#i feel like there should have been another tw tag but i forget

[sibkisses]

why do i love the idea of gilbert x shota ludwig?? just a brotherly relationship taken toooo far! > < uhggrfgg ruffled hair turns into red faces and “extended playtime”

[prettycottagequeer]

ok maybe I'm a little late to this BUT I'm gonna do a to-do list motivation thingy because I've had the worst two weeks since I started college :)

SO these I should start on asap:

50 I make the snack I really want but I haven't had the motivation to make

100 I clean my dorm. another thing I've been meaning to do for a week

150 I do the presentation about mid-victorian fashion I've been putting off (due Monday)

200 I start memorizing the monologue that was due a week ago (now due Tuesday)

these can wait longer:

300 I spend time outside. It's so nice but I'm getting stuck scrolling because I feel like shit. vicious cycle ect

500 I start setting a better weekend routine (aka getting up before noon)

1k I start working out again. I was doing a routine to get more masc and build muscle and I liked it but life hit me like Crowley driving the Bentley and I've missed like 3 weeks

2k I buy my first binder. I've been coping with sports bras for almost a year now and I haven't been able to justify spending $50+ on a binder even though I know I'd love it and use it everyday.

Do I tag people? I don't know but I'm going to. @the-globe-theatre-maggot @weirdly-specific-but-ok @howmanyholesinswisscheese

here's just some context if you want to read, feel free to skip. some of this I've talked about in the maggot server, some I haven't, but I really just need a place for this to go that's out of my head. tw homophobia, transphobia, car crash(??)

How I Have Been Run Over By The Bentley Going 90 In Central London What Feels Like 50 Times In The Last Two Weeks

I'm going to college about 4 hours away from my parents, and it's been really nice. They.. suck, to say the least. transphobic/homophobic ect, super traditional conservative catholic, racist, all of it. so i tried to move somewhere where I wouldn't have to think about them and I could be myself and do what I can to be happy. March 1st was the start of my spring break, which meant going home because the dorms close. I was already not excited, but I was prepared. the problem with being away from home is I forget just how bad they are. My optimism gets the better of me and I think maybe this time they'll be better. so I decided to not hide my septum piercing.

that was a mistake. it starts a whole fight where they say we know you're trans, you're actually a girl and you always will be, we have the bones argument, they think I'm being influenced by demons or something (if only they knew about crowley) because I want to change my name, and they tell me that going on t will completely ruin my body and give me cancer and other things. They're also mad about my dyed hair, septum, and general style, and say I'm setting a terrible example for my (5) younger siblings and make it a point to tell me just how much of a disappointment I am. I think I'm pretty cute and fun but y'know, whatever. very fun time. I lie so much, don't give them any more details about my identity, and say I'm not planning to go on t to save my ass. which is all on instinct which makes me feel worse because if I'm really trans I should be able to stand up for that, right? maybe I'm faking the dysphoria.

the next morning I wake up really sick, and spend the rest of the week sick and feeling like shit because I'm home and back in the same place and situation I was a year ago that I thought I escaped. at one point I pretty much lose my voice but also kind of get gender euphoria from it. it's weird.

On Friday it's time for me to drive back 4 hours to school, and I make it about 3/4 of the way when google maps takes me on a random gravel road and I crash my car, really crash my car, like sideways-in-a-ditch-windows-broken-crawling-up-out-the-door crash it in the middle of nowhere. (I was fully paying attention to the road, it was raining and super slick) I call my parents because I have no one else to call and I sit in a Subway for 3 hours while they drive to get my car. when they get there they're (understandably) really mad, and they tell me that I'm not mature enough to be going to school so far away and I need to get my shit together and stop depending on them. which. is probably true. but made me feel even more stupid about the fact that I crashed my car. I get back to school and I'm still Very Sick with no energy or motivation to do anything. So I've spent the last week trying to get better and honestly to do anything. it hasn't really worked. I'm a lot better health-wise (Not emotionally), still sick but I have a lot of work due, so I really need a push to get started

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt.14

Word Count: 27.1k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, forced pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, tw if u have tokophobia, pregnancy sex, cunninlingus, pet names like kitten, sweetie, honey, xavier appears, rafayel appears, somewhat gory flashbacks

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti, @exorcxqsm , @ve1vet-cake, @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @connorsui, @iluvmewwwww75, @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer, @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1, @honnylemontea, @altariasu, @sorryimakira, @pearlymel, @emidpsandia , @angel-jupiter, @hwangintakswifey, @webmvie, @housesortinghat, @shoruio, @gojos1ut, @solomonlover, @mysssticc, @elegantnightblaze, @mavphorias, @babylavendersblog, @burntoutfrogacademic, @sinstae, @certainduckanchor, @ladyackermanisdead, @sh4nn, @milkandstarlight, @lilyadora, @depressedwhore, @nyumin, @kiwookse, @anisha24-blog1, @weepingluminarytale, @riamir, @definitionistato, @xxhayashixx, @adraxsteia, @hargun-s @cayraeley, @xxfaithlynxx, @palomanh, @spaceace111

AN: This is of course on A03! Loooong chapter yall, this one is juicy with the drama and inner turmoil. This took forever to write and upload cause of finals week. Pretty intense chapter, just a warning. Don't be fooled by the pretty pictures LOL <3

“Aren’t you tired of pretending?” he murmured, leaning closer. His breath brushed against your ear, warm and tantalizing, sending another shiver skittering down your spine. “I see it in your eyes. The need.” “The way you shift your legs together when I’m dressing in front of you…the way your eyes wander, even when you think I don’t notice.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stammered, your voice shaking slightly despite your best efforts to sound firm. “You don't know?,” he said, his voice calm but laced with something deeper, something resolute. “Let me show you then, sweetie”

Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9 Pt.10 Pt.11 Pt.12 Pt.13 Pt.15

You were forgetting his voice.

The realization crept up on you slowly, like a shadow stretching longer and darker as the day went on. At first, you didn’t notice—not with everything else going on. There was too much chaos, too much survival, too much of him. But the truth struck one day in the most unassuming of moments: standing under the steaming water of the shower, staring blankly at the tile, it hit you like a tidal wave.

What did Xavier sound like?

You closed your eyes, willing yourself to remember. You could see him clearly—his smile, the way his hair fell just slightly into his eyes when he tilted his head, the way his eyes shimmered when he spoke, always so animated, so alive. You could recall the exact shade of his laugh, not the sound but the feeling it left behind, like sunshine lingering on your skin. But his voice? The sound of his voice? It was slipping through your fingers like grains of sand.

You tried to piece it together. He was kind of quiet, wasn’t he? Reserved in a way that made you lean in closer when he spoke. Soft, but not weak. Gentle, but steady. There was something soothing in the timbre, wasn’t there? Or maybe it was deep, deeper than you thought now that you were questioning it?

Your hands ran through your wet hair as if the motion could pull the memory out from wherever it had hidden itself. But there was nothing. No echoes, no fragments. Just a hollow ache where his voice should have been.

How long had it been since you last saw him? Since the last time he looked at you with those eyes, the ones that never failed to make you feel safe, no matter the chaos? You strained to count the days, weeks, months, but the timeline blurred. There were only two markers in your life now: before Sylus and after Sylus.

The before was fading.

It wasn’t just Xavier’s voice, you realized. It was everything. The smell of your old apartment, the way the sunlight streamed through the windows in the early morning, the feeling of the cool tile floor beneath your feet. The details were slipping away, like fog burning off in the sun. One by one, your memories were being eclipsed by the sharp edges of your new reality, until even Xavier, the person who had once been your anchor, was starting to become a ghost.

You scrubbed your face with your hands, the water pouring over you, trying to shake the despair creeping in. This wasn’t the time to cry. Not here. Not now. Not in front of Sylus.

You wouldn’t let him see. You wouldn’t let him know how much it hurt, how hollow you felt, how the guilt gnawed at you with every passing day that you couldn’t hold on to the fragments of the person you used to be. Sylus already held too much power over you—over your present, over your future. You wouldn’t let him take your grief too.

So, instead, you tossed and turned with it, swallowed it down until it sat heavy in your chest. Every night, you tried to dream of Xavier’s voice, reaching for it in the recesses of your mind, but it stayed just out of reach. And every morning, you woke up feeling like you had lost him all over again.

You turn to look at Sylus, who had stationed himself on the small stool by the bathroom opening—a constant, looming presence since the accident last week. Ever since you’d slipped, he had made it his personal mission to watch over you while you showered. It wasn’t about lust. No, Sylus didn’t leer or make comments. This was something else entirely—worry, perhaps? Obsession? You weren’t sure anymore. At six months, you were getting large enough that every movement felt precarious, every step required precision. All it had taken was one misplaced foot, the slick tiles betraying you, and you’d nearly gone tumbling.

You could still hear the scream that tore out of your throat, the panicked gasp as your hands shot out to grip the shower handle bars. Sylus had rushed in immediately, rushing into the bathroom. His wild, frantic eyes had scanned you for injuries as though you were made of glass. And no matter how many times you’d told him since then that you wanted to shower alone, he had never left the room again.

The water stopped cascading around you as you shut the shower off, sighing softly at the sound of it draining away. You stepped out, slow and careful, aware of every movement. Sylus was on his feet before you even reached the edge of the shower, the towel already in his hands. He moved toward you swiftly but not aggressively, draping the towel around your shoulders with mechanical efficiency. His hands, though firm, weren’t rough.

For a fleeting moment, you felt a flicker of gratitude that his gaze never lingered too long on your body. He wasn’t ogling, wasn’t leering—it wasn’t that kind of attention. And yet, the tension in his presence never left. The silence between you both was filled with unspoken words, unsaid things.

The sound of the chain on your ankle clinking against the tile echoed faintly in the humid bathroom. That sound was a constant reminder of your reality, the sharp tether that kept you grounded in more ways than one. Sylus crouched slightly, leaning in closer. His hand, damp and warm, brushed your face, his thumb tenderly stroking along your cheek.

You froze at first, your body stiffening instinctively. But you were too tired to fight him, especially not after…that.

Flashes of the memory burned through your mind—Sylus with a bullet wound in his chest, blood pooling far too quickly for you to process. The sight, the sound of it, the flash of the shot—it all slammed into your brain like a battering ram. You blinked hard, shaking it away. You didn’t want to think about that now. You couldn’t.

Sylus’s voice broke the silence, his tone gentle, too casual for the way he was looking at you. “Your face feels a little swollen,” he murmured, his thumb still lingering just under your cheekbone.

You blinked up at him, caught off guard, before laughing awkwardly. “Everything feels swollen,” you replied, your voice flat with exasperation. “My hands, my feet, my legs—it’s all miserable. The joys of pregnancy, right?”

Sylus tilted his head slightly, the concern in his eyes softening, though it never quite left. “Do your feet feel swollen right now?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You sighed, nodding. “Yeah, they feel like balloons.”

What he did next stunned you. Without a word, Sylus crouched, his fingers deftly working the lock on the chain around your ankle. You heard the soft click before you felt it—the chain falling away, leaving your ankle bare for the first time in what felt like forever. The relief was immediate, a strange weight lifting both physically and mentally, but it left behind a hollow unease.

He stood, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. “Okay then,” he said softly. “You don’t have to wear that anymore.”

You stared at him, your emotions swirling into something you couldn’t define. Conflicted, you grimaced, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Yeah, until you find me a bigger one.”

Sylus frowned slightly, but it wasn’t anger. If anything, he looked… hurt? Confused? His reply came without hesitation. “Why would I do that?”

The simplicity of the question, the sincerity in his voice, was jarring. You wanted to believe he was being kind, that this was a gesture of trust, of goodwill. But you knew better than to take Sylus at face value. Every action, no matter how tender, had a shadow behind it—a motive you couldn’t quite see.

You didn’t answer him. You just turned away, clutching the towel closer to your body, your heart pounding as you tried to decide if this was freedom or just another chain in disguise.

Should you feel grateful? No. That thought rooted itself firmly in your mind as you stood there, damp and vulnerable, clutching the towel Sylus had wrapped around you. This had to be some kind of power play. It always was, wasn’t it? Every gesture, every word from him, even the gentle ones, seemed to carry the shadow of manipulation. And yet, as you stared into his eyes, searching for that hint of control, you found something else—stark genuineness. Or at least, that’s what it looked like.

Maybe he was just good at pretending.

He gazed back at you, his brow furrowing slightly, confusion flickering across his face. He was probably wondering why you hadn’t looked away yet, why your eyes hadn’t shifted elsewhere. Truthfully, you didn’t know either. Maybe you were hoping that if you stared long enough, you’d see something deeper. Something truer. Maybe you could pierce through his perfect facade and catch a glimpse of his soul—if he even had one.

Because whatever Sylus was, it wasn’t human. You knew that now, undeniably, even if he’d never admitted it outright.

What are you?

You’d asked that question so many times since the fight, the words raw, desperate, slipping from your lips like a plea. But no matter how you phrased it, no matter how fiercely you demanded answers, Sylus had always sidestepped you with the same frustrating ease. His deflections were maddening, his calm demeanor only fueling your resentment.

“What about our daughter?” you’d asked once, your voice trembling as you tried a different angle. “She’s human, right?”

You thought you had him then, that you’d finally cornered him. But he’d only smiled faintly, his tone impossibly soft when he answered, “Of course. Her mother is human. Why wouldn’t she be?”

It wasn’t what he said that haunted you—it was what he didn’t say.

Now, standing before him, your mind drifted again to the memory of that moment, of how carefully he’d chosen his words. Your gaze dropped lower, lingering on his chest. You could see it in your mind’s eye: the bullet wound, the dark, ragged hole where his heart should have been. You could still remember the sharp tang of blood in the air, the way his body had slightly shook with the sudden bang. And yet, just as quickly, you could recall the impossible—the way that gaping wound had closed on its own, the way Sylus had stood up like nothing had happened. Death couldn’t touch him.

“Kitten, your arms,” Sylus said, his voice drawing you abruptly out of your thoughts.

You blinked at him, startled, before realizing he was holding up a tank top. He must have brought it into the bathroom with him. His tone wasn’t impatient, but there was a quiet insistence in his words.

“Oh…sorry,” you muttered, hurriedly drying the rest of your skin before stepping closer to him. You let him help you, too tired to argue, as he slipped the fabric over your head and guided it into place. His hands were careful, steady, and methodical, but you couldn’t help but notice how the tank top felt tighter than before. The material clung to your body, stretching over your belly in a way that made you wince.

Your eyes caught the reflection of yourself in the mirror, and the sight made you freeze. Your stomach protruded awkwardly, stretching the thin fabric of the tank top to its limit. Your body didn’t look like your own anymore. It looked…alien. Swollen. Foreign.

The tears came before you could stop them. They blurred your vision, hot and stinging, and you clamped a hand over your mouth as a pathetic whimper slipped through.

“I’m fat,” you choked out, your voice trembling with raw emotion. The words sounded ugly in the air, but you couldn’t hold them back. “I’m…I’m fat,” you whimpered again, your voice cracking as the dam finally broke. The sobs came hard and fast, your shoulders shaking with the force of them.

Sylus stepped closer immediately, his presence looming but his touch tender. “Kitten,” he murmured, his voice calm, soothing, as though you were a frightened animal he was trying to comfort. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not fat—you’re pregnant.”

His hands reached for your face, his fingers brushing away the tears that streamed down your cheeks. His touch was light, almost reverent, and it made you want to pull away even as you leaned into it. “Your body has to make room for the baby,” he continued, his tone patient. “It’s okay that you don’t fit your clothes anymore. I’ll have the twins buy stuff that's bigger soon. Something comfortable.”

The words were meant to comfort, but they only made the ache in your chest worse. You didn’t want bigger clothes. You didn’t want to make room. You wanted freedom.

The thought hit you like a slap, and suddenly you couldn’t take it anymore. The frustration, the helplessness, the overwhelming weight of it all—it boiled over, spilling out before you could stop it.

You shoved him hard, your hands pressing against his chest with more force than you thought you had. Sylus stumbled back a step, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Easy for you to say!” you snapped, your voice rising with a fury that had been building for weeks. “You don’t have to carry around extra pounds! You’re not the one whose body doesn’t feel like their own anymore!”

You took a shaky step back, your breath coming in uneven gasps. The words spilled out in a rush, raw and unfiltered. “You did this to me! You put your gigantic fucking kid in here, and now I’m fucking fat!”

The bathroom fell silent except for your labored breathing. Sylus stood frozen, his expression unreadable as he stared at you. His eyes searched yours, and for a fleeting moment, you thought you saw something there—hurt, maybe? Regret? You were almost shocked he didn't give you that usual smirk of his.

And you didn’t care. Not now. Not with the weight of everything crushing you, pressing down on your chest like a heavy, unrelenting hand.

Sylus moved closer, his steps deliberate but unthreatening. The tension in the room felt almost palpable, like a storm about to break, but his movements were calm, careful, calculated. When he reached you, he pulled you into an embrace—not tight or forceful, but firm and steady, as though he was trying to anchor you. His arms wrapped around your shoulders, but he was mindful, cautious to keep from putting any pressure on your swollen belly. It was a careful kind of tenderness that only irritated you more, as though his gentleness could somehow make up for everything else.

"Stress isn't good for the baby. Just breathe".

You stiffened at first, your instincts screaming at you to push him away, but his hold wasn’t suffocating. He didn’t force it. He didn’t press. His presence loomed, yes, but it was steady, and some small, buried part of you couldn’t deny that it felt grounding, whether you liked it or not.

“I won’t deny,” Sylus began, his voice low and deliberate, “that I’m half the reason she’s in there right now.” He leaned down slightly, lowering himself to your eye level, his crimson gaze boring into yours with an intensity that made it hard to look away. There was something in his expression—sincerity, maybe?—that made your breath hitch. “If I take responsibility” he continued, a faint lilt of dry humor sneaking into his tone, “will you put this on?”

You blinked, confused for a moment, before following his gesture toward the counter. There, neatly folded, was a shirt you hadn’t noticed before. Of course, he had thought of everything. He always did. The sight of it annoyed you in ways you couldn’t fully articulate. Did he ever falter? Did he ever leave anything to chance? You scoffed loudly, sniffing as you fought back the lingering tears from earlier.

“Not like you have a choice but to take responsibility,” you grumbled, bitterness creeping into your voice. “It’s your child, after all.”

“Yes, of course,” Sylus replied easily, his tone soft but steady. “I got you pregnant. It’s only natural you’re my responsibility.”

The words were delivered with such simplicity, such matter-of-factness, that they stunned you into silence for a moment. You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could, he moved again, this time reaching for the hem of your tank top. His movements were smooth and deliberate, not rushed or invasive. His hands brushed yours briefly as he helped pull the tank up and over your head. The touch was fleeting, but it left you shivering—not from the cold but from the vulnerability of the moment.

You let him take the tank top off, standing there awkwardly in just your towel as he grabbed the larger shirt from the counter. He unfolded it with care before guiding it over your head and down your arms. His hands never lingered, never wandered. He moved with the same focused precision as always, almost clinical in his approach, but somehow it didn’t feel detached. It felt intentional, careful, as if he were trying to avoid making you feel even more exposed than you already did.

The shirt settled over your body, the fabric draping much more comfortably than the tank top had. It was plain black, nothing remarkable, but it felt infinitely better than the too-tight tank you’d just been wearing. As the material brushed against your skin, you caught a faint, familiar scent clinging to it. A clean, woodsy fragrance with hints of cedar and maybe something warmer—something distinctly Sylus.

“This is your shirt, isn’t it?” you asked after a moment, your voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

Sylus nodded once, his expression calm but curious. “Is that a problem?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as he watched you, his crimson eyes catching the dim light in the bathroom.

You hesitated, your gaze drifting back down to the shirt. It smelled… nice. Warm. Familiar. He always smelled nice, didn’t he? It was one of those irritatingly persistent truths about Sylus that you couldn’t deny, no matter how much you wanted to. The scent wrapped around you as much as the fabric did, and you hated how it made you feel.

You didn’t answer him right away, unsure of what to say. Did it bother you? Did it comfort you? You weren’t sure. The scent reminded you of how meticulous he was, how nothing ever slipped past his control. But at the same time…it was oddly soothing. It grounded you in a way you couldn’t explain, even if it infuriated you to admit it.

“It’s fine,” you mumbled eventually, your tone clipped, though your hands fidgeted with the hem of the shirt. “Not like I have much of a choice.”

Sylus didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back slightly, giving you just enough space to feel like you weren’t trapped, though his gaze never wavered. He watched you with a kind of quiet intensity that made your skin prickle, as if he were reading every flicker of emotion that crossed your face. It was infuriating and disarming all at once.

You caught yourself staring again, your eyes drifting back to the faint curve of his lips, the sharp line of his jaw, the crimson gleam in his eyes. There were so many things you hated about him—his control, his secrets, his inhumanity—but his presence was so overwhelming, so undeniable, that it was impossible to ignore. And the scent of him, now wrapped around you in the form of this shirt, was like a constant reminder of everything you couldn’t escape.

The shirt was plain. Simple. But it carried the weight of his existence, his presence, his dominance over your life. And yet, as much as you hated it, you couldn’t deny that the scent of cedar and warmth was… alluring. You bit your lip, unwilling to admit it to him or yourself.

Sylus tilted his head slightly, as if waiting for you to say something more. When you didn’t, he finally broke the silence. “If it’s too loose, I can get you something else,” he offered, his voice softer now, devoid of the teasing edge from earlier.

You shook your head quickly, unwilling to let him do anything more for you. “It’s fine,” you said again, your voice firmer this time. But your hands lingered on the fabric, the faint scent brushing against your senses and leaving you more conflicted than ever.

After everything...you should hate him. You should be screaming at him everyday. Cursing him everyday. Maybe you had started getting used to brushing off chaos. Used to shoving traumatic memories into the back of your brain for sanity. You never thought one man could singlehandedly break you down this much. To the point that you had begun to accept the chaos. Little by little.

The truth was, you didn’t know how to feel. And that scared you more than anything.

The trauma doesn’t vanish just because you try to push it aside though. It lingers, festering in the quiet moments, slipping into the spaces where your mind is unoccupied. And at night, when you have no distractions, no walls to hold it back, it takes over completely. That’s when it’s the hardest—when you can’t force yourself to ignore your inner thoughts. In your dreams, the ones where your defenses crumble, the memories and fears you bury during the day come rushing forward, demanding your attention.

Tonight, your mind doesn’t conjure Xavier, with his fading voice, or Reese, with his shadowy presence. No. This time, the dreams are consumed by Sylus. Not the Sylus you deal with every day, with his careful touches and unnerving patience. This is the Sylus who handed you a gun, eyes locked on yours, and told you to pull the trigger. The Sylus who asked you to end him.

You dream of that moment again—except this time, the gun is already in your hands, its weight cold and unyielding. Your fingers tremble, knuckles whitening as you grip it tighter, the barrel pointed directly at his chest. His expression is calm, almost serene, as though he’s not standing at the edge of oblivion but on the precipice of something inevitable.

“Do it,” his voice echoes in your mind, soft but resolute. “You want to kill me don't you?"

You should feel relief. Joy, even. After everything, shouldn’t this be justice? But it isn’t. You’re frozen, your hand shaking as tears blur your vision. Your chest feels tight, constricted, as if some invisible force is pulling you back, keeping you from pulling the trigger. He doesn’t move, doesn’t plead. He just waits, like this was always the plan. And yet…you can’t do it.

Why? Why don’t you pull the trigger? Why do you hesitate? Why do your fingers go slack, the gun slipping from your hands and clattering to the ground? Why are you screaming as the deafening crack of the gunshot rings out anyway? The bullet tears through his chest, and you’re not sure if it was you or someone else. All you know is that he’s falling, collapsing to the ground, lifeless and still. Blood pools around him, dark and spreading, and you can’t stop screaming his name.

Your sobs wrench you awake. You sit up suddenly, gasping for air as your heart pounds violently in your chest. The room is dark, the shadows long and deep, but the dream clings to you, wrapping itself around your senses like a suffocating shroud. For a moment, you’re still there—in that place, holding the gun, watching him fall.

“Hey, hey,” a voice cuts through the haze, pulling you back to the present. Sylus’s hand is on your shoulder, firm but not forceful, shaking you gently. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

His crimson eyes are softer now, lacking their usual sharpness, as they search your face for signs of distress. “You were whimpering,” he says quietly. “Are you okay?”

You blink at him, your breath still coming in shallow gasps, but you force yourself to nod. “Yeah,” you say, your voice hoarse and unconvincing. You look away quickly, desperate to shake off the lingering remnants of the dream. “Why wouldn’t I be? I have nightmares practically every night Sylus.”

Sylus doesn’t look convinced, his brow furrowing slightly. “You muttered my name,” he adds after a beat, his voice light, almost teasing. “Were you dreaming of me?”

You shoot him a sharp look, and his faint smirk fades, replaced by an expression of quiet understanding. He raises his hands slightly in surrender, his voice turning serious again. “We don’t have to talk about it,” he says. “If you don’t want to.”

You shrug, still trying to slow your racing heart. The dream had felt too real, too vivid, and you didn’t trust yourself to talk about it yet. “Let’s just… not,” you mumble, pulling your knees to your chest.

Sylus nods, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he shifts the conversation. “How about we talk about something else?” he suggests, his voice warm but careful, as though he’s testing the waters. “Names. Have you thought about any?”

“Names?” you echo, the word feeling foreign as it leaves your lips.

“She’s a few months from being born,” Sylus continues, his tone calm but probing. “Do you have any ideas?”

The question catches you off guard. Names. You hadn’t thought about it—not seriously. You’d been too focused on surviving, on getting through each day, to think about something as simple, as normal, as naming your daughter. The realization settles over you like a weight, leaving you momentarily speechless.

“I…” you start, your voice trailing off as your hand instinctively moves to rest on your belly. It’s strange, thinking about her like this, as someone with a name, an identity. Your chest tightens, not with fear but with something softer. Something like hope, though you’re too afraid to call it that.

You clear your throat, suddenly feeling awkward under his gaze. “I don’t know,” you admit finally. “I guess I haven’t really thought about it.”

Sylus tilts his head slightly, his expression unreadable but patient. “Well,” he says slowly, “maybe now’s a good time to start.”

You bite your lip, the question hanging between you both. You hadn’t let yourself think that far ahead. You hadn’t allowed yourself to imagine what her life might look like, what kind of world she’d be born into. But now, with the question lingering in the air, you feel compelled to say something, to fill the silence.

“Uh…how about…Evelyn?” you blurt out, the first name that comes to mind. It sounds strange as you say it, as if you’re trying on someone else’s thoughts.

Sylus raises an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Evelyn?” he repeats, his tone somewhere between amused and curious.

You shrug, already regretting the suggestion. “I don’t know. It’s…a name.”

He chuckles softly, the sound low and almost comforting. “It’s a start,” he says, leaning back slightly. “I don't think we should name the baby something random though. It should be a little thoughtful yeah?”

You glance at him, unsure if he’s mocking you or genuinely trying to help. His crimson eyes hold a faint glimmer of amusement, but there’s no malice in it. For once, it feels like he’s just…talking to you. Like a normal person. Like someone trying to plan for the future.

The thought makes your chest tighten again, but this time, you don’t push it away. Instead, you let it sit there, the possibility of names, of plans, of a life beyond the chaos. It feels fragile, tentative, but maybe, just maybe, it’s something to hold onto.

You were so tired. Tired of feeling scared. Tired of yearning for freedom that always seemed just out of reach. The weight of it had been crushing you for months, dragging you down with every small reminder of your reality. Tired of keeping your guard up, of treating every moment like a battle you had to win. It wore you down, chipped away at your resolve, until there were moments—just like this one—where you didn’t have the strength to fight anymore.

And maybe that was okay. Maybe, for once, you could lean into the quiet. Into the stillness of the night and the absence of yelling, control, or guns. For this moment, at least, there was none of that. Just two people sitting together in the dark. Two soon-to-be parents, talking about their daughter.

You studied Sylus in the faint light, the crimson of his eyes softened to something less intimidating, less piercing. His expression was calm, his usual intensity dimmed. For once, he wasn’t looming over you with that overbearing aura of control. He just…was. A man sitting beside you. A man who was going to be the father of your child. The thought should have felt suffocating, but tonight, it didn’t.

For the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel the urge to fight him. You didn’t care if your emotions were genuine or just a mask you were putting on to get through the night. For now, you let yourself imagine that you weren’t a prisoner. That you weren’t someone trapped in a life you didn’t choose. For now, you could be his fiancée, his partner, the mother of his child. That’s what you were, right? His fiancée. His pregnant fiancée. And for once, that wasn’t terrifying. It was just…something that was.

You were definitely going crazy.

A faint, tentative smile pulled at your lips as you looked at him, unsure if it was real or if you were forcing it. You didn’t care. Not now. Not tonight. “Well…” you said softly, your tone lighter than it had been in days, “what do you suggest, then, sir?” You scoffed, adding a playful roll of your eyes for effect.

Sylus tilted his head, a flicker of amusement dancing across his face. “Sir?” he repeated, his voice tinged with mock offense. “I don’t recall being knighted, but I’ll take it.”

You smirked, crossing your arms and leaning back against the headboard. “Come on, then,” you teased. “If Evelyn's so bad, what’s your grand idea for a name?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I didn't say it was a bad name. Ruby,” he said with a small nod. “Or maybe Sapphire.”

The laughter bubbled up before you could stop it, the sound catching you off guard with its suddenness. It wasn’t forced, wasn’t fake. It was real, genuine, and it felt…good. You pressed a hand to your mouth, trying to stifle it, but Sylus raised an eyebrow, his expression curious.

“What?” he asked, his voice dipping into that familiar amused lilt. “What’s so funny?”

“You,” you said between giggles, your shoulders shaking slightly as you tried to compose yourself. “You sure do like your gems, huh?”

Sylus’s lips quirked upward into a smile, one of the rare ones that felt real and unguarded. “Is a daughter not the most precious gem in the world?” he replied, his tone soft but filled with a warmth that caught you off guard.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips refused to disappear. “That was so cheesy,” you said, shaking your head.

“Maybe,” he admitted with a faint chuckle. “But that doesn’t make it any less true.”

His words settled in the air between you, lingering like a warm embrace. You weren’t sure how to respond, so you didn’t. Instead, you let yourself lean into the moment, let yourself imagine what it might be like to raise her, this little girl who was half of you and half of him. It was a fragile thought, one that felt precarious and strange, but it was also…comforting.

It was actually nice to be delusional for a bit.

“Ruby,” you said after a moment, testing the name on your tongue. “It’s…not bad, I guess.”

“Not bad?” Sylus repeated, his tone teasing again. “That’s practically a glowing endorsement coming from you.”

You shot him a look, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you, curving upward in spite of yourself. “Don’t push it,” you said lightly, nudging his shoulder with your own.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, and for a moment, the weight of the past few months didn’t feel so heavy. The walls of the room didn’t feel so confining, and the imaginary chain around your neck was almost forgotten. Almost. You weren’t free—not really—but in this moment, you let yourself imagine that you were.

“So,” Sylus said after a beat, his voice softer now. “If Ruby’s not terrible, does that mean it’s a contender?”

You hesitated, your hand unconsciously moving to rest on your belly. You thought about her, this little life growing inside you, and for the first time, you let yourself picture her with a name. Ruby. It felt strange, attaching something so personal, so permanent, to someone you hadn’t even met yet. Someone you weren't even sure you could love. But it also felt…right. Or at least, like a start.

“Maybe,” you said finally, your voice quieter now. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve really thought about it before.”

Sylus tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady but not intrusive. “Why not?”

You shrugged, your fingers brushing absently over the fabric of the shirt he’d given you. “I guess…I’ve been too focused on everything else,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s hard to think about names when you don’t even know what the future looks like.”

His expression softened, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his face. “Then maybe we should start imagining it,” he said quietly. “Together.”

You looked at him, your breath catching for just a moment. There was something in his voice, something in the way he said it, that made you want to believe him. Made you want to believe that, maybe, the future didn’t have to be so terrifying. That, maybe, you could find a way to hold onto moments like this.

You didn’t say anything else, but when you leaned back against the headboard, your hand still resting on your belly, you didn’t feel so alone. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself imagine what her life might be like. Ruby, or whatever her name might end up being, was coming. And for the first time, you thought…maybe that was okay.

Even if it was all a lie.

You were tired. Mind-numbing, soul-crushing tired. It wasn’t just physical, though your body constantly ached and groaned under the weight of pregnancy. No, it was the kind of tired that seeped into your very being, that made even the simplest of tasks feel monumental. You were tired of waddling around, tired of the constant heartburn, tired of your emotions riding a hormonal rollercoaster that never seemed to stop. But most of all, you were tired of peeing.

The baby—or your bladder’s nemesis, as you’d started calling her—seemed to take great delight in squishing your insides in the most inconvenient ways possible. You couldn’t make it through an hour without feeling the urgent need to waddle to the bathroom, only to sit there and produce a few pitiful drops. It was infuriating. Exhausting. Almost comical, if you weren’t so over it.

You sighed as you flopped back onto the couch, glaring at the ceiling as if it could somehow sympathize with your plight. “I swear,” you muttered under your breath, “I’m going to make her pay me back for this one day. She owes me. Big time.”

But no matter how much you complained, there were moments that made you pause. Moments that reminded you that, despite the aches and discomfort, you were carrying life inside you. Your daughter, this little person who already seemed to have so much personality. She was a tiny tyrant, sure, but she was also her own person now it seemed.

Even your cravings, as strange and unpredictable as they were, had become part of the bizarre tapestry of this experience. You’d learned to ignore the look Sylus gave you whenever you requested something outlandish. Like the time you swore that vanilla ice cream and pickles were the greatest culinary invention ever.

“I swear on my own soul,” you’d told him, your tone solemn but your eyes sparkling with mischief, “vanilla ice cream and pickles are delicious, Sy.”

He’d shaken his head at you, a soft chuckle escaping his lips, but he’d indulged you anyway. He always did. These days, Sylus seemed to exist solely to fulfill your every whim, no matter how absurd. His eyes, once so sharp and calculating, now held something softer whenever they landed on you.

"I feel like having cake today"

"What flavor, honey?"

"Sylus, I think I want the crib pink instead of white"

"As you wish, but isn't this the fifth time you've changed your mind?"

"Can I have your pillows? My backs hurting..."

"You already have most of the pillows on your side, sweetie".

"...."

"Alright, here you go."

He also hadn’t made you wear the chain for weeks now. At first, you’d been suspicious, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Freedom wasn’t something you associated with Sylus—not real freedom, anyway. But as the days passed, you began to relax, to accept the absence of the cold, metallic weight around your ankle. You weren’t truly free, not in the way you craved, but it was something. A step forward.

And Sylus…he had changed too. He was still the man who had held you captive, the man who had made decisions for you that you could never forget. Your captor, your rapist. He was still all of those things. But he was also the man who fetched you ice cream at two in the morning without complaint. The man who held your hair back when nausea overtook you and stayed up with you when insomnia refused to let you sleep. The man who had begun to apologize, not with words, but with actions.

The past still lingered between you, a shadow neither of you could fully escape. But you found yourself not thinking about it as much. There wasn’t space for it in your mind, not when your thoughts were consumed by other things: the relentless need to pee, the insatiable cravings, the constant stomach aches, and the naps that never seemed long enough.

Your daughter was growing, and she made sure you knew it. At seven months, your latest ultrasound had shown that she was thriving. Dr. Merill had smiled, pointing out her tiny feet and her steadily beating heart. She was very much alive, and she was letting you know it every single day.

She kicked nonstop, especially when you ate. If she liked what you fed her, she’d kick happily, little thumps that made you wince and smile in equal measure. But if she didn’t? Oh, she’d make you pay for that too. The nausea would creep in, or a sharp jab to the ribs would have you doubling over. It was like she was already forming very strong opinions, much like her father.

You rested a hand on your belly, feeling her shift beneath your palm. “You’re a little troublemaker, you know that?” you whispered, your voice soft but filled with amusement. She responded with a kick, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

Some days, you weren't sure how to feel about her. And others...were like today. You felt okay with her. She seemed to be okay with you too.

Sylus entered the room just then, carrying a tray with a glass of water and a plate of something you hadn’t asked for but probably wanted anyway. His crimson eyes landed on you, his expression softening as he noticed the way your hand rested on your belly.

“She’s been fussy today,” you said, glancing up at him.

“She’s always fussy,” he replied, setting the tray down beside you. “Like her mother.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no bite to it. “Don’t start,” you warned lightly, though a small smile tugged at your lips.

He sat beside you, his presence warm and steady. You glanced at him, taking in the faint lines of exhaustion around his eyes. He’d been with you through every late-night craving, every ache, every complaint. You didn’t want to admit it, but he’d been good to you. Better than you’d expected.

It was the least he could do after everything.

“Thank you,” you said suddenly, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them.

Sylus tilted his head, his brows raising slightly. “For what?”

“For…everything,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know I’m a pain right now.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and comforting. “You’re not a pain,” he said, his hand brushing yours lightly. “You’re pregnant. There’s a difference.”

You looked away, suddenly feeling vulnerable, but his words stayed with you. For all the mess, for all the past, there was something steady about him now. Something that made you feel…not safe, exactly, but cared for at least.

Your daughter kicked again, harder this time, and you winced, letting out a small laugh. “See what I mean? Trouble,” you said, rubbing your belly gently.

“She’s strong,” Sylus said, his voice filled with quiet pride. “She gets that from you.”

You didn’t respond, but as you leaned back against the couch, your hand still resting on your belly, you pondered what he just said.

You didn’t feel strong. Not in the way people romanticized strength. It wasn’t some fiery, defiant thing coursing through your veins. No. If anything, you felt...compliant. Like someone who had simply adapted to their circumstances, slipping into the role that had been carved out for them.

Maybe it was survival. Or maybe it was exhaustion.

You had learned the hard way that certain things didn’t work. Anger? Useless. You could scream at Sylus until your voice gave out, but he would only watch you with that maddening calm, as if your fury was nothing but a passing storm. Running? That didn’t work either. You’d tried that too, and all it had gotten you was a painfully short leash—both figuratively and literally.

And killing him? That was the one that haunted you the most. You had the chance. You had the gun in your hands. He had given it to you. He had told you to pull the trigger, had stood there, waiting. Daring you. But you couldn’t do it. Not because you didn’t want to—God, you had wanted to—but because some part of you, some deep, hidden part you couldn’t explain, had hesitated. And that hesitation had cost you everything.

And then...he hadn't even died.

So, what more could you do?

Now, all that fight was gone. Or maybe it wasn’t gone—maybe it was just buried under the weight of the life growing inside you. Because it wasn’t just about you anymore. There was a baby now, a tiny, helpless life that depended on you. Every time you felt her kick, every time she shifted or nudged, it was a reminder that she was there. She was real. And she didn’t deserve to feel the chaos that swirled inside you. She didn’t deserve to be born into a world filled with your anger and fear.

So, you picked your battles. You didn't think about things that would make your heart race and your blood boil. You didn't think about Xavier or wonder where he was/if he was safe.

The easiest battle to surrender was Sylus’s care. He wanted to take care of you. It was part of his control, you knew that. But it was also something you couldn’t fight against anymore. Not when your body ached, and your mind felt frayed at the edges. Not when the cravings hit in the middle of the night, or when you couldn’t roll over without help. You told yourself it was just practicality—letting him take care of you because it was easier. Because it was less exhausting than fighting him every step of the way.

But deep down, you knew that wasn’t the whole truth. The more time passed, the more you found yourself leaning on him. Not just willingly, but inevitably. He was there, steady and constant, filling the cracks in the world he had broken around you. You hated it. Hated how much easier it was to let him help you than to resist. Hated how he was always there when you needed him, as if he could sense your struggles before you even voiced them.

And the worst part? You knew this was what he wanted. He wanted you to rely on him. To need him. And it was working.

You stretch your neck a bit with a heavy sigh, one hand still resting on your swollen belly. The baby nudged against your palm, a gentle reminder of her presence, and you couldn’t help but smile faintly. “I don't know what the future holds for either of us” you murmured softly. “But its not your fault. I'm trying my best.”

You kept your hand resting on your belly, absently tracing slow circles over the fabric of your shirt, when Sylus moved. He didn’t say anything, didn’t give you a warning. He just leaned down, resting his head against your bump gently, almost reverently. The weight of it was light, careful, as though he was trying not to disturb the little life growing inside you.

Your daughter didn’t seem to appreciate the intrusion. She kicked, hard, right where his head was, and Sylus chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. He pressed a small kiss to your bump, his lips lingering just long enough to send an unexpected shiver through you. Then he tilted his head, looking up at you from where he lay against your lap.

The way he stared was intense, his eyes locking onto yours with a look that made your heart skip a beat. There was something in that gaze, something slow and deliberate. Almost…alluring.

You shifted under the weight of his attention, your breath hitching as you tried to hold his gaze. But it was too much—too heavy. You looked away quickly, pretending to focus on something else, your fingers twitching against your belly.

Sylus didn’t move right away. His presence was still there, looming over you even though he remained physically closer to the floor. You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the unease bubbling up inside you. His energy was different tonight. Charged. And it wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, but it was unsettling.

You weren’t strangers to his sudden affection. Over the past few months, he’d been initiating them more often—quick, fleeting kisses on your lips, always catching you off guard. You had started reciprocating. It felt… easier that way. He was taking care of you, after all. What harm was there in a few kisses? They were small gestures, nothing more.

And he hadn’t asked for anything more. Not yet. Despite the way his gaze lingered on you sometimes, despite the way his touches seemed to stretch a little too long, he hadn’t pressed for intimacy. Not in that way. He clearly wanted to—his body language betrayed him every time he was near you—but he had always pulled back when it became clear you weren’t going to entertain it.

But now…now he felt different. More pushy. More insistent.

“Despite everything,” he said suddenly, his voice low, almost husky, “I still feel so distant from you.”

You forced a laugh, looking away again to avoid the intensity in his eyes. “How?” you said lightly, trying to inject humor into the moment. “Your child is literally growing in here. Don’t think we could get any closer than, you know, mixing DNA.” You gestured vaguely at your stomach, offering a weak smile.

Sylus didn’t laugh. He didn’t even chuckle. He only smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips that made your stomach twist—not from the baby’s movement, but from something deeper. Something instinctual.

He sat up slowly, shifting so he was eye level with you now, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp. Direct. You felt pinned under it, like prey caught in a predator’s sights. The discomfort you hadn’t felt for weeks crept back in, winding its way up your spine and making your skin prickle.

“I think we both know that’s not what I mean, kitten,” he said, his voice dipping into something dangerously close to a purr. The nickname, the one that had started as something teasing, now carried a weight that made your breath hitch.

His hand moved, settling on your thigh with deliberate slowness. The touch was firm but not heavy, the heat of his palm seeping through the fabric of your leggings and making you acutely aware of the space between your bodies—or lack thereof.

The room suddenly felt too small, too warm, despite the chill in the air. Your heart began to beat faster, the sound of it pounding in your ears as your hands grew clammy. You tried to steady your breathing, but it was hard to focus when his presence loomed so heavily, so insistently.

“Aren’t you tired of pretending?” he murmured, leaning closer. His breath brushed against your ear, warm and tantalizing, sending another shiver skittering down your spine. “I see it in your eyes. The need.”

You stiffened, but his voice didn’t waver. If anything, it grew softer, more intimate, as though he were sharing a secret meant only for you. “The way you shift your legs together when I’m dressing in front of you…the way your eyes wander, even when you think I don’t notice.”

Your breath caught, and your mind raced to refute him, to deny everything he was saying. But the words wouldn’t come. His tone, his presence, his touch—they were all too much, too overwhelming. Your body betrayed you, warmth creeping up your neck and settling in your cheeks despite your best efforts to suppress it.

Sylus tilted his head slightly, his crimson eyes narrowing as he studied your reaction. He smiled again, but this time it was softer, almost disarming. “It’s okay,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to deny it. I’m not blind, kitten.”

You swallowed hard, your gaze darting away from his as your hands fidgeted in your lap. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stammered, your voice shaking slightly despite your best efforts to sound firm. Of course you knew. You weren't sure if it was the hormones or what but the feeling of need...the feeling of desire to be touched and ravished had been more rampant than usual. You honestly thought you had done a better job at hiding it, but Sylus had read you like usual.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rich, and leaned back just enough to give you a sliver of space. But his hand remained on your thigh, his thumb brushing slow, deliberate circles against the fabric. The sensation sent sparks racing up your leg, and you hated how your body reacted, how you couldn’t stop the way your breath hitched every time his thumb moved.

“You don't know?,” he said, his voice calm but laced with something deeper, something resolute. “Let me show you then, sweetie”

You barely process his words before you feel the heat of his touch spreading through your skin, a slow burn that makes it hard to focus on anything else. His hand moves with a gentle yet deliberate caress, and before you can fully process it, he's leaning in, his lips brushing softly against your neck. The contact sends a shiver down your spine, a reluctant thrill of pleasure that you can't quite shake off.

His other hand finds its way in your pants and between your legs, fingers teasing and exploring, rubbing your clit with a maddening slowness that leaves you teetering on the edge of resistance and surrender. You don't want to like it, don't want to give in to the pleasure that coils so insistently in your belly, but your body has other ideas, responding with a traitorous eagerness that you can't deny.

You should try and stop him like every other time. But you don't. Its like your brain has switched off, replaced by a sudden need for him to keep touching.

As his lips continued their gentle assault on your neck, sending waves of tingling sensations down your body, you found yourself sinking deeper into the embrace of pleasure. The hand on your thigh tightened its grip, a possessive gesture that only added to the intensity of the moment. His breath, warm and tantalizing, whispered against your skin, causing goosebumps to rise in its wake.

"You're so responsive," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper in your ear. "I love how your body betrays your resolve." He knew just how to play with your senses, to make you question your own resistance. His fingers continued their sensual dance, stroking and circling, pushing you closer to the precipice of desire.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the world narrowing to the sensations he evoked. You want to shut him up. You want to scream at him. But no words come. His touch was like a brand, searing your skin with a fiery delight. You tried to hold on to your last shreds of resistance, but it was like trying to grasp smoke; it slipped through your fingers, leaving you helpless against the onslaught of pleasure.

As his kisses trailed down, each one a delicate flame on your skin, you felt your inhibitions melting away. The hand between your legs quickened its pace, and you gasped, unable to stifle the sound of your growing arousal. You were falling, surrendering to the sweet torment he so expertly wielded.

"That's it, let go," he encouraged, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to hear your surrender, sweetie." His words were like a spell, binding you to the moment, to the pleasure, and to the surrender you were about to embrace.

The tension coiled tighter within you, a spring ready to snap, and you knew that when it did, it would be a release like no other. Your body was on fire, craving the climax he was so adept at orchestrating. And in that moment, resistance seemed like a distant memory, as you were ready to succumb to the blissful oblivion he promised.

The pleasure built to an unbearable crescendo, and in a moment of powerful release, you surrendered to the climax, your body arching against his touch. A mix of sensations flooded through you—pleasure, relief, and a tinge of guilt for succumbing so easily. You trembled as the waves of ecstasy washed over, leaving you breathless and weak. "You're beautiful when you come undone," he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction. His hand lingered on your sensitive skin, stroking gently as you rode out the aftershocks of your orgasm.

"I....I..." you muttered, suddenly feeling incredibly lightheaded.

The climax washed over you like a tidal wave, leaving your body trembling and your senses heightened. You gasped for breath, overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure he had just unleashed within you. As you came down from the peak, a wave of emotions hit you—a mix of satisfaction, vulnerability, and a tinge of shame.

As if sensing your sudden anxiety, Sylus tightened his hold on your waist, his touch gentle yet firm. "Shh, don't run from this," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. You tried to squirm away, suddenly self-conscious, but his strong arms guided you back into place, his hands caressing your hips with a possessive yet tender touch.

"Trust me," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "I'll take care of you." With a gentle but unwavering grip, he guided you into position, urging you onto all fours and guiding you to rest your belly against the soft cushions of the couch. Your heart raced as you realized the intimate position you were now in.

"My belly..." you started, your voice laced with concern as you remembered your pregnant form. Was this even safe? What if he was too rough and hurt her? You feel your pulse quicken of the thought of something happening to the baby.

Sylus, ever attuned to your needs, paused, his hand cupping your swollen belly with reverence. "I'll be gentle," he reassured, his thumb tracing slow circles over your skin. "Just breathe."

His words, spoken with such tenderness, only calmed your nerves a little. You feel him pulling your leggings down and lifting your shirt. As he positioned himself behind you, his hardened cock pressed against your entrance, sending a jolt of anticipation through your body. You couldn't see behind you, but from feeling alone you could tell Sylus was harder than you'd ever felt him. You felt his breath on your neck, hot and ragged, as he began to enter you, his movements deliberate and slow.

A soft whimper escaped your lips as he penetrated, the sensation both painful and pleasurable. The stretch and fullness were intensified by your pregnant state, and you couldn't help but wonder if it was the reason for the heightened sensitivity and pleasure.

"Nnngh…" you groan, gripping intensely into one of the pillows. "Slower Sylus, please..."

"Its been awhile, but you'll adjust" he whispered, his voice strained with restraint. "You feel tighter too, no wonder it hurts" His hands moved to your hips, guiding you to meet his slow, careful thrusts. You can't help but feel your face heat up at the sinful words leaving his mouth.

"Shut up..."

The sensations were overwhelming, a blend of pleasure and discomfort that soon gave way to pure bliss. You moaned, your voice echoing in the room as you surrendered to the waves of delight coursing through your core.

"That's it, let me hear you," he encouraged, his own moans becoming more pronounced as he picked up the pace. "Let me show you how good this can be."

His hands roamed over your body, caressing your back, your hips, and occasionally returning to cup your belly, as if to remind you of the life growing within and the unique pleasure you were experiencing. The room was filled with the sounds of your pleasure—your moans, his deep grunts, and the soft, rhythmic sounds of skin on skin.

As he thrust into you with increasing fervor, his movements remained mindful of your comfort, ensuring each stroke brought you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

The penetration was deep and profound, each withdrawal a sweet agony, leaving you wanting more. Your body was alive with sensation, every nerve ending singing with pleasure and pain. You wanted to escape the exquisite torture, to find release, but he held you firmly in place, his grip a gentle captivity.

"Please, Sylus," you begged, your voice breathless. "I need..."

"I know, sweetie," he murmured, his voice a soothing contrast to the raw need coursing between you. "Have some patience."

With each withdrawal and thrust, he worked his full length inside you, his movements now a deliberate torture, designed to push you closer to the edge of ecstasy. Your body felt like it was on fire, and sweat began to form on your face.

Your moans became more frequent, more desperate, each sound a plea for release. He was relentless, his pace calculated to drive you wild, his own breath ragged as he held himself back from the brink, all for the pleasure of watching you unravel.

"Sylus, please," you cried, your body arching, seeking more of him. His teasing was almost driving you to madness.

"Soon, my love," he promised, his voice a low growl. "But first, I want to watch you come apart."

His thrusts quickened, still controlled, each one a stroke of pleasure, pushing you higher, closer to the peak. Your body felt like a live wire, every nerve ending sparking with sensation, your core clenching around him, seeking the release he was expertly withholding.

The room was filled with the sounds of your pleasure—your breathless moans, his restrained grunts, and the wet, erotic sounds of flesh on flesh.

As he thrust into you with increasing pace, your body became a conduit of pleasure, every cell alive with sensation. You were on the precipice of bliss, teetering between agony and ecstasy. His hands gripped your hips, holding you firmly in place, ensuring his length stroked every sweet spot within you.

"Yes, let go," he urged, his voice a command you couldn't deny. "Cum for me."

His words, spoken with such authority, pushed you over the edge. Your body convulsed, spreading aching pleasure as you climaxed, your release a sweet surrender to the bliss he had orchestrated. Sylus soon followed, hot ropes of his cum filling you as he groaned your name, his body shuddering against yours in perfect harmony. You feel out of breath as he finally pulls out of you, a sudden empty sensation taking over instead.

The aftermath left you feeling hollow and heavy, like the weight of the world had pressed down on you all at once. You remained there, your legs trembling slightly, and felt his fluids slowly begin to slip out of you, a sensation that made your stomach tighten. Your hand instinctively drifted to your belly, and as if on cue, your daughter kicked hard, a protest against all the extra movement. You sighed softly, a wave of guilt washing over you.

I’m sorry, you thought, offering her a silent apology as you rubbed your bump in slow, soothing circles. May have gotten carried away.

The sensation of a cool, damp cloth against your legs startled you out of your thoughts. You looked over to see Sylus crouched in front of you, his focus sharp and deliberate as he carefully cleaned you up. He was gentle, moving with a precision that felt practiced, as if he had thought about this moment long before it had happened.

He didn’t speak, and neither did you. There was no need to. The silence was thick, heavy with unspoken emotions, and you couldn’t bring yourself to break it. The cold cloth passed over you again, wiping away the remnants of what had just occurred, and you shivered involuntarily at the sensation. Your body still felt too warm, too sensitive, and the contrast of the cool rag made your breath hitch.

"I'll get you new clothes" he suddenly said, momentarily pausing his movements. You barely hear him, but make a noise of acknowledgment.

When he finished, he disappeared momentarily only to return with pajamas for you, his movements slow and purposeful as he helped you redress. The fabric felt strange against your skin, almost foreign, as if it didn’t belong to you anymore. Nothing did—not your mind, not your body. It was all borrowed, handed over piece by piece to him, to the baby, to this life that no longer felt like yours.

Once you were dressed, Sylus stood and gently pulled you to your feet, his hands steadying you as your legs wobbled beneath you. He adjusted the pillows. Without a word, he guided you back to the couch and eased you down onto the cushions in a new position before settling behind you. His arms encircled you loosely, his warmth pressing into your back as he rested his chin lightly against your shoulder.

His hand found your belly almost immediately, his fingers stroking the curve of it in slow, rhythmic motions. The touch was soft, almost absentminded, but it was constant. Ever-present. You could feel the satisfaction radiating off him, a quiet, smug contentment that made your chest tighten. He had wanted this for a long time—there was no doubt about that. The way he gently held you now, the way his touch lingered on your belly, spoke volumes.

And yet, you couldn’t help but feel slightly taken advantage of. The thought crept into your mind unbidden, a whisper that grew louder the longer you sat there in his arms. If it weren’t for the pregnancy—if it weren’t for the weight of your swollen belly and overbearing feelings that came with it—would you have even let him get this close? Would you have let him touch you the way he had?

You weren’t sure. And that uncertainty gnawed at you.

This was different from all the other times. He hadn't had to force you. Somehow someway he knew your own thoughts, even if you didn't speak them aloud.

Your body didn’t feel like yours anymore. Your mind didn’t either. Every decision, every thought, every movement was dictated by something outside of yourself—by Sylus, by the baby, by the strange, tangled web of your current reality. It was like you were living on autopilot, your choices whittled down to the path of least resistance.

As Sylus continued to stroke your belly, his touch steady and unrelenting, you felt yourself slipping further into your thoughts. His hand was warm, soothing in a way that made you want to hate it but couldn’t. It reminded you of how far you had come—not in strength or independence, but in compliance.

How much had you given up? How much of yourself had you handed over, piece by piece, without even realizing it? The chain had come off weeks ago, but sometimes, you swore you could still feel its weight. Not on your ankle, but somewhere deeper. Somewhere inside.

The silence stretched between you both, but neither of you spoke still. Words wouldn’t have changed anything. They wouldn’t have undone the strange intimacy of the moment, wouldn’t have erased the lingering feelings of guilt and resentment that churned in your chest.

You shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, but the movement only drew you closer to him. Sylus didn’t seem to mind. If anything, his hold on you tightened just a fraction, his touch growing softer, more deliberate, as if he could sense the thoughts swirling in your mind.

You wondered how far you’d fallen. How compliant you’d truly become. It scared you, the thought of how easy it had become to let him take the lead, to let him dictate the terms of your life. Somewhere along the way, the fight had drained out of you, leaving only this—this quiet surrender, this hollow acceptance of the way things were.

And as much as you hated it, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away either.

Xavier’s body ached, the deep, bone-deep kind of pain that refused to go away no matter how much rest he got. He leaned heavily against the kitchen counter, his fingers curling tightly around the edge as a sharp pang coursed through his torso. His chest rose and fell in labored breaths as he waited for it to pass. It wasn’t as bad as it had been the first few weeks after he was released from the hospital, but it was enough to remind him that his body wasn’t entirely his own anymore.

The new treatment, as Dr. Grey had called it, had definitely saved him some time. That much was true. But at what cost? He had nearly killed Grey the moment he learned the truth—his veins now carried the DNA of a Polar Wyrm, a wanderer that was known for its love of colder areas. He should have asked more questions, he knew that. But at the time, he hadn’t cared about the consequences. All that had mattered was staying alive, getting back on his feet. Back to you.

But staying alive didn’t feel like much of a victory when his body felt like this. Xavier had thought he would be stronger, faster, ready to take on Sylus and rescue you. Instead, he found himself struggling with the simplest of tasks, the phantom pain from his transformation a constant reminder that he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to fight Sylus. He wasn’t ready to protect you. And he hated himself for it.

Dr. Grey had specifically told him that it would take a bit to "adjust" to his new body and that the pain in his bones would stop. The pain seemed never ending though.

He exhaled slowly, wiping a hand over his face as he straightened up. His eyes drifted to the corner of the living room where the boxes sat. Your boxes. He had finally gotten hold of them a few weeks ago after the landlord cleared out your apartment. The sight of them, stacked and untouched, made his chest tighten every time he looked at them. It was like having a piece of you here, a small reminder of the life you’d left behind.

He moved toward them now, his fingers brushing over the lid of the nearest box before he pulled it open. He wasn’t proud of himself for this—rifling through your things like some desperate, lovesick fool—but he couldn’t help it. It was the closest he could get to you right now. Inside, he found books, random trinkets, and clothes. Some were clean, neatly folded as though you’d packed them with care. Others…weren’t.

His face heated as he pulled out one of your shirts, the fabric soft but faintly wrinkled. It wasn’t clean. The scent of you still lingered faintly on it, a mix of your shampoo and something uniquely you. It was embarrassing, the way he held it to his face for just a moment, inhaling deeply as if he could somehow hold onto your essence. It made him feel pathetic. But it also made him feel closer to you.

His fists clenched around the fabric, his jaw tightening as he thought about you. About the life you were living now, trapped under Sylus’s control. You deserved better. You deserved freedom. And he…he wasn’t ready to give it to you. Not yet. He hoped he wasn't running out of time

Not until I can make this pain stop, he thought bitterly, tossing the shirt back into the box and shutting it firmly. Dr. Grey had assured him that he wouldn’t turn into a Polar Wyrm—that he had simply harvested its power, not its form—but that did little to comfort him. His body was stronger, yes, but it felt foreign. The pain and unpredictability of it left him feeling more like a stranger in his own skin than the man he once was. He’d deal with Grey later. Right now, his focus was on you.

Xavier rubbed his temple, trying to push the frustration away as he made his way toward the door. He needed air. He needed to clear his head. The suffocating weight of his thoughts was too much to bear indoors.

The morning air was crisp, cool against his skin as he stepped outside. He didn’t go far, just to the steps of the building. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to let him breathe. His thoughts were consumed by plans to rescue you, even though he didn’t have all the pieces yet. How could he, when his own body betrayed him?

He was about to head back inside when something caught his attention. A single door down, near your old apartment, there were boxes sitting outside. Open boxes. His heart clenched painfully as he stared at them. Was someone moving into your place already? His mind raced with memories of you in that apartment, your laugh, your smile, the way you had asked him how the locks worked the day you moved in. You had been shy, your voice soft as you spoke to him, but your eyes had held a spark of curiosity that had drawn him in. That spark was what he missed most.

It had been early evening, the warm glow of the setting sun casting long shadows across the hallway. He was heading out to grab dinner when he saw you standing outside your door, a box perched precariously in your arms. You looked so unsure of yourself, your brows furrowed in concentration as you shifted the weight of the box from one hip to the other.

“Uh, excuse me,” you called out, your voice soft, almost hesitant. He turned toward you, pausing mid-step. “Do you know how the locks on these doors work?”

He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. There was something endearing about the way you asked, as if you were afraid he might ignore you or brush you off. He walked over, gesturing for you to hand him the box. “Here,” he said easily, taking it from your hands and setting it down beside the door. “What’s the problem? Fingerprint not working?”

You hesitated, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you fumbled with the key in your hand. “Fingerprints...?,” you asked. “ Then what's this key they gave me? I just moved in, and I think I’m doing it wrong or something. There's no keyhole...”

He raised an eyebrow, crouching slightly to inspect the lock. “Well, first off, these locks aren't unlocked by keys . They should've had you register your fingerprint at the front desk, yeah? Like this.” He gently grabbed your hand and pushed your finger against the pad, and the door clicked open after a few seconds.

Your eyes lit up, relief washing over your face as you offered him a grateful smile. “Oh, thank you! I was wondering why they wanted my fingerprint. The landlord didn't explain much, he seemed to be in a rush. I thought I was going to have to call him and look like a complete idiot.”

He chuckled, standing up and leaning casually against the doorframe. “Oh, you’re good. That physical key is probably for your mailbox. They haven't updated those yet. You’re new here?”

You nodded, fidgeting with your hands as you shifted awkwardly under his gaze. “Yeah, just moved in today. Sorry to bother you.”

“It’s no bother,” he said, waving you off. “Welcome to the building. Your a new hunter right?”

You blinked, surprised. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Lucky guess,” he replied with a small smirk. “But most people that move here are hunters surprisingly.”

You laughed softly, a sound that stuck with him even now. “I guess so. It’s…nice. Its a lot different from my last place.”

“Change is good,” he said lightly. “New experiences and whatnot.”

You smiled again, this time a little more freely, and he felt something stir in his chest. He didn’t know what it was then, but it was enough to make him linger a little longer than he should have.

“Well, thanks again,” you said, your voice softer now as you glanced down at the floor. “I appreciate the help.”

“No problem,” he said, stepping back into the hallway. “If you need anything, I’m in 3A. Right next to you.”

Your eyes darted up to meet his, a flicker of surprise and something else passing through them. “Oh your so close! Okay. Thanks.”

He gave you one last nod before heading out, but the memory of your shy smile stayed with him long after he walked away.

Xavier opened his eyes, the flashback fading as his gaze returned to the boxes outside your old apartment. That shy, uncertain version of you felt so far away now. He couldn’t even imagine what you must be like after everything Sylus had put you through.

His jaw tightened, and his hands curled into fists at his sides. He had to get you back. Not just to free you from Sylus, but to bring back the person you were. The person who had asked him about the locks, who had laughed and smiled softly when he teased you. That person was still in there, somewhere. He had to believe that.

The sound of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts, and he turned to see a red-haired woman climbing the stairs. She was talking loudly on her phone, her voice grating against his already frayed nerves. She was carrying a small bag, her free hand gesturing animatedly as she laughed at something the person on the other end said.

When she spotted him, she stopped abruptly. Her laughter faded, and she quickly ended the call, slipping her phone into her pocket as she flashed him a bright, practiced smile.

“Well, hello there,” she said, her voice syrupy sweet as her eyes roamed over him. “Didn’t realize this place had such…interesting company.”

Xavier’s expression didn’t change, his jaw tightening as he stared at her. He didn’t want this conversation. He didn’t want anything from her.

“You got a name, handsome?” she asked, tilting her head as she took a step closer.

“Xavier,” he said flatly, his voice curt. He regretted giving her his name the moment it left his mouth.

“Xavier,” she repeated, as if savoring the sound. “Well, Xavier, if you’re ever looking for company…” She paused, her lips curving into a smirk. “You know where to find me.”

She winked before slipping into the apartment, leaving the door slightly ajar. He stared after her for a moment, a heavy sigh escaping him as he shook his head. She was nothing like you. Her flirtation felt hollow, forced, and it only served to make him miss you more.

He lingered in the hallway for a moment longer, his thoughts drifting back to the day you moved in. He could still see the way you looked up at him, your nervous smile and wide eyes. The way you had laughed, soft and genuine, like you couldn’t help yourself. It pained him that your apartment would be tainted by someone else's presence. That memory was all he had left, and he clung to it with everything he had.

One day, he promised himself. One day, he’d bring you back. And he’d do whatever it took to make that happen.

The world was moving on without you. But he wouldn't.

The pain was unbearable today. It came in sharp, stabbing bursts, radiating from deep within his chest and spreading outward like wildfire. Xavier sat on the edge of his bed, gripping the edge of the mattress so hard his knuckles turned white. Sweat dripped down his brow, his jaw clenched tightly to keep from crying out. The only sound in the room was his ragged breathing, each inhale and exhale a fight against the searing heat that pulsed through his veins.

It felt like his body was rebelling against him, and in a way, it was. The Polar Wyrm DNA wasn’t something meant to mix with human DNA obviously. Even now, months after the treatment, his cells still felt like they were at war. Every new surge of strength came with an equally crushing wave of pain, a reminder that his transformation was far from complete.

He reached for his phone on the nightstand, his trembling fingers barely managing to swipe it open before dialing Dr. Grey. The screen reflected his strained expression, the dark circles under his eyes a testament to how little sleep he’d been getting.

The call connected, and Grey’s calm, collected voice came through the speaker. “Xavier. I assume this isn’t a social call.”

“No,” Xavier bit out, his voice tight. “I’m about ready to rip my own skin off, Grey. This pain is unbearable. What the hell did you do to me?”

There was a pause on the other end, the kind that made Xavier’s temper flare. Finally, Grey sighed, as if the question were an inconvenience. “I told you the process would be…difficult. Your body is adapting to something it was never meant to handle. The Polar Wyrm DNA is powerful, yes, but it’s also volatile. I warned you about this.”

“You didn’t warn me enough...” Xavier snapped, his voice rising. He forced himself to take a deep breath, his free hand pressing against his chest as he tried to will the pain away. “You said this would make me stronger, that it would save me. You didn’t say I’d be stuck like this—half-dead and useless.”

“You’re not useless,” Grey replied, his tone maddeningly even. “Far from it. In fact, I suspect your body is on the verge of a breakthrough. The Polar Wyrm DNA wasn’t meant to stand alone—it’s integrating with your existing Evol. Tell me, have you noticed any changes in your abilities?”

Xavier hesitated, his brow furrowing. “What kind of changes?”

“Your Evol,” Grey said, his voice almost eager now. “It should be manifesting differently. Stronger. Purified. You’re no longer just a light wielder, Xavier. You’re becoming something more.”

“I don’t want to be ‘something more,’” Xavier growled. “I want to be me. I'm running out of time”

“You will,” Grey said simply. “But first, you need to understand what you’re capable of. Push yourself, Xavier. Test the limits of your new body. You might be surprised by what you find.”

The call ended abruptly, leaving Xavier gripping the phone in frustration. He wanted to throw it across the room, to hear it shatter into pieces, but he didn’t. Instead, he shoved it into his pocket and grabbed his jacket. If Grey wanted him to push himself, fine. He’d push.

The forest was quiet, save for the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. Xavier stood in the clearing, his hands clenched at his sides as he surveyed the trees around him. He could feel the power thrumming beneath his skin, a faint hum of energy that hadn’t been there before. His Evol used to be simple—a steady, golden glow that he could call upon at will. But now, it felt different. Sharper. Colder.

He exhaled slowly, letting his hand rise as he focused on summoning the energy. At first, it was familiar—the faint flicker of light forming in his palm. But as he concentrated, the color shifted. The warm gold faded into a brilliant, icy blue, and the light crackled with a crystalline texture that sent chills up his arm.

“What the hell…” he murmured, staring at the transformation.

The energy didn’t feel like his own. It was foreign, raw, and powerful in a way that made him uneasy. It begged to be released, pulsing and growing in intensity until he could barely hold it back. Gritting his teeth, he turned toward a nearby tree and hurled the energy forward.

The impact was devastating. The light struck the trunk with a deafening crack, and in an instant, the tree split in half, shards of wood scattering in all directions. Xavier staggered back, his eyes wide as he watched the crystalline residue from the blast spread like frost across the shattered bark.

He barely had time to process what had happened before a sharp pain shot through his arm. He looked down and froze. Small, translucent crystals were emerging from his skin, shimmering with the same blue light as his Evol. They jutted out like jagged shards of ice, and for a moment, panic gripped him.

“What is this...” he whispered, trying to shake them off, but they didn’t budge.

The pain intensified, radiating through his arm and into his chest. He fell to his knees, clutching his side as he struggled to breathe. His body felt like it was breaking apart, the power within him threatening to consume him entirely. But as the pain reached its peak, it suddenly stopped.

Xavier looked up, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The crystals had receded, melting back into his skin as if they’d never been there. His hands trembled as he stared at them, his mind racing with questions he couldn’t answer.

This wasn’t just his Evol anymore. It was something else. Something new.

Xavier leaned back against a nearby tree, his legs too shaky to support him. He closed his eyes, the events of the last few minutes replaying in his mind. Grey had been right—his body was changing, evolving into something he didn’t fully understand. The power was incredible, yes, but it came at a cost. He could still feel the residue of pain lingering beneath the surface, a reminder that his transformation wasn’t complete.

And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. About how this power might be the key to saving you. He clenched his fists, his resolve hardening as he stared at the broken tree in front of him.

“I don’t care what it takes,” he muttered, his voice low but steady. “I’ll figure this out. I’ll get stronger. And I’ll save you.”

The icy blue light flickered faintly around his hand as he spoke, a promise made to himself and to you. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

And so, Xavier had begun training his body, determined to push past the limits of the pain that still gripped him. Every day was a battle—against his own weakness, against the lingering effects of the Polar Wyrm DNA, against the gnawing guilt that he wasn’t moving fast enough to save you. But he fought anyway. His mornings were spent stretching and testing his endurance, forcing his muscles to adapt to the power coursing through his veins. The afternoons were for testing his abilities, honing the blue energy that had taken over his Evol.

He found himself venturing farther from home with each passing day, seeking the quiet isolation of the wilderness where he could unleash his new powers without fear of prying eyes. The first time he used them against something alive, it had been a wanderer—a lanky, glowing wolf-like creature prowling the edges of the forest. The beast had lunged at him, its teeth bared, but Xavier had met it head-on.

The icy blue energy exploded from his hands, crackling through the air before freezing the creature mid-leap. Crystals formed along its body, spreading rapidly until it shattered into a thousand glittering shards. Xavier had stood there, breathing heavily, staring at the destruction he’d wrought. It was…exhilarating. But it also felt strange, alien.

Every encounter after that had been the same. He tested his powers on other wanderers, creatures that roamed too close to civilization. Each time, his control over the energy grew stronger. He learned to summon it faster, to shape it, to pull it back before it overwhelmed him. But the pain never left. It lingered, like a shadow over every victory.

In the evenings, when exhaustion overtook him, he would sit on his couch and stare at the boxes of your belongings. Sometimes he would sift through them, searching for something that would spark a new memory of you. Other times, he’d simply sit there, his hands gripping his knees, the silence broken only by his ragged breaths.

Captain Jenna had been calling regularly, her voice crisp and no-nonsense on the other end of the line. “Xavier, I need an update,” she’d say, her tone brooking no argument. “When can we expect you back on duty?”

He’d stall, his answers carefully crafted lies wrapped in enough truth to be believable. “Still working on my recovery,” he’d tell her, his voice strained just enough to sell it. “The pain’s manageable, but I’m not at full strength yet.”

It wasn’t entirely false. The pain was still there, and he wasn’t ready to return to work. But that wasn’t the whole reason he was avoiding her. The truth was, he couldn’t afford to split his focus. His new body, his abilities, and his plans to save you—they demanded his full attention. Work could wait. You couldn’t.

Jenna wasn’t easily fooled. He could hear the skepticism in her voice every time she called, the way her words lingered just a little too long. “I assume your following all medical directions and resting, Xavier?” she asked once, her tone sharp.

“Of course,” he’d replied quickly, his jaw tightening. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

That seemed to placate her—for now. But he knew it wouldn’t last. Eventually, she’d come looking for him, demanding answers he wasn’t ready to give.

His savings were dwindling, a fact that gnawed at the back of his mind like an ever-present worry. He couldn’t avoid work forever. The money he had left was barely enough to cover his basic needs, let alone the resources he would need to take care of you when you were back. But he shoved those thoughts aside, focusing instead on his training. Every time he felt doubt creep in, he thought of you—of your smile, your laugh, the way you used to look at him with trust in your eyes. That memory kept him going.

One night, after an especially grueling session in the woods, Xavier sat on the floor of his apartment, his back against the couch as he stared at his hands. They were still trembling, the blue light faintly flickering at his fingertips. The power was growing, becoming something he could feel in every cell of his body. But with that power came responsibility—responsibility to wield it carefully, to not let it consume him.

His gaze drifted to the boxes of your belongings, and his chest tightened. He couldn’t afford to fail. Not when so much was at stake. Not when you were still out there, waiting for someone to save you. He thought about the day you moved in again, the shy way you’d asked him about the locks, the small laugh you’d shared when he joked about the apartment.

The crystals flickered along his hands again, a reminder of what he was becoming. He clenched his fists, determination hardening in his chest. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Xavier stood in the middle of the forest at dawn, his body covered in a faint sheen of sweat, his muscles aching but his resolve unshaken. He takes one last deep breath, summoning the blue light in his hands, and releases it with a force that splits another tree in half. The icy shards glitter in the early morning sun, a symbol of the strength he’s gaining.

Xavier looks at his hands, then toward the horizon, where he imagines you waiting. His jaw tightens, and he mutters under his breath, “I’m almost ready.”

With that, he turns back toward the path home, the faint sound of breaking branches and scattered ice lingering in the air behind him.

Was it possible to be tired of being tired?

Every part of you ached—your back, your feet, your shoulders—and your belly, now enormous at 29 weeks, made everything harder. Sitting, standing, walking—it all felt like a monumental effort. Even breathing sometimes felt like too much.

You couldn’t help but think that Sylus had known exactly what he was doing when he got you pregnant.

It was a cruel, insidious kind of strategy, really. The further along you got, the more your body betrayed you. The more energy it siphoned away, the less fight you had to offer. Anger took energy, resistance took energy, even sharp words took energy—and you had none of it to spare anymore.

Not when your legs felt like they were weighted down with bricks. Not when your back screamed in protest every time you tried to stand for more than a few minutes. Not when your daughter’s relentless kicks and movements left you exhausted even as they filled you with a strange, bittersweet pride.

You had stopped fighting him long ago. The sharp words that once came so easily to your lips now stayed locked behind your teeth. The glares and icy silences were fewer, replaced by a hollow, bone-deep exhaustion that dulled every edge you once had. You hated it. You hated how compliant you felt on some level. But what choice did you have?

Sylus, of course, noticed the change. He always noticed. And while he didn’t comment on it directly, you could see it in the way his touches lingered a little longer, the way his hands found your belly more often now. He wasn’t as careful about hiding his intentions anymore, not when you barely had the strength to push him away.

His advances had become bolder, his touches more insistent. A hand on your hip as he guided you to sit down. A kiss pressed to your neck when he helped you get dressed. And you…you didn’t stop him. You didn’t encourage him, either, but you didn’t stop him. Because that, too, would take energy you simply didn’t have.

You sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the floor as your hands rested on your belly. The fabric of your shirt stretched tightly across your bump, the fabric pulling uncomfortably as your daughter shifted inside you. She was active tonight, her movements sharp and frequent, as if she was protesting the same exhaustion you felt.

“Alright, alright,” you murmured softly, rubbing slow circles over your belly. “I get it, you’re not happy. Join the club, kiddo.”

Your words were quiet, spoken more to yourself than to her, but they still made you feel marginally better. At least she was growing, thriving, even if it felt like she was slowly taking every ounce of strength you had left.

Sylus entered the room a moment later, his footsteps soft but deliberate. You didn’t have to look up to know it was him. You could feel his presence, heavy and ever-watchful, as he came to stand beside you.

“Here,” he said, holding out a glass of water. His crimson eyes scanned you with a mix of concern and something deeper—something you didn’t want to name.

A moment of deja vu hits you like a brick. When you had first arrived, frantic, desperate for a way out. He had poisoned your water with god knows what. Handed it to you exactly the way he was doing now.

You don't even recognize that version of yourself anymore.

You took the glass without a word, your fingers brushing against his as you did. His hand lingered for a moment longer than necessary before he stepped back, leaning casually against the dresser as he watched you drink.

“You can rest more, honey,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “You don't need to be up every single day.”

A sharp retort hovered on the edge of your tongue, but you swallowed it down, too tired to argue. Instead, you set the glass down on the nightstand and leaned back against the headboard, your hands still cradling your belly.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, though you didn’t sound convincing even to yourself. "I'm pregnant, not made of glass."

Sylus raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his hand finding your belly like it always did. The touch was warm, steady, and uninvited—but you didn’t have the energy to push it away.

“She’s very strong,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over the curve of your bump. “She takes after you in that regard.”

You scoffed, your lips twisting into a bitter smile. “Don’t flatter me. I feel like a beached whale, not some warrior goddess.”

Sylus chuckled, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles. “You’re just tired,” he said simply. “That doesn’t make you any less strong.”

You didn’t respond, but his words lingered in the air between you. You didn’t feel strong. You felt trapped, worn down by the weight of your circumstances and the life growing inside you. But you couldn’t deny that his touch, his presence, made it harder to hold onto the anger you’d once felt so fiercely.

Maybe that was the most dangerous thing of all. How easy it was to let yourself lean into his care, to let yourself forget—if only for a moment—how you’d ended up here in the first place.

As Sylus continued to stroke your belly, his touch steady and unwavering, you closed your eyes and let out a long, shaky breath. For now, you were too tired to think about what you’d lost. Too tired to plan your next move. All you could do was survive, one exhausting day at a time.

Sylus helped you ease back down onto the bed, his hands firm but careful as he guided you. He didn’t let you move too quickly, didn’t let you settle until he was sure you were comfortable. His touch, while gentle, was unrelenting. You couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been hovering nearby, ensuring you didn’t strain yourself or move in a way that might upset the fragile balance of your body at this stage.

Once you were lying back against the pillows, he joined you, sliding onto the bed with an ease that contrasted your slow, lumbering movements. He curled up beside you, his arm wrapping around your swollen belly, and for a moment, there was peace. The warmth of his body against yours, the slow rhythm of his breathing—it was almost soothing, even though you didn’t want to admit it.

But then his lips found your skin.

It started with small kisses, pressed lightly against your temple, your cheek, the corner of your jaw. They were soft, almost hesitant, as if testing your reaction. You tensed slightly at first, but the exhaustion coursing through your body made it hard to resist. His lips moved to the curve of your neck, lingering there, and you shivered as his breath brushed against your skin.

“Sylus,” you muttered, your voice low and weak. You didn’t know if it was meant to be a warning or just an acknowledgment of what you both knew was coming.

The kisses deepened, his lips pressing harder against your neck, his hand sliding over your belly in slow, deliberate strokes. You felt your body reacting before your mind could catch up—the way your pulse quickened, the way your skin seemed to come alive under his touch. It infuriated you, this instinctive response to him, this betrayal of your own conflicted feelings.

He moved with purpose now, his kisses trailing lower, across your collarbone, down the exposed skin of your chest. You didn’t stop him. You never stopped him. What was the point? He always seemed to get what he wanted, and you were too tired—too heavy, too drained—to put up much of a fight.

And besides, a dark, shameful part of you didn’t want to fight him. As much as you hated to admit it, deep down, your body craved his touch now. It was as if your body had betrayed you completely, giving in to him even when your mind screamed not to.

Sylus’s lips found yours, and the kiss was different now—deeper, hungrier. His hand cupped your face, tilting your head slightly to give him better access as he claimed your mouth. You let him, your lips moving against his with a practiced ease that you hated yourself for. His hunger for you seemed boundless, and as much as you wanted to deny it, some part of you responded to that hunger.

Still, you found the strength to place a hand on his chest, gently pushing him back. “Not today,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. “I’m tired.”

Sylus paused, his crimson eyes searching yours for a moment. Then, a slow, knowing smile spread across his lips. He leaned down, brushing his lips against your ear as he whispered, “Then let me do all the work.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but his hand slid lower, resting just above the swell of your belly, and his words made your breath hitch.

“I just want to taste you,” he said softly, his voice low and sinful. His lips brushed against the shell of your ear as he continued, “You’re my favorite flavor, kitten.”

Heat rose to your face, your cheeks burning at the sheer audacity of his words. You hated how easily he could fluster you, how his voice alone could send a wave of heat rushing through your body. His words were deliberate, designed to break down any resistance you might have had, and you hated how well they worked.

You closed your eyes, willing yourself to remain calm, to push past the fog of desire clouding your mind. “Sylus…” you started, your voice trailing off as his hand moved lower, his lips finding your neck again.

There was no denying what he wanted. No denying the way his body pressed against yours, his movements slow but insistent. And as much as you wanted to push him away, to reclaim some semblance of control, you knew you wouldn’t. Because even now, even with every fiber of your being screaming at you to stop him, a part of you craved this. Craved him.

Pregnancy had taken its toll on you in every way possible. Your body was getting harder to control—with your daughter growing inside you, with Sylus constantly hovering, touching, claiming. And as much as you hated it, you couldn’t stop it. Because deep down, you weren’t sure you even wanted to.

With a gentle yet commanding touch, he parted your thighs, exposing your most intimate core, already glistening with anticipation.

"Just relax," he whispered, his voice a soothing contrast to the raw hunger in his eyes. You watch as he removes your underwear swiftly, as if its an obstacle standing in the way of his prize.

His hands, skilled and reverent, caressed your inner thighs, his touch light and teasing, sending sparks of sensation through your body. You shivered, your breath coming in short gasps as he leaned forward, his breath warm against your sensitive skin.

Then, with deliberate slowness, he lowered his head, his tongue tracing a path from your inner thigh to the heart of your desire. His first touch was a gentle stroke, his tongue gliding along your folds, eliciting a soft moan from your lips.

"Hgnnn..." you breathed, your body arching into his touch, unable to deny the pleasure he so effortlessly evoked.

His tongue, long and talented, began to work its magic, circling your clitoris with exquisite precision, sending waves of pleasure radiating through your core. He was relentless, his technique honed to perfection, pushing you to the brink of ecstasy in an instant. "Stop...it's too much..." you panted, your voice laced with a mixture of pleasure and disbelief.

Sylus's response was to increase the pressure, his tongue firm yet gentle, sending you spiraling into a vortex of sensation. Your body trembled, your juices flowing freely, a testament to the pleasure he was delivering. He lapped at your essence, his moans of appreciation mingling with your cries of delight.

"You taste so sweet," he murmured, his voice strained.

His fingers joined the dance, teasing and probing, as his tongue continued its rhythmic assault on your clitoris. Your body was a live wire, every touch, every lick, pushing you closer to the precipice of pleasure. You clenched, your muscles tightening around his fingers, as he found that sweet spot within you.

"Oh, god..." you cried out, your body arching off the bed , your hands gripping the blanket as you surrendered to the climax he had orchestrated.

Sylus continued his attentive ministrations, riding the waves of your orgasm, his tongue and fingers working in harmony to prolong your pleasure. As the tremors subsided, he slowly withdrew, his lips and fingers leaving you feeling sated and boneless.

Your mind felt foggy, sluggish, as though it was shutting down one piece at a time. Thoughts that would normally race through your head in an endless loop were distant now, fading into a dull hum that you couldn’t focus on if you tried. You barely registered the gentle weight of Sylus’s hands on your skin as he cleaned and redressed you, his touch careful and practiced. It was a routine he’d done many times before, but tonight, you didn’t even have the strength to feel self-conscious about it.

As the haze of exhaustion began to settle over you, a thought surfaced unbidden, cutting through the fog like a sharp blade. It was random, yet it felt heavy, carrying more weight than you expected. Your voice, soft and strained, broke the silence.

“Sylus…” you murmured, your eyes barely open as you stared at the ceiling. “Are we really going to raise a baby that will never see the sun?”

Your question hung in the air, unanswered for a moment. You felt Sylus pause, his hand stilling on your arm as he processed your words. The quiet stretched, and for a brief second, you thought he might ignore you. But then he shifted, his crimson eyes meeting yours, thoughtful and searching.

Before he could respond, the words tumbled out of your mouth again, unfiltered and raw. “I was thinking…I’d really like to raise her somewhere other than the N109 Zone. I’ve seen what’s out there. It’s no place to raise a baby.”

You weren’t even sure why you were bringing it up now, of all times. Maybe it was the exhaustion loosening your tongue, or maybe it was the way your daughter had been moving all day, a reminder of her presence and the life she would inherit. Whatever it was, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying it, even though you knew it was foolish. Pointless.

Sylus tilted his head slightly, watching you with an unreadable expression. His lips curved into a faint smile, but his eyes remained thoughtful. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice low and even.

You nodded weakly, your hand drifting to your belly as if to shield your daughter from the life she hadn’t even entered yet. The idea of her growing up in the same walls that had confined you for almost a year now made your chest ache. She deserved better than this. Better than you.

Better than him.

Sylus didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head with a tenderness that felt almost mocking given the weight of your words. “Sleep,” he murmured, his voice soft and firm at the same time. “We can talk about it another time.”

Of course, he avoided the conversation. He always did when it was something that mattered. And you were too tired to push him, too drained to argue. But the ache in your chest didn’t go away. Your daughter would grow up in this place, just as trapped as you were. She would never see the sun, never feel real fresh air on her face. Her whole world would be the walls of this house, the reach of her father’s control.

Your heart broke for her, the pain sharp and piercing. You wanted to cry, to let the tears come and release the weight pressing down on you, but nothing happened. No tears came. Just an overwhelming heaviness, settling over you like a blanket you couldn’t throw off.

An innocent life. Trapped with you.

The thought stayed with you as you closed your eyes, your body finally surrendering to the exhaustion. Your breathing slowed, evening out as sleep claimed you, pulling you under into the dark where, for a little while, you could escape the ache in your chest and the questions that had no answers.

For once, you were grateful. Grateful that your body had betrayed you again, leaving you too tired to stir in your thoughts for long. Too tired to dwell on the tangled mess of feelings and resentments that usually plagued you. For a few blessed hours, there would be no fear, no anger, no guilt. Just silence.

A new day arose and you sat in one of the plush chairs in the library, your hands resting lightly on the swell of your belly. Across from you, Luke and Kieran were in a heated debate, their voices rising and falling as they gestured wildly at each other.

“I’m telling you, The Light Swordsman is leagues better than that drivel you suggested,” Luke argued, his tone dripping with mock disdain.

“Drivel?” Kieran scoffed, clutching a book to his chest as though it were sacred. “You’ve clearly never appreciated the depth of The Dragon's Tome. It’s a masterpiece. She liked it, didn’t you?” He turned to you, his expression hopeful.

You smiled softly, watching them bicker. “I liked them both,” you said diplomatically, earning groans from both of them.

“Oh, come on, that’s not an answer,” Luke teased, crossing his arms. “You’ve got to have a favorite.”

Before you could respond, Kieran cut in. “Clearly, it’s The Dragon's Tome. It’s got everything—romance, adventure, incredible world-building—”

Luke shrugged his shoulders dramatically. “Oh, please. It’s just overcomplicated nonsense masquerading as literature. The Light Swordsman has action, wit, and characters with actual personalities.”

You chuckled quietly at their antics, the sound almost surprising to your own ears. Moments like these felt rare, where the weight of your reality didn’t seem quite as suffocating. Sylus had left hours ago, saying he had “personal matters” to attend to, and for once, he hadn’t taken Luke, Kieran, or even Mephisto with him. The twins had stayed behind, their presence filling the large, empty house in a way that was oddly comforting.

The old you would have reveled in the chance to be alone, to bask in the quiet and the freedom of being unobserved. But now, being alone felt strange. Uneasy. Your whole life had become these people, this house, this new reality. And when they weren’t around, the silence was deafening. It struck you just how alone you truly were, how small your world had become.

Sometimes, in those moments of solitude, you found yourself talking to your daughter without even realizing it. Asking her how her day was, if she enjoyed breakfast as much as you did. She’d respond sometimes with a nudge or a kick, as though answering in her own way. It always made you smile, a fleeting comfort in the midst of everything else.

Your gaze drifted to Luke, and a thought tugged at the back of your mind. Over time, you’d noticed something about the twins. They weren’t avoiding you, but they seemed careful—deliberately keeping a certain distance from you, never standing too close. It wasn’t hard to guess why. Sylus. No doubt he’d warned them, made it clear that any perceived closeness with you could have consequences. The idea made your stomach twist. You briefly considered trying to make Sylus jealous, just to see how far you could push him, but you dismissed it just as quickly. He wouldn’t punish you—he’d punish them.

The sound of the library door opening broke through your thoughts. All three of you turned toward it as Sylus stepped inside, his presence immediately commanding attention. Luke and Kieran straightened instinctively, their argument forgotten.

“Out,” Sylus said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. The twins exchanged quick glances before nodding and leaving the room without a word.

Sylus crossed the room with measured steps, sitting down in the armchair adjacent to yours. He dropped a stack of glossy magazines onto the table between you, the covers catching the light. Confused, you tilted your head.

“What are these?” you asked, picking up the top magazine. The pages were filled with images of lavish penthouses—floor-to-ceiling windows, sprawling balconies, gleaming kitchens, and modern interiors that looked like they belonged in a dream rather than reality.

“Penthouses,” Sylus said casually. “Take a look.”

You flipped through the magazine, each page more opulent than the last. One property featured a rooftop garden with panoramic city views, another had a private pool overlooking a tranquil forest. The kitchens were decked out with state-of-the-art appliances, the bedrooms were expansive with plush furniture, and the bathrooms looked like they belonged in luxury spas.

“These are…” you trailed off, your eyes widening at the listed prices. They were astronomical—far beyond anything you’d ever imagined. “Why are you showing me this?”

Sylus leaned back in his chair, his expression calm. “Pick one,” he said simply. “I’ve already bought all of them, so you don’t necessarily have to rush. If you don’t like any of those, I’ll find more for you.”

You stared at him, your mind struggling to process his words. “You’ve…already bought them? All of them?”

He nodded, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “For you.”

The weight of what he was saying hit you like a tidal wave. These weren’t just expensive—they were beyond anything you could fathom. And he had purchased them for you. “I don’t—” you began, but he cut you off.

“You said you don’t want to raise her in the N109 Zone,” he explained, his voice measured. “These are located in various areas surrounding it. Not terribly far, but close enough. Once she’s born, I’ll move you both to whichever one you choose. I’ve already ensured the best schools are nearby each of them.”

You didn’t know what to say. You stared at him, then at the magazines, your heart pounding in your chest. This wasn’t freedom. This wasn’t some act of generosity. This was a larger prison, a gilded cage with more space to move but no less control.

The words tasted bitter as they formed in your mind. A larger prison for me and my daughter.

Your hands trembled slightly as you set the magazine down. You wanted to argue, to say this isn't what you meant, that it wasn’t what you wanted. But the exhaustion—the same exhaustion that had been eating away at you for months—kept your words locked in your throat.

Instead, you met his gaze and forced yourself to speak, your voice trembling. “Thank you.”

Sylus nodded, his crimson eyes steady as he said, “Of course.” His voice was calm, but the way he took a deep breath afterward made you think he was mulling something over. For a moment, you thought he might say nothing more, but then his gaze flickered to yours, a faint glimmer of thoughtfulness crossing his expression.

“You know…” he began, his voice softer now, “your birthday is coming up.”

The words hit you like a shockwave. Your birthday. How could you have forgotten? But then again, time had become such a blur in this place. The days bled into weeks, and the weeks into months, each one heavier than the last. You stared at him, stunned, as the realization sank in.

“Oh…right,” you murmured, your voice quiet. “It is nearing the end of September.”

Sylus gave a small nod, his lips curving into a faint, contemplative smile. He seemed to weigh his next words carefully, the silence stretching between you like a taut string. Finally, he spoke again, his tone as casual as if he were offering to fetch you a glass of water.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, leaning back slightly. “For your birthday…I’ll take you to Linkon. You can shop for the rest of the baby things you wanted. Consider it one of your many presents.”

For a second, you couldn’t breathe. You stared at him, your brain struggling to process what you’d just heard. He had to be joking. There was no way Sylus, the same man who kept you locked away for months, was offering to take you to Linkon—himself. Was this some kind of trick? Some twisted game to see how you’d react?

“What did you do with Sylus?” you asked finally, your tone half-joking, half-bewildered. “You can’t actually mean that.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “It’s no joke,” he assured you, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement. “I assume you already know there will be very little chance for any misbehaving.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. Of course not. You weren’t naïve enough to think he’d let his guard down completely. But the thought of even leaving this place, of setting foot in Linkon again, made your mind spin. Would this be your chance? Could you call for help? Could you escape? The fire that had been smothered for so long began to flicker again, a spark of defiance reigniting inside you.

“Right,” you said slowly, nodding as you tried to keep your voice steady. “I’m almost eight months pregnant, Sy. Can’t exactly run that well.” You offered a weak joke, your lips twitching into a small, nervous smile.

He smirked faintly, his gaze lingering on you as though he could see right through your attempt at humor. “Good,” he said simply. “Because this isn’t a gift I intend to regret.”

You nodded again, but inside, your thoughts were racing. This was it—your last chance, your only chance. If you were going to escape, it had to be then. You couldn’t waste it. For the first time in months, the possibility of freedom didn’t feel so far away.

You just had to make it count.

As the days crept closer to the 29th, the tension in the house became unbearable. Sylus seemed calm, but you could feel the undercurrent of his ever-present watchfulness. He wasn’t a man who left things to chance, and you knew better than to think he hadn’t already considered every possible outcome. The thought made your chest tighten.

And then there was the question you hadn’t dared voice aloud: Would you run into anyone you knew?

The idea sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through you. What if you saw someone from your old life? Someone who recognized you, who asked questions? Would Sylus allow it? Or would he shut it down and force you to leave?

The thought of seeing an old friend, of having to explain your situation—or worse, being unable to—made you want to curl up in a ball and hide. You couldn’t decide what was worse: the idea that they might not notice anything was wrong, or the possibility that they might.

By the night of the 28th, the anxiety had reached its peak. You barely touched your dinner, your stomach too unsettled to handle more than a few bites. Sylus noticed, of course, but he didn’t comment. He simply watched you with those red eyes of his, a faint smile playing at the edges of his lips, as though he could see straight through you. You expected him to push you to eat more, but surprisingly he didn't.

When you finally lay down that night, your body was trembling with exhaustion, but your mind refused to shut off. The possibilities, the questions, the sheer weight of what tomorrow might bring—it was all too much.

You pressed a hand to your belly, feeling the faint movements of your daughter beneath your palm. She could probably feel your beating heart and anxiety. “It’s going to be okay,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure if you believed it. “Its just one day.”

But as the hours ticked by and sleep continued to evade you, all you could think about was how close you were to finally leaving this place and how terrified you were of what might happen next. For the first time in your life you weren't excited for your birthday. It would be the first birthday spent without friends or family by your side. You wondered if anyone back home would even remember?

You didn't want to think about it anymore.

You woke up to the scent of something sweet wafting into the room, the faint clinking of a tray bringing you out of the haze of a restless sleep. You blinked groggily, your heart immediately racing as you registered the figure standing beside the bed. Sylus. His eyes gleamed with their usual intensity, but his expression was softened, almost…warm.

“Happy birthday honey” he said smoothly, his voice low as he set the tray down in front of you.

Your breath caught as you sat up, your body stiff and sluggish from the weight of pregnancy. On the tray was a spread of breakfast—fresh fruit, buttery croissants, and a glass of orange juice. A small card sat to the side, its edges gilded, your name written on it in his elegant script.

“Thank you, Sy” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as your heart thudded in your chest. His unexpected kindness always left you feeling unsteady, as if the ground beneath you could shift at any moment.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on you as you took a tentative bite of the food. The flavors melted on your tongue, but you barely tasted them, your mind spinning too fast to focus on anything else.

As you picked at the plate, Sylus leaned back slightly, his tone casual but laced with intent. “Have you made a decision on the new home yet? No rush, of course. But if you’ve chosen one, we could tour it after we leave Linkon.”

The question sent a fresh wave of tension coursing through you. He was so composed, so calm, as if this were just a normal conversation between a husband and wife. You swallowed hard, shaking your head as you placed the fork down carefully on the tray.

“I…I’m still thinking about it,” you said, forcing a small smile. “Thank you for giving me time.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he stood. “Of course. It’s your day, after all. No pressure.”

The way he said it, the deliberate gentleness in his tone, made your skin prickle. Sylus never did anything without purpose, and his kindness now felt like a carefully calculated move. Still, you nodded, your smile brittle as you finished the food mechanically. You didn’t care about the penthouses. You didn’t care about your birthday. All you cared about was getting to Linkon—and the faint, fragile hope that you might find a way to act once you were there.

After breakfast, Sylus helped you downstairs, his hand resting lightly on your back as you descended. The air in the house felt different—charged, expectant. You could feel it before you even reached the bottom step.

As you turned the corner into the living room, you were met with a loud shout. “Surprise!”

Luke and Kieran jumped out from behind the couch, grinning like fools as they threw handfuls of confetti into the air. One of them miscalculated and bumped into Sylus, who shot them a pointed look but didn’t say anything.

The living room was a kaleidoscope of color. Balloons of every shape and size floated along the ceiling, ribbons cascading down like waterfalls. The table was covered in a spread of snacks and a small cake with “Happy Birthday” written in elegant frosting.

You couldn’t help but laugh, a genuine sound breaking through the wall of tension in your chest. Their energy was infectious, and for a brief moment, you let yourself feel the joy they were so clearly trying to share.

“Happy birthday!” Luke said, thrusting a party hat in your direction with an exaggerated flourish. Kieran crossed his arms at the gesture, but his laugh betrayed his amusement.

“Thank you,” you said, your smile widening as you took the hat. You glanced around the room, taking in the decorations, the effort they’d put into all of this. It was overwhelming. Surreal. None of it felt real.

You moved through the motions, thanking them, laughing at their antics as they joked about how hard it had been to keep this a secret. But deep down, you felt detached, like you were watching it all unfold from a distance. The decorations, the laughter, the balloons—it was all a distraction. A beautiful illusion that only served to highlight how far removed you felt from yourself.

Sylus stood off to the side, watching with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His presence was a constant reminder, a tether that kept you from fully enjoying the moment. You weren’t free, no matter how brightly the balloons shone or how cute the decorations looked.

Your hands rested protectively on your belly, grounding you as you forced yourself to smile, to laugh, to nod along to the twins’ jokes. Inside, your thoughts churned.

All you cared about was Linkon.

Your mind raced with possibilities and plans, each one more fragile than the last. Could you slip away? Call for help? Find someone—anyone—who could get you out of this nightmare? The fire that had reignited in your chest burned brighter now, fueled by the proximity of what could be your only chance.

The morning already felt like a whirlwind, and the surprises weren’t over yet. Just as you thought things were calming down after the confetti and laughter with Luke and Kieran, one of Sylus’s chefs rounded the corner. The man was carrying an enormous, lavishly decorated cake, the kind you’d only seen in magazines or fancy restaurants. It was perfectly frosted, adorned with intricate details that looked almost too beautiful to eat, and crowned with lit candles that flickered softly in the light.

You stared, shocked at how he was managing to balance it all without toppling over. “A cake too?” you murmured, glancing at Sylus. “You spoil me, Sylus.”

He smiled faintly, his crimson eyes glinting as he motioned for the chef to set the cake down. “Only the best,” he said smoothly. “Light the candles.”

As the chef adjusted the candles, Luke suddenly piped up, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. “Should we sing happy birthday, boss?”

Kieran joined in immediately, clapping his hands together. “Yeah, yeah, let’s sing happy birthday!”

Before you could protest, the chef, Luke, Kieran—and even Sylus—started singing. The twins’ voices were loud and theatrical, the chef’s was surprisingly melodic, but Sylus…oh, Sylus sounded like a dying cow. His voice was deep and off-key, dragging the notes in a way that almost made you laugh.

You bit your lip to suppress the giggle bubbling up in your chest, but when you glanced at him, you saw he wasn’t embarrassed in the slightest. In fact, he looked…happy. Genuinely happy.

When the song ended, Sylus leaned closer, his voice low and deliberate. “Make a wish, honey.”

Your heart raced as you met his gaze, mustering the best smile you could. A wish. You turned back to the cake, the candles flickering before you. The moment felt surreal, almost dreamlike, as if you were standing on the precipice of something monumental.

You closed your eyes, your mind racing. I wish to see Xavier again, just once. I wish for my daughter to live as happily as she can, regardless of what's to come. I wish for some control of my life back—even if I can never truly escape this. The thoughts came unbidden, raw and desperate. They weren’t just wishes; they were your heart laid bare.

With a deep breath, you leaned forward and blew out the candles.

As the room filled with applause from the twins, Sylus motioned toward a towering pile of presents sitting near the table. Your eyes widened as you took in the sheer number of them, the boxes wrapped in elegant paper and tied with shimmering ribbons.

“I—I can’t possibly open all of these today,” you stammered, staring at the mountain of gifts. “I’ll get tired by the tenth one.”

Sylus chuckled, his amusement evident. “Alright. Pick a few to open now, and you can get to the rest when we return.”

When we return. His words echoed in your mind, sending a chill down your spine. You forced yourself to smile and nod, pushing the thought aside. There was no guarantee you’d be coming back. Not if you could help it.

You began opening the presents, each one revealing something more extravagant than the last. Designer bags, stunning pieces of jewelry, elegant outfits—items you’d once dreamed of owning but could never afford. You wanted to ask Sylus how he knew these were things you’d wanted, but you didn’t. Instead, you thanked him for each one, forcing a smile as the twins “oohed” and “ahhed” over the luxury of it all.

Eventually, you picked up a smaller box that Luke and Kieran eagerly pointed out as their gift. You opened it to reveal a gorgeous portrait of yourself, intricately drawn and framed. The detail was stunning—almost lifelike—and your breath caught as you stared at it.

“You guys didn’t tell me you could draw,” you said, your voice filled with genuine surprise. “This is gorgeous. Thank you.”

The twins beamed with pride, immediately launching into a playful argument about who had contributed more. “I did the shading!” Luke declared.

“ But I did the fine details!” Kieran countered.

You couldn’t help but laugh, their bickering easing some of the tension in your chest. For a moment, you let yourself enjoy the warmth of their gestures, even as the weight of the day pressed heavily on your mind.

Eventually, Sylus checked his watch and straightened. “We should get going,” he said, his tone calm but firm. Your heart skipped a beat as he ordered the twins to bring the car around to the front. This was it. It was happening. Linkon. You were going to Linkon.

Keeping your excitement carefully hidden, you excused yourself to go upstairs and change. Among the gifts Sylus had given you was a beautiful dress—simple yet elegant, with a cut that accommodated your growing belly. He’d even purchased it in two sizes, one for now and one for after the baby was born. The thoughtfulness of the gesture left you conflicted, but you didn’t dwell on it. Not now.

You slipped into the dress, smoothing the fabric over your bump as you caught your reflection in the mirror. For a brief moment, you almost didn’t recognize yourself. The woman staring back at you looked calm, composed. But beneath the surface, your heart raced with the weight of what lay ahead.

When you returned downstairs, Sylus was waiting by the door. His crimson eyes roamed over you, his lips curving into a small smile. “You look beautiful,” he said simply, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to smile as he guided you toward the car.

The drive began in tense silence, the sound of the engine and the faint murmur of the twins in the front seat filling the space. You stared out the window, your mind racing as the familiar streets of N109 Zone gave way to the outskirts of Linkon. Your heart pounded, anticipation and fear warring within you.

After a while, Sylus broke the silence. “I can understand how strange and…different this day must feel for you,” he said, his tone measured. “If you’re upset, you can tell me.”

You glanced at him, your pulse quickening. For a moment, you considered telling the truth, laying everything bare. But then you saw the faint tension in his jaw, the way his hands gripped his knees. Even Sylus, it seemed, was on edge today. You couldn’t risk it. Not now.

“Sure,” you said instead, keeping your voice light. “A little different. But you guys have done a great job making it special, regardless. Thank you.”

Your smile was genuine, though not for the reasons he’d think. You were grateful—not for the celebrations, but for the opportunity that lay ahead.

Sylus studied you for a moment, his expression softening. “I love you,” he said simply.

You nodded, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. “I know.”

And as the city skyline of Linkon came into view, you took a deep breath, bracing yourself for a whirlwind of emotions.

The first thing you felt was the sun.

Its warmth poured through the car windows, leaving trails of heat wherever it touched your skin. It felt like heaven, a balm for your soul after months spent in artificial light. The sensation was almost overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes, savoring the moment. But when you opened them again, the light was blinding, harsh after so long without it. You winced, squinting against the brightness.

Sylus noticed immediately. Without a word, his hand came up to turn your head gently away from the window, shielding your eyes from the light with his palm. The gesture was unexpectedly thoughtful, catching you off guard.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice soft.

He nodded, but you noticed him squinting too, his eyes narrowed against the sunlight. Was he sensitive to light? It made sense, you supposed, given the rare, striking red color of his irises. It was a strange thing to observe, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered what other vulnerabilities might lie beneath his controlled exterior.

The car came to a gentle stop, and you felt your heart begin to race. This was it. You were in Linkon. The opportunity you’d been waiting for was just outside that door, and yet, your chest tightened with a mix of fear and anticipation.

Sylus stepped out first, circling to your side and opening the door. His hand extended toward you, his gaze firm but steady. “Come along,” he said, his voice calm.

You hesitated for only a second before placing your hand in his. Maneuvering with your belly was a challenge on its own, and as you stepped out of the car, you couldn’t help but feel like a waddling penguin. The thought made your cheeks flush, but Sylus’s hand was steady as he guided you to your feet.

When you looked up, the sight of where you were hit you like a freight train. You were standing in the parking lot of one of Linkon’s largest shopping malls—Aurora Galleria. Its gleaming glass façade stretched high into the sky, reflecting the sunlight like a beacon. You’d been here countless times before, shopping with Tara or browsing aimlessly on weekends. The memories came flooding back, unbidden and bittersweet, making your throat tighten.

I never thought I’d be back here...like this.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away quickly, unwilling to let Sylus see. He shut the car door behind you, giving the twins some instructions you couldn’t quite hear. Then his attention turned back to you, his hand still holding yours.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice smooth but laced with an undercurrent of authority.

You nodded, not trusting your voice, and let him guide you toward the entrance. The tension between the two of you was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. Sylus’s hand squeezed yours slightly as you walked, the gesture clear even without words: Behave.

You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting as you stepped through the automatic doors into the cool, air-conditioned interior of the mall. It was a stark contrast to the warmth outside, but it did little to soothe the nerves coursing through you. The space was massive, bustling with people, their voices echoing faintly against the high ceilings. The familiar hum of life surrounded you, and for a moment, you felt dizzy, overwhelmed by how normal it all seemed.

And yet, nothing about this was normal. Not for you.

A child suddenly darted past you, nearly knocking you off balance. You gasped, your body instinctively tilting forward, but Sylus’s grip tightened immediately. His arm slipped around your waist, steadying you as you regained your footing.

“Careful,” he said, his tone low but firm.

You nodded, grateful for the support even as the weight of his presence made your chest tighten further.

“There’s quite a few baby-oriented stores on the first floor,” he continued, gesturing towards an area of the mall nearby. “This way.”

You followed him silently, letting him guide you. Every step felt heavier than the last, your mind racing as you scanned the faces of the people you passed. You tried to catch someone’s eye, hoping to silently signal that something was wrong, that you needed help. But no one looked your way for more than a second. Their gazes slid past you, uninterested and unaware.

Your heart sank. It was as if you were invisible. Already, you could feel your chances of escaping slipping through your fingers.

No. You can’t give up that easily.

The baby clothing store was bright and cheerful, filled with racks of tiny outfits in every color imaginable. The sales clerk, a woman with a bubbly demeanor, greeted you the moment you stepped inside.

“Welcome!” she said brightly, her voice warm and inviting. “Can I help you find anything today?”

Before you could respond, her eyes drifted to your belly, and her face lit up with a wide grin. “Congratulations! Boy or girl?”

The lump in your throat returned, but you managed to smile, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you. “It’s a girl. Thank you.”

“How lovely!” the clerk gushed. “Our entire back wall is dedicated to girl clothes, and we actually have a discount for currently expecting parents! Just find me when you’re ready to check out.”

You nodded politely, offering her another smile before turning your attention to the rows of clothing. Sylus was already scanning the racks with a critical eye, his hand still resting lightly on your back as if to remind you that he was there.

The nervous energy in your chest only grew as you moved through the store, your thoughts racing. What would you do if someone recognized you? If you saw Tara? Would you scream for help? Would Sylus drag you away before you could even finish the thought? You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, noting the calm, composed way he carried himself. He seemed utterly unbothered, as though this were just another mundane errand.

Meanwhile, every step you took felt like walking a tightrope. And with each passing moment, the weight of what you needed to do pressed heavier on your shoulders.

Don’t lose focus. Not yet.

The back wall was a dazzling display of baby clothes, neatly arranged by color and design. Soft whites, pastel blues, delicate pinks, even bold black and red outfits caught your eye as you scanned the racks. Each one was more adorable than the last, with tiny bows, frilly trims, or playful patterns. But as you reached out to pick up a red onesie adorned with a cute animal print, your attention snagged on the price tag.

“Fifty dollars…for one? Are these made out of the finest pure cotton or something?” you gasped, dropping the tag as if it had burned you. You stared at the onesie in disbelief. Who spends fifty dollars on a single piece of baby clothing?

A low chuckle from beside you made you whip your head around. Sylus, who had somehow secured a shopping basket without you noticing, reached out and picked up the onesie you’d dropped. Without a word, he tossed it into the basket with an air of nonchalance, the faintest smirk playing on his lips.

“Let me worry about the price, sweetie,” he said, his tone smooth and confident. “You can pick whatever you’d like.”

You scoffed inwardly, your irritation flaring. Oh, he’s so rich, you thought bitterly. How could I forget?

Something about the moment—the absurdity of standing in a baby store with Sylus, the fresh air of being out in public for the first time in months, or maybe just the hormonal rollercoaster you were riding—emboldened you. With a smirk tugging at your lips, you reached into the basket, pulled out the red onesie, and placed it back on the rack with exaggerated flair.

“That one is ugly,” you said, feigning disdain as you turned to face him. “Can’t have my daughter in unflattering colors.”

Sylus raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening as he leaned slightly toward you. There was a glint in his crimson eyes, a mix of amusement and intrigue as he seemed to catch onto your attitude. “Since when is red an unflattering color, sweetie?” he asked smoothly. “Does that mean you hate the majority of my wardrobe?”

A flash of irritation sparked inside you, and you crossed your arms, your expression defiant. “As a matter of fact, I do,” you shot back. “Would it kill you to change it up once in a while?”

He simply laughed, the sound rich and infuriatingly warm, as if you’d told him the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “Noted,” he said, his voice still laced with amusement. "I didn't realize I was in the presence of a fashion expert. I humbly apologize for liking the color red"

You scowled, turning back to the rack of clothes. Smug asshole. Your fingers brushed over the soft fabric of another onesie as your mind whirled. If he wanted to play this game, you could play it too.

With a sweet but pointed tone, you turned to him and said, “Actually, you’re right, Sylus. Red isn’t a bad color.” You paused, letting the moment linger before delivering the punchline. “In fact…why not get all of them? One of each color, every design, and in every size.”

For a brief moment, you thought you’d caught him off guard. But Sylus barely blinked. Instead, he turned on his heel, motioned to the cashier, and said casually, “Need these in every color, every design, and every size. The whole wall.”

The young woman’s eyes widened as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Y-yeah,” she stammered. “Let me get another employee to help me!” She disappeared into the back, leaving you standing there, your jaw clenched and your glare fixed on Sylus.

Of course, money wasn’t an obstacle for him. Nothing was. He didn’t even hesitate, as if the ridiculousness of buying an entire wall of baby clothes didn’t faze him in the slightest. You fumed silently, your mind racing for some sort of comeback, but the only thing you could think was, Fine. He’s carrying all those damn bags anyway.

Sylus turned back to you, his expression calm and self-satisfied, as if daring you to say something. You didn’t. Instead, you grabbed another onesie—this time a soft pastel blue—and tossed it into the basket with a defiant flick of your wrist. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, his smirk still firmly in place.

The sales clerk returned moments later with two other employees, each armed with empty baskets. They hurriedly began pulling clothes from the wall, their expressions a mix of awe and disbelief as they tried to keep up with Sylus’s order. He even instructed them to add some baby shoes in the mix.

You stood there, arms crossed, watching the spectacle unfold. It should have been amusing—absurd, even—but all you could feel was a simmering irritation and a growing sense of helplessness. No matter how much you tried to push back, Sylus always had the upper hand. He always won.

But not today. Today, you had a bigger game to play. Just needed the right moment.

Sylus stood at the counter, casually brandishing his sleek black card as the cashier rang up the final total. You didn’t miss the way her eyes widened when she saw it, her professional demeanor faltering for a moment before she recovered. No doubt she’d be gossiping with her coworkers the moment you left.

“Your total comes to $2,594,” the cashier announced with a polite smile, though her voice betrayed a hint of disbelief. "With the discount!"

Internally, you screamed. Over two and a half grand for baby clothes?! In no world, under any normal circumstances, would you ever spend that kind of money on onesies and tiny shoes. Yet here you were, watching Sylus swipe his card without hesitation, as if the amount were pocket change. You tried not to gape at him as he calmly took back the card and tucked it into his wallet.

When everything was bagged up—dozens of glossy shopping bags stacked high—you couldn’t help the small flicker of satisfaction that came with watching him carry them all himself. It was ridiculous how many bags there were, and seeing him juggling them with practiced ease gave you a petty sense of amusement.

As you both exited the store, Sylus turned to you, his crimson eyes sharp but calm. “You’re quiet,” he remarked, his voice laced with curiosity. “Are you hungry?”

You glanced at him, narrowing your eyes suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem to be in a bad mood,” he replied smoothly. “Food usually fixes it, so I’m asking.”

You internally cursed him. He wasn’t wrong. Despite the lavish breakfast he’d prepared for you earlier and the cake, your stomach was already growling. Being pregnant had turned you into a bottomless pit of cravings, and the aroma of freshly baked cookies wafting from the food court wasn’t helping.

Sylus noticed the way your eyes drifted toward the cookie stand and smirked knowingly. Without a word, he set down the bags in a neat pile and reached into his pocket, handing you his black card.

“Go on then,” he said, his tone almost indulgent. “You can use my card. I’ll be sitting over there.” He motioned to one of the tables in the food court, his expression calm and composed, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

You stared at the card in your hand, its surprising weight catching you off guard. It was cold and metallic, an unmistakable sign of wealth and exclusivity. No wonder the cashier had been so wide-eyed. This wasn’t a card anyone could get their hands on. It was one of a kind, a statement of power.

For a moment, you hesitated, your mind racing. Is this some kind of test? The thought made your palms sweat. Was he seeing if you’d try to slip away, or talk to someone? You glanced back at him, but his demeanor remained relaxed, his attention already turning to his phone.

You swallowed hard and waddled toward the cookie stand, your mouth watering as the scent of chocolate and sugar grew stronger. The worker greeted you cheerfully, her smile wide as she asked, “What can I get for you?”

You opened your mouth, tempted to blurt everything out—Help me. Please. I’m not here by choice. But as you looked at her, doubt crept in. Would she even believe you? And what would happen if Sylus noticed something was off? The thought of what he might do—both to you and the unsuspecting worker—froze the words in your throat.

Instead, you forced a smile and placed your order. “Two chocolate chip cookie sandwiches with chocolate icing in between, covered in sprinkles, please. And a lemonade.”

The worker beamed. “Great choice!”

You waited as she prepared your order, your heart pounding the entire time. When she handed over the cookies, you murmured a quick thanks before waddling back to Sylus, your hands trembling slightly around the black card.

But when you reached the table, something caught your attention immediately. The massive pile of shopping bags was gone.

“The bags, Sylus,” you said, your voice rising slightly in surprise. “Where did they go?”

He looked up from his phone, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “They didn’t disappear, honey,” he said smoothly. “They’re fine.”

You scowled, irritated by his cryptic response. “That’s not an answer. Where are they?”

His smile widened, clearly amused by your reaction. “Relax,” he said, his tone infuriatingly calm. “The twins are handling them.”

Of course. You should’ve known. Seeing him struggle with all those bags had been a small, satisfying victory, but naturally, Sylus always had a solution. And with Luke and Kieran undoubtedly running errands for him somewhere in the mall, he didn’t even have to lift a finger.

You grumbled under your breath, biting into one of the cookies as you sat down across from him. The sweetness melted on your tongue, momentarily distracting you from your irritation.

Sylus watched you carefully, his crimson eyes studying your expression. “Better?” he asked after a moment, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

You glared at him, still chewing, but didn’t answer. Smug bastard. But at least the cookie was good. He seemed willing to entertain your attitude at least.

The first sound that drew your attention was the screaming, sharp and frenzied. It rippled through the food court like a shockwave, followed by the unmistakable click-click-click of cameras.

“Rafayel!! Rafayel! Big fan, please sign my arm!” a voice shrieked, and you turned to look.

Sure enough, a mass of people had gathered near the escalators, chasing after a casually dressed man with striking purple hair. He wore a simple white shirt and white pants, his outfit at odds with the chaos surrounding him. Bodyguards flanked him, trying—and failing—to push the crowd back as phones were shoved in his face.

He looked exasperated, but his steps remained measured, even purposeful, as though he were used to this kind of attention. There was something familiar about him, his features tugging at the edges of your memory.

“Rafayel?” you murmured, tilting your head. “Like the artist?”

Sylus barely glanced at the scene, instead reaching up to dab the corner of your mouth with a napkin. The motion was practiced, intimate, and you let him do it without flinching, too engrossed in what was unfolding in front of you.

“What’s someone like him doing here?” you mumbled, your gaze fixed on the crowd.

Sylus smirked faintly. “There’s quite a bit of luxury stores here. Why wouldn’t someone like him shop here?”

His words made sense, but your focus was elsewhere. People were pressing closer to Rafayel, their hands clutching phones, holding them high to snap pictures. You could see the glint of screens flashing, and the realization struck you like a bolt of lightning. Phones. Phones meant access.

Your throat tightened, and you suddenly choked on a bite of your cookie. Coughing, you grabbed your lemonade and took a long sip, washing down the pain. Sylus’s gaze sharpened, his hand resting lightly on yours.

“You alright, kitten?” he asked, his tone calm but tinged with concern.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, brushing him off. But your mind was spinning. I need a phone. I need a way to use one without Sylus noticing. He was always watching, always close, his presence like a shadow you couldn’t escape.

But then your eyes drifted across the mall, landing on a nearby sign. Restrooms. The realization hit you like a burst of light. Of course. The bathroom. He couldn’t follow you in there. It was your one chance to slip away and ask someone—anyone—if you could borrow their phone. Maybe they’d let you call for help, or at the very least, send a message.

Sylus’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. “It’s rude to stare so hard, kitten. I can ask him for an autograph if you want,” he teased, though there was an unmistakable edge to his tone. Jealousy.

You turned back to him, startled. “Oh! No, I’m not a fan,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “It’s just crazy. I’ve never seen a celebrity up close before…”

You trailed off deliberately, your hand drifting to your belly as you feigned sudden discomfort. “Shit,” you muttered, clutching your side. “I’ve gotta pee. I drank my lemonade too fast.”

Sylus raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting to one of mild amusement. “You’re always rushing with your drinks,” he said, but his tone wasn’t dismissive. He leaned back slightly, motioning toward the restroom. “Go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

You nodded, forcing a small, sheepish smile as you rose from the table. Your heart pounded as you waddled toward the restrooms, trying to keep your steps measured and casual. Inside, the plan you’d been crafting felt both daring and fragile. It was risky, but it was your only shot.

Now or never, you thought, the weight of your decision pressing down on you as you reached the door and stepped inside.

The bathroom was bustling with activity—women waiting for stalls, washing their hands, chatting casually with one another. The sound of running water and faint laughter filled the air. Near the corner, a little girl clutched her mother’s dress tightly, her wide eyes fixated on you as you entered. You felt your cheeks flush under her innocent gaze, suddenly all too aware of your presence in the crowded space.

You stood there awkwardly, your heart pounding in your chest as you scanned the room. Each woman seemed like a possible lifeline, but also a potential risk. Who do I ask? Your palms were damp, and you clutched them together to steady your nerves. What’s the worst they could say? No?

But no wasn’t the answer you feared. It was the possibility that someone might call attention to you. Or worse, that Sylus might sense something was wrong and come storming in.

Finally, your eyes landed on a short, older woman near the sinks, typing away on her phone. Her graying hair was pulled into a neat bun, and her expression was sharp, preoccupied. She seemed approachable enough—or at least, not overtly intimidating. Summoning every ounce of courage, you took a deep breath and stepped toward her.

“Excuse me?” you said, your voice trembling slightly. She glanced up from her phone, her eyes narrowing as she took you in. “Can I…use your phone? I need to call someone.”

Her gaze shifted to your belly, and something flickered in her eyes—judgment? Disgust? Whatever it was, it made your stomach twist. You felt small under her scrutiny, like you had to defend yourself for daring to ask.

“Don’t you have a phone, dear? Where’s yours?” she asked, her tone edged with suspicion.

Your mind raced. You needed an excuse, something plausible but not overly detailed. Would she think you were crazy if you told her the truth—that you’d been kidnapped and were living under constant surveillance? Would she even believe you? Or worse, would Sylus somehow track her down later? You shivered at the thought, deciding quickly that it wasn’t worth involving an innocent bystander more than necessary.

“I…I’m so sorry,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “Mine’s dead. I just need to make a quick phone call. I'm really lost. I promise—it’ll only take a second.”

She sighed heavily, tapping something into her phone before holding it out to you. “Quickly, please,” she said. “My husband is waiting for me as well.”

Relief washed over you like a tidal wave. “Thank you,” you whispered, your hands shaking slightly as you took the phone.

This was it—your chance. Your mind scrambled as you opened the keypad. Who do I call? Police? It was a tempting thought, but the idea was quickly squashed by reality. Even if they arrested Sylus, what if they didn’t hold him? What if he slipped away and came back for you later, more prepared, more ruthless? You couldn’t risk it.

Captain Jenna? The thought flickered briefly, but you dismissed it. She might involve too many others, escalating the situation in ways you couldn’t control.

Your fingers hesitated over the keypad before a name settled firmly in your mind: Xavier.

You blinked a few times, steadying your breath as you began to enter the numbers. The phone rang once. Twice. The sound brought a flood of déjà vu, memories of the first time you’d escaped flashing through your mind. You were standing at a grimy phone booth back then, desperate and shaking, waiting for him to pick up. Just like now.

Finally, a familiar voice came through the line. “Ah, hello? I think you may have the wrong number,” the smooth, quiet tone said.

You nearly collapsed in tears at the sound of it. “Xavier…” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “It’s me. I don’t have a lot of time, an—”

You stopped abruptly, your heart seizing as you remembered the story you’d given the woman watching you. Her brow was already arched in suspicion. Stick to the story.

“It’s you...” Xavier’s voice shifted instantly, concern and excitement lacing his words. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

Your heart raced, but you forced yourself to sound calm, casual. “Honey,” you said, clenching your teeth as you plastered on a smile. “I need you to meet me at the shoe store near the fountain in the mall. It seems I’ve lost you, and my phone’s dead. Please hurry.”

“The mall?” His voice sharpened with urgency. “Which one? The big one? Aurora Galleria?”

“Yes,” you said quickly, your heart pounding even harder. “Please hurry.”

“I can be there in about twenty minutes, okay? Don’t go anywhere, please!” You could hear the sounds of him moving quickly, the faint click of a door unlocking in the background.

“Yes, honey. Love you too. Bye now,” you said, your voice soft but deliberate as you ended the call.

Handing the phone back to the woman, you gave her a sheepish smile. “Thank you so much,” you said. “Sorry for the trouble.”

She nodded curtly, taking her phone back and slipping it into her pocket. “Hope you find him,” she said, her tone neutral as she walked away.

You exhaled slowly, your pulse still racing as you turned toward the sinks. Twenty minutes. You had twenty minutes to keep everything together. To not draw Sylus’s suspicion. To not falter.

Steeling yourself, you walked out of the bathroom, forcing your breathing to steady as you returned to where Sylus waited.

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you forced your face to remain calm as you approached Sylus. He sat casually at the table, scrolling on his phone, the picture of ease. There wasn’t a single hint of suspicion in his expression as he glanced up at you.

“Any longer and I would’ve thought you’d fallen into the toilet,” he teased with a smirk, his crimson eyes flicking to yours.

You rolled your eyes at his joke, managing a small chuckle to play along. The enormous clock hanging on the wall of the mall caught your eye. Twenty minutes. That’s how long you had. You needed to keep him occupied, keep him unsuspecting until you could make another excuse to slip away.

“The baby still needs toys and such…” you said, your voice light and cheerful as you smiled at him. “Where could we shop for those?”

Sylus raised an eyebrow thoughtfully, his gaze scanning the nearby stores. His eyes landed on another child-oriented shop across the way on the third floor, its colorful displays practically spilling into the walkway. “She won’t need toys for a few months,” he said, his voice calm, “but it can’t hurt to stock up.”

“Great!” you replied, grabbing his hand and pretending to be excited. “Let’s go!”

He let you lead him, his fingers curling around yours as the two of you walked to the store. Inside, the next twenty minutes were a blur of colorful toys, tiny pacifiers, and shelves lined with bottles. You feigned enthusiasm, picking items off the racks and handing them to Sylus while your mind was consumed with the clock. You kept glancing at it from the corner of your eye, counting down the seconds.

Eventually, the twenty minutes passed. A quick glance at the store clock told you that Xavier was likely here—either in the parking lot or somewhere near the store by now. Your pulse quickened as you turned to Sylus. He was at the register, calmly paying for the mountain of baby items the two of you had collected.

Your eyes lingered on him. This man. The one who had stolen your entire life, twisted it beyond recognition. He had taken your mind, your body, your soul, leaving you a shadow of who you once were. You would never forget his face, not for as long as you lived.

Sylus finished the transaction and turned toward you, catching you off guard as he ruffled your hair affectionately. The gesture sent a strange shiver down your spine. “You’ve been staring an awful lot today,” he said, his tone amused. “Come along.”

You forced yourself to move, your legs feeling unsteady beneath you. As you walked toward the store’s entrance, you had to focus all your energy on keeping yourself from trembling. This is it. It’s now or never.

“Sylus,” you began, your voice wavering slightly but soft enough to pass as gratitude. “I really want to thank you for letting me experience shopping for her in person. I didn’t think you’d let me.”

His face softened, and for a fleeting moment, he smiled at you—warm, genuine, as if everything was normal. “Of course,” he said. “I know things haven’t always been easy between us. I really do think our daughter will change everything.”

He reached out and took one of the bags from your hand, his touch light but deliberate. “Where’s this coming from?” he teased, his smirk returning. “You were so mad at me earlier. It was cute.”

You faltered for a moment, caught off guard by his words, but quickly recovered. “Ah…” you said, clutching your belly as if on cue. “She’s on my bladder again. Sorry, Sy. Sucks the nearest bathroom is on the first floor.”

He nodded, his expression unreadable but calm. “Of course. I’ll make sure the bags don’t disappear this time.”

You gave him a sheepish smile and turned away, walking toward the escalator with steady steps. You didn’t look back, even though you could feel his eyes on you, burning into your back. Go. Just go. Goodbye, Sylus. See you never.

The ride down felt like the longest seconds of your life. Your thoughts swirled as you hit the bottom and turned the corner toward the bathrooms. You walked just far enough to make it look like you were heading inside, but when a surge of the crowd passed by, you turned abruptly, weaving yourself into the throng of people.

Go. Go. Faster. Don’t look back.

Your heart pounded in your chest, every beat echoing in your ears as you slipped through the sea of bodies. You turned another corner, your breath catching as the familiar shape of the mall’s fountain came into view. Relief and fear collided in your chest, pushing you forward.

Okay, the shoe store. Your eyes locked onto the display windows filled with polished shoes, your legs carrying you faster than you thought possible with your belly. You stepped into the store, scanning the small crowd.

And then you saw it—him.

Blond ash-colored hair, slightly broad shoulders, and piercing blue eyes. Xavier. He was standing near the back of the store, his posture rigid, his gaze scanning the area anxiously.

“Xavier…” you called out, your voice cracking as you took a hesitant step forward.

His head snapped toward you instantly, his eyes going wide as they took you in. For a moment, neither of you moved, frozen in place as if the world had stopped spinning. You watched his eyes drop to your belly, then back onto your face. The emotions swirling in his gaze mirrored your own—relief, disbelief, and something deeper.

Love.

And then, before you even realized what you were doing, your legs carried you forward. You were running, as fast as your body would allow, a single tear slipping down your cheek.

“Xavier,” you choked out again, your voice breaking as you broke into a sprint towards him.

The world around seemed like it disappeared. Nothing else mattered right now as you ran towards your first love.

You had gotten one of your birthday wishes after all.

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Saw you were taking Lucius Verus requests 👀

Perhaps something along the lines of Lucius rescuing reader from trouble. Hurt/comfort? I just know those biceps could hold me all day…

(if you write this can you tag me pls)

Oooooh thanks for requesting!!

(For the sake of this scenario, let’s say Lucius was allowed to walk the streets of Rome. Tw // mild violence)

————

“Fifteen denarii? For this?” You raised your eyebrows at the textile merchant, pointing at the swath of fabric you’d been sampling. “You must take me for a fool."

He frowned, his screwed up face uglier and even less friendly than before. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"For the quality, this is ten at best! And that’s being generous!”

"How dare you!" He spat, causing the stall's guard to take a menacing step forward. "This is genuine Tarentum wool!"

"I own such wool, and it doesn't feel nearly as coarse as this," you scoffed, tossing the fabric back at him. "You are scamming people with fakes."

"You forget yourself, woman," the guard said, his voice gruff.

He raised a large, meaty hand with the intent to strike you across the face and you flinched, trying to cover yourself with your hands. You grit your teeth in anticipation...

But the startling pain never came. You dared to look up as you heard the guard's confused grunt, and you saw that another man had caught his wrist.

"I would really advise against that," the man said, a dangerous edge to his tone.

"And who are you!? This does not concern you!" The merchant said, turning his glare away from you. "She was trying to tarnish my business!"

"Not without good reason, I suspect."

The guard tried to shove him off, but the man swiftly spun away from from his reach and punched him square in the face. You clambered backward as a full on brawl broke out between them, breaking the table where all the different pieces of textile were displayed. Your first instinct was to flee, but as you turned to run, a hand caught your arm.

"And just where do you think you're going?" the merchant sneered, his grip tight enough to bruise. "Look what you have caused!"

He backhanded you harshly, and at your cry, your savior knocked the guard unconscious and whirled around. There was fury in his gaze as he saw you cradling one side of your face with your free hand, and he took up the fallen guard's sword.

"Let go of her," he said slowly, pointing the tip of the sword at the merchant. "Or I'll cut off your hands."

Begrudgingly, the merchant let you go, and your savior nodded at you to get behind him. You hurried towards him without a second thought, instinctively holding onto his tunic. The two men stared at each other for a tense moment, poised to strike.

"I should cut them off anyway, so you may never strike a woman again," he spat, but lowered the sword.

"Get the fuck out of here," the merchant growled, his teeth clenched. "If I ever see either of you around here again, I'll have you killed."

Your savior did not even react to the threat, instead glancing at you over his shoulder. "Come on, let's go."

He tossed the sword on the ground and led you away, hovering close behind you to make sure no one else tried anything. Out in the busy street, he stopped you so he could examine your face, frowning. His thumb traced your cheekbone ever so lightly, which was just beginning to turn faintly purple.

You looked at him more closely, as well, pinned in place by the concern in his crystalline blue eyes. He was handsome in an almost divine way, like the personification of the god of war, Mars. He certainly fought like him, too, an undercurrent of violence under the flex of his muscles.

But you were not afraid of him, instead just awed that he had done it all in your defense.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, his eyes meeting yours.

You shook your head. "Just a dull throb now. Won't look so pretty for a while, though..."

"You needn't be concerned about that," he said, his hand retreating.

You swallowed hard, your face heating up at the insinuation. "I--Thank you for saving me, um..."

"Lucius, he said. "Lucius Verus."

"Thank you, Lucius," you said. "Surely I would be worse off if it hadn't been for you. Aren't you afraid he might call the Praetorian guard?"

"He won't. He would have to answer too many other questions that I'm sure he would prefer not to, especially about his business practices..."

You nodded, letting out a breath as you felt a little more relieved. You felt the urge to hug him, but instead you took both of his hands and squeezed them appreciatively.

"May the Gods bless you always, Lucius Verus."

He squeezed your hands back and smiled, inclining his head graciously.

"And you," he said, then glanced around at the busy crowd of the market. "I should like to be your personal guard for the rest of the day, if you'd let me escort you."

Your smile widened. "Well, I would never dream of declining such generous offer."

-----------

[sehodreams]

sex money feelings die - fifth visit

fourth visit ↬ fifth visit ↬ sixth visit (tba)

WC: 5.5k

TW and Tags (permanent for the story): rich client!Anton x stripper!reader, smut, fluff (?), a touch of angst for the moment, inexperienced reader, fingering, kissing, masturbation, lots of silly conversations.

Summary: Working at a night club was difficult in many aspects, your sleep schedule was messed up for life, your feet were more used to high heels than sneakers and you had to lie about where you went to work those nights. Still, even with all those cons, you didn't hate your job, you had more than enough to pay your bills, feed your brother and save money for his college. However, what happens when your boss makes you do the one thing you asked to never do.

You carried his card everywhere, you hadn’t call him, but you liked to watch it every time you opened your wallet.

A music producer, you repeated on your mind. It fitted him, he always knew what songs you talked about and even gave you options you listened from time to time when you remembered him.

Still, you couldn’t understand what he was doing coming to a place like Shotaro’s club, you were sure he could easily get a pass in any other club that had his favorite drinks in the menu, and he wouldn’t have to carry his own every time he visited, unlike the place you worked at.

Not that your club was ugly, it had good clients, all of them coming to see you and your gorgeous coworkers, but you had heard of better places that let them do more to the girls, some of them even allowed them to request sexual services, something they would never get here.

Anton had been the only one until now, and you didn’t like the thought of how it all started, but at least Anton had been respectful with you and hadn’t touched you until you asked for it.

You blushed.

You couldn’t forget what had happened on Monday.

Every time you went to sleep you would remember how his long fingers felt inside you and how good he looked under you. The taste of his mouth and the wine was also impregnated on your tongue, not daring to look at a bottle of wine even if none of them were like his.

‘’Is there anything wrong?’’ one of the girls asked when she saw you all lost looking at your phone.

‘’Oh, it’s nothing, just a little tired, and now we’ll have to entertain the pretty boys, I was thinking what to drink to survive the night’’ you smiled and exhaled. It was Friday and they would arrive in a couple of hours.

She nodded, ‘’Yes, but I heard Anton had something to do, I don’t think he’ll come today.’’

‘’Who told you that?’’ you asked confused.

‘’My boy told me the last time they came that Anton and another of his friends may not come today since they had a big meeting or something like that, and they couldn’t move it.’’

You nodded to it, bewildered since Anton hadn’t say a single word when he came on Monday. ‘’I see, well, I guess I should get ready for a show then’’ you tried to not look too surprised.

She stood up and walked out, leaving you alone in the room, and when you felt that no one would come in, most of them grabbing a quick snack in the kitchen before the doors opened, you grabbed your phone and introduced his number.

You watched it on your screen, the many digits intimidated you and you thought about just not calling him, but your finger pressed the green bubble before you could choose.

Not even three rings sounded, and he answered. ‘’Hello?’’ his voice sounded deeper through the phone, more serious than the usual soft tone he used with you, and you almost got weak in your seat.

Biting the inside of your cheek your breath flattered and you felt the nervousness creep behind your back before you could talk, ‘’Hi’’ was the only thing you could say.

‘’Hi’’ his voice changed to the same tone he always used with you, you even heard how he let out a relaxed sigh, making you picture him with his typical soft grin. ‘’I was waiting for your call’’ he murmured.

‘’Yeah well, Shotaro finally told me how much the cleaning fees are.’’

Shotaro hadn’t even spoken to you about it, the only thing he did when he saw it was shrug, shake his head, look at you and walk away, leaving you there next to Sungchan who looked at you and murmured, rich people wine smell different, uh? making you nod before you ran away to hide your blush.

‘’Oh really? And how much is it?’’ he asked, honestly curious.

‘’Are you sitting? Because you may pass out, they will leave you broke.’’

You heard his breathy laugh on the other side of the line.

‘’I’ll make sure to ask for a discount then.’’

‘’I think you should, I can go with you to his office today if you want, he kind of owes me one for teaching the new waitress the basics.’’

Silence.

You gulped and started to bite your cheek again, nervous to not hear him smoothly talk like he always did.

He hummed before he continued, ‘’I think we’ll have to postpone that, I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to go today. I have an important meeting tomorrow and all my team is staying the night to check the last details.’’

You tried to not sound disappointed, ‘’I see’’.

Recognizing that hint of sadness in your tone, he blamed himself for not telling you sooner, ‘’Sorry, I wanted to tell you when we met this Monday but… well, you know we didn’t talk much.’’

‘’Oh.’’

Anton closed his eyes, and his smile came back to him because he knew you were blushing, there, alone, waiting for him, and his hand gripped his phone trying to not remember you that day, he had too many people waiting for him behind the door in front of him to get swayed your way and risk a whole deal just to go and see you for a couple of hours.

But he couldn’t lie to himself, he was already thinking about you even before you called him. He had gone out for a bottle of water when you popped his mind and didn’t let him concentrate on what one of his workers was saying, and just like a miracle his phone had started to sound inside his pocket before he entered the room after deciding to go back and completely forget you to focus on his work again. The screen showed an unknown number, and even if he didn’t know who it belonged to, it made his heart skip before he answered with the hope it was you who called.

‘’I’ll see you this Monday, promise, but meanwhile, do you mind if I call you later? And that means, tomorrow, and the day after, and maybe Monday too.’’

‘’I do mind, if you wake me up, I’ll block you’’ you denied.

He chuckled and nodded, already used to your sharp answers. ‘’Then what about a text?’’ he offered.

‘’Better, but please don’t forget about your debt, the poor couch suffered because of us so I’ll ask for the discount, don’t worry.’’

‘’This girl…’’ his breathy laugh sounded for a couple of long seconds, making you smile, happy of being the cause of it, ‘’I already paid him.’’

You covered your mouth, so he didn’t hear you chuckle, and hanged up.

Choosing your outfit for the night, you tried to think on anything else that wasn’t how you wouldn’t be able to see him later. It was good, you tried to convince yourself, there were many clients that probably missed you those weeks, and you shouldn’t neglect them if you didn’t want to lose them.

Shotaro saw you in the bar having some small talk with the girls that served drinks and told you that you could go to the VIP room if you wanted, after all, one of the girl that accompanied Anton’s friend that wouldn’t come was still going, but you rejected the idea immediately, if he wasn’t there, you didn’t feel like staying the whole night with the group.

When his group arrived all the girls ran to the second VIP room, excited to see their favorite clients and have their fun, while Sungchan, seeing you go to the other direction, to the scenario, without much thinking said, ‘’Ow angel, won’t your pretty boy come tonight?’’

‘’He has work stuff, but better, I needed a break’’ you replied with a smile, and Sungchan, finding the disappointment you tried to mask with your uninterested tone adorable, patted your naked back before he followed the other girls.

Luckily the night ended fast, you did a couple of shows and one of your past regulars called you for a private dance, giving you a good tip saying how much he had missed you the last weeks, ‘’You’ll always be my favorite’’ he said, and you, by instinct, said that he was your favorite too, but you perfectly knew how much of a lie that was.

The night finished without much emotion and you went home as early as you could, it was only four in the morning when you were already standing in your door, two sandwiches in a bag courtesy of Sungchan charming the kitchen lady with his smile, and you accepted them gladly, relieved of not having to make breakfast for your brother, who was sound asleep in his room after studying until late.

Walking as silently as you could, you cleaned your living room a little bit, just tossing old packages and watching that there wasn’t nothing dirty. Your brother, even if he had an even worse schedule than you, always made sure to leave the place as clean as he could, and there wasn’t much for you to do, dishes washed, kitchen table clean and trash can empty.

You sat in the darkness and exhaled, feeling extremely alive for the hour and tired as hell because of the long trip at the same time.

After washing yourself you felt more at ease, hair wet and rolled with a towel because you couldn’t turn on the hairdryer at that hour, and you decided to do something you only did on special occasions.

You searched your client’s name, in this case Anton, online.

You got surprised with the quantity of results there, you had never had a client as famous as him, with so many profiles and articles with his name, it seems he had already produced a couple of popular songs, not many, but enough to let him have a name in the industry, and you, sitting in the border of your old mattress with what used to be a beige bedsheet, pale after so many washes, felt a struck of reality.

Why would he treat you so well when he could go and have an actual connection with a girl as popular, or even more than him, in real life?

You read as many articles as you could, not believing your eyes but at the same time smiling with the praises he had received despite his young age, all of them talking about the future he could (and will) have, a music producer in the company of his family, a life already bright enough to always let him go to bed in peace and never worry about tomorrow, and you did it until your alarm brought you back and you had to go and wake up your brother.

He was a heavy sleeper, you sometimes wondered how he would be able to live without you if he couldn’t wake up with the five alarms he put on his cellphone, but while you could, you would wake him up with pleasure.

Knocking his door, you went to the bathroom and started to dry your hair, thinking in what you would have to cook for dinner and leaving what you read about Anton well behind your mind, because if you remembered it every time you looked at him, you would start getting conscious of yourself, which would definitely change your tone with him, and wouldn’t let you talk as free as you’ve been doing until now.

Not much later you got exactly what you wanted, concentrating on your brother, his dinner and your own breakfast, with the help of the news in the background and the rush of the hour, you forgot him.

However, Anton must have a signal to go back and fill your mind with him whenever you completely forgot him, because when you were about to go to sleep after a long night and morning, ready to not think at all for at least the next five hours, you saw a text from him.

You saw it in real time how the little notification appeared while you watched a video, a message so short and direct that had you smiling and rolling your eyes before you decided to answer.

Are you awake?

You could ignore it and pretend you didn’t see it, but having the opportunity to tease him, you couldn’t lose it just like that.

Sleeping.

Nothing.

You waited for him to answer in the chat, there was no bubble moving showing that he was writing, but he did read it, it appeared like that, and he was online too.

You imagined him reading your message and nodding, thinking ‘’so she’s asleep…’’, ready to not bother you anymore, and you laughed, trying to guess how much time would take him to notice that you had lied.

Minutes passed by, and when you were finally drifting to sleep, your ringtone started to sound.

‘’…I hate you’’ he said when you accepted his call.

‘’Maybe I should hang up then.’’

‘’No’’ he interrupted you, ‘’It’s just… I really believed you for a second, I was ready to not bother you anymore.’’

His breathy laugh made you smile, and you decided to not tell him that you were actually about to sleep, and he had woken you up with his call.

‘’It’s pretty early, why are you calling me at this hour?’’ you didn’t sound angry, just intrigued, had he gone to his meeting? Was he calling you right before his meeting? You wanted to know what pushed him to talk to you at 8 am.

‘’I wanted to know how your night was, the boys told me you didn’t go to the VIP room.’’

You hummed, moving your phone closer to your ear, to hear him better. ‘’I wasn’t needed, the girls were just fine without me.’’

‘’You could’ve gone to rest a little bit, I still paid Shotaro for your time’’ he confessed.

‘’What?’’ you were so surprised you had to sit.

Shotaro hadn’t say anything to you when you left, well, not that you waited for him either, you just grabbed your share of the night and left the rest with Sungchan when he gave you the food.

The point was, you didn’t understand why Anton paid when he didn’t spend the night with you.

‘’Why?’’ you simply couldn’t understand.

‘’I wasn’t going to leave you just like that, it was the least I could do, to be honest, I wanted to give you even more for not seeing you last night, but I thought that maybe it would be a bit too much, even your boss looked at me weird when I said I would still pay.’’

‘’Anton…’’ you couldn’t believe how much he thought about you to do something like that.

And just like you were afraid of, you started to remember all the articles you read and how much they talked wonders about him.

A respectable young man ready to take the industry, and the world, in his hands.

They had no idea how awesome, and impressive, and kind, he really was.

‘’You didn’t have to do that, you didn’t see me yesterday, you got nothing out of that.’’

‘’But I wanted to, if I didn’t, I would’ve felt bad the next time I saw you, thinking how I made you lose your night just because I was busy.’’

‘’Anton, if you don’t come, I can still work’’ you tried to make him understand, ‘’the next time you don’t have to do that.’’

He didn’t answer.

You heard his breathing through the phone and your hand started to play with the border of your shirt. You didn’t know what to say, and suddenly you felt like you couldn’t talk with him like you had been doing, because you really were on different positions, and for you it didn’t make sense how he always had you in his mind and treated you that good when he could do a lot better.

‘’Well… then you won’t like what I bought for you to show how sorry I was.’’

‘’Anton!’’ you called his name louder than expected.

‘’I’m joking’’ he said, happy that you didn’t sound as tense anymore.

He didn’t have to see you to notice the little things about you, even your silence talked for you, and he had sensed how you suddenly got uncomfortable after he admitted how he had paid.

‘’Don’t you have a meeting?’’ you asked after he finished laughing at you.

‘’I already had it, everything went well, I guess talking to you last night gave me luck.’’

‘’Please stop.’’ You begged, not being able to endure his lines anymore.

Perhaps that’s why his songs are so popular, you thought, because you had never met someone able to create corny lines as fast as him.

‘’I was about to sleep, I wanted to hear you one last time before I passed out.’’

‘’I was about to sleep too.’’

He hummed.

You stayed in silence a minute, just hearing each other’s breathing and the bedsheets on his side ruffling with his movements. You were still on your place, only playing with your shirt and waiting for him to talk.

‘’There was something I wanted to talk about… you know, about what we did this Monday.’’

You gulped.

You didn’t expect him to talk about it, you didn’t expect a conversation about it at all.

‘’I wanted to say that… I don’t want you to think you have to do it because I pay you.’’

‘’I know’’ you were quickly to reply.

You did it because you wanted, not because of anything else, not because of the money, or the alcohol, or Shotaro, and you had worked hard to help you go around the next days with an easy mind. You were a big girl, and you could do that kind of thing without feeling guilty anymore.

Anton had been nothing but respectful to you all those days, and you couldn’t let him think that you did it for anything that wasn’t your decision based on how good he treated you.

‘’I think I made myself clear the first days’’ you continued, ‘’I wouldn’t have let you touch me if I didn’t want to.’’

‘’You’re right’’ he sounded relieved on the other side. ‘’Then… is it okay if we do it again? I mean, did you like it?’’

There was no one in your house, you were completely alone, and your door was closed, but you still whispered, as if you were about to say something wrong, or, more than wrong, inappropriate, something that no one else, apart from him, should hear.

‘’I liked it’’ you admitted.

‘’I’m glad, I liked it too.’’

Your mind started to reply that night.

Without thinking, like every night when you remembered it, your arousal started to appear, pouring out of you with the expectations of feeling him again. The image of him under you brought a pression in your abdomen you weren’t used to feel before that occasion, of course you had felt excited before, but the way Anton had showed you how capable he was of driving you into that kind of pleasure made it a lot more intense, almost painful and that made it impossible for you to not move uncomfortable on your seat.

You closed your eyes and exhaled through your nose, trying to control yourself and your mind from making you feel like that with him, not physically there with you, but still there.

‘’You’re thinking about it too, right?’’ he asked you.

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how right he was.

‘’Are you?’’

‘’You have no idea how much I think about it, I do it every day, every hour.’’

Me too, you closed your eyes again hearing his voice say something so bold without feeling ashamed of it, he was using a different voice, it wasn’t the one he used when he tried to maintain a conversation with you in the club, or the one he used when he answered his phone when he didn’t know it was you who called him, it was deeper, a lot more mature and confident, like the one he used when he made you cum over his lap with his fingers inside you.

A whimper almost escaped your throat and you hided it with a cough, trying to think a way to change the aura of the conversation.

‘’I’m sure you’re getting wet, that day you were dripping all over my hand’’ he then said, and you couldn’t help but gulp again, the faint sound telling him everything he needed to know.

Anton imagined you lying down over his bed, right next to him, with your hand between your thighs, looking at him with those teary eyes, and that was enough for him to get hard.

Every day he imagined the same thing, you over his designer bedsheets, with the little light of his lamp beside his bed, your pretty face frowning and calling his name while your hand played with yourself, waiting for him in his apartment, getting ready for him to take you after a long day at work.

Just that occasion was enough to push the last little will he had to contain himself, he didn’t know how would he be able to face you and not touch you the next time he had you in front of him, but he wanted to leave everything clear before that, he wanted to make sure you enjoyed it as much as he did.

He needed you, and making him feel like a teenager again, every day he dreamed of you, he thought of you, and he jerked off with the memory of you.

‘’Anton…’’ your voice made him look down to his now hard member and groan.

‘’I want to hear you’’ his tongue had to wet his lips, dry of thirst for you, ‘’touch yourself, please.’’

He was begging with such urgency you didn’t know how to say no, and even more, you didn’t want to say no.

Your mind was already telling you to touch yourself like he had done that day, it wouldn’t be the same, you had already tried it those days without him, but it would help you soothe the pain.

‘’I don’t…’’ you wanted to confess how it wasn’t the same if they weren’t his fingers, but you felt your face burn just with the thought of it.

‘’I’ll tell you what to do’’ he interrupted you, ‘’so… will you be good for me?’’

Fuck, you wanted to be good for him.

‘’…Okay’’

Anton pulled down his pants and his underwear, just enough to leave his cock free, which jumped to the sound of you lying over your bed and getting comfortable for him.

‘’What are you wearing?’’ he asked, and just his voice made you get more wet inside your panties.

‘’A t-shirt… and panties.’’

‘’No pants? Isn’t it too cold for that?’’

You couldn’t tell him that you were more used to the coldness because of your work, you felt a lot more comfortable wearing just that at night, and thankfully your apartment was warm enough, it was old, but the winter was bearable.

In summer it was hell though.

‘’I can’t sleep with pants.’’

‘’I can’t sleep with t-shirts, I guess we’re the perfect pair.’’

You bit your lip to not laugh, but he knew you wanted to do it, so he laughed for you.

‘’I can give you all my t-shirts if you want, I don’t mind.’’

‘’Okay’’ you answered, surprising him. He expected you to tell him to stop, but that answer satisfied him even more.

‘’Okay’’ he repeated, ‘’that way, the next time you miss me, and I can’t be with you, at least you’ll have my t-shirt to think of me.’’

That sounded too good, he imagined you wearing his shirt and playing with your clit, drenching the back of it, and he liked the idea so much his cock bounced in front of his eyes.

You, on the other hand, only imagined how comfortable you would feel with his smell lingering around you at night.

‘’Now…’’ he interrupted your thoughts, ‘’don’t take it off, just lift it, as if you were showing me your chest.’’

You felt so embarrassed you just gripped your shirt, eyes closing with force and your mind telling you to follow his words but your conscience too awake and clear now to do it.

‘’I can hear you not moving, I thought you’d be good for me’’ he had already guessed you weren’t going to make the things that easy for him, but he still expected you to do better, for him, ‘’This is the only time in which I won’t tolerate you fooling me.’’

He was right, and feeling the weight of his words, your hand didn’t doubt to lift your t-shirt this time, feeling the morning coldness impact your whole torso, nipples slightly hardening.

He could hear your breath hitching and the fabric of your clothes moving, feeling content with you listening to him this time, maybe he had to be stern with you in bed, he thought, to show that he could play in any other moment, except that one.

‘’Well done.’’

You licked your lips while your eyelids fluttered with his words, you wanted him to continue talking to you like that, so forward and authoritative, as if he knew exactly what you needed.

‘’Play with your nipples, just like how you want me to touch them’’ his hand lifted his shirt to his abdomen, just to rest his hand over it and imagine it was you who was touching him.

You did what he said, and touching your right one with the tip of your finger, you decided it wasn’t how you wanted him to touch you, so to add more intensity, with your whole palm you grabbed your tit, too big for your own hand, and massaged it until your thumb and your index finger pressed your little bud with more force.

That’s how you want him to touch you, with more force, to not be as delicate, he wouldn’t break you, and when you closed your eyes, you could see his big hand cupping you completely without problem.

He heard you breathing get harder, not louder, just with more difficulty, and he could imagine those beautiful nipples begging for him to give them a taste.

The last time he couldn’t, but the next time he definitely would, he had no reasons to stop himself anymore.

‘’How do you feel?’’ he asked when he heard you sigh.

‘’Good, it feels good.’’

He cursed in his mind, what he would give to be there and touch you, and make you feel good with his own hands.

‘’Shit, you’re going to make me cum just with your voice.’’

You moaned.

‘’Don’t say that…’’

‘’Why?’’

‘’Because I want you to cum with me.’’

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Of course you’d drop a bomb like that one, he should learn by that point that you always surprised him for the best in moments like that one, so sweet, and tender, and perfect for him.

‘’Touch your clit, like I did that day’’ he said as he could, one hand going to wrap his member while his thumb spread the pre cum leaking in his tip.

It was already hurting him, but he was so focused on your voice he had forgotten about himself.

‘’It feels good’’ you moaned again, suddenly feeling your own fingers good, not like the previous night you had tried to touch you, it finally felt good.

‘’What I would give to be the one touching you right now.’’

‘’Anton‘’ you cried.

You were using just one finger, flicking your clit up and down and thinking it was him touching you.

‘’Don’t be afraid of using more than one finger, like I did, do it just like I did’’ he ordered, and you obeyed.

You tried to make the same motion, up and down, feeling your juices making a mess inside your panties.

He didn’t lie, you really were dripping for him.

It was so wet, you felt your fingers sliding with such ease over your clit, making you feel incredibly good.

You had touched yourself before, even before you knew Anton, you were human after all, but his groans on your ear and the memory of his hand instead of yours made it a lot better.

You didn’t understand what was so good about masturbating before, it was good, but this was fucking amazing.

You wanted to cup your chest again, just like he would’ve done it, like he did over your bra, but you needed to have your phone on your ear, his voice was more necessary than any light touch over your skin.

‘’Please touch my chest the next time.’’

The next time, he became numb, you were being so good for him, begging with that honeyed voice to touch you, he’d do it with much pleasure, but to hear you say it, to ask for his touch so directly, it was too much for him.

‘’I’ll touch you so good, my angel, I’ll do everything you want.’’

He didn’t mean it only for when he made you feel good with his hands, or his mouth, he honestly wanted to do everything for you.

‘’Put one finger inside.’’

You sighed disappointed, it felt good, but not like when he did it.

‘’It’s not like yours...’’

You heard him groan.

His hand stopped moving, feeling your pain through the phone.

‘’Oh angel, I’m so sorry, I’ll make sure to finger you well next time too.’’

‘’Yours are so long’’ you cried, putting one more in to simulate the size of his fingers.

It wasn’t enough, and soon you had not one or two, but three fingers, which were the closest sensation to his fingers that day, stretching you just like two of his fingers did.

When you put all those fingers inside the echo of your wetness got louder, pushing him to continue with the way his hand was moving before, swiftly pulling his cock like your delicate hand would do, with those pretty fingers around him and those beautiful eyes looking at him.

‘’How many do you have in?’’ he asked curious, because it was impossible just one finger was making that nasty noise.

You didn’t want to tell him how many, it was so disgraceful for a girl to use that many fingers, at least you believed that.

You cried again because something so degrading was feeling so good.

‘’Tell me.’’

He wouldn’t stop asking, you knew it, he would respect your silence in any other occasion, but not in this one.

‘’…Three.’’

‘’Shit, getting ready for my cock.’’

‘’Anton.’’ You called for him, flustered with his statement, and pushing your fingers even more with that idea.

He was big, you felt it that day, even just over his pants you could feel how much he would open you, your three fingers were nothing to get that, they had to be his fingers to stretch you enough to accept him.

‘’You’re about to cum, right? I already recognize that tone’’ he was pumping harder his cock, following the intensity of your squelches and how your hand was more erratic, ‘’fuck, and I’m not there to feel your mess, my angel.’’

You repeated his name in loud moans, grateful that you were completely alone, and his groans became as loud as your moans, reciprocating your enthusiasm.

He bit his lip with force, back falling with force to his pillow, picturing you moaning right over him like you did that day, and while thinking about you, and listening to your actual cries, he came all over his hand in thick spurs of cum.

You also came, a lighter sensation than when he fucked you so good with his fingers, but still good enough to make you feel relaxed again.

After days of not being able to cum you didn’t realize how tense you were, maybe that was why you were so thoughtful and couldn’t sleep even when you felt so tired.

Both of you stayed like that for a good time, recovering after all those days away.

‘’I missed you so much’’ Anton said when your mind was drifting away.

Me too, you thought, but didn’t say it.

‘’You’ll see me this Monday…’’

‘’I’ll buy you something.’’

‘’If you buy me something, I swear I’ll punch you.’’

‘’Oops, I think I’d like that too.’’

You laughed, not hiding it this time, and fell asleep while hearing his soft laugh on your ear.

When you saw him on Monday you punched him, not hard though, because apart from the couple of his t-shirts he gave you, he bought you a small bouquet of flowers to show how sorry he was.

fourth visit ↬ fifth visit ↬ sixth visit (tba)

[nanaminokanojo]

ACCIDENTALLY IN LOVE | part 60

-meet cute? a cheesy musical number? forget it! love makes itself known to you through a minor car accident, a broken arm, and a treacherously charming temporary chauffeur

CHARACTERS: sukuna x you/reader | jjk characters

GENRE: full-length smau + prose | bad boy x good girl | college au | a lot of firsts | aged-up characters | strangers to lovers | smut | fluff | angst | ooc depictions - soft sukuna ftw

TW/CW: strong/mature language | adult content so mdni on some parts | mentions of alcohol and/or smoking | mentions of injury, promiscuity and bullying | pet names because they're cute with 2D men | toxic behavior | will add more if something arises

MASTERLIST | CHAPTER INDEX

<<prev part 60 next>>

A/N: There are narrations after the 4th panel and the fifth panel is a video.

Ryomen Sukuna was one magnificent creature. You wouldn't let anyone contest you on that, not that you wished to convey your thoughts out loud for anyone to hear. You were happy thinking that way as you watched him play volleyball with his friends. Apparently, they all used to play in high school.

You didn't know a thing about the sport, the most you've watched it was when you're flipping channels through your TV, but the way he moved around the makeshift beach court keeping the ball afloat showed you yet another facet of him.

The object of your attention since the beginning of the game maneuvered his way around the sand with calculated dexterity and successfully scored another one by blocking the incoming ball and slamming onto the opposing team's court. You couldn't help but smile whenever he would get a point, your left hand curling into a fist when you should not be moving it or putting strain on it. You'd applaud if you could.

Sukuna was good looking, intelligent and athletic. No wonder girls chased after him, and you had to admit that he looked beyond cool when he's dishing moves. His friends were calling him rusty in volleyball, but to you who didn't have any idea what exactly was going on, he was just amazing.

But then, that wasn't all you were looking at. You can't exactly pay attention to the game itself when your eyes only trailed his figure. The sun beat down on him, causing him to sweat, a thin sheen of it making his sun-kissed, inked skin glimmer in the daylight. You haven't been more acutely aware of his impressive musculature the way you were at that moment, watching his powerful thighs flex whenever he jumped up.

It wasn't the first time you were seeing him shirtless given the time you woke up at his place, but you couldn't really pay attention during those other times. Now, you had a full view of it with reason to keep your eyes on him. And the realization of his effect on you was like being splashed with cold water on the face when, at the start of the game, he removed his shirt. He pulled at it from the back collar, the supposedly mundane sequence of actions making you feel...well, things.

You've never really considered it, this aspect of him, and the fact that he's attractive wasn't really something you focused on. Bur the sight made you uncharacteristically hot despite the green popsicle stuck to your mouth, also disintegrating under the high temperature, dripping into your hand, making a sticky mess. It wasn't something you were aware of until you heard his familiar voice ringing through your ears.

TAG LIST: @catobsessedlady @kyo-kyo1 @lavender-hvze @guacam011y @eyered @hellomeow12 @light-yagami-l @domainofmarie @noble-17 @weebbuscuit @lu-c1na @vinnieswife @the-haitani-baton @iaminyourfloors @needtoloveoutloud @r-ryuko09 @somestardeww @swirlingcurses @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @bronze-metal @iluv-ace @kidd3ath @ichorstainedskin @ti-mame @hellyyy06 @shuujin @lysaray @lilc77

Guys, I can't tag you: @junehasnotbeenfound @its-princessmara @mythoscalliope @sukunasbudussy @pheonix-eclipses @multifandomloner

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI’S “JUJUTSU KAISEN”. [20240624]

PHOTOS/IMAGES/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS GO TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[russellsppttemplates]

Breathe for me (Pierre Gasly)

Y/N's anxiety has been building throughout the week and it finally crumbled down

Note: english is not my first language. As you maybe know by now, talking about these subjects is a big responsibility for me, but I always hope that I've represented it well enough. It is different for different people, so what I have here is a possible scenario and not the only scenario.

Tags: @myloverjk-blog

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions reader's anxiety symptoms which build up to an anxiety attack

You and Pierre had been invited to join his friends for dinner, and while you thought you were better from last night, things were showing otherwise. Walking around with your skirt unzipped, you tapped your tummy in hopes that the nervous feeling would settle once for all.

Things had felt off throughout the wholr day, it just hadn't been feeling right. And, quite honestly, the last thing you wanted to do was to go and sit through a dinner, pretending you were fully composed when, deep down, your mind kept racing and you couldn't shut it off.

It wasn't because of the company, after all, you had known them for a good while and even felt comfortable around them to the point where admitting what was going on wouldn't be an issue, but right now, Pierre seemed to be the only person you could be with and not feel overwhelmed.

"Amour, do you need- hey, are you feeling okay?", Pierre asked, noticing your nervous stance as you paced around the bedroom, "hey, talk to me, please", he asked, stopping you on your tracks and holding you in place as softly as he could.

"I don't know if I can go. I'm not feeling very well, so I think it's best if you go and I stay", you said, genuinely wanting him to go and have a good time, knowing you wouldn't be the best company right now and that this particular group of friends hadn't been together at the same place in quite some time.

Pushing you to sit on the bed and sitting next to you, Pierre laced his fingers in yours while making sure you were looking at him and taking in every word he said, "hey, we don't need to go. I can call them and tell them we can't make it, they'll understand", he offered, "I want you to be okay, no matter what", he said, "but you can go, I'll just stay here. You haven't seen them in a while and you don't need when you will all have the opportunity to get together again", you said. Finding today to be the date where everyone was available had been enough of a struggle.

"I'm not leaving you feeling like this. I'm staying", Pierre said, grabbing comfier clothes from the wardrobe and helping you undress, "we are going to have a cosy night in, how does that sound?", he asked.

After changing into comfortable clothes, you and Pierre stayed tucked in bed after he texted his friends, his arms protectively around you as you managed to relax a little bit, happy to stay in his embrace while he read a book with you.

.

"Do you think we can get that done until Friday?", one of your colleagues asked, "the client needs it for their meeting, apparently he's having dinner with the investors", she rolled her eyes.

"I think I can, but they should really stop and think about doing these things in such a rushed way, I mean, it's not the first time we're almost running against the clock", you reasoned back, booking another meeting with her to sort out the last final details before handing the project in.

The uneasiness feeling that had been with you since you woke up was not sitting right, so when you logged off your laptop, you decided that working out would be a good distraction and allow you to forget about it.

"Are you heading for a run?", Pierre asked you as he walked inside the bedroom, seeing you put on your sports bra, "I was planning on doing some yoga, maybe go for a walk after", you said, watching him walk over to the drawer where he kept his workout clothes, "do you mind if I joing you? I promise I won't utter a word", he smirked, kissing your cheek and changing from his day clothes.

You and Pierre arranged the room so you could lay the mats, pressing play on the video and doing your best to mimick the moves and positions the young woman was going on the screen. You weren't an expert by all means, but exercise had always been a good escape when you felt overwhelmed, and having Pierre with you, even if you weren't talking or touching, made you feel his support and attentiveness.

"Still up for that walk?", he asked as he handed you your bottle of water, "yes, I think so", you smiled.

Walking on that park had become a common thing for you, being almost able to walk with your eyes closed from how many times you had been there, "are you feeling better now?", Pierre asked.

By now, he had noticed your patterns and preferences, so it wasn't too hard for him to notice that your day hadn't been the best, "yes, thank you for joining me. I know you know you don't need to, but I'm happy you did", you sighed, "my deadline just became a lot more real, so I need to hurry. But I'm also aware I can't do much if I'm worried, so here I am, trying to shush the worry away, at least for a bit", you explained, feeling your boyfriend squeeze your hand in his, "you did well, amour".

.

Work was finally over, you had handed in your project and you thought it would make you feel at ease, that it would allow you to finally feel a little bit lighter, but it didn't. Your thoughts were still spiralling, and they didn't seem like they were on the way to settling down. Your legs started to feel tingly, and you didn't trust them to stay up, so you sat on the living room floor with your back against the sofa, letting your body feel the softness of the rug while your lungs felt like they couldn't get enough air inside them.

You closed your eyes, trying to regulate your breathing as best as you could when you heard a noise far away, approaching quickly as you could make out your name in what the person was saying.

"Amour, Y/N, hey...! Breathe for me, yeah?", said as you tried your best to follow his voice and block out everything else, feeling Pierre's hand coming to hold your own, the feel of his fingers very faint as you struggled in regulating your unsteady breathing, "Y/N, hey, hey, you're okay, amour. Everything is fine, okay?", he urged you to follow his voice, something you had mentioned before that always calmed you.

Encouraging you to breathe with him, you finally got up to his rhythm, looking up to his eyes and despite the worry in them, you also saw the calm that comes after the storm has passed. How it all seems too much, it bursts, and then you're just left with the aftermath.

"There you go, that's good, good, just like that", he said, sitting on the floor and sitting on your side so he could pull your body against his, seeing you were struggling to hold yourself upright.

You stood there a couple of minutes, your eyes closing for a little bit before you croaked a few words out, "can we go to the sofa, please?", feeling his arms go around your back and under your knees, swiftly pulling you against him and getting up from his spot, walking to the sofa and cuddling there with you, brushing your hair with his fingers.

"Do you want some water? A snack perhaps", he advised, "I'm just a little tired, but thanks", you smiled weakly, "you're alright, ma belle, take all the time you need".

You must have fallen asleep on your boyfriend's chest, because when you woke up he was still there, but the window was no longer letting sunlight in and rather moonlight, the TV was on what looked like the evening news and you could feel a blanket covering you and Pierre.

"Hey, you", he whispered, kissing your forehead as he helped you sit up straight, "are you feeling better? A little more rested?", he asked, brushing the hairs away from your eyes, "yes, I am", you smiled, "thank you".

"Those hadn't happened in a while", he pointed out, "yes, it had been a while. I've been able to manage it, but it just crumbled today, before I could get it together, it's just crumbled", you explained

"That's okay, it happens, amour. You're still very strong to have managed ti well, I'm proud of you", he said honestly. Pierre always made you feel safe and never once judged you, instead always wanting to learn how to help you when you needed him and how he could make things better for you. So he wasn't lying when he said he was proud of you and how far you had come.

"My throat is a bit dry", you said, getting up and being followed by Pierre to the kitchen, sipping on the water as he grabbed something to snack on, "do you want some food?", he asked, "no, I'm good", you stated.

"What happened that got you to have the attack?", he wondered, "I handed in my project today. It had been building the last few days, and I was so sure they would be gone by the time I submitted it", you shrugged your shoulders, "now I know what to expect", you smiled, wanting to comfort Pierre and erase the crease between his eyebrows.

"Do you want to go and watch a movie? There's a new Disney one I haven't seen yet", he changed the subject, having gotten the information he needed and looking for a distraction, "Lead the way, handsome".

[babygirl-diaz]

You Mess With Him, You Mess With Me (TW: Physical Assault)

So this fic... I don't know how to tag it. There isn't any actual domestic abuse in it but a character assumes that there is.

Summary: In which, Buck mistakingly assumes Eddie's new boyfriend is abusing him and punches him.

***

"So when are you two tying the knot?" Karen asked taking a sip of her wine.

They were at a BBQ at Bobby and Athena's place, and Buck and Tommy were currently hanging out with Hen and Karen.

Buck looked at Tommy and smiled brightly at his boyfriend of two years. "We haven't had that conversation yet, but I am hoping it's in the books."

"Oh, it's definitely in the books," Tommy replied, returning his smile, before kissing him.

Buck kissed him back and pulled away to lovingly look at him.

As they continued talking, Buck noticed Eddie walk out of the back door, hand in hand with his new boyfriend.

Eddie had come out as gay only a year ago and had been dating Alex, for the past 3 months. Alex was tall and slim, about the same height as Eddie, with light brown skin, a practically shaven head, and bright blue eyes. He was quite good-looking if Buck said so himself.

Buck frowned when he noticed something off about Eddie. "Does Eddie- does he have a black eye?" He asked.

"Hmmm?" Tommy looked over to where Buck was looking and Buck saw him frown, too. "It does look like a black eye."

"Oh yeah, that's definitely a black eye," Karen replied. "Wonder what happened..."

"I think I know what happened," Buck replied through gritted teeth. He pulled his hand away from where it was resting on the small of Tommy's back and clenched it into a fist. "Baby, can you hold my beer? I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?"

Buck heard Tommy ask but he didn't stop. He didn't stop until he reached Eddie and Alex, who were talking to one of the other guests.

"Buck, what's wrong?" Eddie asked worriedly

Buck kept his attention on Alex, "Eddie, how did you get the black eye?" He asked.

"Oh! Alex and I were sparring, and he accidentally hit me," Eddie replied.

Buck knew Eddie was lying and, without another word, he charged at Alex and tackled him to the ground. He raised his fist and punched him right across the face.

"BUCK!"

"EVAN!"

"What the fuck, man?!" Alex yelled under him.

Buck raised his fist again to hit him when he felt hands on him, pulling him away. "LEMME GO!" Buck yelled. "I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch!"

"Evan, stop!" Tommy tried holding him back.

Buck felt his anger rise when he saw Eddie helping Alex off the ground. He looked him over before glaring at Buck.

"What the fuck was that? What is wrong with you?" Eddie asked angrily.

"He hit you!" Buck replied.

"It was an ACCIDENT, Buck. He didn't hit me on purpose. Like I said, we were sparring, and he missed and hit me across the face," Eddie told him.

"Really?" Buck asked when he heard the sincerity in Eddie's voice and immediately felt bad.

Tommy's grip loosened around him.

"Yes! Alex would never hurt me. How could you even think that?" Eddie asked.

"I barely know the guy!" Buck replied. "We've never even hung out. Hell, forget him, you and I barely hang out since he came into the picture."

"Wait... Are you jealous?" Alex asked. "You have a boyfriend!"

"That's not what Evan meant," Tommy explained. "He's possessive of his friends, especially Eddie."

"Well, I don't know how I feel about that," Alex replied and took Eddie's hand in his.

"You get used to it," Tommy replied with a small laugh.

"Buck, if you are worried that we don't hang out more or if you wanna get to know Alex better, then you should have told me. Don't go around punching my boyfriend," Eddie told him.

"I- I'm sorry," Buck apologized.

"I'm not the one you should say sorry to," Eddie told him.

Buck sighed and looked at Alex. "I'm sorry, Alex. What I did was uncalled for."

"That's okay, Buck. I'm actually happy that you're this protective of Eddie." Alex wrapped an arm around Eddie and smiled at him.

Eddie smiled back and leaned in to kiss his boyfriend before gently touching his face where Buck had punched him.

"I think the four of us should go on a double date," Tommy suggested.

"I like that," Eddie replied.

"Now come on, let's go get some ice for Alex and your knuckles," Tommy said, taking Buck's hand and pulling him away.

As he left, Buck turned to look at Eddie and Alex and saw Eddie giving him a thumbs up. Buck smiled and returned his thumbs up.

[another-whump-sideblog]

Fixing Tracy -- Introductions

TWs in the tags

Masterlist

Tracy wakes up to sunlight on her face.

Her first thought is “that feels nice.”

Her second thought is “shit, I missed my alarm!”

Her third thought is “wait… where am I?”

She jolts out of bed. Not her bed— it’s far too comfortable to be her bed. This isn’t her room. 

Is she dreaming? She can’t think of any other reason she’d go to sleep in one bed and wake up in another. She closes her eyes and focuses very hard on waking up. Nothing happens.

So… either she doesn’t remember going here of her own will, or someone took her here while she was unconscious.

No matter which is the case though, one thing is clear: she’s in danger. She would never forget something like traveling to a new location unless someone did something to her to make that happen, and obviously being moved while she was unconscious means someone has bad intentions.

She looks around for cameras, but finds none. She'd feel more reassured if she had found any, that way she could be reasonably confident that was all there was and find a way to deal with them. This way she's uncomfortably aware that there could easily be a camera or a bug she missed in her search.

She scans the room for anything that could be used as a weapon. There's not much. There's a bookshelf, but all of the books are paperback and none look thick enough to do more damage than a slap would. There's a dresser–

Tracy freezes. It's full of her clothes. She can recognize some of the stains and tears. There are some new items, but the large majority would've had to have been taken out of her apartment. More importantly, they're neatly folded and organized in a way that Tracy never keeps her clothes. She didn't put them there and forget, someone else took her and her clothes and who knows what else and brought them here. They would've needed plenty of time to get everything all neat in the dresser, too. How long was she unconscious?

Focus. Right now the most important thing is finding a weapon. There's a spinny chair next to a desk, but it seems too bulky to carry around. She'll keep it in mind, it's definitely heavy enough. The lamp, maybe? She tests it out, but it seems too light to do any damage. There is a lightbulb, though. She takes off the lampshade (plastic, no wires that could be used for lock picking), unscrews the lightbulb, and breaks it against the nightstand like an egg. She breaks off enough that all that's exposed is sharp, jagged edges, which she should be able to do a good amount of damage with if she has to. She cut her hand a bit, but not enough to matter right now.

No one's come for her yet. Maybe she can get out the window and run for safety? It's far out of her reach and frosted so that she can't see anything out of it, but maybe if she moves some furniture around…

She quickly finds that every piece of furniture in the room besides the spinny chair is nailed down, and the spinny chair isn't steady enough to let her stand on it to try and break the window with enough force without falling.

She sets down her improvised weapon and holds the spinny chair upside down, then slams one of the wheels against the window as hard as she can. It makes a lot of noise. She would've barricaded the room first if she could move anything else (unfortunately the hinges are on the inside of the room, so she wouldn't have been able to tie the doorknob to something with a blanket to keep the door closed), but she can't, so she just hopes that either the chair or the lightbulb will be able to fight her captor(s?) off.

The window doesn't crack or show any sign of being weakened no matter how hard she hits it. She starts to hit it to a rhythm– three fast, three slow, three fast. S.O.S., or close enough to it. She knows she wouldn't go investigate if she just heard banging against someone's window, but she would if that banging was saying S.O.S. in Morse code, and she hopes there's someone nearby enough to hear that's similar.

Once her arms are so sore they start to shake, she sets the chair down and picks up the lightbulb again. If she kidnapped someone and didn't come to stop them when they started pounding on a window, it would be because she knew there was no chance of the window breaking or alerting anyone. Her chances of escaping this way are slim.

That just leaves the door to the room. She doubts it's unlocked, but when she twists the doorknob she meets no resistance. This is where they want her to go, then.

There's a lock on her side of the door. That's… odd. She pulls the door open a crack and peaks out, but doesn't see anyone. She opens it a bit more.

There's a lady with long, blond hair sitting on a couch reading a book. There's no way she didn't hear all the racket Tracy was making, but she doesn't seem phased at all. Maybe she's deaf?

The door creaks and the lady looks towards it, destroying that theory instantly. She heard everything, she was just that confident that nothing Tracy did in there would negatively impact her.

"You're awake! How are you feeling?"

Tracy slams the door shut and rushes into the closet of the room. There are more of her clothes and the closet smells like her apartment–

She covers her mouth with one hand to quiet her breathing and holds out the lightbulb with the other. When the lady comes, she should be able to catch her by surprise.

She waits, and waits, and waits, and no one comes. The lady isn't going to give Tracy a chance to catch her by surprise. If she wants to leave this room, it has to be through the door, towards the person that most likely kidnapped her in the first place.

The cuts on her hand have mostly stopped bleeding, and the blood that ended up on her face from covering her mouth has dried. She hopes that makes her look intimidating… probably not, though, since the lady most likely knows full well the only person in here is Tracy.

Tracy opens the door again and holds the lightbulb out in front of her. "Where am I?"

The lady puts a bookmark in her book and gets off the couch. She gasps when she gets a good look at Tracy.

"Oh, dear, what happened?" Her eyes flicker to the lightbulb, Tracy's empty hand, and back to her face. "Is it just your hand that's hurt? Come, let's get you cleaned up."

The lady is weirding Tracy out. "No! Don't come any closer, don't touch me." She waves the lightbulb to accentuate her point. "Where am I??"

The lady raises her hands in surrender. "I'm not going to hurt you. Well, I guess if you were to attack me with that I would have to defend myself… I have no intention of hurting you. You're safe. Can you take some deep breaths for me?"

"Tell me where I am!"

The lady gestures to the room around them. "Your new home."

Tracy's stomach drops. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Nothing, nothing at all. I told you, I have no intention of hurting you. Do you want to sit down?"

"Why– how– Who are you!?"

"Oh, right, I forgot you don't know. I know so much about you, it's hard to remember that to you I'm just a stranger. My name is Molly. It's nice to finally speak to you, Tracy."

Tracy's legs feel weak. "You're– you–"

"Just relax. From now on, you have no responsibilities, no stress. I understand if you need to keep fighting, though." Molly gestures at the lightbulb. "You need to feel like this is completely out of your control, or else you’ll feel guilty for resting. It’s alright. Fight until you’re satisfied that there’s no escape. I won’t take it personally. I'd really like to take care of your hand first though. You wouldn't be surrendering or anything like that, just taking advantage of your resources. It would be a lot harder to fight with an infection, right? And who knows, maybe if you act compliant I'll let my guard down enough to give you an opportunity to escape. You can accept my help guilt-free, it doesn't mean anything more than that you're smart enough to care for your injuries."

Tracy hates that Molly's reassurances are actually comforting. Cooperating wouldn't hurt anything, and it would benefit her quite a lot… Still, she's suspicious. She wants to figure out what the catch is. "I– please, can I take care of it on my own?"

"Of course! The bathroom is through that door over there, and the First Aid kit is under the sink. I'll stay right here if you want."

Tracy backs into the bathroom, pointing the lightbulb towards Molly the whole way. Like the bedroom, the bathroom locks from the inside. Tracy closes the door and locks it before setting down the lightbulb.

She cleans the blood off her face, then cleans the cuts on her hand and bandages them.

Her best option right now is to cooperate and gather information. Molly is extraordinarily confident that there's no way for Tracy to escape, so Tracy needs to figure out why and how to get around that before anything else.

When she exits the bathroom, Tracy takes a deep breath and heads to the sitting area. She still points the lightbulb at Molly, but she sits in a seat facing the couch Molly was reading at. She's just gathering information and gaining Molly's trust. She can do this.

Molly smiles and sits back down next to her book. "You look much better. I'll admit, I was worried you'd try and break the mirror and just cut yourself more, so I'm glad you're satisfied with the weapon you already have."

Tracy's not sure how to respond to that. "...what do you want from me?"

"I don't want anything from you, dear. I want peace and joy and health for you, but you don't have to do anything."

"Why?"

"Because you're broken, Tracy. And I'm going to fix you."

[colderdrafts]

6: Dismay

Underground visitor, gn reader x monster (male drider). Sfw. TW for forced touching, violence - Morgan should come with their own warning tbh. Previous Next

Your tension was already running high when walking around outside, but it’s tenfold now that Morgan has decided to forcibly tag along.

Their steps are so close you feel you have to constantly lean away as to not accidentally bump into one of their legs.

"What are you so interested in magic for?" your 'companion' asks, casually glancing around the marketplace.

You note that, out here as well, no one is staring at you anymore. More-so, everyone is doing their utmost to stay far out of your way.

Or well. Perhaps out of Morgan’s way. It’s hard to tell just who is being avoided with the monstrous spider practically breathing down your neck.

You reply with a question of your own. "What do you want?"

Morgan smirks. "Something for the same thing?"

"Forget it."

They laugh. “SO - I don't see your custodian anywhere?"

"He should be around here somewhere," you deflect.

"Hmm. I'll wait with you, then. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“He’ll mind if I’m trampled flat by the time he gets here,” you grunt, once again sidestepping one of Morgan’s pointy legs that got too close for comfort.

“Not to worry sentry, you know I’m not gonna let anything happen to you,” Morgan states as-a-matter-of-factly, either not getting what you meant or simply choosing to ignore it.

“Then try not to step on me,” you snarl to make it clear for them.

“Wouldn’t want to lose you in this rowdy crowd, now. Just walk normally, I’ll find your rhythm soon enough.”

You don’t like the way they said that, coating their words with meanings you don’t understand and somewhat keeping things out of your reach. You have no idea what their motive is, though their behavior makes darn sure you don’t want to find out. How the hell do you get rid of them?

Morgan speaks up again after a brief pause. “You know, I’m not jesting when I say walking around alone out here’s not the greatest idea. You did notice you were followed before, right?”

Oh yeah. The reason you fled into the tavern in the first place. You look around, but don’t see the snatchers anywhere anymore. You had completely forgotten, considering you now have to be wary of another very unnerving shadow tailing you.

Wait. if Morgan knew about that, how long have they been watching you wander the market without your notice?

“Are you their substitute?” you ask flatly.

Morgan chuckles darkly and leans in over you, red eyes glinting. “I’m the upgrade.”

You wrinkle your nose, having passed by 'too close for comfort' eons ago. That’s enough.

You twist and duck out underneath them, purposely slinking in between two stalls too narrow for them to fit through, hoping to put a little distance between you and maybe enabling yourself to blend in somewhere. You hear Morgan heave an exasperated sigh as you do so.

And then you hear someone else let out a startled screech.

You flip around, and watch as Morgan simply steps up on top of the two stalls and starts climbing over them, uncaring of any wares their spindly legs roughly shoves aside. A birdlike person behind one of them flails backwards, snaps its beak at them and glares in anger, but doesn’t make any move to stop them. Food, pots and clothing items scatter and litter the ground.

Morgan fixates on you with a determined stare, and you feel yourself rooted in place. Something about the uncanny view of them towering over everything else, slowly making their way toward you, has made you freeze in place. The stalls creak and protest under their weight as they casually step down and stop in front of you again.

The seller glares at you, and begins picking up their dirtied wares from the ground. They’re not the only one staring. Multiple eyes look at you judgmentally, as if you’re the one responsible for Morgan’s antics.

“Anything else?” Morgan asks you casually, ignoring them all. They wipe some grease off their front legs in the grass.

It takes you a second to regain control of your body. When you do, anger bubbles in you. You gesture at the poor salesman. “You couldn’t have walked around?” you snap at them.

They cog an eyebrow at you. “Couldn’t you?”

You groan and walk away. Morgan follows you.

You try and find the most crowded spaces you can, instincts telling you to stay in sight of the group where it's safer. Though your instincts may have failed you here, as it seems whenever you approach somewhere, people around you quietly filter away. No one picks up on your silent pleas for help to get rid of the dangerous person actively stalking you in plain sight. Common-folk turn away before you’ve even uttered a word. Morgan keeps to your side, patiently waiting for your bluff to be called out.

You glance up at them, a knowing but humored look in their eye. You get the feeling they're enjoying this.

It’s sometime in the late afternoon as you round the last row of the marketplace. Some common-folk are starting to pack up their wares, their deed done for the day.

In the end, you’ve exhausted your options, and you feel a small sting of terror in not knowing what will happen now. Morgan is still glued to your side, having succeeded in keeping you walking with their legs stepping in place close to you. You haven’t had a single chance to dart in between the stalls or make a break for it.

As you reach a corner of a building, somewhat excluded from the rest of the market, Morgan decides the gig is officially up. They take advantage of your close proximity and promptly stop with two legs on either side of you, forcing you to halt lest you stumble into them. They turn into you and pushes, gently but firmly getting your back up against the wall of the small building.

“Alright, that’s enough of that, I think,” they snicker.

You try and duck under their legs, but they quickly stop you in your tracks by leaning down and grasping your shoulders in their pedipalps.

“Christ, would you just leave me alone?!” you spit, grabbing uselessly at the two furry appendages keeping you in place while two front legs cage you in by gently pressing on either side of you.

Morgan observes you with an amused expression. “You sure are stubborn, I’ll give you that! I do wonder what you’re so on the fence about. It’s been fun messing about, but this has gone on long enough.”

The lean down, holding your chin in their hands and forcing you to look at them in the eyes. Red fills your vision. "I know you're alone, sentry," they whisper.

You shudder.

"Don't try and fool me. No custodian in their right mind would ever let you walk around like this, so nervous and on edge. Need to stay safe, yes? Why won't you just let me help you?"

“Help me?” you grit you teeth and try to squirm out of their grip. They don’t let you. “You’ve been terrorizing me for several hours! What the hell is your deal? What do you want from me?”

Morgan looks at you a bit funny, tilting their head. “..Is that not obvious?” they ask. “I want to take you in and be your custodian.”

..Come again?

You stare at them.

Morgan smiles, brushing a thumb across your cheek. "It's very cute how nervous you are, even if I don't really get why. We are literally built for each other. You have nothing to fear from me. Why won't you just accept my offer?"

“What are you talking about – built for each other?” you ask, finally pulling your head out of their hands.

They regard you in confusion again, brows slightly furrowed. It’s not unlike the way Dren first looked at you when you got here. “Well, I’m a custodian. You know, a drider?” Morgan’s lower body chitters quietly as if to underline the fact. They give you a lopsided smirk as if you’re both in on a joke. “And you’re a sentry. We tend to team up from time to time.”

Oh. So that’s what they look like.

You don’t really know what you expected. You only wish Dren would have warned you a bit sooner that there was one specific kind of common-folk to watch out for. But perhaps that has something to do with the fact that he is one and the same.

It certainly explains some of the odd anxieties that seemed to blossom within him at times you were near.

“I do wonder why you’ve kept up all these walls for so long,” Morgan continues, bringing you back into the unpleasant moment. Their look softens, the most gentle expression you’ve seen on them yet. “Are you running away from someone? Promise I won't make you go back if you are.”

Shivers crawl down your spine.

You throat is dry.

“Or maybe I’m just your first?” they ponder, brushing a stray hair out of your face. “It doesn’t really matter if it’s one or the other. You know I’ll take good care of you regardless, so why wont you just let me? Why have you been fighting me all day?”

There’s something suffocating about this closeness, being trapped up against the wall and stared down. They wont listen to your words, and you can feel a prickling sensation of fear threatening to start clouding your mind with survival instincts if you don't get out of here soon.

Morgan shifts ever so slightly, and their legs pushes against something in the satchel at your side that pokes against your leg. You faintly remember you did not come unarmed.

With quivering hands you reach into it, keeping Morgan distracted by looking them in the eye - your hand reaches the handle of the small knife. In one motion, you've snatched it from its space inside the satchel, and jab it at the leg at your right side with a grunt. The blade scrapes across the tough chitin, creating a superficial cut.

Morgan flinches with a low hiss, the kind of noise you'd make when startled by being hit with a drop of hot water from a boiling pot - nothing that really does a lot of harm.

That move might have been a mistake.

Morgan briefly looks down at the open cut that's now running across their leg, before focusing back on you. They mostly look a worried, alongside a little disappointed.

"So afraid.. Who did this to you?" they ask, free hand snatching your wrist before you can cause some real damage. "Drop that."

They knock your arm against the wall behind you, causing the knife to fly out of your grasp and it lands on the grass below.

The legs keeping you in place slightly curl inwards, latching onto your legs and lifting, and suddenly your feet have stopped touching the ground.

You gasp. “Stop – stop, stop, put me down-” you struggle against them again, squirming in their grip.

“Shh, shh, none of that now, you’re safe,” Morgan coos, leaning their torso in. “I’m not angry.”

Their pedipalps shift, maneuvering so that they hold your waist rather than your shoulders, legs supporting your weight and keeping balanced. From this vantage point they have an easier time pressing their torso up against you. “It's alright. How many time do I have to tell you you’re not in danger?” they chuckle.

You’re completely wrapped up in them. It feels like the walls are closing in on you.

“Not in – just let me go!” you cry out.

You try and fail to keep any distance, putting your hands on their chest to at least keep their upper body a bit at bay. You’re surrounded from all sides. It’s claustrophobic.

Morgan slowly trails their arms over your shoulders and lean you into them, completely ignoring your hands shoving at their chest. “Don’t be scared,” they say gently. “Calm down. Nothing’s gonna hurt you.”

They hold you there for a bit, patiently waiting for you to stop straining in their grip, muttering soft words and reassurances. You struggle with all your might, but, in the end, Morgan is simply stronger than you. Eventually you exhaust yourself and remain frozen, frustrated at this fruitless battle.

You heart is galloping a thousand miles and hour as they close the rest of the distance once you still.

“Let me take care of you,” Morgan mutters in your ear, securing their arms around you.

A sudden warmth spreads from them as they do so, but you don’t really register it as their body heat. It’s something else. There's some sort of energy rolling off of them as they lean in; It’s comforting, like being wrapped in a blanket. A pleasant sensation that's trying to lure you in, calm you down. A promise of safety if you just let it inside.

"You feel it, don't you?" they ask, smile in their voice.

The warmth burrows inside your chest and something inside you shifts. You feel strangely drawn to them, your tense muscles going lax. You suddenly want nothing more than to just breathe out, trust them, close your eyes and believe you’re finally somewhere safe. You have to actively restrain yourself from leaning back into them, your mind still going a million miles an hour.

It’s not right.

"I can't," you whisper, trying to wriggle backwards out of their grip despite your body actively trying to prevent you. "I can't, I'm not-"

"Shh, sure you are," they purr. "You’re almost there. Just -" they're cut off.

Morgan suddenly recoils with a startled hiss, narrowly dodging the pointed ends of a black pair of spiders legs that forcefully slams into the ground where they just stood a second earlier.

Morgan tries to pull you with them, but something tough wraps around your torso and legs and yanks you out of their grasp in the millisecond the startle loosened it. You fall to the ground and slip backwards, your body still lax and feeling strange from whatever Morgan just did to you. Something soft curls around both your shoulders, steadying you. You sense movement all around you, that comes to a sudden halt, a familiar pair of black legs crossed in front of you protectively.

"This one is spoken for," Dren's voice sounds above you, thunderous and snarling. "Leave them alone."

You feel like something inside you snaps, like a cord traveling through your chest is suddenly torn. A chill seeps through your heart and panic settles in your core, and now you find yourself unable to either fight or flight. You're in some sort of catatonia, your entire body shaking.

Morgan stops and stares at him, eyes narrowed to slits. "Is that so?" they hiss. "Sure didn't seem like it when they wandered around on their own. Were you even aware you left them exposed to snatchers?! Some custodian you are!"

The tension in the air sends another wave of nausea through you, and you roughly palm at the pedipalps holding you in place. You have to run. Get the hell out of here.

Let me go.

“And you’re any better forcing your care upon them?” Dren counters angrily, without noticing. “Get out of my sight or I’ll tear you to shreds.”

They size each other up for a moment. Dren’s bigger, but you have no idea what else Morgan is capable of.

Morgan looks between Dren and you for a bit, and then their eyes widen, taking in your shaking form. “Wait a minute. You’re not even bonded, are you? What gives you ANY right-”

"Choice," Dren booms, causing you to whimper. "You've ignored all of their signals. They're terrified of you. What makes you think you could ever take care of them like that?"

Morgan glares at him for a bit, but they frown when they look back at you. You're having a hard time focusing on anything, your eyes darting from one to the other. You chest is aching, heart pounding. You feel like you can't breathe.

"Choice," Morgan repeats slowly, purposely keeping their voice down, measured and controlled. They shift their threatening posture to a slightly less tense one. "That's a little hypocritical, isn't it? It seems this sentry has not made any choice at all. They're terrified of both of us."

You hear Dren take a breath to argue, though stops himself, probably finally feeling your trembling. You just stare ahead blankly, superficial breathing not doing much to clear your razing mind.

Dren very carefully bends down slightly, guiding you down to sit. You wobbling legs don't argue as you go down.

He releases your shoulders and stands up straight to get a look at you, though keeping his legs still blocking you from Morgan.

You try and calm your haggard breathing, but you can't. Panic comes in waves, muscles locked like you’ve been twung like thread and pulled tight. You sense Dren coming closer, slowly reaching for you, but you frantically bat him away, unable to stop yourself. "Don't touch me," you spit at him.

Dren immediately backs off, looking at you surprised. "I'm sorry," he says quickly, fidgeting.

“See?” Morgan hisses at Dren, slowly stepping a bit closer to you though remaining out of his reach. “You’re just making it worse. Get away from them.”

Dren takes a deep breath, and softly calls your name. “I want to help you, but I’ll have to pick you up. Is that alright?”

You can’t respond.

“If you touch them again you wont have limbs to touch with anymore,” Morgan growls lowly, and looks to you. “If this poor excuse of a caretaker is the reason you’ve been so afraid I’ll take him on. Say the word and he’s gone.”

Dren ball his fists, realizing he cannot help you right now, and turns to face Morgan again. He blocks you from their view, to which Morgan chitters angrily.

“This is your doing,” Dren snaps, placing his legs firmly as if preparing for an impact. A warning clattering escapes from his lower body. “I suggest you leave.”

“And I suggest you let me handle this. As opposed to you, I can actually do my job,” Morgan huffs, not intimidated, readying themself as well.

The commotion has attracted attention from the rest of the marketplace. It seems the common-folk have finished their duties and are now anxiously looking on as tension rise between Morgan and Dren. There’s shouting, suddenly, the onlookers notifying each other of what’s happening.

You don’t know what to do. It looks like they’re about to duke it out, and your fate is left up to whatever the outcome of that might be. Once again, you’re in no control of what happens to you. You let out a shuddering breath, and heave in another as deep as you can, forcing the air to stay in your lungs. Dren hears your sudden shift of airflow, and quickly casts a glance back to check on you.

Control, you repeat it in your mind, feeling the constricting foreign panic that flooded you release its hold just a fraction. Give me back control!

WHAM.

Morgan takes advantage of Dren's momentary distraction, forcefully leaping into him and knocking him to the side. Dren topples over, skidding to a halt with a gnarly hiss, legs rapidly twisting to get himself upright again.

In the brief seconds of his absence Morgan rapidly descends upon you, reaching forward to grab you again – though their arms are blocked by Dren having recovered, and leapt to intercept. They collide almost on top of you, causing you to curl in on yourself to avoid collateral damage, yet somehow both of them manage to deftly step around you as they forcefully struggle against each other.

There’s another smack and a snarl as Dren clocks Morgan square in the jaw with his right fist, and he plants his legs firmly around you. Each of his steps are thunderous as uses his size advantage to force Morgan backwards, legs skidding through the grass below and efficiently pulling the fight away from you.

Morgan bucks down, following the direction Dren is pushing them by leaping backwards and out of his grip. This results in Morgan now basically landing on top of the common-folk that had looked on until now, and they all scramble for cover. Morgan hisses in annoyance, preparing for Dren that’s coming at them like a freight train.

They collide, twisting and turning around each other as the stumble through the market place, knocking over carts and thrashing stalls. The common-folk evacuate the premises from the two, and startled screams and yells of warnings ring through the air.

You’ve managed to somewhat gather yourself, having space from them and the effects of whatever had gripped you somewhat diminished, and you get to your feet. You watch the carnage as Morgan and Dren, uncaring of anything but doing damage to the other, thrashes the marketplace.

You turn to a common-folk, the bird-like one you saw earlier, that has taken shelter at the outskirts next to you.

“Why isn’t anyone stopping them?!” you yell.

The bird immediately recoils from you as if you’re infected. He stares at you, incredulous. “And what would we do? They’ll kill us all!”

“But they wont kill you,” a gnoll next to him adds. “Why aren’t YOU doing anything?” she snaps.

Why aren’t you indeed.

Hissing and clacking of limbs colliding fills the air, and the occasional groan of wood being splintered. If they don’t stop soon, at this rate the marketplace will be reduced to nothing – though watching them clash renders you immobile. Even if you had the courage to intervene, you don’t think you could stop them.

Morgan manages to take revenge from the sucker punch by ramming their elbow into Dren’s solar plexus and he lets out a painful wheeze. In turn, Dren’s legs shoots forward and rakes across the side of Morgan’s abdomen, almost tearing through the rough carapace.

Morgan grunts, and quickly shifts to the side before Dren’s claws can do more damage. They crouch forward, and swipes at one of Dren’s legs just as he’s about to put weight on it. Dren falters a smidge, giving Morgan an opening that they quickly exploit.

They grasp around Dren’s torso and wrestles him to the ground, standing over him as he scrambles to right himself into a less exposed position. Morgan’s front legs lift to deliver a devastating blow, though Dren shifts, and uses the position to get his legs under Morgan’s lower body. He lifts Morgan off the ground, and hurls them to the side at a nearby building. The force of the impact knocks down the wall of the fragile wooden structure with a loud crash, and the ceiling of it goes down with it.

And then it’s quiet.

A somber silence settles over the marketplace in the fallout of the carnage as the dust settles. Dren slowly gets back on his feet, sluggish, heaving for breath. His entire body is shuddering, awaiting.

A few seconds pass.

Morgan doesn’t get back up.

Why is that causing a small ping of anguish in your chest?

A quiet muttering runs through the marketplace, as Dren rights himself with a disgruntled huff. He opens and closes his palms, deepening his breathing, grounding himself for a bit.

He turns and scans the crowd of terrified onlookers until his gaze lands on you. He starts making his way toward you, low to the ground and deliberately slow, though his eyes never leave your face. As if on cue, the people around you start filtering away, leaving you stranded alone in the corner of the destroyed marketplace while the custodian is quietly approaching.

Dren stops short in front of you and opens and closes his mouth. He looks reluctant, once again back to fiddling with his hands. You scan over the fresh bruises and cuts that now litter his body, a deep gash in one of his legs silently leaking a strange pale fluid.

“I’m so sorry,” is all he says, before he gingerly leans down and picks you up by the shoulders. He lifts you behind his torso and sets you on his back.

You don’t argue.

You can’t.

You stare back at the marketplace, and in particular the building where Morgan is lying in the rubble. The common-folk are slowly filtering back, almost like a steam of fish closing behind a predator that’s swum through them.

“Are they – did you-?” you manage, eyes still on the collapsed building.

“I don’t know,” Dren whispers, and starts walking.

You gingerly put your arms around his stomach for balance, legs settling on either side of his upper body. He’s surprisingly warm.

[ftwskinkmeme]

FTWS KINK MEME 2023

Check out the full event rules below the cut!

WHAT IS A KINKMEME?

A kinkmeme is where we anonymously ask for and anonymously create works that are often — but not strictly — kinky, either fanfiction, fanart or any type of content you decide to ask for or make!

These prompts and fills can be as quick and dirty or as long and detailed as the author wants. It can be viewed as a challenge to work on as many fills as you can in the duration of the event, or a challenge to do something you wouldn’t do if you weren’t anonymous, etc.

To find out more about the history of kinkmemes, you can read it here: https://fanlore.org/wiki/Kink_Meme 

HOW CAN I PARTICIPATE?

Anyone can be part of the kinkmeme, either just suggesting prompts or filling out requests, or both!

By using the platform DREAMWIDTH, it can all be done anonymously so no one has to be ashamed or shy about it. You just have to go to the PROMPTS post and then comment on it with your idea. If you like someone's prompt you can then answer that comment with your work, be it directly writing it in the reply or adding a link to the anonymous story in AO3! (If you’re doing fanart, it can also be posted anonymously on AO3)

Reminder that the fills do not have to be extensive. The idea here is to have fun and quick & dirty will do just fine! 

WHEN CAN I SEND OR FILL OUT PROMPTS?

The event will run from Feb 11th to Feb 23 so any prompts or fills need to be sent within this timeframe. After that it will be done and although you’re still welcome to be inspired by a prompt, it’ll have to be posted directly on AO3, seeing as the dreamwidth meme will be closed (just don’t forget to add to the AO3 collection).

The short window allows for a more engaging event! 

WHAT IF I DON’T WANT TO FILL PROMPTS ANONYMOUSLY?

For the fun of the event, everything MUST be anonymous, however feel free to reveal yourself once the event is over and even post your work to our collection in AO3.

ARE ALL SHIPS AND KINKS ALLOWED?

Any ship in the Fate: The Winx Saga universe is allowed, be it canon or not.

Any kink is allowed, however you MUST include a warning for the following at the title of your prompt or fill: dub-con, non-con/rape, incest, under 16, violence, necrophilia, bestiality, age gap (over 10 years gap) and CSA (child sexual abuse).

RPF (real person fiction) is also allowed, provided it is correctly tagged so people can filter it out. 

CAN I FILL A PROMPT THAT’S ALREADY BEEN FILLED?

Yes! You absolutely can, but you CANNOT continue fills that are not yours without the original author’s permission. If you’re inspired by another fill but your work is different from the previous one, just don’t forget to link it and say: “This work is inspired by [...]”

CAN I FILL MY OWN PROMPT OR FILL UNPROMPTED

Yes! It’s all anonymous so no one’s gonna know if you fill your own prompt. In fact, in order to keep the prompts and fills organized, if you write something that hasn’t been prompted we ask for you to first write a prompt and then answer it with your fill.

CAN I COMMENT ON A FILL WITH MY THOUGHTS ON IT?

Comments are encouraged! However DO NOT comment negatively, express hate, or kinkshame (saying that a kink is disgusting or morally wrong). This is a Your Kink Is Not My Kink space. Positive comments and feedback only!

DOES THE PROMPT OR FILL HAVE TO BE KINKY OR SMUTTY?

Not at all! If the prompt isn’t explicitly asking for smut or kink you can definitely write something gen, teen or mature!

FIND MORE INFORMATION ON HOW A PROMPT OR FILL SHOULD BE POSTED HERE:

In the SUBJECT portion of the comment, use this format: “CHARACTER X CHARACTER + KINK/TROPE (TW: XXXXX)” (If there's no trigger warning, just leave this bit out). In the comment itself you can expand on your prompt, be as vague or as specific as you’d like!

Don’t forget to select the ANONYMOUS option. That way you don’t have to create an account to post a prompt, comment, or fill.

Please write your fill first in a word document/google doc and then paste it here, or provide an AO3 anonymous story link, seeing as if it breaches any of the rules above it will be deleted. Back up your stories!  If your story got deleted for improper tagging, you're welcome to upload it again with the correct tagging.

Please don't hesitate to reach out to one of the mods, be it here, via discord or tumblr.

[blvckqwz]

13. Karma

TW FOR SA AND MENTIONS OF RAPE 

The sound of a shot rang in Isabelle’s ears as time seemed to freeze, everyone in the room holding a breath as they watched the scene unfold in front of them. Then a thump, followed by another shoot. Then deadly silence. And it was over, just like that.

Isabelle didn’t know if they could all be ever the same again, as she exited the hospital. She knew that she couldn’t.

The day had begun like it always did, with a harish slap coming down Isabelle’s already bruised face, the sting not even surprising her anymore as she stared right into Dawn’s eyes before returning to her work. The woman was angry at some officers for not replying to the radio, which was unfortunate for those who were around her. It brought memories back to Isabelle’s mind, memories that she had tried to bury away.

“I’ll go help Percy.” Isabelle murmured before exiting the office, the cop’s eyes bitter on her as she turned her back. It had been only a few weeks since she had arrived at the hospital, but to her it felt like months, years even. She had forgotten how it smelt outside, hot it felt to have the sun above her head.

This place reeked of cheap disinfectant and sadness, the officers were mean, and rude, and creepy. And she hated it, she hated that hospital, she hated those yellowish walls, she hated those infinite hallways, she hated the beeping sounds that followed her from room to room.

“No, Percy, tell me. Should I use smaller words?” An officer yelled towards Percy, an elderly man that was there as a slave just like her, “Is the directive fix the hole in my sleeve too complicated for you?

The officer’s name was O’Donnell, Isabelle could read it on the shiny tag pinned on his uniform. He was mean, not like Dawn or like Gorman, but still mean. Two days before a girl had killed herself, Joan, a woman in her twenties. Isabelle understood why she did it, but after Beth told her what happened to her, she understood even more.

She had been raped. In that hospital. By officers. And he was among the ones that laughed.

Isabelle’s skin crawled as she thought about the fact that she was under the same roof as a rapist. She knew what the word meant more than she would like, even if Beth tried to dance around it.

“I'm sorry. I forgot.” The old man murmured. It broke Isabelle’s heart to see him like this.

“Well, here's an idea.” O’Donnell’s face contorted in an evil smirk, “Don't forget.”

Then the officer turned to her, “Get here.” He ordered.

Isabelle hesitantly walked towards the man.

“You any good with needle and thread?” He asked. The girl nodded. “Then you’ll do it.” He stated before taking off his jacket and throwing it to the old man.”Let’s see if you learn anything, senile.” He smirked as he walked away.

Isabelle waited until the man turned to another hallway before picking up the jacket and turning to the old man, “Are you okay?”

Percy weakly nodded, “I’m sorry, I won’t learn very well. Sometimes I forget things.”

The girl smiled, “It’s okay, I don’t mind repeating things.”

She didn’t really know how to stitch, at least not very well. Her hands usually shook too bad to center the needle hole, and she wasn’t very patient. The only reason that she said that she did was to stop that officer from bullying the old man, but she knew that she would get beaten for lying.

So she worked as hard as she could on the jacket, hoping to fool O’Donnell into believing that she knew what she was doing. Percy was probably believing her, because he nodded every now and then as she explained what she was doing. Then someone called him, so she waved her goodbyes to the old man before carefully returning to her work.

And that’s when it all began to fall down. Because he entered the room. At first his eyes were on her hands, following every movement, making sure that she didn’t make any mistake as she sewed up his colleague’s jacket. Then Isabelle could feel that his gaze moved somewhere else, and she felt sick to her stomach.

“Can I help you?” Her hand began to tremble even more as she purposely kept facing the jacket, afraid that if she turned around she would begin the chase. She could hear him licking his lips and she began to pray for any mercy. That if she had to endure that she would rather get killed now.

“I just came to say hello.” He replied as she could feel him shift closer. Her heart was thumping in her chest like it wanted to break free and escape from the horrible things that were about to happen. She couldn’t help but share the same desire.

“Hello.” She murmured as she focussed even more in patching the jacket in front of her. But she knew that he wasn’t going to stop, they never do.

“You are good at this.” Gorman noticed as he came even closer, his chest almost touching the girl’s back. Isabelle felt her breath stop as a hand brushed her arm, her skin crawling, begging her to run away. The hand then moved to her brown hair, brushing them lightly as he began to whistle, and Isabelle almost gagged.

“Girl’s should keep their hair long, you know?” He commented as he kept running his disgusting fingers through her locks, “Good thing you can make them grow long now. There is no need to cut them anymore.”

And he didn’t know how wrong he was. Because her mom always said that cutting her hair short was to keep bad men away, and right now one of them was beside her. So he was wrong, and the only thing Isabelle wanted to do was chop all her hair, even if she liked them longer.

She bit her bottom lip to stop it from quivering as she studied the needle in her hand. Too thin to cause damage, maybe if she shoved it in his eye, but then what? Her mind went back to the girl who killed herself.

“You never told me your name.” Gorman continued before stopping running his hand in her hair. “Care to tell me now?”

“Isabelle.” Her voice was barely a whisper as she could already feel tears on her cheeks. Gordon must have felt them too, because he grabbed her shoulder and made her turn around before raising the hand that wasn’t still uncomfortably gripping to her shoulder and brushing her cheek, wiping away the few tears.

“You are a smart girl Isabelle.” Her name falling from his lips felt disgusting, almost like a threat. It felt wrong, everything did, “That’s why I picked you.”

Isabelle was now face to face with the man, her scared eyes avoiding his hungry ones as if that could somehow help her. She could feel his breath tickling her still wet cheeks and she felt like dying.

“Don’t cry.” His voice sounded like they were having a friendly conversation, but his words were violent, “It won’t help you.”

“Please.” She murmured as she tried to back down, “Please leave me alone.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Gorman sighed like it was really not his fault, and Isabelle felt even more sick in her stomach knowing that he didn’t even recognize his disgusting behavior.

“If you go away now, I won’t say anything.” The girl promised, and she almost cursed herself for her naivety. He wasn’t leaving. And she wasn’t either, his grip on her shoulder making sure of that.

“You won’t say anything.” Gorman repeated, “I know you won’t.”

She wished that she could tell him to not be so sure of himself, but she knew that guilt and shame would close her throat and kill down any word she would say, eating herself from the inside.

Her back hit the table and she had to stop backing away from the demon in front of her. So he took it as a chance to get even closer to her, because they always do. And his breath started ticking against her cheeks again.

And she wanted to die.

She closed her eyes as she could feel his hand let go of her shoulder before wandering to her arm, and then even lower. Fear made her shake like a leaf as she kept her eyes closed shut, already knowing what was about to happen.

Then she heard a zipper flying open, and she knew it was the end. That she would just become another Joan in a world already full of them. She could hear him shifting and struggling as he unbuttoned his pants, but she didn’t dare to open her eyes. She could only hear him murmuring things she couldn’t quite catch and the sound of fabric moving.

Then the sound of the door flying open.

“Leave her alone.” Percy’s voice sounded firm for the first time since Isabelle had met him, “She’s a kid Gorman.”

“Go back to work.” The officer barked.

“She’s a kid.” She could hear the old man repeat.

“Percy.” She heard Gorman say as he pushed himself off her, “Go back to work.”

Isabelle opened her eyes just in time to see the cop smashing the old man’s head against the white door, leaving stains of red on it. Then he did it again, and again. Isabelle winched at the sound of flesh hitting the surface with disgustings splashes as she quickly looked away to find something to use once Gorman was done with the man.

Her hands were still shaking and they were coated in cold sweat as she opened every drawer she could find, desperately looking for anything she could use as a weapon. She was so focussed on her search that she didn’t notice the thumps stopping. Isabelle looked around to find Gorman crouched next to the bloodied man, two fingers pressed against his neck as he tried to find a pulse. He probably didn’t, because he let out a curse as he rubbed his hand now covered in Percy’s blood over his face.

Then the girl made the mistake of letting out a cry as she watched the pool of dark crimson blood expanding from the wounds on the old man’s face. It was a juvenile error, one that a thirteen year old girl would make after seeing another person’s life end. Gorman’s attention was again on the teen, his eyes dangerously glowing as he launched towards her, a hand on her mouth while the other grabbed her hair, forcing her to stay still.

“You didn’t see anything!” He yelled, “I didn’t do anything. He killed himself.”

And Isabelle hated herself for nodding, accepting to cover for the horrible man and his horrible pervasion. The weird little tricks fear has on a person. Percy must have been scared of Gorman, but that didn’t stop him from protecting her. And she was willing to cover for his gruesome murder.

She was ashamed of herself, but she still nodded. Maybe after the man had satisfied his blood lust, he would forget about his previous one, she naively thought. Maybe he would leave her alone, afraid that she may talk if he did another bad thing. But he didn’t, because they never do.

Because there are no consequences for a man’s wickedness, only the weak naive girls were left to pay. And guilt gnawed their innocent hearts as they watched the monsters fest on their body.

“I knew it.” He murmured, “You are so smart, right?”

The words echoed in Isabelle’s mind, flashbacks she wished that she didn’t have taking over her rotting brain.

“Start running.”

Alex had said the same words before, at Terminus, when he was trying to kill her.And she did, as fast as her aching legs allowed, straight to the door. But he grabbed her, throwing her on the hard floor. She hissed in pain. He was right, she in fact was malnourished, and had been for a long time.

He wanted her blood, just like the new monster now in front of her did.

“I’ve got you.” The sick grin was back on the man’s face as he lowered himself, “No more games.” He turned serious as he grabbed her by her arm and shoved her against a table, making her hit her head.

He pinned her down, and she couldn’t breathe. She also couldn’t breathe now, as Gorman tried to start again what he had previously initiated.

Isabelle let out a cry as she felt hot liquid pouring from her head on her neck and back. A fist landed on her cheekbone, “You think you are so clever, uh?” He was furious now, totally deranged, “You are so smart, right?” Another punch.

“You are so smart.” Gorman repeated as he lifted her shirt, his gross hands touching her bare stomach.

Red filled her vision, and the girl could swear that she was having a concussion with all those hits on the head.

Red filled her vision as she felt callous fingers on her skin. Her hands wandered around her, blindly trying to grab anything that could help her. Her fingers traced all the objects on the table behind her, but nothing seemed good enough.

“Good girl.” The vicious man murmured as he played with the waistband of her trousers, too preoccupied in his degenerate fantasy to notice the girl’s small finger wrapping themself around a small but sharp object behind her back.

It was only then the pen got jammed in his jugular that he became alert again, but it was late, because the black ink was already mixing with the red blood, the girl hissing as she pressed the nib in the man’s neck, both tears and blood smearing her face once again.

The man stumbled backwards, slipping his hands off under the girl’s shirt to hold his bloodied neck, and Isabelle could swear that she almost saw betrayal in his eyes as she kicked him in the chest, causing him to fall on the old man’s corpse.

She ran out of the room as soon as the man was on the ground, but she could still hear his scream in agony as he got eaten alive by the walker. Call it karma or whatever.

“Isabelle!” Beth’s voice rang across the empty hallways as she took notice of the young girl’s disheveled look. Her shirt was half lifted, her skin, hair and clothes all bloodied. It didn’t take long for the blonde to understand what had happened, and she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as she watched Isabelle’s teary eyes.

She had warned her about Gorman, but she couldn’t bring herself to repeat what he had done to her, what he would do to her. And now it was too late. She tried to catch a glimpse of her eyes, but she was keeping them low now, avoiding any type of eye contact.

“They came for us, Isabelle.” Beth said as she rested a hand on Isabelle’s forearm. The girl flinched at the touch, and the oldest girl immediately backed down.

“You have to change, they are waiting for us.” The blonde insisted as she handed the young girl her old clothes. Isabelle studied the pile of clothes in her hands, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. She couldn’t think of anything.

She felt Beth pulling her in a hug, and this time she didn’t flinch. Instead she stayed still like a rag doll, allowing the older girl to slip something cold and sharp in her limp hand, closing her fist over the younger girl’s one. “We’ll get out.” The blonde murmured before pulling away.

But Isabelle’s eyes were still fixed on the shiny floor, and aside from her fist clenched around the bisturi she had handed her, Beth had no clue if she had understood anything she said. “Isabelle you can change here, I’ll keep guard.” The blonde said as she nodded towards an empty room.

This time the girl gave a sign of understanding as she slightly nodded her head before dragging herself into the room, and Beth could hear the key twisting into the lock immediately after she closed the door. She just swallowed the lump of guilt in her throat before resting her back on the door, making sure that no one dared to come near the girl. God only knew that she had already been through enough.

But God didn’t care, Isabelle thought as she stared at the dusty mirror in the half illuminated room,disgusted by her own reflection. It wasn’t fair, but then why did it feel like a payback? She had killed someone again.

Isabelle huffed as she picked the mirror and carefully turned it around so that it was now facing the wall. It made her feel a little better, but the shame was still there. And she didn’t even have soap to scrub it away this time.

The girl reluctantly peeled her blood wrenched shirt off her sweaty body, almost letting out a sob at the feeling of the cool air against her bare torso. She tried to wipe the blood off her arms with the cloth that was once her shirt, but she didn’t have any water to clean it off, so it didn't really work.

Isabelle stared at the red stains on her too pale skin and started to become more and more frantic as she ran the rough fabric on herself, not even feeling a sting of pain as the cloth scratched her arms. She started to become delirious when the stains didn’t come off even once she had made her skin raw red.

A ugly sob escaped from the back of her throat as she kept scrubbing, her irritated skin turning an angry shade of red. She could hear someone banging on the door as she got even more furious, her sobs turning frenetic as she could feel her throat closing.

“Isabelle, open the door!” Beth called from the other side as she uselessly tried to open the door, “I’m here to help you, please open the door.”

But Isabelle couldn’t even hear her, let alone reply. Her mind was clouded, her brain completely shutting off as she kept scrubbing off the blood. But it wasn’t going away.

She didn’t know when she finally answered Beth’s pleadings and opened the door, she just remembered her hugging her, telling her that everything was okay, even if it wasn’t. And then, when she explained that she had been trying to wipe the blood off her arm, the older girl gave her a confused look before grabbing her arm, careful not to hurt the raw skin.

“There aren’t any stains here, Isabelle.��� She said it with the same concern she had heard from the doctors when they asked her if she had understood what had happened that infamous night of mid july. And she did the same thing she did back then: She shook her head in confusion.

“It’s okay, I’ll help you.” The last thing she remembered was Beth’s hushed tone, “Is that okay?” Isabelle nodded. Everything after that was a blur.

She assumed that Beth had helped her change, brushed her hair, and then cleaned the blood off her with a wet towel, because when she caught a glimpse of her reflection as she and Beth walked towards the hall where the exchange was supposed to happen, she almost looked decent. But deep down she knew that she wasn’t.

Beth’s grip on her hand tightened as she shot her a half smile, trying to reassure her as they were escorted by the officers. Isabelle had a thought, last night, a very selfish one. A horrible one.

She wondered how her life would have been if she was born a Greene and not a Dixon. During their late night talks, Beth told her about her and Maggie’s father, about the beautiful farm they had. Isabelle would have liked living there. She liked farms and she liked animals. At least she liked them better than trailers that reek of beer.

But she felt guilty for thinking that. Because her parents tried the best they would. Most of the time. They gave her a roof and food. Her mom gave her clothes that she got from work and her uncle had built her a bike, even if it was a bit ugly and didn’t really work well. Her dad used to take her on car rides with his truck in the summers, and he let her roll down the windows and put her head out to feel the wind as long as other cars weren’t around.

She had lived a happy life. But then why did she feel almost jealous of Beth’s childhood? She knew that if she had lived like Beth she wouldn’t flinch every time someone made a quick movement around her head. And that she wouldn’t know what CSA stands for. But she wouldn’t know how to climb real fast either. And if she wasn’t a Dixon, she would have had a lot more problems at adapting.

So she was happy to be a Dixon, even if late at night she wished that she was a Greene. Or anyone else but her.

The doors fled open, and her, Beth and the few officers that had taken them there met with the rest of the hospital people, Dwan first in line. Isabelle wondered when they were going to notice that Gorman wasnìt with them. She pushed the thought away because it was making her sick.

The first person of her group that she noticed was her father. He looked so out of place between the shiny floor and the neat walls, but he still stood his ground. Their eyes met for a brief second, and Isabelle wished that she could muster up the strength to fake a smile, just to let him know that she was okay. But she wasn’t, so she instead just stared at him until his eyes moved back to Rick, who was standing a few feets from him.

Carl wasn’t there, Isabelle noticed, and she couldn’t help but feel a bit of disappointment. But she knew that it was safer this way, and that she would see him again soon. And that everything was going to be okay, that she was going to be okay, because she always was.

“Holster your weapons.” Dawn ordered in her usual cold tone. Isabelle looked at the other people among her group. There was Tyreese with Sasha, Carol, who shot Isabelle a half smile as her eyes landed on her, and a boy Isabelle didn’t know. He looked to be a bit older than her, but still a child. Maybe he was about Beth’s age.

“Where's Lamson?”

“Rotters got him.” Rick said, and for some reason Isabelle didn’t believe him. But either way it was okay, because she was in no place to judge.

“We saw it go down.” One of the hostages affirmed.

“Oh. I'm sorry to hear that.” Dawn said, “He was one of the good guys.” Isabelle would have rolled her eyes if she had any energy, but that place had completely drawn it from her.

“One of yours for one of mine.” She then added.

“All right.” Rick nodded.

Dawn turned around, landing her eyes on the younger girl, “Move.” She ordered. Isabelle looked up at Beth one instant before letting the other girl’s hand go. She took a few steps towards her group, her eyes never leaving Dawn’s. The woman’s stern gaze was reciprocated by the girl’s angry one. Dawn knew, she had to, and she still let those degenerates do what they did.

“Move.” The cop hissed again, and Isabelle noticed that she had almost stopped in a halt and was now just glaring at the woman. She sent her one last hateful look at the officer before hurrying towards her group.

Rick placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder, tilting his head to make sure she was alright. The girl couldn’ bar to meet his gaze, because he was a cop and he was going to read her mind in a second if he saw the hopelessness in her eyes. But she still nodded to let him know that she was okay, more or less. It seemed enough for the policeman at the moment, because he also nodded before letting her go.

The girl walked towards Carol, and she could see the hurt in her father’s eyes as she did so. But she couldn’t go to him, not after knowing that what he had tried to save her from had happened again. So she stuck to Carol’s side, who put a hand on Isabelle’s arm in a protective way, almost as if she was trying to shield her. Isabelle liked Carol, even if they had rarely talked.

Isabelle watched the hostages returning to their group and Beth advancing towards them, smiling as her blonde ponytail swinged from side to side. Then Dawn asked for the boy Isabelle didn’t know, but soon figured out to be the one that escaped a little before she was kidnapped.

“He's one of mine. You have no claim on him.” She said, as if anyone could have a claim on another human being.

“The boy wants to go home, so you have no claim on him.” Rick replied.

“Well, then we don't have a deal.”

The boy spoke up for the first time, “It's okay. I gotta do it.”

“No, it’s not okay.” Beth replied.

It was really sad, especially knowing what awaited him behind those doors. Isabelle felt bad for the boy, guilty even. If she hadn’t let them kidnap her by being so reckless, there would be enough hostages.

Beth and the boy hugged, and Isabelle hid even further behind Carol, like a kid hiding behind his mom. She could feel Carol rubbing her arm as she shut her eyes close and she felt like a little toddler.

“I knew you'd be back.” One of the officers said to the boy once he and Beth walked away from each other. This really upsetted Isabelle, and it must have upsetted Beth even more because she now had an almost wild look in her watery eyes as she turned around, walking up to the officers until she was in front of Dawn.

Isabelle could see her fidgeting with her fingers the hem of her sleeve. Then she caught the shining of metal, and she suddenly became aware of the bisturi Beth had given her earlier. She wanted to stop her, but it was too late.

“I get it now.” Her savior said before stabbing Dawn in the shoulder with a pair of shiny scissors. The shot came immediately after, almost as a reflex. And just like that Beth Greene was dead, her once golden locks now a dark crimson as she hit the floor with a thump.

Isabelle pressed her good hand against her mouth as she suppressed a sob, everything around her becoming blurred, unimportant. She was aware of her father shooting Dawn dead, but she didn’t care. She was aware of Carol trying to pull her away, but she didn’t care.

All she cared about was the girl that was once so kind to her, almost like a sister even if for such a brief period of time, and that now laid lifeless on the cold, not so clean anymore, floor.

For a second Isabelle almost expected a miracle to happen, that in some way the shot didn’t kill the blonde girl and that she would be okay. That they would escape the hospital together like they had said.

But nothing happened.

Isabelle eyed the girl’s brain smeared on the white floor one last time before allowing a sobbing Carol to drag her away. She couldn’t even cry, she just let heavy tears roll down her cheeks without even noticing.

Isabelle didn’t know if they could all be ever the same again, as she exited the hospital. She knew that she couldn’t.

[azzyswrld]

unexpected betrayal - a thing

tw ; brief mentions of blood, crime scenes, thats basically it lol

a/n ; i wrote this a long time ago and decided to share it! if anyone has any feedback or something else of the sort, please share <3 also i dont remember who created the divider i used.. someone tell me if they know.

“It’s me or them.” My voice carried across the barren field we stood in. I stood tall, trying to hide my fear of losing him. Caspian was my person, and I couldn’t bear to see him walk away. Not after all of this. I waited, watching as he stopped. It was like a slow motion movie as he turned to face me.

“I choose them.” His voice was certain.

“Well.” I couldn’t find anything else to say, the lump in my throat growing harder to swallow. I know exactly how it feels to try not to cry in front of someone you love– but this was ten times worse. My eyes burned from the tears I blinked away. The darkness practically swallowed me whole as I watched him walk away. Before I knew it, he had practically disappeared from view. My knees wobbled as I found no strength to continue to stand. I let myself fall where I was, feeling the grass against my skin. I tried to find a proper explanation for it all, but nothing came. I closed my eyes and waited for unconsciousness to swallow me.

-

I don’t know how long I stayed there. It was quiet, without much noise, so there wasn’t anything to bother me. I rolled over at one point, looking up as the sky began to dawn. Is there a reason to move? I questioned this, running through my most recent interactions. Annalise. The realization brought me to my feet, running through the field to search for the girl I called my best friend. I had to get to her before they did. My entire body burned as I found my way back to the streets of her neighborhood. Gasping for air, I screamed her name into the darkness, as if she’d simply appear.

“ANNALISE!”

Sirens filled my ringing ears. Flashing red and blue lights took over my vision. There it was, the dreaded yellow tape around her front yard. I continued to scream out her name, losing hope with every syllable. Cops surrounded the house. I ran up to one, barely able to speak. “What happened? Where’s Annalise?” I demanded. The man turned to me, shaking his head. “Kid, this is a crime scene. I can’t reveal any information to you.”

That did it. I bolted beneath the yellow tape, hearing sounds of commotion behind me as I ran. I looked around her living room– everything was as it should have been. Hearing heavy footsteps behind me, I took off down the hallway, looking through the rooms. Her parents room caught my eye: blood was all over the bed. No bodies, just… blood. They’d gone after her parents. But where was she? I gave the room one last glance, noticing a message on the wall.

Watch your back, girls.

The realization hit me like a truck. That’s where he went, I thought. Caspian left us to help them. I stood frozen in place as a cop approached me from behind. “Kid, I said this is a crime scene!” I turned to face the man. “I..” I went blank, unable to continue. “What is it? Do you know something we don’t?” I can’t tell them. It’ll put us all in danger. I stayed silent for what seemed like forever. 

“Well?”

I began to walk out of the house, words spilling out as I spoke. “Annalise and I are best friends. We do practically everything together. I didn’t know what was going on until I got some text messages last week.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket, searching my gallery for evidence of it. I handed the officer the phone without another word. The words repeated in my head, over and over. “You’ll see me soon enough.”

“I’ll destroy you.”

“They’ll all forget you.”

“Kid– wait, what’s your name?” The officer asked, handing my phone back to me. “Harper. Harper Black.” He nodded, pointing to his name tag. “Officer Adams. I’m going to coordinate with my team, and we’ll have more questions for you, okay?” I nodded, putting my phone back into my pocket. “Harper, can I see that phone again? We’re going to have to go through these for evidence.” I nodded, handing it to him. “Can I see Annalise? Where is she?” The panicked feelings returned to my body as I said her name.

“She’s down at the station. I’ll have an officer take you. Ross!” A redheaded woman turned, walking over to us. “Can you take Harper here down to the station? She’s the daughter's best friend. Someone has to be there for her.” Ross nodded, motioning for me to follow her to the police cruiser nearby. I did follow her, trying to keep my anxiety at an acceptable level. I had to be in a good state when I saw her. She deserved that much. Ross opened the passenger door for me, and I climbed in. 

“You know, this is the biggest case we’ve seen in quite some time.”

I nodded in agreement. I knew this much. After all, Harding was supposed to be a small town. A peaceful town. Too bad we went and ruined it all. The rest of the short drive to the station was silent; Ross didn’t have anything else to say, and luckily, no questions for me to answer. “Alright, we’re here,” Ross said to me. I got out of the car and hurried into the building as if I knew where I could find Annalise. The front room of the police station was mostly empty– barren desks filled with papers, and a lone few officers watching the place. “This way, she’s in interview room 2.” I glanced around anxiously as we walked towards the room, relief washing over me as I caught a glimpse of her, anxious and scared. Her brown eyes lit up when she saw me, immediately getting up from the seat she sat in. Ross opened the door for me. “I’ll leave you two alone.” With that, she was gone. 

“Harper! Oh god, Harper, what happened?” She asked, watching my expressions change like some sort of animation. 

“Caspian happened. He took their side.” I tried hard to contain the acid in my voice. My pain had turned to anger; he was a traitor now.

Annalise nodded; she understood. “How did you know where I was? Did you go to-” 

I nodded. I knew she couldn’t explain what happened to her parents. It had to be extremely painful. “I did. I thought they came after you. An officer brought me here, but I had to tell them. We can’t do this alone.” She pulled me into a hug– I could hear her suppressed sobs. “Anna, it’s okay. Let it out.” I have to be here for her. I’m all she has. We stood there for what felt like forever, just her and I. Annalise released herself, wiping her face with her sleeve. “I’m sorry I soaked your shirt,” She said between laughs. “It’s alright… although, we really should get out of here.”

We left the interview room, finding Ross in the reception area. “Where are you two headed?” She asked us, raising an eyebrow. “You know this is going to become something you're involved in, now that we have more information.” Yeah, well we kind of have to tell my parents where we are, I thought. “Well, I have to tell my parents what’s going on, and Annalise can’t stay in a police station.”

“Fair enough. Let me drop you guys off. What’s your address, Harper?” 

My house wasn’t very far from the police station, so it didn’t take long. I looked out the window at my house, knowing it would never feel the same. Annalise and I got out, alone again as we held hands standing before my door. I heard her sigh.

“You ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

[kipscorner]

-- Anything in parentheses (abc) feel free to delete! -- Anything in square brackets [abc] feel free to change! -- This is a long post, so please remember to tag “long post tw” or some kind of varient of the sort so you don’t clog mobile users dashes/people who don’t have “shorten posts.” turned on! :D

“Doesn't this seem like a bit much?”

“This is what Christmas is all about! Can't you feel it?”

“You guys, where are we? I think we should go back.”

“Serves them right, those Yuletide-loving sickly-sweet, nog-sucking cheer mongers!”

“I really don't like them. No, I don't.”

“I've been much too tolerant of these (Whovenile) delinquents and their innocent, victimless pranks.”

“So, they want to get to know me, do they?”

“I guess I could use a little social interaction.”

“Yeah, you bet. Ho, ho, ho, and stuff…”

“You see, [name]? The city is a dangerous place.”

“Now, please, don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason.”

“Well, it's just, I look around at you and [Mom] and everyone getting all kerbobbled. Doesn't this seem...superfluous?”

“I think they were up on the mountain playing with matches, or defacing public property, or....”

“Take a look at his mailbox, (sweetie). Not a single Christmas card, in or out… Ever!”

“And for the rest of you: Jury duty! Jury duty! Jury duty! Blackmail. Pink slip. Chain letter. Eviction notice. Jury duty!”

“Well, that worked out nicely.”

“[Max], let's go. Our work here is finished.”

“Don't you know you shouldn't take things that don't belong to you? What's your problem? Are you a wild animal?”

“Saving you? Is that what you think I was doing? Wrong-o.”

“You've been practicing your Christmas wrapping! I am so proud of you.”

“My, I've never seen so many beautiful Christmas lights, [Betty Lou!]”

“It's handcrafted and almost 100 years old.”

“Come on, hurry up, Slowpoke.”

“What's that stench? It's fantastic!”

“One man's toxic sludge is another man's potpourri.”

“Did Christmas change or just me?"

“First floor, factory rejects.”

“But we did our worst. And that's all that matters.”

“At least I scared the bejeebles out of that little [girl] at the post office. [She]'ll be scarred for life, if we're lucky.”

“Funny she didn't rat on us, though. Must be afraid of reprisals.”

“If you utter so much as one syllable I'll hunt you down and gut you like a fish!”

“I've got all the company I need right here.”

“I'm an idiot!”

“You're an idiot!”

“Am I just eating because I'm bored?”

“In your own words, please tell me everything you know about [the Grinch.]”

“Hey, honey, our baby is here! He looks just like your boss.”

“It was Christmas Eve, and a strange wind blew that night.”

“Do you want a Christmas cookie?”

“Don't forget, tomorrow is our big Christmas gift exchange.Everyone bring a special gift for a special someone.”

“You don't have a chance with [her].”

“It was a horrible day when they were so cruel to [him]. And I could hardly bear it.”

“And that was the last time we ever saw [him]. The very last time.”

“I hate you.Hate, hate, hate. Hate, hate, hate. Double hate. Loathe entirely!”

“Tomorrow is Christmas! It's practically here!”

“I may do something drastic.”

“You made that up! It doesn't say that.”

“But the book does say: The cheer-meister is the one who deserves a back slap or a toast. And it goes to the soul at Christmas who needs it most."

“Blast this Christmas music. It's joyful and triumphant.”

“The impudence! The audacity! The unmitigated gall!”

“You called down the thunder now, get ready for the boom!”

“Gaze into the face of fear!”

“You see? Even now the terror is welling up inside you.”

“Run for your life before I kill again!”

“Maybe you need a time-out.”

“Kids today. So desensitized by movies and television.”

“"Holiday Whobie-what-y"?”

“I know you hate Christmas, but what if it's all just a misunderstanding?”

“I myself am having some Yuletide doubts.”

“Award? You never mentioned an award!”

“Was anyone emotionally shattered?”

“Come on, a minute ago I couldn't shut you up! Details, details!”

“I don't know if it's that adorable twinkle in your eye or that nonconformist streak that reminds me of a younger, less hairy me.”

“Who knows? This Whobilation could change my entire outlook on life!”

“You can make snow angels later.”

“The nerve of those (Whos). Inviting me down there on such short notice. Even if I wanted to go, my schedule wouldn't allow it.”

“4:00, wallow in self-pity. 4:30, stare into the abyss. 5:00, solve world hunger tell no one. 5:30, jazzercise. 6:30, dinner with me… I can't cancel that again. 7:00, wrestle with my self-loathing… I'm booked! If I bumped the loathing to 9:00, I'd have time to lay in bed stare at the ceiling and slip slowly into madness.”

“It's not a dress, it's a kilt! Sicko!”

“This is ridiculous. If I can't find something nice to wear, I'm not going! That's it, I'm not going.”

“Ohh, ahh, mmm… That's it, I'm not going.”

“[He] isn't here. What? [He] didn't show? Who could have predicted this?

“All right. I'll swing by for a minute, allow them to envy me grab a handful of popcorn shrimp, and blow out of there.”

“But what if it's a cruel prank? What if it's a cash bar? How dare they!”

“All right, I'll go. But I'll be fashionably late.”

“All right. I've made my decision! I'm going, and that's that!”

“Come on, while I'm young!”

“But first, a little family reunion.”

“Are you two still living?”

“Sweater? What are you talkin' about? No, I can't! I can't do that!”

“No. I can't do it, honestly. I'm not ready. It's too much, too soon!”

“I've got a lawyer. There'll be hell to pay!”

“Look at the time. I really should be getting back.”

“Bring it on! Is that all you got? Is that all you got? Come on!”

“That's what it's all about, isn't it? That's what it's always been about!”

“Look, I don't want to make waves, but this whole Christmas season is stupid, stupid, stupid!”

“There is, however one teeny-tiny Christmas tradition I find quite meaningful. Mistletoe.”

“Burn, baby! Burn!”

“Evening, folks. Mind if I ride along? You might want to scooch over.”

“You fellas all right? How about a nice hat?”

“I'm hurt, [Lou]. I'm hurt, and I don't hurt easily.”

“But you and your family.... I'm so disappointed.”

“I just wanted everybody to be together for Christmas.”

“Suffering snorkelblatz! They're relentless!”

“Oh, no. I'm speaking in rhyme!”

“I must stop this whole thing. Why for year after year I've put up with it now.”

“Are you having a holly, jolly Christmas? Wrong-o!”

“If you're not going to help me then you might as well…”

“You're as cuddly as a cactus and as charming as an eel.”

“Just face the music, you're a monster.”

“Your heart's an empty hole.”

“I asked for three-quarters, not five-eighths. Stay focused!”

“Air bag is a little slow. But that's what these tests are for!”

“Talk about a recluse. He only comes out once a year, and he never catches any flak for it!”

“Probably lives up there to avoid the taxes.”

“No, forget that part. We'll improvise.”

“Saving Christmas was a lousy ending. Way too commercial.”

“We're gonna die! We're gonna die! I'm going to throw up, and then I'm gonna die!”

“[Mommy], tell it to stop!”

“Almost lost my cool there.”

“It's Santa! Go right back to sleep.”

“[He]'s planning a double-twisting interrupted forward-flying 2-and-a-half with a combo tuck and pike. High degree of difficulty.”

“Blasted water weight! Goes right to my hips.”

“Okay, fellas. Show time.”

“[Mr. Santa], what are you doing with our tree?”

“[Santa], what's Christmas really about?”

“I know [he]'s mean and hairy and smelly. [His] hands might be cold and clammy. But I think [he]'s actually kind of sweet.”

“Nice kid. Bad judge of character.”

“Clearance sale. Everything must go.”

“That wasn't so bad, was it, [Max]?”

“What an embarrassment! I've been robbed!”

“I wonder who could have done this.”

“But did anyone listen to me? No.”

“[Cindy], I hope you're very proud of what you've done.”

“You're glad. You're glad everything is gone. You're glad that [the Grinch] virtually wrecked.... No, not wrecked, pulverized Christmas. Is that what I'm hearing?”

“You can't hurt Christmas, [Mr. Mayor], because it isn't about the gifts or the contests or the fancy lights. That's what [Cindy]'s been trying to tell everyone! And me. [She]'s been trying to tell me.”

“What's wrong with you? This is a child!”

“[She]'s my child. And she happens to be right, by the way.”

“I don't need anything more for Christmas than this right here, my family!”

“Now for the final note in my symphony of downright nasty not-niceness! The crescendo of my odious opus! The wailing and the gnashing of teeth. The bellowing of the bitterly bummed out! It'll be like music to my ears!”

“Somehow or other, it came Just the same!”

“How could it be so? It came without ribbons! It came without tags! It came without packages, boxes or bags!”

“Maybe Christmas doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.”

“Help me! I'm feeling!”

“What's happening to me? I'm all toasty inside. And I'm leaking?”

“All right, that's enough! Knock it off! beat it! Get out of here! One step at a time!

“Wait! This can't happen! It shouldn't! It couldn't! It mustn't! It wouldn't! Not now, not then, not ever again!”

“What are you doing up there!?”

“I came to see you. No one should be alone on Christmas.”

“I got you, [Cindy Lou]!”

“Are you kiddin'? The sun is bright and the powder's bitchin'!”

“Now scoot over! It's my turn to drive!”

“Now you listen to me, [young] [lady]! Even if we're horribly mangled there'll be no sad faces on Christmas.”

“By the way, these lights match your outfit perfectly.”

“This could be more difficult to negotiate.”

“Out of the way! I have no insurance!”

“Run for your lives! Watch out, I can't stop!”

“Aren't you gonna cuff me? Put me in a choke hold? Blind me with pepper spray?”

“Sorry but my heart belongs to someone else.”

“Cheer up, dude. It's Christmas.”

“There's nothin' like the holidays.”

“Too late! That'll be mine.”

[jujutsukgojo]

Sukuna

chapter two, chapter three

Summary: The ones that knew you can at least say you tried. Your best friend, your student, the disgraced one, will always be your best friend. The origin of Sukuna Ryoumen, the curse, is on you.

TW: violence, angst, mild misogyny. Please beware of this!

I am tagging as i go so later chapters will have different warnings. There is some history here so i tried to keep up. It is very minor though. I don't own jjk or the characters.

“Master Tengen?” Said man turns around to see who called his name. His eyes squint to see who had called him. Although he is immortal, that doesn’t mean his body is. It is about time for a physical change again. After all, he can only last about a hundred or so years now. 

“We’re waiting for you,” The young man comes closer to the stronghold of jujutsu. “What are you doing Master Tengen?” 

  Humming, Tengen answers the curious young man who had just become a grade two. A respectable grade if you ask him. He thinks they all are since it is you who taught your class that. But he will be honest here, you would totally disapprove of this hierarchy. You wanted equality and unity. The balance of nature and peace. Never would you have allowed such a separation of a society you helped build.  

  Jujutsu has always been, but never had it been functional and structured until you. And now look at it. It rests on prejudice and the closed minded, the very things you hated.  

Sighing, he answers the young man. “Thinking about my student days.”  

  “You were a student?” Is he really that old that no one remembers that he is human? He wants to roll his eyes but how can you blame someone who just doesn’t understand? Someone who was lied to. 

Not a second later, Tengen asks, “Do you know the story of the mother of jujutsu?” 

“Who? I never heard of a mother.” Tengen is forbidden to speak of him, Sukuna. But the young man Tengen will tell. If he is to die today, someone should know of you. You are the reason Sukuna is here.  

  Recently, Tengen’s dreams have been flooded with you. He remembers being just like this young man and walking up to you, explaining that he is immortal and needs guidance. Tengen will never forget your smile. He will never forget Sukuna’s sneer and crossed arms from beside you. Tengen will never forget the beginning of the society. 

“You are not to speak of this story until I pass, do you understand?” A trick that the young man undoubtedly caught. Tengen is eternal. He cannot pass unless taken. 

“Why?” The young man sits down on the floor. Tengen settles in his chair to face him. “For no reason at all.” 

--------

794  

With a growl, he shovels another bite into his mouth. Watching those pompous nobles' parade around and literally toss food to others makes the food he picked up taste bitter. All of it makes him sick. The rich pretend to be holy and charitable throwing their leftovers to others. With a grin they do it; teeth bared like a smile, but all he saw was a snarl. A warning for those not to get too close to them.  

  The food in his never-ending stomach gets too heavy for him. He makes it to the window just in time to vomit. He is still hungry. Sukuna cannot help himself when it comes to food. He doesn’t know why he is always so hungry. It has become a problem for him with others. They all stare directly at him like he is some kind of spectacle. It amazes yet frightens them how much he eats and his physique that never waivers or weakens. Instead, he grew taller and stronger. He now has to duck his head when entering through the door.  

  Clenching his fists, Sukuna looks out the window. Sukuna has always been odd. This heavy feeling, this rage boiling inside him. Not only do people talk of his physique but they call him crazy. He said he had saw something horrific and when they failed to see it, they immediately thought him to be mad.  

  This wouldn’t happen if they knew their place, Sukuna thought. He is above them; he knows this. And yet, he receives nothing but judgement and hatred. Things thrown at him and disgusting whispers.  

  He can see and hear things they can’t. He can do things they never will. Nevertheless, someone with such talent is inside a little hut while nobles toss him their garbage. He hates them all.  

That painful, tingly feeling he has always gotten grows stronger with each day. Sometimes it settles in his bones, making it hard for him to get up without his knees buckling under the sheer weight of it. Something has got to give or Sukuna fears that he will be the one to.

 

In the dead of night with only the moon and stars out, he exits his small home. Sukuna was able to acquire the land cheaply since it is very, very, small and is largely separated from others. It has his appreciation anyways since it does its job. Sukuna passes the shrine and stares at it. He cannot help but think of himself having one. With no family or friends, it is unlikely that he will ever receive one even in death.  

  One day he’ll eat us! They say. We are bound to run out of food because of him. They say. He’s crazy! They say. This is how he will be remembered. 

So badly does he want them to shut up. Whispering around him as if he could not hear them. “Someday I will have my own shrine...yes. I like the sound of that.” Some day he will be respected maybe even worshipped. The tingling feeling starts on his arms and legs at the thought.  

“Really?” 

  Shocked, he turns around to see you. Rarely do people come up to him anyway. Your lips clamp shut, and you look down, as if you are embarrassed that you spoke up. “Yes, really. Why not?” 

“Do you think you are that remarkable?” You become a little bolder, looking up at him now, directly into his eyes. Such a nosey little thing you are.  

“Well, I have a few tricks up my sleeve.” Besides his hunger, there is another small reason as to why they whisper. Rumors flowing in the wind, apparent “sightings” of what Sukuna is. “What are they?” 

“Being incredibly hungry.” At the last second, he curves that answer. “Me too.” You quip.  

Truthfully, Sukuna is starting to like your company. Even if it is just a few seconds long. Never has someone been seemingly comfortable in his presence. And you haven’t even picked on him. Just talked to him. How has he just now realized that he feels so alone? 

You look up into his eyes. Sukuna admits that it is cute the way you have to crane your neck to look at him. His overall figure has always been intimidating to people. Normally he would roll his eyes at their whispers of his size, but the way you look when you stare into his eyes is cute and friendly. 

   “Will you tell me what you are? It’s fine to be honest.” 

So, you do know of the rumors. “Mind your tongue.” You take a small step back but do not look down. “You’re bold to still look up at me without permission.” 

Snorting, you ask, “Who are you? God?” 

He hums.  

  The two of you walk along and you touch the wood of the shrine. He tries to shake you off by walking away after realizing you heard the rumors. She probably just wanted to get a good look at the beast. 

However, you showed no signs of running away. Instead, you kept up with him without sneering. Sukuna strangely found your presence calming despite trying to shake you off. It isn’t supposed to go like this. He just wanted to walk and fantasize.   

It is probably scandalous for the two of you to be talking like this, but your willingness to talk to Sukuna period is telling. As you walk by his side, he then feels it. Your energy. Energy like this is on everyone, but yours is a little stronger. Just like him, regular people can feel it too. An aura around you that people know is off.  

However, it is trying to hide, as if it is playing peek-a-boo. He has never hidden his presence, yet you hide. He wonders why and if you can truly relate to him. 

  “You want me to be honest with you. But I will only do that if you are honest with me.” Sukuna will not show his cards right now.  

With a small smile, you say, “We are just alike, y’know. Trust me when I say that you are not alone.” 

  Rolling his eyes, he continues to walk. He hears your feet catch up with him. Raising his eyebrow as he side eyes you, he comments, “Brave. Very brave.” 

  When he enters the empty space in the woods he likes to train in, he feels an immense energy coming his way. Just in time he dodges. It tears through the air and the branches of the trees. You are on him in an instant. He is mildly shocked by the events. He didn't expect you to attack him. Before he would do anything, he was going to tell you to scram. 

“I can help you if you want.” There was no technique in that attack, just energy. It was almost as if you were lazily doing it. At that moment, Sukuna starts to growl. “You think of me that weak that you hold back?” 

  You shake your head no. “I wanted to show you that you aren’t alone. Let me show you what true jujutsu is.” 

  He stares up at you. Your smaller form sits on top of his. “Mind your tongue.” 

  You stand and stretch out a hand to him. “You don’t have to be alone.” 

How did you know he felt lonely? Do you know what being alone is? Secluded because you are insane and frightening? 

  “I got you, my friend.” Sukuna wonders if you can read his mind or are you just that intuitive. 

------

“That’s very nice of her, Master Tengen.” The young man smiles a little. Tengen shakes his head at his naivety.  

“To a degree it is. But no one should burden themselves with something that isn’t their job. Sukuna had then grown the idea that our teacher needed to be his, and his alone. His safety net.” 

“Is that a good thing?” 

“No. At that moment he believed that he was to be supported in everything, no matter how wicked. Our teacher was not that kind of person. With her lessons, she expected greatness for the good of things. Not for evil will.” 

 The young man slowly nods. Tengen can see that the young man was confused of his teacher’s role in Sukuna’s life. Tengen leans in slightly. “She was his friend and teacher. Someone to guide him and be there for him. Not his leader or his caretaker. There is a difference between a deity and a teacher. A friend and a mother.” 

“Deity? Mother?”  

Tengen leans back in his seat. “He put her on a pedestal that she was never meant to fill. And my beloved teacher, no matter how kind and graceful, could not fill it. Unfortunately, he would soon find that out.” 

  The young man looked confused and shocked. Did Sukuna really believe that she was strong like that? Why would he place her in that role?  

“One of the worst things about this poor story is that my teacher was so eager to gain a friend and student, that she unknowingly raised a monster who would end it all.” 

------

“Okay, so do it like this.” You press your hand to the ground, massaging the grass between your fingers. You eyes are closed and there is a small smile on your pretty face. It looks content, peaceful. 

“This is meditating.” You nod and push him down to the ground. “It is about connecting to the spirits, y’know.” 

 He sighs, wondering how he had gotten into this predicament with you. All you did was offer to help him control his ability. Apparently, you and he are the only ones so far. From what you told him, that is not possible. He originally wondered why and how. Sukuna is enjoying himself now. He doesn't want this to end, so he doesn't care. 

Opening his eyes, he looks at you. “What are you going to do now?” 

“Sh.” 

“I’m serious. What are you going to do?” He doesn’t mean the meditating or whatever the fuck this is. He means overall. What is the grand idea? You tap your chin. 

 “I keep telling you that you are not alone. I want to find more of us and build.” You stretch out your arms, exaggerating the size. He doesn’t like where this is going.  

“How?” 

  You lean closer. “I’m saying, why not find a couple of people and teach them?”  Sukuna couldn’t help but shake his head at the thought. The ability to do the things that they do has to be born. Not taught. That is the only explanation. 

“No.” His refusal wasn’t just him trying to get his friend some sense, but to deny a possibility of interruptions and interference between their friendship. 

“Stingy...” You whisper. He scoffs and puts you back into your place. “Continue to teach me.” 

He touches the ground like you tell him to. Feel the earth, the life under his hands. “In order to make your energy manifest right, you have to learn about others and the spirits.” 

What he hears is not your desire to make friends but to judge the strength of people. He has yet to meet any that impresses him. You have but only because he views you as an equal and someone that will not lower him. You have promised to get rid of his pain as well. 

Growling, he stops to stare at you. “What are you not understanding?” You cock your head to the side at his question, confused at where he is getting. Sukuna continues to berate your way of thinking. 

“We may be the only ones. We should build on that only.” He punches the ground in frustration. Is it wrong for him to want it to be just the two of you?  

  Sukuna knows you are a bit off of your rocker. All the time he known you, your hair has never been in place, your clothes have always been askew. The skirt you used to wear was never tied right. Now since the change of fashion, you still have not gained a grain of sense and cross your kimono wrong. Not only this, but you go without shoes and constantly touch everything. How many things have you broken by now, he will never know.  

  It is what drew him to you. That and the fact that you are not scared of him in the slightest. You stare up at him when you are not given permission. You do not sit properly and are not concerned with people’s opinions. To him, you are worthy of being his friend, his teacher with your wisdom and can-do attitude. The dismissal of the close-minded thinking inspires him. 

 “Negative emotions spur on our ability, can’t you tell? What if we-” 

“You.” There is no ‘we’ in this building crap. 

  You reach up and close his eyes for him and repeat what you were trying to say. “Negative emotions spur on the connection, I find. Anger is akin to flame. It grows and eats at everything. Maybe think of it like that? I’ll find others, I know I can.” His stomach grumbles.  

  Sukuna’s face warms. With his eyes still closed, he hears shuffling. Something is then pressed against his lips. “Bite!” 

He does so. It’s rice. You’re feeding him. Sukuna is not your husband by a long shot. In fact, Sukuna doesn’t think it is proper for you to be how you are anyway. And he loves it. 

 “What the fuck are you? My servant?” 

“So? You’re my student and my dearest friend. I am not letting you go hungry.” 

He takes another bite. This time, you gave him fish. He wonders on how you managed to hide all of this. “What do you feel now?” 

“Still hungry.” You groan at his response. He doesn’t see the sly smile you have. “I was thinking...maybe I can find others today. Who knows? Maybe they can help you.” 

He grabs your wrist. “Mind your tongue. I do not need help.” At least not theirs. The only help he needed was yours. You are to help him bear his energy. It is what you said you’d do. 

When he talked, he moved his right hand for emphasis. Just like that, it created a slice. Everything in its path got completely chopped, as if it were done by a knife. 

  You gasp. He looked shocked at first, then smug. You pet the giant’s pinkish head. It seems that his technique comes from cooking. With chopping, with fire, it all seems like cooking. Just like you predicted. 

  He lets you position him in a fighting stance. “Follow me!” So, he does. Sukuna will not admit it because of pride, but he will always follow you. Sukuna moves his hands as quick as you do. Side by side the two of you cut through the air with punches and kicks.  

“You’re strong, so stand tall!” You yell. He takes it to heart as he does with everything you teach him. Even though he will never say that you are teaching him. He'd rather die than confess that it is you that has taught him to take his curse energy and manifest it. Sukuna will never tell that it is you that taught him what true jujutsu is.  

  After teaching him different forms, you then turn to each other. For minutes the two of you fight. Not enough to harm each other but enough to gather each other’s fighting techniques. Sukuna has never asked you where you learned all of this. Maybe he never will.  

  Adding onto the sparring the two of you gather each other’s energy and begin to really fight. Nothing is held back by Sukuna. The size difference between you two would make anyone vote in Sukuna’s favor. Little do they know that you are mighty. Throughout your fight you bring out charms and weapons like always. He has never questioned why.  

“Like a flash of black lightning, should you flow with energy.” With a deep breath, you launch your fist that was riddled with energy. In the air lands a powerful blow that creates a beautiful force. Your eyes look so lost in it. And Sukuna was caught in it.  

It hurt like a bitch.  

On the ground coughing, he asks, “How do I do that?” Snapping out of it, you tell him. “Get lost in it. Feel it and indulge.” Sukuna closes his eyes tightly. He wants to learn more, just like you. He wants to learn what you mean by true jujutsu. He wants to get lost in it with you, and only you.  

  You have surpassed all of the things he expected from you. And to think, you, someone of the same lowly status, is here teaching him when you should be doing whatever the fuck else. Definitely not talking to him. The monster.  

You teach him to feel the energy of his emotions, to constantly be aware of himself and others.  

 “This will help me, right? Not just make me stronger but also make the pain go away?” 

 “Of course.” 

 Sukuna sees you walk towards the blind man with shining white hair. The white-haired man clenches his fist, clearly annoyed with how everything is just too much. The man knows he is odd. He is young but has white hair, he is blind yet can move around, and is incredibly tall. The world is just too much though. You walk up to him as he sits on the stones.  

“Are you alright?” 

“No.” He is quick to answer. He reminds you of Sukuna, you think. His cursed energy is heavy and dense. Contained but so strong. 

 Sukuna sees you get closer. He doesn’t like this, but he understands your way of thinking. Honestly, he prefers it to be just you and him. His ambitions to be strong and who knows? Maybe throw the hierarchy. With his wonderous sightings, people are already in wonder and fear him. 

The white haired man goes to push you away. Sukuna sits back and watches. You frown at the white-haired man. There isn’t anything wrong you tell him. “Can you come with us?” 

You grab his hand and lead him with Sukuna tagging along. “Where are we going?” He asks. 

“I want you to open your mind, is all. There is so much here. So much curse energy it’s practically buzzing!” Sukuna walks in front of you rather than by your side.  

Later, Sukuna sees you help this man the way you did him. Touching the ground and working his negative energy into manifesting. As long as he has an open mind, you say. Curiosity is an amazing thing, you remind him. 

While you help that man, Sukuna helps himself. He begins to perfect his technique. Something you found out with him. It is believed that a technique manifests according to the person. With Sukuna’s gluttony, it fit him to have a technique that is the equivalent to cooking, cutting, frying, and containing. Things he has done in his own kitchen. Things that he has seen you do while making him food. 

  This blind man, Gojo, however, begins to see. His eyes are a sparkling blue and the amount of space around him starts to morph into power. His power is close to Sukuna’s, but the latter has had it longer and is more experienced. 

  “I...want more students. Is that wrong of me?” You ask your friend.

The blind man dances excitedly, totally happy that he can see, even though that sight is more than he bargained for as it begins to hurt. Sukuna answers you as he sits on the ground next to you.  

  The three of you have moved to the hills surrounded by nothing but peace. The grass is green and the waters are filled with tranquility. Here is where you can feel it all. The earth has negative, or as you have officially called it, cursed energy. But the plants have nothing but positive. 

 It’s the balance that is here is what makes it so easy to walk, is what you said. 

“It’s not wrong of you to want more. But be careful...the people are starting to fuss.” You blow a raspberry at him. “Not because of me, but you. You shouldn’t have robbed them, Sukuna.” 

“Did I not give to those in need?” 

“For praise and worship.” 

 He looks down now. Not hiding his irritation and frustration towards you at all. “Mind your fucking tongue.” He growls. How many times must he tell you? 

Alas, you have never been afraid to look him in the eye. “Sukuna, promise me you won’t hurt others anymore. We’re supposed to help them! There are little monsters everywhere and people can’t defend themselves from them.” 

 Sukuna rolls his eyes and says that you are too righteous and that the people need to know the food chain. He never says who is on top of the food chain though. But the implication was as clear as day. Unfortunately, you had been blind to that. 

Along with Gojo, you have ‘adopted’ another named Kamo, a man whose blood flow is weak and was on the brink of death. Just as you suspected, his technique was directly related to his cursed energy from his affliction. With the ability to manipulate his own blood, he became strong and healthy.  

Another you took in is named Zenin. A woman who burned in the sun thus stayed in the shadows. She is able to go outside now and mess around with her shadows who she found solace in. The other, Inumaki, was a slick and snake like man that was mute. Unfortunately, every word he said was hypnotic. After, came Tengen. He looked a few years younger than them all with a babyface. 

  His technique as the rest found, was immortality and had a proficiency in barriers. He constantly looked after the little place you now called home. Tengen is not a combatant but does hang closely around you to learn about jujutsu. He had been around for about five hundred years, but to learn what jujutsu truly was, was new to him. 

  By this time, Sukuna rarely spent time with them. He barely knew them or their techniques. In the year 799, five years after you met Sukuna, you had built buildings for those with jujutsu and had nowhere to go.  

 Sukuna could not hide his dissatisfaction if he tried. Especially those with such weak curse energy that they blended in with normal people. Some of them lacked even that. 

  Why should he not be offended? He is the strongest. All the ones who try to fight him end up losing. He respects the strong and the strong only.  

  “Aren’t you going to help? Don’t get me wrong, I like that you practice and respect the spirits, but shouldn’t you help?” 

  Sukuna walks toward you. “You dare tell me what to do?” 

You had already noticed how big his head was getting. In the villages, he had already instilled fear and admiration. His cursed energy had somehow passed to others. Without any definite proof of how it happens, you only had theories. One of them is that his increase of cursed energy is brought on by how tainted he is becoming. His cursed energy is rubbing off on those who had slightly higher cursed energy than normal humans.  

You were becoming concerned that one day it wouldn’t just be people that would be affected, but cursed spirits.  

 And he takes no responsibility for them. That little fact is one he tends to ignore. You had first heard about it when Tengen saw that a child had suddenly started seeing cursed spirits and was ostracized. Naturally, you went and asked what had happened but did not fail to notice the devastation of the village.  

  There were crops plucked with no villagers enjoying them. Houses had caved and the ground was dented. Seeing that the little boy had just gained the ability to manifest his cursed energy, you drew the conclusion that it was him that did it.  

  There was so much of Sukuna’s remnants that you did not want to see. His scent was clearly there. Your theory was being proven. And that meant Sukuna, your dearest friend, was becoming out of control.  

  “Of course I do. I’m your teacher.”  He slams you against a tree, pinning you to it. His hands on the side of your head, caging you in. “You? I already knew what to do. You were for decoration.” 

Lies, all lies. He had a lot of curse energy and was only able to do a little due to his own set limits. It was you who brought it out and taught him the ways of true jujutsu. The one thing you had yet to conquer was the torment that his cursed energy brought. As time went on, the pain caused by it increased. He has gone to you about it several times and you have yet to act.  

  You touch his face. The only one allowed to do so. He closes his eyes, silently enjoying the feeling. “Don't let your pride and ego corrupt you.” 

“I do no such thing.” Rolling your eyes, you move to get out of his cage. Sukuna refuses to move and instead likes the feeling of it all. His curse energy has always been immense. Yours was less obvious and you had always liked to use it sparingly. As he has fought with you for five years, he has learned that his friend has a lot more agility than brutality. Sukuna has only seen pieces of your technique. You were a master of hiding your energy now, too.  

  He was so focused on improving himself that he doesn’t know what it is and how much cursed energy you have. What he has taken note of is that you tend to use charms and weapons. However, black flash is a specialty of yours. Not even he can use it as often as you do.  

 “You are disrespecting the spirits again, aren’t you?” If there is one thing Sukuna knows, it is that you are protective of them, sorcerers, and people. But he is not.  

He scoffs and backs up a little. “Why is that your concern?” 

  Growling you poke his chest. “Because you’re not supposed to! You’re supposed to care for them!” 

Sukuna scoffs at you. Gripping your chin, he says, “You are not the boss of me, remember that.” 

 Sukuna groans at the ache in his sides, right under his arm pit. Hearing this, you gently place your hands on his shoulders. “What’s wrong?” 

He stares at you. “When will you help me with my cursed energy?” 

“Don’t I already do that? Look how strong you are!” 

You promised you’d help him control it, not neglect his pain. Even though Sukuna makes his own choices and is responsible for them, you are encouraging it by your pride about how strong he is.  

[russellsppttemplates]

It's time I take a stepback (Mick Schumacher)

Becoming parents of three makes you and Mick wonder if a change in the routine is the best option

Note: english is not my first language. I'm a sucker for dad!driver as I've said before, so here's another piece!

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: pregnancy

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"So no more work for me?", you frowned. For all you knew, this was going to be a regular check up with your OB, but it didn't seem like the ones you had been in before.

"It's my advice, yes", she noted, "even though your last pregnancies were fine, and we are expecting this one to be, too, its better to be safe. The guidelines we have for people your age and with these numbers suggest that, whenever it is possible, you should rest more towards the end of the pregnancy". As she typed what you assumed your leave on the computer, your husband grabbed your hand in his, resting it on your thigh, squeezing it lightly.

"Should we keep an eye out for anything?", Mick questioned, "the usual signs, really. I know it's only busier now since you have your two little ones at home, but resting as much as possible while still keeping active, drinking loads of water and good eating. If there is anything suspicious, you can just call me or text me", she smiled, handing you the copy and getting up, "thank you so much, have a nice day", you managed to say.

The walk back to the car was done in silence, Mick closing the door on your side before getting to the driver's seat, "whatever you want to say, you can say it now, liebling. I've been with your for a long time and I know when you are keeping something, and you know I won't judge your thoughts", he teased, finding his attempt at making you smile successful.

"What does she mean 'with people your age and numbers'? Was she calling me fat? Or old? Probably both of them", you grumbled, looking to see your husband in a fit of giggles, "Liebling, I'm sorry", he excused himself, "I don't think she meant it in that way, she's just looking out for you and our babygirl. And, fortunately, we can work with what she advised", he reasoned, "besides, Sebastian and Aurora will love the idea of having us around a little more now".

"Still think she called me old and fat", you mumbled, seeing one of your favourite bakeries, "Oh, Mick, can we go there, my love? A croissant would be really good right now", you pouted, smiling when he flickered on the turn signal, "I have the best husband in the world!".

On your way home, you stopped by your workplace, handing in the maternity leave and saying a "see you soon" to all your colleagues before you went to pick up the kids. Aurora couldn't hide her surprise when she saw both of her parents by the gate, "Hey, mama! Hey, papa! Why are you both here today?", she quizzed, holding her hands out so the three of you could walk side by side, "I'm going to take some time off work, so we can spend some more time together from now on", you said as you checked of she fastened her seatbelt properly once you got to the car, "and to rest, too, let's not forget that part", Mick chipped in.

It started raininh when you arrived at Sebastian's pre-school, so Mick grabbed an umbrella and left you and Aurora in the car. "You are okay, right, mama? You're staying home because you need to rest, that's all, right?", your oldest asked, looking into your eyes through the rear view mirror. Unbucklibg your seat belt, you moved around in the space you had so you could face her, "yes, Rora. I'm all good, there's nothing to worry about. Mama just needs rest, and it's always nice that we get to spend more time together, right?", you soother her worries, seeing Seb and Mick walk to the car, "uh-oh", your daughter said, "Sebastian just walked into a big water puddle", she pointed out. Chuckling at your little boy's antics as his father picked him up, you couldn't help but shake your head, "see? It's always nice to have more hands on deck".

"Hi mama! Hi, Rora!", Sebastian greeted, pressing a sloppy kiss on his sister's cheek, "how are you and baby sister?", he asked, "we're doing good, my love. And how was your day?", you asked, fastening your belt again while Mick drove home, "it was good! But now my feet are wet, I have to change when I get home".

While Mick took care of dinner with Seb's help, you helped Aurora with her homework, coming out of her bedroom when Sebastian called, "Mama, Rora!", he yelled as he walked inside after knocking on the door, "Papa and I made lasagna! It's not as good as Oma's, but it's pretty close!", he smiled proudly at their achievement, holding your hand as he helped you down the stairs.

"I hope you didn't start eating without us", Sebastian threatened, "of course we didn't, we know mama takes a little longer on the stairs now", Aurora reasoned, tapping your baby bump cutely as she went around you to sit at the table, "I want that crispy bit, please".

The bedtime routine went smoothly as you both read stories to Aurora and Sebastian, kissing their foreheads goodnight, "I'm so tired I feel like I could sleep right here", you chuckled, arranging the pillows on the sofa.

"Do you want to go back upstairs? I can finish this here quickly and I'll join you in a bit", Mick offered, seeing you contemplate, "you really don't mind?", you squinted, "no, I don't. Go upstairs, beautiful", he added, kissing your lips as he ushered you up the stairs.

As much as you didn't like to admit it, this pregnancy was taking a big toll on you. You had two kids that despite being pretty good and calm still required your attention and energy, and as you approached the third trimester, you started to feel that the mandated rest from your doctor was actually a good decision.

"Oh, you're in bed already?", Mick asked when he closed the bedroom door, seeing you tucked in bed. He quickly did his nighttime routine, grabbing the bottle of oil on his way so he could sit next to you.

"Hi, baby girl", he began, taking the cap off and depositing some on your bump, "you're going to be a lot calmer, we hope, since mama is taking some time off", he kissed your belly button, "we are all going to do something to help her and make sure she doesn't run herself ragged".

"And what is papa going to do? Everytime mama looks at him, she gets even more flustered", you ran your fingers through his hair, teasing him slightly and not expecting his answer, "well, papa had been thinking about retiring", he gulped, looking up at you as his hands continued the ministrations on your skin.

"What?", you fixed your position, sitting properly against the headboard so you could face your husband, "where's this coming from?".

"It's not new, before you think this is because of today's appointment", Mick began, "I've been thinking about retiring so I can be home for you and the kids. With Rora, it was the first time so we managed it, and with Seb we just winged it and went along, but three kids? It's a whole different experience. I can tell that it's a lot more tiring, and while some things get easier because of experience, I wouldn't want you to have to manage three kids on your own", he explained.

"And you'd just leave motorsport? You would stop racing?", you asked, unsure of you were getting his point.

"Yes. I have won championships, I've raced competitively to my heart's content. I have a career that I'm proud of, that I'd like to tell my children about when they grow older. And I also want to spend more time with them, with you. I want to be able to help and be more present in their lives", he reasoned.

"You are present in their lives, Mick", you reasoned, "I know, liebling. But retiring would mean that I'm almost always here, and I want that", he rubbed his thumb on your hand, smoothing the skin, "I've spoken to Toto, and the team are okay with waiting a little bit. They have plans for either way, so it's just a matter of my decision, of our decision".

"You've given this some thought", you mumbled, "and no matter where this goes, my position is the same. As long as it makes you happy, we will be here to support you", you smiled, grabbing his hand and kissing it before placing it back in your bump, playing with his fingers, "I would never want you to give up something that you love so much, but if you want to do it, then me, Rora, Seb and Harriet are going to be here for you", you smiled.

"Thank you, liebling", he kissed your lips, "I love you. Also", he pointed out, "Harriet, hm?".

"I've been thinking about names and Harriet came up. Just trying it out and see how it flows, you know?", you cuddled him, kissing his chest, "I love you so much, Mick".

.

Arriving at home, Mick helped Aurora and Sebastian out of the car before they walked up to the living room together, "when I left them here to go and pick you up from Oma's, Harriet was still asleep, so we have to keep quiet, okay?", he checked, seeing the kids nod as he opened the door.

"Can we come in? I have an excited big sister and big brother here", Mick said as they walked inside. Aurora held her brother's hand in hers, urging him to go in front of her, "go, you can do this", she whispered on his ear.

The small encouragement didn't go unnoticed by you and Mick, deciding to comment on it later, "she was just asleep but she woke up, I guess she's very excited to meet you two", you smiled, arranging the pillows so both kids could sit on either side of you while they peeked at their baby sister, Mick crouching in front of you, "can I give her a kiss, mama?", your son asked, carefully kissing his sister's cheek when you nodded. The baby made a noise that caught him off guard, "Oh, she didn't like it?", he pouted, tears welling in his eyes.

Quickly, Mick caught on the moment, "no, Seb, none of that. She just didn't expect it, maybe. You know when me and mama go to your room to wake you up? You don't like it a lot, right? It's almost the same for Harriet, she wasn't counting on it, that's all", he encouraged, gesturing for his son to try again, this time seeing Aurora do the same as the baby sighed in content, "see? She's happy now, she loves those kisses", Mick finished, looking up and seeing you with teary eyes.

"It's our family, let me cry all I want", you sniffed, "they're happy tears anyway", you announced, kissing all of the children's foreheads before puckering your lips to kiss your husband's.

Later, Mick found himself feeding Harriet while you played with Aurora and Sebastian. He hadn't been home for long, but he could see how you were juggling it. You were still recovering from giving birth, but like he had predicted, three kids was a lot. His mother had stopped by for dinner, taking control of the kitchen as she baked one of her roasts.

"Thank you for this", he said to Corinna, "I don't know how you two have managed this when I wasn't here", he admitted.

"We found it in ourselves", Corinna began, "and she also spoke to me about your plans, or the option that is on the table, I guess", she clarified, wanting to hear more about it from her son.

"I feel accomplished in my career, for now at least. And I want to be involved in their lives. I never felt like dad was not involved because he always made the effort, and I want to do the same. And I want to be there when they wake up, to get them from school, and three kids requires a lot more juggling. I don't want Y/N to have to do all of that juggling, or to stop chasing her dreams because of motherhold", he reasoned, "we're in this together, and I think it's time I take a stepback".

"Corinna, they are asking for you. I may be biased, but they have some pretty cute drawings to show you. Ambiguous when it comes to what they represent, but cute nonetheless", you smiled, seeing your mother in-law wipe her hands on the kitchen towell and heading to the living room where you just were.

"Hi, little bug", you cooed, seeing Harriet resting happily in her father's chest, "you just found the comfiest spot ever, didn't you? I have to share it with three of you now".

"It's a good thing that I'll be here more often then", Mick stated, kissing the top of her head and moving to kiss yours too.

"Are you sure about that?", you asked, looking for any uncertainty in his eyes. You had known him all your life, so it wasn't hard to look for the light fog in his eyes or his nervous eyebrow twitch. But you were met instead with a peaceful expression, eyes glossy and happy. "I'm sure, liebling. I spoke to Toto this morning and I'm retiring. I want to be here with you", he confirmed, feeling your arms wrap around his torso, "I'm so proud of you, Mick, we all are. And I bet the kids will love having your around even more".

"Are you saying their mother won't love having me around more?", he teased, smirking at you, "Oh, as soon as this is all working, their mother knows exactly what to do with that time".