#I’ll go somewhere else instead and take camera?

[yakultii]

I have a uni assignment to do but I’m just gonna eat pie, buy honeydew milk tea and go on a long walk

[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.

[coco-loco-nut]

She’s So Gone

pairing: lando x ex!reader, charles x platonic!reader, carlos x reader

summary: all it takes is a kiss to change everything

masterlist requests open

———————

“Lando, stop,” you laugh as your boyfriend tickles your side. He is staying with you for the evening since the F3 opening race is at Silverstone.

“Come on, say you are coming to my race,” he pouts as his hands still from their assault on your side.

“I’ll try. I have a paper that I need to finish first,” you can’t help but feel the mood drop as Lando lays down beside you.

“You can work on it at the track,” he feebly argues.

“Lan, I have to put my studies first. Plus, the band might want to practice for our gig next week,” you frown.

“Aren’t I more important?” he asks, and you feel your stomach twist.

“You are, Lan. I’ll be there. Just try and come to my gig next week, yeah?” you ask, absentmindedly rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb.

“Of course, wouldn’t miss it,” Lando promises. And while you skipped sleep and shuffled things around to attend Lando’s race, he forgot your gig and gave a weak apology. He always did.

You attend the first race after your school year ended and fiddle with the team shirt that Lando gave you to wear.

“Stay just like that, you look so pretty,” Lando says, camera in hand as he takes a picture.

“Come on, Lando. I probably look awful,” you say, arms folding in front of you. Lando steps closer, pulling your arms down and bringing you into a hug.

“Of course now. How could you when you wear my shirt,” Lando wraps his arm around your shoulder and leads you through the paddock. You can’t help but feel like everyone is judging you, especially because it’s a support race weekend.

Lando ends up dragging you out to a bar after his podium. As soon as you arrive, you are left alone. You watch Lando talk to people, forgetting about you.

“Are you okay?” a voice asks. You recognize him as the driver who won the F2 feature race. How sad must you look, standing alone at the bar, so that someone you don’t know is concerned.

“Yeah, just waiting for my boyfriend to get back,” your eyes travel to where you last saw Lando, only to see him kissing some blonde girl. “I, um,” you swallow and blink back tears.

Charles’ eyes are wide as he looks between you and Lando, feeling a little awkward. He just wanted to make sure you weren’t about to pass out from alcohol, and he’s watching you get cheated on.

“Sorry, I’m just gonna go,” you bitterly smile.

“Fuck,” Charles mutters, turning to follow you. “Hold on, you shouldn’t walk alone at night,” Charles doesn’t know why he’s offering, but his gut usually isn’t wrong.

“I’m fine, but thank you. You should enjoy your party,” you a fighting to stay fine.

“I insist, it was getting boring anyway,” Charles lies. “Where are you staying?” Your silence is an answer enough. “I have a pull out bed in my hotel room, if you need somewhere to crash for the night,” he offers, still unsure why he’s offering.

“Thanks,” you whisper. Luckily for you, Charles was only a few floors from Lando and your bag was mostly packed. Your phone rings with a call from Lando, but you ignore it. Instead, you scribble a note on the pad provided by the hotel, telling him you were done.

Charles watches as your hand shakes a little, but you seem relieved. He sends a quick text to his teammate to not be surprised that there is a random girl crashing in their hotel room.

“I don’t ever think I caught your name,” Charles breaks the silence as you walk to his room.

“Y/n,” you feel a weight lifted off your shoulders, finally breaking away from Lando. As much as you don’t want to admit it, he’s been weighing you down, making you choose him over everything else.

“I’m Charles. Sorry about what happened back there,”

“It’s fine, probably for the best. Thanks for, uh, letting a stranger crash the night,” you set your bags down as you help Charles pull out the couch.

“It’s the right thing to do,” Charles replies as he hands you a couple pillows and a blanket.

After he bids you goodnight, you rebook your train home to the first one of the day. In the morning you silently put the couch back, leaving everything neatly with a thank you note. You slip out of the hotel room quietly and return home.

Once you board the train, you open the strings of texts you received last night.

Lando:

Y/n, where did you go?

If you went back to the hotel, please let me know you are there and safe?

Y/n?

I miss you :(

Y/n? Why aren’t you in the room?

This note is a joke right? I didn’t cheat! We aren’t over.

Y/n, please.

Babe, tell me you are joking.

I watched you kiss her, don’t lie. I don’t want to know how much of this has been happening behind my back.

You rarely showed up for my gigs, but I’ve made every effort to be at your races. I don’t even think you know what degree I’m studying for. This was the just last straw.

Lose my number.

It’s chemistry, you’ve always loved chemistry. You would send me the silly meme. You’re my nerd and I love you for it. I’m sorry I lied, I need you.

You feel on odd sense of peace. Out of curiosity, you look up Charles on social media, following him so you could see where his career takes him. It seems like you have a new favorite driver. In the process, you unfollow Lando and delete most of the photos of him on your profile. You don’t bother blocking him, he hasn’t given you a reason for that yet.

Charles quickly follows you back, sending you a message that he’s glad you got home safely. You send a message back thanking him for letting you crash and wish him luck in his career.

The school year held a lot of transformation for you. As you advanced your studies, you grew more confident in yourself and your little band began taking off. While inside you were still bookish and loved a rainy day with a blanket on your couch, you weren’t afraid to be bold and dress a little more daring when out.

You messaged Charles every once in a while, keeping up with his racing, wishing him a happy birthday, stuff like that. You weren’t expecting him to invite you to visit Monaco on your spring break. Sure you sent funny videos to each other and texted every so often, but you didn’t think you were that close.

“You seem different,” Charles says as he picks you up.

“I’ve been exploring myself this year, different styles, new music, stuff like that,”

“Well, I like it, you seem more confident than the girl I met at the bar,” Charles shrugs, you feel a sense of pride in it. You’ve worked hard to separate yourself from the girl that followed Lando around.

“Well you’ve changed too, mister hot shot Formula One driver,” you smile, watching him fight his own grin from the drivers seat.

That night you go out to the club with friends of Charles, the ones who don’t race in the higher formulas. It was already a little awkward meeting his entire family since he insisted that you not book a hotel, so you are hoping that alcohol calms your nerves.

“This is my friend, Y/n, she goes to school in England,” Charles says, letting the guys introduce themselves.

“How’d you meet?” one of them asks as you stand in line for the club.

“My ex cheated on me and Charles happened to be there. He let me crash the night on the couch in his hotel room,” you admit, not knowing a better way to explain it.

“That’s Charles, he’s nice like that. We all thought he was bringing a girlfriend,” the friend, Joris, says causing you to flush.

“No, we are just friends. I was a little surprised to get the invite to come here myself,” you chuckle, not able to picture yourself dating Charles. He was handsome, sure, but you just weren’t attracted to him like that.

“Well, you are doing something right. Have you been to one of his races?”

“No. I check to see if he’s won, but I don’t attend in person, not my thing,” you aren’t sure the answer he is looking for. You are sure Charles appreciates that you aren’t his friend so you can attend races, but you do cheer for him.

“You are missing out, you should come some time,” Joris says as you near the club entrance.

“Maybe,” your shrug ends that topic.

After a wild night, for the guys at least, you wanted to stay sober enough to make sure everyone left alive, you find yourself supporting a very drunk Charles back to bed.

“You know, you are a good friend. We should hang out more,” Charles slurs.

“Well, I am in university and you are traveling around the world, we don’t really have time for that,” you chuckle.

“Drop out, I’ll give you a job. What are you studying?”

“Chemistry,” you wonder how Charles will think of a job for that.

“Huh, I thought you’d be like history or something. What if I just hire you to be my personal entertainer?” Charles asks, you just shake your head with a smile.

“If you can even remember this conversation in the morning we will talk about it,” you smile as you reach his bedroom.

“Thanks. You know, this reminds me of the night we met,” Charles reaches for the handle to his bedroom as you turn to walk away, pausing when you hear him.

“How so? We were just at the club, nothing special,”

“I brought you home with me, only this time you aren’t crashing on my couch,” Charles grins as you roll your eyes good-naturedly.

“Goodnight, Leclerc,” you head to the guest room before you wake up the whole family.

The rest of the week goes by quickly, Charles shows you around and you get to know his family a little better. He didn’t remember your hallway conversation, but you did tease him for it.

Your relationship with Charles improved after that. He came to watch a couple sets of yours during breaks and you visited occasionally when you were both free, but you mostly kept up with each other through texts and social media. You weren’t best friends, but you were more than casual friends.

He even attended your graduation, something he proudly posted on his story. Charles tried to find a job for you in Formula One, something you protested, but he came up short. Turns out there isn’t too much need for a biochemist in Ferrari. You took the first good offer that came your way, but you kept your music career alive.

Everything worked out in the end, and you find yourself immediately calling Charles one afternoon after getting off the phone with your band.

“Charlie, I have a surprise,” you say as soon as he picks up the phone, your excitement radiates through.

“Well? What is it?” Charles sounds equally excited, secretly hoping you will finally attend a race.

“I am opening for Taylor Swift in Europe next year,” you squeal. Your alt style pop music was growing in popularity, quickly becoming a favorite of teen girls, and when you got the offer you just couldn’t refuse. It’s the perfect way to launch yourself.

“That’s incredible! I can’t wait to watch you on stage again. I was going to get tickets for Alex and I,” Charles says, he’s been one of your biggest supporters and has helped you get through writers block once or twice.

“I could always bring you onstage to accompany me,” you smile, imagining the crowd’s reaction.

“No way. I need to let you shine. Besides, I haven’t officially collaborated with your band yet,” Charles laughs. “Oh, when you come to Monaco, I have someone I want you to meet,” Charles says.

“Is this your way of getting me into the paddock, because you know how I feel about that,” your voice has a warning tone.

“No, although my offer still stands. Carlos just wants to meet you, apparently I talk too much about you,”

“Shocker, you talk about your insanely awesome friend. Isn’t he my ex’s best friend though?” You ask bluntly.

“They were teammates, yes, but I wouldn’t say best friends, more like just friends. He’s nothing like Lando though, trust me,” Charles says and you sigh, fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

“Well, if he passes your tests, then he must be okay,” you give in. “And, maybe, if we keep it low key, I’ll watch the race with Alex,” you say, having thought about it.

“Really?” Charles sounds like a kid on Christmas and you start to think that maybe it isn’t such a bad idea. You aren’t the same person as the one who that last stepped into the paddock.

“Yeah, I was going to do a pop up show anyway, so why not. Why keep hiding myself, like you said. I gotta shine,” you grab your journal, starting to write lines.

“I’ll get you passes. Talk to you later?” Charles says, waiting for your confirmation before hanging up.

The water in the harbor sparkes as the sun reflects off of it. You sit on the yacht with Charles and Alex, tattooed fingers strumming the guitar. The rest of your band decided to explore the city despite having an invitation to join.

You stare at the tattoo that adorns your hand, the simple lines that lead from your pinky to the small butterfly just above your wrist. A reminder of breaking away, learning to fly.

“Wanna hear something new I started,” you ask, “I only have the first verse started, but it has potential,” you strum a random chord before singing.

“I’d be more than happy to workshop it on the piano with you,” Charles offers after your mini-performance.

“Not that it needs any fine tuning, it’s going to be a hit,” Alex reassures you. You smile and go back to playing random chords as you enjoy the waves.

“Am I interrupting?” a new voice asks, a Spanish accent cutting through the humid Monaco air.

“Not at all, we were just about to head out,” Charles stands up as you set the guitar down. He heads to untie the lines as Alex greets the visitor.

“Carlos, this is our friend Y/n. Y/n, this is Charles’ teammate Carlos,” Alex introduces you. You take in the handsome driver before shaking his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” You smile as Carlos sits beside you, limited seats and all.

“How did you meet Charles and Alex?” Carlos asks, a seemingly simple question.

“It’s a long story. Let’s just say that Charles took in a stranger when she needed it most,” you tightly smile and Carlos drops the subject.

“You are a musician, no? One of my friends listens to your music,” Carlos says and you perk up a little.

“Yes. I’m sorry if Charles blasts my music too loud,” you offer a genuine smile.

“No, no, not Charles. Well, yes Charles but not as much. His name is Lando, we used to be teammates. He loves your music,” Carlos says and you quickly excuse yourself, claiming you need to put your guitar away.

“Sorry about that. Lando is a sensitive subject,” Alex says, not sure how much to say. Carlos nods, subtly pulling out his phone to look up your social media. It’s not hard to scroll through old posts and find one or two pictures of you and Lando together. You look so different, like a delicate doll. Carlos remembers Lando talking about an ex who just cut him out without warning, but he’s starting to think there is more to the story.

“Sorry, didn’t want my guitar to be in the sun too long,” you say, sitting back down beside Alex. “So, Carlos, how is racing with Charlie?” you ask. Carlos is quick to answer and with some more questions you find out that you will both be attending the Leclerc family dinner that night.

“What a beautiful day out,” Charles says as he rejoins you, having dropped anchor. You take to opportunity to lay out on the bow of the yacht, wanting some sun before jumping into the water.

“You okay?” Alex asks as she sits beside you. You arch your brow as you look up at her.

“Why wouldn’t I be. All that is in the past, plus I’m going to the race this weekend. Jokes on Lando, I’m so much better without him,” you say, meaning every word. Alex nods, glancing back to where Charles and Carlos are chatting.

“Carlos is nice,”

“What are you getting at?”

“Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to get to know him?” Alex says and you glance back, ignoring the fluttering in your chest. “Charles wouldn’t bring him around you if he wasn’t sure how you would handle it,” her words ring true.

“He’s basically been my protector since he watched me get cheated on. Charles is a good friend. Maybe I’ll invite him to the pop up show,” you weigh your options. Maybe it’s time to move on, and so what if it’s your former boyfriend’s friend and former teammate. You’re all adults, and plenty of time has passed.

You barely notice when Alex is replaced by said Spaniard.

“It’s quite warm in the sun,” Carlos comments, breaking the silence.

“It is, I may have to go into the water soon,” you reply, eyes trained on how his muscles ripple when he takes off his shirt.

“Not a bad idea,” Carlos agrees, his tan skin brushing your arm.

“My band, Midnight Hours is playing a pop up show at this pretty popular club tonight, you should come out. Charles has a few extra passes,” you say, pushing your hair back.

“I’d love to, thanks,” Carlos hopes that you think the blush on his face is from the sun. He knows he shouldn’t find you attractive, you are Lando’s ex after all, but he can’t help it.

“Well, I’m going to swim. Talk to you later Carlos,” he doesn’t respond as his brain is slightly fried at how you say his name, he watches you walk away and jump into the water.

That night you go to the club soon after dinner with the Leclercs to set up and run a sound check. Passes to the concert sold out soon after it was announced.

“Nervous?” Lia, your bassist, asks as you pluck a string to tune it after the sound check.

“A little. More excited if anything,” you say, setting down the guitar on its stand.

“Well, let’s grab a round before the club opens and celebrate this,” she pulls you offstage to join the rest of the band.

The hour passes by quick, and you find yourself smoothing your tight black dress and fiddling with the rings on your fingers. Maybe heels were a bad option? But they make you look fabulous.

Charles nudges Carlos as they spot you waiting for your introduction. The two of them plus Arthur and Alex are close to the stage, ready to be your loudest supports.

The lights are blinding as you walk on, and the sound of cheering is deafening. Lando feels a punch of regret for coming. You look amazing, but so different from the girl he used to date. Your mini black dress a contrast from the cozy cardigans you used to live in. He can’t help but wonder if he really knew you.

Your set is phenomenal, at one point you catch Carlos’ eye and send him a wink. As soon as the set ends, your band clears the stage to party with everyone. You start at the bar though, knowing Charles will lead the charge to find you.

“Y/n,” a british accent calls your name from beside you, and your mood sours.

“What do you want, Lando?” you hold your cup a little tighter.

“Your set was incredible. I’m sorry for everything, what I did wasn’t cool,”

“You’re right, it wasn’t. Cheating on me the getting with her two weeks after I broke it off? I felt like shit, you made me feel like shit. You never wanted to come to one of these before, why show up now?” you scoff, barely able to look at Lando.

“I miss you, you look hot and I want to try again. I can be better,”

“But I’m better without you. I’m stronger, prettier, well off, and I really don’t need you,” you start seeing red.

“Mate, you should leave,” Charles stands beside you.

“How do you know Charles?” Lando’s eyes widen.

“He helped me when you were too focused on kissing the first blonde girl who batted her eyes at you,” you seethe. You feel a hand, larger than Charles’ rest on your shoulder. “Stay, go, do whatever you want. Just leave me alone,” you stare Lando down.

“It’s for the best, Cabrón,” Carlos says from behind you. Lando just nods and walks away.

“Chemistry,” he yells back at you before disappearing into the crowd, you feel a bit sick to the stomach. The last texts you sent him flash through your mind.

“You okay? What did he mean by that?” Alex asks as Arthur orders a round of shots.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It doesn’t matter what he meant, fuck him,” you take a drink, steeling yourself.

“Okay,” she sounds convinced enough as she turns to Charles.

“Hermosa, you can do so much better than him,” Carlos says, lips near your ear.

“Aren’t you his friend?”

“I know that whatever he did is fucked up, and he doesn’t deserve you. He’s too childish for you,” you feel your body flush with heat as he brushes against you.

“Bottoms up,” Arthurs yells, as you all grab shots.

“To a wonderful performance, and an even better night,” you cheer before throwing it back.

You wander around the club, dancing with your band and meeting fans before you find yourself dancing with Carlos. His hands hold you close to him. You tilt your head up, looking at Carlos under the club lights. He finds his hand wandering up to the back of your neck, pulling you close and kissing you. Your arms wrap around his neck, content with your situation.

“Alright lovebirds, time to go,” Arthur interrupts you, giggling at your flushed appearances. Carlos stays close to you as you follow Arthur to where Charles and Alex are waiting with your guitar.

For the first time in a very long time, you are excited to be at the track. You weren’t scared anymore, and it’s a powerful feeling. You don’t even mind Ferrari taking pictures and posting you as a guest, fans of Charles know who you are anyway. They’ve been in your comments begging you to attend for a long time.

“I gotta go do an interview, mind keeping Y/n company?” Charles asks Carlos, who’s been acting like a teenager with a crush all day.

You are standing not too far away, talking with an engineer about something. Carlos thinks you look beautiful, and he loves how excited you seem despite it only being FP1. The engineer excuses himself as Carlos approaches and for the first time of the day, you feel nervous.

“Have you seen an F1 car before?” Carlos asks, you simply shake your head no. “Well then, let me show you.” For a split second you wonder if this is what you were like when you showed Charles the lab you work in. You let him discuss aerodynamics and downforce, but you can’t help but let yourself geek out too.

“You know that I did study thermodynamics right? I actually helped Charles understand some of the tire compounds,” you smile, holding back a laugh.

“Really? I didn’t realize you studied, um,”

“Chemistry. My masters is in biochemistry, but during my undergraduate studies I worked in a materials lab,” your cheeks blush as you speak. You don’t know why, you aren’t really embarrassed. Maybe you are scared he will think differently of you.

“Really? That’s so cool, I just assumed you are a musician full time,” Carlos says before adding an afterthought. “Being that smart is pretty hot,”

“Thanks,” you laugh, not expecting his addition. “Maybe one day soon I will perform full time, but I really enjoy working in a lab,” you shrug, happy with where things are at. You can’t reveal where you will be a year from now, but it does make you a little sad to know that your life will change forever and your nerdy side will be left behind.

You and Carlos quietly flirt throughout the rest of the race weekend. Charles secretly hopes that your crush on his teammate would make you come to more races, but instead you throw yourself back into the band. You had to prepare for your growing popularity, finding an agent and professional support for things that your band wasn’t able to manage.

You end up quitting your job soon after, able to be stable enough with the new revenue streams from the band. It didn’t help that your band kept getting booked and you needed to be more serious about performing.

Carlos did find himself texting you frequently and even visiting you in England over the next few weeks.

One of those nights he finds himself relaxing in your apartment as you grab takeout from the delivery driver. It hits him how domestic and right it feels.

“What’s on your mind?” you ask as you sit beside him, eyes full of curiosity.

“You,” he says as he wraps his arms around you. “How much I want you to be my girlfriend,” you don’t think you’ve seen Carlos so nervous.

“Really?” you hum as you lean into him. You can’t deny that you are nervous. You haven’t even thought about dating someone since your breakup, and you weren’t expecting that question so soon.

“You don’t have to answer right away, I know it’s not an easy one,” Carlos senses your hesitation and running mind.

“Yes, my answer is yes,” you answer before your mind can think about it more, knowing you are making the right choice.

And so, you quietly date for the next year, waiting for the right moment to go public. You do attend races a little more frequently, but usually under the guise of being Charles’ guest.

You did get invited to a race as a guest of Ferrari, well, the whole band did. You were asked to take part in the races C squared video too.

“This weeks challenge is a highly requested one. How many songs by Midnight Hours can you name?”

“Mate, no. Charles is friends with the lead singer, he knows everything. This is so unfair,” Carlos groans, keeping his cover.

“That is true, I’ve known Y/n for a few years. Sorry, Carlos, you might as well take the loss now,” Charles smiles, ready to win.

“The rules are simple, we will play thirty seconds of a song and the first to guess it correctly wins,” you watch them carefully, trying to hide your laughter each time. They still don’t know you are in the room.

Carlos wins 3-2, Charles being too slow or guessing the wrong song.

“I’m a little disappointed, Charles. You forgot about the song you cowrote,” you shake your head as you appear in the frame. “Friend status revoked, Carlos is my bestie now,” you grin wider as your eyes meet Carlos’.

“But I’ve known you longer, you wouldn’t even know Carlos if it weren’t for me,” Charles protests. Carlos drapes an arm over your shoulders.

“Sorry, Charles, she likes me more now. I know her music better,” Carlos looks down at you with a soft smile while you laugh at Charles. To the general eye, it looks like you are two friends, but Charles can tell how enamored you are with each other. He just hopes that you will be able to share it with the world soon.

That moment comes in Australia. Your boyfriend won while recovering from surgery, you couldn’t help but kiss him, even if cameras were focused on you. The frenzy around your new relationship died down not to long after, some people brought up your past with Lando, but most dismissed it.

Fans posted many edits displaying the subtle clues you and Carlos gave. The way you gravitated towards each other, how you looked at him differently than Charles, the way you leaned into each other’s touch and always hugged for a little longer than others.

Unfortunately, You didn’t see Carlos as much once April hit. Carlos being busy with racing, you preparing to go on your first tour with the band, it didn’t leave much time for in-person dates. Video calls were great, but you missed the physical presence of Carlos. You anxiously awaited the day that Carlos, Charles, and Alex would attend the show, you even got Pierre and Kika passes to your tent.

For the first time, you feel nervous to take the stage. You’ve been practicing a new song with the band, your friends and Carlos were in the crowd, and you got a text from a friend warning you that Lando was spotted in attendance. The long awaited day finally arrived, and it’s proving to be quite the event.

“We can delay debuting the song,” Lia says as you tune your guitar, giving you an out if everything is too much.

“No way, We’ve been waiting for a year now to release it. No point in waiting any longer,” you start to hype yourself up. After a quick meeting with the band, you receive your cue from the stage manager. A few songs in you nod to the band, letting them know it’s time.

“If it’s alright with you, we’d like to play something that we’ve been working on for a while. I wrote this a few years ago and I think it’s time to share it with you. This is called She’s So Gone, it will be available at midnight tonight wherever you listen to music,” you turn away from the mic, silently counting the band in. The crowd loves it, and you feel a renewed confidence as you finish the set and make your way to where your guests are to watch the concert.

“That was incredible, you are actually amazing,” Carlos pulls you into his arms and kisses you softly.

“Thanks, Carlitos. I’m glad you enjoyed it,” you smile, relaxing in his embrace.

“Not to scare you or anything, but Midnight Hours is trending right now,” Alex says, showing you her phone. Some are videos of the song, which is blowing up. Others are comparisons of Lando’s sour reaction to Carlos’ clear support and excitement.

“Seems like it’s a good thing we got a PR manager recently,” you laugh, leaning into Carlos who presses a kiss to your head.

You weren’t always a fan of Taylor Swift, but you have grown an appreciation for her after spending time on tour with her. What surprised you was how much of her music the guys knew. Videos of them, and you, dancing during the concert went viral within the F1 community. All you really cared about was having a good time and being with your support system.

The song goes viral and people notice that Charles has a production credit on it. He helped you compose the song, and to you, the song represents how much he’s helped you since that night. You find yourself thinking about it as you sit in his apartment one night while petting Leo.

“You know, without you I wouldn’t be here,” you say, a little out of the blue.

“That’s not true,”

“It is. Your small act of kindness helped me start this journey. I threw myself into my music, we became friends, you made me comfortable around racing again, and you introduced me to Carlos. Without you I probably would’ve left, licked my wounds, then take Lando back because that was the easy thing to do,” you explain, words hanging heavy in the air. Charles sits beside you on the floor, shoulder to shoulder. The past year saw the two of you grow closer.

“For what it’s worth, you have helped me too. You’ve been like a sister to me, and I don’t regret helping you that night at all,” he nudges your shoulder. He’s watched you grow into yourself, and he is proud. Introducing you to Carlos was a risk, but he hasn’t seen you or his teammate happier.

Carlos was patient with you, letting you take as much time as you needed to tell him about your previous relationship with Lando and how you met Charles. He promised to be better than Lando, and he is. He is still on friendly terms with his former teammate, but he is glad that he has you and Lando fumbled you all those years ago.

A few years later you find yourself cuddled on the couch with your favorite Spaniard, wearing a chunky cardigan and snuggled under a knit blanket. Carlos plays with the ring on your finger, happy in the moment of domestic bliss. He’s at a high point in his career and you and the band were internationally known thanks to a large tour.

“Have I told you how much I love you, Hermosa?” Carlos asks, voice soft.

“All the time, but I don’t mind hearing it again,” you grin, content to stay like this forever. Carlos pulls your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your palm. You admire your fresh ink, his racing number beside your old butterfly.

You got the tattoo to carry him with you during shows and other events that he couldn’t be there, and now when you can’t wear your ring. You find yourself reminiscing over the proposal.

Carlos had brought you to monaco with him earlier in the year for an afternoon on the yacht with Charles and Alex. You didn’t even notice when Carlos stepped away for a moment and Charles and Alex left a few moments later to grab drinks.

You were relaxed, watching the sunset create a beautiful sky. You heard Carlos approach, but your eyes don’t leave the sea.

“Carlitos, come over here. The sky is perfect,” you sigh happily, leaning forwards on the railing.

“Not as perfect as you, cariño,” Carlos’ voice causes you to turn towards him, still blushing every time he makes a comment like that. Carlos was on one knee holding the prettiest ring you had ever seen, it’s like he took what you imagined in your mind and brought it to life.

“You make me never want to race again if it means staying like this forever, and when I do race, it’s like I’m trying to get back to you as soon as possible,” Carlos declares and you feel your heart swell. “You are my everything, mi reina, be mine forever.”

“Of course, Carlos, yes,” you try to fight the tears as he slides the ring onto your finger, standing to pull you close to him. Carlos leans down and kisses you softly. If only you could tell your younger self that this was how everything would turn out.

[aurorawhisperz]

that’s the thing (e.l)

I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED THE DRAFT AND LOST THE ASK 😭😭😭 (but here u go anon if u find this 🙏)

contains: swearing, fluff, smut 18+ (oral, fingering, slight overstimulation)

spiderman!ethan landry x fem!reader

based off you’re here that’s the thing by beabadoobee 🙏

•

Ethan definitely screwed up.

He swings across the city in tight spandex. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Ethan exclaimed, speedily typing on his phone, but you wouldn’t respond.

Being the friendly neighborhood Spiderman, he always had priorities—but that didn’t stop him from spending time with you. Knowing this, you forgave him every time he’d miss something.

Well, that jinxed it. On the lookout, he had completely forgotten about your date, Ethan—being the dork with the heart of gold, thought this would be the last straw for you.

Ethan often thought about this every time he’d be swinging around New York just to make it up to you. One reason why he’d always make it up to you is because he felt like he should, or must.

The second reason why is because it always ends in something wonderful—whether it’s him sleeping over, or the other way around, or something else that would have the boy completely whipped.

Then he spotted you, wearing his jacket you ‘forgot’ to return. His whole world seemed to stop—that was until he remembered the fact that he left you waiting.

A bunch of people backed away when Ethan took you with him. “It’s the spider dude!” Someone near you exclaimed.

“What? Oh my god!” You exclaim, swiftly sliding your hands around his neck. “I am so SO sorry that I left you waiting, okay? I was on the lookout, I completely forgot about our date, I’m really sorry, I REALLY AM!” He exclaimed, talking fast, then you pointed at a pole that was about to hit his head.

Once Ethan was about to dodge it, it hits the top of his head instead. His grip tightened till he swinged back to your dorm—though weakly.

He yanks his mask off and leans back on your bed.

“Less talking, more swinging.” You sigh, grabbing the sides of his face—then you kissed him, your lips moving in sync. He could taste the fruity lipgloss you had put on. Ethan's eyes widened in surprise as you pulled away. He blinked a few times, trying to process the unexpected turn of events.

Then a smile was on his face, pulling you back. Deepening the kiss.

“Being a superhero’s girlfriend isn’t that hard,” You frown, then he kisses more again before you continue, “But seriously, you have to change out of this shit.” Ethan kept a hand on your waist, “Actions speak louder than words, right?”

You jump as Ethan quickly jumps under your bed, your roommate bursting in. “Hey, I’ll be leaving you alone here for a while since I’ve got somewhere to go.” You nod, then they wave, “See ya.” And leave.

Quickly falling on your bed as Ethan uses his webs to lock the door, “This is really cute,” He holds up your diary, the drawing of Spider-Man you made on a sticky note during a lecture. “Can I keep it?”

“Change first.” He rolled his eyes at your command.

He quickly changed into his normal clothes after slipping off the spandex. “Dammit,” He exclaimed as he checked his backpack for flowers he was gonna give you—there were flowers, but only a few, the petals flying away instantly.

Walking into the living room, Ethan uses his webs to snatch the remote from your hands, “We’re watching a movie, because I have to make it up to you,” Then handing you the somewhat ruined bouquet of flowers. “Eth, you shouldn’t have.” You teased then grabbed his camera from the table.

“Try and take a picture of me holding these, that’s how you can make it up to me.” Ethan takes the camera from you then more words come from your mouth, “Although you’re already here, that’s how you can make it up to me.”

The camera flashes in your face as you cover the lower half of your face with the flowers—then laying down on the couch with Ethan as the movie starts playing.

“You know,” says Ethan, “I’m really glad I forgot about our date today,” You frown, then he chuckles, “It led to this and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You both chuckle at his words then you shower his face with kisses. Ethan quickly pulled you down to kiss his lips. The movie was long forgotten soon after that.

His lips crashed into yours once again, then his nails dig in your thighs as you straddle him.

“Maybe because you knew it would lead to this,” You mumble against his lips, his other hand running down your spine like an instrument. Ethan broke the kiss to move down to your jawline—then your neck.

His hands tapping on your lower back as you pulled away. “You’re a sneaky one.” You pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose, then Ethan let out a breathy laugh, “I’m Spiderman, of course I’m sneaky.”

“But I love Ethan Landry more.” Right after Ethan takes quite a few minutes to process your words, he pulls you in by your waist to kiss you once again.

You wrap your arms around his neck as his fingers dig into your hips.

He mumbles against your lips, “I want you,” He starts to smoothly put a little tongue in the kiss, then when your lips part even more for permission, it slips in. You hum against his lips as Ethan slowly grinds into you.

You pull away and smile, he drags his thumb over your bottom lip, you try to kiss him again, but he keeps a hand on your chest to stop you. “Can I go down on you?” The question makes your eyes widen as you turn beet red. Ethan’s stupid puppy eyes made you nod, and the smirk felt good to kiss off.

His arms placed you back on the couch, the needy boy got on his knees. Ethan gives you a deep kiss, then he moves down your jaw, he leaves a mark on your collarbone.

It goes from your chest, to your belly, and he reaches your clothed core. Ethan looks up at you and you lick your lips.

The boy pulls down your panties and starts with kissing your inner thighs. The sneaky little thing was always a tease, it pained you slightly but you know you love him.

Ethan presses a wet kiss to your left thigh, sucking on it. His breath fans over your core and you shudder.

He presses a kiss to your clit, then makes his way down to your entrance—licking up then burying his face in between your thighs. Your back arched at the pleasure.

In the early stages of your relationship, you had always told him what felt good, and he made it feel even better.

Your legs threaten to lock around his head, but his big hands hold your hips down. You were basically squirming, and he was only trying to drive himself away from the spot you wanted him to stay on.

Ethan harshly sucks on your clit, circling it with his tongue. You feel like you’re close, VERY close. Without warning, his middle finger enters you and that makes you lift your head up and whine in pleasure, you could feel him smile against your core.

“God, don’t stop.” You say breathlessly, and while muffled, you could still hear him, “I won’t,” He pulls away with a pop, “Trust me.” He dives right back in as soon as he finishes.

When his ring finger enters, your body felt limp and like everything slowed down for a minute.

The hot feeling down your stomach was heating up.

When his nose bumped into your clit, along with his ring finger entering the chaos, that feeling hit it’s peak.

Though Ethan didn’t stop, he kept lapping up your juices—it felt so overwhelming. Your hips were basically jolting up out of instinct.

You shuddered under his touch, he reaches up for your hand and laces his fingers with yours.

When Ethan finally pulled away, he crawled back on top of you and pushed away a stray strand of hair. He didn’t say anything, he just smiled. You know you’d forgive him for missing a date either way, the only way he could make it up to you is just being there.

He presses a soft kiss to your lips, then he mumbles in between kisses, “I’m not done yet,” Your eyes blink open as he pulls away, the taste of yourself lingering on your tongue. “I wonder how people would feel if they find out their friendly neighborhood Spiderman was a pro at not only superhero-ing, but this.” says Ethan.

You chuckle and pull him back in for another, when he breaks the contact he takes the square foil out of his pocket and smirks at you, then places it on the table next to you both. He tries to kiss you again

You grab it from the table, “I’m not on the pill, babe,” You assure him, he shrugs then takes it from your hand. He sticks the tip of his tongue out when he struggles to open it. You laugh at Ethan, and open it yourself. “I’ll be your walking stick tomorrow,” he whispers to your ear.

You were in for a long night.

[damiansgoodgirll]

I just read your soft for you and I love it. If it’s okay can I request something? :)

So it’s a Damian Priest and it’s for like a plane ride and the night at the hotel and the reader is super tired from jet lag? (If you can’t that’s fine if you can thank you!)

damian priest x reader

a little angst, sorry not sorry.

i changed it a little cause i’ve never experienced jet lag, i hope you like it anyway!

stay the night

“why don’t you stay the night?” you heard damian asking you softly.

“uh?”

“i asked, why don’t you stay with me tonight? in my room?” he asked again “you’re hotel is way too far from the arena and from the airport and it’s too late, we are in new orleans and i don’t like you going around late at night in a city you barely know” he suggested.

you got booked last time for the show in new orleans. in all honesty, you didn’t even want to be there. yes you were the champion but hunter promised you full two weeks of complete relax, away from the ring and from the cameras.

not even three days later, you received a call from hunter himself saying that they needed you in a match against bailey in new orleans.

you could tell that he was sorry and he kept apologising from disturbing you from your vacation so you said yes.

your manager booked you a last minute flight and lucky for you, you got the same one as the other wrestlers were in, but the hotel was way too far away and you were there all by yourself. it wasn’t the ideal, especially not knowing the city very well.

plus you hate being on planes late at night. even if it was a short flight, you felt uncomfortable with everyone around you sleeping and you not being able to close your eyes, no matter how tired you were.

damian had been a great travel buddy. he was the one next to you and you thanked whoever bought your ticket because you never got this lucky. you shared some music together and some jokes, trying to not make any noise.

“are you sure? i don’t wanna bother…” you said.

“it’s not a bother at all…i can take you to your hotel in the morning when it’s all sunny and warm…but i’ll feel better if you stayed here…at least you’re not alone…”

“are you sure?” you asked him again.

truth was you had the biggest crush on him and even if you had plenty of sleepovers together, you never shared the same hotel room and that was making you a little nervous.

“yes…you’re my best friend, it’s like your sleeping at my house, but instead we are in a fancy hotel room where we can order all the room service we want” he said and you agreed.

best friend.

it made your heart clench.

you knew someone like him wouldn’t like someone like you but in the deep of your heart you still hoped something could change.

but instead of being all moody about it, you were too tired to even keep your eyes open from the landing to the arrival at the hotel. you remembered barely of it. you knew your legs were walking for you but your mind was somewhere else.

“you awake princesa?” damian smirked when he saw you falling into the comfort of the hotel bed.

“uh?” you replied.

“clearly not…” he smiled.

“i’m so tired dam…you know how much i hate flying at night…was it really necessary? like we could have taken a bus or i could have driven…” you complained and damian smiled at your cute childish behaviour.

“okay you should definitely got to bed…i’m gonna take a quick shower and then i’m gonna joining you…those blankets look very comfortable…” he smiled before entering the bathroom and locking himself in it.

suddenly you were awake.

damian was used to sleep almost naked. you knew it because you’ve been at his house so many times but you’ve never actually slept together. it was always you in the guest room or you falling asleep on his couch.

but you were just friends right?

what could possibly go wrong?

your heart missed a a few beats when you saw him coming out of the bathroom wearing just a grey pair of sweatpants. no t-shirts. nothing at all. just his chest full of tattoos and nothing more.

you saw him like that multiple times when he was training or when he was in the ring but having him so close and so naked was making your head spinning.

“you still awake?” he asked while he got comfortable under the covers.

“uhm…yes”

“i thought you were tired” he teased.

“i was…” you whispered.

“what are you thinking about princesa?” he asked, slowly turning his head towards you.

“nothing important…”

“it has to be important if it kept you awake all the time i was showering” he laughed. how you loved his laugh.

“really…nothing important…just the match i think…”

“you nervous?”

“no…i…” how you were supposed to say that you liked him. how you were supposed to stay calm when he was only a few inches from you, half naked. how were you supposed to stay quiet when his hot breath was all over your face “i think i’m just going to sleep now…”

“in your clothes?” he asked.

and then you remembered. your suitcase was sent to the hotel you were supposed to be that night so you were left with only your small harry potter backpack, that contained anything but clothes.

“shit…”

“you can wear something of mine…” he got up and borrowed you a clean t-shirt “here…i don’t have a second pair of pants but it should be long enough to cover your - well you know it” he almost smirked.

“oh thank you…” your cheeks were red and you were feeling all hot inside. you moved quickly, entering the bathroom and changing into his clothes. the t-shirt smelled like him and all you wanted to do was cry because you wanted something like that every day, not just today. you wanted to sleep next to him every night and waking up with him between your arms - or legs - you wanted a life with him.

but you couldn’t have it.

“here you are…” he smiled when he saw you wearing his shirt. in fact it wasn’t that long and damian was amused in seeing you trying not to move so fast, otherwise your ass would be on display.

“thank you, again, for everything…” you slowly got into bed and closed your eyes.

“y/n…?” he called you.

“mh?”

“good night…” he gently kissed your head and turned off the light.

a tear slowly fell from your eyes.

his arm moving to your hip and resting over there.

what looked normal for him, looked everything for you, everything you wished for but you couldn’t have.

[torscrawls]

The Suspicious Wayne Family

Summary:

“Well, several of them have come back from the dead so I just had to check it out for myself!”

Tim felt himself go cold. “…How do you know that?”

“Ghosts take note if someone manages to come back from the dead, you know?” Phantom leaned in and lowered his voice as if sharing an embarrassing secret, “It’s a terrible faux pas.”

Phantom comes to Tim with some concerns about the Wayne family. Tim really isn’t ready to deal with this.

Words: 2 023

Can be read on AO3!

-

“Augh!” Phantom groaned as he slumped across Tim’s desk in the Watchtower, utterly ignoring the fact that Tim was very much in the middle of work.

Tim, used to several dramatic siblings without any concept of personal space, simply sighed and tried to shove him off the desk. “Can you go be dramatic somewhere else? Some people are actually trying to get some work done.”

Phantom ignored him as he fused himself halfway into the desk, preventing Tim from depositing him onto the floor, much to Tim’s annoyance. Instead, Phantom groaned and splayed his arms wider, completely blocking Tim’s view of the screen. “You wouldn’t believe what just happened!”

Tim heaved a deep sigh as he gave up on work for now, leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and asked, “Alright, I’ll bite. What happened?”

Phantom immediately perked up. “Thanks for asking! You see, I was minding my own business—”

“Getting up to your usual shit,” Tim muttered under his breath as he sipped his coffee.

Phantom ignored him as he continued, “—when I ran across this huge house and there was this guy inside, which I know isn’t that strange by itself. But! He was reaaal big, and he had this white strip in his hair, which, I know, is a bit hypocritical for me to comment on, but this guy looked like such a try-hard—but anyway, he just attacked me on sight! With guns! Sure, they were regular guns, not ecto ones, so you know, I was fine, but still! So rude!”

Tim choked on his coffee. A huge and angry guy in a big house with white in his hair? That sounded awfully familiar… Hadn’t Jason mentioned that he would drop by the mansion today? Tim coughed to clear his throat and then managed a weak, “That’s… weird.”

Ah. So that’s what Damian had meant when he called in a disturbance in the air earlier. They hadn’t believed him since the cameras hadn’t picked anything up, but if it had been a ghost… Maybe he owed his little brother an excuse. Not that he would ever admit that to said little brother, but still. And that also meant that Phantom had definitely been in the Wayne mansion.

Tim sucked in a deep breath. “That’s definitely worrying.” Phantom didn’t need to know that he wasn't talking about him getting attacked by a sword. Why the fuck had Phantom been at their house?!

Phantom nodded with a laugh. “Right? We didn't even know each other yet! Usually people don’t attack me with a sword until I’ve at least introduced myself first. Or, well, not always, but I can usually at least figure out why they attack me, you know?”

Tim didn’t know and decided not to comment on that worrying statement, instead focusing on gathering information instead. Familiar territory and all that. “What were you even doing in a random big house in the first place?”

“Not just any house!” Phantom wagged his finger. “They’re the Waynes! Which, okay, I didn’t really know a lot about them but my friend said that they are famous or something. And I believe her! The house was like a mansion!”

“Alright,” Tim allowed, congratulating himself on how unbothered he sounded as he parsed through Phantom’s excited rambling. “Why were you in the Wayne mansion, then?”

“Well, several of them have come back from the dead so I just had to check it out for myself!”

Tim felt himself go cold. “…How do you know that?”

“Ghosts take note if someone manages to come back from the dead, you know?” Phantom leaned in and lowered his voice as if sharing an embarrassing secret, “It’s a terrible faux pas.”

“Right. Of course.”

“Yeah!” Phantom nodded before pausing with a frown. “Wait. How do you know that they have died?”

“Of course I do. I’m a detective in Gotham and they are well-known in the city.”

“Hmmm…” Phantom trailed off, and Tim was tensing up in preparation for an argument, but then the ghost perked up as if remembering something. “And Bruce! Bruce Wayne! I’m pretty sure he trains his kids to be like child soldiers or something. Maybe he even uses them as his minions in secret evil schemes!”

Tim felt himself start to sweat. “Let’s—let’s talk to Batman about this.”

“The Gigabat? Why?”

“He might know the best approach.” Might know any approach, cause Tim certainly didn't.

“Alright. Sure,” Phantom agreed easily and followed as Tim hurried out into the corridor, seemingly blissfully unaware of the panic he had caused.

How on earth had they been noted by ghosts without knowing about it? How had Phantom managed to stumble upon this information? If had managed to find the mansion, what else had he managed to put together…? Had he seen the cave?

Tim pushed upon the door to Bruce’s office and walked in as confidently as he could manage at the moment. “B? Phantom has some… concerns he wants to bring up.”

Bruce had turned away from his screens as they entered the room, no doubt ready to admonish them for disturbing him, but something in Tim’s voice must have tipped him off that something was going on because he turned fully towards them and simply demanded, “What is it?”

Phantom didn’t waste any time before bluntly stating, “I think we should investigate the Wayne family. I think they might be a crime syndicate, possibly even supervillains.”

It wasn’t often that Tim saw Bruce at a loss for words. Tim couldn’t blame him as he himself had to restrain himself not to visibly wince at Phantom’s words.

Phantom on the other hand seemed not to notice as he continued, “I thought you would like to know, what with them being in Gotham and all? Really, I’m surprised you didn’t know about them already.”

“Why would you assume they are supervillains?” Bruce asked and Tim was impressed by how calm he sounded.

“Oh, well, you know… The kids all have obvious combat training, the house is riddled with weapons, and the family seems awfully involved with all the major catastrophes in Gotham as well as all the major villains,” Phantom said casually before pausing as he tapped a finger to his lips in thought and adding as an afterthought, “and, of course, because of the secret lair beneath the mansion.”

Well, that answered Tim’s earlier question whether he had seen the Batcave or not. He was very grateful for Bruce and his frankly terrifying poker face as the older man just said, “That’s quite the list…”

Phantom beamed. “Thank you!”

“And why did you start investigating them?”

“Well, on top of all the gossiping grannies mobbing me in the Zone to talk about the young men using the afterlife like some sort of revolving door, I know a thing or two about evil billionaires with hidden identities and Bruce Wayne just screams secrets, you know?”

Bruce didn’t answer, Tim just stared. Phantom clapped his hands, “So. When are we starting the investigation?”

Bruce shook his head, took a deep breath and said, “We’re not investigating them.”

Phantom looked surprised for a split second before raising a single eyebrow, “Is it because he’s so rich? Oh! Is that why you have so many expensive gadgets?”

“What.”

“I mean, that’s why you want to look the other way, right? Because he pays you?” Phantom turned wide eyes on Tim. “All of you?”

Bruce simply stared as Tim managed a weak, “No?” Even if, technically, he was getting paid by Bruce Wayne.

Phantom leaned in closer to Tim and whispered. “Do you guys need help? I’ve beaten up billionaires before, I can do it again.”

“Thanks? But no thanks. Please don’t beat up Bruce Wayne.”

Phantom gasped, turning back to Bruce with way too much delight in his eyes. “It’s consensual? Wait. Does that mean he's your sugar daddy?!”

“This conversation is over.”

“What?! Why?”

“You can’t come in here with baseless assumptions about civilians and expect me to play along.”

“Alright. Not your sugar daddy, I get it,” Phantom said with a wink towards Tim, “But I thought you guys would want to at least look into it a bit more?”

“They Waynes are not a problem,” Bruce all but growled out.

Phantom raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?” The words said as a challenge but Tim could see no anger or annoyance in Phantom’s expression, hear nothing but glee in his voice. It was as if he didn’t want Bruce to really look into them, as if he was just looking to rile him up.

Something about the whole situation made Tim pause.

It was a bit strange that Phantom came to them with this, wasn't it? He had no reason to think that they were connected to the Waynes by more than the city they lived in. He usually did his own thing, and he had done that by going to the mansion at first, hadn't he? So what had changed? Why had he decided to involve Tim?

The glee, the probing questions, the way he slowly revealed more information… It was almost as if he—

“Wait a second. You know!”

Phantom burst out laughing. “Finally! Ancients, I thought you would see through me in like one second flat!”

Tim punched him in the arm. “You’re such an ass! I can’t believe you!” Phantom just kept on cackling.

Unsurprisingly, Bruce seemed to catch on pretty quickly as he stood up from his chair, looming over Phantom threateningly. Or trying to, as Phantom was still floating a good few feet in the air. “And you figured this out from other ghosts?”

Phantom snorted and wiped at his eyes. “Mostly. Contrary to popular belief, the dead do talk. But I wouldn’t worry too much about it, not many of them ever visit the Human Realm and I can guarantee that they have no idea who you are. They are not up to date when it comes to human affairs.”

Bruce frowned and Tim immediately recognized his patented brooding face. “That’s a security risk I hadn’t considered.”

It must have hurt him to admit it, but Tim couldn’t really take any joy in it; he was right there with him. Tim groaned as he dragged a hand through his hair. “Aren’t they supposed to not tell any secrets?!”

Phantom laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, they very much do.”

“Well, considering a certain someone, I guess it shouldn’t come as a surprise,” Tim said with a pointed look at Phantom.

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?!” Phantom exclaimed in mock anger. “Have you guys considered not dying? I mean, man, I thought I had a problem with staying alive.”

Bruce cut them off with a no-nonsense, “You will not tell anyone about this.”

Phantom mimed zipping his lips shut. “Silent as the grave.” Then he pursed them in thought before adding, “On one condition.”

Tim saw the way Bruce tensed and couldn’t help the way he himself also tensed with anticipation. Phantom could ask for anything.

“What?” Bruce asked bitingly.

“I want some of those cookies that were in the oven. They smelled amaaaazing!”

Bruce silently turned back to his monitor, not gracing that with an answer. Tim grabbed a hold of Phantom’s—thankfully currently corporeal—arm and dragged him from the room as he said, “I’m sure Alfred would love to give you some cookies. You can come over for dinner and we can talk.” Tim paused and then continued, “And you can explain what’s going on to Jason and Damian. I’m sure they’re both freaking out.”

“Non-living dinner?” Phantom asked hopefully and the bizarre question almost made Tim stop walking.

“Yeah? Alfred usually cooks it first.”

“Sure, but, you know, does it stay dead?”

“Yes?” Tim asked with equal parts incredulity and dread.

“Alright!” Phantom beamed. “Count me in!”

Tim had a feeling that he had just made a grave mistake.

[satansapostle6]

The Man Who Sold The World | Luke Castellan

Spotify Playlist Link

Katherine. She was the one who started it all for Luke Castellan, the reason he did what he did.

Warnings: Mature themes/language. Violence. Sexual content.

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve: The Prophecy

Katherine wholeheartedly kissed Luke Castellan as he drove, not caring if he crashed the car. She’d never felt more invigorated and alive in her life. She needed to feel it. She needed to feel him.

“Slow down, baby,” Luke mumbled into her kiss, chuckling as he tried to glance at the open road every now and then.

After the debauchery on the way from New York to Baltimore, Luke and Katherine had decided together that it was best they get as far away from the east coast as possible instead, just for a little while as their bullet sounds healed, which certainly didn’t take as long considering their healing powers.

Of course, their identities were safe after they destroyed the security cameras in the restaurant on the way out, also thanks to the Mist, but still, Luke knew that somewhere, there were police sketches of them hanging up on a bulletin board. So, they were headed to Arizona to lay low.

“Slow down, baby,” Luke murmured, becoming increasingly aware of the few cars around them.

“Why?” Katherine said innocently as she watched him struggle.

“Because, I’m gonna crash,” he stated.

“So?” she asked, genuinely indifferent to the outcome of that risk-taking.

“So, we don’t wanna almost die again, do we?” he questioned.

“What if we did?” she asked softly, an eerie provocative quality to her voice. “We’d die happy, wouldn’t we?”

Luke just chuckled at her, driving down the highway in Kansas. It had been several days since they’d headed off toward Arizona, and they were getting closer to their final destination.

“Luke?” Katherine spoke quietly.

“Yes?” he prompted her.

“I thought about what you said,” she finally said.

“What did I say?” he asked for a reminder.

“About going back with you. To camp,” she said, capturing his attention as he stared at her, trying to discern whether or not she was serious.

“You… You have?” he asked, not sure how to respond.

“Yeah… Do you still want me to come with you?” Katherine asked him, a soft expression on her face.

“…Yeah,” a soft breath escaped his lips. “I do.”

She smiled, seeming pleased with his response. “Okay. I’ll come with you,” she decided with finality.

“R-Really?” he stammered. “You want to?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, seeming certain. “I do.”

“Alright,” he nodded, considering the idea as he smiled. “If that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do.”

It was another day or so before they reached Arizona. They laid low in a motel from Sells for little over a week, not leaving the room unless it was for food. The entire week was dedicated to questionable motel TV and sleazy lovemaking. The couple didn’t really speak to anyone else throughout the entire stay, focusing solely on each other the entire time.

That left them plenty of time to spend entire days in bed, enjoying each other’s company over anything else. Katherine and Luke both chuckled as he laid shirtless under the covers in the air conditioned room with his arm around her, their noses touching as they held one another.

“You know I love you so much,” Luke said suddenly for the first time, moved by the moment.

“I love you just as much,” she whispered back, looking him in the eye without fear or trepidation.

Something in Katherine had changed when Kronos brought her back to life. Like didn’t know what had happened, but he knew that whatever Kronos had done had actually affected her in some way. He didn’t know if it was wrong, but he actually appreciated it on some level, feeling as if she’d had some sort of epiphany.

“I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” Luke admitted to her.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to me,” she promised him, her hand gently resting on his cheek.

“You can’t promise that,” he murmured, a look of fear in his eyes.

“Well. I can promise you I’ll always be with you. No matter what,” she promised him. “I’ll always be right here.”

“I hope so,” he sighed, closing his eyes in a silent prayer as he pressed his forehead to hers.

It was a couple days before they left for New York again, heading back to the camp. They took about five days, getting a decent amount of rest along the way. Once they finally stepped through the magical barrier at Camp Half-Blood that only permitted demigods to enter, Luke found himself reinforcing his arm around Katherine as they walked through.

“We just have to talk to Chiron,” he murmured as a few people noticed her presence already. “Then you’re good to stay.”

Katherine nodded silently as he walked her to the Big House. ”Wait right here,” he told her as he walked into one of the rooms alone as she waited out in the hall.

There was a short discussion going on between Luke and whoever was inside that she couldn’t hear. After a few moments, Luke came back out, looking pretty happy.

“Okay. You ready?” he asked her.

“Mmhmm,” she nodded, his smile overtaking her as she unconsciously returned it.

He walked back into the room with his arm around her protectively, as Chiron, the first centaur, looked at her in surprise. Luke turned to look at his girlfriend, realizing that she had a glowing symbol flashing above her head as she walked: a silver set of scales.

“It seems that your mother, Nemesis, has chosen to claim you without our asking,” Chiron observed, pleasantly surprised. “You’re lucky.”

Luke smiled down at Katherine, resisting the urge to completely dote on her.

“You will be staying in Cabin 11, with Luke, and the other children of Hermes, and the minor gods.”

“Okay,” she agreed with a nod.

“Of course,” Chiron said more stiffly, “I will firmly ask that no funny business take place; one of the rules here is that two campers may not be alone together in the cabins at any given time.”

“Of course,” Katherine nodded, both she and Luke trying to hide their massive smirks.

“We will provide you with a place to sleep and a camp shirt, and you are also free to use anything in the armory or anywhere else in the camp for training,” the half-man explained.

“Got it,” Katherine nodded.

“Good. So,” Chiron continued. “You’ve lived on your own all this time?”

She nodded again. “I left home when I was thirteen.”

“You’re very resourceful to have survived this long, Katherine,” he told her. “Not many demigods would have been able to survive this long on their own.”

She just smiled, looking up at Luke.

“Anyways. I won’t keep you; there’s still lots for you to see. I trust Luke will show you around,” Chiron smiled as Luke nodded in response.

The two of them walked back out to where the car was parked, retrieving the few belongings that they both had. All of Katherine’s possessions fit into a big garbage bag. Luke showed Katherine the bunk he was meant to give her in the Hermes Cabin, then pointedly walking her over to private rooms he said some of the other counselors had claimed.

Despite being the largest cabin at the camp due to the amount of unclaimed and minor god children, Cabin 11 was still constantly packed. It felt like there was hardly any space to walk. Glad to have somewhere private for her and Luke, Katherine left her things in his room, as he walked her out to give her a brief tour of the camp.

As they walked through the camp grounds, Luke smiled pleasantly as a young blonde girl crossed their path, who couldn’t have been older than twelve. She initially smiled when she saw Luke, but then seemed more hesitant when she noticed Katherine.

“Hey, Annabeth,” Luke smiled, “Long time no see.”

The girl, Annabeth Chase, who Katherine had remembered his stories about from before he arrived at camp, just smiled meekly.

“Hey,” she murmured, looking at the stranger next to him.

“This is my girlfriend. Katherine,” Luke introduced her politely. “Katherine, this is Annabeth. One of the strongest, smartest people I know.”

There was a certain pride to the way he said it.

“Hi, Annabeth. Nice to meet you,” Katherine said softly.

“You’re a daughter of Nemesis,” Annabeth said with a lack of filter. “I can tell.”

“I am,” Katherine nodded pridefully, a curious look on her face as she tried to decide how she felt about the short interaction.

“Welp. We gotta get going. See you later,” Luke told the girl, continuing on as Katherine put the discomfort of the lack of conversation behind her.

As Luke ushered her around, his hand resting firmly on her back, everyone at the camp began to notice the newcomers that wasn’t actually a child. He showed her just about everything at the camp: the cabins, the arena, the strawberry fields, and the beach…

Luke felt oddly proud, just walking around with Katherine. He liked the idea of showing her off, of walking around being the only one allowed to touch her at all. He liked having Katherine on his arm, because he knew no one else could. They didn’t stand a chance. Any of them. Many people looked at her, and the two of them together, for many different reasons. One of them in particular was a remarkably slim girl with dark hair and blue eyes.

“…Who is that?” Katherine asked, noticing the girl practically tracking her movements.

She seemed to be all but glaring, not even blinking as her head turned as far as Katherine walked.

“Who?” Luke asked, tracing her gaze. “The one with the blatantly obvious stink eye?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s Silena Beauregard. Head of Cabin 10, Aphrodite… I think she’s always had a huge crush on me,” he admitted.

“Well, if she keeps looking at me like that, I’ll crush her.”

“Love, I appreciate the thought,” Luke said humorously as he tightened his grip on her, “But I think she’s one of the ones that could be useful to us.”

“Right. We have a shit ton of recruiting to do eventually,” she sighed. “You should get in her pants.”

Luke stopped dead in his tracks, looking at her in disgust.

“What?”

“She’d obviously do anything if she thought you wanted her to do it. You gotta give these people something to hope for if you want them to follow you,” Katherine reasoned.

“I guess that’s true,” he mumbled, not liking the idea. “I guess I’ll lead her on, or something.”

“Good,” she nodded her approval.

The two walked around the camp together, until they were stopped by a rather disheveled looking middle-aged man with a Diet Coke in his hand walking out of the Big House.

“Hey! You two,” he barked them down.

“Mr. D,” Luke called promptly as Katherine realized who they were speaking to.

Dionysus, the god of wine and general debauchery, one of the camp’s directors.

“Go see the Oracle.”

“The Oracle?” Luke questioned. “Why?”

“You think I know?” the malcontent demanded. “Just go up to the attic. Chiron said the damn thing’s acting up.”

“Okay,” Luke sighed, as they walked back up to the Big House.

“The Oracle of Delphi?” Katherine questioned, recalling the multiple times he’d mentioned it. “Why would it have something to say to us?”

“I don’t know,” Luke admitted, trying to think. “But… I think it has something to do with what she said when I went on that quest, right before we met,” he remembered.

“What did she say?” she asked him, not recalling him ever telling her about it.

Luke just sighed. “The last lines never made any sense to me until we went off together… I think it went like this.

‘You shall run for your life,

Never free from strife.

You shall find a new reason,

As affinities deepen.’

That’s what the oracle said to me.”

Katherine stared at him for a moment, trying to fully process.

“That’s you and me,” Luke told her. “For some reason, you and me are part of a prophecy.”

She nodded silently as they walked into the Big House, now fully understanding the gravity of the situation.

“There you two are. Go up to the attic,” Chiron said immediately upon their arrival. “It’s asking for you.”

They both agreed, without any further questions. Luke led Katherine up to the large, dusty attic of the house, taking her to the Oracle, the dead body of the last woman to inherit its power, which had just been stored up in the attic over the years.

Luke watched as it slowly came to life, reanimating like some sort of Halloween animatronic.

“I don’t think there’s a quest,” Luke said thoughtfully. “The one I just came back from… It was the only one the camp has seen since the last quest I went on.”

Katherine nodded, knowing that both quests of Luke’s were sore subjects that he didn’t like to discuss very often. They both watched as the corpse came to life, showing them both the same vision before it spoke. It was a vision from the past, of the two of them eating at a diner on the way back to New York.

The Oracle began to speak, its voice seeming to be wheezing in pain.

“Hate burns in the name of love,

And this love was not sent from above.

You will both turn your backs to home,

It will always be you, together and alone.

Betrayal will be rewarded,

And love is perverted.

One soul has already been claimed.

One will be sacrificed to pain,

The other to an eternal reign.

Time will betray you,

And blood will ensue.”

Katherine and Luke exchanged worried looks as the dead corpse snapped back into place, no longer moving at all. They both took a moment to recall her words, the ominous prophecy burned into both of their brains.

“‘Time will betray you’….” Luke echoed.

“‘And blood will ensue’,” Katherine nodded.

Both knew that meant nothing good.

“‘Betrayal will be rewarded, and love is perverted’,” she repeated.

Luke thought for a moment, considering the endless possibilities.

“What we’re doing…” he realized, looking her in the eyes as his hands held her gently by the forearms. “It’s not gonna end well,” he looked at her, an almost pleading look in his eyes.

“Did we ever think it would?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed, thinking about his own betrayal of the camp. “But I always thought, on some level, it’d be worth it.”

“It will be worth it,” Katherine said poisonously, the look in her dark eyes consuming him. It will be worth it, when we burn this shit to the ground,” she promised him.

Luke held her for a moment, wondering if this was someone he recognized. He had certainly seen Katherine like this before. She probably would’ve said the exact same thing even before Kronos healed her, but something in that moment still felt eerily different to Luke.

-

Chapter Thirteen

[xanadontit]

Hey @tap-shoes I got you!

Dear Care and Feeding,

My husband and I have two kids, ages 14 months and 2 years old. Ever since the second was born, I’ve been kind of uncomfortable with the fact that my husband is NEVER alone with both of them, outside of me going to the bathroom or taking a shower.

Anytime I have somewhere to be, he has at least one of his parents come over or he goes to their house or his sister’s house (they all live locally) with the kids. I’ve been hesitant to bring it up because I don’t want to try to control the time he spends with the kids, and when I mentioned it to my close friend she said I should take it as a gift because I find his family a bit overbearing, so he gets the time with his family, his family gets the time with the kids, and I don’t need to spend extra time with them. But it has made me wonder if he is comfortable with our kids on his own, which any parent should be.

Very early this morning I received a call that my mother was being taken to the hospital in serious condition. I am her medical proxy and live about an hour and a half away. I immediately got up to get dressed and told my husband I needed to go and would make sure I was back in time to pick up the kids from daycare at the end of the day as I always do (he drops them off). He got panicky and asked me to give him a minute to call his mother because he needed her to come over in case the kids woke up and to help with the morning routine. I told him that was ridiculous; I can understand wanting a hand with the morning routine, but she didn’t need to come over at 2:30 a.m. to sit on alert while the kids slept, especially since they both sleep through the night on their own 95 percent of the time. He said he wasn’t comfortable being there alone with them and he needed me to wait to leave until one of his parents got there. I said no, I had an emergency to deal with and I would be going, he could handle two sleeping kids and should just go back to bed himself until his alarm, and I left. Twenty minutes later I saw a notification on our security cameras that his mother had arrived at the house.

It’s a few hours later and I’m sitting in the waiting room waiting for an update on my mother’s surgery and for my siblings to arrive and I just don’t even know what to think. I’ve tried texting and calling and he didn’t answer. I just don’t understand how you can be uncomfortable taking care of your own children and think just constantly having someone else around is an acceptable solution. He only ever seems to have regular new-ish parent worries, not over-the-top anxiety. What’s the best way to address this when I get home? I know he will be mad I left, but I’m mad he put me in a situation where I had to choose to leave. Shouldn’t you be able to take care of your own children? Did I miss something I should have seen?

—Can’t Leave Him Alone

Dear Alone,

First off, I really hope your mom is OK. That isn’t a call anyone wants to receive, especially in the middle of the night.

Presumably, you’ve come home since writing this letter; I wish we had a Reddit-style update I could pull up, but I’ll have to consign myself to the land of make-believe instead. If you and I were dealing with this in real-time, I would tell you to find a time later this afternoon or evening when you are both calmer and ask him why he feels he can’t be alone with the kids. But you can still have this conversation even though that moment has passed. Try to truly listen to his reasons and see if you can uncover whether this is real anxiety/fear or whether it’s a version of weaponized incompetence (which doesn’t have to be intentional to exist). Explain that while you don’t mind extended family helping out in general, it concerns you that you can’t count on him in an emergency.

If he’s reticent to see the problem, ask him what his plan is when his mom is gone, but you need to be out of town. What if you are the one who gets hurt, or worse? He needs to be able to step up and assume the full duties of parenthood, and not only in an emergency! You should be able to run an errand, get a manicure, or see a friend without making childcare arrangements. If he truly cannot step up because of deep-rooted anxiety, then he needs to be looking at therapy of some kind. I do not mean to be unkind, but this is the behavior of a mother’s helper, not a parent.

—Allison

[microsuedemouse]

I’ve reached season six in my Midsomer rewatch, and I just. I don’t remember who I saw suggest this (@daguchna maybe?) but I really do wonder if the writers weren’t thinking at this point about taking Gavin and Cully somewhere, before Casey decided to leave the show. obviously Death and Dreams is a big one for them, but there are things in the other episodes that seem to suggest it, too, inasmuch as this show ever really does much outright character work. I’m watching A Talent for Life right now, and Cully’s so pleased when she spots Gavin approaching the library van - she says his name so fondly, and walks away from her father to go outside and talk to the sergeant instead. later she brings him up unprompted when talking to her mother. later still, the camera deliberately shows us Cully hiding a bit of a chuckle after Gavin looks her way while making a dumb joke. these details are all really noticeable, and I don’t think there’s any real reason for the show to put them there unless there was some intention for them to mean something.

it doesn’t make me insane the way unrealised ships in some other shows do, probably because of the way that Midsomer really isn’t driven by character arcs or relationships, but I do deeply wish we could’ve seen how their dynamic might have played out if Gavin had stayed. and I wish there were more people writing explorations of the same idea, haha - I love puttering at my own fics (who knows if I’ll ever get around to finishing any of them), but I would also love having more content to read. one of the best things about fanfiction is getting to experience so many different interpretations of your favourite characters/ships/themes/narratives/etc… when you happen to be into the same things as lots of other people, hah. it’s a bummer to fall so in love with a ship that no one else really has!

[player1064]

loving these drabbles and in need of some nice fluffiness so any chance for carraville being cute and very openly in love and slightly affectionate during the bts bits before stick to football :)

bts bits of stick to football are my LIFE FORCE honestly like. they're so insane about each other. they're SO insane about each other. also we r on the same wavelength bc literally all weekend I've been imagining what the bts bits would be like if they were all gross and couple-y and I have come to the conclusion that they would be INSUFFERABLE. obviously. and ignore everyone else to talk all sweetly to each other about random nonsense I HATE THEM!!!

---

“You’re sittin’ very far away, are you sittin’ far away?”

“I think –” Jamie starts, then has to pause so that the makeup artist can tilt his head slightly “—I think it’s the same as always, in’t it? Not like there’s much space back ‘ere, anyway.”

“Oh.”

Gary looks forlornly at his stool and gets up onto it, looking back and forth between himself and Jamie a few times as he does. He reaches across the table for a croissant, tears a piece off the end to nibble at tragically.

“Jamie, what is wrong with you, man?” asks Wrighty as he walks up to the bar with Roy. “Look at him, he’s all out of sorts! Can’t you shift your chair right an inch or two?”

Someone in the background mumbles something about camera positioning and tape markers on the floor, and Roy waves a hand towards them in agreement. “The chairs are exactly the same as they are every week! Jesus, Wrighty, you’re too soft on the lad.”

Jamie knows a losing battle when he sees one, mainly because every battle with Gary is a losing one, so he shifts his stool an inch closer to Gary’s.

“There, was’at so hard?” Gary says triumphantly, turning to Jamie all glowy, like.

They’re now sitting close enough that Jamie can knock his knee into Gary’s, which he does before he turns to the others and rolls his eyes.

Jill wanders over and starts chatting to Roy and Wrighty about something, weekend plans or football games maybe, Jamie’s not really paying attention. He takes the momentary pause in conversation on their side of the table to turn and look at Gary, leaning an arm on the counter so that he can rest his head in his hand.

Gary mirrors the gesture, kicks one foot out to gently knock the side of Jamie’s ankle. “Hiya,” he murmurs.

It’s annoying, how easily this filthy Manc can make him go all soft. “Hi yourself,” he replies with a smile. “Yer gonna out us to all your subscribers, you carry on like this.”

“Eh, we’ll edit around it,” Gary says, with all the confidence of someone who has no idea how editing works. “I missed ya, y’know.”

“I’ve only been in London two days, lad, y’don’t need to be so clingy. ‘s not becoming of a lady.”

“Shush, you. I were thinkin’, yeah, maybe when season’s over we could go somewhere for a bit.”

“Oh, you were thinkin’ were ya?”

“Mmm, somewhere warm. With private beach, maybe.”

“Won’t you have the Euros?”

“Dunno, maybe I’ll skip ‘em this year. Take it easy, like.”

Jamie never thought he’d see the day that Gary Neville willingly turned down work, and yet – he grins at him, reaches forwards to flick at Gary’s chest fondly.

He hears someone clear their throat, which instantly pulls him back to his surroundings and to the fact that the other conversations in the room seem to have ended. He huffs a laugh and leans back, raises an eyebrow at Roy.

Roy looks between Jamie and Gary with a smirk. Gary, seemingly unaware, closes the newly formed space between them by reaching over to tap Jamie on the elbow.

“Jamie,” he says, “Jamie, can you pass me the toffee popcorns?”

“No, they’re no good for ya,” Jamie replies. “’ave a satsuma instead.”

He makes the mistake of glancing over to Gary as he says this, who shoots him the most miserable little pout he’s ever seen in his life.

He wordlessly slides the bowl of popcorn over to him.

“Jamie,” Roy says, biting into the mini roll that Wrighty’s just handed him, “You have a problem. Seriously, I think you need help. An intervention, or summat.”

“Aw, no, I think it’s sweet,” says Jill. “Weren’t you ever young an’ in love?”

“They’re nearly fifty!”

[neitherlightnordark]

mettaton and children. now

BUT OF COURSE I LOVE CHILDREN!! WHY WOULDN’T I? THEY'RE SOME OF THE TELEVISION’S MOST DEVOTED FANS! WITH SO MUCH FREE TIME AND WHIMSY ON THEIR HANDS, IT'S NO WONDER THAT EVERY DAY, RIGHT ON THE DOT, THEY TUNE IN TO MY SHOW... FOR FAMILY-FRIENDLY, AMUSING, AND BLOODTHIRSTY TIMES! DON’T BELIEVE ME? JUST ASK... ANY ONE OF THEM!

...That’s a camera! Yo, am I on... TV?

WHAT DO YOU THINK?

Yo, that's so cool!! Everyone can see me! Hi, mom! ... Oh, man, I forgot I’m not supposed to be out... Maybe I can get a ski mask somewhere? Uh, hey, do you have any ski masks?

SKI MASKS? IN SNOWDIN? WHY?

My mom told me I had to be back quick after my errand... She’s gonna be mad if she sees the paparazzi swarmed me first! You better be careful or she’ll have your hide, ha ha!

MY, MY. A FAN SUCH AS YOURSELF... OR AT LEAST, SOMEONE IN MY SHOW’S TARGET DEMOGRAPHIC... FAILS TO RECOGNIZE MY METALLIC FORM OUT IN THE LIGHT? ALTHOUGH I SUPPOSE THE SNOW'S SHEEN... MAKES IT HARDER TO LOOK AT ME. SURELY YOU CAN AT LEAST RECOGNIZE MY SILHOUETTE! I'M THE SQUARE THAT APPEARS IN YOUR TV SOMETIMES. WITH FLASHING LIGHTS AS A FACE AND A WHEELY THING UNDERNEATH. SOUND FAMILIAR?

Uh... Either way, you look super cool, mister!

THAT'S RIGHT! DON’T WORRY ABOUT NOT HAVING WATCHED MY SHOW, DARLING. NOT ONLY DOES IT PLAY EVERY DAY, AT THE SAME TIME, FOREVER... BUT, THERE'S NO OTHER SHOWS ON MY CHANNEL. SO I GOT THE EMPTY SPACES TO BE FILLED WITH MY SHOW’S RERUNS. NOW YOU CAN WATCH MTT TV ON THE GO, NO MATTER WHAT TELEVISION SET YOUR JOURNEYS TAKE YOU TO!

That's cool! Can I go now, mister MTT TV?

WHAT?? HEY, NO--- *COUGHS* *ROBOTICALLY* ERR, WHERE’RE YOU HEADING TODAY?

Miss QC’s Shop! That’s, uh, on the west-most part of Snowdin Town. If I help dust Miss QC’s shelves today, I get a free bicicle!

HOW FINE AND DANDY! A LOCAL BUSINESS!I MIND IF I TAG ALONG? 

Sure! Why not?

THAT'S RIGHT, YOUR LOCAL DAZZLING STAR LOVES EATING OUT AT PLACES THAT ARE PRIVATELY OWNED! AND TODAY I’LL BRING TO YOU AN EVEN SPECIAL-ER OFFER! PURCHASE A BICICLE AT MISS QC’S SHOP... AND GET A FREE STARFAIT AT MTT-BRAND BURGER EMPORIUM IN RETURN! MAKE SURE TO TAKE THE ELEVATORS SO YOU’RE NOT TOO STARVING... BUT EVEN THEN, I’M SURE YOU’LL STILL BE TEMPTED BY OUR GLAMOUROUS, SEQUIN-SPECKLED FOODS... WHEN YOU STAGGER UP TO OUR SLIGHTLY DAMP DOUBLE DOORS! YOU CAN'T GET THESE DEALS ANYWHERE ELSE! (STAMPS VERIFYING PURCHASE AVAILABLE AT QC’S SHOP UPON REQUEST)

I don't know Miss QC very well, but... I dunno if she’ll appreciate the free advertising...

DON’T BE RIDICULOUS. EVERYBODY LOVES BEING SHOUTED OUT BY FAMOUS PEOPLE.

You’re famous?

OH COME ON.

Ha ha! Yo, I was just joking!

HA HA HA. IS THIS WHAT THEY CALL BEING A LITTLE SCAMP? AH, YOUTH. (IF ONLY I COULD RECALL BEING SO PRECOCIOUS...)

...?

HERE’S ANOTHER DEAL. I BUY THE BICICLE FOR YOU. YOU WATCH MY SHOW! HOW’S THAT SOUND.

I don’t need you to buy me an excuse to watch more television, sir!

(MTT TV DOES NOT CONDONE MINDLESS CONSUMPTION OF ENTERTAINMENT, LEST IT BECOME ADDICTIVE, ESPECIALLY YOUTH. THIS IS WHY ALL METTATON COMMERCIAL BREAKS INVOLVE THIRTY MINUTES OF METTATON SCAMPERING THROUGH FIELDS OF GRASS, SPONSORED BY METTATON.)

Hey, are you listening to me! (whispering) I said, as long as you edit out my face! And make my voice really deep.

(WHISPERING) SURE! WHAT DO YOU WANT TO LOOK LIKE INSTEAD?

... Have you heard of this cool person named Captain Undyne?

WHY, YES I HAVE, DARLING! IN FACT... AFTER I BUY YOU THIS BICICLE, I THINK I’VE GOT A KEY RIGHT TO HER HOUSE! METAPHORICALLY.

REALLY?!

YEP, SHE LOVES ME. I’M SURE SHE’D ALSO LOVE CO-STARRING WITH YOU!

Well--- I--- *coughs* *lizardly* ...Maybe someday soon, yo! For now... I’ve got to bring groceries back home. The reason Captain Undyne’s so great... is because she never breaks promises! She’d do the same if she were me.

THAT’S FINE BY ME! I DON’T NEED ANY EXCUSES TO CONVINCE HER TO PLAY MORE TOTALLY TRIVIA! THANKS FOR THE GREAT IDEA, UH...

Haha, you’re welcome, mister...

METTATON. JUST METTATON, NO TV. THAT’S MY COMPANY.

Okay! See you!

AND SEE YOU IN FIVE MINUTES AFTER I’M DONE BEING VIRTUOUS IN THIS SHOP, VIEWERS~

[penname-artist]

Life Updates (Jan. 2023)

(Dated as such because I presume I’ll do more month-to-month updates, assuming I’ve anything update-worthy. Highlighted the section’s themes cuz I bounce a lot and there was a lot to cover for this month)

My commissions have been doing well as of late. I wouldn’t say they’re “booming” per se, but I have two done and two right behind them. Getting onto a real schedule has its ups and downs, though. For one thing, remembering to block my time for work (espeeeeecially for logging commission times) has been challenging. Nevertheless, I’ve done the thing, and I’m being good and making myself not work on the weekends and only putting in my work toward the week days.

That said, this Monday (the 16th) will probably be busy. Next to those two commissions, I have a pair of videos (which aren’t even mine, they’re my father’s) to edit for posting to help him advertise somethin-or-other. I really need to work on my own videos for my channel and get my setup back (the camera holder thingy I use when doing speed art has been moved since I replaced my floor last year and I still haven’t put it back) BUT, because Monday already has three to four projects in it, I’m not gonna push it. I know what I’m like, I want to do everything at once and then I don’t do any of it.

Which ALSO reminds me of the Dusty Collaboration project that I intended to do in August last year and never finished. My plan on that, going forward (and I’ll go back and poke the members of this project and re-ensure everyone is still on board with this) is to do it this August instead for the Planes 10-year anniversary. Because, you know, it’s TEN YEARS. That’s fucking INSANE.

Now mental health wise...well it’s kind of a mixed bag. I definitely feel a lot better and more alive right now than I had working 36 hours a week and wasting away in a chair. I have all of my side hobbies in the same place and I can add to them and work on them in my own time (and literally, I have a lot of fucking hobbies. In this room alone I have two dozen someodd video games, board games, card games, stacks of books I’m addictively reading, piles of crochet projects and yarn, a desk full of art materials, another desk full of writing materials, and now I’m putting in a TV and DVD/CD player for television and music). It’s also given me enough motivation/inspiration to do the things I’ve been actually wanting and needing to do - like make money - more effectively. So on that front, all is well and good.

But, the rat situation from a few months ago is still going on. And I literally have no fucking idea what it is or why it is and what we can do to stop it. I literally don’t even know if it’s a rat anymore. I never hear any active chewing or scratching, all that I hear is the movement of an animal from one end of the bedroom all the way around to the other, and the occasional bump of something in the wall as it hits it. A pair of times I’ve heard some weird squeaking like it’s a baby animal of some sort, but only a teeny tiny amount of times. And the other day I discovered a cat outside my window, so NOW I’m thinking he’s sneaking into the house walls to hunt and just fucking with me. Or it’s something else, I literally have no idea. Either way, I have slept with the wax melter light on EVERY night for the last month or so.

Lastly, on the side of financial state, we’re still going by the skin of our teeth at the moment, but I suppose it’s working. Dad’s jumping between fixing cars (which he knows) and trying to do real estate (which he does not know as much - also making money from that takes significantly more time and less consistency) and I’m only just now starting to scratch into my savings for things.

My biggest focus aside from my commissions and things will probably be getting my license and then finding a second job somewhere, hopefully art-related (please), between now and May. That is, assuming that I’m still not quite making enough to be comfortable. I’m teetering on the edge of qualifying for making money through Youtube, and commissions are making a fair bit of pocket change right now, but even that plus my work income right now is about half of the rent money for the month. I did say I’d give myself until April to do this, because I can make it that far on savings alone, comfortably and without much fear. BUT, nothing and no one can break until then because I ain’t got no insurance for shit anymore. *punches body* Stop being stupid!

(oh yeah physical health wise I still get occasional noodle days where my body is just, non-functional and I’m just kinda made of limp noodles. Not often, but, it does happen. I dunno man, maybe it’s just a normal thing, who knows.)

That’s all I can think of for the time being, y’all. I’m gonna work on this immediate stuff first and then hopefully I’ll have room to put out some videos for you guys. And, there’s fanfics to look forward to! If anyone remembers Night on the Bow, a project collaborated by Ivory, Shu, and yours truly, we’re making another one! It’s a beefy fic too, so hang onto your hats... ;)

There’s tons more in the wings but I can’t even remember what lol, but it’ll get there when it gets there!

Take care y’all and have a nice Sunday, til the morrow!

-Pen

[starlightswitch]

Where It's Planted

(for Writer's Month day 1 prompts blossom and on an island)

Kerri half-covered her face with her hands, taking a long breath through them, her eyes uncovered and looking toward the sky. “I don’t know if I like it or don’t like it that we’ll pretty much know today if it worked or it didn’t work.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to know if it didn’t work?” Simon was steering the boat, following the curve of the island’s shore to the dock.

“I don’t want to know that it didn’t work, so why would I want to know today? That’s the kind of thing that’ll ruin your day.” The ‘your’ was indirect, a general ‘you’ that applied just as much to herself.

Simon tossed his shoulders. “If it doesn’t work I want to know so we can move on to the next thing.”

Kerri wasn’t sure what the next thing would be. That was one reason knowing it didn’t work would ruin her day. There was also not getting the result they wanted after years of work. And not getting to see a pretty flower.

They reached the shore and docked. Kerri was first out and offered a hand to Simon, knowing by now he had trouble with the first step back onto solid ground. Simon knew by now she had trouble remembering to put sunscreen on; he’d reminded her as soon as they got out on the water.

There was no sign of the flower before they started walking. If they came back years from now– if it had worked– there probably would be. The thing was known to spread readily, aggressively even, which was why it had been eradicated in the first place. Why it had taken so much work to get approval for planting it when they’d started research to recreate it and grow it again. Here on this island in the middle of a lake it should be contained, and the general public seemed to like the idea of being able to go see it somewhere it wouldn’t disrupt their lawns and gardens.

They could have planted it closer to the dock, but they had agreed that seemed too easy and planted it a little further away, so they had a bit of a walk. Not much of one– it wasn’t a big island.

Simon spotted it first. Kerri heard him catch his breath.

The flowers were blossoming.

They weren’t big showy blossoms. The plant’s focus wasn’t on showing but on spreading. Instead they grew tons of tiny blossoms to a plant, lined up neatly on thin little branching stems, the plants all growing close together in a patch of sunny yellow. Buttercup yellow, daffodil yellow, but instead of individual blossoms on their own plants, a blanket of blossoms.

Kerri and Simon stared at each other.

“We did it,” he said softly, almost with disbelief.

“We did it,” she repeated, a whisper but with the energy of a shout.

They had never hugged before this moment, hadn’t even thought about hugging, but in this moment it seemed like the most natural thing to share a tight hug of triumph.

“Get some pictures,” said Simon, already reaching for his phone.

“I just want to look at them,” said Kerri. “Which is silly, because I know what they look like. We know what they look like better than anyone else in the world, and we know what they look like growing because we did how many trials, but…”

“They’re in the wild. It’s different.” He nudged her forward. “I’ll take some pictures of you looking at them. Fair enough to have us in the pictures. We’re the reason they’re here.”

“If it’s ‘us’ that should be in the pictures you should be in them too.”

He shook that off. “You can get some of me. You go first.”

“No. Here.” Kerri was already pulling out her phone, flipping to the front-facing camera. She turned, nudged Simon to turn, and held it up, angling to get the flowers in the picture behind them.

Simon struck a pose, a thumbs-up and a goofy grin.

Kerri snorted, her eyes closing a little, an answering grin coming to her face. She liked the glimpse she got of that on the phone screen, so she tried to make the same expression on purpose. She took the picture.

They gave each other a grin, genuine this time, then moved on to taking more scientific pictures of what they had brought back to life.

-

2020 Day 1: Roses and Diamonds (Tattoo shop + Flower Shop AU)

2021 Day 1: Someplace to Be (protective + high school AU)

2022 Day 1: Almost a Dream Come True (promise + beach)

[noonswrites]

Muse

synopsis: Xavier just wants a picture of you so he can draw it. things don’t go according to plan…

warnings: blowjob, penetration, fingering

it was an accident really. a genuine, complete, accident. you just wanted to support your talented friend who had been begging you for a subject for his next painting.

“please! it doesn’t have to be a good photo of you, I just need one for reference” he says exaggeratedly as you make your way to class. his giant frame is never an inch away from yours if he can help it, and today is no different. he’s tugging on your arm like a lost puppy as he begs you to be his muse for the millionth time.

“oh, so you’re saying I take bad photos?” you reply snidely.

he grins widely, knowing your games too well by now “you know that’s not what i meant” and gives you a playful push.

“i’ll think about it xavier, but you should really find another victim”

“i believe the correct term is “muse” dork”

“keep calling me dork and see where that gets you” he puts his hands up, mimicking what he would look like “surrendering” to you.

Xavier wishes he could hide how excited he is to draw you again. He can’t wait to combine his two favorite things: you, and his obsession with art. what you don’t know is Xavier wants to take this opportunity to ask something he’s been too shy to say for years….

when the seemingly never ending school day is finally over, he walks you to your room. your hallmate left for the week, so it was just you and Xavier sprawled out on your bed. he sat at the foot of it, legs crossed while yours were draped over his lap.

he eagerly awaits you to send him a picture while you briskly scroll through your camera roll. you finally deem one appropriate for his next masterpiece, a selfie of the two of you. his arms wrapped around your neck while you’re giving him a jokingly disapproving look. at least, that’s what you think you’re sending him. Xavier however, receives a completely different image that you accidentally sent instead.

he quickly taps on the notification with his pencil ready, opening up a photo of your breasts on display. “o-oh my god”

“what?!” you exclaim, confused at his reaction.

“are you sure that’s what you want me to draw?” he says timidly.

“yeah, unless you have a problem with it i guess” it’s too late now, you’re absentmindedly scrolling through your phone.

Xavier tries to start drawing, he really does. truthfully, he started getting hard the minute he opened the photo and now he’s trying to get a grip on his pencil, which won’t stop shaking in his hand. you can feel his dick rising since your leg is still on his lap, causing you to look up.

this is when you notice he’s shaking. “Xavi, what’s wrong?”

Xavier can barely bear the nickname right now, combined with everything else he’s experiencing.

“i’m- i’m sorry. i don’t know if i can draw this” Xavier shows the phone to you and you turn a shade of red he doesn’t think he’s ever seen before.

“oh shit! oh fuck i’m so sorry oh my god fuck!” you cover your face with your hands.

Xavier, although nervous, tries his best to reassure you and puts a gentle hand on your leg. “it’s ok, i just didn’t think we were at that level, you know?”

you spread your fingers, peeking your eyes through “it’s fine, really” he gives a weak, bashful smile. a part of him kind of wishes you did send it on purpose, and it’s not like he hadn’t thought of his best friend naked before…

in a desperate attempt to change the subject you ask “does that hurt?” while staring at his now erect penis that creates a tent in his sweatpants.

“um- i- “

“i can help you with it if it does- i read somewhere that it hurts when you- you know-“ words are coming out of your mouth faster than your brain can process what’s happening now… “if not we can forget this ever happened and i won’t tell anyone- i promise” you’d probably regret saying that later, but right now, you can’t help it. you’ve had the biggest crush on xavier forever and if you’re being honest, you’re in a pretty similar aroused state right now.

“i don’t know… i don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable po-“

“i want to” you cut him off “i’ve wanted to for years Xavi” you’re crawling towards him now.

“do you want to?” you ask him, although the evidence is all over his face, he looks almost pained. his mouth is slightly agape and his eyes are focused on your lips. lips that he has thought of kissing for months now, but this time, he doesn’t resist the urge.

Xavier can’t hold it anymore, he takes your face in his hands and kisses you. it’s hesitant at first, both of you in shock that it’s finally happening. it takes seconds for it to get sloppy. you break apart only to climb on xavier’s lap, and you don’t miss the distressed look he wears as a result of moments apart from you. you’re quick to relieve him, sitting down with your thighs on either side of his hips, and both of you stifle a moan when your clothed cunt makes contact with his dick. now it’s your turn to grab his face and he loves every second of it, wanting nothing more than to fawn over you as you use him for your pleasure. you, however, won’t have that, stopping at nothing until he’s completely ruined.

you take his bottom lip between yours and suck on it, and Xavier swears he’s seeing stars. he starts getting messy as both of your lips are covered in each other’s spit and that alone is making him dizzy. he doesn’t even realize he’s begun to grind his hips upward trying to relieve himself in the friction you’re creating. you tell him to pull off his t-shirt and he does so immediately, and you do the same. he smoothes his hands up and down your waist as if you’re made of glass, looking you up and down with a mixture of reverence and desire. you almost want to laugh at him because you’d never imagine seeing your best friend like this, looking at you like he’d been starving for days and desperate to kiss you again, but you settle for giving him an amused smile.

“what is it?” he asks with the most precious look of confusion on his face.

“you’re so cute baby” his eyelashes flutter and he looks away, he shifts slightly while trying to pretend the new pet name doesn’t turn him on more. you can tell that he’s smiling too now, internally giddy.

you start to leave a trail of kisses down his neck, and he lets out a pleasure filled sigh. when you start to teasingly lick his abdomen he tenses up again, and you hear a soft “ah” escape his lips. you unbutton his pants and pull down his boxers and Xavier starts to tremble. he looks down at you with watery eyes and you take his dick in your hand. he lets out a hiss at your warmth.

you start to kiss his shaft and his brows furrow but his eye contact never wavers. if xavier could have this moment tattooed on his brain, he would. when you take his head in your mouth and suck he jolts, unable to control his movements at this point. you slowly take more of him into your mouth and hollow your cheeks. you start to stroke xavier’s leg with your free hand and xavier’s gaze softens at the tender gesture.

you slowly take him deeper into your mouth, astonished that you’ve made it this far without choking. “fuck” he cries as you fit all of him in your mouth. you start a slow rhythm of sliding your lips up and down his shaft and xavier lies back, helpless to your actions. you can feel how tense the muscles in his stomach and legs are, doing his best to hold back his impending orgasm. as you speed up, xavier begins to babble uncontrollably, a mixture of “you feel so good”, “you’re so pretty, fuck!”, and so on. you fondle his balls and he’s almost sent over the edge, but you pull yourself off of him just in time.

he stares at you, dazed “did i do something wrong?” god, you’d do anything for those puppy dog eyes.

“no baby, just wanted you to come inside me, is that alright?” xavier wants to pinch himself.

“y-yeah” he leans in for another clumsy kiss, drunk on the feeling of being so close to you. it’s full of tongue and lips crashing together, but quickly ends with a gasp as you guide his cock to your pussy.

xavier watches himself enter you in a trance, completely mesmerized at your facial expression and the stretch of your cunt. when your fully seated, a tear falls down his cheek. you admit, you may have overstimulated him a bit. you wipe it away with your thumb and apologize. “i’m sorry for making you wait my love” he doesn’t seem to care at this point.

Xavier reaches his arms around your waist and pulls you in closer, causing you to moan at the adjustment “you’re s-so warm” he lets out.

“can i take this off?” he says as a hand slides over the clasp of your bra.

“yeah” you reply, and he begins to fiddle with the hook. he slides it off of your shoulders.

“so, do you think i’m a catfish?” you inquire. he lets out a wholesome laugh and you follow suit. Xavier gently pushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear and places his palm on your cheek.

“i think you’re the opposite of a catfish” you blush and attempt to turn your head away, but he pulls you in for another kiss. he moves to kiss the corner of your lips, then your chin, your jaw, and finally stops at your neck. he nibbles your jugular and then sucks, and your hips buck forward as he finds your sensitive spot. Xavier moans and you take this as a sign to keep moving.

you grind down on him and Xavier does his best to mentally prepare himself for the onslaught of pleasure. he’s already about to cum, holding on just so he can get you to try to finish first. he slides his hands down to your ass pushing you down on his cock while he pushes his hips up, effectively guiding himself deeper than you thought possible. you yelp and Xavier watches your features contort, repeating the action so he can listen to you moan again and again. he shifts one of his hands close to your cunt and guides a thumb to your clit, rubbing it in circles, prompting you to jolt and start bouncing on his cock more eagerly than before.

“shit- shit- fuck!” Xavier doesn’t know what he’s saying anymore, he only knows that he’s been close to cumming for more than an hour now, and he’s about to burst. you wrap your arms around his neck for stability and pick up your pace.

“oh my god” he whines and his grip on your hips tightens. you realize how close he is, so you stop your movement.

“no- no! i need it please” his head falls into your neck and you stroke his back.

“i know my love, i just need you to ask for it nicely okay?” he lifts his head and you coo at his tear stained cheeks. “do you think you can do that for me?”

“y-yeah” you start to move again immediately, not wanting to prolong his suffering any further. Xavier cant stop himself from thrusting into you, and you let him, enjoying the look in his eyes as he starts to fall apart.

“are you gonna cum soon baby?” you ask after a particularly hard thrust.

“y- yes please- please can i c-cum?” Xavier is shaking uncontrollably now, his movements are sloppy and uncoordinated.

“yes my love” you smile “but you can’t take your pretty eyes off of me okay? i want to see you” Xavier is blushing harder than ever, he’d never admit that’s what sent him over the edge. he does his best to keep his eyes on yours, his mouth open and letting out angelic moans while his nails dig into your hips. he thinks your the most beautiful person alive as you keep up your pace grinding on his cock. his brows furrow and fresh tears arise as you continue to speed up, a look of tortured confusion mixed with euphoria on his face.

“i- i can’t please!” he wails. you finally cease your movement, panting. xavier pulls you into a tight hug, kissing your sweaty body in any place he can reach.

“thank you, thank you, thank you” he repeats between kisses. you flop down onto your mattress, and xavier hovers over you, smothering your face with kisses.

“baby, i want to make you cum now. can i? please? need to watch you cum” he babbles.

“you don’t have to Xavi, but yes” you’re still catching your breath.

“i want to” and without hesitation he slides his fingers to to your sopping cunt. “so wet… such a pretty pussy” you bury your face in the pillow.

“no need to be shy my love…” his thumb rubs over your clit and your thighs clench. he pushes them open gently, eyes fixated on your pulsing cunt. he slides two fingers in, feeling his own cum inside of you and trying his best not to get hard at the sensation. he curls his fingers upward and your hips shift at the sensitivity. he holds them down with his free arm and continues his ministrations. he probes for your most delicate spot and knows he’s found it when you squeeze his arm and whimper. you lift your head again and he meets your eyes, staring at you as he quickens his pace. you’re already worked up so it doesn’t take much after that, but what sets you over the edge is his decision to take your clit into his mouth and kiss it sloppily. your legs shake and kick and he happily continues to thrust his fingers as you ride out your orgasm, grinding down on them.

now you’re truly exhausted, and Xavier curls up next to you as you continue to catch your breath. “y’know, i was going to use the painting as a way to ask you out…” you perk up at this.

“really?!” xavier beams at you.

“yeah” you pull him into a kiss and he doesn’t stop smiling.

[literaila]

c’mere 

tasm!peter x reader 

summary: peter accidentally takes a picture of you with the flash on. 

warnings: fluff. 

a/n: i have no clue whats going on with my series at the moment so take this instead :)

*

it's not peter's fault when you turn around with wide eyes and a slightly concerned brow. 

it is not his fault when a yelp escapes your mouth and your whole body freezes. 

and it is certainly not his fault that someone forgot to turn off the flash on his camera. 

or, that's what he'll tell you. 

you open the window, mouth slightly pursed, eyes still wide. "what are you doing?" 

peter swings through before you can finish asking the question, forcing you to move back. 

before he grabs your forearm, fingers playing with the skin there, to force you closer to him. 

to push and pull and keep smiling at you like he's done nothing wrong. 

he swings his head back and forth, leaning in to you. 

he wants to kiss you, but the look on your face indicates that you would like anything but. 

it's mostly amusing. 

"did you just take a picture of me?" 

"no." peter shakes his head, purses his lips, so sure of himself. 

he doesn't let the smile slip. 

but he can still see it. 

you. sitting at your desk, writing something in a journal you never let him see, shoulders relaxed, body attuned to the beat of the music you're playing in the background. an unknowing smile on your face. 

peter already knows that it's going on the wall. 

he understood that from the moment he took it. 

"delete it," you say, quickly, removing your hands from his, your arms, so that you can cross them. 

so that you can keep a measured distance between the two of you.

"what?" he asks, frowning. "why?" 

"because. i wasn't ready." 

he laughs. holds his camera up in the air like he knows that you're going to grab it. "no way." 

"peter." 

he shakes his head at you, a small smile plastered to his face. 

he knows that you're not actually mad. but do you know that? 

you probably don't know about all of the other pictures of you in the same position, plastered somewhere on his wall where he guessed you wouldn't look. 

you've only caught him once. 

"i'll kick you out," you say, as a threat. 

but peter slides his shoes off. he drops his bag on the ground and falls onto your bed, still smiling at you, still as arrogant as ever. 

still watching you. waiting for you to break. 

this might be his favorite game. 

"your bed is so warm," he mumbles, turning over into his stomach and pushing his face into one of your pillows. 

maybe it's so that you can't see the guilt on his face. 

maybe it's so he can smell you, can trick you into climbing into bed with him. 

maybe he's just tired. 

"peter," you poke his shoulder, eyes still venomous. "why are you wearing clothes?" 

he turns around, brow raised. "sorry?" 

"no--" you sigh, head towards the ceiling like you're waiting for an answer. "i mean--where's your suit?"

"i changed." 

"why?" 

peter considers this. 

maybe he didn't want to scare you again. or did, but not like that. 

maybe he wanted to feel normal, for just a night. 

or maybe he just wanted to climb through your window. 

"couldn't let anyone see me come in." 

you tilt your head, brows softening. peter watches your face brighten right in front of him. he watches as you shift, thoughts changing, ideas forming in your head. 

you know him; you know what he means. 

he is almost taken aback by the idea. 

he is almost completely knocked out, by just the thought. 

it hurts more than any punch. 

and exhilarates him. in a strange, conscious way. 

"you've done it before," you say, a little bit softer, smoother. you sit down on the bed, still four feet away from him. "and no one's seen you." 

he smiles. "yeah." 

and leaves the answer out in the air. 

he lets it drift away to someone else's balcony. he would rather stare at you than think about any of the complexities that come with spider-man. 

he would rather stare at you than do anything else. 

"i'm not deleting that picture," he says, as if a child. "i like it." 

"you haven't even seen it." 

"i love it." 

you bite the inside of your cheek, just so peter can't watch you smile. 

it makes him laugh. 

"c'mere," he whispers, hand-stretched towards you. 

but your brow furrows again. 

your expression molds into the next, and peter tries to take a snapshot of every single moment there is of any hesitation. 

he just barely gets it all. 

"i'm not 'c'mere-ing' with you." 

peter frowns. "c'mere." 

you laugh at him now, teeth flashing in the light. eyes hidden from peter, but still so knowing. "you can't just repeat what you said and expect different results." 

"i'm insane," peter allows. "i want to cuddle with you." 

"are you going to delete the picture?" 

"never." 

you shrug. look away from him. "i've got some homework to finish." 

peter reaches out and grabs your hand. 

you allow it, for just the moment. 

"i won't do anything," he promises, softly, pretending that your skin doesn't burn him every time you move. 

"that was very convincing." 

"i just wanna look at you." 

your eyes soften if only for the way he says it. "you can do that from my bed." 

"not close enough." 

"peter." 

and if there's anything peter knows about you--you always break. 

reluctantly, but with a coercive smile on your face, you climb in next to him, crossing your legs and looking down at him. 

"not close enough," he whispers again, hand trailing up your arm and creating goosebumps down your back. 

"i'm not tired." 

"we don't have to sleep," his eyebrows raise, he stares down at your lips because they are slightly addicting. and also because he's weak. 

you nudge him, laughing. "what happened to not doing anything?" 

"i lied," he says, leaning closer. 

"i don't kiss liars." 

and peter smiles, a bit amused by every ounce of resistance you put into your words. a bit amused because he can see your eyes flicker down to his lips, a bit possessed. 

"liar," he says, and then he kisses you. 

and you don't complain. or move away. because you never do. 

peter leans up, angling himself so that you're almost on top of him. 

his hand goes around your waist, to the center of your back, slightly dragging as it urges to feel every inch of your skin. 

the other goes to your face, holding you as close to him as possible. thumb feeling the twinge of your cheek as you smile. 

which peter can feel because he's kissing you. 

his heart sighs at the gesture. 

"peter," you whisper, lips still on his, the word going straight to his stomach and swirling around. 

he doesn't answer. merely kisses you harder. 

you almost laugh. 

he leans up even more, the hand on your back moving to the parts of your thigh he can reach, gentle and softening and always seeking more. 

you just barely gasp when he flips you over, a moment in all. 

"peter," you whisper again, but it's louder. more forceful. 

"c'mere," he says, smiling against you, feeling as you wrap your hands around his neck. 

never complaining, only pretending to. 

you tilt your head up so you can keep up with him. you breathe into his mouth, not allowing an inch of distance between the two of you. 

your hands streak into his hair and peter has to fight back a groan. 

he has to pretend that this is casual. 

that this doesn't elicit a type of euphoria that words cannot describe. 

but feelings can. 

like his sore throat, taken back by the effort it takes to breathe when he's this close to you. 

like his pounding stomach, pushing and pulling and trying not to be swarmed by the rabble in his stomach. 

like the taste of your lips, the feel of your own skin, branding into his. 

like the fact that he can feel your eyes fluttering, making an effort to stay closed. 

he pulls back, just to look at you. 

just to see you some more. 

he smiles at you, traces a finger up your face, admiring the gentle creases in your skin. 

"what?" you ask him, softly, trying to hide in your own skin, for just a moment. 

but peter tilts your chin back up, he watches your eyes, waiting for the answers that he knows are there. 

"you're lovely," he whispers, as if you can't hear him. 

he says it for himself; like a reminder. like a prayer into the world, begging for more. 

"peter," you whisper, and it's all the answer. 

he kisses you again. softer. breaking free from any feelings that he's trying not to feel. 

breaking free from the pain this causes. 

swearing to himself that it only makes it better. 

he breathes onto your skin, breath hot and humid, kissing your pulse. moving down your neck so that he can taste more. 

so that you might keep mumbling into the air, saying things that he can't hear but can feel. 

so that he might elicit just another vibration from your lips. 

you push even closer to him. 

there's no resistance. 

but as soon as he wraps back up around your neck, lips choosing to fall closer to your ear, to nibble at the skin there and enjoy the way you giggle--you push up at his chest, almost squirming away from him. 

"hey," you say, and he stops. 

he looks into your eyes, pleasure morphing to concern. "you alright?" 

"i just wanna look at you." 

the words are enough to push him back onto his side. to move him so that he's facing you, close enough to taste your skin, but resisting, just so he can abide your wishes. 

"i love you," you tell him, in breathless whispers, staring into his eyes. 

he repeats it back to you, like a mockingbird. 

flying closer to you, swearing that he's never going to leave your side. 

it's not his fault, really. 

if you weren't so addicting, he might not have to. 

"peter," you say, just one last time. 

and he smiles. 

"c'mere."

*

my masterlist here. 

tags:  @moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life​ @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf​

[forevababy]

“And what if I want you to kiss me somewhere else?”

Jungkook x Reader

Fluff, suggestive, angst if you squint your eyes really hard

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Qatar was boring, for you at least.

You’re not sure wether or not your boyfriend is to blame for your mundane trip so far. You understand that he’s here under immense pressure, having to perform in front of billions of people on a stage that only makes itself available every four years isn’t something to take lightly. However, when he invited you to come along, you thought that he would have liked to spend at least some of his free time with you alone. That being said, you also thought that there wouldn’t be so many staff accompanying you both on every outing. It seems you were wrong to make both of those assumptions.

You know that having an idol boyfriend comes with very little privacy sometimes, but today the amount of cameras following your every move at the amusement park was the least of your worries when your boyfriends attention was being taken up by the female staff that seemed to be enjoying this trip a whole lot more than you.

Perhaps it was how all three of the girls would somehow always find a way to sit next to him on every ride, leaving you to sit next to Chanyeol, one of Jungkooks bodyguards and the only person who seemed to be paying you any attention. Or maybe it was how you couldn’t even walk next to him without slightly getting elbowed so someone else could squeeze next to him. Actually, none of that mattered, it was most definitely how Jungkook seemed to be oblivious to all of this, only paying you attention when he’d hold your hand whenever the amount of people surrounding your group got slightly alarming. Regardless of the reason, your patience was wearing thin.

Your group had gone through all the rides the place had to offer. Tired and hungry from a long day, you all decided to go back to the hotel and eat at one of the resteraunts on the first floor. This way, you could all go straight to bed whenever you wanted. It was at the restaurant that Jungkook started giving you the attention that you’d been craving all day.

You were turned to Chanyeol, carefully dissecting the menu together to see what you both wanted instead of joining the tables group conversation, when you felt your chair being scraped in the other direction, right into Jungkooks own chair. When it stopped moving, you looked down to see him remove his hand from one of your chairs legs.

“Hey” he said softly as his forehead came down to rest against the side of your head, the arm that he had used to relocate you now laying on the back of your chair.

“Hi” you replied as his sweet, musky, and familiar scent enveloped your senses like it hadn’t been able to do all day.

“Watcha gonna order?” He looked down at the menu you and Chan-Yeol had been looking at that was still in your hands.

“Well I wanted to get something with chicken, but it looks like every plate that has chicken is spicy. ChanYeol said that-”

“What’s wrong with your food being spicy?”

“I don’t want my stomach to hurt later” you replied to his slight interruption as you frowned at the menu.

His lips got incredibly close to your ear, so close that he nibbled on it a little before coming up with a solution to your very serious issue.

“Order some spicy chicken, and if your stomach hurts later, I’ll kiss it better.”

Jungkook truly is a master with words, always saying the cheekiest of things that gave you butterflies without failure. However, what he just said affected you more than normal, probably because you hadn’t seen this side of him all day.

“And what if I want you to kiss me somewhere else?”

You knew it probably wasn’t very smart to say something so provoking in front of so many people, even if you had made sure to whisper it enough that nobody other than him would hear, but you’d been starved from him all day and desperate to keep him engaged. When you lifted your eyes to meet his and found that he was looking at you with a hunger so intense that it caught you off guard, you knew you had made the right choice.

“Where else did you have in mind, baby?” He whispered back with a very slight growl, his eyes glued to your own and a grin slowly developing on his face.

You were about to get even bolder and tell him exactly where when the waiter showed up to take your orders. While his arm stayed across the back of your chair, your boyfriend reluctantly peeled his face away from yours to order a plate of spicy marinated chicken for you both. You had thought that your luck would run out after this, and you’d have to go back to making conversation with Chanyeol as Jungkook entertained the rest of the table. However, you were pleasantly surprised when Jungkook turned right back to you after placing your order, his eyes looking at you in adoration as only he could.

You spent the rest of the dinner glued right to Jungkooks side. While you waited for the food to arrive, he played with a strand of your hair as you told him about all your favorite rides of the day, how the roller coaster made you bump your head a little, and how the drop ride made you feel uneasy. When the food arrived, Jungkooks attention did not waiver in the slightest. The hand that had been on the back of your chair was now on your thigh, the other shoveling spoonfuls of his dish into his mouth. You even had to giggle and push his spoon away from your mouth when he attempted to feed you, complaining that you guys were eating the exact same food. He merely responded by picking food up from your plate and trying to feed you that instead, to which you couldn’t reject. As for the rest of the table, they continued on with conversation that you and Jungkook rarely, if at all, contributed to.

You were barely halfway done with your food when Jungkook waved the waiter over and pushed everyone to order themselves some dessert. He waited for everyone to finish before he asked for a slice of cake for the both of you.

“Kook, It’s gonna take me at least another twenty minutes to finish all of this, let alone dessert.” You whined as he giggled at your distressed state, his own plate completely empty on the table.

“The faster we get through dessert, the faster we can get to our room and you can show me where you wanted me to kiss you so badly” His hushed tone sent shivers through your entire body, despite his warm hand working its way up and down your thigh.

You immediately drop your utensils on your plate and announce that you’re done eating, to which he chuckles at before turning to the rest of the table and jumping into the conversation effortlessly. This no longer worries you in any way, because his hand doesn’t leave your thigh, assuring you that he’s right there next to you.

When the waiter finally places your dessert in front of the both of you, Jungkook wastes no time in bringing a cake filled spoon to your mouth, urging you to take the first taste. Your eyes don’t leave his as you open your mouth slightly to take his offering, a low hum of approval coming out of you as the chocolate icing melts in your mouth.

“How does it taste?”Jungkook asks, that sound that you made not allowing his eyes to leave your face.

“It’s amazing! Here, try some-” The spoonful that you were gonna offer him stops midair as he drops his own spoon, both of his hands softly cradling your face as he leans in to connect his lips with your own. You feel his tongue poking for permission to explore your mouth further, and you shamelessly allow him even though you’re sure that letting him have his way probably wouldn’t be so appropriate for this setting.

When he’s satisfied with what his tongue has accomplished, he pulls away slowly, maintaining eye contact as he licks his bottom lip.

“Hmm, it does taste amazing.”

Damn your boyfriend and his dirty mouth. As soon as he utters that response to you, you’re abruptly standing up from your chair, causing everyone to look at you.

“I’m kinda tired everyone, im gonna head to my room.”

You feel Jungkook chuckling next to you, ready to stand up and include himself on your declaration to go back to your room. However, before he makes it out of the chair, Chanyeol speaks up.

“Do you want me to walk you? You shouldn’t be going anywhere alone.”

You smile down at him, ready to politely decline his sweet offer, but Jungkook beats you to it.

“She’s good, I got her.”

His tone is a little cold for your liking, seeing as how Chanyeol was the only one today who didn’t forget at any point that you existed. Jungkooks actions irk you a little further as he holds your hand tightly and begins walking you away from the table, not allowing you to say your goodbyes to anyone or thank Chanyeol for his chivalry.

“You didn’t have to be so mean Kook” you mutter as soon as you’re both out of the restaurant and well out of earshot from the table.

“And he didn’t have to offer to walk you anywhere. Why would he have to do that when I’m here?” He scoffs as you reach the elevator and he presses the button that will summon it.

“And why would he have to keep me company all day if you’re here? Why has he talked to me more all day today than you have in the last three?”

As soon as the subtle accusation leaves your lips, you regret it. Instead of looking at you with the same fire he directed at Chanyeol just a few minutes ago, his eyes soften at the slightly hurt tone that you use.

As he leads you into the elevator, you see his face continue to fall as he processes your words.

“Kook, I didn’t want to bring that up at all” you sigh, “it’s just that you’ve kinda been ignoring me all trip and like I totally get it because I know you’re here to do something very serious and important but I thought today would have been different cause you finally had some free time but you didn’t even try to do anything with me and I had to go on every ride with Chanyeol and I just wish you’d-”

If there was anything Jungkook could do perfectly, it was shut you up with a kiss. His lips crashed onto yours mid sentence, not with the mischief that they did in the restaurant, but instead with a sort of softness he usually used when he wanted to apologize for something.

When his lips finally pulled away, his forehead stayed on yours, his hands rubbing your sides affectionately.

“I’m such an idiot” he muttered, mostly to himself than to you. When you didn’t say anything, he continued.

“It’s just that rehearsals for the performance have been going like shit. They keep changing the choreo on me and I’m struggling to remember everything. It’s my first time performing without the boys and I think it’s affecting me more than I ever thought it could. I spent all day trying to to go over things in my head that I sort of forgot about everything else, even you. I’m a terrible boyfriend”

Jungkooks confession hurt your heart terribly. You knew that whatever reason he would have had for ignoring you today, it most definitely would have had nothing to do with you, but hearing your boyfriend open up about something that usually causes him no trouble was not something you expected at all. 

You quickly decide that the best place to console the love of your life is not an elevator where someone could walk in on you both at any moment, so as soon as the doors open on your floor you grab his hand firmly and lead him to your shared room. He follows you quietly, your silence scaring him in a way you clearly don’t want. You fumble a little with using the key to open the door, considering you refuse to drop his hand at any point. When the door is finally open, you get straight to work. 

Jungkook looks at you with a confused expression as you lead him to the king sized bed in the middle of the room. You push him gently onto it, and when his back touches the sheets, you begin by removing his left shoe, then the right. His confused stare doesn’t leave your face, but he doesn’t speak up until he sees you beginning to remove your own shoes. 

“Y/N, I-” 

“Shhhh” you silence him softly as you crawl onto the bed next to him. His confused glare turns into one of relief as you motion for him to come closer. As he turns, tucks his head into the crook of your neck, and tightly wraps his arms around your middle, your own hands go straight to his hair, massaging his scalp in the way you know he likes. 

“You’ve got two whole days before the performance. You’re gonna learn whatever you haven’t yet and everything is gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

You feel him sniffle into your neck at your words, and his arms tighten around you. 

“Every performance that you’ve done with the boys has been amazing, but you are amazing in your own way and you’re more than capable of doing it alone. You just gotta get out of this pretty little head of yours.”

You massage his scalp a little deeper, and you hear a small noise of satisfaction coming from him.

After about ten minutes of you comforting him in silence, he lifts himself out of your embrace. You start to complain, but when you realize that he doesn’t plan on going far, and simply readjusts himself so his body covers your own and his eyes can meet yours, you surrender. 

“I love you, please tell me you know that” He says sweetly, pleading with his eyes and words for you to understand how sorry he is.

“I know”

“It wasn’t at all my intention to ignore you today, please tell me you know that.”

“I know.”

“If I could go back in time and redo this entire trip and make you happy, I would. Please tell me you know that”

After that you give in and pull him towards you in fervor. You accept his apology with your lips. When you feel him smiling into the kiss, you know that he knows hes forgiven. 

“So..” He says slowly as he pulls away, lust in his eyes and hands that travel down to where you’ve been needing him this entire trip.

“Where was it that you wanted me to kiss you?”