s stance—a rare display of bold confidence.

Her dream is to become a detective/investigator.

Vic doesn’t get angry often, but when she does, it’s described as a “cold, merciless ire with sharp words that could make a grown man cry” (Ace’s words).

Though she’s a bit of a coward and dislikes confrontation, her quick thinking and improvisation often help her slip out of sticky situations. (Both Leona and Rook take notes on her sharp survival instinct.)

Despite her unassuming appearance, Vic has surprising leg strength and flexibility from self-defense classes she took as a child. She claims she’s rusty and fell out of practice for the most part, but her kicks prove otherwise.

Her birthday (February 4) is the same as Cater’s, so their celebrations are often combined in Heartslabyul. Cater affectionately calls her his “twinsie” and refers to her as “cute lil sis.”

Floyd nicknames her “Axolotl” and teases her relentlessly about her height. He especially enjoys being overly touchy with her in Jack’s presence.

Vic occasionally treats herself to Mostro Lounge visits to gossip with Jade, often about Azul’s defeats in the board game club. Jade uses this intel to tease and blackmail Azul later.

The Light Music Club adores pampering her and repeatedly begs her to join as a singer, but she always flusteredly declines.

Like Ace, Vic can be mischievous and a bit greedy. She shamelessly accepts Kalim’s generous offers of money (though she hopes Jack doesn’t find out...)

Vil intimidates her to no end with his sharp gaze, but she secretly admires him and dreams of having him give her a makeover someday. Rook frequently (and gleefully) tries to push her to approach Vil, much to her horror.

Malleus believes they are closer friends than they actually are, often due to misinterpreting her words and actions. Vic, too kind or maybe scared to correct him, finds herself roped into his gargoyle monologues during their awkward little outings.

[velvetvexations]

Antigonism

ANTIGONE: I'll do my duty to my brother - and yours as well, if you're not prepared to. I won't be caught betraying him.

What is antigonism?

Antigonism is a transfeminist mode of thought specifically for transfems that embrace solidarity with other trans people, as well as those who are intersex and the queer community in general, under the belief that it's vital to recognize we're all equally oppressed and capable of doing lateral harm to one another

Beliefs of antigonistic transfems include but are not limited to:

accepting that transandrophobia exists

being mindful of exorsexism

not policing the terms that intersex people use for themselves

awareness that other AMAB people can present as feminine without being some kinna insult to us

recognizing that racial hegemony and the cishetpatriarchy are radically different systems of oppression and any comparison between the two, while possible, must be made with exceptional care

rejecting the "reclamation" of radical feminism

finding it appalling to demand that other trans people define themselves as privileged for not experiencing the same things as us - especially when they do in fact experience much of what is commonly, inexplicably cited as unique to transfems.

Isn't that just trans unity?

Trans unity is also great! But I feel like transfems who explicitly reject trans radical feminism could do with a word that is more forceful and specific. Some would prefer that this just be considered the default, and the vocal minority of people who think transfems are oppressed by other trans people should simply be treated as weirdos out of step with the rest of us, but I think there's value in making a strong statement with a term like this.

I've seen a lot of people who legitimately feel like shit because the vocal minority has been so loudly terrible that it's affecting how comfortable they are with random transfems whose opinions they don't know. I understand the temptation to just say they need to touch grass or whatever, but even aside from the fact that things like anti-transmasculinity within the community isn't purely limited to discourse on a dying social media website, I feel like that's blaming them for their reaction to being treated cruelly. I think antigonism could help drill in that there are tons of transfems who back them up, and that they don't need to search for keywords to know that person is safe.

Because, like, that happens to me, too. So many times I've seen a post I really liked and thought was insightful, only to have my distrustful nature lead me to doing such a search before reblogging and being gravely disappointed with the results. That fucking sucks, yall.

Why "antigonism"?

In the legends of Ancient Greece, Oedipus had two sons. One of them, Polynices, would eventually go on to wage war upon his brother, Eteocles, the king of Thebes. There were many telling of the story, some in which Polynices had a very good reason for doing so and some where he didn't.

Polynices and Eteocles both killed each other in the war, but Creon, who took power after, unilaterally declared that Polynices was a traitor. Antigone, the daughter of Oedipus, however, simply does not give a fuck what Polynices did or did not do. When Creon orders that any who try to bury Polynices will be put to death, she proudly does so anyway.

The most famous teller of Oedipus's family history, Sophocles, wrote a play about the war, but it's lost to time and so we know nothing definite about what version of events is canon to Sophocles' play starring the titular Antigone. Considering that the whole point of Creon's character is his dogmatic clinging to law over sense, his assessment of Polynices as being in the wrong for going against authority doesn't clear things up.

I emphasize this because I don't want to seem like I'm framing other trans people - transmascs especially - as requiring forgiveness for some vague past sin. Quite the opposite, just as they treat us as their sisters in spite of that minority of transfems who are awful to them, we must recognize that they're often the first to shut down transmisogynists amongst themselves. Ultimately the point of Antigone's actions in defying the law to honor her brother is that things like that are entirely irrelevant. The fact that the person accusing Polynices of being evil is a jackass, and we know there were versions of the story where Eteocles had it coming, is even more reason to look past his "crime."

ANTIGONE: I owed it to him. CREON: I had forbidden it. ANTIGONE: I owed it to him. CREON: Polynices was a rebel and a traitor, and you know it. ANTIGONE: He was my brother.

Does that mean we should not call out other trans people who are transmisogynistic or otherwise treat trans women badly? Of course not. But we have no more right to abandon or spit on them than they do us, which so many of them refuse to do in spite of the hostility they've often faced. To be an antigonist is to believe that we can do no less for those who do so much for us, and the creation of the term is intended not to spur more to do that so much as to give a name to those who've already been doing that.

Finally, I understand that the plot of Antigone revolving around Polynice's burial might feel grim. Critically, however, Antigone ultimately dies as well.

ISMENE: I must yield to those in authority. I think it is dangerous business to be always meddling. ANTIGONE: You have made your choice, you can be what you want to be. But I will bury him, and if I must die, I say that this crime is holy. I shall lie down with him in death, and I shall be as dear to him as he to me.

We are oppressed by the same forces. We are allies in the same fight. We are friends, lovers, and family. An antigonist is a transfem who believes that all trans people will live together and die together. We are committed to sharing the same fate with our siblings, one way or another. Antigonists see us all as bound together, headed for the same destination, and we would not for a second ever want it to be otherwise no matter where that road leads.

One more thing!

Even if this terminology doesn't catch on, I hope this effort means something to anyone who sees this. <3 Your sisters do love you, I promise.

[animeyanderelover]

Anon: How would yan chuuya, jouno, light, megumi and gojo react to a darling that just doesn't care that they're yanderes?

I already did a similar concept with Chuuya before but I added him nonetheless because I wrote this with a darling in mind that is even fine with the Yandere killing

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional mindset, clinginess, isolation, murder

Tags: @maggiequinn59 @shumidehiro @leveyani @izanami78 @lovley-valentine7

Darling doesn't care that they are obsessed

Yagami Light

✍️Light takes the information very well, a pleased grin on his lips when he realises that none of the things that he does seem to bother you. It’s a sign of submission from your side, something that could only ever please a man with a god complex like he has. This is how it should be after all. You should know your place and love him utterly and completely for the perfect being that he is. Light has done some terrible things in the name of his proclaimed love for you, things that he believes he has the right to do as no one is allowed to steal the person away from him that he plans to keep by his side after he has become the New God. Stealing what belongs to a deity is nothing short of a sin. A sin that has to be punished with death itself. After having confirmed that his feelings for you haven’t scared you nor have some of the actions that he has committed which you were aware of, Light starts truly testing how far your adoration and your dedication go for him. He reveals his ideologies, his mission, his identity to you as well as the future he plans to have with you all whilst you remain loving and loyal. Oh, you are indeed worthy of ruling this world alongside with him. He chose wisely.

Nakahara Chuuya

🟠Chuuya tends to let his delusional side get the better of him yet upon initial discovery that you truly don’t care about his behavior as long as he keeps on loving you and treating you well, the Executive is a tad bit concerned. Are you sure? You’re really fine with all of this? He’s in the Port Mafia, he’s killed people for you even. It’s just hard to believe that you accept all of it as gracious as you do to the point where Chuuya wonders if you’re trying to trick him. That distrust remains for a while even if you give him no reason to doubt you. Paranoia is rarely soothed by logic after all. Once Chuuya has been convinced that you truly mean it when you say that you don’t care about his obsession he gets undeniably more delusional though. If you don’t mind his obsession after all he can’t possibly be as bad as he thought he was. He starts indulging in his obsession for you more and more as you basically give him a free pass, asks of you to move in with him so that he can protect you better all whilst spoiling the living shit out of you. He doesn’t really have to hold himself back as much anymore which leads the Executive to turn his possessive behavior up quite a bit. You won’t mind after all.

Jouno Saigiku

♦️For Jouno this knowledge is a bit of a double-edged sword. On the one hand you are easier to deal with, don’t throw any tantrums which could get on his nerves and show quite a level of obedience that deeply satisfies his possessive side. The composed sound of your heart doesn’t overwhelm him but sometimes he also finds himself getting bored. Don’t forget that this Hunting Dog is still an utter sadist after all who would love to listen to the melody of your frantic heartbeat once in a while. After all it’s quite unspectacular for you to be so monotonous with your behavior and your acceptance all of the time. As much obedience and acceptance you may give him after all, it is all for naught if Saigiku doesn’t have control over you by having you fear him. Loyalty and love are not enough in his mind, not if there isn’t fear that weights you down and has you carefully thinking about every stupid decision you might make. The sadist inside of him is truly talking out of him with this desire yet Jouno never attempts to restrain his actions. Since you’ve already taken so well to everything that he’s done so far he’s sure you won’t mind learning how to be a bit scared of him~

Fushiguro Megumi

💙Megumi’s silent paranoia has led him to justify his overprotective and somewhat overbearing behavior most of the time yet there is a shred of awareness still left somewhere inside of him. It is this last shred of sanity that is the only thing letting him know that you shouldn’t think this way, that you should be scared of him. Perhaps you’re trying to trick him? Something holds Megumi back from believing you when you first admit it to him, almost accusing you of trying to fool him so that he lets his guard down. The moment you manage to convince him though that you are speaking the truth the last shard of awareness shatters and leaves him thoroughly led by his paranoid and overprotective instincts. Of course he trusts you. It’s everyone else that he doesn’t trust though. So you two better spend time alone with each other where others won’t be able to bother the two of you. When he isn’t with you, try not to leave the house. If you do, please contact him and let him know where you are, what you are doing and when you are back home again. No, he isn’t overbearing and overprotective. He only wants to ensure your safety, wants to know you’re safe.

Gojo Satoru

🩵Gojo totally eats your behavior up as soon as he knows that you really don’t mind his overbearing, clingy and paranoid attitude. This man has no restrains to begin with as he never holds his affection back but everything becomes even more gross for the people forced to watch as soon as you indirectly give him the free pass. The man is thrilled, constantly smothers you in love and presents and he quickly pushes this relationship to move in the direction he wants it to go. You quickly find yourself moving in with him as it takes him little to no time to convince you, you find yourself spending an almost overwhelming amount of time with him as he gets quickly jealous when you pay attention to others as his possessive and needy nature quickly cages you in. You’re compliant, you’re sweet and you love him for the person that he is which only pushes Gojo to cling tigthter and tighter to you. He finds comfort in you, he finds his peace when he’s with you and he only confines his pain and his feelings to you. You know him. You understand him. You love him. For those reasons he will never let you leave him nor will he ever let anyone lay a finger on you.

[charliemwrites]

Bark bark bark awoooo

No content warnings

You’re gonna fucking combust.

Somehow, someway, this is Johnny’s fault. You’re not sure how yet, so he it isn’t fair for him to be in trouble, but you know it.

“This is your fault,” you tell him, pouting in bed — bare ass naked, but that means nothing to him, he’s a dog. He cocks his head, and you wave your (broken) vibrator at him. “I don’t know how, but it is. Is this because I wanna chop your balls off?”

His mouth closes, eyes big - like he actually understands you. In your horny delirium, you almost believe he really does.

You flop onto your back with a sigh, eyes a little wet with frustration.

It’s been two months since you last successfully got off. Your vibrator (and its replacement… and its replacement’s replacement) keep breaking, or running out of battery. The plug is defective or falls out of the socket.

Once you successfully got right to the edge - just for it to die. You almost did cry that time.

Sure, there’s your hand. But every time you try ol’ reliable a certain four-legged roommate interrupts one way or another. And when you tried to kick him out of the room, and then ignored the howling, scratching, and general drama - there was loud and rapid knocking at your door.

Like fucking clockwork. If you get anywhere at all, you never get to finish.

It wouldn’t be so bad, either. Your libido isn’t anything crazy, you don’t think. At least it wasn’t before. But now there’s Soap.

Soap who you should not be so attracted to. Who has no sense of propriety or boundaries, who murmurs the dirtiest things to you in the most public and otherwise mundane places. And he just keeps. Showing. Up.

Like he’s got a tracker on you or something. (You’ve checked, he doesn’t.)

He’s like every guilty fantasy you had as a good, studious girl back in high school. The kind of guy to grab your thigh under your parents’ dinner table and take your virginity in the back of his car. Maybe corner you by the lockers between classes to kiss you silly and drive up your absence record.

You never actually went for those boys — and perhaps gratefully, they never went for you. In romance novels, it would be a quaint little coming of age story. The stuff to swoon over. But reality was a lot scarier for you, especially with your older sister always keeping an ear out to report back to your parents and… well, yeah.

You’ve always been a firm introvert, anyway. That’s why you live out in the woods with only a dog for regular company.

But Soap. Soap is some unholy amalgamation of those innocent, shy girl fantasies turned R-rated. Like the grown-up version of those cute YA novels.

And you have no defense for it — except distrust, that is.

Soft-hearted as you are, you know you don’t do casual well. And you know that guys like Soap just like to spin you up and up until you finally give in, think the dreaded words “maybe it’ll work out” despite that rational voice in your head saying, “don’t bet on it.”

Doesn’t stop you from secretly wanting him though.

Fear is the only thing keeping you in check now. Some of it for you own feelings; of getting invested in a guy that has done nothing but treat you like a prime cut of meat. The rest of it is a genuine concern that he might be a bit dangerous. He’s so much bigger than you, visibly stronger. Has gone out of his way to make you uncomfortable (doesn’t matter that a very dark and slutty part of you liked it) and ignored your attempts at brushing him off.

Fear, unfortunately, is beginning to add to the temptation.

“I’m not going to do it,” you tell yourself, or maybe Johnny. Soap’s contact is on the screen. You don’t remember putting it into your phone, but you must have at some point. “Nope. No way.”

You slide a sideways look at Johnny, tail wagging at a steady clip.

“He’s probably a former frat boy or something, right?” you muse.

Snort.

“No, you don’t think so?” you question, sitting up. He happily crawls into your lap when you pat your thighs, chin resting on your tummy. “Nah, you’re right. Could almost imagine him beating the hell out of one for pissing him off.”

A little grumbly noise. You smile and start petting absently over his head and ears, phone forgotten now.

“This is dumb anyway,” you sigh, head tilted back to the ceiling. “You don’t like men. I couldn’t bring him back here.”

Johnny’s ears flick. You giggle and start flopping them around, making airplane noises. Eventually he huffs and starts licking at your face until you stop, complaining that you’ll need to wash off now.

—

“Fuck it.”

Johnny picks his head up, staring at you as you run a hand down your face.

“Fuck it all. I’m going to a bar. I’m getting… I dunno. Laid or something.” Thank god it’s only Johnny here. You don’t think you could live with the embarrassment of someone else hearing the way you talk.

You set your hands on your hips, nod to yourself.

“And if it happens to be Soap, then… sign from the universe, right?” You grimace a bit, striding for your bedroom. “Please don’t let him be a murderer or something…”

For once, Johnny is perfectly behaved as you get ready. He doesn’t try to lick at you when you come out of shower (freshly shaved and lotioned and everything). Sits patiently on the bed as you pick through your closet, even noses at a pretty pink dress you rarely wear but were considering for this.

He doesn’t try to bump your arms or hands while you do your makeup, just watches attentively. You choose a pretty, matching bra-panty set, apply a light spritz of perfume. Hesitate over jewelry.

“Is it normal to wear jewelry when you plan on fucking?” you wander allowed.

A little “boof” from the bed. You’ll take that as a yes.

You decide on a set of faux pearls with a gold heart pendant in the center. Not quite a choker, but high enough on your throat to suggest one. A delicate bracelet, a pair of stud earrings, and you’re just about set.

“Christ, I hate doing this alone,” you mutter, fumbling with the zip on the back of the dress.

Lastly, the shoes.

“Fuck it,” you say again. Your mantra for the evening, apparently. Wobble into a pair of heels, a bow on the outside of each ankle where you buckle them.

You pause when you’re done, giving yourself a once over in the full length mirror. Pleased with what you see. Coquettish and pretty, not necessarily bombshell sexy maybe, at least not on first glance. But the necklace, the heels, the cutouts at the waist of your dress… it’s all exactly what you wanted.

“Alright,” you breathe, tummy swooping with excitement. “I can do this… right?”

Johnny’s gotten down off the bed, is keeping a respectful distance. You appreciate it, don’t want to have to lint roll hair off yourself.

“Oh, god. What if he’s bad?” You ask, giving him a horrified look. “What if he’s been, like, compensating?”

To your shock, he stomps his paw and starts damn near howling. Carrying on and on like he’s bitching you out. You blink in shock, almost laugh — then check the time.

“Oh! Don’t worry, baby. I won’t let you starve!”

You toddle off to the kitchen and prep his dinner, scrunching your nose at the raw chicken and beef liver. He grumbles and fusses the whole way, making you laugh as you pretend to have a whole conversation about the economy with him.

“Okay, bonnie Johnny,” you coo, setting his bowl down. “Be good, okay? If I bring someone back here please don’t eat them, okay?”

More grumbles and whines and growls. You roll your eyes, blow him a kiss, and slip out the door.

You tell yourself you just need action with someone. Don’t admit to yourself that there’s really a specific someone you’re hoping to see.

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Masterlist

[jweekgoji]

Hello! Your writing is amazing! Can I request a yandere Sentinel Prime with a femme reader who has an overprotective Sire? Her sire does not care about who Sentinel is and clearly does not like him and it pisses Sentinel off. Take your time!

Yandere!Sentinel Prime/Femme!Reader with an overprotective sire [hcs]

tw: yandere behavior, mentions of manipulation, jealousy, very brief violence, possesiveness. word count: ~890 a/n: for some reason, I can see Ultra Magnus being this father figure, hehe. thank you for request, Anon~ smoooooch

Your sire doesn't like Sentinel? Well, that certainly wasn't in the plans for him. He expects everyone to treat him like a royalty and look up at him, so when someone treats him differently, it kinda catches off guard.

I don't think yandere!Sentinel will go into his 'killing mode' the moment he sees an obstacle, mainly because he's sure he can take care of that in a classy way.

Sentinel is definitely that guy who really wants to make a good first impression on your sire. He might act like a really confident mech in front of you, but for some reason, he is a little nervous about the thoughts of meeting your sire.

In his mind, it really goes quickly from «oh come on, why would her father dislike me? Everyone loves me!» to «oh Primus. what if he hates me?» and that's how it repeats 24/7. Eventually, the confident Sentinel wins, but he takes a lot of time to prepare for any possible scenario. Everything should be perfect, every single smallest detail is personally checked by him, so nothing goes past.

Imagine Sentinel's expression when your sire harshly brushes it off with a «You're not good enough for my daughter and I don't want you around her. End. Of. Story» and just SLAMS the door shut into his face the moment the other bot sees him. Basically, that's where everything goes wrong. Oh, his poor ego.

Yandere Sentinel especially hates when something goes wrong and not according to his plan. He's a perfectionist, and if he spots any imperfections, it's a total disaster for him! His mood quickly changes from sweet and kind to annoyed and impulsive, so it's better to stay away from him for a good few minutes until he takes a deep breath and goes like «this is fine...everything is fine! :)» with his optic twitching and a small frown on his faceplate, which is easily noticed through his smile.

Yandere!Sentinel gets paranoid with the thought that your sire will start putting the wrong thoughts in your processor, talking trash about him behind his back, so eventually you will start to question your love for Sentinel as well. So, he decides to step in and turn the tables, planting the seeds of distrust about your parental figure. Does your father really care that much for you? Nothing is wrong with being a little protective over your own little spark, but you're no sparkling, you should build your own life!

He does it carefully, using tiny, innocent and careful remarks whenever you two are alone after another disastrous meeting with your sire.

«If your sire really wants what is best for you, why he takes your chances of happiness?»

Until he practically struck you with a head-on, «You always tell me that you love me. So you should choose. Me or him.»

Sentinel is selfish. A small part of him understands how ridiculous it is, to feel jealousy just because your mentor is present in your life. But when you start having more of those father-and-daughter times together, when your attention goes more to your sire rather than him, all rationality in his processor just disappears.

He spends half the day trying to call for you. He wants to know where the frag you are and WHY you don't pick up his calls immediately, since he needs you right here and now. As his partner, you're obligated to always be there for him, and being ignored by you...the audacity!

Sentinel walks in circles in his office, and the silence is bothering him to the insanity. One moment, he will start crying his spark out to her about it.

“After everything I have done to her..! Can you imagine that?” he looks at Airachnid for validation, his voice full of frustration. “I swear, if she calls back, I'm going to tell her everything I think of her, that—”

But the moment he sees your name popping up on the screen, he is conflicted. On the one hand, he wants to pick up immediately, on the other hand, he doesn't want to seem desperate. So he waits a few seconds until he finally decides.

Airachnid gives him almost a disappointed look as she sees her boss using that sweet voice when he talks to you. Suddenly, Sentinel is not that angry anymore, and if anything, he's relieved to finally see and hear your precious voice. He almost forgets about what he said a moment ago until you hit him with «oh, sorry Sentinel, I was with my sire all day. I can't visit you today. See you tomorrow!».

He almost snaps the device in his servo by the end of the call.

Eventually, Sentinel gets exhausted from all of it. He really tried, despite the constant disrespect from your sire. He has no remorse when he finally asks Airachnid to deal with the obstacle in his way of getting you, covering the story as an incident. The death of your sire would shatter you, but don't worry, you will heal soon enough with him by your side.

[descendant-of-truth]

I do think they kind of shot themselves in the foot when it comes to the events of Sonic Forces, not because they were bad ideas or even because they were poorly-executed, but because of how it necessitates a change in character dynamics that Sega isn't willing to let happen.

Sonic canon is now existing in a time where Eggman's succeeded in taking over most of the world before, along with imprisoning Sonic for, and I need to emphasize this every time I mention it, six months straight. If Sonic's going to be jokey and casual with Eggman after that, then we need to be able to tell that it's something of a front that he's putting up, or else the character continuity makes no sense.

Recall how, in Adventure 2, Sonic would mock Eggman a bit when he thought he had the upper hand with the fake Chaos Emerald, but not because he wasn't taking him seriously as a villain. He knew that the situation was tense, he was talking big just because that's his personality.

Also recall how he completely dropped the humor whenever things got really bad. Well, he's seen things get pretty much as bad as possible in Forces, all because of Eggman, and I just can't buy the casual nature of their interactions in Frontiers because of it. No matter how casually Sonic acts around him, it's gotta be clear that he doesn't feel comfortable with him. And as entertaining as their dialogue in Frontiers is due to that vibe, it's out of character at this point in the timeline.

Yes, Sonic was the same way with him during Forces. But Frontiers was fully willing to let Tails have more serious, grounded feelings about what happened in Forces, so why not Sonic?

And seriously, what's with this trend of letting literally everyone but Sonic experience residual effects of Forces? Tails shows lasting guilt/anxiety regarding Infinite's first attack in both the games and the comics. And in those comics, the Restoration is all about rebuilding the world after the war, pretty clearly being shaped by their experiences. Meanwhile, Sonic mentions his imprisonment exactly once, and it gets brushed aside immediately.

I understand that Sonic wouldn't want to talk about it, but at a certain point, he doesn't really need to. A shift in how seriously he takes Eggman as a threat, showing his distrust whenever possible, would easily be enough to get the point across. Maybe make a point about him being a little antsy in tight spaces or something (which is the same way Forces communicated the effects being captured had on him, by the way).

And honestly, Eggman should feel a little different, too. He's now someone who's come so close to complete world domination and still lost, I feel like we should be seeing... I dunno, something. A different edge to his hatred for Sonic after such a monumental failure, maybe. Anything to show that Forces mattered at all to the major players involved.

Like, I don't think I'm asking for much here. If we can shake up the status quo of the series by allowing Eggman to be an Actual Dad with a Child, we can allow Sonic and friends to treat him as a legitimate threat who can't be trusted. But nooo, Eggman has to be silly enough to continue the Brand Image, which means that Sonic doesn't even get to have retroactive character development like Tails did

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

hi i wanted to share that i got an IUD for the first time and my doctor was really really good about informed consent/communication in general—asked if there was specific anatomical language i preferred or was uncomfortable with (i’m trans); explicitly said that if it at any point something felt wrong or i changed my mind he would stop; talked me through what he’d be doing for the entire procedure before starting anything including what level of pain/discomfort i should expect at different stages; showed me the speculum so i could see the size and explained why he needed to use it; for that matter showed me everything he’d be using, down to the cotton swabs, and explained their purpose; and then during he was again talking me through what he was doing and where he was going to be touching me and everything. and i hadn’t like told him i was nervous or distrustful or anything, this was clearly just standard procedure! sharing partly bc i thought it might spark joy for you and also bc ive seen enough shitty doctor experience stories on your blog that i want people to know that they absolutely can and should hold doctors to high standards of care and communication bc it is absolutely possible to treat your patients with respect and make them feel safe and like they have autonomy!

this is an awesome experience! thank you so much for sharing, I really appreciate being able to platform stuff like this so people have a good point of comparison for how healthcare providers ought to treat them and know that there are better options out there :)

[phoenixeclipse-lmkau]

What if reqder was also a monkey?

How would the first meeting go and would the warlords still be in love with reader at the end?

(And can i be 🎂 anon?)

Yes, you can be 🎂 Anon! I am so glad to have another anon!

As for if Reader was also a monkey. I'd say in this version that if Reader was a monkey, she'd originally be from the Jttw World. She'd be from the same village as Spirit.

Her mother was a monkey demon while her father... let's just say he's not. He's also not human, celestial or demon. I have a plan for him but I'll keep that for later in this version of my au. Should I call it Monkey AU? Hmm… maybe I’ll need another name for it.

Spirit and Reader would be good friends from the get-go and sworn sisters ever since they were young children. In this version Reader is actually more adventurous and reckless. Having grown up in this world she is used to demon attacks, deadly threats and so forth.

She's a fighter willing to protect her only friend even if it means the death of herself.

She would meet Sun and Mac when she reaches Flower Fruit Mountain. Her and Spirit would have gotten there faster because there are two of them fighting their opponents instead of one. Also because Reader is a monkey demon she is welcomed onto the island by the two warlords with open arms, both excited to meet new monkey demons.

(A little backstory/ lore - Marshals Ma and Liu and Generals Beng and Ba are the only monkey demons born to flower fruit mountain, other than Wukong of course. Wukong makes it his mission to invite as many monkey demons to fill the mountain with and most come with him excitedly as they aren’t seen kindly by the humans of the mainland. After Macaque joins Wukong they both make it their mission to make the humans who treated their kind pay dearly, even though not all humans were harsh to them)

Anyways Reader gets to see her sworn sister meet her father and her new family first hand. She is both happy for her sister and slightly disappointed knowing that she wasn’t the only one her friend had now. She liked the feeling of being needed, but doesn’t want to spoil Spirit’s fun. Because of that she goes off to explore the island so her sister can have time meeting her family.

Of course this catches the attention of Macaque. Wukong is the one who trusts most monkey demons almost blindly with little distrust. Macaque on the other hand? No, he has fought and killed others who have threatened his life weather they were of his kind or not.

He has no intention of harming those his mate has chosen to be apart of their kingdom and makes sure to have friendly relations with them. However that doesn’t mean he trusts blindly especially those who have just arrived and haven’t yet accepted Wukong as their king. So following the new troop mates around is something he has made a habit of, but this time Wukong realizes what he’s doing.

After a short talk (Mostly using Wukong’s curiosity against him) the two follow the monkey demoness around. She has no rhythm or reason to her walks and simply looks around curious about her surroundings. When she believes she’s alone she sings softly allowing her voice to float through the air. Both Wukong and Macaque like the private ‘show’ not that they say anything at first.

Then they see her interact with the cubs around the mountain. The cubs that are so cute and adorable as they climb up and down Reader, curious about the newest member of the troop. All the while Reader laughs as she makes sure they don’t fall and grabs fruit from the trees to pass around to the youngsters. She is absolutely loving towards them making sure they are safe and happy. That is when the first smallest spark hits their hearts. Though they easily play it off, after all it’ll disappear after a while… right?

Hours turn into days, days turn into weeks and before they know it, two months have passed. And the small spark has turned into a bright flame that doesn’t die and is hard to hide. No matter how much they try. They can’t help but pay attention to her, they can’t help but absolutely ADORE her.

Now these two are very loyal to each other, but when feelings begin to bloom for this new Monkie demon they end up trying to stay away, unfortunately for them she seems to be a magnet for them. They are drawn to her from her smile to her laugh. When Macaque finds his mate liking this new woman (even though he likes her too) he intends to put an end to it. But when he sees her smile at him he completely freezes and can’t go through with it.

Macaque realizes he loves Reader almost as much as he loves his own mate. Telling his mate however is harder than anything else because his mate, his oh so OBLIVIOUS mate doesn’t realize he LOVES the woman that he does! Macaque remembers what he had to do to get Wukong to believe that he loved him now how is he supposed to get him to realize he loves this woman too!

Fortunately for Macaque, Wukong knows what love feels like. After all he feels love for Macaque so when he feels the oh so familiar feeling for Reader, well he KNOWS. It does take the two quite a while to actually talk to each other about their feelings though. They don’t want the other to go into a jealous rage and kill their new darling after all.

They do eventually talk and when they do? Well Reader realizes they are giving her more attention but doesn’t really think much of it… until she decides it’s time to leave to travel. Reader doesn’t like to be cooped up for too long especially Monkey!Reader she likes to travel. Unfortunately for her, when she goes to tell the Monkey King and his mate goodbye, well… she doesn’t get the chance to leave the mountain.

Hehe! I loved this ask. Now mind you this is my first idea for monkey!Reader. I also have another version that I have deemed Stone Monkie! Reader, though maybe not the same ‘stone’ as you may think. She was NOT born from stone. There is a different reason she is called Stone Monkie!Reader.

Hearts, comments and asks are always appreciated. Sorry this took so long 🎂 Anon. But I do love this ask. This is basically a headcanon quick version of a small fic now that I look at it. Hope you’re okay with that!

Edit: Added Monkie!Reader Lmk Au/ Monkie!Reader Au tag