#failed manipulation

[justanechoflower]

By that I mean he is eating something and can digest it meaning he can get nutrients from that. He doesn't need fertilizer He's a Venus flytrap.

[wormspoodle]

thinking about the "a better world" dimension where stan did take the journal

[egophiliac]

I loved your drawing(and I love your style in general) with Leia in your recent post! If/when you have time can we see more of her in your style? I get so happy whenever I actually see people mention/talk about her and she’s not just forgotten because we didn’t get to see much of her. 😭

thank you! 💙💙💙 Leia/Leah/Lea/whatever is fascinating to me. she is the ultimate unknown. what was she like? how involved (or even aware of any details of the invasion) was she? Silver's basically a physical carbon copy of his biodad, so what did he get from her? like, I understand why the two of them kind of have to stay as these super vague and mysterious figures -- the whole point of them is that their story ended 400+ years ago and they're not really relevant anymore (and. well. the more that gets explained about them, the less that can just kinda be handwaved as "oh the politics were Very Messy") (we can sit here and theorize all day but let us acknowledge that, ultimately, canon gave us almost nothing about them post-Meleanor and we'd just be making things up). I do still wonder about her though! RIP Lea, we never knew you and we probably never will.

actually you know what, as long as we're here, I think I WILL go ahead and just make some stuff up about what Silver might've inherited from her instead.

[bixels]

tarpit site.

[carlyraejepsans]

sometimes i think about toriel in that first run when flowey finds her in the RUINs, having her dead son return to her for comfort, broken and helpless, and being unable to provide for him in the one impossible way he desperately needed, "fixing him" "making it okay" the way only his mom should've been able to do.

flowey kills himself after she fails. you ever think about that? cause i think about that. you're gonna tell me she didn't notice? that she was cheerfully oblivious as things failed to get better and he grew more desperate and more hurt and more hopeless, as she failed him like she once did and always will fail him? you're gonna tell me that didn't eat her alive? didn't keep her up at night? didn't break her back into all those tiny little shards of herself she'd glued back together and swept under the carpet by sheer force of will?

do you think she gets nightmares about it, still?

[noirscript]

chasing the light

Pairing: Nicholas Sterling III x Reader

WARNING/S: YANDERE. Noncon. Psychological Abuse. Obsessive Behavior. Emotional Manipulation. Violence. Physical Punishment. Pregnancy Manipulation. Coercion. Forced Submission. Stalking. Chase. Intense Psychological Terror. Controlling Relationship.

Note: Full story of Descent Into Madness. From the drafts! ^^ 8k word count 🫡 but will divide it into two three parts enjoy! Tags will be added later. After all parts are posted. Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Sequel

Tip Jar | Commission

You lay rigid in his arms, your breath coming in shallow bursts as his words settled deep into your bones.

You’re not going anywhere now.

The weight of that truth pressed down on you, suffocating.

Nicholas exhaled, slow and patient, as if he could feel the way you trembled beneath him. His hand never moved from your stomach, palm warm, fingers splayed possessively over the barely-there swell. You weren’t even showing yet—had barely begun to grasp the reality yourself—but he had already claimed it.

Claimed you.

"You still don’t understand, do you?" His voice was gentle, but there was something dark beneath it. Something dangerous. "You’re mine, sweetheart. Both of you."

His thumb brushed slow, lazy circles over your skin. You hated how effortless it was—how he touched you like you already belonged to him, like he had every right.

"You ran." The words were thoughtful, absentminded, as if he was working through the pieces himself. "Twice."

You swallowed hard, unable to speak.

Nicholas shifted, pressing closer, his body heat bleeding into yours. "I should punish you for that."

A fresh wave of panic shot through you, your body tensing on instinct. His fingers flexed in response, gripping your hip, keeping you still.

"But," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, "you need to be careful now."

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

Not a threat. A warning.

"You wouldn’t want to do anything… reckless." His hand pressed firmer against your stomach. "Would you?"

Your breath hitched.

He was smiling.

He was enjoying this.

You tried to jerk away, but the shackle around your wrist dug sharply into your skin, yanking you back. Nicholas’ grip tightened in an instant, his fingers curling against your waist as he let out a low, displeased hum.

"Still so stubborn," he mused, tilting his head. "I should break that."

The words sent ice through your veins.

"But," he continued, as if the thought was amusing, "not yet."

A slow, dragging silence stretched between you.

Then, his hand moved.

Lower.

A deliberate, agonizing descent down your stomach, fingers ghosting over the curve of your hip.

You froze, every muscle locked in place.

Nicholas chuckled, the sound soft—too soft. "Shhh, sweetheart." His touch skimmed back up, tracing the shape of your ribs. "You’ll learn."

A breathless, shaking exhale slipped from your lips.

"One way or another."

The room felt smaller with every passing second, the air thick with something oppressive—something inescapable. Your pulse pounded against the weight of Nicholas’ hand, still resting over your stomach, his grip firm yet deceptively gentle. Like a collar around your throat, a leash you couldn’t pull away from.

He knew.

And now, there was nothing left to hide.

His fingers curled slightly, pressing against your skin, as if savoring the feeling of your body beneath his touch. You could feel the satisfied hum reverberating in his chest, a sound that made your stomach twist in knots.

"You’ve been so difficult lately," he murmured, his lips brushing the crown of your head. "Running. Lying. Acting as if you had a choice."

A slow, deliberate exhale left him, warm against your temple.

"But now," he continued, fingers tracing slow, idle circles against your stomach, "you don’t."

Your throat felt too tight, like you couldn’t get enough air.

His grip shifted, splaying wider across your abdomen, possessive. "Do you even realize what this means?" His tone was almost soft, but the quiet undercurrent of dominance sent a fresh wave of fear through you.

You tried to twist away again—instinct, desperation—but Nicholas’ other hand slid up, wrapping around your throat just enough to still you. Not squeezing. Not yet. Just holding.

A warning.

"Don’t," he said simply.

The command settled over your skin like iron.

You swallowed, pulse fluttering beneath his palm, and Nicholas sighed like a man indulging a child’s tantrum.

"You never should’ve left," he murmured, thumb brushing along the hollow of your throat. "I was going to be patient, you know." A quiet chuckle, dark and knowing. "I was going to wait."

His fingers flexed.

"But you made this difficult for yourself."

A shiver wracked through you as his lips ghosted over your temple. "I wanted to give you time," he continued, as if he were confessing something intimate, something vulnerable. "Time to come to me on your own. To realize that there was no one else who could take care of you the way I do."

His grip on your throat tightened—just for a second, just enough to make you gasp.

"But now… I can’t trust you to make the right decisions."

The truth behind those words settled in your bones like a sickness.

Nicholas’ touch drifted downward again, possessive and slow, fingers skimming across your stomach. His breath fanned against your ear, voice sinking lower.

"I won’t let you make any more mistakes."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

"You’re staying right here, sweetheart." A pause, his lips pressing just beneath your jaw. "With me."

A sharp, shuddering exhale slipped from your lips.

Nicholas only smiled.

"Don’t fight it." His hand flattened against your stomach once more, pressing firm and unyielding. "You already belong to me."

The days blurred together after that night.

Nicholas kept you close, never letting you out of his sight for long. If you weren’t in his arms, you were within reach—tethered by the invisible leash he had placed around you the moment he discovered your secret.

And now, everyone knew.

His mother had been the first to call, her excitement so palpable you could hear it through the speakerphone. “Oh, darling, why didn’t you tell me sooner? We have so much to prepare! You need maternity clothes, baby supplies—Nicholas, be a dear and bring her to the mall this weekend. We’ll get everything sorted.”

He had been reluctant at first, but she had a way of insisting that even he couldn’t refuse.

So now, you found yourself seated in the passenger seat of his car, staring blankly out the window as the city passed by in a blur. His hand rested lazily on your thigh, thumb rubbing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. A constant reminder that he knew you. That he could feel the tension in your body.

That he was waiting for you to try something.

You forced yourself to breathe evenly, fingers curling against the hem of your sweater.

You had planned this carefully.

Your excuse was simple—restroom. A normal request. Something he wouldn’t think twice about. And the moment you were out of sight, you would slip into the crowd, blend in, disappear before he could stop you.

Nicholas turned to glance at you, his sharp gaze assessing. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m just tired.” The lie came easily, your voice smooth despite the pulse hammering in your throat.

He hummed, fingers flexing slightly. “You should be taking it easy. No unnecessary stress.”

You swallowed. I know.

The mall was bustling when you arrived, filled with families, couples, people too absorbed in their own lives to notice the woman quietly planning her escape.

His mother greeted you with a warm hug, her excitement almost dizzying as she led you toward the baby section, chatting about cribs, strollers, things you couldn’t bring yourself to think about.

Nicholas stayed close, his hand never straying far from your lower back, his presence a shadow at your side.

You waited.

Bided your time.

And then—

“I need the restroom.”

Nicholas barely glanced at you, too occupied in conversation with his mother. “Go ahead. I’ll be here.”

You nodded, turning on shaky legs, moving with forced calm toward the restrooms.

Then, the second you were out of sight—you ran.

Heart pounding, you weaved through the crowd, slipping past distracted shoppers, turning sharply into an empty hallway leading to the emergency exit.

Freedom.

You could taste it.

Your hand reached for the door—

And then—

A sharp vibration.

An unmistakable chime.

Your stomach dropped.

Panic seized you as you heard it—his smartwatch. The alert echoing like a death knell through the air.

Nicholas had stopped talking mid-sentence.

The realization was immediate.

You barely had time to react before his voice rang out from somewhere behind you. Low. Unyielding.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

A choked gasp ripped from your throat as a firm grip closed around your wrist, yanking you backward. You stumbled, breath hitching as Nicholas caged you against the wall, his body pressed flush against yours.

His expression was unreadable.

But his eyes—his eyes were burning.

He lifted his wrist slightly, letting the dim glow of his smartwatch cast a cold light over your face. The screen displayed a blinking red dot.

Your tracker.

The one implanted in your arm.

"You really thought I wouldn’t notice?” His voice was dangerously soft, his hand sliding up to grip your jaw, tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze. “Did you forget what I told you, sweetheart?"

A slow, deliberate pause.

"You can’t run from me."

Your pulse thundered against his grip.

His fingers tightened.

His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, his breath warm as he whispered—

"You’re never leaving me again."

A shudder wracked through you as Nicholas’ grip tightened, his fingers digging into your wrist like iron shackles. The emergency exit loomed behind you, so close yet completely out of reach. Your pulse pounded against his touch, a frantic drumbeat that only seemed to amuse him.

“You must be getting desperate,” he murmured, his voice a dark hum of amusement. “Running in broad daylight? In public?” His fingers flexed against your jaw, his grip firm yet unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to teach you the lesson you clearly hadn’t learned.

He tilted his head, studying you. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice the moment you left my side?”

A harsh, shuddering breath slipped from your lips. Your free hand pressed against his chest, trying to push him away, but he didn’t budge.

Nicholas chuckled, low and knowing. “Sweetheart, you really don’t understand, do you?” His other hand lifted, the cool metal of his smartwatch grazing your skin as he traced the faint outline of the tracker buried beneath your arm. His touch was deceptively gentle, a sharp contrast to the possessiveness in his voice. “I don’t need to follow you.” He exhaled, slow and deliberate. “You belong to me already.”

Your breath hitched, panic clawing up your throat as you fought against the growing sense of dread.

“Let go,” you rasped, twisting in his grasp, but his hold only tightened.

Nicholas’ expression darkened, the amusement flickering from his eyes like a candle snuffed out. "Is that what you want?" he asked, his tone dropping to something colder. "To make a scene?"

Your stomach churned. The hallway was deserted, the noise of the mall a distant hum beyond the corridor’s walls. But if you screamed—if you fought—someone would hear.

Wouldn’t they?

Nicholas smiled as if reading your thoughts. "Go ahead." He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "Scream for help. Let’s see who comes running."

You froze.

And he knew he had you.

His hand slipped lower, pressing against the small swell of your abdomen, his touch infuriatingly gentle despite the cruel mockery in his eyes. "What do you think they’ll do when they see you like this? Hmm?" His thumb traced slow, idle circles. "A pregnant woman, being rescued from her loving fiancé?”

The word fiancé nearly made you flinch.

"Or maybe," he continued, tone softening in a way that only made the sick feeling in your stomach grow, "they’ll see a hormonal little thing having a panic attack while her partner just tries to calm her down?"

Your throat closed.

"You wouldn’t," you whispered, barely able to force the words out.

Nicholas chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin. "Wouldn’t I?"

And then, before you could react—

A sharp tug.

Your stomach lurched as he pulled you forward, his arm locking around your waist as he all but dragged you out of the hallway. You stumbled, legs nearly giving out beneath you, but Nicholas didn’t slow. His grip was firm, unrelenting, his strength a quiet reminder of just how little power you had in this moment.

You barely had time to register your surroundings before you were back in the store, back under the warm, artificial glow of the overhead lights.

His mother turned at the sound of approaching footsteps, her face brightening. “There you are! We were just—”

She paused, her gaze flicking between you and Nicholas.

Nicholas, who still had his arm wrapped so tenderly around you.

You, who couldn’t stop the slight tremble in your frame.

For a brief, fleeting second, hope sparked in your chest.

Did she see it? Did she notice something was wrong?

Then Nicholas sighed, the sound heavy with exasperation. "She got overwhelmed,” he said smoothly, shaking his head as if you were nothing more than a silly, emotional thing. “I told her to take it easy, but she insisted on rushing around."

His mother tutted, concern flashing across her face as she reached for your hands. "Oh, sweetheart, you should’ve said something!"

You opened your mouth, but—

"It won’t happen again," Nicholas murmured, his grip on you tightening in a way that sent an unmistakable message. "Right, love?"

Your stomach twisted.

The words sat heavy on your tongue, the weight of his threat pressing against your skin.

You could say something.

You could try.

But then—his hand slid against your abdomen, a silent warning. A cruel reminder.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you could risk it.

So instead, you swallowed the lump in your throat, forced a weak nod, and whispered—

“…Right.”

Nicholas smiled.

And just like that, any hope of escape slipped through your fingers.

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Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever

[onaperduamedee]

Not without her.

[night-creeps]

POV: you knocked on Liam's door

[mohntilyet]

they hated illario because he was a d1 yapper who was bad at assassinating people and was so annoyingly drunk and grief stricken at his cousin’s wake that viago had to drug him to shut him up (so what if he was also the guy who set his cousin up to die/disappear) . and also for working with the venatori and selling out the antivan crows i guess.

[saturdaysky]

You may resist, but it's too late. You already embraced the powers the parasite gave you. You leveraged them to manipulate, to dominate, to survive. Your nature is no longer your own.

Mayhew failed the save to resist the Emperor's offer, and I have never been more pleased at a consequence! What an amazing moment.

Timelapse, line drawing, and character musing beneath the cut.

This choice!! Or rather, this lack of choice!

I love, love, love how failing the save made Mayhew's own will ambiguous, even to himself. He didn't want to be changed, he didn't want to forfeit his humanity (gnomanity)...or did he? He resisted. He opened his mouth to say I will not, but the door to his mind was already unlocked, power welcomed in. Mayhew will never know who unlatched it.

Also, while this is a Gale run -- Mayhew and Gale make each other worse in the most devoted, well-meaning way; the heavens will rue their names -- it also kind of feels like an Emperor run. A subtextual badwrong not-romance.

The Emperor and Mayhew are allies of circumstance turned intimate enemies. The Emperor listens to Mayhew's every thought, gives protection which Mayhew needs, offers advice and temptations which Mayhew takes. Mayhew likes the Dream Guardian; Mayhew cannot shut the Emperor out. Mayhew would see the Emperor dead, if he let himself think about it, but he would miss him after he was gone. And, of course, Mayhew is too curious for his own good, and the Emperor is full of answers.

For the two of them, partial ceremorphosis is a kind of consummation: what could be more intimate than shaping someone from within and without? Metaphorphosis is a gift, by one telling, and a horror story by another.

You are exquisite, the Emperor praised. Mayhew will never know if he became so by his own will.

(He failed the save by one (1) point.)

---

Timelapse! It includes all the silly things I drew for my friends, including: 1 tonsure, 3 neon signs, 2 cat emoji, 1 crotch face, and the emperor's armor drawn with my left hand. Spot them all!

Lines!

I don't usually work primarily with line, but I love it. In some ways, it's easier than painting, and in other ways much harder. I find I can't fudge things as much with linework as I can with paint; because the stroke is smaller, I have to be more specific. Even if I abstract details away, I need to understand the underlying form until I know what I am abstracting. It was fun having to be so rigorous.

[stars-and-darkness]

why does so much of mel discourse on this site centre on to what measure she did or did not manipulate jayce like that's the extent of her complexity and grey morality, as if she has not directly and indirectly been contributing to the opression of zaun not because she's prejudiced or hates them but simply because she profits from it, like i am so sorry my queen that they don't get you like i get you

[ninjafuuzz]

the evil stache bj propaganda

[disruptxrr]

corrupted angel ♱‧₊˚ (inspired by my halloween costume)

[tennessoui]

going vaguely off the mermay concept i think there is major comedy potential in like. the idea that Anakin (growing up on a desert planet) never really gets over his fear of water and avoids it at all costs but then sees Obi-Wan transform and becomes like insanely obsessed with (turned on by) his tail and different form. like he wants to have sex while Obi-Wan’s in merman form SOOO bad but then there’s fucking WATER in the way. the idea of Anakin telling Obi-Wan he wants to do exposure therapy and needs his help (so he can be pressed up against his tail <3. bc of course Obi-Wan needs to be holding him at all times) and eventually getting over his fear of water because he’s distracted by being horny is so funny. imagine he accidentally pavlovs himself and starts getting hard every time he swims and creates a totally new reason to avoid water.

ooo this is amazing but I can’t help but think like what if like…anakin isn’t actually afraid of water but is in fact incredibly desperate to see obi-wan’s tail again and can’t figure out how to make this happen short of just shoving obi-wan into the nearest lake

so he devises schemes where one of them has to be in or around water in the hopes that his master the apparent merman will transform again by sheer proximity and the power of gay obsession or something

one such scheme leads to anakin actually almost drowning which was NOT part of the plan because all things aside he is a very strong swimmer - my thought is that he’d make himself work through his self perceived weakness because he doesn’t want to be seen as lesser or anything by the younglings that learned years and years ago — but there was a sudden storm or something and anakin almost drowns

this gives anakin a bit of a complex but it gives obi-wan an arguably bigger complex because he pressures anakin (orders via misuse of chain of command powers) into remedial swimming lessons

Anakin is prepared to throw a fuss until he’s like

Wait. Yes. I have a crippling fear of water now. The only cure is these remedial swimming lessons where you are in the water with me. Tail and everything

and obi-wan is feeling protective enough of his hatchling who obviously did not learn how t swim well enough when obi-wan gave him to someone else to train that he’s like of course. chop chop get in the water now.

[spite-and-waffles]

Dick: If you have to resort to violence it means you've already failed. Damian: *furiously* Grayson, sometimes violence is necessary— Dick: Of course. I meant it means you've failed at manipulation. Damian:... Dick: *wags finger* Alfred and I raised you better than that.

[noirscript]

chasing the light

Pairing: Nicholas Sterling III x Reader

WARNING/S: YANDERE. Noncon. Psychological Abuse. Obsessive Behavior. Emotional Manipulation. Violence. Physical Punishment. Pregnancy Manipulation. Coercion. Forced Submission. Stalking. Chase. Intense Psychological Terror. Controlling Relationship.

Note: Full story of Descent Into Madness. From the drafts! ^^ 8k word count 🫡 but will divide it into two four parts enjoy! Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four [fin]

Tip Jar | Commission

The ride home was suffocating. Nicholas kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting possessively over your thigh, fingers drumming a slow, steady rhythm against your skin. His silence was heavier than his words had ever been, a quiet, simmering displeasure that coiled around your lungs and made it impossible to breathe

You didn't dare speak.

Not when you could feel the weight of his stare every time you so much as shifted in your seat

Not when the tracker in your arm pulsed like a phantom brand, a cruel reminder that freedom had never truly been within reach.

By the time you reached his home—the home that had long since become your gilded cage—you already knew.

He was going to punish you.

Nicholas opened the car door for you, his touch deceptively gentle as he guided you inside. The moment the front door clicked shut, the air shifted, crackling with something dark, something suffocating.

Then—

"Hands on the wall."

Your breath hitched. You turned to look at him, but his expression was unreadable, his gaze cold and expectant.

"Nicholas, please—"

He tilted his head. "I said, hands on the wall."

A shiver ran down your spine. Your hands trembled as you slowly pressed them against the smooth surface, your pulse thrumming in your ears. Nicholas stepped closer, his presence a looming shadow behind you.

Then—his hand brushed against your stomach. Light. Careful. Almost reverent.

"You knew I’d catch you," he murmured, his voice a dangerous lull. "And yet you ran anyway."

Your fingers curled against the wall.

"I wasn't—I just needed—"

A sharp slap to your backside cut you off, the sudden sting sending a jolt through your body. You gasped, your body instinctively jerking forward.

"You just needed what?" Nicholas pressed, his other hand settling on your hip, keeping you firmly in place. "To scare me? To make me chase you?"

Another slap. This one harder.

Tears stung your eyes, but you bit your lip, refusing to make a sound.

Nicholas tsked. "You always do this, sweetheart. Always testing me. Always pushing." His fingers traced the curve of your hip before trailing upward, gripping your wrists and pinning them higher against the wall. "And yet, here you are. Right back where you belong."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Tell me, did it feel good?" he whispered. "That rush of thinking you could get away? That little taste of freedom?"

You swallowed thickly, your throat too tight to speak.

Nicholas sighed, shaking his head. "Poor thing. You're so desperate for control, aren't you?" His grip tightened. "But you don't need to think anymore. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll take care of you."

His hand slipped beneath your sweater, palm warm against your stomach. Protective. Possessive. A sick contrast to the punishment he was doling out.

And then—another slap.

A broken whimper slipped past your lips before you could stop it.

Nicholas stilled.

Then—he chuckled.

"There she is," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "There's my good girl."

The praise sent a wave of humiliation crashing through you, your face burning as you squeezed your eyes shut.

"You’ll behave now, won’t you?" he continued, his voice almost sweet. "No more running. No more making me worry."

You swallowed hard, your breathing uneven. "I—"

Another sharp slap.

"Say it."

Your hands trembled against the wall.

"...No more running," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Nicholas hummed in satisfaction, his touch softening, soothing. He pressed a lingering kiss to the side of your neck, his lips curling into a smile.

"That’s my girl."

And just like that—

The lesson was over.

✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾✾

The days blurred together after the punishment.

Nicholas was careful with you, far more than he should have been, as if he knew he had pushed you too far. He didn’t scold you. Didn’t raise his voice. Instead, he drowned you in attention, cradling you against his chest at night, his hand never straying far from your stomach.

"You’ll be good now, won’t you?" he murmured against your skin, his lips trailing over your temple, down the curve of your jaw. "No more running."

And you nodded, because what else could you do?

But you knew—deep in the marrow of your bones—you had to try again.

Your body had yet to change much. You weren’t showing yet, not truly, and if there was ever a time to escape, it was now. Before the weight of his obsession settled further over you. Before you were too exhausted, too heavy, too fragile to even attempt it.

So you waited.

And when the moment came—when Nicholas stepped away just long enough for you to slip outside, for the cool night air to hit your burning skin—you ran.

This time, you made it farther.

The estate was vast, endless green stretching toward the horizon, the woods thick and full of life. The shadows welcomed you, swallowed you whole as you ran deeper and deeper, your breath coming in short, sharp bursts. You barely registered the sting of branches whipping at your arms, the way the damp ground threatened to slip beneath your feet.

You just ran.

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

You didn’t know how long you had before he noticed. Before the tracker hummed to life, its cruel little beeps guiding him straight to you.

But you didn’t want to think about that.

You focused on the ache in your legs, the steady pounding of your feet against the earth, the way the trees stretched overhead, sheltering you from the night sky.

Farther.

You just had to get farther.

Then—

A faint beep.

Your stomach lurched.

No.

Not yet.

Your breath hitched, panic crawling up your throat as you forced yourself forward, pushing past the exhaustion weighing down your limbs. You could still get ahead, could still hide—

The beeping quickened.

Nicholas was close.

Your chest tightened.

Then—

You saw it.

A massive tree, its roots sprawling like skeletal fingers, weaving into the earth. The space beneath was small, cramped, but enough.

It had to be enough.

You threw yourself down, crawling into the hollow space, curling in on yourself as the scent of damp earth filled your nose. Every inch of you ached, your lungs screamed for air, but you forced yourself to stay still.

The beeping grew louder.

Nicholas was near.

And then—

The beeping stopped.

Silence.

Thick. Suffocating.

The weight of his presence filled the air before you even saw him.

Then—footsteps.

Slow. Unhurried.

Your hands clamped over your mouth, every muscle in your body taut, trembling.

"You really don’t learn, do you?" His voice was calm. Patient. The kind of patience that made your stomach twist in knots.

The leaves rustled. Another step.

Nicholas exhaled softly. "Hiding from me won’t change anything," he continued. "You know that, don’t you?"

Your body curled tighter, your nails digging into the damp soil beneath you.

"You could’ve hurt yourself." His tone darkened, shifting into something colder. "You could’ve hurt them."

Your stomach clenched.

A slow, measured sigh. "That’s the thing about you, sweetheart." His voice was closer now. "You never think."

A pause.

Then—

The world tilted.

You gasped, a startled cry tearing from your lips as your body was yanked backward, the rough roots scraping against your skin. Your legs kicked out instinctively, panic flooding your veins—

But Nicholas was stronger.

Faster.

Unforgiving hands dragged you from your hiding place with terrifying ease, the forest spinning as you were pulled into his grasp.

Then—

You were against him.

His arms caged you in, his grip ironclad as he pinned you to his chest. His breath was slow, measured, his heart beating steady and unshaken against your back.

He wasn’t angry.

He was disappointed.

That was worse.

Nicholas hummed, his lips brushing against the crown of your head. "What am I going to do with you?"

Your breath came in short, panicked gasps.

"You could’ve fallen," he continued, his voice dipping lower, colder. "You could’ve lost them."

Your stomach twisted violently.

Nicholas sighed, shaking his head. "How selfish can you be?" His grip tightened. "You weren’t just running from me. You were running from our child."

A small, broken noise slipped from your throat.

"You were going to take them away from me," he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of your neck. "Do you understand what that means?"

Your body trembled, your lips parting to speak—to plead—but no words came.

Nicholas chuckled, the sound low and indulgent. "Of course you don’t."

His fingers trailed lower, pressing against the gentle swell of your stomach, his touch reverent.

"You don’t have to think anymore, sweetheart," he murmured. "I’ll take care of everything."

He pressed another kiss to your temple.

"I’ll take care of you."

And as he gathered you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly from the ground, your body too exhausted, too defeated to fight back—

You knew.

There would be no next time.

No more chances.

No more escape.

Nicholas would make sure of it.

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