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x-gabrielle-x · 2 days ago

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Tides Of Survival | 3

Pairings: Finnick Odair x Reader.

Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, murder, swearing, major and minor injuries, death, (eventual) smut, mentions of prostitution.

Summary: The white swan of the Capitol; gracious, elegant, and innocent. You catch many of the Capitol's attention in your games, whether that was due to your agility, cleverness, or looks in all, even managing to capture the gaze of your young mentor and old friend, Finnick Odair.

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"The female tribute for the sixty-fifth Hunger Games... Gwenn Livestone!"

You felt a wave of relief wash over you as soon as the name was spoken. It wasn't you; you were safe for another year. A pang of sympathy struck when you saw a younger girl crumble to the floor in sobs. Blonde and small, she couldn't have been any older than twelve. Her body shook violently in trembles, and her desperate cries filled the hall in echoes. Nobody spoke, only watched as the girl at her side, possibly a friend or classmate, attempted to get her back onto her shaky feet.

Two Peacekeepers strode over within seconds, grasping the young girl from under her arms and practically dragging her up the stairs of the stage. Her wails grew louder, and her face was streaked with hot tears. You watched as the two Peacekeepers roughly threw her to the floor in a heap, her crying out at the impact against her knees.

You noticed Electra Vantell, the escort for this year's tributes, visibly cringe at the noise. There was no sadness you could detect on her painted face, only the wide grin that practically split her face in half. She went to awkwardly cover her ears, waving her hand dismissively at the girl, Gwenn.

"Oh, hush now. You don't need to make your cries any louder," she spoke, and you watched as Gwenn tried desperately to hold in her tears.

Electra dressed head to toe in a twinkling blue as if to match with the sea. Her hair was styled as if to mimic the District Four waves, and you could faintly see the small details of what looked to be fish on her dress. You wondered how it could ever be comfortable to wear, your skin feeling itchy just by looking at it.

Clearing her throat into the microphone, voice chirpy as ever, she spoke.

"And for the boys..."

As if it were instinct, you turned your head to the left in search of a pair of green eyes and a mop of blonde hair. Through the crowd of boys, you managed to spot Finnick hidden within them a few rows back, however he wasn't looking at you. His gaze was set forward, stoic and hard, his shoulders tense with nerves. Usually, you could read Finnick easily, but now as you looked at him, you wondered what was going through his head. His jaw was clenched and hair dishevelled, and you found yourself unable to look away. Even as your stomach was churning at the small possibility, Finnick seemed to be holding his emotions much better than you.

Electra's voice broke your thoughts, and you watched with your heart hammering as she reached into the round fishbowl, digging her hand in and swirling the slips of paper around as if taunting. Finally grasping a small slip between her thin fingers, she eagerly unfolded it before reading over the name.

"Finnick Odair!"

The bile rose into your throat, heart plummeting like it had been ripped from you.

Finnick Odair was now a tribute.

You hoped, prayed, that it was nothing more than a horrible nightmare. A nightmare that you'd be able to laugh about with him when you woke up, but reality set in when you turned back to where you originally saw Finnick. He stepped out of the crowd and began walking his way toward the stage, no falter or hesitation in his steps.

This was very, very real.

He sauntered past, all eyes trained on him and even some small gasps emitting from the crowd. Finnick was a well-loved boy within the district. You could barely hold yourself up right when for only a brief moment, his gaze flickered to yours. Still, you couldn't place his expression, and it bothered you beyond belief. He shouldn’t ever have to be hiding his emotions from you.

You even felt the stares of many others on you - all filled with pity. It was no secret that the two of you were close. His gaze averted away from you quickly as he stepped up the short steps and stood tall beside a trembling Gwenn.

Despite the pain in your chest, despite the loss you felt, despite your fear, you didn’t feel any tears. You couldn't, wouldn’t cry now. You could only keep your eyes locked on him, looking over him and all his features as though it may just be the last time.

Perhaps it was.

You didn't listen to any more of Electra's ridiculous comments. You didn't even notice the hall slowly begin to empty out. It wasn't until you watched Finnick and Gwenn being escorted into a smaller room behind them that you were already moving on your feet, practically stumbling due to your knees nearly giving out.

You ran to the Peacekeepers stood in front of the door they'd just entered, the wood and paint chipped away with age. Your heart was pounding with fear, the thought that they'd leave without getting a goodbye was terrifying.

The Peacekeepers only stood in silence as you swallowed thickly, fingers itching to pull at your dress uncomfortably with every passing second.

"I need to see Finnick Odair. Please." Your voice cracked at the end, and this time you could feel the hot tears gathering at your waterline, threatening to spill. With only a curt nod, the first Peacekeeper swung open the door.

"Three minutes," he said behind the mask, but you were already running in before he could finish. You heard the door click quietly behind you, and looking over to your right in the small room, there he sat.

Finnick was already facing you, and instead of the stoic expression he held only minutes before, his face was streaked with tears. He was sat on a poorly made wooden chair, knuckles white as he clenched them into fists.

"Finn." Your voice broke, and your tears began to fall freely.

Upon hearing your voice, his head snapped up just in time to see you throwing yourself into his arms, sobbing. He held you tighter than ever, your tears soaking into the fabric of his sea-blue shirt. You felt his body shake in your hold as you grasped at him tighter, feeling his warmth and inhaling his scent.

"Please, Finn." Your voice was muffled with sobs, and you weren't even sure he could fully understand what you were saying. Not with him sniffling into your shoulder, holding back his own cries. "Please come back home.”

You pulled away only slightly to get a good look at his face. Despite his eyes being slightly red from crying, they were still their vibrant green.

He bit his lip, hard, looking at you as his gaze flickered over your face as if trying to remember every curve, every freckle, every dimple. He lightly shook his head, mind searching for words.

"I will," he assured. You could hear the unease in his tone despite him trying to appear confident. "I will," he repeated as if trying to make himself believe it. He even attempted to flash a small smile, though it barely masked his fear.

"You will," you confirmed with a wobbling lip. You glanced down at your hand, taking a step away from him and pulling off the small bracelet from your wrist. Finnick watched with furrowed brows as you took his hand into your own, placing the bracelet onto his wrist.

He examined it carefully. Seashells of varying colors and a small worn string. He knew this bracelet well.

He shook his head. "I can't take this, Y/N."

He tried to take it off, but you quickly stopped him.

"I want you to have it as your token." You attempted a weak smile. "It was important to my Ma; I want you to have it."

He stared down at it, glancing back up at you and pulling you into one last crushing hug. You accepted just as fast, your grip tighter when you heard the door swing open again behind you.

"Times up."

Before you were pulled away from him, he whispered one last thing into your ear.

“I’ll win, I promise.”

You felt your grip slip when the Peacekeeper took you by the arm, and the last you saw of Finnick was his piercing eyes locked on your own.

You didn't know whether you were relieved that Finnick quickly became a Capitol favorite or unsettled by the fact he was adored so much.

The first few days after Finnick had arrived in the Capitol, it was no secret that he quickly became a favorite. His charm, confidence, cunningness and striking looks had them obsessed. He showed none of the fear he held when you last saw him. He refused to let them see. Instead, as his carriage strode through the streets, he held his bright, dashing smile that caused for loud cheers and praise. His hand was up in the air as he waved into the crowd, though you knew Finnick all too well. You could see the hesitation in each wave through the small television in your home, the unease in his eyes behind every smile, the way his fingers gripped at the edge of the carriage like a source of stability.

They loved him, but for all the wrong reasons.

He was layered in beautiful fabrics, a combination of bright blues and greens as if to mimic seaweed and the shimmering ocean. A knotted rope dangled from around his neck like a necklace and his torso was left bare. Jewels and pearls were weaved delicately into the fabric at his waist that glimmered within the bright lights. Beside him, Gwenn was dressed mostly similarly, though her hair was curled into loose waves and adorned in seashells. The clothes she was dressed in did little to cover her body, and you couldn't imagine how she must've felt with all the prying eyes. She looked so tiny and out of place compared to Finnick who stood beside her looking tall and proud, shrinking into herself and hands desperately trying to cover anything they could.

Throughout the rest of the week, Finnick and the rest of the tributes hadn't been shown much. You figured it was because they'd be training within the Capitol, preparing for what the games were to bring. It made you physically ill, and every few hours you were running to the bathroom to empty the contents within your stomach at the thought. Your poor father had tried everything in his best efforts even whilst at work. He couldn't afford to take any days off, so he'd ask friends from your school to come and check in on you every so often. Later in the evening when he was home, he'd sit beside you and offer any bits of food he could get you to eat.

“You need to eat, baby,” he pressed his lips to your forehead as he held up a fork to put into your hand. You took it, but only poked and prodded at the food set on the plate before you.

“Finnick is strong and smart,” he said, hand brushing through your hair. “He’ll be fine.”

Even during the night, your father would slowly peek through the crack in your door only to find you curled up into a ball and crying into the sheets on your bed. All he could do was sit beside you and hold you close, murmuring apologies into your ear which only made you feel worse. Why was he apologising for things that were beyond his control? He shouldn’t have to apologise; it wasn’t him bringing you, or Finnick, this pain.

The day the interviews were being broadcast you were already at the edge of your seat. It had been a while since you'd seen Finnick’s face, heard his voice. The moment Caesar announced for the District Four male tribute to enter the stage, you nearly jumped off your seat when Finnick walked into view. Clad in fishing nets and seaweed-like fabrics, he strode in as if he'd owned the stage. Again, his expression held no signs of fear or anger, only the act that he'd seemed to have perfected for the audience over the weeks. Caesar's booming laughter filled the room at every one of Finnick's jokes and comments to the crowd. The Capitol's Sweetheart, Caesar had named him.

"Finnick," Caeser cackled, wiping away a fake tear. "Your District must love you! You do plan to win these games, don't you?"

Finnick, charming as ever, flashed a grin into the crowd. "Of course. I'd be leaving too many good things behind if I didn't. Plus, I made a promise.”

When the morning of the games arrived, you found that you didn't sleep at all throughout the night. Plagued with nightmares and what you hoped would never happen. You were a wreck. Your head was throbbing from days without proper food and water, and you were exhausted. The moment the games had begun to be live-streamed, you refused to move from your seat, gaze glued to the screen. A part of you wanted to watch, to ensure that Finnick was ok and well protected, though the other part of you wanted nothing more than to look away from the bloodshed and gore. You had to keep a bucket at your side, face pale and flushed.

The fear within you was haunting. You weren't sure how you'd cope if somebody were to drive a giant blade through Finnick's abdomen or watch as he struggled to survive without food.

The moment the gong had gone off; you watched as he launched himself off his plate and dashed toward the cornucopia. Within seconds there was death and bloodshed. You'd realized early on that Finnick had managed to join an alliance, retrieving a spear from within a crate and fending off anybody who came at him. Your heart was pounding so hard you swore it was about to burst out of your chest. Finnick was fighting off a girl, the one from District Six, you'd realized, and you swallowed thickly as his spear drove into her chest. Her body fell limp to the floor in blood, and you noticed the way he hovered over her, eyes trained on the crimson that spilled from her and pooled at his feet. Finnick was good at hiding his emotions, but you knew him better. You wanted more than anything to assure him, to help him forget his fears and worries, the regret in his gaze was almost haunting. Without a word, he drew the spear out from her corpse and made his way over to his formed alliance.

The arena was surrounded by water, small islands and tall trees. You began to have more hope that perhaps he really could win, even more so when he began to receive sponsor gifts; medicines, food, and a golden trident that was beautifully crafted and detailed. Finnick, though littered with cuts and small injuries, was easily making it through the days in the arena.

On multiple occasions, you’d been terrified that he wasn’t going to make it. Betrayed alliances, wounds beyond what his medicine could heal. You were relieved every time he managed to overcome what the gamemakers threw at him. Even now, as he stood over the corpse of the boy from District Two with his trident, the announcement confirmed what you'd been waiting desperately to hear.

Finnick Odair, winner of the sixty-fifth hunger games.

He was battered and covered in blood, no doubt exhausted and pained from all the injuries he'd gathered, but you couldn't have been happier. He was going to come home. You felt a pang of regret and selfishness. You wondered what Finnick would have said if he knew you were so relieved... ashamed? Disgusted? You weren’t sure.

After days of waiting, Finnick had finished his last interview with Caesar and stepped off the train into District Four. The moment he stepped off, he didn’t even get a chance to glance up before you were almost knocking him over, crushing him into a hug.

He was here. He was real. He was alive!

You swore you'd never been so happy to see anybody more than this. But as you glanced at him, your smile faded. His gaze shifted into an expression that, for once, you didn't know. His eyes were saddened and his face worn with tiredness. His arms didn't wrap around you like yours did, only stayed limp at his sides. He held his chin high, even as your grip slipped from around his neck, and you looked at him quizzically.

"Finn," your voice broke from happiness, confusion and rejection. Your eyes searched his own, looking for any hint of what he could be thinking. You were quiet for a moment, searching for words. "You’re home.”

He inhaled a sharp breath, his gaze flickering over the platform as if unsure where to look first. You supposed it must have been a lot for him to process.

This time, your voice was quieter. “I missed you.”

Finally, he looked at you, and for a moment you swore you saw his eyes soften. "I did too," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. His gaze flicked past you as if he couldn't bear to look at you anymore.

He was already stepping off the platform before you could say anything else. Confusion and hurt struck you like lightning as you watched his figure retreat into the crowd.

Maybe he really did die in that arena.

©x-gabrielle-x. Do not steal, copy or translate my works.

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slaymitchabernathy · 2 days ago

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Silent Night - Alternate Version

| this is an alternate version of 'Silent Night - Part 2.' with a less...kinky ending. hope y'all enjoy ;) |

Coriolanus strides through the halls with triumph. December came and went, taking all of those frivolous decorations with it. Good, he had thought when watching the Avoxes disassemble the Christmas tree, less clutter to fill the house with.

His wife hadn't exactly shared his enthusiasm for the dismissal of the holidays but her feelings weren't really that important to him.

She was here to make him happy and give him children, not give out her opinions on how he ran his household.

"We could start here," Quintus suggests, pointing at the library, "and then move into the ballroom for the photographs."

With a new year comes new photos that need to be taken, a rather annoying task to land on his desk but Coriolanus approaches it with the same diligence he does with anything else. Finding spots to take said photographs in the cold winter has proven to be more difficult though.

"Maybe," is all he says, his attention already drawn to a white ball of fluff running towards him. His lips curl upwards into what could possibly be a smile as his wife's kitten runs up to him.

Petunia, as Soarynn named her, is a little ball of energy, constantly meowing and running around. Coriolanus is glad that he's remained firm in keeping her out of their bedroom because he can't imagine trying to sleep with her constant noise. It's bad enough that she cries from outside their bedroom door.

It had clearly broken Soarynn's heart to hear her kitten crying. She had given Coriolanus her best pouting face the first night they had her before sweetly asking if Petunia could be let in. Coriolanus had grabbed her chin and sweetly told her that she could either sleep with him in their bed, or sleep on the floor with Petunia out in the hall.

Needless to say, Soarynn hasn't asked for Petunia to be let in since.

Soarynn is right behind her kitten, wearing the pink dress he picked out for her today. She's smiling as she chases after her kitten who comes to a stop in front of Coriolanus, batting at his shoe. He steps to the side, not wanting to become a victim of those small claws, "Petunia," Soarynn calls, "Petunia come back."

Petunia has a pink ribbon wrapped around her neck today, standing out from her white fur and she looks up at Coriolanus, letting out a meow. Coriolanus stares down at her, not entirely impressed by this behavior. To her credit, Soarynn has been training her but kittens seem to have a mind of their own, unfortunately.

"I taught her new tricks," Soarynn says breathlessly once she reaches them. Quintus raises an eyebrow, "Tricks? My dear, a cat cannot be taught tricks like a dog."

Coriolanus nods in agreement, dogs are hard enough to train but cats are stubborn with ideas of their own.

But Soarynn shakes her head with a determined look on her face, "No, no she does know tricks! Let me show you. Petunia, sit."

Petunia remains standing, very interested in the laces of his leather shoes.

Soarynn huffs, "Petunia, sit."

Petunia looks up at her owner, not at all willing to listen, and leans down on her front paws, stretching.

Quintus chuckles and Coriolanus shakes his head, "I swear she just did it," Soarynn mumbles, slouching in defeat, "she knows how to sit."

Petunia runs over to Soarynn and rolls onto her back, asking to be pet. Soarynn sighs and bends down, scooping up the small kitten, "Perhaps you should focus your time on teaching her how to use the litter box instead," Coriolanus reminds her, "and maybe get her to shut up when we're trying to sleep."

Soarynn frowns but she doesn't dare say anything against his suggestions, "We should go," Quintus says, "the war department still needs us to go over the new plans."

Coriolanus hums and reaches out to grab Soarynn's chin, something he loves to do to remind her of who's in charge, "Be good while I'm gone darling," he tells her, his words laced with threats if she doesn't behave.

Soarynn swallows, eyes blown wide in fear of any reprimands, "I will be," she whispers. Coriolanus chuckles and leans down to kiss her, enjoying how she stiffens from his touch. She hasn't acted out since he locked her in the greenhouse but he's been looking for the smallest mistake ever since. There's a sick part of him that enjoys punishing Soarynn, watching those crystal tears fall from her glassy eyes.

They go their separate ways but Coriolanus keeps thinking back to the ribbon tied around Petunia's neck, how simple yet enticing it looked, and how it would look wrapped around Soarynn's neck instead.

He'll have to work on that.

꧁ ꧂

When Coriolanus returns hours later, he's slightly dismayed to find Petunia in their bedroom.

The doors are wide open and he lingers in the doorway, watching his wife play with her kitten, sitting on the floor and giggling while Petunia tries to pounce on her fingers.

He knows he's forbidden Petunia from ever sleeping in their room but it appears that he needs to be more strict, more firm in keeping her out of this sacred space. He can't fuck Soarynn if Petunia is vying for her attention every two seconds, crying and whimpering as if she's being starved to death.

Perhaps he made a mistake in bringing a cat into their home.

He clears his throat and Soarynn immediately looks up at him, those dazzling eyes wide with fear and surprise. "You're home," is all she says, no longer smiling or giggling. He nods, crossing his arms at the unwelcome sight of a feline in his bedroom, "I am," he confirms, "and I believe I made it very clear that she was not to be allowed in our bedroom."

Soarynn worries her bottom lip between her teeth, a habit she does whenever she's scared of saying the wrong thing. After that little incident in the greenhouse, her lip was raw with bite marks.

Good, she should think before she speaks, she'd save herself a lot of trouble that way.

"I...I thought you said she couldn't sleep in our bedroom," Soarynn tries, causing him to bite the inside of his cheek. It seems that they both have habits that aren't doing their mouths any favors but it's better than slapping her right across the face.

"And I thought I made it very clear that I don't like you undermining my authority," he says coldly, watching her shrink into herself, "take her out now. It's time for bed."

It's only eight o'clock but Coriolanus doesn't quite care right now. He's had a busy day and the best way to relax is to spend a few hours between Soarynn's spread legs.

Soarynn quickly grabs Petunia and stands up from her spot on the floor. He can see the dismay written all over her face, how bad she feels about leaving Petunia by herself, and how nervous she is to say the wrong thing.

She brushes by him and gently places Petunia back on the ground, "I'm sorry," she whispers to the feline and Coriolanus rolls his eyes, she acts like Petunia is a person, not a cat. "She's fine," he says, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her into their bedroom. Soarynn doesn't resist but he can tell that she wants nothing more than to sleep out in the hallway with Petunia.

Coriolanus closes the doors and he can hear a faint meowing coming from outside the doors. "Much better," he decides, looking down at Soarynn while she stares at the doors, listening to Petunia cry, "don't you think this is better darling, just the two of us?"

When Soarynn finally looks up at him there's a hint of tears in her eyes, "Yes," she says softly, "much better."

He uses his hand to cup the side of her face and leans down, pressing his lips to hers. Soarynn has never been one for affection, often shying away from it instead of embracing it but Coriolanus hasn't ever let that stop him from taking what's his.

Soarynn eventually responds to the kiss, out of duty rather than desire but he doesn't care, he married her for the same reason.

He remembers their wedding day, how pretty she looked walking down the aisle. His bride. The wedding had been formal and stiff, as was to be expected from the President of Panem and his new First Lady.

After the wedding was where the real fun took place. He still remembers the face she made when he finally slid into her, taking what was rightfully his. Soarynn might get on his nerves but her cunt makes up for it every time, so tight and just for him.

She's wearing one of her frilly little nightgowns right now, the ones she's so fond of even though he could care less about her wardrobe for bed. He really just cares about what she has under the nightgown and his other hand slides under the silk, feeling her bare, warm skin.

Soarynn gasps into the kiss when his hand comes in contact with her panties, lace of course. While Coriolanus could care less about her nightgowns, he certainly has expectations for the other things she wears. Most days he chooses her outfits for her, making sure that nothing is too provocative. He likes dresses that stop right above the knee with thin straps and low necklines that show off her collar bones and chest.

He likes it when she wears high heels, but not too high, he enjoys towering over her far too much to allow her to wear more than four inches.

For her hair he prefers for it to be worn down, showing how soft and shiny it is. He always has a say in how she gets it cut and likes layers, neat, not choppy.

When it came to her lingerie, well, he had lots of opinions. He wanted her in lace at all times, he wanted tasteful yet sensual. He enjoys little bows on her underwear and frills. He likes it when she wears matching sets, and loves messing with the straps of her bralettes, pulling them off her shoulders just to fluster her.

Soarynn is really just a doll for him to play with if he's being honest.

A doll that has yet to give him a child, something he's painfully reminded of when Petunia lets out another cry. He had hoped that by gifting her Petunia, that it would draw out some maternal instincts from Soarynn and easily welcome a child into her womb.

Looks like he's been played for a fool.

"Go sit on the bed and strip," he orders, pulling away from the kiss. Soarynn is breathless and swaying on her feet, barely nodding before she stumbles towards their bed. He's going to have to be consistent in trying for a child, for a boy more specifically. Quintus has been nagging him about producing a child more and more and the last thing he needs is for any of his advisors to sink their claws into Soarynn.

He knows her well enough to know that the idea of getting pregnant is a stressful, scary idea. He'll have to be smart in how he approaches this topic, sweet yet stern. She's bound to be much more willing to partake in sex every night if he lays on the charm.

He tugs on his tie, loosening it while thinking of how to approach her with this idea, he could outright demand it from her, as it would be his right as her husband.

But that will only end in tears and nerves.

After the greenhouse, she's been much more obedient, more willing to please and he can't let that momentum die out.

He looks at her sitting in the middle of their large bed. She looks so small, so young and vulnerable. She really does bring out the worst in him. He throws his tie on the ground and begins unbuttoning his dress shirt, he'll fuck her from behind tonight, his favorite position.

He loves fucking Soarynn hard and deep, listening to her cries and her moans while he makes her take it over and over again.

"I've been thinking," he finally says, undoing the last button, "we ought to start trying for a baby don't you think?"

Soarynn blinks up at him, confused and hesitant to answer his question, she fiddles with her fingers and he walks over to their bed, stopping at the foot of it. "Well, darling, what do you think?" He asks again, tapping his foot, "I...I think you know what's best for us," Soarynn answers, her tone soft and trained to tell him exactly what he wants to hear.

He grins, beckoning her to the edge of the bed with his finger and she crawls over to him, so innocent yet seductive and she doesn't even know it. She rests on her knees, looking up at him so eager to please him, to say and do the right things.

"It would make me so happy," he tells her, using his hands to hold her small face, "so proud if you were to carry my heir." He can see how his words affect her, how his promises of pride and happiness will lead to her doing everything she can to get pregnant for him. Soarynn is easy to manipulate now that he's learned what makes her tick.

She's pitifully desperate for acknowledgment, for praise, and attention even if she often shies away from it. If he gives her the smallest taste, then she'll bend over backward for him.

"Okay," she whispers, her lips curl up into a small smile, "I can do that."

Coriolanus leans down and kisses her forehead, so sweet and caring, such a doting husband. If he plays his cards right and keeps up this act, she'll be pregnant in no time.

"Let's start trying tonight then," he suggests, making it sound like a fun game, "who knows how long this process will take." Because he's so selfless, so willing to serve his country, Coriolanus is willing to take more time out of his busy day to fuck his pretty little wife. Maybe he'll start fucking her in the morning too and during lunch.

He wants to see her cunt constantly dripping with his cum, clear, willing property of Coriolanus Snow.

It's all a game to him and Soarynn is the prettiest token he's ever used.

꧁ ꧂

After several orgasms and a bath, Coriolanus listens to the soft sounds of Soarynn breathing.

Right before they fall asleep after having sex might be the most honest and vulnerable he is with her, petting her hair, applying lotion to any sore spots, cleaning her up head to toe.

He might not be a good, loving husband but he's not negligent. He can't have people seeing his wife walking around with bruises and matted hair.

She's pressed against his chest right now, curled up under the covers, already fast asleep. He fucked her so hard tonight, so determined to get a baby out of this encounter. It'll take a few days before she can take a test but he can wait, be patient.

He reaches over to his bedside table and turns off the lamp, encasing them in darkness. Aside from Soarynn's breathing, he doesn't hear a sound, not even from a noisy cat.

He smiles to himself.

Finally, a silent night.

| Part 2. | Final Part |

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