#edit: ch 3 pt x —> | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

last-starry-sky · 2 years ago

Text

girl's night out - ch. 2 pt. 3

ghost x shy!goth!f!reader

MDNI - NSFW - MIND THE WARNINGS: 10.2k (bruh), not beta-read and barely edited, self doubt and issues from reader, size difference 💀, fingering, light d/s praise/authority kink (idk what to exactly call this), mention of the death of a parent, unprotected piv (she's explicitly on the pill tho), more domestic fluff, angst right at the end.

[masterlist is HERE]

Repeating my warning hear for all of the chapters, I have committed the ultimate, unforgivable sin in this: Ghost is maskless. So if that ruins it for you, sit this one out.

sunday

Simon was the one who woke you early the next morning. It was gentle and unintentional. The birds were singing outside, but the sun had not yet broken over the horizon. Your room was bathed in an intense blue that even your curtains couldn’t hold back. You had hardly noticed you weren’t dreaming as you felt his breath rustle through your hair and his hand trace over your shoulder in a circle. You let your hand fall against his left arm, outstretched into the middle of the bed. He had pulled you against his chest again, just like the first night. You ran your fingers over the flames between his tattoos, drinking in the warmth of his skin. You were so warm here, warm and protected and-

“Tell you about mine,” he whispered in his grumbly morning-voice, fingers now obviously tracing the outline of the skull and flowers on your shoulder blade, “if you tell me about yours.”

Oh.

Your hand stilled on his arm. His still traced their soothing pattern across your back. You should have felt the familiar pit form in your stomach, or your nerves begin to make you shake, but you didn’t. You blew out the breath you were holding. Maybe it was time to tell him.

“Don’t hav-” he started to say.

“Got it two years ago. For my dad,” you interrupted.

You felt his fingers trace over the round lines of the skull at the center of your tattoo: the empty eye sockets, the nasal openings, the neat row of teeth. You had started to do the same to the large skull in the middle of his forearm. You let out another shaking breath. You could feel the questions he wanted to ask, that he wished he could pull directly from the ink in your skin and not have to use his mouth to form stumbling human words to. Words were wrong, you felt. Unnecessary. You tapped your fingers on his inked skin. That’s why you always held them in until it was too late.

“He died five years ago. Cancer,” you whispered.

“Sorry,” he said pressing his lips to the back of your head.

You let out a shaky breath, willing yourself not to cry. “It’s okay,” you whispered, “It was- he went quick. No pain,” you added, voice cracking. Simple words that shouldn’t have been so painful. Still so painful.

His thumb smoothed over the banner that ran above and below the skull. You knew what he was going to ask before he opened his mouth.

“Wha’s this say?” he asked.

“Memento Mori,” you recited from memory.

“Latin?” he asked.

You nodded your head. “It’s an old saying: ‘Remember Death’. My dad loved philosophy, was always sending me books for my birthday,” you remembered wistfully, almost laughing. “It helped after he was gone to think about . . . everything like that.”

“Hows that?” he asked.

“That we all could die at any time. That all we have is this one life and in the end, we all end up the same.” You stroked the skull on his arm again, resting your hand against his wrist.

“What about the flowers?” he asked shuffling down to press his face into your neck.

“One for my mom, my step-mom, and my brother,” you said with a shiver as he kissed slowly down your neck.

“Which one’s which?” he said into the crook of your shoulder.

“The rose is for my step-mom. The sunflower is my mom’s. Their favorite flowers.” You sighed, wanting so desperately to turn around so you could kiss him, but his hand on your shoulder kept you in place.

“What about your brother?” he asked, “Make it sound like he didn’t get his favorite.”

You sighed, this time in annoyance. “He wouldn’t pick. Said he ‘didn’t have one’, so I asked his fiance and my mom to pick for him.”

“What’d they pick?” he asked running his fingers down the long stem of the unfamiliar flower.

“Lavender. It grows wild, like a weed almost, where he lives. His fiance said he refused to get rid of any of the plants in their yard when they moved into their house, that he would sit outside in the mornings after they bloomed, enjoying the smell. We all figured it’s his favorite, but he won’t admit to it.”

“Where’s he live?” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your spine.

“Washington state,” you said uneasily. You were unsure if he would ever notice your strange accent or other non-British quirks. He hadn’t said anything yet.

“You from there too?” he asked.

“No,” you said. You paused to refamiliarize your mouth with American English before you continued. “Grew up in Illinois.”

He laughed into your shoulder, pressing a kiss to the skull. You blushed. “Thought you sounded like an expat.” He slid his hand under your shirt and down your stomach to press you to him. You shivered against his hardening cock. “How’d y’ end up here?” he asked sinking his hand lower, past your panties. You were reminded that you had kicked your pants off in the night, too warm cuddled in Simon’s embrace.

You gasped as he split your folds apart, his fingers following close behind, pressing and circling your clit. He didn’t expect you to keep talking like this, did he? He only gave you a few flicks of his wrist before he stopped. He leaned in to whisper huskily in your ear.

“Hear me?”

You groaned, clenching on nothing, trying to collect your thoughts from the lustful haze he had drug you into. He was so fucking unfair sometimes and you hated that you loved it.

“Yeah,” you finally answered, “It’s . . . complicated.”

“Don’t mind that,” he said flatly, reaching his hand up to squish your breast. His hands were softer today, but the texture of his skin still tingled deliciously as he rolled your nipple in his fingers. “Tell me.”

You sighed, bucking back against him. “My dad’s from- was from England. He moved to the states for work. He was working for an international firm and they needed a lawyer in Chicago. He met my mom while she was working there too and everything went off from there. Marriage. Kids.” His hand lightly started to trace down to your body again. It made you tremble in anticipation. “When they got divorced he moved back here. Got remarried.” he breached your labia and started to circle your clit again. “Not much else to say,” you sighed, bowing into his hand.

“Yeah there is,” he said, his arm pulling your leg to rest over his, splaying you open for better access. He sent his hand lower to pump a finger into you. You let out a long moan as he did.

“W’as that?” you slurred, barely coherent.

“Why’d you leave?” he growled into your ear. The tone of his voice was sending you. “Grew up in the states. Whole family there.” he was pumping into you furiously. You gripped at his arm with both hands, face buried in the sheets. “Must’ve had a comfortable life. Why’d you go through all the trouble? Why leave ‘em behind?”

He hit your g-spot and you cried out, throwing your head back as you did. Simon took immediate advantage. He curled up his left arm to brace across your chest, holding you, arms and all, in place as he hit that spot again and again. You were crying out, trembling under his assault. Your head was empty of everything except the wild desire to cum. He bucked against your ass, groaning into your ear. His fingers squelched in your pussy with every movement. You were so close.

“Why?” he demanded loudly, almost angry.

“No one else would go!” you cried, slamming into your peak hard with a full body shudder, tears falling from your eyes.

Simon pulled his fingers from you when he felt your tears hit his skin. It was too late though. You were already over the edge, bowing against his back, trembling against him, sobbing as you worked through the weirdest, most emotional, orgasm you’d ever had. You buried your face in your hands after you let out your last sob, ecstasy washed from you and replaced with shame. You’d ruined it. You’d ruined everything.

“Hey,” he said softly. He sat up to loom over you, his hand petting at your side.

You didn’t want to look at him, but he rolled you onto your back and pulled your hands away. You didn’t fight him. He looked down at you sadly, a frown quirked across his mouth. He watched you wipe away your tears.

“Shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered.

“Don’t,” you said, meaning to sound soft but your rough throat made it aggressive.

You ran your hands up through your hair. You sat up too, leaning against the side of the window for support. You pulled your knees into your chest.

“You deserve to know. To hear everything.” You sighed as you let your shoulders rest flat against the window, spine straight. “My dad called me one night. Didn’t really say anything, just said he missed me, wanted me to fly out if I could. That’s how he was. I was in a weird place in my life,” you said with a small huff of a laugh. That was putting it very gently. “I wasn’t really doing anything important, so I took him up on it. I flew out the next day.” You swallowed hard as you thought how to phrase what you wanted to say next. “I knew something was wrong when I saw my stepmom was there to pick me up at the airport. Dad always wanted to be the first one to see me.” Your voice broke at the end, tears starting to blur your vision again. “He was gone two weeks later.” You tried to wipe them away. “Shouldn’t be crying over it still, after all these years.”

Simon pulled himself close. He was looking at you, close to you, not trying to touch you, just still. Cautious. Thinking. Planning. A frown was still cut into his face. “I-I was too hard with you. Pushed you. Shouldn’t have-” He bit his lip.

“I didn’t mind,” you confessed, wiping your eyes on the hem of your shirt. Simon was silent. You let out a breath. “I actually . . . I liked it,” you said in a whisper.

Simon finally moved, resting his back to wall on the other side of the window, rumpling the curtain. Light flooded his side of the room. He was quiet for a second. “What’d you mean?”

You took initiative, for once, and looked at him. His face was lit bright blue by the early morning sky. “I like it when you talk like that, when you’re fucking me,” you said looking up at him with your large, tear-rimmed eyes. When he didn’t respond, you looked away, laughing. “If that makes any sense,” you added.

“So, you get off when I’m mean to you?” he asked, suspicion dripping from his voice.

His crass phrasing made you smirk. “No, not mean,” you insisted, leaning forward. You searched for the right words and came up empty. “More like . . . dominant?”

“Commanding?” he added. You nodded. That was the perfect word, the one you had been searching for. He groaned, rolling back against the wall. He reached up and covered your hand on your knee with his. He ran his other hand over his face. “How’d I fuckin’ end up with a girl like you,” he mumbled into his hand.

You heard him and it made you blanche. “Is that . . . bad?” you asked.

He removed his hand from his face and looked at you. “Christ no. It’s just-” he said squeezing your hand with a small laugh, “That’s my job. Tellin’ men what to do, where to go. Spendin’ weeks barkin’ out orders ‘til my voice is shot. Figures it would bleed over.” The possibility of his voice being deeper and rougher than it was now certainly was something you needed to think on further.

He laughed a short little laugh and you joined him. His hand left your knee to pull around your shoulders. This was . . . good? You were hopeful.

“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want,” you told him, “Just don’t feel bad if you get a little mean or rough. I can handle it.”

He laughed at that, that wide, wry smile spreading across his face. He quickly pivoted his body to slide his other arm under your legs. He scooped you up from the bed with a squeal.

“Oh love,” he said with a smile, “you don’t want to see me when I’m mean,” he said carrying you out to the living room.

He set you on the couch, wrapping you in the blanket, before wandering off to the kitchen without another word. You heard him dump the coffee grounds from yesterday in the trash and start a fresh pot. Then you heard him start to run the water in the sink, followed by dishes falling into the hot, soapy, water one by one.

“Don’t have to do the dishes yet!” you called, not wanting to move from your warm spot on the couch.

“Want to!” he yelled back, the sound of your silverware clinked into the drying rack over the water and his voice. “Besides, need something to fill the time waiting for the coffee.”

“I could make breakfast?” you asked, remembering how much he had liked your slap-dash egg on toast yesterday. If you had time, you could really pull out all the stops to impress him. Simon didn’t respond, probably set on his decision.

He came around the corner with two mugs of steaming coffee. “Don’t want you to move from there until you wake up, hear me?” he said handing you your cup.

“Okay,” you said taking it from him. You sipped at the black coffee, wincing a bit. “You know I have cream and sugar, right?”

Simon was pulling your curtains open, dawn having finally broken. He stood looking out at the empty street while you talked. “I don’t mind,” he said taking a long drink from his own cup.

You just stared at him. He had just told you that you were forbidden from getting up. You held your stare as you shuffled forward an inch, hopefully communicating your intentions. He understood your actions, quickly stepping over to snatch your cup from your hands.

“Thank you!” you called as he stalked back to the kitchen.

You heard the refrigerator open, then your ceramic sugar pot, followed by a quick, tinkling, stir. He was back before you could tell him how you wanted it. As he leaned down to set the warm cup back in your hands, you hopped up to peck him on the lips. He tried to cover up his sleepy smile by turning away, sipping his bitter coffee, but you saw it. You hid your own in your mug of now more palatable coffee.

He leaned against the window, letting you take up the couch. Nothing broke the silence between you while you followed his orders: drink your coffee and wake up. He must have spent the time as you did, thinking. You were wrapped up in plans for the day, which wasn’t much. With Simon here, you only had to put away your laundry and put fresh sheets on your bed. Not that you wanted to. You liked smelling him when you curled together at night. You had been right at the bar on Friday night. It wasn’t cologne or anything special that made him smell like that, it was just him. Even after spending two days surrounded by your laundry detergent and using your shower products.

You pressed your legs together as you buried your face in your coffee. Fuck, thinking of him was winding you up again. You were still painfully wet and horny from before. You had hoped he would fuck you this morning, but things had gone sideways. You sighed. You hazarded a look up and, yep, he was watching you. You quickly turned back to your coffee, about to take a sip but you were left staring at the bottom of the cup.

“Another?” he asked, still cooly leaning against the wall, the long line of his legs making him look so much taller. You nodded and he popped off to step toward you. You tried not to feel like jelly when your hands brushed as he took the cup from you. “Same?” he asked staring down at you.

“Yeah,” you answered weakly, hoping you sounded tired and not desperately turned on, “It was good, however you made it.”

He chuckled and walked away, leaving you to bury your hands in your lap trying to relieve the pressure. You distracted yourself by watching people begin to go about their lives outside: walking their dogs and children, dressed up people on their way to church.

The cup appeared next to your face, almost making you jump. You took it from him with shaking hands and a quick thanks. You took another drink as Simon took up post next to you, abandoning his position at the window. His hand came up to soothe over your shoulder. It was a simple, chaste, gesture, but it made you clench, blowing the steam off the top of your cup.

“Plans for the day?” he asked, hand still massaging over your shoulder and back.

“Yeah,” you said leaning into the strong press of his hand. He stopped and you blew out another relieved breath. “Gotta get the laundry folded and put away. Pick up the apartment.” Your stomach rolled as he kneeled down to your level, his arm curling around your waist.

“Dishes are done,” he said pulling himself closer to your face, lips brushing together. “Leaves the rest of the day.”

You pushed yourself the last centimeter together, shivering as your mouths met. You heard Simon’s cup clank against the floor, his free hand then coming up to cup your jaw. You gripped your cup in your lap, keening as he pressed his tongue into your mouth. You moaned pitifully as he pulled away too soon. Simon carefully took the cup from your lap, setting it on the floor besides his own, before letting you pull him back.

“Si,” you whimpered as he pulled away to breathe.

“Jus’ for a little bit, love,” he groaned, pulling your legs off the couch so your body could face him, “Gotta get our work done first.”

Our work. You whined at the thought of it as he pressed back in to kiss you. You untangled your legs from the blanket, kicking it to the floor so you could loop your knees around his waist. You thought he was going to push you away when you felt his hands on your knees, but he just groaned as he ran his hands up your bare legs to your hips. His thumb innocently rubbed against the lace border of your panties. You bucked pitifully as he did.

He pulled away and looked down. “You ain’t-” he said huskily, turning into a low groan as he saw how soaked you were. “Ain’t no way.” He pressed his thumb to your wet panties, slicking up from your leaking hole as you shuddered. “Jesus,” he groaned, “an’ you said I was easy.”

“Si!” you cried against his mouth, “Please!”

“Please what?” he questioned, his tone turning on a dime, breath hot against your face. He pressed two fingers cruelly hard against your clothed clit, making you shudder again.

“Please fuck me!” you cried, balling your hands in his shirt, all of your shyness melted away. “Want you to fuck me again. Need it.”

He claimed your mouth again, kissing you with a tenderness that mismatched with the rough pace of his hand. He locked the fingers of his free hand in the hair at the back of you head before pulling you away from his mouth.

“Tha’s what my girl wants, hmm?” he said breathlessly, voice hard. You were nodding, communicating all you could as he swirled your brain. You were laser focused on only one thing: my girl. He pressed your face back to his but refused to kiss you. “Then y’ gotta be good and get y’ work done after. Copy?”

“Copy,” you responded weakly. Fuck, you didn’t think you could sink any farther down into what he was doing to you, whatever it was called, but you loved it. You wanted it.

He hauled you up off the couch, spinning around and stomping off to your bed. A stripe of daylight still lit your bed where the Simon had moved the curtain. Simon dropped you on the mattress with seemly little care. You let out an oof as you landed.

“Okay?” he said shucking off his shirt.

You nodded as he stood in between your legs, walking up the bed on his knees to you. When he got there, he leaned down to pull your shirt off. He lay over you, giving in for a moment to make out with you before kissing down your body to you navel. He shuffled both of you legs to one side of his chest. When he got there, he sat up, pulling your underwear up off your hips, letting them slide agonizingly slow up your legs, before tossing them behind him.

He let your legs fall open, watching as the sticky, slick folds of your vagina opened as well. You’d thought you were brave before, but now you felt so scrutinized. You covered your face with your hands as Simon’s fingers stroked over you gently. You moaned as he circled your hole with those two thick fingers.

You let your hands fall away as you looked up at him. He wasn’t looking at you face. He was lost: blush lightly coloring his cheeks, pupils dilated to consume his brown irises, breathing raspy and uneven, he was entirely concentrated on your little hole clenching so nicely for him. It made you moan at how much he wanted you, and how much you wanted him.

“How’m I gonna fit in there?” he mumbled, pushing in just the tips of his fingers, swirling them around your slick, working the tight muscle open. Fuck, why was he choosing now to be so gentle?

“It’ll fit,” you sighed as he pushed his fingers in further.

Simon’s counter to your blissed out answer was to palm his cock against his briefs, emphasizing his size.

“Couldn’t before,” he grunted.

You knit your brows together in frustration and pushed yourself down against his fingers, driving them in deeper. Simon gasped as you did. You squelched as he scissored his fingers apart, slick running down his fingers.

“Make it fit,” you told him, voice hard and eyes serious as you humped against his hand, “Want all of you.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, locking eyes with you. The fingers of his other hand bit into your hip as he held you down.

He pulled out his two fingers briefly before returning with three, completely ignoring your pleasure to focus on working you open wide and deep. Not that you didn’t get anything from it. You fell into the rhythmic pump of his hand, filling you up before twisting away. He was punching little gasps out out you at the height of every thrust.

He leaned over you, giving in again to kiss you, letting you lock your arms around his neck. His stubble was longer today, pricking incessantly at your face. The thought of that stubble rubbing against your cunt as he ate you out shot like lightning through your mind. You were clenching around his fingers, stopping them from moving hardly at all, before you could stop yourself. He groaned against your mouth. He pushed his body up to slot evenly with you, splaying your legs open around him, allowing him to rut against you just once.

“Gonna fuckin’ kill me doin’ things like that, love. Y’ like it that much?” he whispered against your mouth.

“Yes, Si. Just-” you said, pawing at the back of his head. He stroked, almost intentionally, over your g-spot, just as you spoke, sending you shuddering silently back against the bed.

“What’s that love?” He asked, peppering slow kisses across your face, as he worked over that spot again and again and again.

“Si, please!” you managed to gasp out, fingers pulling at his short hair. You let out a long whine as he continued to stroke you open.

“Gettin’ y’ there, love, don’t worry. I’ll get you there,” he said sweet and low right in your ear. It made you want to sob. “Been so good f’ me so far. Lovely girl deserves to cum again, yeah?”

“-yeah,” you cried weakly, clutching him close to your face. Your head was swimming with delicious sparks again. He kissed at your top lip, parted as they were with your constant string of sighs and moans.

“Then cum f’ me,” he said rolling the rough pad of his thumb deliciously over your clit.

That was all you needed. You were shuddering up the bed as you came with a high-pitched gasp. Your thoughts were everywhere and nowhere at once, leaving your head floating and empty. Aware of nothing but what was present, nothing but what you felt against your skin. You bowed up against his torso, his hand not stopping as he worked you gently through your high.

“‘s a good girl,” he sighed against your neck, “So good f’ me.”

Fuck. That had you screwing your eyes shut even tighter and clenching around him again. He was going to be the death of you at this rate. Your hands clenched in his hair again. He chuckled, pulling his fingers from you. He gripped both your hips, pressing his thumbs into the dips above your pelvis.

“Ready?” he breathed across your lips.

“As I’ll ever be,” you said blankly back, eyes as glassy as his were dark.

With that, he pulled away, sitting back on his heels. He looked so beautiful in the morning light. That singular, golden stripe of light from the crack in your curtains, threw a line across his stomach, highlighting the divot of a long, vicious scar as well as the trail of delicate, dark gold hairs running down from his belly button. He looked down at you as he shucked off his briefs. You sighed at the sight of him, the tip was leaking strings where it knocked against his stomach. You were so fucking ready to have him inside you again.

Have him . . . inside you, you thought again, running your mind over the thought like a bump in the wood you knew shouldn’t be there. You shot upright, heart pounding. Simon reeled back, surprise and concern painted on his face.

“What-” all he could get out before you interrupted, wriggling off of the bed.

“Forgot to take my pill! Be right back!” you exclaimed dashing naked out of the room. You were back half a minute later, Simon was still sat where you left him. “Sorry,” you said sitting back down, swallowing hard behind your hand, trying to force the little pill down your throat, “Hope I didn’t ruin the mood.”

“No, not at all,” he said helping you slide back into place, his hands running up your legs, “Didn’t know. Would have reminded you.” Of course he would have, you thought blushing. “Should’ve asked you earlier, honestly,” he added, leaning down over you again.

“Not tryin’ to baby trap you, Si,” you sighed as he nuzzled against your jaw, stubble pricking you. He pressed a kiss over the red marks he left. “Don’t even like it when guys cum in me, anyway.”

“Really,” he said flatly, kissing the side of your mouth. “When’s the last time that happened?”

You blew out a long breath, thinking back five years. Simon leaned over on his arm and stared down at you as you talked.

“It was the first guy I was with when I moved here. I didn’t want anything serious, given . . . everything that had just happened and the chaos of my life. We were on again/off again, but I could tell he wanted more. I always got the icky feeling he wanted to knock me up so he could convince me to marry him.”

Simon raised his eyebrows at that, biting his lip. “Husband material,” he commented dryly.

“Glad I wised up and left him,” you said reaching over to run your hand over the blonde fuzz covering his jaw. He leaned into your hand, closing his eyes. “Told him a thousand times I didn’t want kids, but he never wanted to hear it,” you added lightly, almost as an afterthought.

His eyes opened, flashing to yours. “Same,” he said rolling his head to kiss at your palm, then, grabbing your hand with his, your wrist. His eyes never left yours.

He pivoted over to lay in between your legs again. He scooped up your face in both his hands, tipping your head back so he could kiss you deeply. You raked your hands down his chest, melting into his touch. When you broke apart, you both sighed. Simon stopped to look down the press of your bodies. Neither of you could ignore his cock anymore as he knocked against you, sliding through the obscene wetness that painted you from your navel to your thighs.

He caught a groan in his throat, closing his eyes at the sight. “Wanna fuck you so bad,” he said in a deep, strangled voice.

You stroked up his ribs soothingly until he opened his eyes to look down at you. You reached down, gently guiding his tip to rest at your entrance. The whole head popped in with no effort, causing him to jut forward with another strangled groan.

“Gonna fuckin’ kill me, y’ know that? Doin’ shit like that. Fuckin’-” He cut himself off as he smashed down you kiss you.

They were hungry, wild kisses, that ate your moans as he rutted himself deeper and deeper inside you. This was so entirely different from the first time you fucked. Different, but good. This wasn’t gentle, or just barely so. There had to be something left of his rational, human, brain still functioning right now as your slick coated his cock, sliding and stretching you open, that knew he had to stop if you showed any sign of pain. But there just wasn’t any pain. It was pure pleasure as his tip nailed that spot with every thrust and his thickness filled you better than anything or anyone ever had before.

He palmed at your hip as he broke away from you again. “Fuckin’ hell, love,” he said shifting just a bit more forward, his balls pressing against your ass. You could have gasped. It was all in. “Y’ fuckin’ did it,” he said proudly.

You smiled a stupid, blissed out smile up at him. The light from the window blinding you as it shone down across your chest and face.

“Had help,” you sighed out, not wanting him to forget all of the hard work he had just done.

He wasn’t one to rest on his laurels, apparently, as he was immediately shifting up on his knees, pulling you with him. He pressed his hand to your stomach, the butt of his palm just above your bikini line with fingers fanned out, reaching up over your belly button. He groaned as he pressed his hand down, slowly rutting into you at the same time, feeling himself inside you.

“Gonna fuck the shit outta y’,” he growled, keeping the same slow pace. He looked down at you. “‘s that what y’ want?”

You nodded, reaching for him. You wanted him wrapped in your arms again, breathing down your neck and kissing you as he gave you everything. He acquiesced to your silent plea, setting you down on the bed before leaning in to let you hold him. He kept one hand on your hip and the other slid up your neck to hold the back of your head. His fingers flexed against your scalp as he pressed in to kiss you. His cock followed right behind, driving into you slowly at first with his pace increasing as you squelched around him.

“Fuck love,” he broke away to say, every one of his thrusts punching out gasps and moans from you, “Doin’ so good f’ me. Such a good girl.”

“Si,” you sighed, head swirling as you clenched around him. You pulled him in to kiss you again. Good girl. It was pressing all the right buttons. His praise was your whole world right now.

“Fuck yeah, y’ like that?” he asked fucking into you at a brutal, even pace. “Like bein’ my good girl?”

“Yes,” you moaned out uncontrollably.

“Know you do,” he said leaning in to nip at your neck, making you gasp. “Not stupid. I feel y’ tighten up when I do. Can feel it right now,” he said slamming forward as you clenched again. “Gonna make yourself cum again if y’ keep doin’ that.”

You shuddered against him. Oh fuck, he was right. Even though he was absolutely railing you as hard as he possibly could, you were still on your way to your third orgasm today. And from what? His voice, just his praise?

He smoothed a hand over your forehead, grounding you. “D’ worry, love. I gotcha. Deserve something good after letting me fuck y’ like this, take this cock so well.”

“Si,” you moaned, brows pushed together, wishing you were like him and could string a coherent sentence together in the middle of sex. “I’m-”

“Close?” he correctly guessed. You nodded. “Want me t’ help?” You nodded again. “Nah, gotta say it, love,” he said in a teasing tone.

“Fuck, Si,” you moaned out, clenching your fingers in his hair as he happened to rut against your clit. “Help me, please. Please touch me.”

He placed a quick kiss across your lips before tearing himself away, leaving you sighing.

“‘s what my girl wants? Play with her pretty pussy so she can cum?” he said moving his hand from your hip to just above your sex.

That sent your head into another galaxy. You threw your head back, covering your mouth to muffle your loud moan from alerting the whole street you were getting the best sex of your life.

“Yes, Si, please,” you pleaded, tears pricking at your eyes.

He didn’t waste anytime. His thumb pressed into your slick, moving up and down your clit to the rhythm of his thrusts. It wasn’t fair, how good he made you feel, let alone how fast he made you cum every time. It also wasn’t fair that now he had rewired your brain, you needed him to say it before you let go.

“Si,” you begged, looking up at him with bleary eyes.

“What?” he said, cocking his head to the side, trying to reason out why you were crying.

“Tell me I can cum,” you whispered, embarrassed and blushing.

“Fuck,” Simon whispered harshly, his hips coming to a sudden stop. The room was filled with the harsh, haggard breathing from both of you. “Y’ fuckin’ serious?” he asked, almost angrily. You nodded, bucking your hips needily up and down his motionless cock, still desperate to cum. He pinned your hips down with both hands, stopping you. “Fuckin’ bust inside if y’ don’t stop that now.” he growled at you, jaw set.

It should have scared you, but your sick brain loved it. A red-hot wire of need plunged through you, quenching with a hiss as it touched every part of your body. The sudden turn from praise to punishment thrilled some dark part of you.

“Fuckin’ can’t even cum on her own. Gotta do it for ‘er,” he said licking his thumb, even though you knew he knew he didn’t need it. It was all for show. His thumb worked you hard and with precision, leaving you a babbling mess against the sheets. “Ready now?” he said rough and uncaring as he looked down at you. “This needy little cunt ready to cum?”

“-yes,” you sighed barely above a whisper.

“Then cum f’ me then,” he said through clenched teeth, his thumb pressing one last hard roll across your clit.

You bowed off the bed, flood gates to every positive emotion opening in your brain. You didn’t even hear yourself scream, though you know you did because Simon was immediately pressing his mouth to yours, saying something about waking the dead. His hands held your hips as you stuttered against his thrusts, wave after wave of pleasure lapping over you. If you’d thought you’d had the best orgasm of your life on Friday, you were dead wrong. This one left everything before in the dust. You felt yourself come back to reality as you lay flushed and sweaty against the sheets, chest heaving.

You looked up when your brain started functioning again. Simon was looking down at you like you were God’s perfect creation, put here just for him. He gently ran his hand up your ribs, nuzzling his nose against yours. You knew it was just the afterglow, but you felt so warm. So safe and protected in his arms. He pressed a light kiss to your lips. Like you would walk through hell to have this heaven with him.

“Not much longer, love,” he said, slowly pumping into you again. “Did fuckin’ good. So fuckin’ good f’ me.”

You nodded weakly at him, content to lay back and let him do as he pleased. He had given you so much already, had worked so hard, waited so long. He grunted and sighed with every slow thrust. You could feel how soft and pliant you were now, giving him everything he wanted.

“Lookit me,” he said suddenly, forcing your eyes up as he curled his hand around the back of your neck again. He leaned in and sighed against your lips. “Wanna cum while ‘m kissing you.”

You clenched, nodding as he pressed his tongue to yours. The thrusts of both his hips and tongue dissolving into slow, languid pumps. His thumb traced your jaw, following the movements of your mouth.

“‘s too fucking good,” he said resting his forehead to yours, eyes shut and breathing ragged.

Memento Mori, you wanted to remind him. All things must pass. To all things, an end. Even this thing: the little death.

He pressed forward again, cock squelching inside you. “Y’ ready?” he asked, having made peace with his impending orgasm while you had been waxing philosophical.

You nodded. He did as he said he wanted, giving you his last desperate thrusts while sucking on your tongue. He pulled from you with a cry, the white ring you’d left around his cock making you clench around nothing as he wrapped his hand around himself, working himself with your slick. He shut his eyes as he released on you, painting stripes up to your neck with every pump. You thought he was going to fall over when he opened his eyes as saw what he’d done to you.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he said falling forward onto his hands, including the one covered in cum. He lifted it up almost immediately. “Shit. Sorry.”

You laughed, light and blissful. “‘s okay,” you said borrowing his phrase. “Changing the sheets today, remember?”

He let himself fall down onto the mattress next to you, rolling over onto his back. You watched him close his eyes as a sweet smile took over his face. He turned his face away, but you saw the edges of his mouth curl up, a faint scar above his lip catching in the light. He was so beautiful like this, light shining through his hair in a blonde halo. It made your heart catch. You loved watching him, loved that he was comfortable around you, loved him. You loved him.

Fuck. You pressed a hand to your mouth. No. No. No. No. No. This was not happening. Not with a one night stand, a random guy, a hook up from a club.

But he wasn’t those things, a terrible part of yourself tried to tell you. You’ve spent three days with him. He’s nice. He cares about you. You know him now.

But did you? Did you really? Or were you both just pretending?

Simon broke your train of thought by sitting up, pulling himself across the mattress with his legs.

“Shower?” He offered kindly, standing over you.

“Yeah . . .” you answered awkwardly, sitting up as well. You sat on the edge of the bed for a minute collecting yourself, still shocked from your revelation. Simon was waiting patiently. “You can go if you want,” you told him, brain not fully caught up. You wanted to take back the words as soon as they left your mouth. “Start the shower, I mean!” you said shocked, looking up at him. Oh god, how had you gone so wrong so fast? “Give me a minute. I’ll be in.”

He nodded and walked away without a word. Somehow, that hurt more. You slumped over to rest your head in your hands. You waited to hear the water running before you stood up. It stung where his drying cum pulled at your skin.

Simon was nice in the shower, showing no sign that what you’d said had bothered him. He was content to wash your body for you again, seeming to get some little enjoyment from washing himself from you. He let you step away to wash your hair while he shaved with your borrowed razor. It impressed you how he could do such a good job, not missing any spots, without a mirror. Must be years of practice, years of having to get by while deployed.

You left the shower first, wanting to get get dressed, in real clothes today, before making breakfast. You toweled off your hair while you stood naked in your bedroom, looking between your closet and wardrobe. You really wanted to wear something cute, something impressive to make up for slubbing around all day yesterday in sweats and an oversized t shirt. The problem was that it was still so cold in your apartment.

You leafed through your skirts and pants. Nothing jumped out at you. Your dresses were all too short, or at least you thought until you doubled back to figure out what you had passed that felt so squishy and comfortable. You thought you had put a sweater in the wrong place, but no, it was a slouchy knit dress. You pulled it out and pressed it against your body. It fell to the middle of your thighs. That would work. You quickly threw on your underwear and a pair of tights. The dress, with an extra pair of socks pulled up over your knees, was super warm even as it fell off your shoulders. A set of tiered necklaces completed the look to your satisfaction.

You were putting on your makeup by leaning rather awkwardly against the long mirror in your room, when Simon left the bathroom to collect his clothes. You caught his eye for a second in the mirror before he looked away.

“I’ll wash your clothes for you, if you want,” you offered, pressing your lips together to smooth out your lipgloss. You thought it was a better option than lipstick, considering what happened last time.

He nodded, tossing everything except for his briefs, which he put back on, into the laundry bin. He moved on to your bed next, pulling the sheets and blankets off.

“You’ll have to run down,” he said as the sheets hit the bin with a soft whump. “In no state to be running around like this,” he added, gesturing to his several days old underwear.

You pulled your eyeliner pencil away from your eye just in time to laugh. “Think you’d give the old lady across the hall a heart attack,” you told him returning to finish lining the bottom of your eye.

“The one with the little white dog?” he asked.

You pulled the pencil away again to stare at him in the mirror, which he didn’t meet, then turned to look at him face-to-face. “How . . . when?” you asked. You were pretty sure he had never ran into her.

“Was walkin’ her dog this mornin’ when we were . . . busy on the couch,” he said flatly, clearing his throat and crossing his arms.

You turned away to look at the pencil shaking in your hand. Oh god, no. How fucking embarrassing. You were able to cap it before you threw it into your makeup bag, giving up on finishing that last bit. You decided that you would make breakfast first and then face any of your neighbors that had seen or heard you and Simon for the past three days.

Simon had already left the room. He was pulling a hoodie from where it was doubled inside his coat. He pulled it on over his bare torso, zipping it up before he turned around, phone in his hand. The screen lit his face a cold blue, catching the hollows of his eyes in a macabre way as he stared at it blankly. You decided to not bother him, even as a pit twisted in your stomach, and headed into the kitchen.

You were almost done with the two cheese and spinach omelets when Simon leaned in the kitchen, phone still in hand.

“Your friends’ve been tryin’ t’ contact you. Let ‘em know you’re alive,” he said before clicking it shut.

You slid the omelets onto the waiting plates with a sigh. Simon took them off the counter for you. He sat down to eat, digging right in if you could guess from the fork scraping, while you went to the pocket of your jacket you wore on Friday night to find your abandoned phone. It felt weird that you hadn’t thought all this time to check it, totally absorbed with- You stopped yourself. You dug around and found it eventually. You were lucky it still had battery.

Your eyes widened when you opened your phone. 50 text messages. 10 missed calls. You groaned and wandered back to the table. You threw your phone down next to your cold coffee, deciding to eat before you got into it with your friends.

“Okay?” Simon asked, cutting into his half-finished omelet. Good god, that man could inhale the food. You were already out of eggs because of him.

“I don’t know,” you said breaking off a fluffy corner with your fork, steam, spinach and cheese running out. “I think my friends are overreacting a bit,” you said sliding your phone over to him as you took a bite. You’d done pretty good, if you could pat yourself on the back.

Simon tapped on your screen. A small chuckle escaping from his full mouth as he saw the amount of texts and calls. “Should still let’em know I didn’t kill you,” he said sliding it back to you.

Your eyebrows knit together as you looked at him. “Why-” was all you could get out.

“Soap,” he said stopping to scrape up the last bits of food from his plate, “n’ Gaz’ve been ridin’ my ass about it too.” He put his fork down on his plate, leaning back with a contented sigh. “‘s damn good, love.”

You opened your phone and mentally prepared yourself to open your messages. It felt better, having Simon here with you, for some reason. Only five or so texts were from your friend’s cousin, and they weren’t overly dramatic or pushy. Simple questions scattered over several hours and days. Where did you go? Are you alright? Will you call me back?

You other friend had gone fully nuclear. From early early on Saturday morning to a few hours ago she had sent batches of texts. WHERE ARE YOU????? ARE YOU DEAD? CALL ME NOW. IM CALLING THE POLICE. IF THAT GUY FUCKING HURT YOU I’LL KILL HIM AND HIS FRIENDS. That was followed by several unanswered calls. You covered your face as you scrolled through her one-sided argument she had with herself in your messages.

“I think my friend wants to murder you,” you said looking sheepishly over your phone. Simon shrugged as he sipped his coffee. You began to tap out a simple reply, just so she would know that, yes, you were alive and could chill out, when a call buzzed through. It was her. It scared you too much to pick up on the first ring, but you managed to hit the button with your shaking hands on the second.

“H-” was all you could breath out before your friend let loose in your ear.

“OH MY GOD,” she screamed. You thought you heard feet hit the floor somewhere behind her. “I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD FOR TWO DAYS. TWO. DAYS.”

“I’m okay!” you shouted, trying to get through to her.

“Where are you? Did that guy do anything to you?” you could hear her pacing around her apartment, her kitchen if you could guess by the tile under her feet.

“I’m at my place! Don’t worry!” you said with a huff. I’m an adult. I’m fine. Leave me alone, is what you really wanted to say.

“Did he hurt you?” she asked sternly. You could tell her jaw was clenched.

“No!” you said cutting another piece of your omelet, still very hungry. “I’m not hurt, or dead, or anything. I just want to eat my breakfast! Can I please do that?” you said trying to close the call.

She sighed on the other end. Another voice was talking in the background. The TV? “Okay,” she said, finally deflating her anger. You could hear she was still tapping her foot against the tile though. “But you call me back later, okay? When you can? I want to talk to you. Actually talk.”

You rolled your eyes, agreeing with her, tacking on a quick goodbye before hanging up. You set down your phone and tore into your food before it could go cold. Simon watched you while he sipped on his coffee.

“That went well,” he commented.

“Better than I expected,” you said stabbing at the last few broken chunks of egg. You sighed, tapping the tines of your fork on the plate before you just set it down. “I’ll run your clothes down.”

You managed to run into not one, not two, but three of your neighbors while you ran back and forth washing and drying Simon’s clothes. The college student who lived above you was switching over her wash when you first went down to the basement. She, thankfully, was too absorbed in her phone to notice the obvious men’s clothing you were throwing in the washing machine. The second was the man who lived behind you. He’s a nice guy in his 30’s or 40’s who you’ve talked to once the whole time you’ve lived here. You were walking up the stairs after switching over your load to the dryer while he was on his way down with his own full basket. He asked you if there was a machine open, which you told him there was before bolting to your door. The third, of course, was the old woman with the white dog across the hall. She was leaving with her dog for another walk when you came back with the laundry. She smiled and waved at you, which you returned while trying to keep from turning to dust at the thought of her getting an eye full of Simon fingering you through your open window.

You felt that the longest hour and a half of your life had passed by the time you came back with the cleaned and dried laundry. You just wanted to wrap yourself up in your blanket on the couch and try to forget you had work in the morning, but Simon had tasks for you. And, you remembered, you had promised him you would get everything done.

Not that he had been idle while you were out. Simon had done the cleaning and tidying you had pushed off all week: the blankets were folded on your couch, your shoes were put away in the front hall, your books had been restacked in the window. He was mopping when you came in the door with the laundry basket. He had picked you up in the hall, basket and all, and brought you over the wet part of the floor, sweetly setting you in your bedroom. You were surprised to see Simon had put the fresh set of sheets on the bed and made it up as well.

You sat down on the side of your freshly made bed to fold your clothes and tried not to stare at him while he dressed. He sat down at the foot of the bed when he was done. The space in between the two of you was filled with a pyramid of balled up socks, piles of underwear, and a growing stack of clothes to hang.

“Need help?” he asked, trying to sit casually. His fingers were tapping nervously on the inside of his knee. He really did need something to keep his mind busy. “Got everything else done.”

“Thanks for that,” you said folding a t shirt. You threw it on the t shirt pile after you were done. You looked over your bins of laundry and piles on your bed with a sigh. “Just this is left.”

“And it’s almost two,” he said looking at his phone for the time. Before you could say anything he had already put together a plan. “You fold,” he insisted. “Just show me where it all goes and I’ll put away.”

“I really should make a little lunch. I didn’t realize how late it was getting.” The word late haunted you as soon as you said it. The clock was ticking ticking ticking now. Stop, you told yourself. You stood up and pulled out the top drawer of your dresser to show him what was inside. “This is underwear, socks, and . . . stuff,” you said floundering your hand at the miscellaneous tights and underthings you crammed in that drawer. “Just get started on that and I’ll make lunch.”

“Copy,” he said with a nod.

Lunch was nothing special. You gave Simon the last piece of reheated lasagna and you made a salad with whatever vegetables you had left in the fridge on top of what was left of your mixed greens. He had gotten most of the clothes put away in that drawer by the time you called him over. It was another silent meal. You both spent the time watching the rain pick up. The sun was falling fast behind the gray clouds. For every bit of light you lost, your heart sank.

Simon, of course, insisted on doing the dishes again when you finished. You went back to folding, finishing the bins before he got back. It felt like he had taken longer than before, but you couldn’t find a reason to care. He went right back to loading your socks into the drawer, holding near five pairs at a time in his hand while doing so. You could have stood there and stared at his hands for the rest of the afternoon, but you shook your head and got back to work. You busied yourself with hanging things in your wardrobe. You felt that maybe, if you mostly had your back turned to him, he wouldn’t distract you and you would slowly stop thinking about him. Then, when the time came, it would be easier.

“You read all those books you have in the window?” he asked while delicately layering your panties in the drawer.

“Ah, yeah,” you answered, staring at the inside of your wardrobe, unsure how much of a conversation he wanted to start. “It’s what I do in my freetime.”

“Read and cook,” he stated flatly.

“I know,” you said with a little laugh, “I have a very exciting life.”

“What’s the last one you read?” he asked, opening the next drawer. It was filled with t shirts and pj’s.

You bit your lip. “The one on top,” you said trying not to sound boring, because you knew exactly what you favorite book looked like: it’s black paperback cover beat and bent until the white paper underneath was showing through, it’s pages dog-eared, highlighted and re-highlighted, your own comments penciled in the margins.

“Meditations?” he said, surprising you that he remembered the title.

“Yeah, more like re-read, though. Not sure if that counts,” you said turning to collect the last armful of clothes to hang. Simon caught your eye as he closed the drawer. Amazing how he could pin you with his eyes even crouched on the floor. He stood up. It felt so weird to see him in clothes at this point. He felt so much bigger and taller.

“Suppose that’s up to you, book-reader,” he answered lightly ribbing you. His eyes were raking over you again. You turned around and quickly hung up what you had in your hands, not really caring if it was in the right spot. You just didn’t want him to see you blushing.

“Work’s done!” you said, trying to sound happy, as you turned back to face him.

Simon didn’t look happy. He’d crossed his arms over his chest, looking so much wider with the hoodie on. His face was hard and neutral, but there was a silent, dour energy to his eyes as they flicked from the floor to your face. He nodded, his head wandering to look over his shoulder to the door.

“Nothing left to do, and it’s gettin’ late,” he said, eyes still on the door. “Rainin’ too.”

You inhaled sharply. Oh. Oh no. Oh this was happening now.

“Yeah,” you answered weakly, heart beating hard, “I have-”

“Work in the morning?” he completed your sentence for you, shuffling his phone in his back pocket, looking behind himself. You nodded, watching him swallow hard.

“Early,” you whispered.

You felt your blood slow, pooling in your feet, pounding ominous and slow in your ears. No. This was not happening already. No, no, no, no, no- You concentrate on your fingernails digging into your palm and it breaks you out of your spiral. You watch your hand gesture for him to lead you out of the bedroom. It’s your arm, but not your action.

A gust of wind drove a spatter of rain against your window as you walk behind him through the living room. Darkness had fully fallen, the street lights pouring down their fuzzy yellow light once again. You keep it together while he kneels to lace up his boots. You couldn’t be messy and clingy right now, not after how well you’ve done all weekend. You can’t break down babbling about how much you love him and want him to stay, please stay if you want, please you’ve never felt like this about anyone else before and it makes you want to cry.

He stood there staring at you as he zipped up his jacket. It was a quick, sudden sound. Something that had sounded so much like an exciting new beginning, of taking off the layers that separated your warm skin from each other, of breaking down and rebuilding three days ago now sounds like only one thing: Finality. Packed up. Put away. Done.

You wondered if you should say something, anything as his hand closed around the doorknob, but you don’t.

“Bye,” he said with a nod, turning the handle.

“Bye,” you said back with a shiver. You wrapped your arms around yourself for warmth. As he stepped into the hallway you added, “Stay safe.”

He nodded again, not looking back, as your heavy metal door slammed closed behind him. You reached out on instinct to click it the last bit closed. You felt the vibrations in your hand as the outer door did the same. And with that, he was gone.

Gone.

You fell forward into the door, cold metal sending goosebumps up your arms. The cold shock as you press your forehead to the door temporarily keeps your tears at bay. You close your eyes as you let out a shaking breath. This is . . . fine. You’ll be okay, you lie to yourself. You let out the breath and open your eyes. You watch your tears spatter against the clean floor until your vision blurs.

You should feel pathetic as your knees hit the floor. You’re practically begging here, crying in front of your door, wishing and waiting for him to come back. You want him to walk back in the door, sweep you up in his strong arms, kissing away your tears and murmuring apology after apology. You cover your face as you let out a sob. You want to curl under the blankets on the couch with him. You want to chase him out of the kitchen while you cook again. You want to share the same stream of water in the shower. You don’t even try to wipe your tears away as you fall back against the wall, head thunking against the plaster. You just want to fall asleep to the sound of his breathing, to the rhythm of his heart beat, warm and protected in his arms.

But that’s never going to happen again. He’s left. No number. Just gone. Just a name.

He’s gone.

a/n: WOW OKAY IM SORRY FOR MAKING IT SAD. I honestly had this all planned before . . . you know what happened ;_; Watch out for a poll about chapter three in a day or two!

#starry writes #mw2 #ghost/reader #call of duty #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #yes i've made reader's life just so fucking sad take my computer away from me please #edit: updating the header to match the more recent chapters/my usual style. nothing else is changed!

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sunnydaleherald · 5 months ago

Text

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Wednesday, January 22nd

Faith is dancing and three cops walk up behind her. FAITH: (turns, sees the police, smiles) Hey, I was wondering what was taking you boys so long. Where you been? COP: We're gonna have to ask you to come with us, miss. Outstanding warrants. FAITH: (playing it cool) Yeah, or we could try this one on instead. How 'bout you guys buy me another drink, (hands them her drink) and we see where the evening takes us. One of the cops grabs Faith's hands roughly, puts them behind her, and starts walking her out. DAWN: (stops dancing when she sees the police with Faith) Hey! KENNEDY: (follows Dawn over to Faith) What's going on?

~~Empty Places~~

The Sunnydale Herald is looking for at least one new editor. Contributing to the Herald is a great way to get your Buffy on! Find out more here.

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

BtVS Triple Drabble: Among The Stars by badly_knitted (Buffy, Angel, PG)

Chicken Wings by ineffablecabbage (Buffy/Spike, T)

Unforgettable by storiwr (Buffy/Tara, T)

Hello Again by slinky (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

[Chaptered Fiction]

Broken Lives - ch.1 by Celticwitch70 (Buffy/Tara, other pairings, E)

What Happens at Willow Creek - ch. 2 by Alyot (Buffy/Spike, R)

Brutal Honesty - ch. 10 by EnchantedWillow (Buffy/Spike, R) COMPLETE!

An Enmity Most Engaging - ch. 7 by HappyWhenItRains (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Stories of True Love in Capeside - ch. 13 by CheekyKitten (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

How To Be A Heartbreaker - ch. 22-23 by Maxine Eden (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Masquerade - ch. 12 by Holly (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Spiderwebs - ch. 47 by Willow25 (Buffy/Spike, R)

Redefine the Words - ch. 4 by violettathepiratequeen (Buffy/Spike, R)

Some You Lose - ch. 23 by lyapunov (Buffy, Stargate xover, FR15)

Lessons: An UnExpected Sequel - ch. 5 by amerie (Buffy, HP xover, FR13)

Psych-Out Wolves: The Side Quest - ch. 2 by calikocat (Xander, CSI Miami xover, FR21)

Redefine the Words - ch. 4 by violettathepiratequeen (Buffy/Spike, R)

How to Be a Heartbreaker - ch. 22-23 by Maxine Eden (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

An Enmity Most Engaging - ch. 7 by HappyWhenItRains (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

[Images, Audio & Video]

Fanvid: i'm actually really proud of this by ultraviolencekisses (Buffy, worksafe)

Artwork: Andrew Dump by the-nerdcave (Andrew, worksafe)

Artwork: Image tagged with art, digital art, artists on tumblr by dgirael (Buffy, worksafe)

Artwork: Jacket time by blue-star-charmer-art (Buffy/Spike, worksafe)

Artwork: Good Night Sweet Girl 🎶 by bertolts (Buffy/Spike, worksafe)

Edit: The end was soon To Bethlehem, it slouched And then, must've caught a good look at you by tenderjock (Buffy/Spike, worksafe)

Textpost: BUFFY: i can be meaner. if you'd like?? companion(ish) to this by tenderjock (Buffy/Spike, worksafe)

Textpost: BtVS Spuffy text posts: S6 pt 2 by satinsafefromreality (Buffy/Spike, worksafe)

Moodboard w/headcanon: I felt inspired to create something after reading maybebitterxox take on Faith x Willow in season 7... by magickinthewillows (Willow/Faith, worksafe)

Two Tillow Moodboards w/headcanons: An AU idea (set somewhere, probably, in early season 7) where Tara is still alive and My first ever moodboard (except for study stuff)! :D both by magickinthewillows (Willow/Tara, worksafe)

Gifset: Xander Harris + Outfits (Season 3) by clarkgriffon (Xander, Cordelia, Oz, worksafe)

Gifset: BEST OF BTVS: Willow Rosenberg — Season One by clarkgriffon (Willow, Xander, Buffy, Giles, worksafe)

Gifset: Sometimes is something. 4.19 The Yoko Factor | 7.22 Chosen Requested by oveliagirlhaditright by bangelgifs (Buffy/Angel, worksafe)

[Reviews & Recaps]

The Pack…is annoying! by Glad-Passenger-9408

PODCAST: Episode 87: New Moon Rising by Gym Was Cancelled: A Buffy Podcast

[Recs & In Search Of]

ISO: selkiemaidenfae seeks fuffy s3 au fic recs where faith never sided with the mayor?

ISO: anonymous [seeks fics with] more of Fred and Lorne’s friendship so bad! answered by boopsterliv

ISO: NCH007 is Seeking Scythe — anyone selling?

ISO: PresentationNo1568 seeks ATS soundtrack in vinyl

[Fandom Discussions]

[i finally noticed] in the dark age (s2e08) that the people [in the] summoning/orgy group were... by thechastefreeballer

I'm not even a Xander Harris fan and even I get tired of seeing "Xander Harris is Actually The Worst" by spangelmybeloved

xander coming back to see buffy and willow after he left anya at the altar and they're like "you don't have to explain"... by mattholicguilt

and what if i said cordelia only dated xander because that was the closest she could get to dating buffy. by xaeyrnofnbe and forcebookish

i love it when willow and faith interact they’re both so insane about buffy... by finalgirlguy

[anti spuffy - how Spike treated Buffy in S6] by mortalandstupid

Ask answered: 🔥 tara maclay [when she defends Willow's refusal to use magic] by coraniaid

the "poor Willow is a magical junkie now and it's not her fault :(" subplot [in S6 is actually the worst] by coraniaid

willow's tantrum about xander dating cordelia is a very teenage reaction [but] by comradesummers

I like to believe that David from Angel and Andrew got married. by autumnknight

posts that portray buffy as the sole aggressor in season 6 spuffy annoy me. by comradesummers

Spike's widower arc is so so good because before that he and Buffy had never been together [and yet] by aphony-cree

[headcanon on spike learning how to cook - read OP tags for more] by camellcat

POLL: Is Spike Gender Fluid? by are-they-gender-fluid

POLL: Have you read this fic? [link to Daddy Angelus Chapter 1, an angel fanfic] by haveyoureadthisfanfic

POLL: Worst characterization choice on Buffy the Vampire Slayer by quasi-normalcy

Soulmates - were there any soulmates in the Buffyverse? by November and others

Do warewolves have souls? by November and others

Finding their stride [ATS S1 new viewer struggles] by socialpronk

Is Faith a Psychopath? by PrettyIndependent1

can anyone please tell me why they like faith [anti Faith] by Lazy_Pigeon48

What games do you think Faith played on the PlayStation that the Mayor got her? by Hungry_Walrus7562

Why the mayor would give up immortality, political power, money, influence, and opposable thumbs to become a big snake is beyond me. by ComprehensiveFlan638

Buffy’s death on Angel by lilac_heaven29

Is there an Angel crossover episode for Buffy S6? [no] by tuliptwirl

shooting script clarifies how the curse works [on Angel] by SafiraAshai

What are the best platonic relationships between a man and a woman from Buffy or Angel? by InfiniteMehdiLove

Problematic Friendship [Buffy's friends don't treat her well] by CoasterTrax

Kendra vs Drusilla [fix it headcanon] by Lookintomyhazeleyes

IMDb Buffy Boards early 00s [were you on there?] by HappeeHousewives82

Wesley changed a lot... Whose Buffyverse character arc did you like better, Wesley's or Cordy's? by VTuck21

Wesley shooting his employee in the leg by Good_Ad3485

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jazlynriddle-legacy · 7 months ago

Text

Welcome to your life - Pt 3:

It's My Own Design Ch 4:

Summary:

Ominis fought to control his expression, to keep his hands from trembling. Five years. Five years since he'd seen his parents, and this. This was the reason they'd given him the honour of their time? This was the reason they'd sought him out at Hogwarts?

The bitterness welling up within him was thick enough to gag on.

New year, new allies, new responsibilities, new avenues of revenue, and new aspects of their own Ancient Magic to explore. As the Keeper and their partners enter their last year at Hogwarts, it remains to be seen if the new school year will bring with it new problems or adversaries, but they are confident in the strength of their relationship with Sebastian and Ominis. The three of them would endure, no matter what befell them.

And if they were wrong?

What a joke, they would suffer no alternative.

Warnings: This chapter contains smut! BDSM-y smut! x3

Warnings: Sebastian x MC x Ominis! Drug Addiction! Spoilers! Slow-burn corruption! Dark content! Fucked up 1800s orphanages! MC has no love for Anne or Solomon! Dubious happy ending (it's happy for MC, Seb and Ominis at least).

You can also read on AO3! (chapter specific warnings below)

Notes:

Warnings: Explicit Consent! Very enthusiastic consent, and BDSM etiquette, spanking. Smut, blowjob, handjob and finger fellatio…ing.

Sadly, these kids don't have Internet access to a BDSM guidebook or any real idea what they're doing, so it'll take some clumsy fumbling, but they'll get there xD

Also, I've had a terrible 40hr long day, and an exhausting month so I'm going to take some painkillers and knock myself out for a day. Which means no last min edits for any mistakes that only reveal themselves after I hit the Post button. JOOOOY! So, have fun and enjoy the porn!

Oh and also, consent is sexy and stay safe peeps!

“Now, shall we find out if the two of you have been doing your meditation practices since our lesson last week?” Ominis flashed a teasing smile as the three settled comfortably on their cottage bed.

“Well, I have. And you, Sebastian?” The Keeper smirked as they turned to him.

Raising an eyebrow, Sebastian eyed them suspiciously. “I've done my homework, though I'm not sure I'm ready for whatever you've got planned.”

“I haven't the foggiest idea what you speak of.” The Keeper shook their head with an innocent smile, placing their elbow on their knee and resting their chin on their knuckles casually.

“Yeah, sure you don't.” Sebastian rolled his eyes before turning to Ominis. “So, what's the next step?”

“After meditating daily on the segregation of those memories, your subconscious mind should already be well into the process of placing memories in their allocated locations.” Ominis explained. “The next step is to keep your memories behind their defences without the visualisation of your mindscape.”

“Will they stay together?” The Keeper asked thoughtfully.

“Yes, the visualisation is just to train your subconscious to separate and categorise the memories.” Ominis nodded reassuringly. “After that, any visualisation only serves to aid intruders in finding the rooms.”

“So, we discard the visuals, so that the intruder doesn't find memories in the place they expect to, and then if they happen to venture into the correct location, they'll get ejected by pain.” Sebastian dropped his fist into his open palm with a gentle tap, his eyes wide with understanding. “Brilliant.”

“Exactly.” Ominis’ smile had a touch of pride to its upturn. “You'll need to fill the space, in the front of your mind, with memories and thoughts that distract the intruder, like before. The difficult part will be staying focused on that memory rather than letting the intruder realise that you've caught on that they're in your mind.”

“To give a false impression that there aren't Occlumency shields in place?” The Keeper chuckled, how very Ominis to teach them a method of making enemies underestimate them.

“Precisely. Which means that you'll need to practice shrouding your thoughts with a memory the very instant that you feel someone penetrate your mind.” Ominis nodded, his smile turning wry. “Sadly, I won't be able to help much with that, you and Sebastian will simply have to practice with each other.”

“That's alright, it's thanks to your guidance that we've even gotten this far.” The Keeper shook their head, it was a boon to have such a heavily regulated skill in their arsenal in the first place.

Ominis shook his head with a fond smile. “The two of you are easy to teach, it certainly helps.”

“Well, we can't be letting you down then, can we?” Sebastian grinned and turned to the Keeper. “Shall we?”

“Certainly, would you like me to cast first again?” The Keeper asked, a sly curl to their lips.

“And give you more time to prepare? I think not, I shall go first this time.” Sebastian proclaimed and drew his wand, rising to the challenge in their voice without hesitation.

Ominis sighed, how was Sebastian simultaneously the most intelligent and most stupid person he'd ever met?

“Ready?” Sebastian waited for their answering nod, before flicking his wand and diving into the Keeper's mind. “Legilimens.”

Unlike before, for a brief moment, he found himself in something more akin to a nebulous void, vague impressions of his lover's feelings wrapped around him, anticipation, excitement and curiosity. Before the space around him warped into the familiar path that led into the Undercroft.

He hummed, trying to extract himself from the memory, but it only sharpened with more persistence, hitting him with feelings of exhaustion, exasperation and a lingering disbelief that bled into him as he was dragged through the memory.

It was a rather bizarre feeling, when the Undercroft gates rose and he found himself staring at... himself, though he was flattered by the surge of affection that rippled through him in this moment, along with God, he's so hot, mine mine mine min-.

Which made him at once both amused and curious, so he scrutinised himself a little harder. Did his hair really look that soft? Were his shoulders really that broad and his stance that powerful? Somehow Sebastian felt like the person the Keeper was looking at wasn't quite the same person he saw in the mirror, or at least, that they were focusing on the more attractive aspects of himself and seemingly blind to the parts of his appearance that he didn't think were attractive.

He distantly noted the smell of smoke hanging in the air and he heard the Keeper's voice echo strangely in his body, before the memory of himself looked up.

Oh.

Sebastian was struck by a wave of apprehension, this time entirely his own, when he recognised the moment that this memory took place.

As he watched himself storm over, a strong sense of shock and confusion pulsed around him when the memory of Sebastian grabbed him by the shoulder and slammed him against the wall, feeling fingers tighten around his throat. Oh Merlin, of all memories to show him, was his lover trying to get back at him for his shameful behaviour? Surely, they knew how much he regrets it already...

Though, he certainly didn't have time to speculate, as the sheer discomfort and just- weirdness of kissing himself promptly occupied his thoughts thoroughly. Well, at least he wasn't a bad kisser. Apparently. That was something, at least.

Well, never can deny my boys anything. Especially when he clearly needs it.

Sebastian found himself both bemused and flattered as the thought drifted through him. Now that he thought about it, they had indeed never refused a request, from him or Ominis at least. He would have been worried that they didn't know how to say no, if they weren't already flipping other people off on a regular basis.

Then he felt teeth sink into his lip, the sensation of his own body pressed against him, his airways closing and...

Pleasure.

It hit him like a lungful of smoke, so unbelievably strong. The Keeper's desire and ecstasy, a fire burning deliciously on his lips, his heart pounding in his ears. It was overwhelming, the elation and mind-numbing euphoria rippling through them, almost searing him with its intensity.

So powerfully, in fact, that Sebastian quickly found himself losing focus and tumbling from their mind. His breathing was heavy as he struggled to reorient himself. Fuck- When they'd insisted that they had actually enjoyed the experience, he could barely believe it, could hardly wrap his mind around the idea, but now... Merlin's beard, they actually had.

The vestiges of arousal that weren't his own, were quickly becoming so at the thought. And he'd thought he was horny. Lifting his head, Sebastian saw that heated arousal reflected in his lover's eyes, now understanding why they'd shown him this memory, not to shame him, but to reassure him.

To assure him that they'd truly, genuinely liked it, loved it in fact, that they wanted it to not be a one-time experienc- fuuuuck.

Sebastian couldn’t stop himself-��didn't need to stop himself, an almost hysteric laugh bubbled in his chest- from diving across the large bed to push the Keeper onto their back, burying his face in their collar.

Burning, he was burning with desire.

“S- Sebastian!?” Ominis exclaimed in surprise at the sudden movement.

Sebastian groaned, nipping with his teeth against the Keeper's exposed neck, barely able to think enough to speak, his voice muffled around their skin. “Fuck, Omi, you won't believe how much they liked it-”

“Liked what!?” Ominis was starting to feel rather alarmed, especially at the sounds he was hearing. What in Merlin's name had they shown Sebastian!?

“...pain...” Sebastian breathed reverently, lifting himself just enough to see the Keeper's lust filled eyes, pressing his hardness against their thigh.

“Oh, for the love of-”

Sebastian abruptly found himself yanked backwards by his collar, tumbling off the bed onto the floor with a pained yelp. “Gah! What the hell-”

“Sebastian Sallow! You will not be inflicting any pain on our beloved until we have discussed it and set up boundaries! What if you go too far and cause permanent damage!? Or actually hurt them!?” Ominis scolded, towering over the two on his knees.

“What about hurting me-” Sebastian grumbled as he rubbed his bum where he'd landed.

“Alright there Sebastian?” The Keeper asked, sounding incredibly amused as they sat up to peer at him.

“And you!” Ominis spun around to face said beloved. “You shouldn't be riling him up like that before we've established rules!”

“In my defence, I didn't think he'd get that excited, and neither of you were bringing it up, so I saw an opportunity to make myself clear rather than try endlessly with mere words.” The Keeper shrugged. “Besides, I've survived far worse than anything either of you could do to me.”

Ominis brow twitched in irritation and his eyes narrowed, his hand shooting forward, with surprising speed and accuracy, to grip the Keeper's chin tightly between his thumb and forefinger. “I wouldn't be so sure of that.”

He paused, before adding. “And wipe that smile off your face.”

The Keeper struggled to suppress their wide grin as instructed, shivering at his dangerous tone.

“It's important that we know exactly what you want and like. Even if you can't imagine it, accidents can happen if we're not careful.” Ominis insisted, loosening his grip, and cupping their jaw gently, his brows creasing imploringly. “Imagine how we'd feel if we accidentally hurt you.”

The Keeper grimaced, hard to argue with that.

“Fine, I still think you're worrying too much, but very well.” They sat up properly, crossing their legs again with a sigh. “How's that going to go anyway? It's not like I know exactly what I like and can just give you a write-up.”

“By talking until we figure it out.” Ominis sat down as well, folding his arms stubbornly.

Sebastian carefully crawled back onto the bed, eyeing Ominis warily as he did. “Somehow, I wouldn’t wager that'd go very far, not like we're all that experienced with this. Maybe we could test different stuff slowly, one at a time?”

“Great idea.” The Keeper beamed at the suggestion. They'd been looking forward to the summer break, for a chance to explore further intimacy, for far too long to just sit around talking.

“Not right now. If Sebastian's this aroused, he might not be able to control himself.” Ominis shook his head disapprovingly, tilting his head towards Sebastian. “We should wait for you to settle down first.”

“Er, I hate to inform you, Ominis, but there's no way I could be anything but horny in this type of situation.” Sebastian snorted as he sat back down.

“Really.” Ominis deadpanned.

“I could take a look, if you're sceptical.” The Keeper chuckled as they drew their wand, not waiting for Ominis to reply before casting the spell on Sebastian. “Legilimens.”

Inside his mind was a storm of arousal, adoration, need, excitement, and eagerness to please, to perform well, tempered by a wave of grudging agreement with Ominis, and frustration. The sexual kind. The Keeper left his mind quickly after ascertaining the intensity and the nature of his desire for them, to a very reassuring extent.

There was perhaps a small, secret fear that they'd held, that Sebastian, or even Ominis, might see them as simply a powerful object of desire, as convenient. It wouldn't have changed their love for the boys, but they would have been... sad. And disappointed.

It was... comforting to know that that wasn't the case, for Sebastian at least, that they'd truly moved past a relationship of mutual exploitation and convenience. He seemed to genuinely want to please them, to make them feel good, purely for the sake of it.

The Keeper cleared their throat, as they returned to themselves, before quipping. “Yeap, that's not going away any time soon.”

Ominis sighed. “Fine, I suppose I can understand that, but we'll have to be very careful, and I expect you to try to control yourself, Sebastian.”

“Come on, Ominis, you could stand to have a little more faith in me.” Sebastian smiled wryly.

“Oh, don't worry, I have about as much faith in you as I do them.” Ominis made his statement with such a flat tone that no one could possibly mistake that for a compliment.

“Really?” Sebastian beamed, sounding so pleased that the Keeper almost snorted.

Ominis closed his eyes with another sigh. “I do think, however, that we'll need a fair amount of faith for this. Faith that you'll tell us if anything is too uncomfortable.”

He levelled an imperious gaze in the Keeper's general direction, and they smiled, it really was sweet how stubborn he was about this. “Of course.”

“Bit hard to do that, isn't it?” Sebastian hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should use some consistent means of evaluating each action?”

“We could use Legili-” The Keeper cut themselves off with a grimace. “No, that's stupid, please forget I spoke.”

“No, that's probably the safest option, at least with Sebastian.” Ominis smiled tightly. “I'm not so fragile as to require us to discard the best option when it's at least available to one of us.”

“We could use a number system then.” Sebastian suggested. “For Ominis.”

“Hm, not a bad idea, perhaps I might be able to gauge the intensity from your reactions as well, if you were to...” Ominis took the Keeper's hand and tugged them over to straddle his legs as he lowered himself to lie on his back. His cheeks were warm as he guided their hands to rest on his shoulders while pulling their head down to press their chin against his chest, so that their behind was raised in the air. “...hold me, like so.”

Sebastian swallowed as the Keeper's knees spread on either side of Ominis’ hips, forcing down the part of his brain that was sizzling as the Keeper's position presented him with a tantalising view of their pert bum.

“And we can start with something less dangerous.” Ominis continued, and the unexpectedly husky timbre of his voice by the Keeper's ear made them shiver, they wondered how hard he was. If he was, and they really wanted to check. “I imagine a spanking would be fairly safe.”

“Hm, no arguments here, and I think this feels pretty comfortable, though perhaps I should...” The Keeper lifted their head to press their lips against Ominis’ jaw, smirking when he shivered at the teasing touch, and murmured. “Remove some... obstructions.”

“I can help with that.” Sebastian blurted out before wincing at the eagerness of his own tone, rolling his eyes when his partners laughed quietly, smothering his embarrassment as he helped the Keeper remove their garments.

Setting the clothes aside, while they returned to their previous position, Sebastian tentatively ran his hand over the Keeper’s lower back, feeling the heat radiating from their body.

“I guess, I'll start light and you can tell me how painful it is?” Sebastian suggested. “One to ten is probably wide enough a range, right?”

The Keeper shrugged. “Sure, that works. We can go over the memory later, so you have an idea of where my pain scales compared with your own.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Sebastian nodded. “I think I'll count down, so that it isn't too shocking.”

“Yeah, we can go with that, for now.” The Keeper purred, resting their forehead against Ominis’ collar, and gripping his shoulders loosely while he held their waist, perhaps to feel their muscles’ reactions.

Sebastian flashed a bemused smile at their response as he kneeled beside his lovers. “Ready?”

“Yes.” The Keeper answered, feeling a mix of anticipation and some embarrassment, perhaps at how excited they were.

“Five.”

Honestly, it felt so strange, even to themselves, knowing that pain was coming but not avoiding it.

“Four.”

Not fearing it.

“Three.”

Not fighting it.

“Two.”

Not wanting to fight it.

“One.”

The slap was...

Underwhelming.

The Keeper snorted lightly at the- honestly, the word ‘tap’ would be a more appropriate descriptor.

“That's definitely a zero.” The Keeper turned around to raise an eyebrow at Sebastian.

“Hey, I'm just starting low alright?” He shrugged, waving a hand flippantly. “Safety and all that.”

“And that's good.” Ominis lifted a hand to press against the back of the Keeper's neck, pulling their head back down to rest against his chest again.

The Keeper rolled their eyes but didn't struggle against the firm grip around the base of their skull, it was pretty... nice. Oddly reassuring?

Filling their lungs with the pleasantly minty scent of Ominis’ bathing oils, the Keeper sighed and muttered exasperatedly. “Carry on then.”

Sebastian gave an amused huff at their demanding tone and began counting once more.

The next hit made a bit louder of a sound and had the accompanying impact of applause, but still didn't result in much pain.

“Two.”

The one after had a little bit more bite to it, but the Keeper was starting to get a tad impatient at the slight increment, shooting Sebastian a challenging glare. “Two and a half maybe. Come on, Sebastian, I barely felt anything. Surely you can do better.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, but before he could say anything in reply, Ominis’ hand left the Keeper's waist and came down on their thigh with a sharp smack.

At the unexpected jolt of pain and loud sound, a startled squeak caught in their throat. Their hands clenched around Ominis’ shoulders as he glared sharply in reprimand. “No riling Sebastian up.”

The Keeper shuddered, a heated breath slipping through their parted lips at his firm tone and the lingering sting on their thigh.

“And that was?” Sebastian asked as he leaned to the side, peering at the Keeper’s flushed face with an amused grin.

“Fi- four.” The Keeper murmured, trying to savour the little shot of adrenaline they’d just gotten from the quickly fading sensation. Though they weren't quite sure if they were more aroused by the pain or the shock or Ominis’ tone or words. Or perhaps it was all of them in combination? A question to ponder upon, they supposed.

“Damn, Omi. I'm impressed.” Sebastian snickered. “And someone said I have no self-control."

Ominis promptly smacked him on the thigh too.

“Hey! Wrong target!” Sebastian complained, pressing a hand against his stinging thigh sourly.

Ominis rubbed his forehead tiredly, a breath hissing through his clenched teeth.

“Not fair, I want another one too.” The Keeper purred, parting their lips to drag their tongue up along the tempting pale skin of his neck, feeling his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly.

“Maybe later... if you behave.” Ominis replied, his voice deep and with a dry rasp, as well as a slightly hesitant tremble to it that belied his attempt to sound confident and authoritative.

A sharp grin spread across the Keeper's face, he was getting there. They lowered their forehead back down to Ominis’ collarbone, peering up at Sebastian from the corner of their eye teasingly. “Well, think you can match that, Seb?”

Sebastian snorted and without warning, he brought his palm down on their bum once more.

That got another small, startled sound, but not quite as strong of an adrenaline jolt, the Keeper noticed curiously, despite the pain being about the same intensity. Would it happen again if the pain increased further?

“Was that the same?” Sebastian asked, rubbing his palm against the warming skin.

“Yeah, four as well.” The Keeper nodded, their anticipation returning with a vengeance. “Keep going, I can take more.”

“I'll take it that no counting is better?” Sebastian checked.

“Yeah, I think so.” The Keeper closed their eye and nuzzled their nose against the soft fabric of Ominis’ sleeping wear.

“Alright.” Sebastian grinned, quite eager to see if he could one-up Ominis’ results.

Taking a breath, Sebastian drew his hand back further for another slap. This one landed with more sound than impact and he hummed curiously. “How much was that one?”

“Still four.” The Keeper replied.

So, distance increased the sound but not the impact. Sebastian nodded to himself. “Alright, I'll try this instead then.”

This time, Sebastian positioned himself at a slight angle, raising his hand to the same height but using more strength. When his slap connected, the Keeper felt themselves pushed forward slightly by the impact, a soft but high sound squeezing from their throat at the biting sensation.

“How was that?” Sebastian asked, admiring the palm shaped flush blooming on the round curve of their bottom.

“Fi...ve, probably.” The Keeper breathed, shifting their knees, feeling the itch to rub themselves against Ominis but settling for pressing their face against his throat again. Yeap, the adrenaline was back.

“Still want it higher?” Sebastian adjusted his position again, deciding to give the other cheek some attention.

“Of course.” The Keeper scoffed, trembling slightly from the anticipation, the sting was lingering longer this time, and it was exhilarating somehow. Knowing that an even sharper pain was coming and not knowing when it would be, when they should be braced for-

The slap on the yet untouched side of their arse caught the Keeper off guard and a surprised moan left their lips. “Fuc-”

The burn was spreading up their back and down their legs like a splash of hot water, stinging as it did, and making their muscles spasm. For a split second, they were back in that dark, dirty, disgusting room, trembling in fear on the cold, rancid floor, their skin caked with a mixture of ash and drying blood, their lungs filled with tobacco smoke, their ears ringing with scathing voices and the sound of crying. Waiting, waiting for Matron's next blow, when a gentle voice cut through their disorientation.

“Love, was that too much?” Ominis’ warm hand was cupping their cheek and brushing away a tear with his thumb.

Ah. The Keeper felt a strange feeling overtake them, the contrast between the painful memories and the softness and love in his tone, the feeling of Sebastian's hand soothing the inflamed and stinging skin he'd struck. New associations mingling with old ones in a slurry that was scrambling their insides. It was heady, not unlike the satisfaction they'd get when grinding a shrunken spider under their heel. When slamming an Ashwinder into the ground and hearing the crunch of their bones breaking.

That rush of power, the assurance that they were no longer that weak vulnerable child, that they now had the upper hand, had the strength to overpower others. And now... the knowledge that this was for them, the pain they were feeling was theirs, theirs to control. That they had power over Sebastian and Ominis right now, that if they said they were done, the boys would stop.

Again. They wanted more, the disorienting high was already beginning to fade, and they wanted more of it.

“Maybe we should sto-” Ominis began worriedly.

“No, more.” The Keeper shook their head drunkenly, tilting their face to the side to take Ominis’ fingers into their mouth without much thought. Curling their tongue around his index and middle fingers, pulling them into their mouth and suckling on them.

Ominis choked on his next breath, the wet sound of their saliva and that moist heat around his sensitive digits made his brain grind to a halt and immediately begin melting. Struggling to think through the sheer arousal throbbing through his body as he felt the soft muscle slide into the space between his fingers to lap at the sensitive webbing of his palm.

“Num- number.” Shivering at the sensation, Ominis cleared his dry throat. “What number was that?”

The Keeper groaned around the slender, elegant fingers that they were worshipping, revelling in the tremble in his voice, they'd put that there. Lost in their victory, it took them a moment before they could process the question and they slurped the excess saliva before relinquishing those long fingers momentarily to answer.

“S- six. Maybe, or... or seven.” The Keeper murmured in a daze, before following that up with the more important message they needed to convey. “More, Seb.”

Sebastian, who had frozen up completely for fear that he'd gone too far, the word ‘no’ terrifying him for a split second, before he'd quickly sagged in relief when he realised it was a plea for more. He chuckled wryly. They really were a lot hornier than he'd given them credit for.

Not that he was complaining. Though, while he was tempted to just give them what they were asking for, the shock of fear that’d hit him seemed to have cleared his mind somewhat, and there was a small voice in his head, that sounded suspiciously like Ominis, telling him that they should probably figure out some better way of doing this to prevent himself, or Ominis, from going overboard with the Keeper. Some sort of quick and clear signal or something like that.

He looked at Ominis, whose fingers were back in the Keeper's mouth and being enthusiastically felatioed once more. Quickly, he determined from the blond's flushed cheeks and hazy eyes, that his brain had likely taken a hike too. Which meant that Sebastian was currently the most responsible person in the room.

That was probably not a good sign.

“Um, I think we probably shouldn't-” Sebastian began, flinching slightly at the glare the Keeper shot him from the corner of their eye. He took a breath, no no no, this was too important, he wasn't going to fuck up again, he had to stand his ground here. “I think we should probably... talk before going any further.”

His words seemed to snap Ominis out of it some, and the blond shook his head. “Yes, he- Sebastian's correct. We shouldn't-”

The Keeper growled, letting the fingers slip from their mouth again. “It's fine, I can take it. Just-”

“No. None of us are in the condition to continue nor discuss-” Ominis shook his head stubbornly, trying to sit up and the Keeper groaned in frustration. They just wanted- bloody worrywarts, arrrrrgh, fine.

“Fine.” The Keeper grumbled, shoving Ominis back down onto the bed and shimmying down to straddle his calves.

Before either boy could do more than make confused sounds, the Keeper's left hand had shot out to grab the loose hem of Sebastian's pyjama pants and pulled it down, along with his undergarments. Proceeding then to swiftly do the same to Ominis’, and in less than a minute, the Keeper was taking Ominis’ length into their mouth while wrapping their fingers around Sebastian's as well.

“Wai-” Ominis gasped, clenching his fists in the blanket, as his neglected hardness was abruptly engulfed in the delicious warmth that his still tingling fingers had been in a moment ago. A choked moan left his lips, bloody hell this little- “You-”

“If we need clear heads, let's get there so we can get back to the spanking.” The Keeper lifted their head to explain, before taking Ominis into their mouth again, dragging their tongue along his glans to ensure that he lost his words once more and couldn’t protest.

Sebastian’s laugh was cut off by a deep groan when they thumbed at his tip, yeah, that did make sense. Merlin's balls, he'd forgotten how good their lover was at sex. How in Salazar's name were they even able to pay attention to the two boys at the same time so wel- Sebastian caught the thought before it finished, the answer wasn't exactly a mystery, and he didn't want to think about that right now. That was a sure-fire way to go soft real quick.

Fortunately, the light scratch of their nail along the sensitive flesh of his crown was doing an excellent job of catching his attention, though Sebastian wasn't entirely sure what to do with his hands now. At least for a split second, until Ominis let out a shaky moan when the Keeper tongued his slit, and Sebastian looked over at him.

Ah. Sebastian shivered at the sight of Ominis lying on the blanket, his blond hair splayed over the cloth like a halo, his nightshirt rumpled, with his midriff peeking out under the fabric, a fist clenched in the bedding and the other arm draped over his eyes, as though to hide his expression. Oh no you don't.

Placing a hand on the Keeper's, so they wouldn't accidentally pull on his dick painfully at the movement, Sebastian shuffled over to kneel beside Ominis, bracing a hand on the bed and pulling the blond's arm aside.

“Seb-” Ominis murmured, taking a trembling breath through his parted lips and Sebastian needed no further invitation.

Dipping his head, Sebastian captured those plush lips, feeling Ominis’ clever tongue curl around his own as the Keeper adjusted their grip on Sebastian and continued their ministrations, each stroke making his breath catch as pleasure danced along his spine.

Compelled by the need to touch, Sebastian slipped his hand under Ominis’ shirt, his heart pounding at the silky and soft skin against his calloused fingers. While the blond's elegant fingers threaded into his brown locks and tightened in his hair, dragging a deep groan from Sebastian's throat as the ache on his scalp slithered down his spine.

A small huff of amusement escaped Sebastian when he felt Ominis’ other hand slide up under his shirt as well, leaving a trail of fire along his abdomen, naturally, the sneaky twerp immediately went for his weak spot. Rubbing the warm pad of his thumb against Sebastian’s nipple and sending pulses of heat throbbing through his chest and down past his heart to tighten the coil of lust between his hips.

Slipping a groan between Ominis’ lips, Sebastian slid his palm down the blond's chest, retaliating by squeezing the soft flesh lightly on his way, before dipping his middle finger into the indentation of Ominis’ navel, delighted when Ominis’ fingers faltered in their assault. Circling the dip with his finger curiously, Sebastian scratched lightly at the sensitive epicentre where Ominis’ skin folded inwards into his body.

To his surprise, Ominis made a muffled moan against his mouth, clutching at Sebastian's arms, inhaling sharply, and tensing up, before sagging against the bed and parting his lips from Sebastian's to pant and gasp for air.

Ah, he's so beautiful. Sebastian felt himself throb with desire at the dishevelled state of his blind lover, he'd never tire of the sight of those half-lidded glassy eyes and that fair skin of his flushed red with ecstasy as he basked in the afterglow.

“Your turn.” The Keeper's voice drew his attention and Sebastian felt his throat go dry when he met their heated gaze, watching as they dragged their tongue along the softening flesh slipping from their lips, making Ominis’ breath catch from overstimulation.

Sebastian grinned when the Keeper straightened, before wrapping their freed hand in his shirt and pulling him towards them, while he tilted his head to the side willingly and parted his lips in invitation. Their lips met and Sebastian groaned into their mouth when the Keeper's tongue slipped into his, tasting Ominis’ seed as they danced with him while his hand cupped their jaw and the other wandered over their thigh.

The feverish heat of their skin, the firm muscles flexing under his palm and the sensation of their fingers slipping under his shirt to torment his reddened nipples again. He couldn’t begin to tell where his love began, and lust ended.

He distantly heard Ominis sitting up, and gasped when the Keeper's grip on his erection tightened. Opening his eyes slightly to see what had garnered that reaction, Sebastian felt his arousal spike at the sight of Ominis lapping at the Keeper’s nipple, while his fingers stroked the arousal between their spread knees, before closing his lips around the soft bud and suckling.

The Keeper released an absolutely delicious sound, as their head fell back, separating their lips, and Sebastian felt his hunger intensify. Unable to resist the opening, he leaned forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to their bared throat, sucking the flesh into his mouth and lightly gnawing on soft skin.

Under assault from both sides, the Keeper's movements along his length faltered, and Sebastian moved his hand from their thigh to cover their hand with his own. Holding their hand in place, he began thrusting with his hips into their grip instead, allowing them to freely enjoy the attention they were receiving from the two boys.

A groan of relief escaped his lips as Sebastian rutted eagerly into the soft heat around him, his ears throbbing with the wet sounds of Ominis’ suckling, the feeling of the Keeper's body trembling, desperate gasps squeezing past their throat, fluttering against his lips, their heartbeat against his tongue. The slick fluid oozing from his tip smeared along the Keeper's palm, creating a tantalising and sticky warmth for him to thrust into.

With how aroused Sebastian had been this whole time, he wasn't surprised when his climax began to peak aggressively. His breath caught as a muffled moan escaped around the bite of flesh that his teeth were clamped over as he came in their grip, spurting his spend against the Keeper's thigh. Pumping his hips a few more times to savour that sweet release, he finally released his mouthful to take a large gulp of air as he softened in their hand.

Almost on instinct, he lifted the Keeper’s hand to his lips and began to lap at the seed that had soiled it, cleaning their fingers with his tongue. He felt them shudder as he took their fingers into his mouth, before the Keeper pressed two of their fingers down on his tongue, pushing them past and deeper, wandering into his throat. Brain too fogged over to question it, Sebastian simply relaxed his jaw and tried not to gag, allowing them to do whatever they wished.

He had no idea how that looked or felt to the Keeper, but whatever it was, it was apparently good. Good enough for them to cum against Ominis’ hand with a moan and Sebastian sucked on their fingers as they withdrew from his mouth.

Releasing the Keeper's swollen nipple from his lips with a wet pop, Ominis gave a sigh, wrapping his arms around their waist and resting his cheek against their chest. “You'll be the death of me.”

“You're the one insisting on having a clear head.” The Keeper chuckled breathlessly, and Sebastian distantly noticed a series of bite marks on their chest as he dropped backwards to lie on his back with a contented sigh. Merlin, how'd he miss Ominis leaving those?

“Right, like you weren't equally as eager.” Ominis gave an exasperated huff. “I'm starting to think you just like having my... well, in your mouth.”

“And if I do?” The Keeper purred teasingly, trailing a damp finger along Ominis’ jaw.

“Then we can talk about that another time.” Ominis shook his head exasperatedly, otherwise they might end up in a round two instead of talking. Picking his wand up from where he'd dropped it on the bed, he gave it a swish to vanish any fluids away before they dirtied the bed. Salazar save him, his partners were so horny.

Rolling their eyes, the Keeper stretched lightly before easing themselves onto the bed to lie down beside Sebastian, on their front, curiously aware of the skin of their bum stretching as they did so. They were admittedly feeling a little tired, perhaps their exertion with Macnair this afternoon was catching up to them.

The Keeper hummed contentedly as Ominis followed them, lying on his side and pressing a kiss to their shoulder, tentatively rubbing at their tender bottom, his warm hand soothing against their skin as they asked. “So, what did we need to talk about?”

“Er.” Sebastian began, his brain still sluggishly trying to start up again while still swimming in the afterglow of orgasm. “Right.”

Propping themselves up on their elbows, the Keeper gazed at his dazed expression with affection. Cute.

Skin prickling under their attention and palpable bemusement, Sebastian mentally backtracked for a moment. “Ah, that's right. You said, ‘no more’.”

The Keeper frowned. “I what!? When?”

“When I suggested that we should stop.” Ominis answered instead, eyes narrowing in concern.

“Oh, come on, I meant ‘no, I want more’.” The Keeper groaned, planting their face into the blanket.

“Yeah, no, I did get that, it just took a moment.” Sebastian shook his head, rushing to clarify. “So, I kind of felt like it might be good to have- well, some sort of signal? I don't know, a quick and easy way to check each other's, okay...ness.”

“That's... actually quite brilliant.” Ominis smiled, admiration plain in his voice, and Sebastian felt his chest swell with pride.

“A signal... code words in essence, I suppose.” The Keeper’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “One for ‘stop’, and one for ‘continue’?”

Sebastian nodded while Ominis added. “And one more for ‘slow down’ would probably be good too. In case one of us needs a moment or has something to say.”

The Keeper nodded in agreement. “Yeah, that'd be good. So, we have three signals that we need words for.”

“It should probably be something easy to remember, but unlikely for us to randomly need to use...” Ominis murmured distantly.

A few moments of silence passed, before Sebastian suggested. “How about colours?”

“That could work. We're not likely to speak of colours, I should think.” Ominis smiled wryly. “Unless either of you are describing this one's arse.”

The Keeper squeaked in surprise when he pinched the skin of their bum, their face going red when Sebastian burst into laughter, barely getting the words out between his gasps for air. “Great, red for ‘stop’ then.”

“Ugh, then I vote green for ‘continue’, since all we'd need is a wiggenweld to get rid of any red.” The Keeper grumbled, grabbing Ominis by the nape and wiping the smirk from his lips with their own.

“Guess that just leaves ‘slow down’.” Sebastian grinned as the Keeper conquered the blond's mouth, drawing sounds from Ominis that made Sebastian's softened length perk up again in interest.

Ominis’ breath was heated as the Keeper withdrew their assault ever so slightly to speak, while he gasped for oxygen. “What does red and green make when mixed?”

“Yellow?” Sebastian frowned.

“It's brown.” Ominis huffed against the Keeper's lips, swallowing thickly before continuing in a dry tone. “Why is my colour theory the best here? I'm blind.”

“I think I prefer yellow.” The Keeper purred, bumping noses affectionately with Ominis. “Yellow... like a fading bruise. You'll leave some on my skin, won't you love?”

Shivering at their words, Ominis’ brain flooded with heat at the thought of leaving bruises on the Keeper, the idea of them desiring it, desiring him, getting off on placing themselves at his mercy, on trusting their body to him, utterly. “You unbelievable minx...”

Sebastian lay on his side, his head propped up on a hand, leisurely watching as Ominis grabbed the Keeper by the wrists, pinning them on the bed and leaning down to nip at their jaw as he loomed over them, his hair completely dishevelled and not seeming to care much on this occasion.

Scoffing at the Keeper’s gloating giggles, Sebastian shook his head. “And you guys say I'm the horny one.”

Notes:

Hopefully, I've illustrated how easy misunderstandings can occur and the importance of safe words xD

I would say that the three of them should have discussed more details and done some research, still their excuse is; flying blind without the Internet in a time where you can't exactly find a BDSM book in the library, BUT unlike them, we in the real world have no excuse for being under-researched or ignorant of BDSM guidelines and etiquette!

So, do your research! Fanfics are not a BDSM rulebook, but if you're interested in BDSM and are unsure where to start, feel free to ask in the comments and I'll direct you to good places to begin research! (Also, I'm realising now, that the Keeper totally has an oral fixation-)

Since everyone's voice sounds different to themselves compared to how they sound to others due to the reverb in our bones, it would stand to reason that the Keeper's voice would sound strange to Sebastian in their memory, coming from the inside of their own body. In all honesty I don't remember how memories were written in Harry Potter and can't be bothered to reread, so here's my interpretation and I don't know how accurate it is, but it made sense in my brain.

There's also a thing, in my opinion, that when you love someone, they become more beautiful than the most objectively or societally ‘beautiful’ person on the planet. Everything that makes them ‘them’ becomes beautiful or adorable. My partner is fucking gorgeous, fight me. Sebastian, I think, is the type who would agree, people worthy of respect are hot. Big demisexual pansexual energy there, same for the Keeper.

I feel like I'm writing Sebastian as a bit of a service... person, not necessarily dom or sub, maybe service sub? In all honesty human beings are a little more complex than top or bottom, you know? Especially since subs actually have a lot more power in BDSM than doms so. Us doms just get the illusion of being in control x') I just see Sebastian as the kind of guy who likes to please when he's very attached to someone, likes praise, very competitive (maybe a little from having a twin?) and all that. Neglected kid etc.

The Keeper's also very much a brat with Ominis xP I think it's because they trust their boys more and so the Keeper has been more relaxed, more willing to prod and get playful. Very much a powerplay kink there. Ominis, on the other hand, strikes me as both a controlling dom and a bit of a princess sub.

Also, a small, teeny, tiny detail that might have been missed, Sebastian has reached a point of emotional recovery where he's actually able to engage in sexual activities in the Feldcroft cottage, unlike before, where the traumatic memories were too overwhelming.

Admittedly it's a little on the fast side. In reality overcoming mental-emotional associations with locations could take anywhere from a year to a lifetime, but it's fiction and fiction tends to be extreme or exaggerated, so sue me xP

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #gender neutral mc #mc x sebastian sallow #mc x ominis gaunt #sebastian x ominis #sebastian x ominis x mc #hogwarts legacy fandom #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #fanfic #jazlr welcome to your life #jazlr #lgbtqia #nonbinary #hogwarts legacy smut #smut

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choicesficwriterscreations · 1 year ago

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CFWC F/AotW - Feb 25 - Mar 3, 2023

✒️= Fanfic | 📱= Text Fics/Edits | 🎨 = Fanart Ⓜ️ = Mature Content 18+ | 🔥 = Explicit/NSFW 18+ 🏳️‍🌈 = LGBTQIA |🔹Submitted by creator

BLADES OF LIGHT & SHADOW

The Best Crew 🎨| Multiple Characters by @artoile (C: @storyofmychoices)

Best Crew in the Whole Damn Realm🎨| Multiple Characters by @garlickk

Nia Ellarious x MC Fanart 🎨🏳️‍🌈 by @gaiuskamilah

Orc Meets Girl ✒️🏳️‍🌈🔹| F!Orc!MC & F!Human!MC - @noesapphic

Pancake Mornings 🎨🔹| Mal Volari x F!elf!MC - @/artbyainna (IG) (C: @dutifullynuttywitch)

Until the Stars Fall From the Sky ✒️🔹| Tyril Starfury x F!human!MC - @thosehallowedhalls

BLOODBOUND

Hide Me In Thy Wounds ✒️| Gauis Augustine x F!MC - @gaiuskamilah

Kamilah Sayeed x F!MC Fanart 🎨🏳️‍🌈🔹by @vampirkit

CRIMES OF PASSION

An Interlude of Grief ✒️🔹| m!Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @thosehallowedhalls

THE CURSED HEART

Leaf Fanart 🎨by @artbyalz

DESIRE AND DECORUM

Threads of Gold ✒️🎨🔹| Ernest Sinclaire x F!MC - art by @oh-so-youre-a-nerd fic by @noesapphic

DISTANT SHORES

Distant Shores: An Alternate Path - Part 3 ✒️🔹| Charlie Smith x M!MC - @korgbelmont

THE ELEMENTALISTS

Surprise Selfie! 🎨🏳️‍🌈| Beckett Harrington x MC - @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

ENDLESS SUMMER

Grandchildren: Beatriz ✒️🎨🏳️‍🌈| Estela Montoya x F!MC - @marmolady

HIGH SCHOOL STORY

Count the Red Roses ✒️🏳️‍🌈🔹| Michael Harrison x NB!MC - @aallotarenunelma

IMMORTAL DESIRES

Cas Harlow x OC Fanart 🎨by @sadxlee

IT LIVES WITHIN

Rowan Burke 🎨| ILW MC by @bunmellos (C: @abelflints)

LAWS OF ATTRACTION

Watcha Doing Down There?🎨🏳️‍🌈 | NB!MC, OC - @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

Wind: Goldenrod (NB!MC)🎨🏳️‍🌈by @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

Windverse Art 🎨🏳️‍🌈 | NB!MC, OCs by @cammarada (C: @oh-so-youre-a-nerd)

MOTHER OF THE YEAR

Eiko Matsunaga Fanart 🎨by @artbyalz

NIGHTBOUND

Fantastic Beasts ✒️🔹| Nik Rycer x F!MC - @ladylamrian

OPEN HEART

Open Heart F/AotW List - Week ending March 2, 2024

THE ROYAL ROMANCE

Fruit of Her Loins ✒️Ⓜ️| Liam Rys - @littleredroseonthevalley

Midnights Like This (Series) ✒️Ⓜ️🔥🔹| Leo Rys x F!OC, Liam Rys x F!MC - @queenrileyrose Part 15: Hold Me Tight

The Royal Romance, Bk1 Ch1: Once Upon a Time (Pt. 1) ✒️ | Multiple Characters - @fadingreveries

Secrets Behind Their Eyes Ch. 1 & 2✒️Ⓜ️| Liam Rys, Drake Walker, Maxwell Beaumont - @fancy--marshmallow

Secrets Behind Their Eyes Ch. 3 ✒️| Liam Rys, Drake Walker, Maxwell Beaumont - @fancy--marshmallow

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dollgxtz · 9 months ago

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His Watchful Eye Pt.10

Word Count: 22.3k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, forced pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, tw if u have tokophobia, extortion, threats, manipulation, pet names like, kitten, sweetie, honey, Xavier appears, tw vomiting, arguing, blood and gore, nausea, Zayne 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

AN: Hi all! This is of course on A03! I pulled some all nighters to get this chapter done and then procrastinated doing the editing process LOL. Either way, its here and I guess thats all that matters ^0^. Also, the taglist has gotten SO long omg. Ty all to my frequent readers and commenters, I love reading your comments and theories in the comments and asks! I am forever grateful to have cultivated a follwing of 1,156 people who love my writing! Mwah! Enjoy! ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱𖹭

“I know this is hard for you,” Sylus began, his voice quieter than you expected, softer. “But do you really plan to just avoid me the whole time? I’m the father of the baby, honey. You should at least try and talk to me about how you’re feeling. You aren't alone in all this.” “I…” Your voice trembled as you tried to find the words, your chest tight with the weight of it all. “You…you weren’t supposed to be the father of my baby, Sylus.”

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

The room was silent, save for the soft, rhythmic sound of your breathing beside him. You lay curled up on the bed, fragile and exhausted, your cheeks still damp from the tears you had shed throughout the day. Sylus sat beside you, watching you in the dim light. His eyes followed the gentle rise and fall of your chest, but it wasn't the sight of your slumber that held his focus. It was the way your body seemed to shrink from him, even in sleep, as if rejecting his presence.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, the weight of your distance sinking deep into his chest. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He never imagined it would hurt this much—to see you so broken, to feel your body, your spirit, pulling away from him when he had only wanted to draw you closer.

Sylus reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek. He traced the path of your dried tears with a gentleness that felt foreign on his skin, his thumb grazing the soft skin beneath your eye. You stirred slightly, a soft shiver running through your body at his touch, and even in your sleep, you wanted away from him. His hand froze mid-motion, the rejection clear even in your unconscious state. His heart clenched, and he pulled his hand back, letting out a long, weary breath.

He had spent the last two weeks watching you drift further away. It pained him, more than he was willing to admit, to see you like this—crying through the days, avoiding his gaze, barely speaking to him. You ate in silence, not a word passing your lips as you forced down meals, your once-feisty but still lively spirit dulled to a muted shell. The life inside you should have been something that brought you together, a bond to strengthen what he so desperately craved. But instead, it felt like you were slipping further and further from him, and it was tearing him apart.

Sylus’s gaze lowered to your stomach, hidden beneath the thin fabric of your nightgown. He stared at the slight curve, though it was still too early to truly show. His breath caught in his throat as he reached out, hesitating just before his hand hovered above your belly. Carefully, as though not to disturb you, he rested his palm against it. It was warm, and moved with your every breath. Flat still, of course—but the thought of what was growing inside sent a thrill through him.

What would you look like fully pregnant?

The image consumed him. The idea of your body changing—transforming—to nurture the life he had placed inside you. Your stomach rounding, your breasts swelling with the promise of nourishing the child. His child. His fingers trembled slightly as he imagined it—how your body would evolve, the way you would look heavy with his creation.

It excited him in ways he hadn’t expected. His pulse quickened, and he swallowed hard, his thumb brushing the fabric that covered your skin. This was the future he had longed for—the one thing he had wanted since he laid eyes on you. You, having his baby, bound to him forever. A leash you couldn't remove. And yet, you fought it. You fought him.

A shadow passed over his expression as he thought of the lengths he’d had to go to. The way he’d had to threaten Xavier’s life, knowing it would crush you. He hadn’t wanted to make you afraid, not really—but he couldn’t take any chances. He couldn’t risk you doing anything to harm the baby. Not when he was this close to having everything he had ever wanted.

His grip on your belly tightened ever so slightly, though he was careful not to wake you. The life growing inside you was his dream made real, and he wouldn't let anything—or anyone—jeopardize that. Not even you. He would make you see, one way or another, that this child was a gift. His gift to you.

A quiet, frustrated sigh left his lips as he leaned closer, his voice a low whisper in the dimness of the room. "You'll understand one day. I’m doing this for us. For our family." His words hung heavy in the air, almost as if he were trying to convince himself as much as you.

You stirred again, but you didn’t wake. Your body curled tighter, seeking distance from him once again. Sylus stared at you for a moment longer, his fingers brushing lightly over the flatness of your abdomen, already imagining the swell that would come in the months ahead. A dark stir of pleasure swelled in his chest and made his way to his groin.

Soon, you would change. Soon, you would be perfect. Even more perfect than you already were.

He just needed to fix this. To make you understand. Then everything would be as it should be.

His gaze drifted upward again, lingering on your face, and this time, his eyes fell on your lips. Soft, slightly parted in sleep, they looked so delicate, so inviting. He had always been drawn to you—your beauty, your strength—but there was something about this moment, seeing you so still, so vulnerable, that stirred something deeper in him. His heart thudded in his chest as his eyes traced the gentle curve of your lips, and a sudden, almost overwhelming urge to be inside your warm walls washed over him.

You had been very sick these past few weeks, and he was very patient in giving you space, careful not to touch you in unwanted places. He knew better than anyone that you didn't feel well enough to even leave the bed some days, much less have sex with him.

He leaned in slightly, his breath catching as he watched your lips, his pulse quickening in his veins. How easy it would be to close the distance, to press his mouth to yours. To claim you, even in your sleep, as though his touch might erase the space you had been placing between the two of you for the past two weeks. His hand twitched at his side, the thought of you squirming under him, softly sleeping while he entered into you sending another thrill down his spine, dark and possessive.

For a moment, his face hovered just above yours, his breath mingling with yours in the dim light. His lips were so close—just a whisper away from touching yours. The heat of his desire pulsed through him, urging him forward, every fiber of his being drawn to you. But as he stared at your peaceful expression, something stopped him. A flicker of hesitation flashed through his mind.

Even in this moment, even with you asleep and unguarded, he could feel the tension between you. The way your body had instinctively recoiled from his touch earlier, the way you had shivered beneath his fingers. You weren’t inviting him in. You weren’t his—not yet, not completely. Even if he claimed you physically, your heart would still belong to another. His child was growing inside you, your body was changing because of him, and yet…your heart was still distant. Still locked away, belonging to someone else.

It hurt. It fucking hurt.

His jaw clenched, frustration simmering beneath the surface, but he forced himself to pull back, his heart still pounding with the lingering heat of the almost-kiss. He exhaled sharply before he shifted back, denying himself the satisfaction.

Xavier.

The name flickered through his mind like an unwanted intruder, making his jaw tighten. Even after everything, even as you lay beside him, carrying his child, there was still a part of you that loved Xavier. He hated that thought. It festered inside him, gnawing at his control. He had done what was necessary—hadn’t he? He’d kept you safe, made sure nothing would happen to jeopardize the future they were building. But your heart...your loyalty...that still belonged to another man.

His gaze darkened for a moment as he stared down at you, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. But then, he forced himself to breathe, to calm the storm brewing inside him. He couldn’t think about that now. It didn’t matter. Not yet.

Sylus exhaled sharply, forcing the tension from his shoulders as he reached for his phone. His fingers slid across the screen, and he checked the time. 6:54 a.m. The time felt irrelevant here. In the N109 Zone, the sun never rose, the darkness an ever-present veil that clung to every moment. Morning and night were nothing but markers on a clock. Still, you’d wake soon, the same way you always did. The brief moments of sleep you allowed yourself would end, and the silence between you would stretch on once more.

He sighed, scrolling through his contacts. There were preparations to make. The doctor. The ultrasound. He would have the specialist come here, to their safe little world, where you had nowhere to run. It would happen next week. That’s when everything would become undeniable. He’d set everything in motion today—make the calls, confirm the appointments. You wouldn’t be able to deny it any longer when the doctor showed you the baby, when you heard its heartbeat.

Our child.

He slipped the phone back onto the table, the faint light from the screen casting eerie shadows across the room before fading back into darkness. His gaze shifted once more to your sleeping form, your breath slow and even, your body curled up beneath the blankets. A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Even in the darkness, you looked beautiful like this, fragile, vulnerable, but still strong.

It’s fine, he told himself as he watched you. You just need to be affirmed that this is real.

Once you saw the baby, once you felt it growing inside of you, the doubt would fade. You wouldn’t be able to escape the truth anymore. You’d have to accept that the future was already here—growing inside your body. A future that bound you to him forever.

Sylus leaned back against the headboard, his hand resting idly on the sheets beside you, the excitement stirring in his chest once again. He could wait. He would be patient. Everything was falling into place, just as it should.

Next week, everything would change.

Sylus had barely drifted off when the soft groan from your side of the bed pulled him back to consciousness. His eyes snapped open, and the familiar darkness of the room greeted him, heavy and oppressive but oddly comforting. He blinked once, twice, shaking off the haze of exhaustion. But that groan—it lingered in the air, filled with a quiet distress that sent a sharp pang of worry through his chest.

He turned his head just in time to see you kick the covers off with a desperation that tightened something deep within him. You were restless again, and he could see the fatigue in the way your movements were frantic, almost disoriented. Sylus watched you for a moment, his mind sluggish from the sleepless night he'd spent keeping vigil beside you, but concern sharpened his focus as you stumbled out of bed, making a beeline for the bathroom.

“Honey?” His voice was rough, hoarse from lack of sleep, and tinged with a worry he couldn’t fully mask. He pushed himself up quickly, his body protesting the movement, muscles stiff from having spent the night tense and alert. But you were already halfway to the bathroom, ignoring him entirely. You disappeared into the bathroom without so much as a backward glance.

Sylus sat there for a moment, staring at the entrance, a wave of frustration flickering to life alongside the worry. He had tried—really tried—to help, to stay by your side, to make this easier for you. But it never seemed to matter. Every day for the past two weeks, you had pulled further and further away, as if he were the source of your pain instead of the person trying to alleviate it.

His jaw tightened as the sounds of retching echoed through the thin walls of the bathroom. He ran a hand through his hair, rubbing his face in a futile attempt to shake off the exhaustion weighing him down. You hadn't acknowledged him, hadn’t even answered when he called out to you. The knot in his chest tightened, the frustration quickly morphing into something more painful.

It’s the pregnancy, he told himself, trying to push away the darker thoughts that gnawed at the back of his mind. The nausea, the sickness—it was all part of it. Part of the process of carrying his child. A necessary sacrifice. But even as he reassured himself, the fear lingered. What if it wasn’t just the physical toll of pregnancy pushing you away? What if it was something deeper? Something that ran far beneath the surface, something he couldn’t fix?

He shook the thought away, unwilling to face the possibility, and made his way to the bathroom. His footsteps were hesitant as he approached the entrance, the muffled sounds of your retching growing louder. His hand hovered near the handle, uncertainty freezing him in place. Should he go in? Should he give you space? Every instinct screamed for him to be near you, to help, but every time he got close, you pulled away. Recoiled. As if his presence was suffocating.

The sound of you heaving again shattered his hesitation. Sylus stepped in cautiously, emerging into the dimly lit bathroom. The sight of you, hunched over the toilet, your body trembling from the force of vomiting, made something inside him twist painfully. You looked so fragile, so small, and for a moment, all he could do was stand there, helpless. The air was thick with the sharp tang of bile, and each sound of your labored breathing felt like a punch to his chest.

He wanted to help. But he knew, deep down, that if he touched you, you would pull away. Just like you had every time he tried to get close lately.

Still, the sight of you in pain made him push forward. He couldn’t just stand there. He knelt down beside you, the cold tile biting into his knees as he watched your body convulse with another wave of nausea. His hand hovered uncertainly near your back, his fingers twitching with the urge to comfort you. He wanted to smooth your hair back, to tell you it would be okay, but he hesitated. You had flinched at his touch so many times before, and the sting of it was something he wasn’t sure he could bear again.

But you looked so worn, so utterly defeated, that he decided to risk it. Slowly, gently, he rested his hand on your back, hoping the touch would bring you some semblance of comfort. But just as he feared, you jerked away from him almost immediately, your body tensing under his hand as if his touch burned.

The rejection hit him harder than it should have, the familiar sting of it settling deep in his chest. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to remain calm. He couldn’t show weakness. Not now.

“My kitten’s got claws this morning, hm?” he tried, his voice soft, laced with an attempt at humor. He was hoping to spark a reaction, hoping for the sharp retort that had once been so typical of you. But the silence that followed felt heavy, oppressive. You didn’t respond. You didn’t even look at him.

You just sat there, your body slumped, your eyes distant. It was worse than anger. Worse than the fire that once flared between you. This was something far more dangerous. This was resignation.

“Sylus…” Your voice was a whisper, so faint he almost missed it. But the sound of his name coming from you sent a jolt through him. He leaned in closer to hear you better, his heart pounding.

"What is it sweetie?"

“What’s the point in making me eat if I’m just going to throw it all up anyway?”

The words hit him like a blow, the quiet defeat in your voice making his breath catch. He didn’t know how to answer. The logical part of him knew the answer—you needed to eat for the baby, for the life growing inside you. But hearing you say it like that, hearing the hopelessness in your tone, made him falter.

He swallowed hard, forcing a smile onto his lips, though it felt hollow. “Kitten,” he murmured, trying to keep his voice gentle, “you need to eat. The baby needs you to eat, even if it comes back up. It’s better than nothing.”

He hoped—hoped—that mentioning the baby would remind you of what mattered. That it would pull you out of this darkness and make you see the bigger picture. But the look in your eyes told him it wasn’t enough. You weren’t angry. You weren’t fighting. You were just…tired. And that scared him more than anything.

Sylus hesitated, his hand hovering near your back again, but this time he didn’t touch you. He didn’t want to risk pushing you further away. Not when you were already so far gone.

“We’ll get through this,” he whispered, though the words felt like a desperate plea more than a reassurance. “I’m right here.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, stretching out between the two of you like an unbridgeable chasm. He watched you, waiting for some sign, some flicker of the fire that once burned so brightly in you. But all you gave him was a soft sigh, a sound so quiet and filled with exhaustion that it twisted something inside him.

And then, to his surprise, you reached out.

Your hand, trembling slightly, extended toward him, palm open and waiting. Sylus stared at it, his breath catching in his throat. It wasn’t much—a small gesture—but to him, it felt monumental. You were asking for his help. Willingly. His heart skipped a beat, a flicker of hope igniting in his chest. Maybe this was a turning point. Maybe you were starting to see that he was on your side, that he wasn’t the enemy.

He took your hand gently, his grip firm but careful, afraid that if he held on too tightly, you would slip away again. The warmth of your skin against his sent a wave of relief through him, and for a brief moment, everything felt right again.

But the moment was fleeting.

As soon as he helped you up from the cold bathroom floor, you pulled your hand away, retreating into yourself once more. Without a word, you turned your back on him and walked away, distancing yourself both physically and emotionally. The connection that had sparked between you was gone, snuffed out before it had even fully formed.

Sylus’s hand hung in the air for a moment, his fingers still tingling from the brief contact, but the weight of your rejection settled heavily on his shoulders. His arm dropped to his side, the frustration bubbling up again, though he forced himself to swallow it. He watched you march back to the bedroom, your back rigid, as if you were desperate to much distance between the two of you as possible.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. You were drifting away from him, piece by piece, and no matter how hard he tried to pull you back, it never seemed to be enough.

But he couldn’t push you. Not now. Not when you were carrying his child. He had to give you space. He had to be patient. He couldn't risk stressing you out.

Turning toward the window, Sylus stared out into the never-ending darkness of the N109 Zone. The preparations for next week’s ultrasound weighed heavily on his mind. The doctor’s visit would change things. It had to. Once you saw the baby, once you heard the heartbeat, everything would be different. You would see that this wasn’t something to be afraid of. You would understand what he was trying to give you—a future. A family.

For now, he would give you the space you seemed to need. But soon, the reality of the baby growing inside you would become undeniable.

And then, maybe… just maybe, you’d come back to him.

Sylus’s fingers tapped idly against the glass of his phone as he stared at the screen, watching the live feed from Mephisto’s eyes. You were there, sitting by the window, staring into the endless, suffocating darkness that swallowed the N109 Zone whole. Your shoulders were slumped, your body curled in on itself, and every now and then, you would lie down on the floor, as if the weight of everything was pressing down on you too hard to stay upright. His jaw clenched as he watched, frustration building inside him.

This is bad.

You had always been resistant, always fought back, but this…this was something different. You weren’t fighting anymore. You weren’t snapping at him or throwing up those fiery walls of defiance he had grown used to. Instead, you were retreating further into yourself, growing more distant with each passing day. The way your body slumped, the way your gaze lingered in the dark void beyond the window—it was getting worse. He could see it, feel it.

Luke and Kieran had reported the same. You had refused their usual games, even Kitty Cards, the one thing that normally drew a spark of life from you. Now, you just sat in silence, staring at nothing. The reports stung more than he wanted to admit, but he had brushed them off with a simple wave of his hand. The twins didn’t understand. They couldn’t. You were complicated, yes, but you were his. You’d come around...eventually.

But as the days passed and your silence grew heavier, Sylus found himself questioning his own certainty.

What can I do?

His mind reeled, sifting through memories, trying to recall something—anything—that might pull you back. Something that might bring you closer, back to the fire and spirit you once had. And then it hit him: those days he spent watching you from afar, studying your every move. You used to be so vibrant, so full of life. You had routines, little quirks, things you enjoyed. You wore your emotions on your sleeve back then, not hidden behind walls of silence and sadness.

Plushies. The thought came suddenly, and he blinked in realization. You had so many of them in your apartment back then, lining your shelves, covering your bed. They had been a part of your life, a small thing, but it was something you loved. Something that made you happy.

Sylus thought of your apartment for a moment. He could go back, retrieve your old plushies—sentimental things, he thought—but quickly dismissed the idea. Too risky. Not because he was afraid of Xavier—no, he had no fear of that man. But the idea of crossing paths with him was a distraction he didn’t need. There was no reason to stir the pot when it could be avoided.

He smirked to himself. No need for that. He had the resources. Endless resources.

The thought turned into action quickly. As soon as his meeting was over, he made his way to Linkon, the place where he had hoped you had long left behind in the depths of your mind. The streets felt familiar under his feet, but the urgency was different now. He wasn’t stalking you, studying your life. This time, he had a mission.

He walked through the streets, eyes scanning every shop and storefront with purpose. It didn’t matter where the plushies came from, not really. They were just material things. But a part of him—perhaps the part still clinging to the memories of you in that life—thought it might mean more if they came from here, from this place that had once been yours. He continued down the street, stopping when something caught his eye.

The arcade.

It was the one you had frequented with Xavier or Tara on occasion, the place where you had spent so many nights laughing, playing games, and winning prizes from those crane machines filled with plushies. Sylus’s eyes narrowed as the idea formed in his mind. He stepped inside, the dim, flashing lights of the arcade casting odd shadows on the floor. The sounds of games whirring and children laughing filled the space, but Sylus barely noticed. His eyes went straight to the crane machines.

The machines were full of plushies—adorable, colorful things, soft and sweet, just like the ones you used to love. He scanned the contents inside, his mind already spinning with possibilities. This wasn’t his usual scene. No, not even close. But for you? He’d endure it. He’d do anything if it meant pulling you out of that dark hole you were sinking into.

This was where you used to come, where you would smile, your eyes lighting up as you played the games with such focus. He could see it, almost feel it.

And then, as he approached the line of crane machines, it happened—a fleeting vision, like a memory, washed over him. He blinked, and for a moment, there you were. You were standing in front of one of the machines, your fingers gripping the controls as you concentrated, your lips curving into a bright, beautiful smile. The way you laughed, the way you cheered when you finally won a plushie—the image was so real, so vivid, that he could almost reach out and touch you.

He blinked again, and it was gone.

The claw machines sat before him, but now they were just stuffed with silent, lifeless toys. The space where you had stood was empty, your laughter only a ghost in his mind. Sylus inhaled deeply, his jaw tightening. He shook off the hallucination. Focus.

He walked up to one of the machines, eyeing the prizes inside. His fingers slid into his pocket, pulling out a handful of coins and tokens he had purchased at the counter. The machine whirred to life as he fed the tokens in, the claw dropping down with a clumsy movement. He tried once, twice, three times—but the claw was weak, releasing its grip on the plushies just before it could carry them to the prize slot. His frustration grew with each failed attempt, his jaw tightening. Rigged, he thought bitterly.

As he was about to try again, an employee approached him, a young woman with a nervous smile on her face. “Uh, sir? If you’d like, we have a coupon for more tokens at half price.”

Sylus didn’t even glance her way as he responded, his voice flat. “No need.”

“Oh! Okay, well...uh...”

The girl blinked, confused for a moment, but before she could offer another suggestion, Sylus turned his gaze toward her, sharp and cold. “How much to buy this entire arcade?”

The employee’s eyes widened in shock, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to form words. “I-I’ll…go get my boss,” she stammered before rushing away, her footsteps barely audible over the noise of the games.

Sylus watched her retreat, his fingers drumming idly against his thigh as he waited. The arcade lights blinked overhead, casting colorful shadows across the room, but to him, the place felt hollow without you here. He had only come because this arcade had meant something to you. It didn’t matter if the plushies came from here or somewhere else, not really. But for some reason, deep down, he thought it might mean more if they came from a place tied to your past. To your life. It wasn’t just a purchase—it was a way to remind you of who you were. To anchor you back.

Sylus slid his hands into his pockets as he scanned the area again. A few minutes later, the owner appeared, a shorter man in his mid-forties with a look of disbelief on his face. He stepped forward cautiously, wiping his hands nervously on his uniform. “Uh, sir, I’m not sure I heard correctly, but did you—did you say you wanted to buy the arcade?”

Sylus nodded, his expression unchanging. “Yes. How much?”

The man sputtered, clearly taken aback by the directness. “Well, uh… I don’t know if we’ve ever…I mean…”

“Name a number,” Sylus interrupted, his tone firm. He didn’t have time for negotiations.

The owner hesitated for a moment, then threw out a figure, clearly testing the waters. “Five hundred thousand?”

Without missing a beat, Sylus pulled out his phone and transferred the funds on the spot. “Done. Banking information?”

After cautiously and nervously giving him the details, owner’s face paled as he checked his account, the shock evident in his wide eyes. He stumbled over his words again. “I…I don’t know what to say…”

“There’s nothing to say. My lawyers will be in contact to draw up a contract for you to sign, acknowledging that you got the money.” Sylus gave a curt nod before walking back toward the crane machines. The arcade now belonged to him, and with it, every single plushie inside. He would make sure you got what you needed, whether you wanted it or not.

Anything to pull you out of the darkness.

Sylus returned home later that day, the weight of the bag of plushies in his hand, his steps deliberate. He had spent the afternoon in Linkon, finding the perfect toys to bring you some semblance of comfort. The arcade had been a ridiculous purchase, but it didn’t matter. He’d do anything if it meant pulling you out of the dark place you’d been sinking into.

But as he neared the bedroom, he felt that familiar heaviness settle over him. The silence in the house was thick, the air heavy with tension. It had been like this for weeks now—no more sharp retorts from you, no more fights. Just a hollow, quiet resignation that ate away at him.

He pushed the door open slightly and stopped, noticing something unusual. You weren’t sitting by the window or on the bed, where you usually sulked in silence. Instead, you were on the floor, your chain stretching behind you. And you were talking—softly, your voice trembling, words coming out in fragments.

His breath caught in his throat, and instead of stepping fully into the room, Sylus lingered by the door, listening.

Perched on your finger was Mephisto, his loyal bird, his own creation. But right now, the bird wasn’t spying for him. Instead, it seemed to be the only company you had, its head tilted as it listened to you speak.

"I never imagined myself being a mom this soon…" Your voice was barely above a whisper, but the sadness in it was unmistakable. Sylus’s hand tightened around the doorknob as he strained to hear more. “Mephisto…what do you think Xavier will think? If I...ever escape? Or when he comes for me? Will he still love me if I’m pregnant with this baby?"

The words hit Sylus like a physical blow.

Xavier. Always Xavier.

His heart pounded, his vision blurring with rage as you continued speaking. That name…that man. Every time you said it, it was like a dagger twisting in his chest. You were here, with him, carrying his child, and yet your thoughts were still consumed by Xavier. It was unbearable. If it weren’t for the fact that Xavier’s life was tied to the babies health, he would have erased that pest ages ago.

“I miss him…sometimes I wonder if he thinks of me”.

He couldn’t listen anymore.

The door swung open, the sudden motion startling both you and Mephisto. The bird flapped its wings, flying up to land on Sylus’s shoulder, as if sensing the tension in the room. You immediately stopped speaking, your body going rigid. Your hand, which had been cradling the bird, fell to your side as you looked up at him in shock, your eyes wide, caught in the act of voicing your deepest thoughts.

Sylus stepped into the room, his gaze fixed on you, burning with a mixture of frustration and anger. He could feel the pulse of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears as he took in the sight of you, chained by the bed, your eyes wide and tear-streaked. And yet, even now, you were still thinking of Xavier.

You didn’t say anything as he entered. You just pushed yourself up from the floor and moved toward the window, dragging the chain with you, the metal links clinking against the floor. You sat by the window, your back turned to him, staring out into the endless darkness of the N109 Zone. Your shoulders slumped, and it was clear you had retreated back into that shell of silence again.

The knot in Sylus’s chest tightened painfully. He had bought the plushies for you, spent the whole afternoon thinking about how they might cheer you up, how they might remind you of something familiar, something that made you happy before. But now, standing here, the distance between you felt insurmountable.

He stepped forward, his voice low but strained, “These are for you, kitten.” He gestured toward the plushies, trying to keep his tone calm, trying to pretend that your indifference didn’t hurt him as much as it did.

His throat tightened as he set the bag down on the floor, plush toys spilling from the opening in a colorful mess. He stood there for a moment, waiting, watching to see if you would acknowledge him, acknowledge what he had done for you. But instead, you barely glanced over your shoulder, your gaze landing on the bag briefly before you turned back toward the window.

You sighed softly, the sound barely audible but heavy with the weight of your exhaustion.

“I miss the sun,” you whispered, your voice hollow, defeated. "I miss the stars. My star."

Sylus felt something break inside him. The sun. Of course, it wasn’t just the sun you missed—it was the life you had before. The freedom. The light. And with those simple words, you had reduced all of his efforts—everything he’d done, everything he was doing for you—into nothing. The plushies, the grand mansion, the baby…none of it mattered. All you wanted was what he couldn’t give you.

His heart clenched painfully in his chest as he stood there, watching you curl in on yourself, your back turned to him. The silence that stretched between you now felt unbearable, suffocating.

But you didn’t turn around. You didn’t even look at him. All you did was sigh again, your fingers tracing the edge of the window, eyes lost in the dark, endless void outside.

Sylus’s frustration boiled over. He swallowed back the anger, trying to keep it under control, but your silence, your distance, was eating away at him. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he stared at you, trying to understand why no matter what he did, it wasn’t enough.

"You’re not leaving, kitten," he said, his voice barely a whisper but filled with a dark edge. "No matter what you think Xavier will do. He’s not coming for you. He can’t take you away from me. This is real—our life, our baby."

The words hung heavy in the air, and he watched the way your body tensed at the mention of Xavier’s name. His heart twisted painfully as he saw the slight shudder in your shoulders, as though the mere mention of the man you still loved was enough to stir something inside you that Sylus could never touch.

“You need to let this go,” Sylus said, his voice low as he took another step closer, though you still didn’t turn to face him. “I’m giving you everything. I’m doing everything I can to make this work. You have to see that.”

But you didn’t respond. You didn’t argue. You didn’t fight.

You just stared out into the darkness, the silence between you louder than any words you could have spoken. He watched as tears streamed down your face but you didn't move to wipe them.

Sylus stood there, helpless in the face of your indifference, his heart breaking as he realized that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many plushies he bought or promises he made, you still longed for a world that he could never give you.

You missed the sun. And you missed...your star?

He didn't know what you meant by the star bit, but for the first time, Sylus felt a deep, painful fear that maybe, just maybe, he was losing you for good.

The nightmare crept in slowly, the kind that didn’t announce itself with a sudden jolt of fear but instead slithered into your subconscious, blending in with the shadows until you could no longer tell what was real. You found yourself in Reese’s basement again, the cold, sterile air clinging to your skin like an unwelcome presence. The sound of dripping water echoed faintly in the distance, but everything else was unnervingly quiet.

You were lying on an operating table, the cold metal pressing against your back, your body feeling oddly weightless and disconnected. Something was wrong. You tried to move, but your arms wouldn’t respond. Panic flickered inside you, but it hadn’t hit full force yet. Not until you glanced down.

That’s when you saw it.

Your stomach was open, your insides exposed like some grotesque science experiment. The slick, pale coils of your intestines lay outside your body, splayed out on the table in front of you like they didn’t belong to you. The sight was horrifying—your own organs, glistening under the harsh light, as though they were being examined like a specimen. Your breath caught in your throat, but when you tried to scream, nothing came out. Your mouth opened in a silent cry for help, but no sound escaped.

Fear surged through you like a flood, hot and overwhelming, and your mind screamed at your body to move, to do something, but you couldn’t. You were paralyzed, forced to watch the nightmare unfold.

And then you realized you weren’t alone.

There were faces above you, peering down at your exposed body with cold, clinical detachment. First, Reese, his twisted grin spread across his face, his eyes with sadistic glee. He was enjoying this, watching you writhe in silent horror, his hands clasped behind his back as if this was all just a game to him.

Next to him stood Xavier, his face blank, emotionless, as he stared at you. His sharp eyes were cold, distant, and yet they burned into you like a brand. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. His presence alone was suffocating, a constant reminder of what you had lost, what he had failed to protect you from. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch, just watched as if you were nothing more than a subject under glass.

But it was Sylus who truly terrified you.

He was standing on the other side of the table, his eyes fixed on your exposed body with a look of satisfaction that made your skin crawl. There was something possessive in the way he stared at you, like you were his prized possession laid bare before him. His lips curled into a small, smug smile as he reached out to touch your stomach, his fingers brushing against the edges of your open flesh with a reverence that made bile rise in your throat.

“See, kitten,” Sylus said softly, his voice dripping with that familiar condescension. “This is your new reality. You can’t escape it.”

You tried to scream again, but it was useless. Your lungs felt heavy, your body weighed down by the paralyzing fear, as if the table itself was swallowing you whole. You could feel everything—the sharp, cold air on your exposed organs, the slow, methodical touch of Sylus’s hand, and the suffocating pressure of their gazes pressing down on you.

The room started spinning, the faces above you blurring into distorted shapes, and yet the horror of it all stayed sharp, the feeling of helplessness wrapping around you like chains. The metallic smell of blood filled your nostrils, thick and nauseating, and you could see the glint of surgical tools beside the table, gleaming under the fluorescent lights. The instruments were stained with blood—your blood.

Reese’s grin widened as he leaned over you, his breath hot against your skin. “You never had a chance,” he whispered, his voice low and sickeningly sweet. “These organs are mine.”

Xavier’s eyes flicked to Sylus, and for a brief moment, you saw something in his expression—something dark, something possessive, like he, too, was staking his claim. You were torn between them, trapped on this table, your body no longer yours, and no matter how much you wanted to escape, no matter how much you screamed inside, you knew there was no way out.

You tried to move again, desperate to break free, but the more you struggled, the more the sensation of numbness took over. It was like your body was slipping away from you, being claimed piece by piece by the men who stood above you, watching with eerie fascination.

Finally, you broke through whatever invisible barrier was keeping you from talking.

"Xavier!!!" you screamed. "Do something! Save me...why won't you save me!"

But Xavier continued to say nothing, his gaze drifting back to you.

Then he too, smiled.

The room grew darker, the light flickering overhead, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. The faces loomed closer, suffocating you, crowding your vision until all you could see were their eyes—cold, calculating, and void of any humanity.

Cold water suddenly splashed down, over your face, filling your eyes, ears, mouth, and eventually your lungs. You tried to thrash your head but it was useless. You couldn't breathe, couldn't swallow. Your chest tightened harder and tighter.

And then, just as you felt your lungs were about to burst, as you felt your consciousness teetering on the edge, everything snapped.

You woke up with a violent gasp, your lungs burning as you struggled to pull in air. Instinctively, your hands flew to your abdomen, pressing down hard, as if you needed the physical reassurance that your insides weren’t spilling out. The nightmare’s vivid, grotesque images still clung to your mind, and for a moment, you couldn’t shake the feeling that your body was torn open, laid bare for all to see.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, but the curse did nothing to calm your racing heart. Your chest tightened as you looked down at your stomach, your fingers still gripping your skin, trembling. Slowly, your mind began to separate the dream from reality, but the aftershocks stayed with you. The blanket was tangled around your legs, trapping you in a cocoon of cold sweat. Each breath felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion that went far deeper than just a lack of sleep.

The nightmares—they were getting worse. More frequent, more real. Every time you closed your eyes, they dragged you back into that suffocating pit of fear, where the lines between what was real and what wasn’t blurred. You rubbed your face, but the sensation of dread clung to your skin, leaving you shaken.

You sat up slowly, your body feeling like lead as the gravity of the day hit you, sinking deep into the pit of your stomach like a stone. You turn and look at the calender.

Ultrasound day.

You groaned and ran your fingers through your hair, already feeling the weight of it suffocating you. Of course. How could you forget? Sylus hadn’t let you. He had been hovering over you for days, his voice a constant reminder, as though you could somehow slip away from this reality if he didn’t keep hammering it into you. Today was the day you’d finally see it—the thing inside you, the proof that this wasn’t just some horrific dream. Proof that your body no longer belonged to you, that you were no longer you but something else entirely—his vessel. A means to feed another.

Your gaze fell to the plushies now scattered around the bed. They were everywhere. Cute little creatures, soft and inviting, mocking the harsh gothic surroundings of the room. A crow, a tomato, a cactus, etc. The sight of them in this prison, this cavernous room with its dark walls and heavy, suffocating drapes, was almost laughable. Sylus had brought them to the bed one by one, carefully arranging them as if placing them around you could somehow undo the terror, the isolation, the chain that bound you.

He had looked so stupid, fumbling with the soft toys, his hands large and out of place as he’d set them down like they could bring you any comfort. You had watched him, detached, numb, not knowing whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity of it all. And yet, despite yourself, you had looked at them. You’d finally let him see you acknowledge them.

And they were cute. You hated to admit it, but they were. Out of place, for sure, in this massive room with its cold, black walls, heavy drapes, and gothic architecture. It was as if the plushies were mocking everything that had happened, like they didn’t belong in the hellhole you had been forced into. They were a small reminder of the world you used to live in, the one that now seemed so far out of reach.

Fuck this. A surge of bitterness swelled in your chest as you stared at the toys, their innocent faces staring back at you. Fuck this, fuck all of it. You didn’t want to do this. You didn’t want to see that ultrasound, didn’t want to confront what was happening inside of you. Every fiber of your being wanted to reject it, to deny it, to pretend that maybe—just maybe—this was all some kind of twisted nightmare you would eventually wake up from. But deep down, you knew better. The changes in your body, the nausea, the constant exhaustion…it was real.

It was happening, whether you wanted it to or not.

Before you could sink any deeper into that pit of despair, the door creaked open, the sound making your heart clench with dread. Sylus stepped inside, and you could immediately feel the shift in the air. He always brought that tension with him, that mix of excitement and control that made your skin crawl.

He was trying to mask it, but you saw the gleam in his eyes, the barely-contained thrill in the way he moved. He was always like this when he thought he was getting closer to you—when he thought he was breaking through that wall you had desperately built around yourself.

“Good morning, honey,” he said, his voice soft but dripping with that condescension you had come to despise. He smiled at you, the curve of his lips too smug, too pleased, as if today was some joyous occasion. As if today wasn’t the day you’d be forced to confront the reality of your imprisonment in the most intimate way possible. “Are you ready for today?”

You didn’t answer him. You couldn’t. You felt the bile rising in your throat, that familiar wave of hatred bubbling up inside you, but you swallowed it back down, refusing to let him see how deeply this affected you. You didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. It wasn’t worth the energy anymore. You didn’t even have the words. All you could do was stare at him, your expression blank, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on you, heavier than ever.

Sylus took a few steps closer, his eyes fixed on you, drinking you in like you were the only thing that mattered. That look—it was always the same. Intense. Possessive. Like you were something he had earned, something he was entitled to. It made your skin crawl.

“The doctor will be here soon,” he continued, his tone still maddeningly calm, as though this was just another day. But you could hear the underlying excitement, that barely restrained thrill in his voice. “I need you to behave, kitten. You don’t want to make this harder than it needs to be, do you?”

Behave. You almost laughed at the word, bitter and hollow. As if you had any other choice. As if the chain around your ankle weren’t already proof enough of who held the control here. You glanced down at the metal links, the cold bite of them a constant reminder of how little power you had left. You nodded once, not trusting yourself to speak, because what was the point? Arguing, resisting—it didn’t matter. It never did.

Sylus seemed satisfied with your response, his lips twitching in a small, pleased smile. His gaze swept over you, reading the submission in your posture, the way you sank deeper into yourself. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice low, as if speaking to a pet. “Lie down. The doctor will need to get started as soon as he arrives.”

You moved mechanically, your body going through the motions as you lay back against the pillows, feeling a sick sort of detachment settle over you. It was like you weren’t even in your own body anymore, like you were just watching it all unfold from some distant place. The plushies surrounded you, their soft forms a cruel contrast to the cold reality of what was about to happen.

As you lay there, waiting for the inevitable, your thoughts swirled in a chaotic mess. How did I get here? The question echoed in your mind, over and over again, but there was no answer. No way to explain how your life had gone from days spent laughing with Xavier and Tara to this. To lying chained to a bed, waiting for a doctor to come and confirm that you were carrying the child of the man who had taken everything from you.

The thought made you want to disappear. To sink into the darkness outside the window and never wake up again. Anything to escape the suffocating weight pressing down on your chest, anything to stop the creeping dread that crawled beneath your skin.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, and you clenched your fists at your sides, knowing that the moment was almost here.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts. Your body tensed instinctively, bracing yourself for the cold, clinical presence you had come to expect from anyone in Sylus’s world. You clenched your fists, eyes darting to the door as the doctor entered, pushing in ultrasound equipment on wheels.

But the man who stepped into the room wasn’t what you anticipated. He was older, maybe in his fifties, his salt-and-pepper hair a stark contrast to the grim atmosphere. His presence wasn’t suffocating like Sylus’s. There was something warm in his expression, something…human. You weren’t used to that. It caught you off guard.

You're shocked Sylus was going to let a strange male touch you. You watched as the doctor shook Sylus's hand, a clear sign of trust and comradery.

Ah. Sylus knows him. Very well. This isn't just some random doctor. Explains a lot. You shiver as you think of what kind of crimes Sylus has probably paid this doctor to commit to let him in his home so willingly.

“Good morning,” he said gently, his voice calm and oddly comforting. He smiled softly as he set his equipment beside the bed. “I’m Dr. Merrill. I’m here to do your ultrasound today. I’ll explain everything as we go, alright?”

You blinked at him, unsure how to respond. The kindness in his voice felt foreign, almost out of place in this twisted nightmare you had been trapped in for what felt like an eternity. You nodded slowly, still suspicious but strangely relieved by the change in tone. His voice wasn’t cold or demanding. It wasn’t laced with the unspoken threat of power or control. It was just…soft. You hadn’t heard anyone speak to you like that in so long, you almost forgot what it felt like.

Sylus hovered nearby, his eyes never leaving you, watching every interaction like a hawk. But for once, he stayed silent, letting the doctor take over.

Dr. Merrill picked up a tube of gel, holding it up so you could see. “This is just a little gel for the ultrasound,” he explained, his voice steady and reassuring. “It’ll feel cold, but it helps get a clearer picture.”

You nodded again, still feeling numb but surprised at the way he took the time to explain everything. You hadn’t expected that. Not here. Not with Sylus looming like a vulture in the background, ready to pounce on any misstep. The doctor’s voice was like a small anchor in the storm, keeping you tethered to something that wasn’t pain or control. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Gently, Dr. Merrill lifted your nightgown, exposing your abdomen. The room felt colder, more invasive as the gel touched your skin. The chill sent a shiver through you, and you flinched at the sensation. The doctor glanced at you with a small, kind smile. “It’ll warm up in a moment,” he assured you. “You’re doing great.”

The words felt absurd. Doing great? In what world could you be “doing great”? You were lying there, chained, being forced to confront the reality of what was happening inside your body, a reality you had no control over. But his tone, the gentle way he spoke, almost made you believe him. Even if just for a second.

“Now, we’re going to take a look and see how everything is progressing,” he explained softly. “You’ll hear the baby’s heartbeat in a moment. That’s one of the few things we’ll check.”

Dr. Merrill picked up the ultrasound wand and placed it gently on your stomach, moving it slowly as he worked. “Now, let’s take a look,” he said softly. The room filled with the quiet hum of the machine, and you felt the weight of Sylus’s gaze on you, his anticipation palpable.

You kept your eyes glued to the ceiling, refusing to look at the screen, refusing to acknowledge what was happening. But the sound of Dr. Merrill’s voice, calm and steady, pulled you in despite yourself.

“There’s the head,” he said, pointing to the monitor. “See it here? The baby’s facing down.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight, but you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at the screen. There it was—the faint outline of a tiny head, blurred but unmistakable. Your chest tightened.

“And here are the feet, curled up just beneath the torso.” The doctor moved the wand slightly, pointing to the small image of the baby’s curled limbs. “Everything looks like it’s developing well for 7 weeks. Only one fetus as far as I can see.”

Great. At least the universe had been kind enough to only plant one baby instead of twins or worse...triplets.

Sylus leaned in closer, his eyes fixed on the screen, his excitement almost palpable now. You could feel the air shift with his intensity, like he was holding himself back from bursting with joy.

Dr. Merrill smiled softly, clearly pleased with the baby’s progress. “You can even see the spine here, along the back. It’s still early, but all the major parts are starting to form.”

The soft sound of a heartbeat began thudding in the background, steady and constant, echoing in the room like a reminder you couldn’t ignore. You felt it deep in your bones, the crushing weight of the reality you had been trying so hard to escape.

You started to dissociate. You blocked it out. But then he began to speak again.

“There it is,” Dr. Merrill said quietly, as though the sound was something sacred, something wonderful. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat. Strong and healthy.”

Your heart clenched at the word—baby. The nausea returned, and you turned your eyes to the ceiling, willing yourself not to look at the screen. Not to acknowledge what was happening. You could hear the faint sound of the machine, the steady hum of it filling the room, but all you wanted to do was disappear, to shrink into yourself and never face the truth that was about to unfold.

And then you heard it more clearly. The sound that punched through your mind and straight into your chest.

The heartbeat.

You closed your eyes, a lump forming in your throat, and tried to block it out again, but the sound echoed in your mind, growing louder, more real now. The heartbeat. The baby. Everything you had been dreading, everything you had hoped wasn’t real—it was there, pounding in your ears, confirming the horror of your situation.

Your body went cold, your muscles stiff as you lay there, paralyzed by the reality that you could no longer escape. It’s real. The baby is real and alive.

You didn’t want to feel it. You didn’t want to acknowledge it. But the heartbeat kept going, steady and relentless, anchoring you to this twisted new reality.

Dr. Merrill didn’t stop. His voice continued, gentle and patient, as if he didn’t notice the storm brewing inside you. The room felt smaller, the air heavier as Dr. Merrill continued speaking, explaining everything he was doing with a calmness that kept you grounded, even as you felt like you were falling apart inside.

You barely heard him. His words were distant, drowned out by the sound of the heartbeat and the weight of what was growing inside you. Your mind screamed for escape, but there was no way out. No way to undo what had already begun. You were trapped in your own body, and Sylus had made sure of that.

But Dr. Merrill’s calmness, his steady explanations, were the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely. His kindness, the small moments of humanity he offered, kept you grounded, even as the world around you shattered. He wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t indifferent. He treated you like you mattered, even though everything about your situation screamed that you didn’t.

Sylus, meanwhile, stood at the edge of the bed, his excitement palpable. His eyes were glued to the screen, as if the sight of the baby—the proof of what he had claimed—was the culmination of everything he had ever wanted. His hands twitched at his sides, and you could feel his unspoken desire to celebrate, to revel in this moment with you. To share in the twisted joy he felt.

But you couldn’t give him that. You couldn’t share in his excitement. You couldn’t even look at him.

Sylus finally broke the silence, his voice soft but laced with anticipation. “When will we know the gender?”

Dr. Merrill glanced at Sylus and then back to the screen. “Usually, we can determine the gender around eighteen to twenty weeks, but it can vary depending on how the baby is positioned.”

Sylus nodded, his eyes gleaming with excitement. He turned to you, his expression filled with a strange mix of pride and emotion. “Soon, honey. Soon we’ll know.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The words were too heavy, too suffocating. You stared blankly at the ceiling, your chest tight as the sound of the heartbeat echoed in your mind, a constant reminder of what was happening inside of you.

Dr. Merrill continued with the ultrasound, checking the baby’s size and positioning. “Everything is progressing as it should,” he said gently. “The baby looks healthy, growing well, regular heartbeat.”

His voice was calm, reassuring. Your mind was spinning, the weight of it all pressing down on you. You wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything other than lie there and listen to the confirmation that you were carrying a child you didn't want, that your body was no longer your own.

Finally, the ultrasound was over. Dr. Merrill wiped the gel from your stomach and offered you another kind smile before turning to Sylus. “I recommend another ultrasound in a few monthsfor a progress check, to make sure baby has all its parts. It'll go just like this one did, very simple."

You looked away, your throat too tight to speak. You hated how his kindness made you feel. Hated how much you longed for more of it, how desperate you were for any scrap of humanity in this twisted, suffocating nightmare.

Dr. Merrill packed up his equipment and left the room, and with him, the brief moment of peace shattered. Sylus remained, his eyes still gleaming with excitement, his voice a soft whisper as he moved closer to the bed.

“Did you hear that, sweetie?” he said, his voice filled with emotion. “That’s our baby. Alive. Real.”

The words felt like a punch to the stomach, knocking the air out of your lungs. You couldn’t respond. You didn’t want to. You just lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of everything press down on you like a suffocating blanket. The sound of the heartbeat still echoed in your ears, relentless and haunting, a reminder that you were no longer just yourself. You were carrying his child, and there was no escape.

“I want to go home,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but the pain in it was unmistakable. Tears streamed down your face and the room became a blur, temporarily blocking Sylus out of your vision before you wiped your eyes.

Sylus’s face faltered, the joy in his eyes dimming for just a moment, but he quickly masked it. You saw the crack in his excitement, but you didn’t care.

“You are home sweetie. This has been your home before you or I ever realized it.”

You turned away from him, silently, your eyes drifting to the window, staring into the endless darkness of the N109 Zone. You wished for the sun, for the light, for anything that could take you away from this nightmare.

But the darkness was all that remained.

Dinner was quiet, a heavy silence draped over the table like a suffocating blanket. The dim glow of the candles cast flickering shadows across the room, but the atmosphere was anything but warm. You sat across from Sylus, barely able to meet his gaze, your fork trembling as you forced down small bites of steak. The nausea had come and gone since the ultrasound, but it wasn’t the sickness that was making your stomach churn now—it was the overwhelming sense of dread that seemed to settle over every moment you spent in this house.

Sylus sat across from you, watching you carefully as he always did, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite name. You didn’t want to look at him. Couldn’t bring yourself to. But you felt his gaze lingering on you, waiting for something. For what, you didn’t know. You didn’t care.

Your chest tightened as you tried to swallow another bite of food, but the lump in your throat made it nearly impossible. Tears burned at the back of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You were tired—so damn tired of crying. Tired of feeling like you were suffocating, trapped in a nightmare you couldn’t wake from. But no matter how hard you tried to hold them back, the tears slid down your cheeks, silent and betraying.

Sylus noticed, of course. He always noticed.

He reached across the table, his hand gentle as it brushed against your cheek to wipe the tears away. His touch, though cold, felt like fire against your skin, and instinctively, you flinched away from him, pulling back as though his fingers had burned you.

His hand hovered in the air for a moment, the gesture frozen, before he slowly pulled it back. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, the intensity of it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

The silence stretched on, thicker now, until finally, he spoke.

You gripped the edge of the table, your knuckles losing blood, your nails digging into the wood as his words washed over you. The anger simmered just beneath the surface, a slow boil that had been building for weeks now, ever since that horrible day when he had brought you here. Your head was a storm of conflicting emotions—rage, sorrow, fear—and the more he spoke, the more the fury bubbled up inside you.

“I…” Your voice trembled as you tried to find the words, your chest tight with the weight of it all. “You…you weren’t supposed to be the father of my baby, Sylus.”

The words hung in the air between you, cold and sharp, and when you finally forced yourself to look up at him, you saw the devastation flicker across his face. For a brief moment, he looked lost, hurt. His expression softened, his eyes searching yours as if looking for something to hold onto.

“Is it the pregnancy making you feel this way,” Sylus asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, “or is it me?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The truth was, it was both. The pregnancy had turned your world upside down, trapping you in a nightmare you couldn’t escape. But Sylus—Sylus had taken everything from you. The life you’d known. The love you’d felt. He had stolen it all, and now, he was asking you to feel something for him, to open up to him like it hadn’t been him who destroyed you in the first place.

The silence between you felt like a chasm, growing wider and deeper with each passing second.

He reached for your hand, gently cradling it in his own as he leaned forward. His touch was cautious, careful, as if he were afraid you might pull away again. “What can I do?” he asked, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’d do anything to prove to you that I can be a good dad. A good man to you. You just have to let me, sweetie. I have money, I have houses…anything you want.”

His words twisted in your chest, making it harder to breathe. He was offering you everything except the one thing you truly wanted: freedom. The freedom to choose your own life, your own path. And now, sitting here, chained to a future you never asked for, with a child you never wanted, the weight of it all finally broke you.

Tears spilled over, uncontrollable now, as you wrenched your hand away from his, your voice trembling with anger and pain.

“I don’t want your money!” you screamed, the sound raw and broken. “And I sure as hell don’t want your baby!”

Sylus flinched at your words, his face crumpling in hurt, but you didn’t care. The anger surged inside you like a tidal wave, crashing against everything you’d been holding back for weeks. It all came pouring out, too fast, too much, but you couldn’t stop.

“You’ve trapped me here, Sylus!” you cried, your voice shaking with emotion. “You’ve taken everything from me! My life, my freedom, my choices…I never wanted this! I never wanted you!”

Your hands shook as you wiped at your tears, but they kept coming, relentless, like a dam had burst inside of you. “I have nightmares every night, Sylus. Every single night, I’m back in that basement. It feels like I never left. I see Reese. I see you. And now…now I’m carrying this…this thing inside me, and it feels like a monster. Another monster trapping me! I feel like I’m losing myself more and more every day, and I can’t take it anymore.”

Your voice broke on the last words, your breath coming in ragged sobs. The weight of everything you’d been holding in finally crashed down on you, suffocating you in its grip. You pressed your hands to your face, trying to muffle the sound of your sobs, but they tore through you, leaving you shaking, fragile.

For the first time in weeks, you let yourself fall apart.

Sylus watched you, his expression stricken, his hands hovering near you but not daring to touch. His face was a mixture of pain and guilt, his eyes wide as if he didn’t know what to do, how to fix this. He had always been in control, always sure of himself. But now, in the face of your despair, he looked lost.

“Sweetie…” he whispered, his voice soft, pleading. “Please, let me help. I never wanted to hurt you.”

But his words felt hollow, empty. There was no fixing this. Not with money. Not with promises. Nothing could undo the damage that had been done.

“I don’t want your help,” you said through your tears, your voice barely audible. “I just want my life back.”

And for a long moment, the two of you sat there, the silence between you stretching into something neither of you could escape. The weight of your broken world pressed down, and the distance between you, though only a few feet, felt like an ocean.

Sylus reached for your hand again, slower this time, hesitant, as though he knew you might pull away. His cold fingers brushed against your skin, and even though you wanted to recoil, you didn’t have the energy to fight anymore.

“I’ll find a way,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll find a way to make this better. I promise.”

But even as he said the words, your heart twisted and your eyes filled with more tears.

Some things could never be made right.

The room felt like it was closing in on you, every breath harder to take as your sobs wracked through your body. You wanted to scream, to run, to make it all stop. But here you were—trapped, chained to a reality you never chose, forced into a life you never wanted. And Sylus, with all his soft words and empty promises, sat across from you, looking at you with eyes that made you want to tear the world apart.

His touch was still on your skin, his fingers cold, tentative, like he didn’t know how to reach you anymore. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he never had.

“I’ll find a way,” he whispered again, like it was some kind of lifeline, something he could grasp onto to pull you out of the darkness. His voice cracked, filled with an emotion you’d never heard from him before. “I’ll make this better. I’ll fix it, sweetie. I’ll do anything.”

The weight of his words only fueled the fire burning in your chest. How could he possibly think he could fix this? How could he believe that he could make this nightmare go away with his empty offers and twisted affection?

You snapped.

“You can’t!!” you screamed, the words ripping from your throat, sharp and raw. Your whole body trembled with the force of your anger, your hands shaking as you clenched them into fists. “You can’t make this right, Sylus! Don’t you get that?!”

His face twisted, the hurt clear on his face, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. The dam had broken, and all the pain, all the rage, was flooding out.

“How could you ever make this right?” you shouted, your voice cracking as your tears blurred your vision. “You’ve raped me! I am trapped here, with you, carrying a child—your child—and you think you can fix it? Are you stupid?”

You pushed the chair back so violently it toppled over, but you didn’t care. The only thing you cared about was getting the words out—every awful, gut-wrenching truth you’d held in for so long.

“I hate my life!” you cried, the words bitter and hot on your tongue. “I hate this baby! And most of all… I hate you!”

Sylus’s face crumpled, the hurt in his eyes so deep, so raw, that it would have shattered you if you weren’t already so far gone. His hands, once so confident and controlling, hovered in the air, unsure, as if he didn’t know whether to reach for you or let you be. You could see the way his throat worked as he tried to speak, the words catching somewhere between shock and devastation.

The silence between you was deafening, thick with the weight of your confession. You could feel the cracks in his carefully constructed façade, the way your words cut through him like a knife. But you didn’t feel sorry. You couldn’t. Not anymore.

You expected his usual taunts. You had said similar things to him before and he had just brushed them off. But now, he was listening. And it was very clear he believed you.

Sylus’s voice, when it finally came, was barely above a whisper. “You really hate me?”

There was something so broken in the way he said it, like he couldn’t quite believe the words. Like he hadn’t already known how much you despised him. His face, usually so composed, so sure, was now painted with a pain that almost mirrored your own.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your vision swimming with tears, and for a moment, you didn’t know if you could stand anymore. You were so tired—so incredibly tired of fighting, of feeling like you were suffocating under the weight of everything that had happened.

But you weren’t done. Not yet.

“I hate everything about this,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying, your throat raw. “I hate that you’ve made me into someone I don’t even recognize. And I hate that you think you can just…fix it. Like I'm just some toy you accidently dropped.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him, and for the first time in a long time, you saw something that almost broke you. Sylus, this man who had taken so much from you, who had been the source of so much of your pain, looked shattered. He was still, his face drawn, his eyes wide and filled with something you didn’t want to see—vulnerability.

“I’m trying,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m trying to make this work. I love you. I love our baby. I just…I don’t know what else to do.”

His words hit you like a blow, but instead of softening, they only made you more confused. How could he say that? How could he stand there, acting like he hadn’t ripped apart your entire world, acting like love could somehow make this okay?

“You don’t get it, do you?” you choked out, your voice trembling. “I don’t want your love. I don’t want this baby. You’ve destroyed everything I ever cared about. I can’t love you. I can’t love this…this monster growing inside me.”

Sylus flinched at the word monster, his expression tightening as if you had slapped him. His hands, which had been hovering near you, fell to his sides, limp and defeated.

For a moment, the two of you just remained there, the space between you impossibly wide. Your chest heaved with the weight of everything you had just said, the truth burning in your throat.

Sylus’s face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed as if he were holding back tears of his own. If you hadn't known any better you would've thought he was about to cry. You’d never seen him like this—never seen him so…broken. It should have made you feel better. It should have given you some sense of satisfaction to see him suffer the way you had. But all it did was leave you feeling hollow, empty.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m so sorry.”

Sylus stood there, his chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. You could see the way your words had broken something in him, the raw vulnerability in his eyes, but he didn’t back down. Not yet. His fingers twitched at his sides, as if he wanted to reach for you, to pull you close, but he seemed to know better now. Instead, he took a step closer, his voice cracking as he spoke.

"Your old life was killing you,” Sylus said, his voice soft but edged with frustration. "You were overworked, exhausted, running on fumes. You barely had time for yourself. You were drowning, and I saved you from that. You don’t see it now, but I gave you a way out."

You felt the familiar surge of anger swell in your chest, hotter and fiercer than before. His words felt like a slap in the face, as if he was dismissing everything you had worked for, everything you had built in your life—no matter how hard it had been. He didn’t get it. He didn’t understand. And the fact that he thought he had "saved" you only made it worse.

"Saved me?" you spat, your voice rising with disbelief. "You think you saved me? Sylus, I wasn’t asking to be saved! I didn’t need you to swoop in and decide that my life wasn’t good enough for me. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine!"

He froze, his expression tightening, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

"Yeah, I was tired. Yeah, I was overworked sometimes," you continued, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. "But I chose that life. The life of a hunter. I chose to work hard. I chose to push myself because it was my life. I could decide if I wanted to be exhausted or not. I could decide if I wanted to keep going or take a break."

"You took that away from me."

Sylus shook his head, a deep crease forming between his brows. "You’re not seeing it clearly. You were on the edge, about to burn out completely. I just...I gave you a way out. Somewhere you didn’t have to fight so hard all the time."

"Well, it wasn’t your decision to make!" you yelled, your voice breaking as the tears welled up again. "It was my life! My choice! Maybe I would have burned out, maybe I would have fallen apart, but it would have been my choice to do that! And for the record, I am fighting here. Every single day I have to fight the urge to slam my head into the wall until I pass out and die!"

Sylus’s face twisted with something between guilt and frustration, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "I’m trying to give you something better," he insisted, his voice thick with emotion. "A life where you don’t have to struggle every day. A life where you’re cared for, where you don’t have to worry about anything."

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and hollow in the tense silence between you.

"I don’t want that life, Sylus," you said, your voice soft but laced with anger. "I want my own life. The one where I get to make decisions for myself. Even if it’s messy and exhausting."

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Sylus stared at you, his eyes wide, his lips parted as if he wanted to say something—anything—to convince you that he was right. But you could see the cracks in his resolve, the way his shoulders slumped just a little, the way his gaze flickered with something close to defeat.

For a moment, he didn’t speak. He just stood there, his chest heaving with the weight of everything unspoken between you.

Then, finally, his voice came, soft and tender.

"Why can't you see that this is better for you?," he whispered, his eyes searching yours for something you couldn’t give him. "Your safe here, with me. You saw what happened to you when you ran. Can't you understand?"

You shook your head, your throat tight with the tears you were fighting back from spilling any further. Why were you crying so much? Stop crying in front of this asshole.

"You can’t decide what’s better for me," you said quietly. "That’s not love, Sylus. That’s control."

And with those words, the last bit of fight seemed to drain from him. He stood there, silent and still, as if he didn’t know what to do, as if he were finally realizing the depth of what he had done. You watched as his face let go of all the frustration, and he turned to you.

You braced yourself for the usual. Sylus was nothing if not predictable in the way he handled your anger. You expected the chuckle, the smirk that would twist his lips as he dismissed your emotions, reducing them to a symptom of your hormones. He’d likely pull you into his lap, force you to melt into him until your tears spilled out, and he’d whisper something charming or infuriating, depending on his mood. That was Sylus—always in control, always one step ahead of your emotions, bending them to suit his will.

But this time, there was no chuckle. No smirk.

Instead, he stood up from his chair, pushing it back gently, and then…he knelt.

He knelt in front of you, and it took a moment for your brain to process what was happening. Sylus had never knelt before you, never shown this kind of vulnerability. It was always you looking up at him, feeling the weight of his presence, the force of his control pressing down on you. But now, for the first time, you were looking down at him.

It was jarring, seeing him like this. His eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them, filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. You wanted to pull away, to retreat into the safety of your anger, but something in the way he looked at you kept you rooted to the spot.

He reached for your hand, his fingers cool against your skin as he took it gently in his. You stared at him, waiting for the shift, waiting for him to pull you into his world of manipulation again. But instead, he sighed softly, and you watched, stunned, as he brought your hand to his lips and kissed it with a tenderness that sent a shiver down your spine.

"I’ve…lost people before," he began, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it, filled with something raw, something you weren’t sure you wanted to confront. "People I cared about. People that…didn’t even care about me. And yet, it still hurt."

His words hung in the air, heavy and unexpected. You blinked, unable to tear your gaze away from him. This wasn’t the Sylus you knew. This wasn’t the man who had taken you, who had controlled and manipulated every part of your life since that fateful day you had arrived here. This was someone else—someone who, for a brief moment, seemed…vulnerable.

"I don’t want to live through that again," he continued, his voice steady, though you could hear the pain beneath it. "I don’t want to lose you. I want to give you everything I have. Everything I own. My body, my soul—it’s all yours."

His words struck you like a blow, leaving you reeling. You wanted to pull away, to scream at him for saying such things after everything he’d done. But something about the way he spoke, the way his eyes searched yours, made you stay.

"No," Sylus said, his gaze softening as he looked at you, his hand still holding yours. "You don’t belong to me. At least…not your heart. I know this. I’ve known it for a long time. But I’m hoping…one day, you’ll see me and…not see a monster."

You felt your breath catch in your throat. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Sylus—the man who had torn your life apart, who had taken you from everything you knew—was kneeling before you, admitting to his flaws, his mistakes. The tenderness in his eyes was almost too much to bear, and you hated how it made your heart clench, how it made you feel something you didn’t want to feel.

"I am far from perfect," he continued, his voice soft and filled with regret. "I know I’ve made my mistakes. I know I’ve hurt you in ways that…can’t be undone. But even if I’m forever chasing your love, I’ll never regret bringing you here the way I did. It was the only way I could ensure your life with me was safe."

Your mind was spinning, struggling to comprehend the weight of his words. How could he say that? How could he sit there, offering you everything, knowing that he had destroyed everything you once were?

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. You were too stunned, too overwhelmed by the depth of emotion in his eyes. This wasn’t the cold, calculating man you had come to know. This was someone who, in his own twisted way, genuinely believed that he was protecting you, that he was giving you something better.

Before you could gather your thoughts, Sylus shifted. He reached into his pocket and pulled something out—a small velvet box. Your heart skipped a beat as he opened it, revealing an intricately designed ring. It was striking, a silver band with a dark, rectangular gemstone at its center, surrounded by an elegant vine-like pattern that twisted and intertwined along the sides. Small black stones glimmered against the metal, adding depth to its gothic beauty.

Your breath caught as he took your hand again, his fingers trembling slightly as he held it. The ring was heavy with meaning, and as he slid it onto your finger, the cool silver touching your skin, you felt a strange, sinking sensation in your chest. It was beautiful, but there was something in the weight of it, in the way it encircled your finger, that stirred a mix of emotions—both a mix of confusion and adrenaline.

It fit perfectly. Of course it did.

Sylus knew everything about you—every detail, every aspect of your body. He had studied you, watched you, learned every inch of who you were. This was just another reminder of how deep his control went, how he knew you better than you wanted to admit.

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with something so raw, so earnest, it made your throat tighten.

"Will you be my wife?," he whispered, his voice low and thick with emotion. "Marry me, have my baby. And everything is yours. Everything I have, every part of me. My money, my soul, my heart—it’s all yours."

You stared at him, your mind racing, your heart pounding in your chest. The weight of the ring on your finger felt suffocating, but the look in his eyes, the way he knelt before you with such open vulnerability, made it impossible to tear yourself away.

You wanted to scream, to tear the ring off and throw it back at him. You wanted to tell him that none of this mattered—that no amount of money, no promises of devotion, could ever erase what he had done to you. To scream about the audacity to ask you to marry him after everything. But the words wouldn’t come. You were frozen, trapped between the anger boiling in your chest and the strange, unwelcome tenderness in his eyes.

For a moment, the two of you sat there, the space between you filled with unspoken emotions. Sylus’s hand lingered on yours, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles as if he were trying to convey everything he couldn’t say aloud.

"I’ll give you the world, sweetie," he whispered, his voice so soft it was almost a plea. "You just have to let me."

And for the first time, you didn’t know what to say.

The ring on your finger felt like another chain, binding you to him in ways you never wanted. But the way he looked at you, the way his eyes pleaded for something more—it made the anger inside you waver, just for a moment.

You stared at Sylus, feeling the air shift between you. For a moment, all you could focus on was the absurdity of what was happening. The man who had turned your life upside down was kneeling in front of you, asking you to marry him. But as the seconds ticked by, the weight of it all began to settle in. The small smile on his face grew as you realized something startling.

He wasn’t joking.

Sylus was serious.

This wasn’t some game, some twisted manipulation to push you further into his control—this was real. He was genuinely offering you a choice. A small one, sure. But a choice nonetheless. The ring on your finger, the sincerity in his eyes—it wasn’t just another part of his plan. He was giving you an opening, a crack in the armor you hadn’t expected to find.

You blinked, your heart racing as the realization hit you. Can I use this?

Your mind began to spin, ideas and possibilities swirling around you. If Sylus really wanted this—if he genuinely wanted you to be with him, to be his wife—then maybe…maybe you could use it to your advantage. Maybe, if you played your cards right, you could turn the tables on him.

Could you pretend? Could you manipulate him, make him believe you were coming around, that you were falling for him? If you played the role well enough, if you made him trust you, maybe you could get closer to freedom. Maybe you could finally escape this nightmare.

Your breath hitched at the thought. The idea of pretending to love him, to be anything but what you truly felt, made your stomach churn. But if it was your only way out, if it meant getting closer to freedom—could you do it?

You studied him for a moment, weighing your options. He wasn’t manipulating you in the way you’d come to expect. He was pushing you to a certain answer, yes, but the sincerity in his eyes was undeniable. For all his control, for all the power he held, he was offering you something—something you could use. The idea sent a small spark of hope through you, a glimmer of possibility in the otherwise suffocating darkness.

Sylus raised an eyebrow, watching you closely, clearly waiting for your response. He was confident, but not in the way that made you feel trapped. He was giving you the space to think, to decide. His face was calm, but there was an anxious look twinkling in his eyes.

It was your move.

“If I say yes…” you began slowly, your voice steady but laced with challenge, “can I start coming outside of this room?”

Sylus blinked, and for the briefest moment, you saw something flicker in his eyes—surprise. He hadn’t expected that. You’d managed to throw him off, if only for a heartbeat. But as quickly as the moment came, it was gone, replaced by the familiar, teasing grin that always made your blood simmer. Only this time, there was something different—less control, more excitement.

“You want to bargain, hm?” His voice was warm, the amusement still there, but it wasn’t manipulative. It was almost…tender, as if he found your attempt at negotiating endearing rather than frustrating.

“How cute.”

Before you could respond, he moved. Standing up, Sylus rose from his kneeling position, his full height looming over you. The sudden shift in power was palpable, and despite the defiance thrumming in your veins, you couldn’t help but feel the space between you shrink, the air thickening with tension.

Sylus took a step closer, his presence overwhelming, but there was no smugness in his expression now. Just a quiet intensity, a soft eagerness that made you realize—he was serious. He wanted this. The idea of you saying yes was something he genuinely wanted, not just some ploy for control. His playful teasing melted away into something deeper, something more real.

“You can only come out when I’m around,” he said softly, his tone gentle but firm. “And when you’re in here, you’ll still wear the chain. I have to protect you, sweetie. But...”

He trailed off, watching your face carefully, waiting for you to absorb his words. Then, he leaned down slightly, bringing himself closer to your level, his eyes never leaving yours. His smile softened, tender now, his excitement barely contained. “But if you accept my proposal, I’ll agree to your terms. You’ll get what you want. You’ll come out of this room more often. I’ll give you that freedom, bit by bit.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. This wasn’t a calculated move on his part—there was no hidden agenda in his eyes, no manipulation lurking in the depths of his voice. He genuinely believed he was offering you something. He believed that this was a fair deal.

He wasn’t just teasing you. He was hopeful. Sylus was hoping you’d say yes, hoping that this—the two of you—could work. The thought was startling. You could use this. He wanted your agreement so badly he was willing to bend. If you played this right, if you acted like you were coming around, you could manipulate him. Slowly. Carefully. Get his guard down, map out the house, and then...escape.

The realization made your pulse quicken, but you kept your face neutral. You couldn’t let him see that flicker of hope now burning inside you. You couldn’t show him your hand.

Sylus, seemingly oblivious to your internal struggle, took another small step closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, intimate and sincere. “So, what’ll it be, sweetheart?” His tone was soft, coaxing, but filled with anticipation. “I’ll keep my end of the deal. I’ll give you a little more freedom. You just have to say yes.”

The ring on your finger felt impossibly heavy, the symbol of everything you stood to lose...and maybe, everything you stood to gain. The idea of agreeing to marry him made you feel sick, but the thought of staying locked in this room, with no way out, was worse. If you could use this—if you could pretend to love him, make him believe it—then maybe you could finally have a chance at freedom.

Your throat felt tight, and for a moment, you weren’t sure you could speak. But then, with your heart pounding in your chest, you swallowed your fear.

“I’ll say yes,” you whispered, your voice calm, though your insides were trembling.

Sylus blinked, and for a split second, you saw raw, unfiltered joy flicker across his face. His eyes softened, lighting up with a tender excitement that caught you off guard. He didn’t say anything, didn’t gloat or smirk. Instead, he reached for your hand, his touch gentle as he pulled you just a little closer.

“Good girl,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

For a moment, you were frozen, unable to tear your eyes away from him. His tenderness—the way he looked at you—was almost overwhelming. You hadn’t expected this. You’d expected him to gloat, to make some smug comment, but instead, he seemed genuinely... happy.

His fingers lingered on yours, as if he didn’t want to let go, and you could feel the weight of his emotions pressing down on you. This wasn’t a game for him.

And that made your next move all the more dangerous.

“I’m serious, Sylus,” you said softly, pulling your hand away slowly but not forcefully, letting him see your resolve. “If I agree to this, I need to know you’ll give me more. I can’t live like this forever. I need more freedom.”

He watched you carefully, his eyes searching yours, and for a moment, you thought he might push back. But then, he nodded, his lips pulling into a small, sincere smile.

“I’ll give you what you need, sweetie,” he promised, his voice low and warm. “Your pregnant after all, you can't raise a baby in one room.”

You forced yourself to smile, knowing that this was anything but a cheerful moment for you. But for now, you had to play the part.

You could feel his anticipation thick in the air, almost tangible, his dark eyes locked onto you with that infuriating mix of tenderness and excitement. But you weren’t done yet. No, this was your chance. If you were going to manipulate him, it had to be flawless, it had to be convincing. You had to make him believe that this was real.

"Come closer," you whispered, your voice deliberately softer, almost seductive, as you tilted your head and looked up at him through your lashes. It was an invitation, your eyes pulling him in, baiting him, while you leaned slightly forward.

Sylus raised an eyebrow, the intrigue clear in his expression. For a brief moment, there was a flicker of suspicion in his gaze, as though he were weighing your sudden change in demeanor. Could he sense something? Was he catching on? But then the wariness melted away, replaced by a look of quiet excitement, his features softening. He moved even closer, his posture relaxing as he leaned toward you.

This was the moment. The moment to pull him deeper into the illusion, to make him believe he was winning.

Without giving yourself time to second-guess, you reached up and grabbed his face, pulling him into a kiss. His lips were warm against yours, but he didn’t respond immediately. His body stiffened, and in that split second of hesitation, panic surged through you. Had you pushed too far? Did he know you were playing him?

The silence stretched unbearably, the seconds dragging out as fear twisted in your stomach. But then, just as quickly, Sylus seemed to relax, and he kissed you back. The tension drained from his body, and you could feel the relief ripple through him. He believed you.

His lips moved softly against yours, and you realized with growing unease that he was good at this—too good. His hands slid to the sides of your waist, gentle but deliberate, his fingers making their under your nightgown as the kiss continued, in a way that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. You felt the warmth of his skin against yours, and to your horror, you found yourself leaning into him, your body betraying you with a response that wasn’t part of the plan.

This was supposed to be a game—a trick to manipulate him into letting his guard down. But instead, you were getting lost in it. You could feel the kiss deepening, growing more intense, and Sylus was taking his time, savoring it. His lips moved with a kind of hunger that caught you off guard, and his hands, now wandering higher under your nightgown, made your breath catch. A small gasp leaves your lips as he manages to slip his tongue into your mouth, beginning a slippery and lustful dance with your own tongue. A wave of panic hit you as you realized your resolve was slipping. No. This isn't how it was supposed to go.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you forced yourself to pull back, breaking the kiss abruptly. Sylus blinked, his face twisting with surprise, but you didn’t give him a chance to react or ask questions. A mixture of two of yall's saliva slid down your chin and you wiped it. You needed to get out of there before you lost control completely.

“I—" you stammered, quickly placing a hand over your stomach, hoping the gesture looked convincing. “I feel like I’m going to throw up dinner.”

The words tumbled out hurriedly, and you could hear the desperation in your own voice, but it didn’t matter as long as Sylus believed it. You watched as his expression immediately shifted, the concern in his eyes growing as he laid a hand on your shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with genuine worry.

You nodded, your pulse racing, already halfway to the bathroom. “Yes, I just—I need a minute.” You didn’t wait for his response, rushing toward the bathroom as if you couldn’t get away fast enough. You rushed through the entrance, leaning against the wall for a moment, trying to steady your breathing.

The adrenaline was still coursing through your veins, your mind spinning from what had just happened. You barely had time to process it as you quickly knelt in front of the toilet, forcing yourself to make exaggerated retching noises loud enough for him to hear. Your heart was still racing, your lips still tingling from the kiss. You needed to calm down, to think.

“Sweetie? Do you need anything?” Sylus called from the other side of the wall, his concern cutting through the noise in your head. “I’ll see if I can get something for the nausea that’s safe for the baby.”

You leaned over the toilet, trying to mask your deep breaths. “I’ll be fine!” you called out, making sure your voice sounded weak, vulnerable. You forced another fake gag. “I just need a minute.”

You held your breath, waiting to see if he’d come to check on you. Your heart pounded in your ears, half expecting him to walk in, but then you heard the sound of his footsteps retreating. You were alone. Finally.

A slow, genuine smile crept across your face, something dark and satisfying twisting inside you. The kiss had thrown you off, but in the end, it didn’t matter. The plan was still intact. Sylus was buying every second of it, and he had no idea what was coming next.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt powerful again. You had him wrapped around your finger, and he didn’t even know it.

“My turn now, Sylus.” you whispered to yourself, the smile widening as you stared down at the toilet, your heart still racing with the adrenaline of what you’d just done.

Because now? Now you were the one in control.

And Sylus had no idea the storm that was about to descend on him.

Xavier stood at the edge of the city, his hands resting on the cold metal railing of the balcony outside of the Hunter's Association, his eyes fixed on the distant skyline. Linkon looked the same as it always had—its towering buildings and busy streets alive with movement—but to Xavier, the city felt hollow. It was as if everything had lost its meaning the moment you were taken. Nothing seemed real anymore. Not since that day.

His jaw clenched as he stared down at the street below, where people moved about, oblivious to the war that raged inside him. The lie he had been forced to tell weighed heavily on his chest, suffocating him. It gnawed at his conscience, at the very core of who he was.

He had told everyone you were gone. That you had escaped the country, far from reach, that you were safe. He had even given them details—fabricated images of a life where you were living free and happy from the shackles of life. It was all a lie. A lie Sylus had demanded he spread to protect you.

But the truth…the truth burned inside him every second of every day.

You hadn’t just left. You weren’t safe. You were still out there, trapped in Sylus’s grasp, and there wasn’t a damn thing Xavier could do about it. Not without risking your life.

“Fuck.” The word escaped his lips in a low, frustrated growl as he ran a hand through his hair. He had been searching for months, chasing every lead, every whisper that might bring him closer to finding you. All of that work, just to be stopped dead in his tracks by Sylus's threats. Sylus had buried you deep. And with every day that passed, Xavier felt you slipping further away.

The memory of the last message still haunted him—Sylus’s threat, calm and chilling.

"You're going to tell your captain that you saw and talked to your… partner. That she is fine and just felt trapped with work, so she fled to another country. After that, get rid of the SIM card. I will know if you don't. Don't test me."

It had been a warning, clear and direct. A warning Xavier had no choice but to obey. Because as much as he wanted to tear the world apart to find you, to rip Sylus apart piece by piece for what he had done, he couldn’t. Not without endangering your life. And that was something he couldn’t live with.

So he had lied. To Tara, to the captain, to everyone that was worried. They had believed him. Captain Jenna had even told him to pass on the message that you were relieved of your duties. They thought you were free, safe, living a life far away from all of this madness.

It had been weeks now. Weeks of living this lie. Of watching the world go on without you, of everyone around him moving forward, believing the false reality he had constructed. But every day without you felt like another day lost, another day stolen by Sylus. The job continued. His life went on.

But you weren’t there.

And without you, nothing mattered.

Behind him, the door to the balcony creaked open, and Xavier tensed. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Tara. She had been hovering around him for days, concerned but respectful of his space. She didn’t understand—how could she? To her, it looked like you had simply left him, like you had chosen to walk away from everything the two of you had built. To her, it looked like he was mourning the loss of you, mourning the heartbreak of being left behind.

He wasn’t mourning your absence.

He was mourning the fact that he couldn’t save you.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Tara said softly, her footsteps light as she approached. Her voice held that same gentle concern it always did, but today, it made Xavier’s chest ache even more. “I know this has been…hard for you.”

Tara came to stand beside him, leaning her arms on the railing, her gaze sweeping over the city, brown hair swaying in the wind. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the cold wind swirling between them. The air felt heavy, thick with the things they weren’t saying.

Xavier swallowed, his throat tight, his pulse pounding in his ears. He wanted to respond, to say something, but how could he explain any of this to her? She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. Sylus had made sure of that. He wasn’t just protecting you with the lie—he was protecting Tara and everyone else from Sylus’s reach.

Tara sighed, turning her gaze to him. “I miss her too, you know,” she said, her voice tinged with sadness. “I thought the two of you were going to make it through anything. And then…she just left. Won't answer my calls or texts either.”

Xavier’s jaw clenched as he tried to keep his emotions in check. He couldn’t tell her the truth. He couldn’t let anyone know that you hadn’t left by choice—that you hadn’t ran—but had been taken. He couldn’t risk Sylus finding out. Not when your life hung in the balance.

“I know,” he muttered finally, his voice rough. It was the only thing he could manage without completely falling apart. He couldn’t lie any more than that right now, not without losing control.

Tara’s eyes softened, her voice gentle. “I still can’t believe she just left like that though. It doesn’t make any sense. She was so in love with you, Xavier. She was my best friend. I mean, maybe…” She hesitated, her brow furrowing in thought. “Maybe one day she’ll come back. People change, you know? Maybe she just needed space.”

Xavier wanted to scream. The idea that you had “just needed space” was so far from the truth it was almost laughable. But he couldn’t correct her. He couldn’t say anything. All he could do was let Tara believe the story he had been forced to tell—the story that you had left, had chosen to disappear from his life, leaving him brokenhearted and searching for closure.

He hated it. Every single second of it.

He turned to face her, trying to hide the rage bubbling beneath the surface. “I hope so,” he said, the words bitter in his mouth. He didn’t believe it. He couldn’t let himself believe anything other than the truth. The truth was that you were still out there, trapped in Sylus’s grasp, and every day that passed was another day you were suffering, another day he wasn’t there to save you.

Tara studied him, her expression soft with sympathy. “You really loved her, didn’t you?” she asked quietly.

Loved. The word twisted like a knife in his chest. He loved you—more than anything. More than anyone could ever know. And yet, here he was, lying to everyone about where you were, letting them believe you were gone. It felt like a betrayal to everything the two of you had shared.

He nodded, but the movement felt hollow, empty. “I still do,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“I just wish I understood why,” Tara continued, her gaze drifting back to the city below. “Why she would leave like that. Why she didn’t tell anyone. Maybe…maybe it wasn’t just about you. Maybe she was going through something we didn’t know about.”

Xavier’s stomach twisted, guilt and frustration gnawing at him. You were going through something, but not in the way Tara imagined. You were going through hell—real hell—and no one could save you because they didn’t even know. No one, not even Tara, could see past the lie Sylus had crafted. The thought of how trapped you must feel, how alone, was unbearable.

He turned his back to the railing, staring at the ground as he wrestled with the fury building inside him. “Maybe,” he muttered, unable to say more. The truth was there, threatening to spill out, but he couldn’t afford to let it. Not when Sylus was probably watching.

Tara sighed again, running a hand through her hair. “I guess all we can do is wait. Maybe one day, she’ll pop up!"

Xavier felt like his chest was caving in. He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to scream at the absurdity of it all. You weren’t coming back because you hadn’t left in the first place. You hadn’t abandoned him. You hadn’t chosen this. You were a prisoner, and there was nothing he could do to bring you back—nothing without risking your life.

He looked at Tara, forcing a tight smile, though every part of him felt like it was crumbling.

“Yeah….”

The silence stretched between them again, and Xavier felt the weight of it pressing down on him, the burden of carrying this lie suffocating him. How long could he keep this up? How long before he slipped, before someone started asking the wrong questions?

And how long before Sylus pushed him past the point of no return?

Tara gave him a small, sympathetic smile. “I know you’ll be okay. You’re strong, Xavier. Stronger than most people. Just…don’t forget to take care of yourself too.”

Xavier nodded, not trusting himself to speak again. He didn’t feel strong. He felt like he was falling apart, piece by piece. The only thing keeping him together was the burning rage that refused to die—the rage that promised he’d find you, no matter what it took.

“I’ll be fine,” he lied, his voice quiet but strained. “Thanks, Tara.”

Tara gave him one last look before nodding and heading back inside, leaving Xavier alone with the howling wind and his shattered thoughts. He leaned against the railing, staring into the distance, his mind racing.

The weight of the lie pressed down on him, suffocating, but the anger beneath it was sharper, fiercer. He couldn’t let this continue. He couldn’t keep pretending you were just gone. Somewhere out there, Sylus had you, and every day that passed, every minute that slipped by, was another moment you were trapped in his clutches.

The day was finally over, though Xavier's body told a different story. Every muscle ached, every wound from the fight with the Wanderers throbbed as a sharp reminder of just how distracted he had been. The blows had landed harder today, his reactions slower, his mind somewhere else—on you. Normally, combat was his escape, the adrenaline pushing out everything except survival. But lately, even the thrill of the fight couldn't drown out the thoughts gnawing at the edges of his mind.

The thought of finally getting some rest was almost too good to believe. Akso Hospital was his next stop. A routine appointment—just a quick check-up, maybe get some medication to help him sleep. God, he needed it. The idea of sleep had become almost foreign to him, though. Xavier had never had trouble sleeping before. But lately...

The nightmares. They wouldn’t stop.

Every time he closed his eyes, you were there. Trapped, terrified, screaming for him to save you. But in the nightmare, no matter how much he willed his body to move, to run to you, he was frozen. Helpless. His legs wouldn’t budge, his hands wouldn’t lift. And then the worst part—the smile. His lips stretched into a cold, unnatural grin as if he was glad you were suffering. It haunted him, the way he could do nothing but smile like some twisted puppet controlled by unseen forces. The helplessness, the horror—it tore at him every night.

Xavier shook his head, forcing the memory away as he arrived at Akso Hospital. The building stood gleaming in the dimming light, its massive glass windows reflecting the fading hues of the evening sky. The hospital seemed almost otherworldly in its perfection, standing untouched by the chaos that raged in his life. The metallic façade shimmered, catching the last glimmers of sunlight, giving the place an almost clinical brilliance.

As he stepped inside, the doors slid open with a quiet whoosh, revealing the sterile, unnaturally bright interior. The floors were spotless, gleaming under the fluorescent lights, so polished that he could almost make out his reflection beneath his boots. The scent of disinfectant was sharp in the air, a smell that brought a strange comfort in its predictability. The atmosphere was calm, orderly—everything Xavier’s mind wasn’t.

He headed toward the waiting area, his footsteps echoing in the sterile silence of the hall. Nurses moved efficiently, their white shoes squeaking softly against the tile as they navigated through the quiet hum of hospital life. After checking in on the holographic panel near the front, Xavier slumped into a chair, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he rubbed his hands over his face. He tried to clear his thoughts, but the ever-present gnawing in his chest wouldn't let go. The waiting felt endless, each second dragging painfully.

Finally, the nurse called his name.

“Xavier?” The nurse stood in the doorway, clipboard in hand, her voice pulling him from the fog that had settled over him.

He stood up quickly, brushing off the exhaustion that clung to his limbs, and followed her down the hallway. The halls were lined with doors, each leading to an examination room, and the quiet click of doors opening and closing filled the air with a sterile monotony. Soon, he was led into a small, brightly lit room where Dr. Merrill greeted him with a warm, familiar smile.

“Xavier,” Dr. Merrill said, his voice calm and professional, though tinged with the comfort of someone who had seen him before. The doctor’s movements were quick, practiced, as he reached for his stethoscope.

“Let’s start with your heart and lungs,” Dr. Merrill said, leaning forward as Xavier sat on the edge of the examination table. The cool metal of the stethoscope pressed against Xavier’s chest, the coldness biting into his skin as the doctor listened intently. His brows furrowed slightly in concentration.

The routine check-up was almost comforting in its monotony. Breathe in, breathe out—Xavier’s chest rose and fell rhythmically, the familiar pattern grounding him. Everything was normal. Physically, at least. His heart, his lungs—they were fine. Just like always.

But the silence that followed was thick with unspoken questions. Dr. Merrill stepped back, making a few notes on his clipboard, before he glanced up.

“How are you holding up mentally?” the doctor asked, his voice carefully gentle.

Xavier hesitated, the tightness in his chest returning. He had kept so much of it bottled up for so long, the weight of it pressing down on him like a vice. He could feel the tension rising, the words threatening to spill over.

“Not great,” Xavier admitted, his voice low. “I’ve been…having trouble sleeping.”

Dr. Merrill’s expression softened, his eyes reflecting a quiet understanding. “That’s not surprising, considering the work you’re involved in. A lot of people in your position go through this. Stress can really do a number on the mind.”

He paused, studying Xavier’s face more closely. “Are you having nightmares?”

Xavier nodded slowly, feeling the familiar knot of anxiety tighten in his stomach. “Yeah. Every night. They won’t stop.”

Dr. Merrill leaned back against the counter, his gaze never leaving Xavier’s. “It sounds like you’re dealing with a lot more than just a lack of sleep. Nightmares are tough. And constant nightmares… they can take a toll.” He sighed, shaking his head slightly. “I can relate. Between the hospital and traveling for home visits outside of Linkon, I’m not sleeping much either. Sometimes I wonder why I decided to get into gynecology on top of being a general practitioner.”

Xavier offered a weak chuckle, though it felt forced. “Yeah, I guess we’re both running on fumes.”

Dr. Merrill smiled sympathetically. “I’ll prescribe you some sleeping tablets. Take them as directed—they should help ease you into a better sleep pattern. Hopefully, that’ll help with the nightmares, too.”

The doctor scribbled on a prescription pad before tearing it off and handing it to Xavier. The small slip of paper felt heavy in his hand, as though it held more weight than just medication. He stared at it for a moment before slipping it into his pocket.

“Thanks, docter,” Xavier muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I appreciate it.”

“Take care of yourself, Xavier,” Dr. Merrill said with a nod, his tone kind but firm. “You need to look after your health to keep fighting those wanderers!”

Xavier offered a small nod in return before making his way out of the examination room. The visit had been routine, and yet, that sense of unease still clung to him, wrapping around his chest like a vice. Nothing in his life felt routine anymore.

As he headed toward the exit, a sudden urge hit him. Damn it, he needed to use the bathroom. His steps quickened as he spotted the restroom signs. Thankfully to have found them quickly he rushed in and did his business. He exited the bathroom, wanting to hurry before the pharmacy closed, but as he passed the break room, he stopped. Voices. Familiar ones.

He froze.

It was Dr. Merrill, speaking in hushed tones with someone else. Dr. Zayne. Xavier recognized him—a surgeon, dark hair, sharp features, hazel greenish eyes that always seemed to be assessing everything. He was the top surgeon at the hospital despite being so young. Their voices were low, barely audible, but Xavier strained to hear them. Something about their conversation gripped him, holding him in place.

“Yeah, it was a bit sad,” Dr. Merrill was saying, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of concern. “The girl didn’t seem all that excited. I’m supposed to go back in a few months for another check-up.”

Dr. Zayne’s response was quiet but curious. “Maybe she’s just nervous?”

Dr. Merrill let out a soft laugh. “Maybe. But honestly, it felt like she was acting like she was forced to be there. Felt bad for the husband.”

Xavier’s heart stopped. Forced? His mind raced, panic surging through his veins like fire. No. He swallowed hard, his body going cold as the words replayed in his head. Could they be talking about you?

He stiffened, every instinct screaming at him that something wasn’t right. His pulse thundered in his ears, his body frozen in place. Were they talking about you? They had to be. It was too much of a coincidence. He strained to hear better but the began speaking even quieter. Was there a way he could sneak in without them noticing and listen?

Just then, the door to the break room opened, and the two doctors nearly collided with Xavier. He stumbled back, forcing a smile as he muttered a quick apology. Dr. Merrill brushed it off with a nod, unaware of the storm raging behind Xavier’s eyes, and walked away, leaving the hospital as his shift ended.

Xavier stood there, rooted to the spot, his mind spinning wildly. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t a coincidence. The pieces were falling into place, and the conversation he had overheard only confirmed what he feared deep down.

There was something more—something hidden—beneath the surface of their words.

His jaw clenched as he turned and strode out of the building. He didn’t even think as he made his way to his car, his hand already reaching for the gun he kept safely stashed under the seat. His fingers curled around the weapon, the cool metal grounding him as his mind raced. He waited until Dr. Merrill started the engine in his own car before following behind him.

This was crazy. Had he lost his mind? Threatening his doctor for possible information?

Maybe.

Or maybe—just maybe—he’d gotten another lead after all. And he wasn’t about to waste it.

Xavier's fingers tightened around the grip of his gun, the cold metal sending a shiver up his spine. He sat in the driver's seat of his car, his mind still reeling from the overheard conversation. His heart was pounding, adrenaline rushing through his veins. He knew that what he’d heard wasn’t just some random exchange—it couldn’t be. It was too specific. Too familiar. His gut told him they had been talking about you, and Xavier had learned to trust his instincts.

His hands were steady as he checked the chamber of his weapon, the soft click of the slide bringing him a fleeting sense of calm. He wasn’t sure where Dr. Merrill was headed, but if there was even the slightest chance that this lead would bring him closer to you, he had to follow it. He couldn’t afford to hesitate.

He started the car, the engine roaring to life as he pulled out of the hospital parking lot, his eyes scanning the road ahead for Dr. Merrill’s vehicle. His pulse raced, the tension building with every second. He’d waited too long, spent too many sleepless nights wondering where you were, replaying the last time he’d seen you over and over again in his mind. And now, finally, there was something—something tangible that might lead him to you.

As he turned onto the main road, his gaze locked on the back of Dr. Merrill’s car, just ahead of him. He kept his distance, careful not to draw attention. His mind was a whirlwind of possibilities—questions he didn’t have answers to yet, but he was determined to find out.

What did he know? The thought clawed at his chest, threatening to choke him with the weight of it.

Dr. Merrill’s car turned onto a narrow, dimly lit street, heading toward the outskirts of Linkon. The city lights began to fade as they left the busier part of town behind, the roads becoming quieter, more desolate. Xavier felt his breath catch as they moved further away from the familiar streets, the looming possibility that you could be close gnawing at him with every passing second.

His mind kept circling back to the words Dr. Merrill had said: She didn’t seem excited. Felt like she was acting like she was forced to be there. His blood boiled at the idea that you had been forced into anything...what did that mean? You didn't seem excited about what? And Sylus…Sylus had to be the cause, right? The rage that simmered beneath the surface flared up again, a dark heat burning through him.

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest, the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he followed Dr. Merrill from a safe distance, his mind racing with the possibility that this man held the key to finding you. He couldn’t afford to lose him now. Not when he was this close. As the doctor’s car turned off the main road and entered a quiet, suburban street, Xavier tightened his grip on the steering wheel, making sure to keep his car far enough back to avoid suspicion.

Dr. Merrill’s car eventually pulled into the driveway of a modest-looking house. It was a quiet, unassuming neighborhood—exactly the kind of place where secrets could be hidden in plain sight. Xavier parked a few houses down, waiting for the doctor to get out of his car before he stepped out of his own, slipping into the shadows like a predator closing in on its prey.

His hand hovered over the gun tucked securely into his holster, the weight of it grounding him, giving him focus. He couldn’t afford to let emotion cloud his judgment—not yet. He had to approach this carefully, methodically. Dr. Merrill had information. Information that could lead him to you. And Xavier wasn’t about to let him slip through his fingers.

He moved quickly and silently, his years of training guiding him as he made his way toward the doctor’s house. The door had barely shut behind Dr. Merrill when Xavier was already there, pressing himself against the side of the house as he glanced through the window. The lights inside were dim, the faint glow of a lamp illuminating the living room.

Dr. Merrill had settled into a chair, completely unaware of the danger closing in on him.

Xavier slipped around the side of the house, his pulse quickening as he found the back door unlocked. He pushed it open with practiced ease, slipping inside without making a sound. The house was eerily quiet, the ticking of a clock the only noise that broke the silence. Every step he took was careful, calculated. His eyes scanned the room for anything that might give him an edge.

And then he saw him. Dr. Merrill, seated with a cup of tea in hand, oblivious to the storm brewing in the shadows.

Xavier’s breath was steady as he approached, the gun drawn, his footsteps silent on the hardwood floor. He closed the distance between them in an instant, and before Dr. Merrill could even register his presence, Xavier was behind him, pressing the cold barrel of the gun against the back of the doctor’s head.

“Don’t move,” Xavier growled, his voice low and lethal.

Dr. Merrill froze, the cup of tea slipping from his hand and shattering on the floor. His breath hitched as the realization of what was happening sank in. He didn’t dare turn around, didn’t dare make a sound.

Xavier leaned in closer, his grip on the gun tightening. “Tell me what you know,” he demanded, his voice cold and controlled. “Or your brains will be all over this room.”

Dr. Merrill’s body trembled, his voice barely a whisper. “X-Xavier? What the—”

“I don’t want explanations,” Xavier cut him off, pressing the gun harder against his skull. “I want answers. Where is she?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Don’t lie to me,” Xavier snapped, his patience wearing thin. “I heard you. I know you saw her. Now, you’re going to tell me everything, or I’ll blow your head off right here. No one will find you for days.”

Dr. Merrill swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest. He could feel the gun pressing into his skin, the cold weight of it a constant reminder that his life hung in the balance. He took a shaky breath, his mind racing for a way out. But there was no way out. Not with Xavier standing behind him, not with that murderous rage in his voice.

“I don’t…I don’t know where she is exactly,” Dr. Merrill stammered, his voice shaking. “I—I’ve only seen her for one checkup. Sylus… Sylus is the one who—"

Xavier stiffened at the sound of Sylus’s name. He had been right. He had followed his gut at it had been correct.

"Don’t say his name,” Xavier hissed, his teeth gritted as he leaned closer. “Tell me what you know about her condition. What has that bastard done to her?"

Dr. Merrill swallowed again, his hands gripping the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“I—I can’t,” Dr. Merrill whispered, his voice barely audible now, as if the words were being forced out of him against his will. “You don’t understand…If I say anything…Sylus will—”

“I don’t care what Sylus will do to you,” Xavier snapped, cutting him off sharply. “You should be more worried about what I’m going to do if you don’t start talking. Now, where. Is. She?”

Dr. Merrill swallowed hard, a small, terrified whimper escaping him as his thoughts raced. His whole body shook under the weight of Xavier’s threat, but the shadow of Sylus loomed larger, darker. “I can’t…” he whispered again, shaking his head. “I can’t tell you. If Sylus finds out I told you anything, he’ll do worse than just kill me. You don't know him like I do."

The doctor was shaking visibly now, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. “He…he…” Dr. Merrill’s voice trailed off, his terror palpable. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. Couldn't say much more. Not because he didn’t want to, but because the fear of Sylus’s retribution was overwhelming.

Xavier’s finger twitched on the trigger, his own frustration boiling over. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, and the thought of you suffering while he was stuck here playing this game only made his blood burn hotter. He needed answers. Now.

“Listen to me,” Xavier said, his voice low but laced with a deadly calm. “You think I'm joking?”

Dr. Merrill’s voice cracked as he tried to respond, the fear of Sylus warring with the fear of the gun pressed to his head. “She’s relatively fine. She didn't look hurt,” he managed, his voice shaking. "But I can’t say more. I can’t. Please, if I tell you—”

Xavier leaned in even closer, his lips curled in a snarl. “You’d rather be afraid of him than me? Even with a gun to your head?”

The doctor didn’t answer, too paralyzed by fear, and Xavier hesitated for a moment, his finger on the trigger, his thoughts racing. He could kill him. He could end this right here. But would that get him closer to you? Would that get him the information he needed? The doctor was scared—scared of Sylus, scared of what might happen if he revealed too much.

Xavier took a deep breath, his chest tightening as he stepped back slightly, easing the pressure of the gun. He didn’t want to kill Merrill, not really. But he needed something, some leverage to get to you. His mind worked quickly, formulating a plan.

“Fine. You don’t have to tell me everything,” Xavier said, his voice quieter now but no less dangerous. “But you’re going to help me. You’re going to get me closer to her.”

Dr. Merrill stayed frozen, his body still trembling as he dared to look over his shoulder. “H-How…?”

Xavier’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “Lie to Sylus. Tell him it’s urgent. Tell him you think something might be wrong and you need to check her in person. I'm going to stow away in the back of your car, and when you go inside, I'm going to find a way in.”

Dr. Merrill’s eyes widened, panic flashing in them. “He will find ou—”

“He won’t,” Xavier interrupted, his voice cold and unyielding. “If you play this right, he won’t have any reason to suspect anything. You’ve done it before. Set up an appointment. Make it believable. Say you need to run more tests, whatever you have to. I’ll follow and take it from there.”

Dr. Merrill’s breath came in shallow gasps, his fear still tangible, but he could see that Xavier wasn’t giving him a choice. His eyes darted between the gun and Xavier’s face, searching for any sign of mercy.

But there was none.

“Call him now,” Xavier ordered, the gun still steady in his hand.

Dr. Merrill’s hands trembled as he reached for his phone, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He dialed the number, his voice barely steady as he waited for Sylus to pick up.

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest as he listened, every muscle in his body tense, his ears straining to catch every word.

“Sylus?” Dr. Merrill said, his voice shaking. “It’s…it’s Dr. Merrill. I, um…I think there might be something wrong. With the-I mean, I…I need to see her again, in person. It’s urgent. I want to make sure I didn't miss anything.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and Xavier’s hand twitched on the trigger, his eyes locked on Merrill.

Finally, Sylus’s voice crackled through the phone, calm but dangerous. “Is that so? Very well. Come by tomorrow around 9 am.”

Hearing Sylus's voice ignited an anger in Xavier's heart so big he nearly grabbed the phone from the doctor, still he kept quiet, even trying not to breathe so loud as to not tip off Sylus that someone else was there.

The call ended, and Dr. Merrill let out a shaky breath, his hand still gripping the phone tightly as he looked up at Xavier with wide, terrified eyes.

“It’s done,” Dr. Merrill whispered, his voice barely audible. "I did what you asked..."

Xavier didn’t lower his gun just yet. He stared down at Dr. Merrill, his expression hard, unreadable, as if deciding whether or not to trust him.

“You better hope you’re telling the truth,” Xavier said quietly, his voice thick with menace. “Because if you’re lying to me—if this is a trap—I’ll make sure Sylus never gets the chance to kill you.”

Dr. Merrill nodded quickly, his body trembling with fear. “I swear, I’m not lying. I did what you asked.”

Xavier hesitated for another moment, his eyes locked on Merrill, before finally stepping back and lowering his gun. He didn’t holster it, though. Not yet. He wasn’t done.

“You’ll take me there,” Xavier said, his tone flat. “And you’ll make sure she’s safe when I get her out. Do you understand?”

Dr. Merrill nodded again, his face pale, his entire body trembling. “I understand.”

Xavier glanced toward the door, his mind already moving to the next step. He was getting closer—closer to finding you, closer to ending this nightmare. He wasn’t going to stop now.

Without another word, he turned and headed toward the door, the tension still crackling in the air between them. As he reached the threshold, he cast one final glance over his shoulder at Dr. Merrill.

“Pray that you’re telling the truth,” Xavier warned, his voice low and deadly. “Because if you’re not, there won’t be enough left of you for Sylus to recognize.”

And with that, Xavier disappeared into the night, his heart pounding with the promise of what was to come.

He was going to find you.

And nothing—not Sylus, not fear, not anything—was going to stop him. He didn’t care about Sylus’s stupid threats in this moment. He would bring you home before Sylus ever layed a finger on you.

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aces-and-angels · 1 year ago

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ILW Fanfics/HCs:

read on ao3 (note: ao3 account needed to read any works)

key: ☁️ fluff, 💔 angst, 🔥 nsfw

characters are based on ilw (a fan-made third installment of the it lives anthology by @itlivesproject)

**note: fics labeled 🔥 contain mature content (sexual themes) -> 18+ only**

Abel x MC

Breakfast at Abel's ☁️🔥 An extra scene for ch. 14 of ILW; Abel and Rowan enjoy each other's company the morning after their night together. Sleeping HCs ☁️ Lunch with Abel ☁️ A bonus scene set sometime in ch. 5 of ILW; Abel treats Rowan to lunch. Manito ☁️🔥 Cesar meets Abel's better half. Dinner with Abel ☁️ A bonus scene for ILW; Rowan tries to cook a meal for Abel. Close to You ☁️🔥💔; SFW Version ☁️💔 Set sometime after the ILW finale (Mixed Route); The many times Rowan wakes up without Abel, and the one time she does. The Beach Episode (ft. the whole gang); Video Version ☁️🔥 Set two years post-ILW finale (Mixed Route); The gang is reunited for a much needed beach vacation.

Amalia x MC

And They Were Roommates Pt. 2 🔥 Amalia and Rowan hit a roadblock during their first time together. And They Were Roommates Pt 2.5 ft. Connor x MC 🔥 Untitled 💔 A short drabble written after the events of ch. 16 of ILW. Lemon Drops ☁️ A bonus scene for ILW; Set pre-finale (Blood Route)- Rowan recreates an old memory.

Connor x MC

And They Were Roommates 🔥 Set sometime after ch. 3 of ILW; Connor and Devon get caught in the act by their two new roommates. Down in New Orleans 🔥 A bonus scene for ch. 1 of ILW; After retrieving the knife for their contact, Devon has a moment of doubt. Connor takes time to reassure her that they'll be okay. Inspired by the iconic finer scene in 'When Harry Met Sally.'

Lincoln x MC

Intervention 💔🔥 Set sometime after ch. 15 of ILW; Two weeks after the fallout, Lincoln gets an unexpected visitor. Gift HCs ☁️ Handmade ☁️🔥 A bonus scene for ILW; Rowan decides to make something for Lincoln.

Matthias x MC

Burn 💔🔥 Rowan and Matthias get interrupted... but not for long.

100 Follower Special🖤

Doing each other’s hair; Lincoln x Rowan (F) ☁️ Facetiming each other; Lincoln x Orion (M) 🔥 Playing with each other’s fingers; Abel x Sadie (F) ☁️ Showering together; Abel x Rowan (F) ☁️💔 Showering together; Abel x Edward (M) ☁️ Showering together; Abel x Julia (F) ☁️ Nicknames; Abel x Rowan (M) ☁️

ILW Deep Dives

ILW Deep Dives:

Slow Burn vs Friends w/ Benefits

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 21

Chapter 23:

Abel's finale

Amalia's finale

Jocelyn's finale

Lincoln's finale

Matthias' finale; alt finale

Blood/Mixed/Shadow ask

It Lives Appreciation Week Posts

My Doodles/Edits:

Abel: Drunk Edition Lincoln: Eat the Rich Karaoke Night Beardless Comic Polaroids (Abel x MC) The Flint Family Abel's Scrapbook Abel x Lincoln: Subway

#save #playchoices #choices #ilw #it lives within #my fic #+ art and analyses #fanfic #lincoln aquino #lincoln mcquoid #amalia de león #jocelyn wu #abel flint #connor green #matthias mcquoid #it lives series #it lives project #it lives anthology #dont mind me just trying to make my pinned post less cluttered

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watsittoyah · 2 years ago

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Watsittoyah Master List!

Here are some of my fan fics that have either made it to the internet and prospered or just got the axe for lack of interaction. (I will update this later but please don’t expect it soon I sometimes forget to charge my lap top and I’ll get to editing)

Marvel Roster (These guys are cooler than the other side of the pillow)

1. Namor- Sitting on the throne (one shot?) NSFW

2. Namor- Hate that I love you (Still typing?)NSFW

3. Moon Knight- Anchors (Still typing)NSFW

4. Miguel O’Hara, Spider-man 2099- Along came a spider 2099 (Completed)NSFW

ch.1- Don't I know you?

ch.2- Bites & Fangs

ch.3- Tinted Windows

ch.4- Just To Put My Mind At Ease

ch.5- The Skeletons In His Closet

ch.6- The Calm Before The Storm

ch.7- Everything Is Not What It Seems...

ch.8- In A Snap

ch.9- And The Puzzles Fall Into Place

ch.10- Arachnophobia Behavior…

ch.11- Perfection Can’t Be Obtained…

ch.12- Pumpkin Pie Is Best Served Cold (Pt1)

ch.13-And The Truth Comes To Light…

ch.14- Pumpkin Pie Is Best Served Cold Pt.2

5. Miles Morales Spider-Man- A Glitch In the universe (To be announced)

STRANGER THINGS (Don’t look at me like that…)

1. Eddie Munson x Blk Fem Reader X Steve Harrington- Heartbreaker (Still typing) NSFW

ch.1- Rule Number One

ch.2- Rule Number Two

ch.3- Rule Number Three

ch.4- Rule Number Four

ch.5- Rule Number Five

EUPHORIA (You knew this was coming)

1. Nate Jacobs x Blk Fem Reader -Mixtape (Still Typing) NSFW

Track 1

DC Comics (My Best boys, and all of their smutty glory!!)

Dick Grayson X Blk Fem Reader- Prayers Of A Sinner -(Currently typing) NSFW

Ch. 1- Thou Shall Not Kill...

Young!Coriolanus Snow x Blk Fem!reader -Before the Snow, Came the Flame.. (Nsfw/ Currently typing/posting)

Ch. 00-Just Say Yes

Ch. 01- A Rose With Thorns (Pt. 1)

An Obsessive!Qimir X Blk Fem!reader (oc, star wars smut fic) - The Devil's Playpen (nsfw currently typing)

CH. 01- When The Predator Becomes Prey...

CH. 02- Fear Is Only A Four Letter Word...

CH. 03- When He's Good, He's Great. But When He's Evil...

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thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch · 2 years ago

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Moonlight -x- Sunlight

ch.3 -- Demons' 101 (cw// banner has flashing txt!)

r.kyojuro/f.reader

genre: modern!au, teacher!kyojuro by day/demonslayer by night, izakayaworker!reader, slowburn?, romance, angst

warning(s): slight implications of anxiety, rengoku info-dumps about demons, Taco being Taco

w.count: 6.3k

synopsis: if someone told you that one night you’d find yourself walking down the street at three in the morning before you were running for your life away from a disjointed monster hot on your heels- you’d probably check for fever or intoxication. but, when that actually happens, all you think of is running and praying for a miracle as you stare death in the face. turns out, that miracle comes in the form of reassuring smiles and a red sword beneath a bridge and by the riverside.

-x-x-x-

a/n: hope y'all are ready bc shes back!! read the a/n pt.2 at the end for further instructions heheh (if there's still grammatical errors soz i edited this in chunks and couldn't be bothered to reread everything one more time)

-x-x-x-

You were slouched against your locker in the back room where your aprons and extra clothes are kept by the end of your shift. The izakaya had finally closed, and while it was closed earlier than usual since patrons seemed to have filed out pretty quick tonight, the way your throbbing ankle felt didn't make the early closing any better. You had willed away most of the pain, carrying on as if nothing was wrong, and kept yourself busy with micro-breaks here and there, but now that it was all said and done, well, you’ve felt better.

You quickly took off your apron and tossed it in your locker and grabbed your purse, slinging it over your shoulder. Snatching your crutch, you placed it under your shoulder and sighed when you lifted your foot and relieved it of your weight.

“Christ,” you mutter to yourself before you’re hobbling your way out of the locker room, through the main lobby all the way to the entrance. You shouted to whoever may be around still, be it lingering coworkers or your boss, before you slid open the door and left. With a small show of your balance, you pushed the door shut with your crutch as you stood on your one good leg before bringing the crutch back down where it needed to be.

You sidle to the right away from the entrance, just out of reach for the hanging lamps to cast a shadow over you when you take a shaky breath. You found yourself paranoid in the early morning hours- but, you couldn’t blame yourself. The last time you were out this late after a shift, you almost died. You took a deep breath, then another… then another. You try calming yourself down, convincing yourself that what happened was a once-in-a-lifetime freak accident and there was no way you’d be unlucky enough to get caught up in something like that again.

“It’s fine,” you tell yourself. “I’m fine,” you repeat. The palm you used to grab the handle of your crutch felt sweaty, so you took it off for a moment and furiously wiped it on your shirt before returning it. “You’re going to be fine,” you hiss to yourself, looking down at your feet, one uninjured and the other replaced with a crutch foot. The same feet that still wouldn’t move despite your pep talk.

Stuck in your mental battle on when you’re finally going to get your limbs to start taking you home, you completely miss the person walking up behind you until they call out to you.

“Is your ankle in much pain?”

You squawk, your crutch jumping out away from your leg and making your teeter before correcting yourself and using your other arm to reach across your body and grab onto the medical addition to your body in further stability. Whipping your head up, you once again come face to face with Rengoku. Still smiling, even if there’s a hint of concern in his wide eyes since he didn’t exactly mean to spook you. You also took notice of his arms that were outstretched and ready to catch you if you began careening down to the pavement.

You correct your posture and face him, feeling embarrassed for a number of reasons.

“I’m slated to never have a normal greeting with you, am I?” You speak more to yourself than him since every time you’ve encountered him so far- not including when he was a paying customer not so long ago- has been riddled with embarrassment or fear. You’ve come face to face with him three times now, and you conducted yourself better in front of Kocho who you had met once and stripped down to your bones in front of. “What are you still doing out at this hour?”

“I am doing a simple round of patrols for this sector of the city,” he tells you and your eyes finally drift down to see the white sheath on his hip supported by the harness he wore on his chest and over his shoulders- the same items he had when you first saw him. Seeing them again made a lump form in your throat that you tried to choke down. You felt a bit stupid for the question because what else would he be doing out this late when you’ve seen first hand what could happen.

“Yeah, sorry,” you shake your head and scoff at yourself, “I could’ve guessed.”

“No need to apologize!” That didn’t exactly reassure you. Rengoku was good at reading people, he spent a lot of time doing so among his years, so your unsteady and somewhat jittery presence did not fly over his head. “Are you heading home?”

“Planning on it, yeah.”

“It’s much earlier than last time, that is good!”

“It was a slow night so we closed down earlier.”

“Would you like an escort home?”

“An escort?” Your words were short as you confirm what he’s just asked you. Part of you hates that he basically just told you that he can see your paranoia and anxiousness as clear as day. You glance away and gnaw at your lip, conflicted. You most certainly didn’t want to walk home alone, the nightmarish memories haunting you like a... well like a demon. But you also didn’t want to appear fragile because you couldn’t walk home like you had a thousand times before.

You take a deep, shaky breath as Rengoku steps closer to you, his hair lighting up further as he gets closer to the hanging lanterns behind you. The colors and shades nearing the light resembling a warm campfire to keep woodland terrors at bay. A safe beacon.

“It is not wrong to be afraid.”

“I'm not!” You instinctively argue back, but immediately bite your own tongue realizing that raising your voice at his kindness was most certainly rude. However, even a two year old could tell that your words were clearly a lie. You sigh again, apologizing for your outburst. “Yes, I am,” you admit more to yourself than to him.

Rengoku just smiles down at your averted eyes and moves to stand beside you before gently slipping your purse off your shoulder and slotting it up his arm to rest on his own. He outstretched his opposite arm as he caught your eyes again and gently signaled you to start moving at your own pace.

“Allow me to walk you home then.” With him already having taken your purse and gestured his intent to not be swayed on his decision, you smirk teasing up at him and chuckle.

“Arguing won’t get me anywhere, will it?”

Not that you really wanted it to.

“It will not!” Well, at least he was honest.

The walk back was relatively quiet, save for the nighttime crickets that chirped along with the toads hidden away in corners. The sounds of the cicadas had lessened from this afternoon to a dull buzz instead of mind-numbing shrills. You kept taking glances at Rengoku, your purse hanging off the shoulder closest to you as you hobbled along on your crutches. You could barely see the tip of his sword's hilt from around him without being too obvious you were even looking to begin with. He must’ve kept it as horizontal to his leg as possible to avoid catching whatever riff-raff attention could be mangling around.

“Does something interest you?” Apparently, you weren’t as sneaky as you thought. You shoot your gaze forwards, nearly stumbling on your set of extra rubber feet and clearing your throat, the summer air suddenly way too dry for the humid season.

“I just, well, I didn’t think you’d notice?” You tell him honestly. He chuckles at your words and you feel a little better since he doesn’t sound freaked out by your clearly awkward behavior. “I guess I was a little curious about your, what do you call it, second job? The whole,” you lift one of your crutches, stopping your movements momentarily as you whip it around and grunt (rather embarrassingly) before putting it back down, “sword job thing?”

He laughs before letting out a small “Ah!” in recognition of your curiosity. Maybe it was because of the early hours, but part of you feared an apartment window flicking on in response to his boisterous laughter. Still, you easily admitting to yourself that it was a lovely sound.

“Curiosity may not be the wisest decision when it is about what goes on after the sun sets. Sometimes, it’s best that people believe demon’s are nothing but fictional stories made up simply to spook children.”

“Oh,” you were a little disappointed. You had already been attacked and injured, it’s not like you’d call him a liar if he told you. “I see.” You still wanted to know more, even if it was terrifying. With your crestfallen expression and new goal to just get home without creating an uncomfortable atmosphere, you missed the small look the flame-haired man gave you.

“Regardless of my skills, being out so late at night can be dangerous for anyone,” he starts, eyes casting forwards once more as he continues to lead you home. “There are many kinds of demons under the moon, and some can be more ferocious than others. If one catches sight of myself or another of my…” he pauses to find a decent word. “... coworkers,” he decides on, “chances are split that they flee from us, or do the opposite and begin a confrontation if they’re feeling particularly omnipotent.”

That small piece of information made you feel a little better about his choice to stay quiet about it all, his choice to disclose that even he wasn’t always 100% safe was bone chilling. Still, it did not soothe your curiousity completely. You decided to shake it off, you were acting like a child- it wasn’t your business and this man was nothing more than a stranger you’ve run into a couple times. The fact he literally saved your life had nothing to do with it- you had to let it go.

It was rude to pry.

“Perhaps when we get to your home I can answer your questions there.” You stop in your limping steps as you look at him. He was smiling at you, something warm and comforting and you seemed to light up. “That is if I would be allowed inside a young woman’s house at this hour.”

“Of course!” Perhaps you were too loud because you immediately covered your mouth with one hand, nearly dropping one of your crutches. You look around, seeing no light flick on and no windows opening to yell for you to keep it down. You lower your hand, a small smile on your face as you clear your throat. “Of course,” you repeat, much more quietly this time. “As long as you don’t mind a temporarily handicapped host and one obnxiously sassy cat.”

He laughs loudly again. “I happen to be fond of cats and your company as well!”

“We’ve met twice, and one of those times I was covered in grass stains, dirt, and sweat.”

“I am a very good judge of character!” You roll your eyes, but somehow, you believe him.

-x-x-x-

“Um, just take your shoes off at the door please.” You tell Rengoku as you sit yourself on the small stool you’ve set up by the front door so you can take your shoes off without much fuss. He easily complies, as he steps into your house only to turn and patiently wait for you to finish up. As you drop your shoes, he offers his arm as you gratefully take it and hoist yourself up with the use of the cane you keep at your door in exchange for your crutches.

In the comfort of your own home that you could maneuver through blindfolded, you greatly preferred the short, ease of use of a cane. You kept it a secret from Kocho though, who knows if she’d scold you for the unprompted buy since she was probably the most professional and strict doctor you’ve been the patient of.

Luckily, since Rengoku had been in your home this much before, he let you use his arm with your free hand all the way until you got into the living room. Much like how he carried you in before. You slip your palm off his forearm and step around him, much less clunky without your crutches.

“Have a seat. I don’t have much to offer, but I do have cold bottled water I can promise hasn't been opened,” you joke as he laughs.

“I appreciate the hospitality, however you do not need to-”

“Ah-tata,” you cut him off, “just because my foot isn’t at peak recovery doesn’t mean I can’t get you a small bottle of water. The kitchen isn’t far anyways.” Rengoku relented. Just as it was impossible to argue with him, it seemed to go both ways. He smiled.

He liked that.

As you disappeared into the kitchen, a small meow and curious tap against his shin caught his attention as he stood by the couch. He smiled down at the black cat as he slid his sword out of the harness he wore and set it gently against the couch so as to not startle your pet. He knelt, offering his hand out as Taco’s little nose bumped against it, sniffing before rubbing his head against the warm knuckles of Rengoku.

“Aren’t you cute,” he mumbles to himself.

“Only around guests,” you add, coming back into the living room to see Rengoku loving on your cat. “He’s cute now, but he’s a big pain in my butt when he wants to be.” You offer him a cold bottle of some random brand of water you bought on sale.

“Aren’t many animals that way?” He graciously takes the plastic bottle from you, the chill of it is a welcome change in his warm palm.

“I think it’s because I spoil him too much. He was a very unprompted rescue, so I went a little overboard raising him.”

“There is nothing wrong with raising an animal with so much care! He seems very happy!”

You plop yourself on the couch and Taco was quick to abandon Rengoku’s side in favor of yourself as he jumped on the cushions and stepped onto your lap where he folded his legs and lay himself down. You scratch at his back, making him stretch and roll before he’s trying to play and swipe at your hand and fingers.

The small little tag that read ‘TACO’ in engraved letters caught Rengoku’s eye and he chuckled at the name. Indeed, that was a very happy and loved cat, he had no doubt.

“You’re welcome to sit on the couch,” you lightly joke at his still kneeling form on your livingroom floor. He does as you suggest, thanking you before sitting a cushion away from you as to not push personal boundaries or opposingly seem too standoff-ish. It was quiet for a bit as you fiddle with your own waterbottle in your hand. “I hope I’m not causing any trouble,” you announce bashfully.

“Pardon?”

“Well,” you breathe, untwisting, then retwisting, just to untwist your bottle cap again to try and focus on something other than your sudden anxiety. “I just sort of dragged you here. I dunno, I feel like I’m pulling you away from your job? I know how important it is.”

“Worry not,” he quells. “There are many others like myself who also patrol the streets when the sun sets! I am not the only one, so my company here is no trouble at all!”

“Oh, right, you mentioned other coworkers. Are there a lot of you?”

“There is! We’re an organization of many people, but since we’re unrecognized by the government and since people do not believe in demon’s unless they survive an encounter with one, we are very scarcely known.” You nod at him. You feel a little sad at the fact he, and others like him, were risking their safety and no one even knew. “In fact, there are even a few of my students who work along side me as well!”

“Students?” You whip your full attention to him at mention of children. “You’re a teacher?”

“I am!”

“And you all just, what? Let children into your little demon-slaying job?”

“Well, not exactly, no.” Rengoku worried he wold break into a sweat at your accusatory tone of getting children involved in clearly dangerous work. “Although it is dangerous, younger slayers are put through rigirous training and must past a very specific qualification test before they can even take to the field like I do. We of higher ranking always make sure to watch out for our young underlings. They are our future after all!”

The idea of kids fighting those… things still didn’t sit quite right with you, but it wasn’t like you could do anything about it. And if Rengoku says that they’re well taken care of, and skillful above that, then surely they weren’t in too much danger. You wanted to trust his words so you shut your eyes and willed yourself to do so.

“Plus, we are not so reckless as to just assign anything to anyone. No demon is slain by a slayer who is weaker than the task at hand. We’re very meticulous about such things.”

“I understand.” You open your eyes and glance over at your cane for a moment then speak up again. “So, what are demons exactly?”

“Demons are former humans who have either been killed and revived by demon blood, or made a deal with another demon for power.”

“Former humans?” Your mind flashed back to the spindly, disfigured, skeletal demon that attacked you. “So, that thing that attacked me? That was once a person?” Rengoku nodded and a chill ran violently down your spine.

“At some point, yes it was. However, based on its appearance, it must’ve been a demon for a very long time to change that much.” That didn’t exactly make you feel better about it. “You must understand that demons are dangerous creatures regardless of what they used to be. They will not hesitate to attack and slaughter humans. We do not kill demons for sport, it is necessary to protect future victims.”

“I believe you and I understand- I do, it’s just… a lot to process, I guess?” You blow a harsh breath out of your lips. “So, how do you kill them? I mean with your sword I guess, but is there any other way?”

Rengoku nodded, grabbing his sword’s scabbard and hilt before drawing it. The red blade you had gotten a glimpse of the night of the attack shone brilliantly in your well-lit living room. It was truly a beautiful blade to look at and the sword guard in the shape of flames was very fitting to its wielder.

“To kill a demon it must be done with a very specific sword with a blade made out of a specific mineral that’s been bathed in sunlight for many years. This is a nichirin sword, a sword that has a color changing blade.”

“So, a regular sword wouldn’t work?”

“Correct!” He offers his sword over for you to hold and inspect it. You gently take it from him after you move Taco out of the way so that he wouldn’t start playing with it like it was a toy. “You can hack a demon into pieces with a regular blade, but it will always regenerate. A demon must be decapitated with a nichirin sword or it will continue to wreck havoc.” You hand the sword back to him and he easily sheaths it with practiced ease. “However, there are ways to defend yourself from demons, if you’d like to hear?”

You nod, intrigued by the entirely new concept of the world you had been so oblivious to for so many years of your life. You wanted to know more, to understand more. It was captivating and if he was willing to tell, you were willing to listen.

“There are special guns forged in our line of work that have crafted bullets that cause great harm to demons! Among other ways to deter them, demons are unable to stand wisteria.”

“Wistera? Like the flower?”

“Yes! Clusters of Wisteria trees are always a safe place to run to in the event one is close by. Even wisteria-scented charms and poisons are toxic and painful to their kind, they actively avoid anything to do with it. In fact, Kocho is a demon slayer, the same as I!”

“Really?!” Rengoku laughs loudly at your shock, but after a moment it did make sense. She was specifically referred by him and knew everything about what you experienced and believed it easily. If you had stopped to think about it, it was pretty easy to assume she was involved somehow, but a fighter? That was a bit of a shock considering her stature.

“Though she does not have the strength to cut a demon’s head off its shoulders, she’s developed a technique that incorporates poisons in her duty that are lethal upon injection.”

“Wow,” you awe. She was more impressive by the day.

“Of course, it helps that she’s also a very skilled doctor!”

“That’s true,” you lightly giggle. There’s silence in your living room once more as you glance over at the blond haired man. “So,” you start and gain his attention, “you’re a teacher?” You already knew the answer, he answered you earlier but it was the best ice breaker you could think of.

“That is correct.”

“I feel like I could’ve guessed if you didn’t already tell me. You explain things well. Your students must like you.”

“I cannot say how well I am at teaching in particular, but my student’s grades never drop to failing marks! You must keep the children interested in the lesson if you wish for them to grow. I do my best to achieve nothing less!”

“What do you teach?”

“History! I find it very fascinating- the past that is.” You nod. “Not to mention, I have been teaching my younger brother many things since we were young and I always enjoyed doing so. So, the profession grew on me. I very quickly knew what I wanted to do with my life during the time the sun is in the sky.”

“A younger brother? How old is he?”

“He’s currently in high school. Despite our age gap, we get along very well!”

“That’s great that you both get along. I’m an only child myself, but I do have a younger cousin. He feels more like a kid brother though, so I can sort of understand. The school’s he’s attending right now has dorm buildings for it’s students, so we don’t visit much,” you reminisce as you comfortably cross your arms.

“I’m sure you miss him.”

“Sometimes,” you chuckle. “Then there are times I’m glad he’s not actually my brother, as horrible as that sounds.”

“Regardless, I’m sure he feels the same!”

Thankfully, before the conversation took a turn for the mushy, Taco started to meow at you. He had jumped onto the floor earlier after being taken off your lap and roamed before coming back to paw at your leg. You leaned down and scratched under his chin as you felt him purr.

“I know, you need to be fed,” you tell him as you start coddling him. You excuse yourself as Rengoku got off the couch to help you to your feet before you were off to the kitchen again, Taco trotting eagerly behind you.

In the silence of your living room alone again, Kyojuro Rengoku looked around the room at all the decorations. Some frames on the wall here, some dry plants there, a couple cat toys scattered around the floor that was no doubt Taco’s doing, and a grey cat tower was close to the main window in the room where the dark curtains were drawn for the night. Despite all that he was visually taking in, he was stuck in his thoughts.

Kyojuro was always a people person, he enjoyed chatting and making connections, it was another reason he loved teaching so much. Something about tonight felt different to him though. Like this one experience with this one person- you- was something out of the ordinary. LIke it was something special.

When you came back from feeding Taco, you carried random conversation topics before an ill-timed alarm went off on his phone that had been stuffed in his pocket this whole time. The sudden sound startled you and Rengoku was quick to apologize before realizing how late it was. If he didn’t get home and get at least some sleep, tomorrow’s lesson would surely be a lackadaisical one.

You saw him out, despite how much he insisted you not be on your feet, and before you knew it he was outside your door and then gone.

“He’s fast,” you muttered to the air he used to occupy before shutting your door and double-checking to make sure you did in fact lock it. You looked at both sides of your front door devoid of any decorations. “Maybe I should get some tables or something to put some flowers on so the front entrance isn’t so boring.”

With that last thought, you called for Taco because you needed to get to bed yourself. Sleep found you easily as opposed to the last few nights, and with it brought nothing but calm darkness. You were grateful for a night of sleep without nightmares.

-x-x-x-

Another week had passed and a small part of you was disappointed that you hadn’t heard or seen heads or tails of Rengoku again. He hadn’t been by the izakaya with his friend or anyone else for that matter, and you haven’t had the pleasure of running into him in the streets. Of course, the moment the feeling of disappointment nagged at you, you immediately tried to squash it down.

Despite the fact that he was A) someone who saved your life and B) a man you allowed into your home a grand total of two times didn’t erase the fact that he was still practically a stranger. A stranger who spilled his guts about his profession and gave a brief history lesson about demons in your living room, but a stranger nonetheless.

Your foot had improved drastically since a week ago and you could now walk without dragging a crutch or cane around with you. The pain would still sometimes ebb at the joint, but you’d always try and find a place for a pitstop to rest and take any on-hand pain medication before it got too bad.

Your current pitstop? Your local library.

You didn’t really have any explanation why you decided to come here on your spare time, furthermore why you were nosing around in the historical section. Granted, the books you picked up weren’t full of information you didn’t already know- but you still flipped through the pages standing in the empty isle regardless completely engrossed in the material.

After your skip around history, you made sure to replace all the books from where you got them (or the best you could remember) and moved to make your way out into the open space between sections. The library attendant's desk with a single employee sitting behind it with their nose in a book to pass by the shift was within sight of the wide open space.

The day was slowly starting to wane and you sat yourself at an unoccupied table close to a window that showed the streets that were starting the transformation of throngs of people to freckles of bodies. You push your chin into your palm as you watch out the window mindlessly. You didn’t have a shift tonight that demanded your attendance and you felt restless. It was strange, normally you’d have no issues just spending a lazy day inside on the time you didn’t have plans or work.

Now? Now you felt like any free moment you spent inside was wasted. You felt bad about it since you were leaving Taco alone, but you promised that you’d take your beloved cat out on more walks if this new behavior keeps up. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a harness and leash for walking, it was purely because finding the right time to take him out never worked in your favor.

You blew air out your lips as you lay your head down on the table. Maybe it was the fact that you experienced a near-death experience and were recovering from it that made you not want to take time for granted. You cringed at your cliche thinking.

You didn’t sit at the table long, grabbing your purse and making sure you didn’t leave anything behind before you left the library entirely- it was getting close to closing hours anyways. The last thing you needed was a staff member chasing you out.

The sky bathed the concrete jungle that was the thinning streets a warm orange as you felt the simmering of heat stick uncomfortably to your skin and under yout clothes. The walk back home felt shorter than it was and when Taco didn’t come running to the sound of the opening and closing door, you felt confusion morph your face. Was he sleeping? Normally, he would be rushing to the door before you managed to slam it shut and lock it while he cried at his once again failure to bolt out the door.

His escape artistry isn’t as honed as other alley cats and he had a hard time accepting that if it wasn’t obvious by the fits he throws.

Toeing your shoes off, you stepped inside and as you got closer to your living room you could hear rattling. Rattling? You speed up your steps thinking your nosey cat had gotten into or broken something and was foolishly playing with the pieces, but when you come into the living room with the waning sunlight forcing your to turn on the house lights, you gasp at what you see.

It was Taco, your beloved cat, yes, but he hadn’t knocked anything down or broken anything that your eye could see. Instead, he was sitting on his cat tower that sat by the large window of your living room you would normally decorate for holidays pawing at the glass as a large black bird sat opposite of him behind the pane.

The bird, you couldn’t tell what kind from your shock and slight panic-blinded eyes, was sat perfectly still on the outside of the window, knocking its beak lightly against the glass every time Taco mewled or pawed. Its head turned and cocked when it noticed the light flick on and you swore you saw its dark eyes zero in on you before its wings spread out wide spooking Taco off of his tower and onto the floor where he made a less than gracious landing.

Its wings flapped and then folded back in before tapping two more times on the window. You swallowed the lump in your throat before you slowly treaded up to the window. The bird's beak and eyes followed you, lifting higher to keep its sight on your face the closer you got before you were standing next to Taco’s tower. The black cat himself had seemingly forgotten about the mysterious bird and instead took purchase weaving between your ankles and rubbing his fur over you, soaking in your scent of outside.

“Are you stuck,” you lightly ask the bird as if he could answer you. Maybe he had flown into your window by mistake- that happens sometimes in tall buildings right? Birds not telling the difference between open space and glass? But, when you looked at his taloned feet there was nothing constriction him and his body was free of anything binding him too, the evidence was in the way his wings would still occasional expand then fold again. It was like he was inviting you to do something.

Unfortunately for you, you didn’t speak bird.

You jumped when its beak opened and a sharp, quick nose came out. A muffled caw! catching you by surprise as you nearly tripped over Taco’s still-weaving body. Then, the bird’s beak came to tap at the metal frame where the lock was.

Did it want inside? Could you really do that? Let some random bird inside your house after it’s been sitting outside your livingroom window for god knows how long just entertaining your cat while you were gone?

All probability flew out the proverbial window when you, without thinking, unlatched the window and slid it open allowing the big blackbird to fly right in. You screamed, not in terror, but in more shock as it flew inside and the flap of its wings was louder than you were expecting.

The bird flew a lap around your living room before coming around to you and landing on Taco’s tower beside your shoulder. It was staring at you at eye level now and you could finally identify the bird as a crow. You knew that crows were intelligent birds, but this was clearly a trained bird, not just some random bird who decided to make a nest in your home for no good reason.

You flinched for the umptheeth time when the crow’s left wing expanded and exposed half of it’s body. You were fully expecting it to folded up again, but it didn’t. Then you noticed it, a small crimson thread tied around it’s leg with a small dark capsule attached to it.

You relaxed your shoulders and chuckled.

“What are you, a messenger pigeon?” You wondered if crows could get offended by the way they can remember faces and whatnot. “That was a joke,” you followed yourself just in case. “Is that for me?” You ask hesitantly and when the crow did not move or make any indication of disagreement, you slowly and as carefully as possible unscrewed the bottom of the capsule and a small rolled-up piece of paper slid out of it. The crow softly folded its wing back up once you screwed the bottom piece back on.

The paper was thin and rolled expertly like a scroll. You walked over to the coffee table and knelt to unfold it to read.

My apologies for sending word to you this way! It must have been quite the shock to find a crow hanging around your home, however, I have neglected to ask of any other means of connection to you in our few encounters! If appropriate, how many I contact you from here on out? -K.Rengoku

You re-read the well-written note- scroll? -about three times before you broke down into a fit of laughter, kicking your still-healing foot into the table leg and wincing as the dull throb brought you back to your mind.

You looked over your shoulder at the crow still perched on the tower and used your hand to pat an empty space on your table.

“Come down here,” you invite and the crow listened well. Fluttering down easily and its talons clacking satisfyingly on your wooden table. You curled your finger, letting the back of your knuckles run over the bird's feathers careful not to accidentally pluck one. “So, you’re Rengoku’s bir-er-crow?” You corrected yourself midword thinking that just calling the crow ‘bird’ would be a bit demeaning. A soft caw was your answer.

You looked around your coffee table but found nothing close enough to resemble a piece of paper small enough like his to send on the crows return back. Flipping the tiny-scroll over you decided to just use the back side and the nearest pen you had laying around.

I knew you were into history, but a messenger crow? Now that’s old school. Does he have a name?

Beside your short messaged reply, you scribbled your number down in the best handwriting you could muster so there was no way the numbers could be confused with another number. You then tried rolling it back up as expecrtly as it was put in- and failed- before you ended up folding the paper into small enough rectangles it fit inside the capsule just as well as when it was rolled up. You then pet the crow one more time before you walked back toyour window and called for it to sit on the sill.

“You fly back home safely, okay?” The sun had declared the last lights of dusk before the sky covered your section of the world in a dark blanket and the crow’s dark eyes shimmered in earnest before it cawed once more and took off like a friendly goodbye! to its newfound friend.

You were practically giddy the rest of the night, skipping around and giving Taco an extra treat or two in your good mood. You couldn’t remember the last time you had this feeling in your stomach, butterflies. As you lay in bed you wonder why it was you were feeling those butterflies that took you back to your high school days with flings and crushes and unrealistic romantic daydreams that would make even the most Christmas-y Hallmark movie plot to shame.

Followed by the intriguing thought of it was all because of the still semi-stranger man named Rengoku who taught history and also happened to kill demons, the feeling of being on some pranked tv show with hidden cameras felt less and less likely the more time passed. But still- it all sounded so unreal when you thought about it all.

The next morning, after not remembering when you even fell asleep, you checked your phone to see you had an unread text from an unknown number. You smiled at it, not even bothering to shut off the alarm clock that had woken you up as you quickly saved the number into your contacts.

(Rengoku) His name is Kaname!

-x-x-x-

a/n pt2) DID YOU MISS ME? I know after such a long wait it's a pretty slow boring chapter, but I think the soft pacing was a good ease back into things.

I dunno where the inspo to finish this chapter even came from, but you won't see me complaining. Lemme know what you guys thought, I know it's been a while since I updated much of anything really, so the feedback is critical!!! and ofc im always up for any ideas y'all could have for the future since we all know how touch and go I am with inspiration lol

if you dont tell me anything, you're fired

#rengoku x reader #rengoku x y/n #rengoku kyojuro #kyojuro rengoku #demon slayer #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #rengoku x f.y/n #rengoku x f.reader #female reader #f.reader #rengoku series #rengoku fluff

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bamdelune · 2 years ago

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In Hindsight 📹 Ch. 04: "the day i died once pt. 1"

notes. please do me a favor and pretend the first slide is actually edited to be posted as a twitter circle tweet 🙏

A familiar pattern of knocks echoed throughout the room. Your head turned to the door in confusion, Baizhu wasn't supposed to be coming in here today. He only came by on weekends.

The door slides open with the rolling sound of the gear to reveal the doctor and what looked like to be Kunikuzushi behind him. The general aura of the mood Baizhu entered the room with was eerily heavy as if someone just died.

"Good afternoon, Y/N." He greets, his tone slightly awkward. You return his greeting and say your hello to Kunikuzushi as well, to which he nods at in acknowledgement.

"Doctor Baizhu, is something the matter? You don't usually come in here on a weekday like this." You ask, nervously fiddling with your fingers. A sense of dread was pushing against your stomach and spread throughout your body.

Baizhu clears his throat, "I'm afraid there's something that needs to be discussed that prompted my visit."

Kunikuzushi has now also turned his attention towards the physician, eyes curious as well. Baizhu takes a deep breath, "I don't wish to scare you but it's inevitable. I fear that your condition has worsened. Ergo, you don't have much left, dear."

Silence fills the room, save for the whirring of the air conditioner. Other than that, you might as well have heard a pin drop. The tension was far too thick for your liking, anyone could cut through it with a knife.

"What?"

That's why Baizhu looked mournful when he came in. He was mourning a dead man walking.

"How much do I have left." Your tone comes out more strained that intended, as if your voice was about to crack.

"11 months. Even then, you're pushing it."

That wasn't so bad, right? You just wouldn't be there to see your album, the one that you've waited so long to start on, in all its glory after the production process. You wouldn't be alive to celebrate it with Xinyan, Aether, and Lumine.

notes. and we're finally at turning point #1 of this au! things will get easier to lay out from here and i hope everyone enjoys what's to come <;3

synopsis. You are a singer-songwriter. Music has always been a part of you, it's a part of your identity that no one can ever take away. However, there's always a catch: you are diagnosed with a chronic illness that puts your life on a timer. Those who have heard your countless melodies have grown to notice that the notes on the sheet played a gloomier tune. Would the snarky and capable medical student you've met be able to bring life back into these melodies? Even as life begins to seep out of your own body? (scaramouche x gn!reader)

tags. gender-neutral reader, angst, fluff, crack, heavy contexts of death and illnesses, friends to lovers, slowburn, profanities, drinking (characters are in college), suggestive themes but no nsfw.

taglist. (open, reply or send an ask to be added) — @beriiov @alatusorrow @br0oke96 @ohmyfinggod @itzblazekun @featuredtofu @sketcheeee

masterpost ★ masterlist © bamdelune 2023. do not repost, translate, plagiarize any of my works without permission, thank you so much! reblogs, notes, and comments are always appreciated!

#📹 (in hindsight) smau #bamdelune #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #bamdelune's bookstore #genshin smau #scaramouche x gn reader #scaramouche #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader

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sorrowfulsoul · 2 years ago

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Contents: Top 0–9 A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

# 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

A Aa Ab Ac Ad Ae Af Ag Ah Ai Aj Ak Al Am An Ao Ap Aq Ar As At Au Av Aw Ax Ay Az

B Ba Bb Bc Bd Be Bf Bg Bh Bi Bj Bk Bl Bm Bn Bo Bp Bq Br Bs Bt Bu Bv Bw Bx By Bz

C Ca Cb Cc Cd Ce Cf Cg Ch Ci Cj Ck Cl Cm Cn Co Cp Cq Cr Cs Ct Cu Cv Cw Cx Cy Cz

D Da Db Dc Dd De Df Dg Dh Di Dj Dk Dl Dm Dn Do Dp Dq Dr Ds Dt Du Dv Dw Dx Dy Dz

E Ea Eb Ec Ed Ee Ef Eg Eh Ei Ej Ek El Em En Eo Ep Eq Er Es Et Eu Ev Ew Ex Ey Ez

F Fa Fb Fc Fd Fe Ff Fg Fh Fi Fj Fk Fl Fm Fn Fo Fp Fq Fr Fs Ft Fu Fv Fw Fx Fy Fz

G Ga Gb Gc Gd Ge Gf Gg Gh Gi Gj Gk Gl Gm Gn Go Gp Gq Gr Gs Gt Gu Gv Gw Gx Gy Gz

H Ha Hb Hc Hd He Hf Hg Hh Hi Hj Hk Hl Hm Hn Ho Hp Hq Hr Hs Ht Hu Hv Hw Hx Hy Hz

I Ia Ib Ic Id Ie If Ig Ih Ii Ij Ik Il Im In Io Ip Iq Ir Is It Iu Iv Iw Ix Iy Iz

J Ja Jb Jc Jd Je Jf Jg Jh Ji Jj Jk Jl Jm Jn Jo Jp Jq Jr Js Jt Ju Jv Jw Jx Jy Jz

K Ka Kb Kc Kd Ke Kf Kg Kh Ki Kj Kk Kl Km Kn Ko Kp Kq Kr Ks Kt Ku Kv Kw Kx Ky Kz

L La Lb Lc Ld Le Lf Lg Lh Li Lj Lk Ll Lm Ln Lo Lp Lq Lr Ls Lt Lu Lv Lw Lx Ly Lz

M Ma Mb Mc Md Me Mf Mg Mh Mi Mj Mk Ml Mm Mn Mo Mp Mq Mr Ms Mt Mu Mv Mw Mx My Mz

N Na Nb Nc Nd Ne Nf Ng Nh Ni Nj Nk Nl Nm Nn No Np Nq Nr Ns Nt Nu Nv Nw Nx Ny Nz

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sunnydaleherald · 6 months ago

Text

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Sunday, January 12th - Monday, January 13th

BUFFY: Well, I may not sleep in the nude and rassle alligators... FAITH: Maybe it's time you started, 'cause obviously *something* in your bottle needs uncorking.

~~Faith, Hope & Trick~~

The Sunnydale Herald is looking for a new editor. Contributing to the Herald is a great way to get your Buffy on! Find out more.

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Blood and Stone by AirSteps (Buffy/Faith, not rated)

You Are In Love by Cumultus9 (Buffy/Faith, G)

A night to remember by Fanlifemiracle (Xander/Oz, Explicit)

[Chaptered Fiction]

From Out of the Darkness 2/9 by forsaken2003 (Xander/Spike, R)

The Christabel Chronicles - parts 2-6 by Nymue (Buffy/Spike/Angelus, Scoobies, not rated)

The Nexus Saga - parts 2-5 by TrentMckay (Buffy, Spike, M)

Fine Wines and High Steaks - Chapter 1 by QuillBard (Buffy/Faith, M)

A Sense of Self Preservation - Chapter 1-2 by whoser88 (Buffy/Giles, G)

Dim the Glow - Chapter 1 by arcanedreamer (Devil May Cry crossover, Xander, T)

Restructuring Reality [Series Part 3] Ch. 1 by Ragini (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

How to Be a Heartbreaker, Ch. 1-3 by Maxine Eden (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

[Images, Audio & Video]

Drawings: "Real love isn’t brains, children. It’s blood..." by bertolts (Spike, worksafe)

Drawing: feral for them being feral for each other 🔥⛓️‍💥 by chelseabeecreates (Buffy/Faith, NSFW)

Gifset: Spuffy + TV Love Tropes (pt. II) by clarkgriffon (Buffy/Spike, possibly NSFW)

Vidlet: a Fuffy edit to Hozier’s cover of Do I Wanna Know by strangewerewolf (Buffy/Faith)

A 3D painted backdrop for a trio of BtVS figures based on 3.09 "The Wish" by thegothicalice (worksafe)

Digital artwork: Once More With Feeling by augustbrown18 (Buffy/Spike, worksafe)

Artwork by flyora based on elysianholly's fic Seven (Buffy/Spike, worksafe)

Vid: Until I found her by White Phoenix (Angel/Cordelia)

[Reviews & Recaps]

Just rewatched What’s My Line part 2 by targaryenvampireslayer

Re: Is the Fray comic worth reading? by multiple people

One of the show's strengths was that it could add great supporting characters later on... by Virtual-Signature789

The Trio (S6) were the best villains on the show. by Virtual-Signature789

Ranking the Seasons (For funsies) by PelvicSorcery2113

ANGEL 1.14 - I've Got You Under My Skin by Buffy the Vampire Straya

ANGEL 1.15 - The Prodigal by Buffy the Vampire Straya

Salvage (Buffy and the Art of Story Podcast) - Lisa Lilly

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Elysian Fields Spuffy Fanworks Archive — Check out our new Featured Works!

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Spotlight Saturday: Angel/Darla (announcement, meta and rec list) by februaryfangfest

Spotlight Saturday: Spike/Drusilla (announcement, meta and rec list) by februaryfangfest

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Fannish 50 — #2: Favorite Friendships (Joyce Summers & Spike) by veronyxk84

Re: what if... episode with random demon shenanigans that make buffy a vampire for a day and spike human for a day by lesbianmarrow

Re: seeing red is awful... by lesbianmarrow

hello, it is me, the problematic 2000

Can't stop thinking about how in Helpless... by acorpsecalledcorva

VA & BtVS [Vampire Academy parallels] by earlgreyandanime

the way i've been writing angel/spike in my shippier fics by fangs-light-forgiveness-au

The way Spike’s character arc in Buffy the Vampire Slayer is shown through the ‘you’re beneath me’ plot point by pearlofthewoods

What pairings would make the prettiest babies? by FallenAngel00 and others

Why did Jasmine want Angelus? by VanityInk

Light Wesley >>> Dark Wesley by Zombie_Giles

The weight of the world. by Syn_33

Spike...the man, the monster, the mystery. by Virtual-Signature789

I’ve watched Buffy 3 x through and each time have had a different take away about what it means to be Buffy by rielluv

Most new programs are now only 6 to 10 episodes per season. Can you put together a list of about that many, to make a season of Buffy still work? by V48runner and others

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jazlynriddle-legacy · 5 months ago

Text

Welcome to your life - Pt 3:

It's My Own Design Ch 20:

Summary:

The bitterness welling up within him was thick enough to gag on.

And if they were wrong?

What a joke, they would suffer no alternative.

You can also read on AO3! (chapter specific warnings below)

Notes:

Warnings: A bit more torture but mostly plot and world building.

Finally, we're back to moving the plot and story along. I revamped a bunch of JK's lore, threw some of it in the trash bin, and came up with my own spin on the rest and created goblin culture, hopefully ya'll like the world building here =D

Also, if anyone's thirsty for pain, I posted a short ass alternate sad ending for Sebastian's questline titled Let's Go, Together. Go check it out if you want to cry.

God, I'm exhausted, I got food poisoning, I think I'm getting a cold too, greaaaat-

I'm also writing another Sebinis AU that features the Keeper as a historical cameo, so readers of this series will (hopefully) understand why the Keeper in that AU is... past-tensed. Good lord, it's already like 20k words and it's still like in the world building and slow... er, medium burn part. If you like Peter Pan (and no, not the Disney version) you'll like this one xD I'll probably upload the first chapter of that new fic next weekend, so please look forward to it! =D

And, at this point, I should probably just fix my upload schedule for this series to once every four weeks, it's been like that for ages now and I can't seem to make my chapters shorter than 10k words x')

Edit: One of my cats died, my oldest companion, and it's been rough, so, I deeply apologise, but I'll be dropping my upload schedule and I probably won't be able to finish the next chapter anytime soon. I need a break, but I'll definitely continue this when I'm feeling better!

“This is all I could find. Seems like he didn't have much left by the time I went after him.” The Keeper dropped a small pouch on the table between them and Mrs. Taylor, their tone slightly apologetic.

They kind of felt like they’d gotten more out of this than Frederick's wife, but if she really needed the money, it'd probably be helpful regardless, the pearls should at least fetch a decent price. The Keeper wasn't exactly an expert, but the yellow tint to the pearly sheen made them likely to be natural pearls, and the gold ring was decently heavy.

“It's alright, I'll come back to give you your share after I sell off what you've found.” She nodded, accepting the pouch and, as she did so, a blue flame burst into being over her hand, startling her.

“Don't worry about that, it's just the contract. Evidence that I've fulfilled my end of the bargain.” The Keeper assured, taking a sip from their glass.

“I- I see.” The lady's smile became uncertain. “Is he-”

She cut herself off and shook her head. “Nevermind, thank you.”

“You're welcome.” The Keeper answered with a level gaze, amused that she clearly wanted and didn't want to know what had become of her husband. Perhaps they'd gotten used to reading that on Ominis’ more controlled face, and could spot it easily on hers. “I look forward to receiving my pay.”

At the clear dismissal, Mrs. Taylor nodded and stood. “I'll be in touch.”

With a last uncertain glance, she left the Phantom’s Flask, and the Keeper moved over to sit at Alasdair's counter, where the bartender gave them a wry smile. “Congratulations on clearing another job. How was your visit to the Rogues?”

“Rowdy.” The Keeper answered with an amused snort. “Think I prefer this place. Drinks are better too.”

A wide smirk covered Alasdair's face. “Flattery won't lighten your tab, kid. Out with it then, what do you want?”

“I don't suppose you know where I might be able to acquire two-way mirrors like Owl's, though I'd prefer a set of three that are linked.” The Keeper asked, stirring their drink idly with the straw.

“Well, starting out with the tough requests, hm? Two-ways are rare enough already, a set of three-way mirrors would be even harder to acquire.” Alasdair chuckled. “But I'm sure you've already guessed as much.”

“Can you help me or not?” The Keeper huffed, not particularly in the mood to play.

“There's only one merchant I know who could have something that rare, but they're involved in an ongoing fight with a fairly powerful enemy, so you might want to be careful when dealing with them.” The bartender warned. “It's not the type of beef you want to get dragged into.”

“Noted.” The Keeper cocked an eyebrow at the man. Well, all they were interested in was trade, so they didn't see how that would be a problem.

“They rent a room on Tuesday nights to do trade, come by during opening hours and you'll find them in room sixteen.” Alasdair jabbed a thumb towards the stairs. “Wear your mask.”

That bad, huh.

The Keeper nodded as they finished up their drink, sliding the glass over to Alasdair and making to stand, when he asked. “Have you ever met a vampire?”

Eyes widening, they shook their head, a vampire, eh? That should be interesting.

“Well, greet them with a bow and don't tilt your head to the side or raise your wrist. Might take that as an offer.” The corner of Alasdair's mouth quirked upwards in amusement.

“I'll keep that in mind.” The Keeper huffed as they stood. “Thanks as always.”

“See you soon, kid.”

The streets of Diagon Alley were about as cramped as one might expect on a Sunday in the middle of the Christmas season, and Sebastian was starting to worry that he wouldn't make it to Gringotts on time for his first lesson with Borgok.

Which would be a pretty piss poor way to start his apprenticeship, so he took a breath and began to shove himself through the crowd. Ignoring the glares from the surrounding shoppers, Sebastian elbowed his way to the bank, huffing and puffing as he struggled against the flow of traffic.

When he finally made it to the large white doors, the bank itself also turned out to be crowded as all hell and, for a moment, Sebastian was worried that he wouldn't be able to find his mentor. Only to breathe a sigh of relief when he spotted the heavy-set blacksmith standing near a counter, speaking with another of his kinsmen, and he quickly waded through the sea of people and goblins.

Fortunately, Borgok seemed to spot him as he made his way over, saving him the awkward task of interrupting the conversation, and Sebastian stopped a few steps away. Leaning against a wall to catch his breath, Sebastian waited for Borgok to finish his discussion, and the other goblin left after a few moments.

“Master Borgok.” Sebastian greeted when his mentor turned to face him, giving him a slight bow of the head in respect.

It still felt odd to regard a goblin with deference, but he knew that this was something he had to get used to, goblins weren't the enemy, and this one would make him more useful to the Keeper. He needed to be useful, needed to take the pressure off them, they were already carrying so much of their future, it wasn't fair for both he and Ominis to need them so much.

The Keeper’s breakdown on Friday had reminded him that they weren't mentally invincible either, even they needed rest, and Sebastian knew that he only got to spend more time with the Keeper than Ominis, because most of it was when they were working.

And they were always working.

Which obviously meant that Ominis was left alone more often than not.

Sebastian had managed to get Ominis to talk about what was bothering him during their walk by the lake, and he'd felt rather stupid when the blond had hesitantly admitted that he was feeling lonely. Of course he was, the throuple could usually spend at least a few hours and mealtimes together every day during previous holidays, this was the first time they'd left Ominis alone for days in a row.

It wasn't fair that Sebastian's own needs were being met - purely because he and the Keeper conveniently took pleasure from working together - and Ominis’ weren't.

So, even though Sebastian loved watching the Keeper work, loved how hot they looked when they were focused, loved how good it felt every time they gave him one of their approving nods. He decided that he was going to do his best to reduce the amount of time that the Keeper needed to spend on work. Ominis deserved to get his relaxing dates with them too.

Hopefully, learning about goblin silver and how it worked would allow him to give the Keeper more time to rest and relax with him and Ominis. It was with this determination in his heart that Sebastian met Borgok's gaze, and a sharp toothy grin of approval spread across the goblin's face. Okay, still kinda unnerving, why did goblins have to have such creepy looking teeth-

“Sebastian, glad you made it on time, punctuality in the face of unexpected adversity is a sign of dedication.” Borgok chuckled, and the pink that had been leaving Sebastian's cheeks immediately returned. “Come, follow me.”

The hefty goblin turned and took a few steps over to the counter and Sebastian followed him with some trepidation.

“Nodrog.” Borgok greeted the goblin behind the counter, who was wearing the uniform of a security guard.

“Borgok, busy morning we're having, innit?” The guard chuckled wryly. “What can I do for you?”

“This is Sebastian.” Borgok gestured at him, before introducing the goblin. “And this is Nodrog, you'll have to get clearance from him to enter the employee's section of the building.”

Sebastian nodded at him in greeting, deciding to go with the standard. “Good morning.”

“So, this is the apprentice, bit younger than I expected.” Nodrog eyed Sebastian critically and he fought to keep his expression neutral, chanting in his head, don't get mad, don't get mad, don't get mad.

The goblin behind the counter then presented him with a ledger and a quill. “Here, you'll need to sign this every time you enter and leave.”

Taking the quill obediently, Sebastian found the first empty row to scribble his name on and, after passing the ledger and quill to Borgok, the security guard offered Sebastian a gold necklace in their place. “And you'll need to wear this.”

The golden chain was not very long, and its links were thick, broad squares, weaved together in an intricate interlocking design. Most prominently, was a curious pattern along the side that was large enough to be seen at a glance, it looked almost like letters, though Sebastian couldn't quite recognise them.

“It's got an identification number on the side. And it's how we'll know you're working here.” Nodrog explained, and Sebastian nodded, taking the chain and fastening it around his neck, rather surprised to find that it wasn't quite as uncomfortable as he'd thought it looked.

“Alright, that's everything settled. Welcome to Gringotts.” Nodrog pressed something on his countertop and the shutter gate beside the counter opened.

“Come along then, lad.” Borgok quipped as he led the way through the gates and down the corridor behind them.

Sebastian followed him for a short walk, and the corridor eventually ended at a chamber with three doors, which were all - oddly enough - lacking handles. The door to the left bore a bronze sheen, the one in the middle, silver, while the third was made of or possibly plated with gold, and Sebastian wondered which they would be entering. Not to mention, what the significance of each differing material was.

The blacksmith lumbered over to the golden door, and as he did, Sebastian noticed that there was a small keyhole set into the door's frame. He watched with curiosity as Borgok lowered his collar slightly to reveal a necklace that looked almost identical to Sebastian’s and lifted one of the golden keys hanging from it.

Sebastian's eyebrows rose when Borgok moved like he was going to pull the key off the necklace, only for the necklace to elongate. The links of the chain unfolded out of themselves elegantly, till the necklace was long enough for the goblin to easily slot the key into the keyhole on the door frame.

The key turned with a click, and a golden circle that Sebastian had previously thought was merely one of the intricate designs on the door's frame, popped out, becoming what was quite clearly a button. Its job done, Borgok released the key from between his fingers and the links in the necklace began folding back into themselves until the chain was once again hanging comfortably from around the goblin's neck.

With wide eyes, Sebastian tugged lightly on his own necklace, observing it as it elongated and then shrank back when he released it. A bright grin spread across his face, okay, that was pretty awesome.

When Borgok then pressed the gold button he'd unlocked, the door slid to the side, revealing its ornate interior to be a very small room lined with golden grilles and elegant frills. So much gold, Merlin, the goblins really liked their precious metals.

For a moment, Sebastian was confused, until he followed the goblin inside and realised that this was an elevator, a rather rare piece of machinery, though it made sense that Gringotts would have plenty. Sebastian examined the slate of buttons on the side, spotting a few with keyholes beside them, the third of which Borgok unlocked with yet another key, and then pressed, causing the doors to close.

With a deep rumble and a jolt, the elevator began descending and Borgok took a small pouch out of his pocket, offering it to Sebastian. “As you might have guessed, the smithy I manage is in the most secure layer, you will need the keys in this bag to reach it for our lessons. You can attach them to your necklace to avoid losing them.”

Accepting the pouch, Sebastian opened it, finding two golden keys and one silver key inside, and he asked, as he removed his necklace momentarily to secure them to the chain. “Most secure layer?”

Borgok chuckled. “Yes, well, I may have neglected to mention that I'm the head of Gringotts’ Diagon Alley branch Design Department, overseeing research and development of Gringotts’ tools, locks, security and machinery.”

Sebastian's eyes widened, so Borgok was a bigshot. Great, that could be a good thing and a bad thing at the same time, a voice that sounded an awful lot like the Keeper’s echoed in his head, followed by one that sounded more like Ominis, better be careful how you behave around him, but Sebastian himself was pretty excited about this, so he shooed the voices away.

If he performed well and managed to win the approval of Borgok and his team, he'd gain connections and it would bolster his credibility, giving his decisions more weight. Not to mention, the things he could learn from them, this was an incredible opportunity that he could still barely believe had landed in his lap. Thanks to the Keeper, as always.

But your stubbornness will be your ruin, you've never gotten on with authority, you're your father's son, after all, the snide voice of Solomon sneered in his mind, you're unteachable.

Sebastian smothered that one aggressively, it only ever came out when the Keeper wasn't around, and he yearned to have them here with him. They always made him feel more confident and assured, even before he'd fallen in love with them. Having their unflinching presence by his side always made him feel like any endeavour was possible, like he could take on the world.

“My smithy team followed me when I took the position, and your training will begin with them till you have enough of the basics to learn from me.” Borgok continued, unaware of Sebastian's internal havoc. “I will introduce you to the team, and then leave you to their care.”

Sebastian nodded, the keys around his neck feeling uncomfortably heavy and anxiety churning in his stomach. Fuck it though, he was going to do his best and he was going to win them over. He had to. Failure was not an option.

Hopefully Borgok would have enough for Sebastian to do - to keep his mind occupied and quiet - it was always less noisy and easier to think when he had a problem to solve or a puzzle to figure out. He felt the vertigo of motion cease, before the elevator doors opened with a clunk, and Sebastian's eyes widened with awe at the incredible sight that was unveiled.

Outside the elevator was an enormous dome chamber filled with large machinery and workshop benches covered in tools. The warm light from the roaring fires peeking out of numerous furnaces, glimmered across the gold and silver strewn about the room. A dozen goblins or so, were either seated at the benches or moving back and forth across the workspace like a well-oiled machine. Some pushing carts of materials and others carrying tools from one place to another.

He could also see several doors along the walls, and vents snaking their way across the ceiling, along with an absolutely chaotic mess of pipes crisscrossed beneath the grates that made up the floor. Oh boy, he really didn't envy whoever's job it was to remember which pipe went where, that looked like an absolute nightmare to manage, maintain, and repair.

If Borgok tried to give him that job, Sebastian would pack his bags and leave.

Said goblin beside him chuckled, and Sebastian jumped, reminded that he was standing in the elevator doorway, staring like an idiot.

“Quite something, isn't it?” Borgok wore a proud smile as he ran his gaze over the room.

“It's incredible.” Sebastian agreed, stepping out of the elevator and returning his attention to his mentor.

“That it is, you should've seen how it looked before I got here.” The blacksmith laughed to himself as he shuffled over to a row of silver lockers beside the lift landing.

“However, the first lesson you must learn is that everything that inspires awe, is also dangerous.” Borgok rapped his knuckles against a pigeonhole locker with the number thirteen engraved on it. “You are not to descend the steps into the workshop, until you have donned the protective gear from your locker. And take off those useless robes, wizarding fashion will cost you an arm down here.”

Sebastian approached his locker and spotted a small keyhole beside the handle, quickly guessing that one of the keys hanging around his neck would likely fit. He tugged the necklace out from under the cotton tunic - that Borgok had instructed him to wear in advance - and pulled on it, still rather taken with how beautifully the necklace stretched, and attempted the smallest silver key, which fit perfectly, and he opened the locker to examine its contents.

At the sound of another locker opening beside him, Sebastian peered at Borgok, watching the goblin don the gear inside his own locker, and Sebastian shucked his robes quickly to copy his mentor.

In a few minutes, Sebastian was decked out with a small pair of goggles that sat snugly over his eyes, a face shield that could be flipped up to sit atop his head when not in use, a thick brown apron that he'd tied around his waist, a pair of safety boots - was that steel covering the toes? Fascinating - and a pair of gloves.

The gloves weren't as thick as he'd expected, but had a mesh design that felt incredibly sturdy. He'd bet good money that these gloves would stop a knife from taking off a finger and Sebastian wondered if he could get a pair of these for the Keeper. He could also feel the pulse of magic in his gear, and he noticed several runes embroidered into the waist-tie of the apron and the wrist cuffs of the gloves.

He was honestly a tad surprised that they would have gear within a human's size range, he'd already given Borgok his shoe and glove sizes, so those were customised as he'd expected, but the rest were adjustable. A rather strange choice of investment.

Finished donning his gear, Sebastian lifted the face shield and closed his locker, hearing it lock automatically, and looked at himself in the reflective surface of its door. Huh, Sebastian grinned, maybe if he showed up looking this professional, Ominis might actually trust him.

He snorted to himself in amusement, yeah, if the blond could actually see him maybe, shaking his head, he descended the stairs to join Borgok.

Fortunately, the goggle lenses seemed to be made of crisp clear crystal, and Sebastian could easily take in the sights as he followed his mentor across the chamber, his steel-toed shoes clanking against the metal beneath them.

“This chamber is the common workshop. Those five doors lead to the workshops for specialisation teams focused on a different aspect of smithing.” Borgok explained as they walked, gesturing to the doors spaced evenly along the dome's walls. “There's the Material team, the Forging team, the Finishing team, the Tooling maintenance team, and my team, the Design team.”

It was a struggle to focus on his mentor's words while goblins bustled around them, and Sebastian's eyes were constantly flickering back and forth as yet another curious machine caught his attention. Wait, was that a cart of platinum!? Sebastian's jaw went slack, an entire cart full!? He suddenly felt rather nervous, if he messed up something here, he might end up costing them more money.

Ugh, was this what being responsible felt like? Sebastian sighed, not fun, but he supposed doing good by his partners was worth dampening his excitement.

“And this is my office, you can seek me out here if you have any issues that your assigned teacher can't address.” Borgok continued as they arrived at a brass door, whose frame was like an oval cut into the wall, and Sebastian thought it a curious design choice.

The goblin unlocked the door with yet another key, and Sebastian frowned as it opened, wondering why he wasn't hearing any jangling, despite the many keys hanging from Borgok's necklace. That, and how his mentor kept track of where each key went, Merlin, there had to be at least ten hanging off the goblin’s neck.

The inside of his office was surprisingly modest, in contrast to how shiny most of Gringotts seemed to be, and it felt less industrial than the workshop outside as well. It was more akin to a Professor's office back in Hogwarts, with a large but low desk on the other end of the room, though it was made of steel rather than wood, and covered with small gadgets, papers and tools.

Borgok lumbered over to it and Sebastian followed him, past an even lower coffee table, surrounded by short yet plush, comfortable looking couches and armchairs.

“Take a seat, while I call my team to the room.” The goblin gestured towards the short stool in front of the desk as he walked around it to sit in the high-backed chair behind it.

As instructed, Sebastian took a seat, though it felt more like he was crouching on the short stool, and Sebastian watched curiously as his mentor reached out to flip up the covers on four... pipes? The four brass pipes were sticking out of the desk and, leaning forward, Borgok spoke clearly and evenly into those four pipes at the same time.

“This is Master Smith Borgok, could the Masters of each department please come to my office? Thank you.” Finishing his announcement, the goblin closed the four flaps and leaned back in his seat to face Sebastian. “They should arrive in several minutes. For today, I will have you spend an hour following each of the four Masters around as they go about their work.”

Sebastian nodded slowly, and his expression must have looked not unlike a warrior going into battle, because Borgok gave him a small smile, saying. “Don't look so worried, they're my friends before my employees, and I can assure you that you will be treated no differently than one of our goblins.”

“Thank you.” Sebastian returned his smile, grateful that his mentor was taking the time to ease his nerves. Still, he'd had enough bad experiences with adults to remain wary, though he supposed he was already considered one himself, by all technicality.

“After you've taken some time with the other Masters, you can come by my office, and we'll speak for a bit about any observations you've made.” Borgok continued. “Though some of my friends might be... strict, I hope you'll be able to learn much from them, though it would probably be prudent to give you some warning.”

“Warning?” Sebastian echoed warily.

“Yes, see, amongst goblins, we men commonly handle interactions with Wizardkind, your people aren't very... tolerant towards our women.” Borgok flashed a wry smile. “Of course, I don't understand it, I think our goblette ladies are absolutely lovely, but humans seem to find them rather... scary.”

Sebastian's eyebrows raised, even more so than goblins!?

“And our culture is normally one of express honesty. Humans in general seem to think that ‘polite’ means lying. In contrast, when we goblins feel a certain way, we will make no attempts to hide it, out of respect to those around us. The more we care about each other, the more effort we put into being our authentic selves.” Borgok explained, and Sebastian felt something stir inside him, he really liked the way that sounded.

“However, humans... they take offence too easily, and when our women show anger, it can put them in grave danger.” The goblin sighed. “So, us men, the physically stronger and less... ugly by - human standards - handle interactions with humans. And I won't lie, it's... painful to suppress our emotions the way humans do.”

Sebastian winced in sympathy, he knew what that felt like, that sounded rough indee-

The door slammed open with a clang that echoed through the room, and Sebastian jumped, spinning around to stare with wide eyes as a foot hovered in the doorway for a moment. Before it lowered to the floor and a goblin - just a tad shorter than Borgok - entered, wearing an admittedly, rather terrifying scowl.

“The blazes are ye doin’ callin’ me in the middle o’ engraving!?” The goblin's voice was slightly higher in pitch, though no less rough than Borgok's, with a hooked nose that pointed upwards rather than down, long brown hair tied up in a tight bun and twice as many wrinkles as the average goblin. “You gonna do me last twenty hours o’ work if I botch the batch, eh Borgok!?”

“Melain, my friend, please, we should give young Sebastian a chance to get used to dealings with fine ladies like yourself.” Borgok sighed, and Sebastian blinked, so that was a goblette. Merlin’s beard, she did look terrifying indeed, were those tusks peeking out from her lower lip!?

Another goblin shoved past Melain, this one was a little taller than her but also had long hair - blonde this time - in a braid, another goblette, from the wrinkles and long fangs. This one flashed Borgok a sharp grin, revealing two rows of teeth that were even more jagged than his, as she scoffed. “And that's our problem, how?”

“Rozen is right. If the boy wants to learn from us, he'll have to get accustomed to our customs.” Came a flat and uninterested statement from a bespectacled goblette with her black hair in a messy bun, who strolled past the others, staring at a clipboard in her hands as she absently took a seat in one of the armchairs. “Jason managed without any coddling.”

“That's very kind of you to say, Loleu.” The next person to enter was - to Sebastian's surprise - a human. The man's voice was deep, and his warm blue eyes followed the goblettes as they seated themselves.

He was also intimidatingly tall, at least a head taller than Sebastian, and he was large and muscled, with cropped dark brown hair that was almost as messy as Sebastian's own, wearing the same apron around his waist and the same gloves too. He had a strong square jaw that made Sebastian think of muggle soldiers, and there were numerous scars crisscrossing across the thick arms, showing under his rolled-up sleeves.

A part of Sebastian wondered if he would eventually look... like that, after working here for a while. Would Ominis and the Keeper like that? If he had big muscles to touch? It would be pretty cool if he could carry Ominis bridal style one day.

Catching Sebastian's curious eyes, Jason grinned broadly and strode towards him, saying. “Hey there, Sebastian, right? I'm glad to see the gear fits! I thought it should - from your shoe and glove sizes - but one can never really know in the wizarding world.”

Jason chuckled as he offered his hand for a shake, and Sebastian couldn’t help but feel some relief at seeing a gesture he knew how to respond to. Standing and taking the hand, Sebastian smiled. “So, I have you to thank for the gear. You have my gratitude, I must admit, I'm surprised to see another human.”

At his words, the three goblettes on the couch began to snicker and Jason chuckled as he released Sebastian's hand. “Not quite, I'm a werewolf.”

Sebastian's eyes widened and Jason gave him a rueful smile. “The Ministry doesn't make it easy for my kind to make an honest living, Master Borgok was kind enough to give me a chance when he saw the craft I was trying to sell.”

Sebastian followed the werewolf's grateful gaze to the goblin in question, and Borgok shrugged. “I didn't have enough coin on me, so I offered to teach him, in exchange for what I needed to buy. Saved me the embarrassment of showing up to my mother’s without a gift.”

“Luckily for me.” Jason chuckled. “I trusted his word and let him leave with the artpiece, even though I was raised to see goblins as uncivilised. And it was the best decision I've ever made.”

“We simply see no point in denying merit when we see it. Effort should always be met with equal appreciation, and it is an insult to give more - or less - than fair, in exchange for work.” Borgok paused with a bitter smile. “That's all we ever wanted from Wizardkind, to be viewed with the appropriate recognition for our hard work and efforts. But humans value results over effort. I will never understand such a way of thinking.”

Sebastian felt something clench in his chest at those words, that's right, that's all he ever wanted too. For his uncle to respect him, for his efforts to be recognised. Did it matter if he failed? He was trying. Could Solomon not see that? Did he not care? Sebastian could have had everybody in Hogwarts admire him and it wouldn't have been a substitute for his uncle's recognition and support.

He bit his lip, heart aching, until he thought of the Keeper. They hadn’t given a fuck when he failed, and so spectacularly at that. They saw how much he cared, how hard Sebastian was always trying. Always. Trying to be strong and confident, trying to look and feel like he knew what the fuck he was doing. Perhaps it would hurt less if he could just show his honest feelings without need for hiding, like the goblins did.

They may look scary, but their hearts weren't very different from his own, it seemed.

Maybe it wasn’t so strange that Ranrok's Loyalists were all goblin men, they were the ones who had to endure humanity's farces and toxic masks. It made Sebastian feel a strange guilt, that those goblins had just been infected by human poison. The same poison he himself had been choking on. He'd been taking his anger out on people who were in the same boat that he'd been in for years.

“Because the goblin way makes sense.” Loleu muttered, flipping a page on her clipboard and pulling a... pen, out of the mess pretending to be a bun on her head, to scribble something on the clipboard. “Jason made an excellent recovery and great progress under our care.”

“My dear, you'll make me blush.” Jason grinned sheepishly.

“Maybe I want to.” Loleu tossed back with a smirk, as she shoved her pen back into her bun.

“Urk- gross. Yer flirting'll give me hives.” Melain stuck out her tongue and Rozen snickered.

“It's not flirting, get your head outta the gutter.” Loleu rolled her eyes. “So, what's the plan, Master Smith?”

Borgok cleared his throat. “Yes, first, let me introduce my Masters.”

Sebastian sat up a little straighter and followed Borgok's palm as he gestured from the left to the right.

“Rozen is the Master in charge of Raw Materials, she handles refining and smelting raw ore from the mines, for use in forging.” The blonde goblette gave him a rather unsettling grin, but Sebastian bowed his head respectfully. He was just going to have to get over his discomfort, Jason managed, he could too.

“Jason is the Forging Master, he manages our forgers and they handle the conversion of ingots into the rough designs my team and I develop.” The large werewolf waved cheerfully, and Sebastian grinned back at him, he had a feeling the man would be a fun teacher.

“Melain is the Finishing Master, her team makes the finishing touches on every piece of work that leaves the forges. Engraving, polishing and all the detailed work.” The brunette goblette gave him a curt nod and he already felt like she would be the scariest teacher in the group.

“And finally, Loleu, our Tools Master, ensures that our forge is running around the clock. Maintaining or replacing any machinery or tools necessary for us to work.” The bespectacled goblette didn't even look up from her clipboard, simply sending a small wave in his general direction.

With the introductions done, Sebastian glanced at Borgok who moved his hand towards the blonde goblette, saying. “So, for starters, I'll be handing you off to Rozen, she'll introduce you to her line of work, before handing you over to the next Master.”

The blonde goblette sighed and stood. “Come on then, lad. Time's a wastin’.”

Giving Borgok a nod of farewell, Sebastian followed Rozen out of the room, his earlier trepidation returning as he did, still not entirely sure what to expect.

Returning to Borgok's office four hours later, Sebastian rapped his knuckles on the brass door and waited for Borgok's invitation. “Come in.”

Dutifully pushing the door open and poking his head inside, Sebastian saw the Master Smith scribbling on some papers at his desk, and Borgok spared him a glance, before returning his attention to his work. “Please take a seat on the couch, I'll be ready to speak with you in a few minutes.”

“Yes, Master Smith.” Sebastian nodded as he closed the door behind him and took a seat on one of the couches, slumping into the low cushion with a tired sigh. Merlin, that had been more exhausting than he'd expected.

His long tour had begun with Rozen had showing him to the Refinery Chambers, which - contrary to their name - were not mere chambers, but in fact expanded rooms so large that he wasn't even able to see the ceiling.

The Sifting Chamber held mountains, and he meant mountains of reddish-brown grains of iron, silver and gold. Apparently, they would grind up the raw ore transported from the mines and then use magnets to sift the iron from the dirt, and large gallons of water to wash dirt from gold and silver.

Rozen had given him a mask to wear over his nose and mouth, so he wouldn't choke on the fine dust, and Sebastian had commented that that would be a rather... fine way to die. Which had earned him a round of laughter from the crew nearby and a couple of hearty slaps on the thigh from Rozen. Which kind of hurt.

The Chemical Chamber had been rather pungent but was apparently vital to cleaning impurities from the precious metals between the various phases of smelting. Said connected Smelting Chamber had been extremely hot, enough that he could feel the burn on his skin despite the protective charms on his gear, and Rozen had told him that the temperatures in the coke coal forges reached almost half the heat of the sun's surface itself, according to recent muggle findings.

Sebastian had been admittedly awestruck when Rozen handed him a monstrously heavy ingot of pure gold, he'd almost dropped the tiny thing when she first passed it to him. However, the most exciting part of that hour had been watching the first phase of the process of enchanting the silver ingots to convert them into Goblin Silver.

Apparently, goblins could hear something that humans couldn't, or at least Sebastian hadn't heard shit when Rozen tapped a silver ingot with her hammer and went. “Ya hear that? When the silver sings like that, ya know it's good fer enchantin’.”

She'd tossed the ingot into a crucible with moonstone, before removing her glove and pricking her finger with a needle from her pocket, adding a drop of her own blood to it. Before handing Sebastian a stack of already cooled enchanted silver ingots, which had a blue sheen reminiscent of moonstone itself, to carry with him to his next stop.

He'd been relatively unsurprised by the addition of goblin blood to the mixture, their race had always been the least unsettled by blood magic.

Then, she'd dropped him off at Jason's forge, where the man had happily invited Sebastian to watch him forge a shield that'd been commissioned for a noble family, from the ingots that Sebastian had carried over. The werewolf had shown him how to get an ingot safely clamped between tongs and slide it over the burning coal furnaces to heat the metal evenly, before it could be hammered into the appropriate shape.

It had been rather amusing, how excited Jason had been to introduce one of the newer machines in the forge.

Apparently, the Power Hammer was based off a state-of-the-art piece of muggle machinery, it linked a spinning clutch with a hammer that would bounce on leather springs once engaged. It had been invented by a muggle designer named Christopher Bradley only a year ago, and Jason had chuckled as he described how enraged Borgok had been that a muggle had out-designed him with such a brilliant tool. One that would significantly reduce the amount of magic needed to power the process.

The werewolf had instructed Sebastian to lower his face shield as he hammered the metal into shape, folding it several times to improve its durability.

Sebastian had then asked, as Jason hammered away without anything protecting his face. “Why aren't you using a face shield?”

“Because I know what I'm doing.” Jason had answered with a grin.

“I'm a quick learner.” Sebastian hadn't been able to resist shooting back.

“That's what Greg said.” Jason had laughed, before turning to the side and shouting to be heard over the hammering of metal. “Hey Greg!”

“What?” Came the reply from one of the goblins nearby, who'd lifted his own face shield to reveal a large scar over his left eye.

“Tell the kid how you lost your eye!” Jason had called back.

The goblin cackled and flashed the wide-eyed Sebastian a sharp grin, shouting back. “Corner o’ coolin’ metal snapped off while hammerin’ and flew in me face!”

At his words, Sebastian had eyed the red-hot metal that Jason was hammering warily, and the werewolf cheerfully added. “Besides, if I mess up and injure myself, that's fine. But if I mess up and injure you, well, bugger me. So, keep that shield down.”

He wasn't sure if this was all a joke, but Sebastian kept his face shield down till Jason handed him off to Melain. Who quickly gave Sebastian her own variation of the same warning and told him to stay outta her way while she finished scraping, polishing, and engraving a goblet of goblin silver.

He'd watched with fascination as she sang in Gobbledegook under her breath, while etching little runes that glowed under her chisel. This was apparently the last step in enchanting Goblin Silver, which was why Jason was able to handle forging, despite not being a goblin. The main components were goblin blood, added during the smelting, and then runes charmed with goblin song and etched by goblin hands.

Sebastian was slightly disappointed that it wouldn't be possible for him to just make Goblin Silver for the Keeper, but he supposed if it were that simple, it wouldn't be so damn rare and expensive.

The blonde goblette hadn't given him much instruction or introduction, so focused she'd been on her work, but he'd found it enlightening to watch her all the same. While the Raw Materials were taxing and laborious to refine repeatedly, and forging required both immense strength and aim, finishing was no less difficult, and demanded intense focus and finesse. Not to mention, the amount of pressure there must be on the finishers to not waste all the work that had already gone into an item.

Loleu had dropped by to pick him up, correctly guessing that Melain was too caught up in her craft to remember his existence, and the black haired goblette had brought him to her workshop. Which... looked like an absolute nightmare. Machinery laid about in varying states of disrepair, an entire stack of spanners and hammers, a pile of screws and bolts was heaped in one corner, with another pile of nuts and gears in the other.

The messy room was apparently the equivalent of a spare parts scrap pile, and Sebastian had thus discovered - when Loleu asked him to pick up a handful of nuts for her - that the necklace of keys hanging around his neck would stay plastered to his chest even if he leaned forward. Which explained why he heard no jangling from the keys.

Loleu had then, absentmindedly told him that the necklace was charmed to stay against his chest so that the keys and chain would not get caught in any machinery or grinders, which would be quite... bad. Sebastian had swallowed at the unsettling thought, and then wondered if the goblette had a second pair of eyes hidden in her hair, since she'd been staring at her clipboard the entire time.

He'd watched as a seemingly endless stream of goblins came into the room, one after the other, to ask for a specific sized screw or nut or a size-sixteen Box-Head Ratcheting spanner or a replacement for a Steam-Powered Mechanical Trip Hammer Piston Assembly. Whatever the hell that last one was.

And every single time, she would simply check her clipboard or skip it entirely and just walk to one of the many piles of scrap, rummage through it for a moment, before returning with the requested item. She'd occasionally ask one of the other goblins in the room to retrieve something from storage, but the sheer amount of things that that goblette seemed to remember herself was somewhere between impressive and daunting.

Sebastian had made a mental note not to let any secrets slip around her. All in all, an exhausting four hours and he felt like, while he'd gotten a good look at what the work here entailed, he still wasn't sure where he fit in all this.

“Alright, my apologies, I had to get these signed as soon as possible.” Borgok sighed, catching Sebastian's attention, and he watched as the goblin set aside his quill, before placing the stack of parchment on a tray. “Come, take a seat.”

Sebastian dutifully made his way to the desk, while Borgok pressed several buttons on the side of the tray and the stack of papers vanished in a shimmer of gold particles.

“So, tell me, how was the tour?” Borgok smiled as Sebastian sat down.

“Incredible really, I never realised so much went into even just preparing the materials to be used.” Sebastian answered, thinking of the construction they'd done on the castle. “I've done conversion of metal ore into usable materials, but only with magic and on a much smaller scale.”

“Yes well, it's less practical to use magic for mass production on the scale Gringotts requires for minting and crafting.” Borgok's smile became bitter. “It also doesn't help that we're denied wands that would make using magic for mass production less dangerous for my goblins.”

Sebastian grimaced at the reminder of the role his people played in the oppression of the goblins, before frowning. “Dangerous?”

“Yes. The amount of magic needed to control fire at the heat of coke coal for example, would strain any goblin's magic and it would only take a slight loss of concentration for it to go wild.” Borgok explained. “A more extreme scenario would be, if an atmosphere change caused the amount of necessary magic to increase while the goblin is already tired, it could require them to strain themselves past magical exhaustion. It's just not practical without wands.”

“I see.” Sebastian nodded slowly. “That's why there isn't much use of magic in the process."

“That is one reason, yes.” Borgok smiled wryly. “Another is familiarity with the Material. And indeed, I was very impressed that you'd managed to craft a blade entirely with magic, but no doubt you noticed that the quality of your metal was nowhere close to the ingots we craft.”

Sebastian blinked. “I thought that was because I was inexperienced.”

“That is not entirely accurate.” Borgok shook his head. “Wizarding magic is capable of... short-cutting a great deal. But a problem that comes with being introduced to crafting by the use of magic, is that you don't learn enough about what you're working with first.”

Sebastian's expression must have shown his confusion, because Borgok chuckled and elaborated. “Essentially, a wizard who already knows how to make a good table, can find a way to make a good table with magic. However, if you simply learn the spell from him, without first knowing how to make a good table, your table will not be as good as his.”

Oh, that made more sense, Sebastian nodded thoughtfully, that was not unlike what Professor Weasley taught about transfiguration.

“In that scenario, the quality of goblin smithing, and even muggle smithing, will always be superior, because knowledge and experience informs what you can do with magic.” Borgok concluded. “There is a difference between lazily enforcing your will on reality, as Wizardkind do, versus moulding reality by working with it, as we goblins do.”

Sebastian hummed thoughtfully, perhaps he should redo the metalwork for the dungeon cell doors, once he was better at forging. The Keeper had done woodwork during their time in the workhouses, so they'd been relatively confident about the wooden doors they'd crafted after additional research and Rackham’s guidance.

However, Sebastian had handled the metalwork for things like torch holders and cell doors, and while it was probably enough that the metal wasn't breakable with inmates’ bare hands, he would feel better having done his best to improve them.

“And that's why you want me to learn all the aspects of forging.” Sebastian nodded.

“Correct.” Borgok gave him an approving grin. “I chose to teach Jason forging because I saw in his art, the hard work, dedication and meticulous attention to detail necessary for a forger.”

The goblin jabbed a finger at Sebastian. “And I chose you, because I saw in that dagger the resourcefulness and determination to make do with what little you have. Your dagger did no more and no less than what you needed it to do, with the bare minimum in skill, experience and materials. That efficiency and creativity is necessary for a designer.”

Borgok grinned, lifting his chin with a touch of pride. “Design comes before everything else. It is the stage where we decide what an object can and will do, whether it is going to be a cursed helm or a blessed goblet. It is where we decide what runes and enchantments will be woven into it.”

With every word, Sebastian felt his heart climb up into his throat, he hadn't thought it possible for him to feel quite so excited about anything besides Dark Arts. The doors of possibility had never felt quite as wide, could he one day even make something like the relic himself? Hang on...

“And that's why Gringotts is partnered with the Ministry overseeing the Curse Breakers!” Sebastian exclaimed in understanding. “Because goblin craft intersects with the enchantment of physical objects!”

Borgok nodded with a pleased curl to the corners of his eyes. “Indeed, there are none quite as skilled in the enchantment of objects as we are, and thus, reverse engineering it is also our expertise. My Design team works closely with the Curse Breakers to break the curses on tombs or objects they attempt to retrieve.”

Sebastian felt like he was close to vibrating in his seat and had to take a breath to calm himself. Alright, he couldn’t screw this up. He was going to be the best damn student Borgok ever had.

“And that's why you asked if I like reading.” Sebastian chuckled, that had been the strangest question the goblin had asked him while discussing his apprenticeship in the Phantom's Flask.

Borgok flashed him a sharp grin. “Design is a highly theoretical field, if you were hoping to get jacked like Jason, you better tell me now, lad.”

Sebastian shook his head with a snicker. “I'm all for reading and calculations. No worries there.”

“Good.” Borgok nodded and pushed a stack of books across the table. “I think that is good enough for today. I'd like you to read these whenever you have time, and when you are experienced enough, I will introduce you to my Design team. I look forward to monitoring your progress, and I'll see you in my office again next week.”

The goblin raised a hand towards him, and Sebastian took it firmly, his eyes bright as he shook hands with his mentor. This was his path, he just knew it. He would become useful to the Keeper, and maybe even find a way to break Anne's curse if the Keeper's Ancient Magic didn't manage to.

His future had never been so bright.

“Sebastian, could you pass me a jar of E-Pain?” The Keeper asked as they fastened the empty Energy collar around Frederick's neck, before doing the same with the equally empty energy armlet, around his upper arm. Hoping to discover the differences between the collar and the armlet with today’s tests on the man.

“Here you go.” Sebastian chirped, tossing them the jar from the pack beside him before returning his attention to the book balanced in his left hand.

The Keeper eyed him with amused fondness in their heart, which book was this one? Minerals From The Mine-rails... presumably about mined minerals. Their adorable lover had been positively jubilant since his first lesson with Borgok, he'd spent the entire dinner last night and breakfast this morning, babbling about his tour and the books he'd been given to read, and he'd been reading every free moment since.

Ominis had told them not to expect anything coherent out of the brunet for the next two days, and he'd been quite correct. Sebastian had been following the Keeper from one place to another, like a duckling, his nose buried in his books. It was nice seeing his impressive dedication on display again and they'd found it cute that he still wanted to join them for their experiments.

Which was quite alright, since they were still in the process of confirming the collar's functions, they weren’t likely to need his mind present.

Though it was frustrating that, through all this time, the Keeper had only made progress increasing the amount of energy they could extract without tearing the Aura. Going from being able to extract a fraction of a needle's pain to being able to extract two needles worth, and even then, that was only because their skill and finesse had improved, not because they'd found a better method.

Then again, Isidora had been a bloody Hogwarts Professor who'd dedicated her entire life to refining this extraction process for mass usage, and she'd given up on preventing Aura tearing. Then again, she hadn't even noticed the tears.

The Keeper sighed, whatever. That was a problem for later, for now they had to continue testing, so they'd be ready for the big Macnair overload test. That was going to eat into their miniscule stash of C-Pain substantially, but hopefully its significantly greater potency will make that small stash go a long ways. Perhaps they might even figure out how Aura tears worked at the same time.

With that, they drew the E-Pain from the jar and inhaled it, closing their eyes and instructing the energy to inject three seconds’ worth if he disobeys instructions. They'd already confirmed that the collar's instructions could be overridden by adding newly Aligned energy - of any quantity - to an already Aligned energy pool, this included instructions to ‘return to neutral’.

Which made it less worrying that they might accidentally contaminate their Repository, at least they could simply revert it to Unaligned by overriding it. Still, they would try not to mix Aligned Energy with their main Repository altogether, so that they would never have to find out of quantity did make a difference on too large a scale.

Exhaling the Aligned energy, they lowered it into the collar and the man flinched as they did so, though he seemed more wary than panicked today, perhaps he had forgotten his fear of pain. No matter, he would no doubt remember soon. Then they extracted a tiny sliver of E-Pain from the jar and added it to the energy armlet this time, without Aligning it.

“Now, Mr. Taylor, do you feel the warmth around your arm?” The Keeper asked idly, and he nodded slowly. “I want you to imagine the warmth as mist and picture yourself breathing it in.”

“Why-” He'd barely gotten the word out, when he was injected by the collar.

“Do it, or you will experience more pain.” The Keeper cocked an eyebrow at him and the trembling man gasped for breath a time or two, before closing his eyes and taking a slower breath.

The Keeper watched with interest as the armlet emptied and, when he opened them, the man's eyes glowed red for a brief moment, a goofy expression of bliss on his face. Ew, gross.

“What- what was- what was that? Can- can I have more-” Frederick stammered, and they glared at him.

“Did you respect your elf's request for more food?” The Keeper asked rhetorically. “What makes you think I'd respect yours?”

They felt some satisfaction when he flinched, and - itching to hurt the man rather than give him anything remotely pleasurable - an idea popped into their head. It was worth testing out, so they inhaled a sliver of E-Pain, instructing it to inject immediately, before exhaling it and placing it in the armlet, rather than the collar.

The man jolted in pain as soon as the energy entered the armlet, fascinating. So, the armlet could allow both absorption and injection, whereas the collar could only allow injection. They wondered what the difference was, and they took a breath as they thought, before it occurred to them, perhaps it was like that.

After all, there was a difference between breathing willingly and at one's own pace, versus having air forced down the throat. Or as with water, one could be thirsty, but would absolutely still choke if someone just sprayed water into their mouth. Perhaps the same applied to the energies, which would explain why the Fear-Pill they'd given Selwyn hadn't boosted his reflexes, only caused him to enter a waking nightmare, because they'd forced it down his throat.

That made sense, though in that case, what about Aligned energy that isn't being forcefully injected?

The Keeper extracted another sliver of E-Pain and inhaled it, instructing it to inject if subject leaves the cell. Then they placed it into the armlet and gave the man a glare when he flinched. “You're lucky I need to test this further, take a breath again.”

Relief coloured his face and Frederick took another breath and, as expected, the energy was absorbed painlessly this time. So, it was possible to absorb Aligned energy as long as it hadn't been instructed to inject, like drinking water from a rushing river by scooping the water into one's hands, perhaps.

They wondered how that might work with the Imperius curse, so the Keeper drew their wand and cast. “Imperio.”

With the man safely under control, the Keeper added another sliver to the armlet and instructed him to absorb it. The energy disappeared from the armlet accordingly, so the Imperius could force someone to absorb-

“Ugh- what-” Frederick groaned, and the Keeper frowned as they felt him break free from the curse. Interesting, E-Pain could increase one's resistance to the Imperius curse? Perhaps because the positive effect of that energy was a boost in magical capability?

Well, while that might cause some complications during Macnair's test, it was good to know, and as of yet, it didn't seem likely to pose an issue. Now, was there anything else they'd needed to test? The Keeper wondered to themselves, and their eyes wandered the cell as they thought, before catching sight of Sebastian, nose still buried in his book, and they recalled his suggestion of using Fredrick’s own pain in the collar.

“Hm, worth a try.” The Keeper murmured, how would they go about it though? Thinking for a moment, they remembered the note they'd found sitting on Frederick's bedside table when they'd ransacked his room, signed off by one Vanessa. Likely the woman he'd been cheating on his wife with.

No surprise really, the Keeper had a hard time imagining anyone being attracted to this guy, perhaps that might be a sore spot worth prodding.

“That reminds me, Mr Taylor, I dropped by the apothecary you worked at, this fine Monday morning. Seems like nobody's wondering where you are.” The Keeper commented idly, watching the man as he stiffened. “Thanks to you stumbling from the Rowdy Rogue drunk last Friday, your boss thinks you might’ve frozen to death on the way home.”

They flashed him a smirk. “I doubt anyone's going to be looking for you, and it's not like you have someone waiting for you back home, after your girlfriend dumped you. Vanessa, right? How sad, to leave your wife, only to lose your dear Vanessa when the coin ran dry.”

The man flinched, and, pressing their wand to his chest, the Keeper drew a stringy blob of red black smoke from his heart. Nice, that hadn't taken much effort. Now, hopefully-

The Keeper felt a sudden burst of heat travel up their wand, so searing that they almost dropped it, and they watched with wide eyes as the strand of E-Pain they'd been extracting from his Aura, seemed to burst into flame. Orange embers chased the energy up from his chest, engulfing the smoky bubbles and turning it into a bright golden thread.

“Sebastian- pass me an empty jar!” The Keeper called as they lifted the orange energy away from Frederick.

Startling at their sudden command, Sebastian almost dropped his book, but quickly caught it and shoved it under his arm. Before following their instructions, grabbing an empty jar and opening it for them to lower the orange energy into.

He stared at it in wonder and murmured. “What is that? It looks almost like smelted gold.”

“I- I'm not sure. It started as E-Pain-” The Keeper breathed, also leaning closer to examine it with curiosity.

As they did so, the jar of E-Pain in their hand was unintentionally brought closer to the jar of orange energy. There was a clink as the glass of both open jars made contact, and to their alarm, the E-Pain promptly burst into orange flames as well.

“Oh, cool, now we have more.” Sebastian quipped with a grin, before frowning. “Wait, that’s not good, is it.”

“No, it isn’t.” The Keeper agreed and took a few steps away from their satchel. “Come here Sebastian, I think it's proximity, we can't let the rest of my E-Pain or C-Pain catch fire too.”

“What do you think it is?” Sebastian asked as he followed dutifully, eyeing the orange-hued gold in the container. “It feels hot, I can even feel it through the jar.”

“Indeed...” The Keeper murmured, examining their contaminated jar. “I was jabbing at his painful memories of his girlfriend dumping him, and it was definitely E-Pain when I extracted it, but it turned into… this, halfway through extraction.”

Sebastian's expression was thoughtful for a moment, before he suggested. “What if it's anger? I mean, I can imagine him being angry at her betrayal.”

“And anger feeds off pain!” The Keeper nodded. “That makes sense, that's why it turned this jar too, anger is contagious and burns through any other emotion. Hm, we'll need to store them in different places then...”

“I wonder what effects this'll have.” Sebastian gave them an impish grin and the Keeper chuckled, holding up their jar with a smirk.

“Only one way to find out...”

Notes:

In this chapter, Sebastian shows a lot of the results of the slow growth he’s made over the course of this story, overcoming his racism against goblins and stepping out from under the Keeper's wing to begin forging his own path. There is a fine balance to strike between feeling nervous about messing up and determination. Kids struggle with that balance.

And finding maturity is sacrificing enough of one's excitement and immersion in something, in order to be cautious and continue to examine the situation from an oversight perspective. It's not a fun feeling, but it's necessary in order to not fuck up. And the difference between a child and an adult is that an adult knows what it means to feel accountable for one's actions and the impact it makes on your loved ones.

At the same time, one must be careful not to let fear stop them either. Too much oversight distance and one might lose the sense of investment and flee before anything can even be attempted. This is equally as bad as throwing all cares to the wind, though it may not appear to be as immediately dangerous as the dangers of having too little fear.

Fear of failure/loss is slow corrosion, but no less destructive than blind fearlessness. This fear of loss is the one I fail at a lot aha ha ha- But, like every teacher has said; Please, do as I say, not as I do x'D

And a thing that I hope people, particularly parents, guardians and mentors can come to understand, is that there is no replacement for you. A child's love for the person who raised them is one of the few bonds that don't go anywhere, even if they feel betrayed by said parents/guardians/mentors. Betrayal hurts because love is there.

Even if a kid cuts contact with their parent, it's not because they stopped loving their parent, it's because they still love their parent, that's why they have to cut contact, because when betrayed, love causes pain. And it doesn't go away. Ever.

The deepest cut a parent can give, is to hurt a child, then blame the child for forcing them to inflict hurt, and then declare that the child doesn't love said parent because the child isn't changing/able to change.

A good parent/guardian/mentor seeks to discover (through observation and conversation with the child, and research on patterns) what a child needs and form fit their approach to each individual child. You may not successfully discover it, we are human and not all knowing, but a child can feel effort.

My mom never discovered what I needed, she was simply not equipped to do so and like porcupines huddling together in the cold, there was much hurt on both sides, until I found it myself. But she tried her best to not make my pain worse and provide what she could, until I found what I needed. So, while she already had my love, through effort, she earned my eternal respect.

Love is given and will always exist once a child has formed a bond with the person/people who raised/care for them. Respect is another thing altogether, that one must be earned. Through a willingness to be vulnerable and honest to those who need you and rely on you. Acting strong, tough and all-knowing like Solomon only hurts those who love you and costs you their respect.

"I will do what's best for you, even if it hurts you. You can hate me, but I'll do right by you." This self-martyring bullshit is just arrogance and self-satisfaction. It only leaves a scar that will never fade and if you don't put in the effort to communicate, they'll learn the lesson the hard way anyway because they don't respect you. You need to earn respect first.

As for the world building in this chapter, my partner is an engineer and works in a semiconductor company, so I used everything I've learnt from their yapping about their work supplemented with the good ol' research mwahahaha

And hopefully you guys like my rationale for why we don't see female goblins in the Potterverse, the culture, and the new OCs! The OCs not gonna be suuuuper prominent in the story, I don't think, but eh, we'll see... xD Some of them have quirks from my partner's whacky colleagues, art imitates life and all that, my partner and I often joke that our lives could make a decent romcom slice-of-life show xP

Put the two of us and my childhood bestie in a room and you have the most writable trio-of-main-characters dynamic, with my stoic unflappable bestie's deadpan commentary, my insane bouncy and random partner, and my passionate speeches and lame jokes. Speaking of which, I hope everyone's been enjoying the puns in my book titles, I love doing that haha-

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