#Unless I'm forgetting someone else?
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It actually would have been interesting for Carlisle to be friends with Alice's creator—they're the only two vampires that we know had a real job in the human world, right?
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lorelai and luke + pieces of each other (insp.)
- rachel's sweatshirt - william's hardware - max's daisy - the huppah - lorelai's heel - luke's truck - liz's earrings - the dragonfly inn - liz's matching necklace - the horoscope - william's boat - luke's flannel shirt - lorelai's dollhouse - luke's spatula - the character reference - liz's necklace 2.0
#javajunkiedaily#dailygilmores#lorelaigilmo#i saw your tags a full two years ago lol if you see this enjoy!#gilmoregirlsedit#ggedit#tvedit#lorelaigilmoreedit#lukedanesedit#javajunkieedit#javajunkie#lorelai x luke#gilmore girls#my gifs#mine: gilmore girls#one instance where i will take 'you missed x' comments bc there are probs things that would fit that i didn't think of#wanted something for the dragonfly obvs it's not as clear as you'd want but#there was the bit with him looking at the banister but tom was in the shot it didn't work for me#so if someone has a better idea i could switch to that would be nice#wish there had been a bit of lorelai with the boat since that's kinda the vibe of everything else but it's in her garage so it counts#again unless there's something i'm forgetting bc god knows there could be#100#500
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i wonder if white people specifically white progressives realise that black people are only ever seen as their skin color first and foremost
#this goes for all poc but im talking about black people here#black people are constantly connected to their skin color and tone in good ways and in not good ways#people will always see you as your race first because white is considered the default#like if someone wanted to insult me the first thing they would go for is my race or gender presentation#whenever an actor is cast for a role people see the fact that they are black before anything else - talent. style. etc is ignored#black people are othered in society to put it bluntly . that is why white people get so upset when black people are cast as any role#or when they uuuuuh you know exist#and if the other becomes the majority - say a movie with mostly black people or a black-exclusive setting#then white people will get uncomfortable and complain#maybe the way i explained it is weird idk im not good at explaining#what im trying to say is that blackness is not something you can hide unless you are able to pass as white/are biracial etc.#and so the many stereotypes about black people are what people see first#what i'm trying to get at is that the way people percive black people completely changes our experiences esp if we're queer or women#a white and visibly queer person will have a different experience than a black and visibly queer person#and white progressives often forget that#sorry if this was explained weird im not a good explainer and also some bad shit happened today so my head is not really in the game#do people even say that god#whatever man
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There's honestly... just so many people, just so so so so so many people in this world where I'm like... aren't you people tired of this fucking... you know, I was going to call them clowns but that's really disrespectful to clowns, these people could never get their face on an egg...
Anyway, aren't you tired of this childish jackass? Don't you just want to ignore them and never have to hear about them again? If we just ignored them they legitimately would go away... don't you want that?
And this applies to... just ungodly amounts of people, from jake paul to even elon musk (just... don't touch his shit, he'll run out of money eventually with how bad he is with it), to just... name an annoying famous person and you'll name someone I've literally forgotten right now that I could never have to hear about again if people would just ignore them (unless they committed crimes, investigators are welcome to pay attention while gathering a case)
Yet the answer's always "no, we're paying so much attention to them!" and I'm just like... why? Why would you watch jake paul box? I heard about that and was like "he's still doing that shit?", and yet I guess it made a lot of money yet again and it's just like... ignore him
These people could go away, and yet
#to be blunt this is also very very very much about trump#the best part of all if he'd lost is how I'd never have had to see or hear about his loser ass again#and you people couldn't even manage that (collective you; not you personally... unless you're Pennsylvanian basically)#like he's insufferable... unless you're a die hard fan of him you know he's just stupid and annoying#why would you want to hear a washed up reality star for four more fucking years?#we could ignore these people hard enough to make them go away#and yet I'll be stuck having to hear him say shit about Hannibal or whatever for four more years cause you couldn't do that#I'm so sick of it; I honestly am#jake paul could have been ignored into obscurity like a decade ago; and yet he's able to launch a scam with mr beast#like dear god... can't you people find something better to do than watch these people? ...like watch paint dry?#it's not just people; it's every live action disney remake; it's... it's just all of it... fucking ai#can't you people fucking ignore it? can't you just kinda boo when it shows up and then forget about it?#I get someone like elon is a toddler that needs an eye kept on him to make sure he's not breaking shit but like...#we could just not buy his cars... which... like... doesn't seem like a hard ask given how badly they're manufactured#again... weirdos on tumblr; I'm doubting you're to blame for most of this#but just like... could we just for the love of god let the stupid shit die out you losers?#I'm not even... I'm not even joking here; this isn't like a goof; this is a prescription#nfts die if literally everyone ignores them; live action remakes die if no one watches them; elon goes bankrupt if no one buys from him#(also gets really sad because he's a massive attention seeker; and that's pretty funny so bonus)#why do I still have to hear about jake paul other than like... 'he's been arrested for fraud' or something reasonable?#could have been done with him years ago... like maybe if you kept around one or two bad habits but... like the lootboxes couldn't go?#tune in; turn on; drop out... this part here; I'm asking you to do the drop out part#drop out of society and stop playing their bullshit games#pay attention; be engaged with the world and your community as best you can; and just stop... stop giving this shit oxygen#but again... if this isn't hitting the void it's probably hitting the choir... you're not an oaf on twitter sucking this stuff up#but fuck me... worry over tariffs and other shit aside; concrete quantifiable worries I can lay out I might add#for the people who act like it's just sky is falling mentality; nah... I can expressly say what and why I worry about come january#but all that aside... you couldn't have voted against him just... just to never hear his annoying ass again?#not saying harris would have been good or bad or anything else... I'm saying she would have been a fuck of a lot less annoying#and like... you gave elon a win too... the two most annoying people on the planet and ya couldn't just... not
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I only see Kane, Saka and Rashford as absolute musts for the England team these days.
#although I do think we can put Bellingham in with those three actually#there are so many good players#but I think these 3 are the only ones you can say have been great for long enough this season#everyone else has been a bit patchy i think unless I'm forgetting someone#england nt
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Like OBVIOUSLY man's hubris and the arrogance to believe that you can control or understand things beyond control or understanding is there, of course it's there. It's fucking cosmic horror!
However, it's also pretty important to the narrative to understand that the first victims of that hubris are always going to be the most vulnerable members of society. Regardless of how progressive the world we are presented in Bloodborne is, there are still parallels drawn to how frequently women, children, the elderly, people of color, and disabled people are frequently victims of men's egos.
I agree with the sentiment that the primary theme of Bloodborne is not inherently a narrative on the horrors associated with womanhood, but I also think there's nothing wrong with people interpreting it with a feminist lens and it IS wrong to discourage people from letting their own experiences shape how they engage with the story being presented to us. Some of the women in the narrative are treated fairly better and given positions of power within the narrative, but that does not erase the fact that at least one of them... uhhhhh (looking over at Arianna) Yeah.
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I was supposed to call in the afternoon it's 5:30 uhhhh
#I think they said at the first day call between4 and 6#But surely people are already coming in for dinner#Plus wtf do i say#Well yeah I am better but not better yet but will probably be better better on Thursday but also i'm not sure#Avoidance is tempting#Stupid me always putting reminders in my calender to not forget things#sayingthing#(So I can just ignore them unless it's things as minor as like. Closing a door.)#Okay I called and i was really very normal about it#👏👏👏#No but genuinely the start was scary and then they had to send me to someone else but then it was fine#So yaaay!! :)#I did a thing:)
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#sorry I only got two hours of sleep you'll have to put up with me rambling again#why do people feel the need to label things? I know I know this argument has been happening for forever I'm doing nothing new#but I'm thinking about the idea of queerplatonic. like.. I get that we feel the need to categorize every close relationship#because you're not “allowed” to have intimacy unless it's within a socially accepted framework (FUCK THAT FUCK THAT FUCK THAT BTW)#so we invented a new word for “someone who you love enough to live with but not romantically/sexually”#we understand family love. so living with family isn't that weird (except ofc we shame people who live with family long term because??? idk#and we understand living with friends.. except when you're old enough when “you really should find someone to settle down with”#why is the only person it's socially normalized to live with long term a romantic partner. why why why why why.#anyway just some thoughts. sometimes happiness is being the housekeeper to a mad scientist#because who else is gonna keep snacks in the fridge for when he inevitably forgets to feed himself.#tag talk
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I hope you don’t mind but I need to ramble this to someone, neglected Wayne reader right? The fam would forget to bring them to social events and whatnot right? So there would be very few pictures, articles and interviews or even facts about them, meaning that reader Wayne is a rarity. Still following me? Reader Wayne with a small but devout fanbase.
I’m talking they are trading the latest pictures and sharing links to the rare interview with reader in it, following any social media they have that isn’t private, they are just fascinated by this micro celebrity that seems to always be forgotten. Okay but also imagine one of the heroes developing a para-social attachment to reader. My money is on Conner Kent, mainly bc he can project his own issues with his dads onto reader and he can Dolores ~Encanto~ reader with his super hearing and develop a even bigger parasocial obsession with them
I hope you enjoyed this ramble, I will leave you be now, see ya later alligator! 🐊
omg another one of my asks that actually predicted a major plot point... this ask ties well with the last part written here. i'm thinking about having the reader get a love interest/s but i have already written an outline but one thing is for sure—
you have more than just your family interested in taking you.
major spoilers below the cut. — an excerpt from chapter xx
(name) wayne may have been a name forcefully deleted off of the face of the internet, but that doesn't mean it doesn't have its conspiracies of its own. nobody knows who you are beyond the blurry, unsolicited pictures of you. it may have been a photograph of your back, or articles published in unknown websites and buried at the far end about a kid entering through the fancy gates of the wayne manor.
you are a product of a one-night-stand.
but they don't know who the mother is, don't know your age, or where you come from, and what business bruce has with the woman to guarantee your adoption at the instance she had disappeared without warning.
your existence was a mystery most would like to solve. after all, it was your picture that was plastered all over the newspapers and articles, it was your name that journalists whisper and it was a silhouette of your face that the underground knows by heart. every known information about you was shared discretely yet efficiently like some sort of virus.
you were a target for interest, a large sum of money if they will. and alfred had taken it in his hands to make sure there would never be a repeat of what had happened before.
it was a clumsy mistake, one that cost you your memories, and one he swears on his life he'll never make again.
the first course of action he needs to arrange, which may seem difficult for most; he needs to confront bruce.
after all, your freedom is your doom.
maybe this is out of the picture, but id' like to imagine you and connor having a therapy session where one comes out absolutely obsessed with the other, and it's not you.
connor's character for me is so, so good for an angst potential. it's like his personal struggles is a way for him to show you how absolutely you two are meant to be. and he may have met you through bumping into you (false) or maybe... he has seen you stalking through the shadows back when he visits the manor. using his superhearing, he can hear your voice from the kitchen begging alfred to relay a message to bruce, sounding so absolutely desperate. it's the way you tell alfred how you wished your father actually spends time with you, or how nobody seems to notice you— that he kind of just makes a silent promise that he will talk to you soon, he needs to know why this family seems so keen on ignoring and how hypocritical tim is for literally doing the same thing to you when he's aware of kon's past.
if he (or anyone else) should be a love interest (though he is a minor character in the series unless you guys want him to be a major one), i can already imagine the absolute hell you have to suffer not only from your family but from your own lover. just imagine the stockholm syndrome or the delusions you convince yourself with because you're finally loved by someone but that love restricts you from the very freedom you tried to build.
the batfamily would be so conflicted because why are you choosing some stranger over them...? then you slap them in the face with, "well, this "stranger" wants to kidnap me and lock me up, sure! but at least they actually looked at me for more than five seconds!" and you can watch how the color drains off their face, their conflict giving you the perfect opportunity to run away from both your ex-family and your soon-to-be-kidnapper-lover who thinks your comeback is a funny way for you to propose.
#🍨... yael's talking#🌷... yael's works#series: again & again#yandere dc#yandere batfam#yandere batboys#yandere connor kent#yandere alfred pennyworth#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x gn reader#yandere x male reader#yandere x you#yandere x y/n#platonic yandere#yandere conner kent
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fatherhood looks good on you | george russell social media au
pairing: george russell x fem albon reader
there comes a point in the relationship where you take it to the next level
MASTERLIST | TIP JAR
- part of the brother's best friend series -
yourusername
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yourusername: looking so good i want to give you a baby
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user1: WHAT
user2: we really be saying anything on the internet these days
alexalbon: SHUT THE FUCK UP THE LITERAL ONLY RULE OF THIS RELATIONSHIP WAS THAT YOU KEEP THIS SHIT TO YOURSELVES
yourusername: gosh a girl can't have baby fever in peace these days
alexalbon: unless that baby is coming by stork you can put that talk on hold real fast
yourusername: just because lily is busy does not mean you have to take it out on me and george
georgerussell63: alex is it illegal for a man to be handsome?
alexalbon: if it's illegal to be handsome, you'd have the cleanest record known to man
yourusername: STOP RIGHT THERE DIDN'T YOU KNOW THAT LYING IS A SIN
alexalbon: i'm not going to say YOUR boyfriend is hot, no.
yourusername: just because i got in there first 🙄
user3: i don't think she's serious but also george with a baby is just too cute not to happen
user4: george is the perf instagram boyf like he's so ready to pose
landonorris: well that definitely is something we all want to know
yourusername: i know you would LOVE to know ALL the details norris
georgerussell63: she's never going to let your crush go lando, you gotta just hold it
landonorris: i was THIRTEEN
yourusername: you don't love me anymore? 😕
landonorris: i don't know why i always get in these arguments with you
user5: i love how george just instigates things for y/n lmao
user6: your boyfriend should always support your mess
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georgerussell63: fatherhood is a different beast
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user8: alright i am so confused
user9: there's no way y/n can actually be pregnant i saw her down at least three pornstar martinis in hospitality this weekend
alexalbon: this better be a joke or i'm gonna kick you so hard you get a free non-reversible vasectomy
yourusername: stop the violence!
alexalbon: THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR GLEE REFERENCES
yourusername: someone is channelling some serious sue vibes right now
georgerussell63: let it be known i like my reproductive systems the way they are
alexalbon: that's kind of the point of a threat, you aren't supposed to want it
yourusername: he likes threats if they come from the right person
alexalbon: i am about one more comment away from knocking down your hotel room door and throwing george from the balcony
yourusername: and deprive our child from a father... alex i expected better from you
alexalbon: that's it i'm on my way
georgerussell63: @mercedesamgf1 PLEASE PROTECT ME I AM PRECIOUS CARGO
user10: these bitches got me actually combing through tiktoks and hospitality menus to see if y/n was actually drinking
user11: i'm gonna be real angry if this is all a big joke
user12: i know kimi antonelli is young but this is NAWT the way to announce him for 2025
charles_leclerc: guys i need you to spell everything out i am confused
georgerussell63: no can do charles you gotta follow the breadcrumbs just like everyone else
yourusername: it's right there sharl
charles_leclerc: actually alex, wait, i'm coming with you these hoes are annoying me
landonorris: don't forget me
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yourusername: our baby is here!
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user15: A CAT?
user16: i just knew george russell would be a ragdoll girl
georgerussell63: they were right i AM a girl dad
yourusername: finally dilf status
georgerussell63: a title i do not take lightly
yourusername: i can confirm libido has gone UP since becoming parents!
landonorris: shut THE FUCK UP
yourusername: you'll understand in time lando
georgerussell63: you just found yourself at the bottom of the babysitting list
landonorris: i don't want to look after it
yourusername: IT? IT? HOW DARE YOU?
georgerussell63: she can hear you lando that's so disrespectful :(
landonorris: ??? i'm not saying sorry to a cat over instagram comment
georgerussell63: expect the same courtesy when i take you out first corner next weekend
user17: i fear that was not a threat but a promise from george
user18: it's kinda hot
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alexalbon: NEW ALBON PETS LORE AND NONE OF YOU TOLD ME
yourusername: ella can't wait to meet the gang
alexalbon: no offence but ella is kinda a shit name
yourusername: short for mozzarella
alexalbon: i take it back
georgerussell63: cause she's the lil pearl of our life
alexalbon: i love her already
user19: so we went through all this tomfoolery for a cat? a cat called mozzarella?
user20: you have to agree it's iconic
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alexalbon: i knew @albon_pets would get george at some point
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user22: i love how alex became the chill guy again after it was revealed he was not yet an uncle
georgerussell63: hard on the yet
alexalbon: too soon george
user23: the albon pets signature of approval is a bigger sign that george is in the gamily than if he actually proposed to y/n
user24: they've got a baby now he's an albon
yourusername: horsey is going to kick off over having to share george with me and mozzie
albon_pets: bring it on - horsey
yourusername: alex i'm not arguing with you pretending to be horsey, this ain't roscoe and lewis
lewishamilton: rude
roscoelovescoco: meanie
yourusername: did you just call me mean as your dog?
lewishamilton: you were extra mean
yourusername: fine lets let mozzie and roscoe scrap it out at silverstone - she's got the sass of both me and george btw x
lewishamilton: stay AWAY FROM MY DOG
user25: the merc garage gonna be a whole petting zoo at silverstone i can't
user26: you wanna catch up with red bull? sell meet and greet tickets to the petting zoo
maxverstappen1: this is my official invitation to a play date with jimmy and sassy
yourusername: WE'LL BE THERE
maxverstappen1: is mozzarella civilised?
georgerussell63: of course my child has manners?
maxverstappen1: you crash into people all the time, i had to check
georgerussell63
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georgerussell63: all of the family here for the home race
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user27: y/n wearing mozzarella in a baby harness i need to be put down
user28: that really is their child oh my
yourusername: make our baby proud georgie
georgerussell63: anything for you two xx
alexalbon: why do i never get these nice comments
yourusername: they're transmitted through our genes x
yourusername: also george more important 👍🏻
alexalbon: i'm literally your brother? your flesh and blood?
yourusername: george cuter
georgerussell63: can't argue with that
alexalbon: well of course he is this ain't alabama. (sorry logan)
logansargent: i'm from florida?
yourusername: even worse, my condolences
georgerussell63: can we get back to talking about how dashing i am?
yourusername: yes!
alexalbon: NO. SAY GOOD LUCK Y/N
yourusername: good luck y/n
alexalbon: what if i crash and you never said good luck, think about it y/n
yourusername: good luck alex (you're an asshole for weaponising the sport (and you being shit at it))
user29: i think i had about three strokes trying to follow this argument
user30: poor logan is just a victim of the albons at this point
landonorris: have a baby and forget about the rest of us, i see how it is
yourusername: you will never measure up to mozzie lando i hope you know that
georgerussell63: what y/n means is that i love my friends, but a child is a gift from god
landonorris: it's a cat. she can't even talk
yourusername: and yet she makes better points than you, makes you think
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yourusername: fatherhood looks good on you
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user31: mozzarella is so big already 🥹
user32: maybe i'm worse than them cause i'm attached to mozzie as well
georgerussell63: no one else i'd rather be cat parents to
yourusername: you're such a romantic
georgerussll63: such a pleasure to take this next step with the love of my life
yourusername: i love you more
georgerussell63: not possible
alexalbon: you being gross about mozzie was better than what ever the fuck this is
yourusername: @lilymunhe does he not treat you right?
lilymunhe: he's a romantic really, he's just exhausting the protective big brother act until george finally proposes
alexalbon: sue me
maxverstappen1: still waiting on the play date ...
yourusername: monaco?
maxverstappen1: done
yourusername: jimmy, sassy and ella will be like the charlie's angles reincarnated
georgerussell63: can't wait for you to see her IMPECCABLE manners
maxverstappen1: okay princess george
yourusername: hey only i can call george princess
maxverstappen1: you keep that to yourself
user33: disappointed that with all the tomfoolery around mozzie that there was no maternity photoshoots
yourusername: oh do not give me a challenge...
fin.
note: NEW SERIES ALERT? i'll create a masterlist after i post this. i hope you enjoyed, this one is more of a tame brother's best friend take but dw they can get more beefy and more sassy - send me any pairings you might like to see! thanks for reading x
#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 instagram au#f1 x you#f1 social media au#f1#george russell instagram au#george russel imagine#george russel x reader#george russell#george russell imagine#george russell x reader#george russell fluff
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His Watchful Eye Pt.12
Word Count: 18.5k
Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, forced pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, tw if u have tokophobia, some smut, masturbation, mentions of breeding, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, pet names like kitten, sweetie, honey, xavier appears
Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti , @m0onlustre , @ve1vet-cake, @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglmela @connorsui, @iluvmewwwww75, @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer, @mysssticc, @babygirl-panda19, @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1, @honnylemontea, @altariasu, @the-slytherin-poet, @sorryimakira, @pearlymel, @emidpsandia , @angel-jupiter, @hwangintakswifey, @webmvie, @housesortinghat, @fading-twinkle, @shoruio, @gojos1ut, @solomonlover, @cheesenjam, @elegantnightblaze, @mavphorias, @babylavendersblog, @burntoutfrogacademic, @sinstae, @certainduckanchor, @ladyackermanisdead, @sh4nn, @milkandstarlight, @lilyadora, @depressedwhore, @nyumin, @kiwookse, @anisha24-blog1, @weepingluminarytale, @xxhayashixx, @hesperisms, @adraxsteia
AN: This is on A03! Good news guys!! Next chapter you guys get to find out the gender of the baby!! EEE even I'm excited and I'm the one whose writing it LOL. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter even if it is a tad bit sad. As always, tysm for your comments, asks, likes, and reblogs. I try and answer as many as I can! I get so happy when I see a new one. Never in a million years did I think so many people would love my writing to this degree! Mwah <3
As he got back up, Sylus’s lips brushed against yours in a way that felt surprisingly gentle, almost reverent, as though he were savoring every second. But slowly, his kiss grew deeper, his lips pressing into yours with a hunger that caught you off guard. His hand cupped the side of your face, his fingers tracing the edge of your jaw as he whispered between each kiss, his voice filled with admiration. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his hand gliding from your cheek to your shoulder. "So pretty with my baby growing in you, you're doing so good for me..."
Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9 Pt.10 Pt.11
Sitting in the library, you flipped through the pages of a book with little interest, the bland diagrams of bird anatomy staring back at you. The book wasn't exactly captivating, but it beat staring at the wall, lost in thought. Beside you, Mephisto shifted restlessly on the armchair, feathers catching the dim light.
"Coo..." he murmured, his beady red eyes fixated on the page showing the dissection of a crow.
You chuckled softly, reaching out to pet his cold, metallic head. "Don’t worry, you’re safe. No one’s dissecting you," you assured him, laughing as he flapped his wings in what seemed to be robotic indignation. "Well…I guess you could be taken apart. Screws and metal are a bit easier to put back together than bones and sinew."
"Caw! Caw!" Mephisto protested, his wings clanking softly as they folded back to his sides. His chirps and clatters were almost comforting—a small, dependable presence in this world where your reality was controlled by someone else.
"I was kidding," you said, still laughing. "I doubt Sylus would take you apart…unless you needed repairs, of course." The name slipped out without thinking, and as it echoed in the quiet of the library, the memories hit you again. Sylus. A flash of his hand, the belt, the hot sting against your skin, the way he’d pressed you over his knee, his voice commanding you to count each one.
You grimaced, looking away from Mephisto’s gaze. That night had left marks deeper than the ones that had lingered on your skin. Afterward, he'd taken you back to bed, surprisingly gentle, almost reverent as he rubbed the soreness from your body. He’d whispered reassurances, tender words meant to soothe you, but in that moment, they had felt like salt on an open wound. You’d tried to forget, tried to dismiss it, but the ache of humiliation hadn’t faded. Instead, it had curdled into something else entirely: anger.
It wasn't a searing, uncontrollable rage, but a quiet, simmering fury that gnawed at you, coiled in your chest like a snake ready to strike. Yet, you held it in, biting your tongue, masking your resentment beneath a shield of silence. After that night, you'd slipped back into a quiet demeanor, speaking only when necessary, keeping your distance even though every step you took was still watched.
But you weren’t just simmering in silence. You were observing, studying. Because in the past few days, you’d noticed something—a small, almost imperceptible change in Sylus. Guilt. He’d been eyeing you with a tension that hadn’t been there before, a discomfort that prickled through his otherwise calm demeanor. He seemed unsettled by your silence, watching you from across the room as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.
A faint smirk played at the corner of your lips as you remembered his hesitations, his barely concealed awkwardness. So he did feel guilt, didn’t he? Maybe he regretted it. Or maybe he was simply rattled by the fact that he couldn’t read you as easily now. Either way, you liked it. Liked the way he squirmed, the way he seemed to second-guess himself around you. In some twisted sense, it felt like a tiny shift in power, a thread you could pull in this tangled web he’d woven around you.
He had tried to punish you into submission, to make you feel weak, dependent. But here he was, trying to overcompensate with tender touches, soft gestures, careful words. It was almost…pathetic. And despite the bitterness that lingered, a part of you found satisfaction in watching him struggle to understand you, to keep you close while sensing that you were slipping further away.
As you sat there, flipping absentmindedly through the book, the quiet satisfaction of Sylus’s earlier disappointment still lingered in your mind. He’d been hovering around you constantly these last few days, like a shadow, reminding you of his love in every way he could. It was almost ridiculous.
He’d even asked if he could help brush your hair earlier that day, his voice soft, almost pleading. The memory of his face when you’d declined—when you’d turned back on him, shutting him out completely—filled you with a strange sense of victory. That small flash of disappointment in his eyes had been the sweetest thing you’d seen in days.
You smirked to yourself, turning another page, pretending to absorb the information, though the words meant little. It was just a diversion, something to focus on other than the reality you were stuck in. But just as you were settling into that small, rare bubble of contentment, a sharp ache twisted in your belly, breaking through your thoughts.
You winced, letting the book fall closed as your hand instinctively went to your stomach. The nausea had mostly faded over the past few days, but it left this lingering, annoying ache that wouldn’t quite let you forget the changes happening inside you. Occasionally it would rise back up, making you feel ill again.
Your body was shifting in subtle ways—your breasts felt heavier, more sensitive, and a dull tenderness lingered in your abdomen like a constant reminder. You knew it was early, far too early for anything major, but it was impossible to ignore.
Your thoughts were disrupted by the soft creak of the library door opening, and immediately, your body tensed, that momentary peace slipping away. Sylus stepped in, his presence filling the quiet room as he walked toward you, carrying a tray. You eyed him warily, your senses heightened, your guard instinctively rising as he approached. He placed the tray gently on the table in front of you, the delicate clinking of porcelain breaking the silence.
“It’s a new blend of tea,” he said, gesturing to the steaming cup. “Should help with the nausea. And I brought some cheese crackers—thought they might settle your stomach a bit.”
You glanced at the tea, the steam rising with a faint herbal scent that was slightly different from the others he’d tried. Another attempt at catering to your needs, trying to make you more comfortable, to win you over with small gestures. It irritated you, the way he kept trying, as if he could somehow ease you into this life with little acts of kindness.
Something inside you snapped, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out with a sharp edge.
“The others didn’t work, so I don’t know why you’re even bothering anymore.”
Sylus’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he absorbed the sting of your words. For a brief moment, you saw the flicker of something—uncertainty, maybe a hint of hurt—as if he hadn’t expected you to respond so coldly. But then he sighed, letting out a slow breath, and a small, soft smile formed on his lips, his gaze settling back on you with that unyielding patience that had become all too familiar.
“I had this custom blended,” he replied, his voice calm, almost gentle. “If it doesn’t work, I’ll keep trying. I want you to be comfortable, sweetie.”
The way he said it, the soft undertone of care, twisted something uncomfortable in your chest. His eyes held that sad, pained look you’d seen lately, the one that almost made you feel…guilty. You hated that feeling, hated the way it gnawed at you, pulling at your resolve to remain distant, to shut him out completely. He looked so earnest, so willing to do whatever it took to make things easier for you, and for a split second, you questioned if you were being too harsh. Maybe…maybe you were being unfair.
But no. You quickly shoved that thought away. He was the one who had put you in this position, the one who had made it so you couldn’t leave, couldn’t live your own life. He deserved every bit of bitterness you threw his way. Still, the guilt lingered, a small, unwelcome presence in the back of your mind, and you had to fight to keep it from softening your expression.
“Fine,” you muttered, not meeting his gaze, focusing on the steam rising from the tea. “Thank you.” The words felt forced, hollow, but you forced yourself to say them, if only to keep up the fragile peace.
He studied you for a moment longer, as if weighing something unsaid, and then nodded, stepping back slightly to give you space. The sadness was still there in his eyes, that soft, wounded look that made your stomach twist, but he didn’t press any further. Instead, he simply watched you, a quiet patience in his gaze, as if waiting for something.
You took a hesitant sip of the tea, letting the warmth settle in your throat, trying to ignore the complicated mess of emotions churning inside you.
Sylus stood there, watching you, his gaze as unyielding as always, yet softer somehow, as though he were observing something precious and fragile. It unnerved you, the way he seemed to look straight through your façade, sensing the cracks in your resistance even if you tried to hide them. It felt like a silent challenge, one you were determined not to lose.
He shifted slightly, his presence filling the quiet room, making the air feel heavier. You kept your gaze fixed on the tea, willing yourself not to acknowledge him, not to give him the satisfaction of seeing the effect his nearness had on you. Yet, the guilt gnawed at you, undermining your resolve. Were you being too harsh? He had even gone as far as custom blending tea for you to feel better. He was a kidnapper...yes. But you could definitely be in worse hands right now.
Your fingers tightened around the cup as you tried to push those thoughts aside. You had a role to play, and you couldn’t let his gestures break through the wall you’d painstakingly built. But the effort was exhausting, the line between the real and the forced blurring in ways you hadn’t anticipated. A flash of that painful memory of the punishment surfaced, and you felt a surge of resentment flare up, fueling your determination to keep him at arm’s length.
The silence thickened between you, heavy and uncomfortable, as Sylus lingered in the room, his gaze unwavering. It was clear he was weighing his words, searching for something to break the tension. Finally, he spoke, his tone careful, almost regretful.
“I know it’s hard to understand, but I had to do what I did,” he said, his voice almost too even, as if he were convincing himself just as much as he was trying to convince you. You swallowed your frustration, choosing not to respond with the words that were boiling inside you. Instead, you offered a simple, lifeless, “Okay.” Your voice was so low, it was barely above a whisper, but it was enough to convey your disappointment.
You reached for another book, hoping to immerse yourself in its pages, if only to create some distance between you and him. But Sylus wasn’t ready to let go just yet.
He took a step closer, lowering himself to his knees in front of the armchair you were sitting in. He rested his hand on your knee, stroking it gently with his thumb in a slow, rhythmic motion, as if the act alone could soothe away the resentment you felt. You didn’t meet his eyes, focusing instead on the edge of the book cover, willing yourself not to let his touch affect you. But his fingers were tender, tracing small circles, almost too soft to ignore, and you could feel his gaze boring into you.
“Look at me, please,” he murmured, his hand moving to gently cup your chin. His fingers were firm, insistent, as he guided your face toward his. Your eyes met, and you felt a flush creep over your cheeks despite your best efforts to stay composed. The intensity in his gaze was overwhelming, the raw emotion there almost tangible. It was as if he genuinely believed that he could erase your anger with nothing more than words and a pleading look.
“I know you’re upset,” he began, his voice softer now, coaxing. “I do. But please…don’t force my hand like that again.”
The calmness in his words, the way he spoke as though the blame was somehow on you for “forcing” him, stoked a flicker of anger deep within. But instead of snapping back, you kept your expression neutral, letting the frustration settle into a sad, disappointed mask. You let out a shaky sigh, channeling your hurt, and then you forced a tremble into your voice, perfecting the mask.
“Whatever,” you murmured, your voice breaking just a little as you mustered the saddest expression you could. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy hurting me.”
The words hung in the air, cutting through his rationalizations, leaving him momentarily speechless. You saw a flicker of something—guilt, maybe, or shame—cross his face, and you knew you had struck a nerve. You took that opportunity to let your eyes glisten, to let your breath hitch as though you were struggling to hold back tears.
Yes. Play the part.
And then, with a soft, broken voice, you whispered, “You shouldn’t even be hitting me...what kind of man hits his pregnant fiancée?”
The question lingered, pressing into him with a weight that seemed to ripple through his composure. His face contorted briefly, his eyes reflecting a mixture of guilt and sadness that he couldn’t mask. He opened his mouth, as if to explain himself, but closed it again, clearly shaken by the accusation, by the reminder of your condition. His thumb traced your cheek gently, his touch almost desperate to communicate something he couldn’t find words for.
You had to fight the urge to smile, to laugh in his face. This was all too easy. The leader of Onychinus was on his knees in front of you, looking like he was about to cry himself.
“Sweetie…I’m—” he faltered, the words catching in his throat as he searched for the right thing to say, for something that could undo the hurt he’d caused. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. He brushed a tear from your cheek with his thumb, his expression softening, the guilt in his eyes unmistakable now.
“What can I do to make this right?” he asked, his voice laced with a pleading sincerity, as though he believed he could truly make up for the pain he’d inflicted. “Just tell me. I want to make it up to you. Anything.”
You forced a tremulous breath, allowing the tears to flow freely, each one feeding into his remorse. Inside, a small satisfaction bloomed, knowing you had managed to twist the moment, to pull him into your web of hurt and guilt. And though you knew this game was a dangerous one, you couldn’t deny the satisfaction it brought—the power it gave you, even if only for a fleeting moment.
Anything...what a lie. He wouldn't grant you freedom no matter how many tears you shed.
You say nothing for a moment, letting the silence stretch out between you, the hint of vulnerability in your expression carefully calculated. “There…there are two things you could do to make it up to me,” you say softly, glancing up at him. His gaze remains fixed on you, searching, waiting, and you can tell he’s hoping you won't ask for freedom again.
“The first is simple,” you continue. “You already know what I used for my skincare routine before all this, don’t you?” You try to keep your voice calm, steady. “I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask for a few familiar things to feel like myself. It might even help me stay calm…for the baby’s sake.” You know your words will resonate with him, his protectiveness piqued by anything that touches on your well-being, especially now that you’re carrying his child.
He nods, a slight, almost relieved smile forming. You suspect he’s ready to agree—skincare seems harmless enough, and it lets him be the provider he so desperately wants to be.
“And…there’s one other thing.” Your voice softens, and you avert your gaze, letting a hint of hesitation show. “It’s about my friend, Tara.” You pause, allowing him to see the faint trace of sadness in your eyes. “She’s probably worried sick, not knowing where I am or if I’m okay. You know I wouldn’t ask to contact…anyone else. But Tara—she’s like a sister to me. She deserves a little peace of mind.”
Sylus’s expression darkens just slightly, his eyes narrowing. But you press on, seizing the opportunity to paint this as a small, reasonable request. “One text. Just one, letting her know I’m safe,” you say softly, giving him your most genuine, pleading look. “I won’t say anything about…where I am. It’ll only be enough to put her mind at ease. That’s all.”
He studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable. You can feel the tension between the lines of his face, the conflict—his instinct to protect and control clashing with the guilt and love he professes for you. You know the second request is a risk, but you hope the weight of your sincerity, your quiet, calculated sadness, might tip the scales in your favor.
“Please, Sylus,” you add, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers brushing over his hand in a gentle, almost hesitant touch. “I…I just need this small bit of reassurance. It’s for me as much as it is for her.” You offer him a faint smile, one you hope conveys your gratitude before he’s even answered.
Sylus's chuckle, low and indulgent, makes your stomach churn. The nonchalance in his eyes as he agrees to retrieve your skincare products—the smallest concession—only serves to remind you of the careful control he wields over your life now.
"The skincare can be arranged," he says with a faint smile. "I do know precisely what you used.” His gaze flickers over you, and the possessiveness in his eyes is unmistakable. “I'll get it to you by tomorrow afternoon,” he adds smoothly. "Although, I expected you to ask for something much more expensive, kitten."
His words slice through the room, making you feel small, confined. Every hint of freedom feels more and more like an illusion—fragile, granted at his whim. He’s measuring your autonomy out in teaspoons, and it’s infuriating. You don’t even trust yourself to reply, opting instead for a nod, masking the fire burning beneath your skin.
Then Sylus leans closer, his presence unnervingly steady. "As for the message," he says, a note of warning hidden under the softness, "I’ll be the one to send it. We can’t risk any misunderstandings. So, what exactly would you like it to say?"
The way he speaks, with such casual control, prickles your nerves. You resist the urge to pull away, but inside, your mind races. Could you hide something in the message to Tara? A word or phrase that might signal her to read between the lines, something only she would catch? But the calculating look in Sylus’s eyes warns you against it; he’d dissect every word, weigh every syllable. He’d see it for what it was.
No, it’s too risky. You’re left with the crushing reality of speaking plainly, voicing words that hold no hidden message, no veiled meaning. You push down the urge to cry as you choose the only thing that’s true. “Just say, ‘I love you, and I hope to see you again someday. Be safe.’”
Sylus studies you, his gaze lingering in a way that feels almost searching, and it makes your skin prickle. He’s watching you as if he can read every corner of your mind, and you feel exposed under that gaze, as though every guarded thought you’ve carefully hidden from him is laid bare.
Finally, he nods, his lips curling slightly, though there’s a hint of something unfamiliar in his expression. Regret? Sympathy? Whatever it is, it softens his features, giving him an uncharacteristic look of understanding. "Consider it done," he says quietly, his voice gentler than before. The sudden kindness feels like a trap, and you force yourself not to flinch. You need his cooperation, not his pity.
Your mind fixates on those words you gave him for Tara. They were true but so deeply lacking—lacking the message you really wanted to send, the cry for help, the reassurance that you hadn’t forgotten her, that you hadn’t stopped fighting. If you closed your eyes, you could picture her, the bright laugh, the fierce loyalty that once made you feel like you could conquer anything. Now, she has no idea you’re here. No idea you’re alive, or that your feelings are anything but willing compliance with this nightmare.
Sylus’s eyes remain on you, watching with an intensity that makes your skin crawl. He must know the weight of that message, the way you lingered on the words, and yet he says nothing more. His expression shifts back into that small smile, one that’s equally disconcerting in its familiarity.
"You’ve made your requests, sweetie. And I always keep my promises."
You nod, carefully curving your lips into a soft, appreciative smile, one you hope is convincing enough. You’ve come to understand how much he wants this—forgiveness, approval, a glimmer of genuine affection from you, even if it's earned through carefully controlled gestures and scripted apologies.
You decide to play into it, leaning in slightly, letting your fingers reach out to brush his shoulder. His gaze sharpens, and you don’t miss the faint flicker of surprise in his eyes. "I really appreciate it, Sylus," you say, keeping your voice gentle, measured. "I appreciate your apology, and…I'm sorry, too. For…you know."
The words leave a bitter taste on your tongue, but you watch him as you say them, feeling the satisfaction of seeing him visibly relax under your touch. He’s buying it. You let your fingers rest on his shoulder a moment longer, steady and light, feeling the warmth of his skin even through his shirt, and you can tell he’s holding onto this moment, savoring it like he’s finally achieved something.
Sylus’s hand comes up, covering yours where it rests on his shoulder, his touch firm yet careful, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. There’s a softness in his gaze that he’s allowing you to see, something vulnerable, almost human, and it stirs a flicker of unease in you. He looks down at you with a warmth that, for anyone else, might’ve felt comforting. But here, in this twisted captivity, it only unsettles you further.
“I’m glad,” he says softly, his voice low, steady, layered with something like relief. "You have no idea how much that means, honey."
You nod, adding just a touch of warmth to your smile, though your mind races, pushing down every impulse to recoil. This is a game, and you are still in control, holding the pieces that he doesn’t realize you’re wielding. For every moment he thinks you’re softened, for every moment he believes in your forgiveness, you gain a small advantage—a little more leverage, a little more understanding of what he needs to hear. It’s your best tool, and it will be your best weapon.
“I really do appreciate it,” you repeat, your tone gentle but with just the faintest hint of reluctance, a subtle suggestion that, while you’re willing to forgive, it’s not that easy. And, as you expect, he nods, his grip on your hand tightening as if he can feel the tentative trust in your words.
“I promise," he murmurs, his gaze never leaving yours. “And I’m going to prove to you that things can be different. I won’t let you down.”
You simply nod again, suppressing the triumph blooming inside you as he leans down to capture your lips with his own, keeping your expression soft, sincere. He’s slipping right into your hand. And as much as he might think he’s gaining ground, the truth is clear: the longer he craves your forgiveness, the more power you hold over him.
The next few days slipped by with a tentative quietness, a calm that felt almost unnatural given everything that had come before. Sylus, perhaps out of some desire to prove his newfound leniency, had been giving you more freedom around the house. He hadn’t loosened his control entirely—Mephisto, continued to tail you wherever you went, always watching with that artificial gleam in his eye—but you felt a hint of ease in this small expansion of your world.
Sylus would come and go for his business ventures but would always be back before you went to bed. Luke or Kieran would come shackle you before you laid down. You had gotten used to the sound of Sylus coming home late, and therefore wouldn't jump when he entered the room anymore.
For the most part, you spent your days drifting through different rooms, occasionally finding a moment of peace by the pool. Sitting on its edge, you let your feet dangle in the cool water, relishing the gentle lapping at your toes. The water was refreshing, a reminder of the world outside these walls, yet every time you looked across the shimmering surface, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being in a gilded cage. The pool, the luxurious house, even Mephisto—they were beautiful distractions, seemingly crafted just so you’d feel a little more at ease.
One morning, as you sat by the pool, lost in thought, you felt the earth tilt under you. You’d leaned forward too far, distracted, and in a heartbeat, you teetered toward the water, hands flailing instinctively. But before you could feel the shock of cold water on your skin, strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back from the edge.
“Careful there,” Sylus murmured, his voice close to your ear, almost too close. His grip was firm, secure, and for a brief moment, you found yourself enveloped in his warmth, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath. His touch, though stabilizing, sent a chill up your spine—a reminder of his constant presence. The effect of his nearness was disorienting, an odd blend of repulsion and reluctant comfort.
You steadied yourself, offering a polite, if somewhat forced, smile. “Thanks,” you muttered, pulling back just slightly to regain a sense of distance.
He held your gaze a moment longer, his red eyes lingering on you before he finally released his hold, still keeping close. “You’re welcome,” he said, the ghost of a smile dancing at the corners of his mouth. “Be a little more aware, honey. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you…or the little one,” he added, resting a hand briefly on your shoulder, as if to underscore the sentiment.
A shiver ran down your spine at the mention of the baby, and you gave a quick nod, hoping he wouldn’t notice your discomfort.
Later that day, after you’d drifted from room to room, you found yourself drawn to the back of the property where the horse track lay. Sylus stayed close, of course, ever watchful, and despite the open space, you were aware of the subtle tension in his stance. Even with this seemingly mundane activity, you felt the weight of his concern, his subtle but constant reminder of the boundaries you couldn’t cross. Still, being around the horses provided a certain comfort. You took solace in their calm, the way they seemed indifferent to the trappings of wealth and control, caring only for the simple pleasures of grazing or being gently stroked along their necks.
Occasionally, the small colony of stray cats that Sylus fed would wander by, brushing up against your legs as if sensing you needed the comfort. You couldn’t help but smile at their easy affection, nuzzling each one and reveling in the softness of their fur. Often, you’d find yourself sitting among them, surrounded by their quiet purrs, letting their gentle presence lull you into moments of peace. Some afternoons, you even dared to nap, letting the steady rise and fall of their breaths ground you as they curled up beside you.
One day, as you reached out to pet one of the cats, something caught your eye—a small, wriggling bundle in the mouth of the one-eyed cat you’d grown fond of. It was a kitten, tiny and helpless, being carefully brought over and placed at your feet. Your heart leaped with joy, your earlier wariness momentarily forgotten.
“Sylus…I think she had a baby!” you exclaimed, unable to contain the excitement that bubbled up within you.
Sylus moved closer, his gaze softening as he took in the sight of the little creature squirming at your feet. He crouched down, reaching out a finger to gently stroke the kitten, his usually hardened features softened by an unexpected fondness.
“Honestly, I thought she was just putting on a few pounds,” he chuckled, his tone light, affectionate. He then looked up at you, his eyes holding a warmth that was both foreign and oddly comforting.
“Y’know, we’ll have our own little kitten eventually,” he murmured, glancing toward your stomach with an almost reverent look.
The comment brought you crashing back to reality, your thoughts swirling with the complexity of emotions his words had stirred up. While a part of you wanted to bask in the innocence of the moment, another part—the part that knew what was truly happening—resisted. The casual way he mentioned the life growing inside you, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, left you feeling both vulnerable and trapped.
Forcing a smile, you managed to nod, hoping the mask you wore was convincing. “Yeah…I guess we will,” you replied softly, willing yourself to stay composed.
He reached out, as if to touch your belly, but his hand hovered just inches away before he drew it back, his eyes lingering on you with a quiet intensity that left your heart pounding.
The subtle tension pulled you under like a rising tide, your thoughts swirling in relief as Sylus’s hand withdrew before it could actually reach you. You felt a blend of anticipation and unease, tangled together and bubbling just beneath the surface. It was unmistakable, this tension that had grown between you—something unspoken but palpable, simmering in each shared glance and lingering moment.
The idea of sex with him was out of the question, a boundary you were clear on. Yet, weeks spent in close quarters had made his small gestures impossible to overlook: the way his gaze lingered a second too long, his hand brushed yours just a bit too tenderly, his voice softened at the edges when he spoke to you. Each moment of near contact, every stolen look, hinted at a desire to have you that he seemed barely able to keep in check.
You tried to pretend it didn’t matter, to ignore what was slowly becoming an invisible tether. But with each passing day, that denial grew harder to maintain, becoming an itch you couldn’t quite soothe, a discomfort that gnawed at you. You needed to dispel the strange energy in the room, to shift away before he could notice the flicker of discomfort creeping onto your face.
Clearing your throat, you latched onto the first topic you could think of, hoping to ground the moment in something neutral. “You know,” you began casually, gesturing toward the kittens sprawled nearby, “you might want to think about getting them fixed. Before long, you’ll be overrun.” You forced a laugh, trying to punctuate your words with a lightness that might draw the attention away from anything unspoken lingering between you.
Sylus’s lips curved into a small smile, his eyes holding a hint of amusement as he glanced at the cluster of tabbies lounging without a care in the world. He looked at you knowingly, almost as if he could sense the undercurrent in your attempt to deflect.
“I’m already on it,” he replied, nodding toward the lounging felines. “Those over there have already been fixed,” he said with a soft chuckle. “But don’t let them fool you—catching them is no easy task. Cats…they’re smarter than people give them credit for.”
You studied his face as he spoke, noticing how, in that moment, he seemed to let down some unseen guard. The lines of tension softened in his expression, and for a fleeting second, he was just a man preoccupied with the everyday quirks of stray cats and unexpected litters. It still struck you as ironic that while he allowed these cats the freedom to roam, choosing to come and go as they pleased, you were bound, kept within limits he had drawn for you.
You offered a smile, hiding the deeper thoughts swirling behind it, and nodded with feigned interest. “I can imagine. They don’t look like the type to enjoy being scooped up.”
He laughed again, the sound soft and warm, and his eyes flickered from the cats back to you. His gaze held a gentleness you weren’t accustomed to, the previous intensity mellowing into something almost… affectionate. For a moment, the energy between you softened, and you felt the tension ease, just a little.
Still, even as you tried to sink into the calm, the awareness of his control pressed back in. While these cats moved freely, you remained tethered, your own freedom confined to the borders he had drawn.
The irony stung. Here you were, expected to play the part, to act as though these were the quiet comforts of home when, in truth, you were as far from freedom as you could possibly be.
He watched you, his gaze unwavering, and when you looked up, you caught that same intense look in his eyes—the one that seemed to see straight through you. The moment stretched, a silent exchange that felt both intimate and suffocating, until finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady.
“You know, I can’t help but imagine you like this,” he said, his tone softer. “With the baby. I can’t wait to see you holding them for the first time.”
The words sent a shock through you. He’d said things like this before, of course, always circling back to the future he envisioned, to his idea of a life together. But this time, his words felt heavier, as though he was trying to pull you into his world with just his voice.
You go quiet, letting the weight of his words linger in the space between you, the silence feeling heavy, almost suffocating. But you catch yourself quickly, swallowing down the discomfort and giving him the smile he wants to see—small, perhaps a touch hesitant, but accepting. It’s a practiced look, one that says you’re trying to come to terms with the future he envisions, the family he’s insistent on building. Sylus’s gaze softens as he watches you, a flicker of satisfaction passing over his face, as if he’s found what he’s been searching for in your expression.
Then, with a surprising gentleness, he reaches up and ruffles your hair, his hand lingering in your hair longer than expected. The casual touch catches you off guard, stirring a mix of emotions you quickly push down. He’s clearly pleased, his fingers curling ever so slightly as if savoring the moment. It’s both unnerving and strangely comforting—he seems almost normal, like a man simply doting on someone he loves. But before you can react, the sharp buzz of his phone shatters the illusion.
Sylus glances at the screen, his entire demeanor shifting as he lifts it to his ear, his voice cool and businesslike. “Mhm. Understood. Rest up,” he says briskly, then lowers the phone, his eyes flicking back to you with a sigh.
“Looks like the chef called in sick,” he says, his serious expression melting into a wry grin. “Seems we’re on our own for dinner tonight, kitten.”
You arch an eyebrow, folding your arms as you try to stifle a laugh as you follow him from the back and into the kitchen. Its nothing short of your expectations. Luxurious, large and stocked with every appliance one could think of using when making meals.
Glossy white marble countertops, streaked with subtle veins of gray, stretch across expansive islands and counters, catching the light from oversized pendant lamps hanging from above. Each light fixture is a custom piece, gleaming softly like jewelry against the sleek cabinetry.
Cabinets, painted a deep, sophisticated charcoal, line the walls from floor to ceiling, their polished brass handles catching glints of light. A double-door refrigerator with a matte stainless-steel finish stands beside a wine cooler and a large, commercial-grade range with six burners and a griddle. Above the range, an ornate, custom range hood extends up to the ceiling, adorned with decorative trim that gives it the look of an art installation.
In the center, a large marble island offers a second sink and ample prep space, surrounded by plush, high-backed bar stools upholstered in soft, gray velvet. The island’s edges are illuminated by under-cabinet lighting, creating a warm glow that makes the polished marble shine even more.
A walk-in pantry with frosted glass doors is tucked away near the far side, while a small but luxurious coffee bar complete with an espresso machine and built-in grinder shine on its surface.
You'd never seen a kitchen as luxurious as this and you're almost at a loss for words.
“Oh, so does that mean you’ll be cooking?” you tease, pretending to eye him with skepticism.
He raises an eyebrow in response, clearly entertained by your challenge. “Don’t look so doubtful. I’m more than capable of whipping up a meal.” His smirk broadens, a glint of mischief in his gaze.
You can’t help but play along, an idea forming in the back of your mind. “Well, I suppose we’ll see. Do we have ingredients for chicken soup?” you ask, a hint of curiosity in your voice.
“Chicken soup?” he repeats, looking amused. “So simple. Are you having cravings already?” He chuckles softly, as if the thought brings him a kind of joy, and for a moment, the tension between you both seems to ease.
You roll your eyes, but there’s a flicker of unexpected warmth in your chest, despite yourself. “It’s not that,” you say, forcing a light tone. “It’s just…my mom used to make it for me whenever I was sick. You know, one of those little comforts from home.”
Sylus makes a sound of acknowledgment, clearly pleased, and moves to the fridge, pulling out ingredients with a kind of confidence that surprises you. He sets a small pile of vegetables, herbs, and chicken on the counter, glancing over his shoulder with a playful challenge.
He nods thoughtfully, studying you with an intensity that makes you look away, feeling oddly vulnerable. “I think we have everything,” he says finally, going back over to the fridge and pulling out a few large containers of chicken broth, setting them on the counter with practiced care.
As he starts prepping, a thought crosses your mind. You know he craves this—normalcy, a sense of domesticity with you—and an idea takes hold. “Do you need help?” you ask, your voice soft, as though you’re hesitant, like this is something you’re warming up to. You can almost feel the excitement radiating off him as he glances up, his gaze softening further. He hands you a cutting board and some carrots, guiding you with a gentle but steady hand.
“Of course,” he says warmly. “I’d like that”, his voice genuine, as if this simple act of cooking together is all he’s been waiting for.
You focus on slicing the carrots, keeping your expression neutral, hiding the mix of emotions stirring within you. There’s a strange satisfaction in this, playing along with his fantasy, leaning into the role he so desperately wants you to fill. It’s a small game of control, one that lets you feel as if you’re guiding his emotions, that you have the upper hand in some way.
As you work side by side, you notice the quietness that falls between you both. He’s absorbed in his task, his movements focused and practiced. It’s strange, seeing him in this light, like a regular person preparing dinner. You catch him glancing at you now and then, a softness in his gaze, as if this scene holds something precious for him.
You feel a strange mix of relief and trepidation as you move beside him, trying to focus on the simple, rhythmic actions of chopping vegetables, feeling his presence close but silent, as if he, too, is trying to take in this unexpected moment. You settle into the process, carefully slicing carrots as you think back to the countless times you’ve made this soup before, that comforting aroma filling the kitchen, the memory of your mother’s gentle hands guiding yours through the motions.
But just as you fall into the rhythm, a sharp sting jerks you out of your thoughts. You glance down, seeing the thin line of red blossoming on your finger where the knife slipped.
“Ah,” you hiss quietly, pulling your hand back instinctively.
The sound catches Sylus’s attention immediately, and he’s springing to action in an instant, his fingers wrapping around your wrist before you can react. His grip is firm, almost protective, as he pulls your hand closer, inspecting the small wound. “Let me see,” he murmurs, his voice low, and there’s an edge of concern in his tone that makes your heart skip.
“It’s nothing, really,” you say quickly, trying to brush it off, but he doesn’t release his hold. He keeps his gaze fixed on the cut, his jaw tight. Then, to your surprise, he lifts your hand, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before he leans forward, bringing your bloodied finger to his mouth.
Your breath catches, and a sharp heat floods through you as his lips press around the tip of your finger, the warmth of his mouth searing against your skin. The sensation is foreign, overwhelming—something that tugs at a deep, visceral part of you that you didn’t know was there. His tongue brushes over the cut, gentle but deliberate, sending a shiver up your spine as he holds your gaze, his eyes dark and focused.
You can feel your pulse racing, your face growing warm, and your thoughts scatter, leaving you with only the sensation of his mouth on your skin, his hand steady around yours. “W-What are you…” you manage, but your voice comes out barely a whisper.
He pulls back, his expression a mix of smug amusement and something unreadable. “Relax,” he says softly, as if sensing your reaction. “Just making sure it’s clean. Can’t have you getting an infection.”
You’re left momentarily speechless, caught between anger and something dangerously close to longing. You pull your hand back, clutching it to your chest as if to protect yourself from the lingering warmth of his touch. It’s just a shallow cut, you remind yourself, trying to ground yourself in the present, to shake off the spell he cast with that simple, unsettlingly intimate act.
But he’s still watching you, a small smirk playing on his lips as he reaches for a first aid kit from a nearby drawer. “You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he teases, and though his words are light, there’s a glint of satisfaction in his gaze, as if he’s pleased with himself for getting under your skin.
You feel a surge of irritation, mixed with something you can’t quite identify, as you sit down on a stool, your face still warm. “Just…just don’t do that again,” you mutter, unable to meet his eyes as you try to regain your composure. You can feel his eyes on you, his gaze heavy, almost probing, but you refuse to look up, focusing on the sting of the bandage he wraps around your finger instead.
“All right, kitten,” he says quietly, his voice softer now, and you can sense a hint of genuine concern beneath his teasing tone. He finishes wrapping the bandage, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary before he pulls back, giving you space.
The room feels strangely charged, each movement laden with a tension that wasn’t there before. You glance down at your bandaged finger, the pulse of heat still lingering, and as you return to your place beside him, you find it harder than ever to pretend that his presence doesn’t affect you.
Focusing back on the vegetables, the silence stretches between you and Sylus once more, thick with the lingering tension from his unexpected tenderness over your cut. You reach for the celery, forcing yourself to focus, to forget the strange heat that his touch left on your skin. Sylus picks up a wooden spoon, stirring the pot of simmering broth in measured, careful movements. The kitchen fills with the warm aroma of vegetables and chicken stock, a comforting scent that feels like a foreign softness in the middle of everything.
You turn to chop more carrots, sneaking glances at him out of the corner of your eye. Sylus works with a quiet focus, his hands moving deftly as he adds in herbs—thyme, rosemary, a bay leaf—all carefully chosen to infuse the soup with warmth and flavor. You’re mildly impressed, watching him as he handles the ingredients with ease, as if cooking a simple chicken soup were second nature to him.
“So, what next?” you ask, trying to keep your voice light, as though you hadn’t just felt your heart racing minutes ago.
“Let’s get the chicken in,” he replies, his voice smooth as he gestures to the bowl of shredded chicken. “Then, we’ll let everything simmer together. Low and slow—no shortcuts.”
You pick up a spoon, gently stirring in the chicken, careful to incorporate it with the vegetables and broth. You watch the pieces swirl in the liquid, the broth turning a deeper golden as it absorbs the flavor. The quiet of the moment lets you drift, lulled by the comforting warmth rising from the stove.
“Keep stirring,” he murmurs beside you, his voice low, yet calm. His hand rests lightly on your shoulder, steadying you as you stand beside him, and his presence radiates a calmness that feels almost strange. The heat of the kitchen, the weight of his hand, it all leaves you feeling slightly off-balance.
As you continue to stir, you can’t help but let out a small sigh, the scent of the soup bringing memories flooding back—nights when your mom would make soup, humming softly to herself as she worked, the warmth filling the kitchen as you watched her move around. You close your eyes briefly, trying to savor the familiarity of it, the sense of home it brings, even if just for a moment.
You miss her. Before everything happened all those years ago.
When you open your eyes, Sylus is looking at you, his expression softened. “Thinking about something?” he asks, his voice gentle, almost curious.
You nod, hesitating. “Just…a memory,” you say softly, not wanting to share too much, but feeling a strange pull to let him see this small piece of you. What would explaining do anyway? Knowing him he probably knew all about your family.
“Of course,” he says, his tone understanding, and his hand falls away from your shoulder. “Let’s finish this up, then. You’ll get to taste it soon.”
He leans over, reaching for a sprig of parsley, and his shoulder brushes against yours. The touch sends a spark through you, one you try to ignore as he drops the herb into the soup. You watch the parsley swirl, each piece turning a vibrant green against the rich broth, and Sylus gives the pot one last, slow stir.
After a few more minutes of simmering, he dips a spoon into the soup, tasting it thoughtfully, his brow furrowed in concentration. He tilts his head, considering the flavor, before nodding in approval.
“Try it,” he says, offering you the spoon. His eyes are intent on you, watching for your reaction, as if he’s waiting to see if this small gesture will please you.
You take the spoon, tasting the soup. The broth is rich and comforting, each flavor melding together in a way that surprises you. The herbs, the chicken, the vegetables—they all work together to create something warm, soothing. You feel a rush of unexpected gratitude, a softness you hadn’t prepared for.
Not quite like your moms, but overwhelmingly delicious.
“It’s…good,” you say, unable to hide the small, genuine smile that crosses your face.
Sylus smiles back, his expression softening as he watches you. “I’m glad you like it,” he says quietly, his voice laced with an almost tender pride. For a moment, everything feels surreal, as if this is all part of a different reality—one where you aren’t trapped, one where this is just a simple, shared meal between two people finding comfort in each other’s company.
“Let’s serve it,” he says finally, breaking the silence. He ladles the soup into bowls, each one filled to the brim with steaming broth, the colors vibrant and inviting.
You carry your bowl to the living room table, settling down beside him on the couch. For the first time in a while, you feel a genuine sense of warmth as you both start to eat, the flavors filling the silence between you in a way that words can’t. It’s strange, this fleeting moment of peace, of almost normalcy. You savor it, even as you remind yourself not to get too comfortable.
You take another slow bite of the soup, savoring the comforting warmth and letting it settle over you. It’s surprisingly good, and for a moment, you’re tempted to get lost in the simple pleasure of a warm meal. You glance over at Sylus, who’s watching you with a soft expression, looking far more at ease than he usually does. There’s a gentleness in his gaze, an almost tender quality that contrasts sharply with the hardened exterior you’ve grown used to at times.
Taking the opportunity to lighten the mood further, you decide to test the waters. “So,” you say, a teasing note in your voice, “am I going to be cooking dinner every night with a baby on my hip? Is that what you’re planning?”
Sylus’s eyes twinkle with amusement as he sets his bowl down and leans back slightly, looking at you with genuine warmth. He chuckles, clearly entertained by the thought. “No, kitten,” he murmurs, shaking his head as if the very idea is absurd. "Not even close.”
A little surprised, you raise an eyebrow. “Wait, really?”
“Why would I ever want you to take on any of that?” he says with a soft laugh, his expression affectionate as he looks at you. “Why should you waste your energy cooking and cleaning, especially with everything else going on? We have people here to help with those things.”
You blink, a bit taken aback by his answer. He says it with such sincerity, as if the notion of you doing any kind of work around the house is ridiculous. It’s almost hard to believe, this view he seems to have of you—not just as someone to take care of, but as someone he wants to shield from any kind of hardship or responsibility. He’s looking at you with something deeper than affection. It's almost as if he’s envisioning a life where your only focus is happiness and peace.
“So…” you say, letting the thought linger, “if I’m not cooking or cleaning, what exactly am I supposed to do?”
He leans forward, his eyes never leaving yours, and brushes a strand of hair back behind your ear, his hand lingering a moment longer than necessary. “I just want you to be happy. Be the mother to our child, be here with me,” he says softly, his voice thick with warmth. “And everything else? Let me worry about that. All I need is for you to never leave and stay with me. You’ve already given me so much.”
There’s a sincerity in his words that catches you off guard, a rawness in the way he looks at you that goes beyond mere attraction. You’d half expected him to laugh off your question, but his answer is so direct, so heartfelt, that it leaves you momentarily speechless. You can feel the weight of his gaze, the quiet reverence in his eyes, as if he’s seeing every part of you and cherishing it.
"So have your baby and...be happy?"
He nods, picking up the glass of wine he's been sipping on to accompany his dinner. "And be as cute as you already are. So far, you're doing a flawless job, honey".
You manage a soft smile, trying to mask the complexity of emotions swirling inside you. His words are both reassuring and overwhelming in their intensity, a reminder of how deeply he’s bound you into this vision of a life together. There’s relief in knowing that he doesn’t see you as just a homemaker but rather as someone he truly values. And yet, that value comes with expectations, responsibilities that feel no less heavy despite the tender way he presents them.
“Wow,” you murmur, keeping your voice light to mask the turmoil within. “Sounds like a dream job.”
Sylus smiles at you, a look of profound satisfaction in his eyes as he reaches over, lightly squeezing your hand. “It’s not a job, sweetheart. It’s a life, a future. One we’re building together.” He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, and for a moment, you feel the full weight of his sincerity, a devotion that’s almost overwhelming.
The warmth of his hand, the steadiness of his gaze—it’s as if he’s pouring every bit of his affection into this moment, giving you a glimpse of the life he’s crafted in his mind. You glance down, your fingers tightening around the spoon as you take another sip of soup, using it as a shield to give yourself a moment to breathe, to process everything he’s just said. You know you’re still treading a thin line, but in this moment, you can almost believe that you’re safe, that he won’t ask for more than you can give.
For now, you’ll let him hold onto this vision, this gentle world he’s trying to build around you, while you keep the part of yourself that’s planning for a different future carefully tucked away.
You glance over at Sylus’s glass, the amber liquid catching the light in a way that makes it look particularly inviting. The warmth of the room, the gentle clinking of cutlery, and the surprisingly cozy vibe of the evening—it all feels surreal. Before you know it, the words slip out, half-joking but with a tinge of genuine longing.
“That wine…I bet that would taste amazing right about now,” you murmur, giving him a sly look. You know he’d never let you drink while you’re pregnant, but there’s a boldness bubbling up inside you, a playfulness that feels oddly freeing. You figure you might as well test the waters while you’re both in a relaxed mood.
Sylus pauses, the glass halfway to his lips, and raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. A chuckle escapes him, low and warm, and he shakes his head. “Nice try, sweetie,” he says, his tone filled with affection. “But you know better than that.”
You sigh dramatically, leaning back in your seat with a mock pout. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
His laughter deepens, a rich, genuine sound that resonates through the room. He takes another sip, savoring it slowly, almost as if to tease you with it. “Tell you what,” he says, setting the glass down with a quiet clink, his eyes meeting yours. “Once the little one arrives, I’ll have a whole case of the finest wine waiting for you. Consider it a gift for giving me my first child. Something truly extravagant.”
You can’t help but let a small smile tug at your lips. “You mean it?” There’s a flicker of surprise in your voice, mixed with a touch of excitement at the thought of a small indulgence waiting for you on the other side of this. Not that it would matter. You didn't plan to wait around long enough for this gift.
“Absolutely,” he says, his expression softening. “Only the best for you.”
The way he says it makes you feel as though he’s not just talking about the wine, and for a moment, the intensity in his gaze is enough to make you forget where you are, who he is, and why you’re here. It’s both comforting and unsettling, this unexpected tenderness.
You look away, letting your fingers toy idly with your spoon. “I look forward to it then,” you reply softly, the weight of his words lingering in the space between you.
The warmth of the room and the low hum of the TV slowly lulled you into a comfortable haze, the day’s events blending into the soft murmur of the late-night talk show on the screen. Before you realized it, your eyelids grew heavy, and the world around you blurred and faded into sleep.
When you stir awake, it’s just for a moment—a brief awareness of being lifted, cradled against Sylus’s chest. His arms are steady as he carries you, his steps measured and gentle, as if he doesn’t want to disturb the peace you’ve drifted into. You’re too tired to care, and the gesture isn’t exactly new, so you let your head rest against him, slipping back into that comfortable in-between state of semi-consciousness.
As he reaches the room and places you on the bed, you feel the familiar cool metal of the shackle as he carefully clasps it around your ankle. There’s a strange mix of acceptance and resignation that settles over you; it’s routine by now, and you’ve learned that resistance will get you nowhere. You don’t stir, barely opening your eyes as you feel the slight weight and coldness against your skin.
Sylus’s hand lingers just a moment longer than it should, his fingers brushing your ankle lightly as if apologizing without words. Then he straightens, watching you as though ensuring you’re comfortable, or perhaps just reluctant to leave. The silence stretches for a beat before he adjusts the blanket over you, tucking it in gently.
Drifting back to sleep, you feel the faintest, fleeting touch of his hand on your hair, his voice a low, barely audible murmur. “Goodnight, sweetie.” And then he’s gone, leaving you in the silence, shackled and resting, your heart and mind caught in that strange place between comfort and captivity.
A chill snakes up your spine, a subtle pull dragging you from sleep’s warm grasp. Something’s wrong. You stir, confused, only half-awake when a voice—a low, familiar, male voice cuts through the haze.
“Hey…it’s kinda cold. Could you let go of the blanket a little?”
Sylus? No...not Sylus.
The familiarity of it pulls you fully awake, and you snap your eyes open, blinking at the darkness. But then, as your vision sharpens, you see him. Reese. He’s lying beside you, facing you on the bed, his face turned just enough for you to catch the black, oozing gunshot wound in his head, gaping open and slick with blood. A trickle of it slides down his cheek, soaking the sheets under him, dark and thick.
Your body freezes, a scream clawing at your throat, but no sound comes out. Your breath is trapped, the air around you thick and cold, chilling you from the inside out. How is this possible? He’s dead—he’s dead, but here he is, lying next to you, close enough to reach out and touch.
“What’s with the face?” His voice is casual, irritated. “Didn’t you hear me? It’s cold.”
You shake your head weakly, trying to focus, to convince yourself this isn’t real. But his face—the wound, the blood—is horribly vivid, every detail clear. You close your eyes, muttering to yourself, “Y-you’re not real…you’re not real…” as if repeating it will somehow pull you out of this nightmare.
Reese laughs, a low, mocking sound that makes your blood run colder. “Not real?” His tone is twisted, bitter. “First, you can’t take responsibility for your actions, and now I’m just…what? A figment of your imagination?”
You can barely hold his gaze, the look in his eyes dark and hollow, yet piercing, accusatory. You’re rooted to the bed, every muscle locked, your body paralyzed as his words sink in, hitting deeper than you’d like to admit. You want to move, to pull away, but you’re pinned, helpless under the weight of his presence.
“Do I matter so little to you?” he asks, voice rising in anger, his tone laced with a venom that sends a new wave of terror coursing through you. He leans closer, blood oozing from his wound, seeping down to your skin. Warm, sticky drops spatter across your cheek, and you can feel them trailing down, clinging to your skin like a brand.
“Tell me,” he demands, his voice filled with rage. “Did I deserve that end? Was I so bad?”
You try to shake your head, to deny it, but the words stick in your throat, the fear, the shock smothering you. All you manage is a strangled gasp, your eyes wide and desperate as he stares you down, inching closer, his face twisted with fury, with a pain that cuts straight through you.
“I wasn’t a bad guy,” he whispers, his tone shifting, softer, but somehow worse—a wounded, broken sound that cuts deeper than the anger. “I just had…problems. But now...I'm dead. And its all your fault.”
The blood continues to flow, more of it now, as if the wound has deepened, spilling down his face, soaking into the sheets, covering the bed, drenching everything. You can feel it spreading, thick and suffocating, seeping into your skin, binding you in place. It’s pulling you down, drowning you in the darkness, and all you can do is lie there, trapped, helpless, as Reese’s voice echoes around you.
You want to scream, to claw your way out, to breathe—but there’s only the blood, the suffocating weight, the feeling of it pulling you deeper, filling your lungs. You’re sinking, slipping into darkness, your vision blurring as his words fade, replaced by silence.
You jolt awake, eyes flying open, heart racing as you lie there, paralyzed in the dark. The weight of the nightmare still clings to you, thick and suffocating, every inch of your skin damp with sweat. Reese’s voice, his blood-smeared face, feels too close, too real. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the image to fade, to dissolve back into the shadows where it belongs. Just a dream, you remind yourself, swallowing hard. It was just a dream.
Beside you, Sylus stirs. He must have fallen asleep only recently; he’s been on edge these past days, slipping into quick naps whenever he can. His arm rests lightly over you, and you feel it tighten as you shift slightly, trying to push away the fear that lingers like a shadow.
“You’re a little damp,” his voice murmurs softly, his hand moving to your shoulder, steadying you. His eyes open, just a glimmer in the darkness, and they narrow slightly as he takes in your expression, the remnants of fear etched into your features. “Too hot?” he asks, his voice low and concerned.
You barely manage a nod, still shaken. His eyes soften, and his thumb begins tracing slow, soothing circles on your shoulder. His presence, the gentle rhythm of his touch, begins to pull you back from the brink of the nightmare, grounding you.
“Bad dream again?” he whispers, a touch of worry slipping through.
You swallow, nodding as your voice comes out in a whisper, raw and unsteady. “It’s…I’m okay. Just…him again.”
For a moment, the words hang heavy between you. You hadn’t planned on confiding in him, on letting him see even a fraction of the fear that holds you captive. But in the quiet of the dark room, he’s the only thing grounding you, his hand still resting gently on your shoulder, his gaze steady.
Sylus doesn’t push you, doesn’t press for details. Instead, he offers a quiet reassurance, his voice almost a murmur. “You’re safe,” he says, the words warm and soothing. “Whatever you’re seeing… it’s in the past. I won't let that happen to you again.”
You feel the weight of his words settle over you, anchoring you as the last shreds of the nightmare begin to slip away. You don’t pull away, instead letting his calm presence ease the terror that had gripped you moments before. His hand stays on your shoulder, offering a comfort you hadn’t expected but don’t reject, not now.
Breathing slowly, you finally let your body relax, the familiar fear fading.
Sylus’s voice was gentle, almost coaxing, as he reminded you, “You know you can always talk to me if you need to. I’m here.” His eyes held that soft patience, as if he were waiting for you to finally accept his care. But he didn’t push further. You simply nodded, giving a small, hollow smile. “I think I’ll take a shower,” you murmured, avoiding his gaze.
He nodded, pulling back, watching you slip toward the bathroom as the chain around your ankle rattled softly against the floor. The instant you disappear into the bathroom, you exhaled, bracing yourself against the sink for a moment as the weight of everything washed over you. Stripping off your clothes, you stepped into the shower, letting the water wash over you as though it could erase the turmoil inside.
The warmth of the spray brought you a brief sense of calm, a moment of escape as you let the tension in your muscles release. You closed your eyes, letting the water course down your skin, trying to shake off the remnants of the nightmare and the reality you were stuck in. It was easy, at least for a few minutes, to let your mind drift, to imagine yourself somewhere else entirely.
As you dried off, wrapping yourself in a towel, a sharp, unexpected pain twisted low in your abdomen. You clutched your stomach, wincing as the ache pulsed for a moment before ebbing away. When you looked up, your reflection in the tall mirror across the room caught your eye. There, your gaze drifted to something you’d been avoiding for weeks—a slight but undeniable curve, a small but visible bump.
Your heart skipped a beat, panic clawing at you. No, no… this isn’t happening. You weren't showing yesterday...no way you grew overnight? Right?
Turning to the side, you ran your hand over the curve, hoping it would somehow disappear, that maybe this was some strange trick of the light, an illusion cast by the shadows in the dim bathroom. But it was real—solid and unyielding under your touch, a soft, foreign shape that hadn’t been there before. The life growing inside you, forced upon you in this gilded cage. There was no more pretending, no more denial. The truth stared back at you, a relentless reminder of everything you’d tried to escape.
Your mind raced, spiraling with thoughts, each one sharper than the last. What am I going to do? The question echoed in your mind, louder and louder. How could you bring a child into this world, trapped here, bound to a man who held you against your will? How could you even begin to reconcile the love that was expected of you with the resentment boiling beneath the surface?
And yet…
Somewhere, buried beneath the panic, there was a flicker of something else. A faint, fleeting thought that this was your child—a part of you, something innocent and pure, untainted by the cruelty of its father. But that thought vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, smothered by the reality of your situation.
No. Its a monster put here by a monster. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Suddenly, Sylus’s voice broke through the haze, calling to you from beyond the bathroom opening. You stiffened, panic flooding your veins anew. He can’t see this. Not yet.
A wave of panic surged, and you scrambled to snatch your shirt from the counter, clutching it desperately against your chest as his figure appeared, and he stepped inside. His gaze fell on you, his brow furrowing slightly with concern as he took you in, standing there, exposed, your knuckles tight against the shirt you were pressing tightly against yourself.
He took a step forward, concern etched in his face. “Did something happen? Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine—please, Sylus, just…leave,” you replied, willing your voice to stay steady, hoping he would listen.
But his gaze softened as he searched your face, clearly noticing the quickening in your breath, the apprehension in your eyes. Without a word, he reached for the shirt you held, and despite your best efforts, his grip was gentle but unyielding as he eased it from your hands.
"I've already seen you naked sweetie, many times. You don't need to be shy".
You felt frozen, helpless to stop him as he lifted the shirt away, exposing the small curve that had been hidden beneath.
Sylus’s breath seemed to catch, his eyes widening in awe as he took in the sight of your small but undeniable bump. For a moment, he was silent, his gaze tracing the curve of your stomach with a mixture of astonishment and tenderness. Then, as if unable to contain himself, a radiant smile broke across his face, one of unrestrained joy, his eyes brightening in a way you’d never seen before.
“This…this is what you were hiding?” His voice was a soft, reverent whisper, and he knelt down, his hand reaching out to gently, reverently, rest on the slight swell. He looked up at you, eyes shining with an emotion so raw, so overwhelming, it left you speechless.
“Sweetie…you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his fingers lightly brushing against your skin, tracing the gentle curve as though it were the most precious thing he’d ever seen.
Before you could pull away, he leaned forward, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your stomach. His breath was warm against your skin, and the intimacy of the moment struck you to your core. Your heart pounded in your chest, revulsion and disbelief twisting in your stomach as he closed his eyes, his touch so tender it was almost unbearable.
Sylus’s gaze flickered up to meet yours, filled with love, wonder, and a kind of vulnerability you hadn’t expected. For a moment, he seemed lost in the moment, lost in the reality that the life he’d longed for was now beginning to take shape. He brushed a gentle hand over your bump, his fingers tracing a slow, reverent path.
As he got back up, Sylus’s lips brushed against yours in a way that felt surprisingly gentle, almost reverent, as though he were savoring every second. But slowly, his kiss grew deeper, his lips pressing into yours with a hunger that caught you off guard. His hand cupped the side of your face, his fingers tracing the edge of your jaw as he whispered between each kiss, his voice filled with admiration.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his hand gliding from your cheek to your shoulder. "So pretty with my baby growing in you, you're doing so good for me..."
His words fell like honey, each phrase laced with something warm and heavy. The praise mixed with the gentle intensity of his gaze, and for a moment, you felt a strange, almost dizzying sensation, as if his tenderness was pulling you into a world where you could forget the truth—just for a second.
But the kiss was no longer soft. He leaned in, pressing you against the wall, his hands slipping down to your waist, holding you close. There was a tension between you, a heat radiating from his touch as he let his lips trail from your mouth to your jaw, each kiss leaving a lingering warmth on your skin. He was so close, his hand pressing gently but possessively against the small of your back, his closeness overwhelming. You could feel his breath against your neck, the rapid beating of his heart as he leaned closer still.
He pressed up further against you, and you could feel the hardening of his cock as his hands continued roaming your naked body. Panic surged within you, the walls closing in as you felt him drawing you deeper into his embrace. You weren’t ready. Not for this. The kisses, the closeness, the feeling of his hands anchoring you to him—it was all too much.
You took a shaky breath, willing your voice to remain steady. “Sylus… please,” you whispered, your hand pressing against his chest, urging a little distance. “I’m sorry…I’m just…I’m not ready.”
For a split second, the air stilled. You didn’t dare look up, bracing yourself, fearing a flash of anger or the sting of his disapproval. But slowly, his hands softened their grip, loosening from your waist. You could feel him shift, the intensity of his touch retreating as he pulled back slightly. Hesitantly, you looked up, expecting frustration or perhaps that coldness you’d seen before.
Instead, his gaze met yours, warm and filled with a softness that was entirely unexpected. He swallowed, his thumb gently stroking your cheek as he took a steadying breath, as if calming himself. “I understand,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, but the warmth in it resonated deeply, cutting through the tension. “This is a lot for you to take in. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.”
You blinked, your heart racing as his words settled over you. He wasn’t angry. There was no frustration in his expression—only a look of genuine concern and, to your astonishment, regret. He wasn't going to force you like he had before. He had let you go.
“Thank you,” you managed, the words quiet, almost lost in the air between you. For a moment, you struggled to process what had just happened. Sylus, who had always taken so much from you without question, had actually listened. He’d stopped. You’d steeled yourself for resistance, for anger, for some form of reminder of his control over you. Yet here he was, stepping back, respecting your boundaries with a tenderness that left you momentarily speechless.
As you looked at him, you felt an odd mix of emotions. Relief washed over you, but something else lingered too—something more unsettling, a tiny flicker of doubt that questioned everything. It was the way he looked at you, as if there were truly nothing he wouldn’t do for you, even if it meant pulling himself back.
Sylus’s gaze softened as he took a step back, releasing you from his embrace but keeping his hand on your shoulder for just a moment longer. His thumb brushed gently over your collarbone, lingering, as if reluctant to let go completely.
“Do you want any help getting dressed?” he asked, his tone tender, almost coaxing. His eyes held a gentleness you were still getting used to, as though he was allowing himself to be vulnerable for once, hoping you’d let him in, even if just for a moment longer.
You shook your head quickly, a polite smile crossing your face. “No, it’s okay. I can manage.” Your voice came out steadier than you felt, and you could see the hint of disappointment that flickered in his gaze before he quickly masked it with a soft smile of his own.
You wondered why he craved so much for you to depend on him for every little thing. You couldn't understand.
“All right,” he murmured, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on your cheek, his lips lingering just a fraction longer than necessary. “I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”
With a graceful, deliberate movement, he knelt and reached for the chain at your ankle. Its weight shifted as he seemed to inspect it. You couldn’t help but notice the rust forming on its edges, the faint orange stain a quiet reminder of each time it had endured the showers with you, silently marking the limits of your freedom. He noticed it too, pausing for a second as he looked at the worn chain.
“Hmm,” he murmured, running his thumb along the rusted edge with a look of quiet contemplation. For a moment, you thought he might undo it, but instead, he straightened up, the faintest frown creasing his brow.
He looked back at you, his expression softening again. “I’ll see you in a bit,” he said, his voice a gentle promise.
As he turned and left, you found yourself exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The weight of his presence lifted, leaving you alone with the faint memory of his touch still lingering on your skin.
The room seemed to expand in his absence, and you allowed yourself a moment to collect your thoughts. The sight of the rusted chain resting limply at your foot reminded you that, despite his tenderness, despite these fleeting glimpses of something softer, you were still his captive. Yet a strange sense of relief washed over you. Today, he’d listened. Today, he’d let you keep that sliver of control. And for now, you’d hold on to that.
As you stood there, something inside you unraveled, a delicate thread finally snapping under the weight of it all. The reflection in the mirror blurred, and you didn’t even notice the tears until you felt the warmth trailing down your cheeks. They fell silently, each one a reminder of the future that was no longer an abstract concept. A mother...you were going to be a mom. This was real.
The thought settled in your chest, heavy and suffocating. You tried to steady your breathing, doing small calculations in your head, desperately seeking some reassurance. By now, you must be past twelve weeks, right? Past that critical point where things were supposed to feel safer, more certain. But the slight swell of your belly seemed too prominent, too soon, and the thought gnawed at you. Would this baby be huge? Were you somehow different? You didn’t know, and the not-knowing scared you.
With each breath, reality closed in, no longer letting you keep it at a comfortable distance. There would be no waking up from this, no shaking it off like a bad dream. This was happening, and the tiny life growing inside you was proof of that. You closed your eyes, pressing a hand to your stomach, the warmth of your palm grounding you, if only for a moment.
In his office, Sylus leaned back in his chair, the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips. The image of you lingered in his mind, your face still etched with surprise and maybe even a glimmer of acceptance. He’d seen it when you touched your belly, the soft, instinctual motion you likely didn’t even realize you’d made.
It struck him how profoundly this all had changed, not only for you but for himself. For the longest time, he’d moved through life with an efficient, calculated purpose, relationships and alliances mere tools in the larger picture. But with you, he found himself moving beyond that cold, strategic calculation. His gaze softened just remembering the way you’d looked at him, hesitant yet trying to keep up a facade, an echo of something fragile and new.
The hum of his phone jolted him from his thoughts, a message notification flashing across the screen. It was from Dr. Merrill, a routine check-in that he’d been insisting upon ever since he’d learned about your protocore syndrome. Sylus’s gaze darkened slightly as he thought back to his conversation with the doctor. There were, of course, risks. But he’d come this far—he would ensure both you and the child would be fine.
In the next coming weeks, you would both find out the gender. And he couldn't be more excited. He hadn't given the gender a whole lot of thought, as having either a son or a daughter would be fine. As long as they were healthy. He wondered if you were hoping for a specific gender? He would have to ask later once you were feeling more comfortable.
He quickly messaged the doctor back, instructing him to be prepared for another home visit in the coming weeks, as you were beginning to show.
Setting the phone aside, he let out a long breath, allowing himself to sink deeper into his thoughts. The joy he’d felt when he first saw the hint of your growing belly was overwhelming, almost surreal. It was rare, feeling anything so strong. He’d been raised to value control and precision, but with you, things were different. For once, he felt like he had a purpose beyond the plans and schemes that had once driven him.
You were wary, he knew. Never mind the fact that you were still pretending to cater to him and accept your situation. He had to admit, you were keeping this up far better than he expected. Even going as far to fake a few tears to get things out of him. How silly of you. You didn't need to cry to get him to buy you things. He was more than willing. He hoped overtime you would come to actually learn this and fall into your role by his side. But he didn’t expect this to be easy, he would be patient, careful not to push you too far. Especially after his hasty decision to punish you the way he did.
As he leaned back in his chair, Sylus’s gaze drifted out the window. His mind wandered to the future he saw unfolding: you, content by his side, his child safe and thriving, the three of you a family in every sense.
Sylus’s thoughts drifted, lingering on the changes he’d already started to notice in your body, subtle yet unmistakable. Your nipples had gotten slightly darker than their usual color. The gentle swell of your belly was the most obvious sign, but there were others—small, delicate shifts that only someone as attuned to you as he was could see. He thought of the way your figure had softened, the fullness in your curves that hadn’t been there before. He'd felt it during the past few weeks, during moments when he'd held you close, his hand resting against your back or your waist, anchoring you to him.
There was a warmth that spread through him as he thought about it, a kind of reverence for the life growing within you. He’d noticed your breasts, too—firmer, slightly fuller, and he couldn’t help but be fascinated by the changes, drawn to them in a way he hadn’t anticipated. The way your body was adapting, preparing, made him feel a quiet awe. It wasn’t just attraction; it was admiration, a deep appreciation for the transformation he was witnessing. He hadn’t said anything, of course—he knew you were still adjusting, still wary of him, and any comment on your body would likely only push you further away.
But he noticed. Every time he held you, every time you crossed his path, he felt a heightened awareness, his gaze inevitably drawn to the small signs of change. He’d often catch himself before you noticed, careful to keep his admiration hidden.
But the feelings for your growing body also went a little...past just admiration. He felt an ache in his groin as he kept thinking about your newly grown belly, and how much bigger you would have to get if you were going to carry a baby. He shifted, the tightness in his pants feeling a little more uncomfortable than usual.
He let out a sigh, looking down in annoyance at the hardness in his pants. This wasn't the first time he had gotten riled up at the thought of you, but he was usually pretty good at ignoring it until the ache went away. After seeing your belly preparing itself however, that wasn't going to go away anytime soon.
So he lifts his hips up to pull down his pants and boxers. His erection sprang free, curving upwards towards his navel. The thick shaft was flushed a deep, angry red, the bulbous head throbbing and already dripping with clear beads of precum. Veins pulsed along the length, testament to his rampant arousal.
Sylus shuddered, wrapping his calloused hand around his throbbing cock and squeezing firmly. A guttural groan escaped his lips at the pleasurable pressure, his hips rocking upwards involuntarily. He stroked himself slowly at first, savoring the feeling of slick skin gliding over rigid flesh. But as his lust grew, so did the urgency of his movements.
He certainly wasn't a short man. He had expected that any child of his, especially a boy, wouldn't be small either. How large would you get? Would you need help turning or getting up?
It excited him more than he wanted to admit.
His breathing grew ragged, harsh pants filling the room as he pumped his fist faster and harder over his weeping cock. Lewd squelching noises joined the symphony of grunts and groans as his precum smeared along his throbbing length, easing the way for his increasingly vigorous stroking.
Fuck...you were gonna look so cute fully swollen with his baby. Especially squirming underneath him, breathless, wet and begging for his touch. Swollen, heavy breasts prepping for milk. He read somewhere that pregnant women tended to get higher libidos somewhere in the middle of the second trimester.
He hoped to god that that was true for you.
Sylus felt the telltale tingle building at the base of his spine. His impending climax rushing towards him at breakneck speed, sinful images of you arching into his touch as he fucked you into the mattress, pregnant belly and breasts swaying with each thrust filled his head. He leaned down into the dresser of his desk, grabbing a spare handkerchief and positioning under the head of his cock.
The best part of all of this, was when your pregnancy would inevitably come to an end. When your body healed and you were at your most fertile, he could do it all over again. He could impregnate you as many times as he wanted and have a huge, happy family. Money was never going to be an issue, and as long as you were fertile, he could give you babies.
Over and over and over.
With a strangled groan, he exploded, thick ropes of pearly cum erupting from the tip of his jerking cock and into the handkerchief. He stroked himself through it, wringing every last drop from his spasming member until he collapsed backwards into his chair, chest heaving and cock still twitching.
He stared down at the cum now soaked into the handkerchief and tossed it into the trashcan beneath his desk. It was a shame such a heartful load wasn't leaking out of you right now. Weeks of buildup wasted.
Oh well. Plenty of time for that later.
As Xavier drifted in and out of consciousness, his mind clung to fragmented images, blurred scenes of his anger and desperation manifesting in the same looping dream. He saw Sylus, beaten and bloodied, collapsing in defeat. And then there was you, reaching out for him, your face soft, relieved. He’d pull you into his arms, his heart racing with the promise of safety. The scene was a balm, the only comfort in his haze of pain and meds. But when he blinked awake, reality crashed down with the sterile scent of the hospital, the sting of every broken bone, and the pulsing ache in his leg, arm and ribs.
The nurse gently shook his shoulder, calling his name, breaking through the thick fog. He stirred, his eyes heavy, everything feeling sluggish under the weight of painkillers. "How are you feeling, Xavier? One being the best, and ten being the worst." she asked, her voice steady and professional. He blinked, focusing on her as she held up her chart, waiting. He grunted a "five," the number slipping from his mouth like a reflex, more out of exhaustion than precision. She noted it, a brief look of sympathy crossing her face.
“I’ll be back soon to draw your blood and change your catheter,” she said, her tone compassionate but detached. He nodded weakly, feeling the stiffness in his neck as he tried to turn slightly.
The tray of food was right there—a bland meal of mashed potatoes, corn, peas, and water—but the sight was grounding. He took a deep breath and struggled, lifting his good arm with a heavy tremor as he reached for the spoon, his movements slow, clumsy. Just lifting the spoon to his mouth was a feat in itself, each bite reminding him of his limitations, the constant reminder of Sylus’s brutality.
He remembered so little of the past weeks—disjointed pieces that barely made sense. The memory of voices, some unfamiliar, and the persistent drone of machines had woven into his dreams, always melting back into the same loop: Sylus defeated, his blood pooling around him, and you, safe in his arms, looking at him like he was all you had left. He couldn’t shake it, didn’t want to, and yet each time he awoke, he was thrown back into the raw reality of his broken body, the helplessness of it twisting his stomach with fury.
The nurse stepped out, leaving him to the quiet of the room. As he chewed, he fought to keep his thoughts coherent, to string together the fragments of memory and rage that flickered in his mind. There was only one certainty left in him, one relentless drive pushing through the fog: he would find a way to make that dream real, no matter the pain or time it took. And next time, Sylus wouldn’t be the one left standing.
Xavier's gaze drifted to the small TV on the wall, where a tv show flickered in soft colors. The volume was low, barely above a murmur, but it filled the silence of the hospital room with a familiar rhythm. He hadn’t bothered to change the channel since he’d been here, his limited mobility making even that a chore. Besides, it was easier to let the shows cycle through on their own, each one a hazy backdrop of strangers’ voices, laughter, and applause.
Tonight, it was a trivia show. The host’s voice was calm and steady, calling out questions and waiting as contestants hesitated, stumbling through answers. The distant hum of excitement and applause from the contestants was oddly comforting. It wasn’t that he cared who won or lost, but the soft chatter, the flow of random facts and questions, was enough to draw his mind away from the pain, the memories, and the endless hours of confinement.
He let his eyes close briefly, the steady drone of voices pulling him into a light doze. It was almost hypnotic, a lull that softened the ache in his ribs and the rawness of his anger, dulling everything until all he could focus on was the pleasant monotony of questions and answers. The show was mundane, predictable, a relief from the nightmares that chased him when he let his guard down.
Xavier's mind had been relentlessly circling back to you. He could still picture you, asleep on Sylus’s couch, a ghostly image lingering in his thoughts. You looked...well, worse than when he last saw you, thinner, but relatively unharmed. It was a small comfort, yet it didn’t ease the dark, gnawing worry he felt. And then, there was Sylus’s claim—that you were pregnant.
The words echoed endlessly in his mind, stirring a sharp discomfort that clenched in his chest every time he recalled them. It didn’t seem possible. You didn’t look pregnant, not visibly, and he forced himself to cling to the hope that it was some twisted ruse. A manipulation. One more way for Sylus to get in his head, and damn it if he wasn’t succeeding.
Dr. Merrill had only made matters worse. Every time he entered the room to visit, his demeanor was professional, but his eyes held that wary, knowing look that Xavier hated. It was a reminder, a silent reinforcement of Sylus’s control, and even if they’d silently agreed to play along with the “robbery” cover story, it felt like another punch to Xavier’s pride. “I got careless. A random attack…left my guard down,” he had told Captain Jenna and the other members from UNICORN who had visited.
They’d been speechless, disbelief written across their faces. The top hunter of the organization, decimated by some “robber”? He had done his best to sell it, saying he’d been caught off guard after some drinks, uncharacteristically sloppy. But he knew Captain Jenna didn’t quite believe him. She’d given him a long, searching look, but she hadn’t pressed further. For now, the lie held.
His thoughts were interrupted by the nurse’s return, moving with the practiced efficiency of someone who had done this a thousand times. She went through her routine—checking vitals, prepping for the blood draw, making small adjustments to his catheter. As she tended to him, his phone buzzed on the table. He looked at her, nodding, and she held it to his ear as usual.
“Hello?” he said, feeling the dull ache in his bones as he braced for more bad news.
The voice on the other end was familiar—his property manager. The words spilled from the receiver, the matter-of-fact tone cutting through him. “Xavier, I understand your situation, but I can’t keep the apartment on hold indefinitely without payment. I’m sorry, but I’ll need to start clearing it out this week to prepare it for the next tenant. I’m not sure why you insisted on paying for two apartments, but this arrangement…it has to end soon.”
His heart dropped, a sinking weight that left him momentarily speechless. He’d known this was coming, had felt it looming, but hearing it now, in such stark terms, twisted the knife. That apartment—your apartment—was the only piece of you he’d managed to preserve. Without it…he could lose the last thread of connection.
Clearing his throat, he forced his voice to steady. “I can give you the remainder of what I have,” he said, desperation lacing each word. “I… I can’t work right now, but I’ll take out a loan if I have to. Please, just give me a little more time. A few more weeks.”
There was silence on the other end, the brief pause stretching out painfully. Finally, the manager spoke, her tone softer but unyielding. “I’m sorry. I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t make any promises.”
"If you must clean it out, please leave her clothes, documents, pictures, and stuffed animals in boxes outside my place. I'll take them and have someone move them inside. Everything else can go."
"Understood. Rest well."
The line went dead, and the nurse set his phone back down. She continued her work in silence, but he could feel her occasional glances, her unspoken sympathy. He clenched his hand into a fist, the pain in his fingers barely registering beneath the fresh ache in his chest. The nurse left and it was just him again.
Xavier felt the tears pressing behind his eyes, but nothing came. He was spent, emptied out, unable to cry anymore. He’d cried himself raw over you, over everything he’d lost, and now, it was as if his emotions had burned themselves out. Still, a deep ache remained, gnawing at him with every breath.
Captain Jenna’s generous “bonuses” were the only thing keeping him afloat financially, covering the bulk of his rent, but it wasn’t enough to support two places. And since you were no longer classified as an active hunter, he’d found himself struggling to convince her to subsidize your rent as well. His attempts to hold onto your apartment, your last space, were slipping through his fingers like sand.
He let out a weary sigh, his hand resting heavily on the now-empty dinner tray. Just as he was about to settle back into the silence, a commotion stirred in the hall.
“Ma’am, visiting hours are over…hey!” a nurse’s voice protested, strained with urgency. There was a scuffle, the sound of hurried footsteps, and Xavier strained to lift his head. Moments later, a familiar face bounced into his room, brown hair and eyes bright with energy.
“Tara?” he muttered, bewildered.
“It’ll only be a minute! Hold on!” she called over her shoulder, flashing a mischievous grin at the nurse. She turned back to him, face beaming as she moved a chair to his bedside. Her excitement was palpable, filling the air around her, and Xavier blinked up at her, caught off guard by her vibrant energy.
“How are you doing?” she asked, her voice warm, but her eyes scanned his bandages, his cast, and the pallor in his face.
He gave a small, tired smile. “I could be better,” he admitted.
She nodded, her eyes sympathetic but still sparkling with something he couldn’t quite place. There was a giddiness about her, an intense excitement that he couldn't place. He squinted, confused. “Why are you so excited?” he asked, voice tinged with curiosity.
A giggle bubbled up from Tara, and she pulled her phone out, brandishing it in front of him. “Because,” she began, nearly bursting, “I heard from her! Can you believe it? She’s alive and thinking about me!” Tara’s eyes danced with joy as she held her phone up, revealing a familiar name at the top of a recent text thread. “Look! Look what she sent me!”
Xavier’s gaze fell on the screen, and his chest tightened. There, clear as day, was a message from you. The message read simply but warmly, wishing Tara well and saying you hoped to see her again someday. His stomach clenched, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. This had to be Sylus’s doing. He could practically see the smug expression Sylus would have, reveling in the illusion he was spinning.
But he couldn’t say that to Tara.
His face remained carefully neutral, struggling to maintain a calm facade. “I’m happy she messaged,” he said, voice steady but weighed down with emotion. “Relieved…she’s alive and well.”
Images of you asleep on Sylus’s couch flickered through his mind, the faint rise and fall of your chest, your figure strained and thinner than he had remembered you. He knew better than to hope, but seeing the message struck something deep within him. He looked up at Tara, forcing himself to smile through the turmoil swirling in his mind.
“Seriously, I’m glad you got to hear from her,” he added softly, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray the dread he felt.
"Me too! I told her you were hospitalized, hoping maybe it would make her wanna come visit but she hasn't responded sadly".
The door swung open, and the nurse entered, her expression stern, disapproval clear in her eyes. “Ma’am, if you can’t respect the rules, you’ll be barred from visiting,” she said, her voice sharp and unwavering. Tara let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling her eyes as she rose from the chair beside his bed, brushing her hands over her clothes in mild annoyance.
“Fine, fine,” she muttered, flashing Xavier a look that seemed both apologetic and a bit frustrated. “Sorry our visit was so short. This was the only time I could get away today,” she added, softening as she looked at him. “I’ll try come back in a few days. Get some rest in the meantime, Xavier!”
He managed a small nod, a wave of sudden exhaustion pulling him under as Tara shot him a last bright smile before the nurse gently ushered her toward the door. With one last glance over her shoulder, she was gone, the sound of her cheerful goodbye lingering in the room.
The quiet returned, thick and heavy, and Xavier sighed, pressing his back into the hospital bed. His hand trembled as he reached for the plastic cup of water by his bedside. Lifting it with his good hand, he took a shaky sip, the coolness offering some brief relief against the dryness in his throat.
His mind replayed the visit over and over, the brief flash of Tara’s happiness, the message from you on her phone. How easy it had been for Sylus to manipulate your voice, to craft a message just believable enough to soothe the people who missed you. It felt almost mocking. As he placed the cup back down, his fingers slipped, and he caught it with a quiet curse, the weariness in his bones starting to settle deep.
The aching in his chest wasn’t just physical; the uncertainty gnawed at him, hollow and relentless. He lay back, eyes drifting shut, waiting for the pull of sleep to offer him some escape from the steady, simmering dread that had taken up permanent residence inside him.
Xavier wasn't sure how much time passed since then. Days. Weeks. None of it mattered anymore. Dr. Grey entered Xavier's room, clipboard in hand, his expression measured as he checked over Xavier’s latest chart. Standing beside the bed, he offered a polite nod, glancing at Xavier’s array of casts and bandages before beginning his assessment.
“Well, we’re seeing some positive signs of healing. Your bones are knitting well, though given the extent of your injuries, I expect that you’ll be able to start a semi-recovery phase in about four months,” he explained, adjusting his glasses and skimming through the notes. “But as you might guess, physical therapy will likely add at least another two months. And you’ll need to be diligent with it to avoid setbacks.”
Xavier’s face fell as he processed the news. He groaned, his frustration palpable. Six months. Half a year. It was an eternity, too long when he could barely keep himself from going stir-crazy in the bed after just a few weeks. He muttered a quiet, “Thanks,” his hand clenching around the bed rail as he fought the urge to sink back into the haze of exhaustion and disappointment that had plagued him since his injury.
He closed his eyes for what felt like the fiftieth time that day, hoping to drift away, if only for a few moments. But to his surprise, he felt Dr. Grey hesitate. The doctor wasn’t moving to leave; instead, there was a brief pause, then the scrape of a chair being pulled closer to his bed. Xavier’s eyes opened slightly, watching as Dr. Grey leaned in, his face shifting into an expression that hinted at something more than the usual professionalism.
Dr. Grey’s voice dropped to a lower, confidential tone. “Between you and me, Xavier…my team and I have been working on something… experimental,” he began, his gaze intense, as though gauging Xavier’s reaction. “Now, I know what you might be thinking—sounds shady, right? But hear me out. This could be revolutionary for medicine.”
Xavier’s brow furrowed, his wariness growing as he took in the doctor’s words. “Experimental?” he echoed, his voice rough with both curiosity and skepticism.
Dr. Grey nodded. “If this works the way we believe it could…you’ll be back on your feet far sooner than six months,” he explained, the gleam of ambition unmistakable in his eyes. “We’re talking no physical therapy. We’d skip right to complete bone regeneration and muscle repair, advanced healing far beyond the standard protocols.”
For a moment, Xavier was speechless, his thoughts racing. A quicker recovery would change everything—restore his autonomy, get him back to his work. It would mean less time relying on people like doctors and nurses, less time spent waiting for the smallest signs of progress.
And more importantly, get him back on his feet and to you.
He took a deep breath, his skepticism wavering slightly in the face of this new possibility.
“But…” Xavier said slowly, eyeing Dr. Grey carefully, “experimental could mean anything. Risks. Side effects.” He usually wasn’t one to jump into things blindly, not without knowing what he’d be up against.
Dr. Grey’s face grew serious, his tone steady and measured. “Yes, there’s risk. No treatment is without it, especially in uncharted territory like this. But the preliminary results we’re seeing are promising. If it works, you’ll be out of here much faster than anyone thought possible.”
Xavier mulled over the offer, the potential benefits battling against the whispers of doubt in his mind. The six-month stretch ahead of him felt like a prison sentence he couldn’t stomach, a length of time he couldn’t afford to lose. But the thought of unknown side effects nagged at him, adding a darker edge to the choice in front of him.
He glanced up at Dr. Grey, weighing the options carefully.
Xavier stared, a mix of disbelief and wary curiosity flickering across his face. “So…sooner than six months? With my injuries?” he murmured, the doubt sharp in his voice. He tightened his grip on the edge of the bed, gritting his teeth as he tried to wrap his head around what the doctor was saying. “It sounds…impossible.”
Dr. Grey offered a small, encouraging nod, his eyes lighting up as he rubbed his hands together, warming to the topic. “Look, Xavier,” he began, his voice laced with enthusiasm tempered by professionalism, “even if the recovery time doesn’t end up as drastically reduced as we hope, I can guarantee one thing: you’ll come out of this much stronger. Think of it this way—typically, after severe breaks like yours, even with the best therapy, the bones don’t ever quite return to their original strength. They’re vulnerable, fragile, prone to aches and limitations. But this…” he paused, as if savoring the impact of his words, “this could give you bones that are as strong—no, stronger—than they ever were. It’s essentially as if you’d been given brand new bones.”
Xavier felt his breath hitch. “Brand new bones?” The concept was almost beyond belief, a prospect that seemed too good to be true. It was like a second chance, a way to return not just to his old self, but maybe even better. And yet, his skepticism remained. “But…why me?” he asked, narrowing his gaze. “I mean, this can’t be something you offer everyone who comes in here.”
Dr. Grey nodded slowly, weighing his answer before he replied. “True, not everyone is a candidate. But in your case, your natural strength as an Evolver and your resilience make you uniquely suited to withstand the process. Evolvers have a different kind of stamina, a level of resilience the average person just doesn’t have. We believe this factor alone could make you less prone to some of the riskier side effects we might expect in others. Your body is already conditioned to endure more than most.”
Xavier took this in, a strange flicker of hope stirring in him, tangled with wariness. His eyes drifted down to the cast on his broken leg, envisioning what “brand new bones” might mean in terms of mobility, agility, strength.
Xavier narrowed his eyes at Dr. Grey, the skepticism carving deeper lines into his face. “And the catch?” His voice held a hardened edge, matching the unyielding look he gave the doctor. This all felt too good to be true. In his line of work, anything that sounded miraculous usually had a dark side. He’d likely end up a glorified guinea pig for some experimental nightmare and be worse off than he started.
But…there wasn’t a line he wouldn’t cross for you, no risk too great. If the price was turning into some kind of super mutant or even losing parts of himself in ways he could hardly imagine, so be it. If it brought him closer to rescuing you, it was worth it.
Dr. Grey shifted, hesitating for a fraction of a second before continuing. “There is one primary side effect,” he admitted, his tone carefully measured. “We’ve observed a tendency for this treatment to…impact fertility. Both men and women, in preliminary trials, show significant drops in sperm and egg counts. In some cases, the subjects have lost reproductive abilities entirely.” He sighed, rubbing his temple. “It’s not something we’re proud of, but it’s been difficult to address so far. If that’s a potential deal-breaker…”
Xavier shut his eyes, the doctor’s words settling heavily in his mind. The idea of a life where having a family with you might be impossible sent a sharp, painful pang through his chest. He had imagined that life with you—seeing you safe, starting anew, building something together that could finally erase the pain and chaos. To lose the chance of creating that future would be…devastating.
But then his thoughts spun back to you, imagining the worst of what you might be facing at that very moment, and his resolve hardened. No matter how much it tore him up, he knew his choice. You were the reason he had to see this through, the reason he’d go to the end of any dark path if it meant even a chance of finding you.
Opening his eyes, he looked back at Dr. Grey, voice steadier than he felt. “What do I need to do?”
Dr. Grey pulled his chair closer, glancing around the empty room before leaning in with an almost conspiratorial air. “The process is unconventional,” he began, keeping his voice low. “What we’re proposing is an IV-based therapy infused with liquid stem cells—stem cells that are mutated, cultivated from a unique gene therapy we’re developing. You’d be receiving not just healing cells, but cells that could actively ‘re-code’ the bone and tissue growth at an accelerated rate.”
Xavier stared at him, skepticism flaring. “You’re saying this will just… rebuild everything that’s broken?”
“Not just rebuild,” Dr. Grey clarified, “but create brand-new, fortified structures. The treatment relies on highly controlled pluripotent stem cells—cells that can turn into any type of tissue your body needs to repair, replacing damaged bone and muscle. We’ve also engineered them with peptides to enhance integration, minimizing scar tissue and allowing for what could be an almost full recovery.” Dr. Grey’s voice took on an eager edge, as though the science itself thrilled him.
Xavier considered the implications, a wariness settling over him. “Why keep it quiet? If this is so revolutionary, why not use it openly?”
Dr. Grey’s face hardened slightly, and he shook his head. “This therapy hasn’t been through traditional approval channels yet. Too many hurdles and red tape. If word got out, the scrutiny could shut down the whole program before we’ve even seen the full potential. That’s why I’m asking you to keep this between us.” He glanced briefly at the closed door before looking back at Xavier, his eyes intent. “If anyone on the staff asks, tell them I’m trialing an enhanced recovery solution. They don’t need to know what’s in the IV.”
Xavier processed this, a wave of doubt mingling with a grim determination. Risk or not, this treatment might be his best shot at getting back on his feet in time to make a difference. Still, the potential for irreversible effects, the secrecy, and the implications hung over him like a dark cloud.
“When do we start?” Xavier finally said, his tone a mixture of resignation and resolve.
Dr. Grey nodded, a spark of approval in his eyes. “We’ll begin tomorrow morning. It’ll be administered daily through a controlled IV drip. You’ll likely feel strange—minor aches, even slight chills as the cells begin to integrate. But over time, you should notice the pain lessening, your bones strengthening faster than normal.”
He looked Xavier in the eye. “And remember, if anyone asks, you’re on an advanced, routine recovery regimen. Let’s not invite extra questions.”
Xavier nodded and the two shook hands. And with that, Dr. Grey checked Xavier's vitals before heading for the door.
As Dr. Grey exited, Xavier stared at the door, a blend of unease and determination churning within him.
For hours, Xavier lay still, staring up at the sterile ceiling tiles. The hum of machinery in the background droned on, an endless rhythm that allowed his mind to wander deeper into his thoughts. Was he about to make a colossal mistake? Was he really willing to let Dr. Grey treat him with an experimental concoction, to let his body become a petri dish for untested science? A gnawing feeling of unease grew in his gut, twisting alongside the lingering ache of his injuries. The thought circled back like a vulture, forcing him to question if this was desperation leading him down a dangerous path.
But then his thoughts drifted back to you—your face, the way you looked when he last saw you, thinner, sleeping in Sylus's house as if you belonged there. Anger churned, and it transformed his doubt into something sharper. He couldn’t let Sylus keep you trapped. The longer he lay here, the stronger Sylus’s grip over you became. If this treatment could bring him back stronger, faster, ready to take on any danger…it would be worth it.
He could feel his heartbeat thudding, the blood rushing with a renewed purpose. He pictured himself fully healed, the ache and limitations of his injuries gone. Imagined the possibility of facing Sylus not just as a recovering man but as someone better, someone who could outmatch and overpower him.
A sense of determination crystallized. He could become more than Sylus’s equal. His lips tightened, resolve hardening like steel in his gut. His vision sharpened with new clarity, his dreams of seeing Sylus bloodied and broken gaining new weight, becoming less fantasy and more like a promise to himself.
And if Dr. Grey’s treatment delivered, those dreams might just become reality.
#umi writes ♡︎#love and deepspace#love and deepspace sylus#sylus x reader#love and deepspace smut#sylus#lads#sylus x reader smut#lnds#l&ds#lads smut#love and deep space x reader#xavier x reader#l&ds xavier#xavier lads#lads xavier#xavier love and deepspace
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I've seen a lot of different takes on Fear Toxin/other fear causing stuff (Yellow Lanterns Ring or something)(later just called Fear Toxin cause I'm lazy) but here is another one.
Danny seems like he isn't affected by Fear Toxin because his biggest fear is that his accident changed him so much he is no longer human, he can no longer truly experience human things.
So when he gets lungful of fear Toxin, he feels normal. He was antsy before, because c'mon, it's a rogue attack but it's not worse. Or so he thought. Because the anxiety lingers. Not enough to register as abnormal just this slight hypervigilance that makes you see things about yourself and your surroundings that you'd never realize otherwise. He'd realize he doesn't blink as often. He'd realize that if he doesn't consciously focus, he sometimes seems to not touch the ground. Forgets to breathe. He can't feel his own pulse at time. He'd realize people will miss him when he's walking down the street as if he was invisible (people just don't care about everyone they pass by). When he'd look straight into his reflection, he'd look slightly to the left. Not enough to actually name anything that was wrong but just stretched enough to fall on the wrong side of the uncanny valley. If he just caught his reflection in the peripheral vision, it'd be vaguely shadowy creature with glowing green eyes and white smoke instead of hair. Overall he'd be just wrong enough to be distinctly not human.
For everyone else, he'd be just a dude. Literally couldn't find more normal dude than this dude. Will pass as absolutely normal human unless someone is specifically looking for ecto-ghost stuff. Even most magic users wouldn't clock him at the glance
Tldr: Fear Toxin makes Danny perceive himself as some sort of eldritch horror but not enough to make him believe he'd actually be affected, while from outside perspective he's Just A Dude™
#dpxdc#dc x dp#dp x dc#dcxdp#fear toxin#please no Ghost King#nothing against this au but i don't think it'll mesh well woth this idea#probably works best with danny soon after accident#maybe still believing all of his parents anti-ghost propaganda#that'd add to angst for sure#idk why he is somewhere where he could be affected#idk who would realize something is wrong#up to whoever wants to do expand on this prompt#he'd cry when someone tells him he's been in fact affected by fear causing thing#because this means he *is* human and while he was fundamentally changed by his death#it didn't fully get rid of his humanity#but he won't tell that too busy being relieved so whoever delivered the news would be in for the ride#actually it'd be cool if it was someone who has superpowers but they showed up later in their life#parallels y'know#... i may still not be normal about “i wonder what could lie beyond infinity” by Numinous_Scribe on ao3...#top notch fic go read it great Clark characterization#anyway because plot kinda escaped me#hope this idea scratches someone's creative braincell or something#im curious what y'all will make out of it#yellow lantern#have a nice day dear stranger who got to this part
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CHAEEE U TAKE JJK REQUESTS NOW??
if you do, can I request a lil smt where r punishes satoru— letting him grind on readers thigh, degrading him and touching nothing but his hips and nipples !!!! tons of begging too bc satoru is a bratty bitch 😁😁
just disregard this req if u wish!! thank u!!
Such a flirt | sub!gojo satoru
wc: 1.8k+ words | masterlist
dom!reader, marking, handjob, begging, degradation, ruined orgasm, edging, dacryphilla, thigh grinding, nipple sucking/biting
note : making gojo cry >>>
not really proofread btw
Gojo Satoru is attractive, and infuriating so. Too bad for everyone else though, since he's yours.
And you let everyone know that. With the many hickeys and marks that you leave on his neck and collarbone (and even lower on his body) along with the death glare you give to whoever is being a little too comfortable with him, people around have learned to leave alone what's not theirs.
But sometimes it seems that Gojo forgets that himself or rather purposely forgets and then goes off to flirt with someone as if he wasn't already taken. He's a brat whenever you don't pay enough attention to him so of course he's being bratty right now.
Of course, you know he's trying to rile you up every time he does it but lucky for him, you take the bait every. single. time.
So after catching him flirting with yet another one of his fans with them getting too touchy with him, you grabbed him away from them and towards your room to give him a punishment.
"fuck- p-please [name]! i'm sorryyy." Gojo's whimpers and moans are muffled by your neck as he grips your shirt for dear life.
The grip you have on his dick is brutal as you pump up and down at a slow, agonizing pace. Lewd sounds from Gojo along with the slick of your hand on his dick fill your room. You ignore the fact that they may pass through the walls, your anger making you instead focus on the brat in front of you.
You're towering above him as his back is towards the wall, the two of you on your bed. One of your hands is placed above his shoulder and on the wall behind him, giving you leverage and successfully preventing Gojo from running away from his punishment.
Well, it's not like he can run away when he's already a mess underneath you.
You whisper in his ear, his face still tucked within the side of your neck.
"You have to be quiet, Gojo." You coo at him, your pace becoming even slower if it was possible which earns you a pitiful whine from him.
"Everyone is going to hear what a fucking slut you are if you continue to let out those pornographic noises." You chuckle when he lets out a moan when you squeeze his cock.
"Unless you want that of course. You want everyone to find out how much of a whore you are, dont you?" Gojo shivers in your grasp and shakes his head frantically at the thought. But then he remembers the grip you have on his dick and that thought leaves his mind immediately.
His next words are muffled slightly but you can still hear them.
"ngh f-faster..." You furrow your eyebrows and tug his hair back to look at him using your unoccupied hand which makes Gojo let out a mewl. The small pricks of pain on his scalp, while uncomfortable, only add to the pleasure.
"I don't think you're allowed to order me around when you've been a brat today." Gojo looks up at you with flushed cheeks and tears welled up in his eyes. Even now, with his hard dick in your grasp and hair pulled back, you can't lie that Gojo looks pretty.
"tell me when you're close, alright? Don't continue to be a brat." Gojo slowly nods and it doesn't take long for him to get close to cumming, his noises getting louder which alerts you that he's close.
But brats don't get cum so when he starts pleading and begging to release, letting out little 'please!'s and "i-im close!"s, your hand releases from his red dick. Immediately, Gojo widens his eyes and looks at you but you're too focused on his dick and the way pre drips from the tip.
Once Gojo realizes what you've done, he lets out a loud wail, thrashing his arms around like a child throwing a tantrum as he sobs from the ruined orgasm. Tears streak his face as his whining turns to small sniffles and he looks at you with such a pathetic face that you wish to take a picture and save it in your camera roll.
"w-why did you s-stop!"
You give him a grin and sit down against a wall. Gojo watches as you pat your thigh and he immediately scrambles to sit there, earning him a "good boy" from you which makes him blush.
His still hard dick lays between the two of you, desperately waiting for any type of contact. He accidentally moves forward which makes his dick brush against your chest, making Gojo whimper.
His crying has stopped and he looks down at you with awaiting eyes.
You absentmindedly rub at the exposed skin at his waist, making Gojo shiver at the contrast of your cold hands to his warm skin.
"Brats don't get to cum, and you've been a brat haven't you?" Gojo avoids your stern eye contact, guilt obvious on his face.
"So," you start to say, gently grabbing his dick which makes him let out a hiss at the slight pain before you place your hands on the bed underneath you.
"if you want to cum, I better see you do so by grinding on my thigh, on your own." Gojo falters at the mention of how you won't be helping him but he quickly places his hands on your shoulders to steady himself.
'I can do it', he thinks. He can make himself cum without you touching him.
He slowly grinds down on you, letting out a shuddering gasp. His hands squeeze your shoulders as he speeds up his pace a little. Your hands go to hover over his hips, making Gojo whine. He pouts at you adorably, his face flushed.
"Put them o-on... please!..." You chuckle at his adorable beg and gently place your hands on his hips. You give it a small squeeze and Gojo quickens his pace. Who knew that your hands on his waist would turn him on so much?
His hard dick bounces up and down between you two and you glance down to take a peek at it. Pre cum drips from the red tip and you grin, knowing he won't last long without your touch.
He continues to let out little cute gasps and pathetic whimpers before wrapping his arms around your neck and burying his face against his arm. His grinding slows down and you hear him mumble out something.
"T-Touch me please, [name]." You hear him sniffle, is he crying?
You coo at him. "Aw are you that desperate for me to touch you that you're crying? You can't cum without my touch?" He nods into his arm and he lets out a muffled whimper when you squeeze his hips.
The pre cum on his dick stains your shirt and pants as it rubs against it every time he grinds on your thigh and drips down his dick but you don't pay it any attention, not when Gojo is letting out such pretty noises.
"Tell me, what do you want me to do? Look at me, darling." Gojo pulls away from his arm and you notice the tears clumping on his eyelashes.
You caress his cheek and you watch as he rubs against your hand with a pout. He looks so pretty and adorable.
"Want you to touch me, [name]." He looks at you with pleading eyes and you curse at yourself, knowing you won't be able to deny his request. He's too pretty for his own good sometimes.
"Yeah? You want me to touch you?" Your hands give his hips one last squeeze before they travel up to his nipples to ghost over them.
"Here?" He lets out a small gasp and nods.
"Pleasepleaseplease." You shush him with your finger and chuckle. "If you want me to touch you, get back to grinding on my thigh." He didn't even notice that he stopped but he quickly resumes his previous pace, speeding up even more.
Your hands ghost over his nipples once more before pinching them, eliciting a whimper from Gojo. You continue flicking and pinching them before leaning your face closer to one of them with a grin. He looks down at you with widened eyes before letting out a squeal when you take one in your mouth and begin sucking on it.
"ah! s-shit." You chuckle with his nipple still in your mouth, sending vibrations through his body. You lick the bud before teasingly biting it, Gojo's pretty noises filling the room and urging you to keep going. You switch over to the other one and do the same thing, making Gojo whine.
He glances at you, all while still riding your thigh as if his life depends on it. The bored expression on your face as you're sucking and biting his nipples knocks the breath out of his lungs. You leave a bite mark around one, making Gojo hiss at the slight pain.
You look so calm and collected while Gojo is the exact opposite, falling apart on top of you all because of your small touches. He would normally feel embarrassed but he can't right now, not when he feels so good. With a 'pop', you release his nipple from your mouth and look at how dumbed down he is, his face is all red and tears are once again flooding his eyes due to the pleasure. His nipples are red from your touches and the bite mark you left begins to turn red.
"You're such a pain slut, aren't you?" Gojo nods at you.
It doesn't take long until he feels the need to cum. He can't form the words to beg you for permission, opting to instead look at you and hoping you would see the desperation within his pretty eyes.
You smile at him and as you lean in to whisper in his ear, you squeeze both of his nipples at the same before murmuring the phrase that Gojo wants to hear.
"Go on then, cum."
Mere seconds later Gojo is screaming as he throws his head back, sobs racking his body as he shoots his cum all over his chest and on your shirt, dirtying it even more than it was before. He squeezes your shoulders, holding onto them for dear life as his orgasm floods his body.
You watch in awe as tears streak down his face and soon he buries his face into your neck, hiccuping and whimpering as he slows down his grinding. He mumbles "thank you"s over and over again until he quiets down.
You wait a few minutes for him to calm down before whispering into his ear with a smirk.
"Round two?" Gojo whines at your teasing but you feel his dick harden against your stomach and you know he wants it too.
ty for reading to the end! ❤ - chaepink
╰┈➤ masterlist | rules
#chaepink.nsfw#[ ✨ ] jujustu kaisen#sub!character#dom reader#dom!reader#sub jjk#sub!jjk#sub!gojo#sub jujutsu kaisen#jujustsu kaisen x reader#sub gojo satoru#sub gojo#gojo smut#gojo x reader#dom fem reader#dom! reader#jjk smut#sub character#sub satoru#gojou satoru x reader
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One big mistake people make is deciding that because someone they don't like enjoys something, that mean the something is bad
Easy example from my own life, Max who I'm no longer friends with and just... there were elements of a decent person in there once, but I don't think so anymore... anyway, Max likes Infected Mushroom
So my dad and my Mr Dumbass of a friend decided that Infected Mushroom is a bad band and it's like...
Mr Dumbass, you've been to a concert of there's with me and Max and another person (didn't care for the way the venue did things), you like them or at least have liked them... I'm pretty sure you introduced them to Max
They didn't become a bad band magically because one idiot likes them
Like people just lose the ability to judge things on merit when there's a chance to shit on something that someone they don't like enjoys and... it mostly screws you over and makes you look like a fool, you know?
So try not to do that, try not to shit on something just cause someone you don't like likes it
#cause it would be hard for me to say specific people here; but I certainly see it happen#and it's a trap that even smart people fall into#also don't forget that maybe people you like actually enjoy whatever it is and you're being an asshole to them for no reason#like evaluate things based off their merits; that's all I'm arguing for#anyway; in other news Max enjoyed Infected Mushroom wrong#see... he hate anything with vocals (unless it was something like U2 that his mom played him when he was young)#he had this idea he was enlightened for not liking vocals because... well cause he was a snob and liked feeling smart#so a lot of their best tracks he couldn't stand and would skip#and like listen... they've got some good instrumental tracks for sure#but sorry something like Becoming Insane grabs me a hell of a lot more because it actually speaks to me#also like... voice is an instrument... and it's one I have access to#I honestly often find myself singing the chorus to Wish; in fact anytime 'the game' comes up; all it does is triggers me to sing that#'I play the game; the one that will bring me to my end; I'm waiting for the rain to wash who I am'#I'd sing the rest of it but I don't have it memorized other than stray lines like#... well I know it as being like#'I want to - to - to -... and to bring it all back; I want to - rewind - - - - - and enjoy the consequence'#so you see why I can sing either of the main verses and only have the chorus#but nah; Max is an idiot and enjoys them wrong so I don't really care about his opinion#doesn't make them a bad band dummies; one of you even likes them#don't be 5; don't just go opposite of what someone else likes to spite them
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Kurt going absolutely feral if he sees you hurt, you never expected him to be so vicious.
I think sometimes people get caught up in his playfulness and kind hearted nature but can be absolutely vicious when he wants to be. If you got hurt in battle or if someone hurt you in any way, he'd lose his mind.
Warnings: Canon-typical violence, descriptions of injuries and blood/cleaning wounds, gender neutral reader, unedited ignore mistakes.
WC: 1.4k
Kurt loves you so much, and he shows it every single chance he gets. He's thoughtful, patient, and he listens to you whenever you need him to. Sometimes his friends forget what he's capable of under all that sweetness he displays. You do too.
You never saw him go all out in the Danger Room. Most of the time, training by his side consisted of Kurt sticking to you like glue and protecting you. You eventually had to ask him to stop, you needed to try to fight on your own. How else would you learn?
He still watched like a hawk, observing from a distance, since he could absolutely teleport to you if he needed. While the Danger Room presented threats in a fake projection and had hard obstacles, there was no real threat. Sure, you could get hurt, nothing would actively attempt to cause severe harm.
But real battles were different.
In real life, your opponent will try to kill you.
In real life, there are consequences if you aren't careful.
When your first mission came, Kurt insisted on coming with the chosen members for the team, he wouldn't let you go off on your own. You could handle yourself, he knew that. But he still couldn't shake the feeling of not knowing what would happen if he wasn't there.
"Kurt, I'll be fine. You know I've been working hard and I've passed all the tests," you said calmly, while he shifted beside you and gave you a small pout. You knew he was just trying to keep you safe, he cared so much and all he wanted to do was protect you. His tail wrapped around your leg and he sighed back.
"I know, liebling..." he whispered softly, "But I cannot help it. I know you are strong, and fully able to care for yourself." he held your cheeks and smiled at you. "I just want to make sure you'll be okay."
"I can't get any better if you're always there to be my safety net, Kurt." you cooed, but with a small frown. "Sometimes, I need to get hurt so I can get tougher. Or so I can improve my skills. Besides, Scott said I've been doing really good and that I'm ready, otherwise he wouldn't have chosen me for this mission." you added. "You know he can be a stickler."
Kurt chuckled in return, "Ja, he can be rather strict...but I want to make sure you're safe. I won't interfere, not unless I have to." Kurt promised softly.
During the big fight, you were facing three larger enemies. The men held weapons and began to swing them at you, but you were trained enough to dodge and avoid their hits. You were doing well, swinging back and avoiding their weapons, but three against one was hard. You weren't used to such relentless attacks, at least not from opponents hellbent on actually killing you.
In the heat of the moment, you mistook your step, not able to move out of the way quick enough. You feel a fist connect to your jaw, then your cheek, then the center of your nose. You stumble back and feel something flow down your nose, a metallic taste on your tongue.
You get a little roughed up, a few more good punches to the face and being tossed around from the sudden barrage of attacks. You had been caught off guard, as you were used to Kurt showing up within the second to defend you. You were grateful, but mentally cursed yourself for relying on him mid-battle.
Kurt fights off a few opponents and looks just in time to see you thrown onto your back and roll a little from the force of impact. He sees blood on your face and your body shake as you try to stand and recover. At that moment, he looses all composure.
He rushes at the opponent, "Stay away from them!" he snarled angrily, teleporting on top of them and knocking them away from you. He swings his swords and begins an intense duel with them. Hitting over and over, weaseling away from their reactive attacks while landing fierce strikes. You watch from the ground, your pain momentarily subsided as you witness his attack.
You have never seen Kurt so fast. He swings and jumps, his agile body moving almost like water, avoiding any counter the opponent had. If he wasn't battling, you would've been fooled that he was performing for the circus again. He was so elegant to watch, how he moved was hypnotizing. His tail wrapped around the opponent's arm and jerked so their fist collided with their face. Kurt jumped off and let the enemy fall onto their back.
He showed his swords, giving a growl, "Is that all you got, wretched bastards." Kurt spoke with malice in his voice, teleporting between them and knocking the two opponents down with a single twist and kick. When he landed he pointed his sword at them, silent victory.
Kurt glared down at the enemies while the rest of the team with you secured them. He didn't take his eyes off the men who attacked you, glaring and baring his teeth like an animal. He growled and watched as they were all gathered so the team could clear the area. Only after the men were secured did he turn back and rush to you.
"Liebling!" A sudden puff of smoke appeared beside you, and so did he. "Are you okay??" he asked, kneeling down as his hands gently took your cheeks, his eyes taking in your bloodied face. "You're hurt....it's okay. I'm here, I'll get you to the jet..." he carefully cradled you, your surroundings flashed with brilliant purple and black shades, like you were rushing through clouds with bright light peeking through before your surroundings suddenly appeared as the interior of the jet.
"Just relax. I will take care of you, where do you hurt?" he asked, quickly grabbing one of the first aid kits. Your ribs hurt badly, and if they weren't broken you'd be shocked. You had taken a few good hits to the face, and hitting the ground just made your hip sore. But luckily nothing too serious.
"Kurt...m'fine, really." you rasped out, slowly wiping your nose, looking down at the blood that had collected. "Just a little sore...I'm alright." you reasoned with your blue lover, but he shook his head.
"Nein, schatz...you are beaten black and blue..." he knelt back down and gently wiped your face with a rag to clean the blood. He positioned your head up slightly, dabbing a cotton ball soaked with rubbing alcohol. The smell made you cringe, and you leaned back as your cheek stung.
"Ow..." you mumbled, "Kurt, please. I can handle myself," you looked up to continue to talk but the look on his face made you pause. He was worried, he didn't like seeing you hurt. He wanted to take care of you, that was all. He looked back at you, his yellow eyes full of concern and sadness. So you held your tongue and allowed him to continue, even though you were fully capable of doing this, there was no harm letting him.
He dabbed your cuts clean, then applied some ointment to them. The entire time he tended to you, he made sure that he was very gentle. "Easy, liebe...just a little bit more." He applied the last butterfly bandage to your cheekbone and pulled back, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. "Done."
You sighed with relief, sitting up with some trouble since your ribs were definitely damaged. "Thank you, Kurt...you're always so sweet to me." you smiled and kissed his cheek. He eagerly responded and he kissed you back after you pulled away. His tail wrapped around your waist gently and he positioned to hold you.
"We will leave soon. For now just rest...I promise to tend to you if I need to." he whispered, holding your head to rest on his chest. You couldn't fight him anymore, and you relaxed against him. His tail slowly rubbed up and down your back just as you liked, lulling you to sleep.
"Schlaf gut." he whispered, nuzzling his nose into your hair and feeling satisfied with you pulled against him. It scared him, seeing you on the ground like that. You didn't have any serious wounds, but he couldn't imagine if you did. He knew it was bound to happen one day, being part of the team meant every once in a while, injury will occur. He shook his head, snapping out of his thoughts.
Instead he just held you a little tighter, happy you were safe and okay.
Thanks for reading.
*BAMF*
dividers by @/adornedwithlight
Cover Images: Way of X #5 (2021); X-Men the Onslaught Revelation #1 (2021); Way of X #5 (2021)
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.・。.・゜✭・ Pervert
|CW: G!p Bada x reader, corruption kink, vaginal sex, fingering and a bit of cunnilingus, just Bada being a perv and taking li'l innocent reader's virginity
|A/N: part 2 lots of y'all were asking for g!p, perverted, roommate Bada, so here... All in one fic, your welcome 😞 (y'all are wild fr.. But anyway.. I'm spoiling y'all so-)
⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚ ˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆
Having a roommate has its perks; one, you had someone to have you accompany with. Two, have a share when it comes to rent. And three, hmm... Let's just say... Someone who just wants to entertain themselves by fantasizing you. And that's Bada, your roommate and also your classmates on that one subject in performing arts.
She's a very attentive and nice, maybe that's what you thought about her, based on how she acts when she's around you. But what if? She's different when you're not around? Freaky, delusional and a pervert??
She would imagine you beneath her, your cunt sucking her cock so well, juices dripping on your thighs, you mumbling incoherent words for her.. Mm.. That must be heaven, but not really... Unless she's touching you, for real..
Sometimes, if you're not looking, she would check you out. Memorizing each of your details, from the smell of your hair, your eyes to your curves and thighs. Oh how she's desperate to be squished by those thighs of yours while she's eating you out like a starved person.
She shook her head when she heard you calling out her name and asking something that is related to the subject that you're studying. She would stare at you for a bit before chuckling slightly and teach you a bit about the subject, giving you a recap..
"If you need help with something else.. Just ask.."
She said. Of course she meant otherwise, but you're too naive to understand. And that's what she likes about you. So easy to corrupt, so pure, naive and innocent.. Her cock throbbed at the thought.
Compared to her, you're much more sane if I say so... You're few inches smaller than her, have this bubbly personality and fashion style.. You're just in the vanilla, type.. Said Bada.. While she's just.. In the opposite.
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One night, you came back to the apartment, late due to the school project that you're forced to stay at the library for a few hours just to finish it..
"Unnie... I'm back" you called.. It became a habit to greet each other when you both got home or whatsoever. You saw her get up from the couch to greet you... "There's the little rabbit.. Why so late?" She asked while tilting her head, feigning innocence..
You sighed in response... "I had to finish this one project on history so I got forced to stay in library" you groaned as you take off your shoes and she helped you with your bag..
"Ohh... Project, that kinda sucks" she said and you just nodded as you flopped down on the couch, laying down on your stomach.. She went behind the couch as leaned towards the headboard, looking at you intently, silently checking you out.. Even tho you're wearing a sweater and a tight jeans, she can still see how beautiful your body is. And how badly she wants to hold your hips while fucking you from behind.. "How about you take a rest and forget that li'l project of yours?"
She suggested as you looked up at her.. "Don't worry, I'll help you, yeah?" She added so you just nodded as a response.. You slowly get up from the couch and sit, you watched her walk around it and now facing you.. "So.. You must be tired, li'l rabbit.. Hungry? I cooked dinner for us since I expected for you to go home late" she sits on the floor, in front of you as she gently massages your feet..
"I'm fine.. Not that hungry tho... I'll eat later if I'm hungry.." You replied before a soft hum escaped your lips, when Bada soothe the tensed muscle..
"Hmm.. Alright.."
She continued massaging your feet before glancing up at you, seeing how you look at her with such innocence, makes her riled up with desire..
You two were now watching a movie, you suggested it at first after she's done and she quickly agreed. Maybe because she had plans while you're distract. But in any case. She loves spending her time, with you.
After a while, you're attention was focused on the screen. And for her. She can't take it anymore. She slowly leaned towards you, planting a kiss on your head, to your neck. You shivered in response, as to which she continues. But you quickly stopped her when you realized that she's getting too intimate...
"W.. What are you doing, unnie...?" You stuttered as she smirked before playing with your hair as she leaned a bit more closer... "Y/n-ah... You know how I've been wanting to just taint you, to corrupt you here and there. Until you could only remember was me.." She said, until you're laying flat on the couch. She grabbed you by the ankle, causing you to yelp as she pulled your hips closer to her..
You're grown adult, but when it comes to this sort of things. You're completely clueless, not knowing what to do next... And Bada, was willing to teach you more. "I don't... I don't think this is a good idea—" you shivered as you felt something against your clothed core...
You felt your cheeks burn as you watch her grind her growing arousal against you.. "Fuck..." You heard her cursed... "You know how I've been fantasizing this shit and you're here saying that this isn't a good idea?" She asked as loomed over you.. You suddenly feel a burning sensation between your legs and it felt weird. You gulped as you looked up at her.. "Mmn... Just want to take this li'l rabbit out of its tiny hole.." She muttered. Her gaze was went to your face, down to your body. It made you feel so small... Like a prey that has been caught by the hunter..
A shiver went down your spine, when you felt her calloused hand went under your sweater, squeezing your hips as she leaned down, planting a kiss on your neck before gently nipping it. Making sure that you'll grow sensitive and became a mess before she even fucks you into oblivion..
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You gripped on her hair, tugging on it harshly, whining out a moan as she lap out on your clit as she pushed two digits, spreading it slightly to stretch you out.. "B.. Bada.. —" you gasped as you tried to push her away but she didn't budge... "I.. It feels weird... Stop..."
She hummed as she looked at you with her hooded eyes. She looks so drunk. "Mm... Your body was telling me otherwise, bunny.." She muttered as she licked your cunt like it's a dessert that she's been craving for years... Her eyes rolled as she felt your body arched and moaning against her before letting out a guttural moan in response. She soon stopped as she gets up, positioning herself between your legs...
Your eyes widened when she revealed her huge throbbing cock underneath her sweatpants... The thought of that, being inside of you, made you shivered.. Seeing your reaction made her chuckle... "Mmn... Don't worry, I'll be gentle.." Maybe for a few minutes, once you fully adjusted to her.
"I don't.... Think that would fit..." You muttered, enough for her to hear. You slowly move away from her but she quickly grabbed you by the hips and pulled you closer.. "Don't run away now, we're not even in the most satisfying part.." She said..
You let out a muffled whimper once you feel her rubbing her swollen tip against your entrance before pushing it slowly. A choked up whine, escape your lips as you instinctively arched you back. Tears starts to form as the feeling of her filling your insides, overwhelms you..
A sting feeling started to form as you gripped tightly on couch, muffling a sob when she's fully inside... "Fuck... So tight..." She muttered, rubbing her thumb against your thigh as if she's soothing you... She shushed you, as her other hand went to your cheeks, wiping away the tears that slowly flows down... "I'll move, yeah..? You'll feel so good, don't worry.." She muttered.. You clenched around her as a response and she chuckled.. You jolt up when she started moving in a slow, gentle pace. As much as she wants to fuck you, she had to be gentle since it's your first, and also... Trying to be on your good side, so that she can fuck you again next time.
Her mind becoming daze as her hooded eyes we're focused on how your chest rise and fall heavily, arching your back and your hips bucking. The sight makes her lose all of her self-control. "S... So— fuck... So tight... So good.." She mumbled as her grip on your hips, tightens. She'll fuck you good. That's what her mind keeps reminding her to do. Just you, becoming a mess, moaning her name, and became incoherent...
"B... It feels so weird, unnie" you cried. She quickly shushed you by capturing your lips in hungry kiss. Her hand, that was on your hip went to your leg, slightly lifting it up as she starts to thrust in a fast pace.. The kiss became sloppy, drool starts to drip in your mouth.. Your hands gripped tightly on her shoulder, nails digging through her shirt, causing her to pull away and letting out a guttural moan. Her gaze went down between your thighs, seeing how you suck her cock so well, your warm around around her throbbing cock. She bit her bottom lip, almost harshly, it might get a bruise later. You feel the spongy tip of her cock, hitting the same spot that makes you tremble and cry in pleasure.. Her breath became huffs and puffs, words became incoherent, her vision became hazed, gripping on your thigh, almost tightly as both bodies were blinded by the pleasure..
You clenched around her as you arched your back, as if signalling her that your awfully close.. She let out a muffled moan before chuckling, weakly... "Mm... Close, yeah? Mhm.. 'M too... Me too... Fuck.." She grunted as her thrust became a bit too harsh and deep, seemingly desperate for both of you to cum.
She felt you clenching against her, her balls tightened as listened to your long cries and watches you tremble, as the orgasm courses through you. Heavy breathes escape your mouth as you let out weak sobs while she continues to thrust into you, prolonging your orgasm before she pulled out, resting her cock against your stomach. She trembled slightly as cum starts to stream down from her tip, making a mess. Her hand grip on her cock as she tries to prolong her orgasm, head were tilted up as she let out a sigh before stopping..
Once you gained your composure, you looked up at her, seeing her slowly pulled her sweat pants up as she grabbed a tissue on the coffee table and slowly cleaning the mess on your stomach. You can see a subtle smirk on her face, as if what she did made her proud..
After that, she quickly pulled you for a cuddle, her face were buried against the crook of your neck, leaving a light kisses. You're still dumbfounded at what just happened.. You're still processing everything. You just had sex..! Your mind screamed. Bada noticed your expression which she chuckled. "Did I fuck you good, to the point that you can't process anything?" She asked in a teasing manner.
"You took my—"
"I know. So proud of myself" she said, a hint of cockiness can be heard in her voice. You stared at her in disbelief. "I should clean the couch later... There's a bit of blood on it.." She muttered before nuzzling her face against your neck.. "Should we take a shower? Or maybe another round? You know how I've been wanting to do this?" She started to ramble while leaving some light kisses on your skin.. "I love your moans earlier, tho.. I guess I did good, no? Mmn... Can't believe you made that kind of erotic sound, and it's because of m—"
"Okay shut up..." You said once you quickly pulled away and covered her mouth.. Your cheek reddens when she reminded you of what happened earlier.. She didn't remove your hand and just stare at you with those, hungry eyes.
She felt herself getting hard again. And maybe she can fuck you again, in the bed or maybe in the bathroom.
#bada lee#bada lee swf2#bada lee x reader#swf2#bada lee fanfic#bada lee x fem reader#swf2 x reader#bada lee smut#bada lee x y/n
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