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dollgxtz · 2 days ago

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His Watchful Eye Pt.13

Word Count: 18.2k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, forced pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, tw if u have tokophobia, some smut, masturbation, forced orgasm, pet names like kitten, sweetie, honey, xavier appears, gunshot, slight bloodshed, attempted murder

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti , @m0onlustre , @ve1vet-cake, @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglmela @connorsui, @iluvmewwwww75, @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer, @mysssticc, @babygirl-panda19, @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1, @honnylemontea, @altariasu, @the-slytherin-poet, @sorryimakira, @pearlymel, @emidpsandia , @angel-jupiter, @hwangintakswifey, @webmvie, @housesortinghat, @fading-twinkle, @shoruio, @gojos1ut, @solomonlover, @cheesenjam, @elegantnightblaze, @mavphorias, @babylavendersblog, @burntoutfrogacademic, @sinstae, @certainduckanchor, @ladyackermanisdead, @sh4nn, @milkandstarlight, @lilyadora, @depressedwhore, @nyumin, @kiwookse, @anisha24-blog1, @weepingluminarytale, @xxhayashixx, @hesperisms, @adraxsteia, @hargun-s @cayraeley, @xxfaithlynxx

AN: This is on A03! Sorry this took so long yall, I had a lot going on in my personal life! You guys get to find out the baby’s gender in this chapter so buckle up <33

“Why?” you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible. “Why would you show me something like this?” His gaze softens, and he leans closer, resting his forehead against yours. “Because I love you,” he says simply. “And I’ll never let anything take you from me. Nothing, not even death can keep us apart.”

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

“You cheater!” Luke’s voice rang out, his mock outrage echoing through the living room.

“I am not! You just don’t know how to bluff!” Kieran shot back, motioning smugly as he held up his cards.

Their playful bickering was punctuated by the sound of your laughter, bright and unrestrained. “Oh, come on, Luke. Even I could see that bluff coming a mile away,” you teased, playfully nudging his arm.

From his office, Sylus heard every word through Mephisto’s watchful feed. The robotic crow perched unnoticed in the corner, its camera lens fixed on the lively scene. Sylus barely glanced at the open laptop on his desk, his attention locked on the display showing you sitting on the couch, basically sandwiched between his two henchmen.

He should have been reading the stack of files in front of him. Instead, he found himself captivated—and annoyed—by the scene unfolding in his living room. His grip tightened on the edge of his desk as he watched you laugh again, this time leaning closer to Luke.

His jaw clenched. That laugh. The one you’d been so stingy with around him lately. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t logical. But it stung to hear it so freely given to anyone else.

What was this feeling gnawing at him? Jealousy? Sylus almost scoffed at the thought. How absurd. How ridiculous. To feel envious of his own henchmen? Of Luke, who couldn’t bluff his way out of a paper bag, or Kieran, who treated life like one endless game? And yet, when he saw Luke’s body shift ever so close to yours as he dealt another hand, Sylus felt a flare of irritation that was hard to ignore.

Then you laughed again, harder this time, doubling over and putting a hand on Luke’s shoulder as he said something undoubtedly stupid. Sylus didn’t even hear the joke. He didn’t care. The sight of your hand lingering there for just a second too long made his chest tighten.

With a sharp motion, he snapped his laptop shut, the sound echoing through the quiet of his office. He couldn’t watch this anymore. His thoughts swirled as he rose from his chair, straightening his cuffs and adjusting his tie.

It wasn’t as though he distrusted Luke or Kieran. They were loyal, dependable—idiots, perhaps, but loyal ones. This wasn’t about them. No, this was about you. The way you laughed so easily with them. The way your guard seemed to drop just a little in their presence. The genuineness of your laugh.

Why did you never look at him like that?

He didn’t want to be thinking this way. He didn’t want to feel this irrational, suffocating jealousy. But the ache in his chest, the bitterness that twisted his thoughts, refused to be ignored.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Sylus made his way to the living room.

The energy in the room shifted the moment Sylus entered. His presence was a tangible thing, heavy and commanding, cutting through the casual warmth like a knife. Luke and Kieran stiffened immediately, their playful banter dying on their lips. Kieran subtly adjusted his posture, sitting up straighter, while Luke avoided Sylus’s gaze altogether, pretending to be very interested in his cards.

And you? You froze for just a fraction of a second, your smile fading as your eyes flicked to him. Then, as if remembering the role you were supposed to play, you quickly plastered on a fake smile and greeted him, “Sylus. I didn’t hear you come in.”

The sound of your voice, so polite, so calculated, made his chest ache. He hated the mask you wore around him. Hated that you still felt the need to pretend. And yet, seeing your fleeting moment of unease just before the mask slipped into place was enough to soothe his earlier jealousy—if only slightly.

Sylus’s gaze swept over the room, landing on Luke and Kieran, who were doing a poor job of hiding their discomfort. He couldn’t blame them. They weren’t stupid. They knew when they’d crossed an invisible line.

“Luke. Kieran.” His tone was calm, but the undercurrent of authority was unmistakable. “There’s something I need you to take care of for me. Now.”

Luke glanced at Kieran, and the two exchanged a silent look before nodding in unison. “Of course, boss,” Luke said quickly, already rising from the couch.

“What is it?” Kieran asked, his usual bravado tempered by the tension in the air.

Sylus didn’t elaborate. He simply fixed them with a pointed look, one that said, You don’t need to know. Just go. They got the message loud and clear.

Luke hesitated for half a second, glancing at you as if to say goodbye, but a sharp glance from Sylus sent him scurrying after Kieran. As the door closed behind them, Sylus felt a faint sense of satisfaction. The air in the room was quieter now, calmer.

It was just the two of you.

You leaned back on the couch, crossing your arms as you looked at him. “That seemed urgent,” you said, your tone light, but he could hear the faint edge beneath it.

Sylus tilted his head, studying you with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You seemed to be having fun.”

“I was,” you said simply, your expression unreadable.

Sylus’s gaze flickered to you as you shifted on the couch, adjusting the hem of your dress absentmindedly. The soft fabric stretched over the faint swell of your belly, a small but undeniable reminder of the life growing inside you—his child. His chest swelled with a mixture of pride and possessiveness as his eyes lingered on you. You were around 14 weeks now, well into the second trimester, and the subtle changes in your body were impossible to miss.

Yet, your next words snapped him out of his thoughts.

“When do you think Luke and Kieran will be back?” you asked casually, your tone light and conversational, but it struck Sylus like a slap. He kept his expression neutral, but inside, irritation flared.

Oh? So you’re eager for their company again? Why?

The question churned in his mind, and despite the years of self-control he’d mastered, it took effort to keep his irritation from showing. He tilted his head slightly, studying you with a small, unreadable smile. “I’m not sure,” he replied smoothly. “Why? Missing them already?”

The way you hesitated, your eyes darting to the side before giving a half-hearted shrug, only added fuel to the quiet storm brewing inside him. “They’re fun to be around,” you said, your voice nonchalant, but Sylus didn’t miss the faint trace of genuine fondness in your tone. It made his blood simmer, though he kept his composure.

Fun to be around? Was he not enough? Sylus’s jaw tightened imperceptibly as he kept his gaze steady on you. Had he been spending too much time away? Between overseeing Onychinus operations and ensuring your comfort, had he let too much distance form between you?

He exhaled slowly, keeping the irritation buried deep as he considered the past few weeks. Yes, he’d been away from you for longer stretches, monitoring operations and handling things you didn’t need to be involved in. But that was for your safety, for your comfort. And yet…was this the result? You sitting here, glowing in a dress he bought, carrying his child, but asking about them?

He’d seen it in the way you laughed with them, the way your walls seemed to come down just a little when they were around. They were playful, easygoing—no doubt filling some gap you felt in this new life. But you didn’t need them. You wanted a playmate? He was all you needed. And he’d make sure of it.

His gaze drifted back to the small curve of your belly, visible now even when you sat. The sight grounded him, softened the sharp edge of his irritation. There was no denying that he wanted to be closer to you. That he needed to be closer to you. Perhaps he hadn’t been as attentive as he should’ve been lately. Perhaps he needed to show you that you didn’t need anyone else.

“I see,” he said finally, his tone light but carrying an undertone of finality. “Well, I’ll make sure they’re not gone too long. But perhaps…” He paused, allowing himself a small smile as he leaned against the armrest of the couch, his gaze locking onto yours. “We should spend more time together, too. You and I.”

Your head tilted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing your features before you masked it with a polite smile. “Sure,” you said softly, though your tone lacked the warmth he’d been hoping for. Still, it didn’t matter.

He waited, expecting you to say more, but when you didn’t, the silence between you grew heavier. Finally, Sylus broke it. “You spend a lot of time with them,” he said casually, though his voice was carefully controlled. “You never ask to spend time with me like that.”

You hesitated, glancing away. “Oh, well…” You trailed off, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who plays card games, I guess.”

Sylus chuckled at that, a low sound that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Is that what you think of me?” he asked, his tone almost amused, though there was a distinct sharpness to it.

When you didn’t respond immediately, he let the silence stretch, studying you. The way your gaze flicked downward, your subtle shift in posture—every movement spoke volumes to him. You weren’t oblivious to the tension.

“I think,” he said finally, his voice dipping lower, “that you’re underestimating me, kitten.”

For a moment, you didn’t respond, your gaze fixed on a random spot on the floor. Then, you forced a small smile and looked up at him. “Maybe I am,” you said softly. "I just...know you get busy with running Onychinus. The twins are good company."

Sylus’s thoughts solidified as he watched you shift uncomfortably, his irritation fading into a calm resolve. Yes, you wanted company. He could give you that. He would give you everything you needed and more. Luke and Kieran’s involvement? That would be limited. They had their roles to play, but you were his. They didn’t belong in this picture the way he did.

His fingers twitched with the urge to reach out, to feel the baby growing inside you, to remind you that no one could provide for you the way he could. But instead, he straightened and adjusted his cuffs, his smile never faltering.

“You don’t need them,” he said, his voice soft and low, more to himself than to you. “I’m all you need.”

And he would make sure you believed it.

Sylus sat across from you, his gaze sharp, unwavering. He didn’t miss the irritation in your posture, the way your arms crossed defensively, or how you deliberately avoided looking at him. He let it slide, deciding to wait until the right moment to address it—or ignore it entirely. He reached into his pocket, retrieving a small bottle of pills. The sound of the capsules rattling against the plastic broke the tension in the room.

He watched as your eyes flicked to the bottle, curiosity sparking in your expression. "What’s that?" you asked, your tone laced with suspicion.

Sylus allowed a small, knowing smirk to tug at the corner of his lips. He raised the bottle slightly, watching your reaction as he spoke. "Prenatal vitamins," he said plainly, enjoying the flicker of confusion that crossed your face.

Your brows furrowed as you processed his words, and you reached for the bottle. Sylus, of course, pulled it back just out of your reach, a subtle power play he couldn’t help but indulge in. "Prenatals?" you repeated, your tone sharpening. "Shouldn’t I have been taking those a lot sooner?"

Sylus nodded, his expression softening. "Yes, you should have," he admitted, surprising even himself with the hint of vulnerability in his voice. “I didn’t want you taking any pills without being absolutely sure they were safe."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze locking onto yours. "I made sure everything you needed was in your meals instead," he continued, his voice calm but firm. He didn’t add how much work had gone into ensuring every bite you took was perfectly tailored for the baby’s growth. That wasn’t the point.

The point was that now it was time to adjust.

Your reaction was predictable. Annoyance flickered in your eyes, quickly replaced by a restrained sort of frustration as you processed his words. He could almost see you weighing your response, debating whether to argue or let it go.

Before you could choose, Sylus shifted in his seat, his voice lowering as he let the full weight of his authority settle into his tone. "From now on, you’re going to take these. Non-negotiable. Same rules as your meals."

He saw the moment you realized what he was about to say, the slight stiffening of your shoulders, the tightening of your jaw. Still, he said it anyway. "If you don’t, Xavier-."

"Stop," you snapped, cutting him off before he could elaborate. Your voice was sharp, laced with anger, and for a moment, Sylus was struck by how fierce you looked. Your hands were trembling slightly, but your glare was unwavering. "I don't want to hear about that."

He let the words hang in the air for a moment before leaning back, his expression unreadable. "Then don’t make it an issue," he said quietly, his tone lacking the edge it had held moments ago. He didn’t particularly enjoy making you upset, but he wouldn’t hesitate to do so if it meant ensuring the health of the baby.

You stared at him for a long moment, your emotions flashing across your face in quick succession—anger, frustration, and something softer, something he couldn’t quite place. Finally, you snatched the bottle from his hand, muttering a begrudging

"Okay."

Sylus tilted his head slightly, studying you as you turned away. He could see the tension in your shoulders, the way you gripped the bottle tightly in your hand as though it was the last thing in the world you wanted to hold. He could feel your resentment radiating off of you, and it hurt him a little. it wouldn't always be like this.

You'd eventually come to understand his strictness for the sake of the baby.

Sylus watched as you curled up on your side, facing away from him, clearly making a pointed effort to ignore him. His lips curved into a faint smile. It was...endearing, in its own way—this little display of attitude. He leaned back against the couch, his arms resting casually on the cushions. He could chalk it up to your hormones, or perhaps just a passing mood, but either way, it didn’t bother him as much as it intrigued him. You were becoming bolder these days, and he wasn’t entirely sure whether to find it amusing or concerning.

His gaze softened slightly, taking in the sight of your belly against the fabric of your dress. The sight tempered his initial urge to tease you further. He leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but firm.

"Now that that's out of the way, what do you want for lunch?"

You didn’t answer, your silence deliberate and pointed. Sylus arched an eyebrow, watching the way your body tensed as if bracing for some unseen battle. A flicker of amusement played across his features. It was like you were daring him to push harder, to pry the answer from you.

He let the silence stretch for a moment, studying you. Then, leaning back into the couch, he crossed one leg over the other, his tone softening as he tried again.

"Sweetie," he said, his voice low and coaxing, "don’t pretend you didn’t hear me. I asked you a question."

You shifted slightly, and for a moment, it seemed like you might continue ignoring him. But then you turned over abruptly, fixing him with a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

"What?!" you snapped, your tone edged with irritation.

Sylus arched his eyebrow higher, his expression cool and measured as he held your gaze. His silence was deliberate, calculated—a quiet reminder for you to rethink your tone. He didn’t need to say anything. The weight of his gaze was enough.

You faltered almost immediately, your defiance softening as you glanced away, your face tinged with frustration and what might have been embarrassment.

"Sorry," you muttered, the apology reluctant but still sincere enough to pacify him.

Sylus let the moment linger before nodding, his expression easing as he leaned forward slightly. "It’s okay," he said, his voice gentle now. "Just tell me what you want to eat."

You sighed, curling in on yourself a bit more, your knees pulled closer to your chest. Well...as much as you could anyway. Your hand absently moved to your stomach, a gesture that caught Sylus’s attention. He watched the way your fingers brushed over the curve, your touch almost absentminded but protective.

"Something light," you murmured finally, your voice quieter now, almost tentative. "My stomach hurts...French onion soup. And the chai tea the chef made last time."

Sylus considered your request for a moment, taking in the way you avoided his gaze, the subtle downturn of your lips. You were still moody, clearly uncomfortable, but there was something vulnerable about the way you were curled up like that. He felt the faintest pang of sympathy—or perhaps fondness.

Reaching out, he brushed his fingers gently over your shoulder, the touch brief but deliberate. "French onion soup and chai tea," he repeated, his tone soft and warm. "I’ll let the chef know."

He straightened, standing to his full height, and smoothed the front of his shirt with practiced ease. "Just rest, kitten. I'll handle it." His voice held a note of authority, but the underlying affection was unmistakable.

As he moved toward the kitchen to speak to the chef, he glanced back at you once more. You’d turned away again, but this time, your movements seemed less defiant, more resigned. The corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile. Your moods were a puzzle, but they were a puzzle he was growing fond of solving.

You glanced at him briefly, a flicker of something grateful passing across your face before you looked away again. Sylus allowed himself a small, satisfied smile, feeling the odd mix of protectiveness and amusement that you often stirred in him.

Your moodiness didn't surprise him though, in fact, he quite enjoyed being on the other end of your feistiness. You reminded him of a kitten hissing at its owner only to ask for pets and food right after. You could snap, glare, even ignore him, but in the end, you still depended on him. He would always ensure you had what you needed, no matter how stubborn or sullen you became.

His steps slowed again as he noticed your figure slumped slightly, your head resting against the plush cushions. You had fallen asleep, the soft rise and fall of your chest confirming that another wave of pregnancy-induced exhaustion had overtaken you.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. You’d been napping more and more lately, another symptom of the life growing inside you. It was amusing in a way—how quickly you could go from irritated to fast asleep. He made a mental note to wake you up before the food was ready. He didn’t want your soup going cold.

Going back over to you, he grabbed a blanket from the armchair of the couch, and gently covered you before making his leave.

As he entered the kitchen, Sylus gave the chef specific instructions on your meal, detailing everything from the flavor of the chai tea to the amount of sodium in the soup. He wasn’t one for micromanaging in most cases, but when it came to your comfort, he left nothing to chance.

Satisfied, Sylus made his way down the hall to meet with Luke and Kieran. The twins were waiting in the den, their expressions shifting the moment he walked in. Luke scratched the back of his head, his usual easy demeanor replaced with something sheepish, while Kieran gripped his hands together as though he was ready to say something but hadn’t quite mustered the courage.

Sylus arched an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Something on your minds?”

Luke cleared his throat, shuffling slightly. “Uh, boss...about earlier...” He avoided eye contact, his voice lower than usual. “I wanted to apologize for...getting too close.”

Sylus’s gaze narrowed slightly, studying Luke’s awkward stance. He knew exactly what the man was referring to, and while Sylus appreciated the apology, it didn’t erase the irritation that lingered in the back of his mind.

Kieran stepped in, his tone more matter-of-fact. “And, uh, we’ve got an update. Finally caught a lead on the guy we’ve been tracking.”

Sylus’s expression shifted at the mention, his focus sharpening instantly. During his two-week trip, he’d been following every scrap of information about the human trafficking ring, determined to see it dismantled. Exterminated every pest involved possible. But the ringleader had proved elusive, vanishing without a single trace after Reese’s death.

“And?” Sylus prompted, his tone calm but expectant.

Kieran exchanged a glance with Luke before continuing. “We traced a connection back to Reese. Turns out, the bastard’s father isn’t happy about his son dying. He’s been sniffing around, looking for answers.”

Sylus let out a short laugh, the sound cold and humorless. “His father, huh? Funny. Didn’t seem to care much about his precious son when he left him to rot in that old house surrounded by crack.”

The twins didn’t respond immediately, though Kieran’s let out a faint laugh at Sylus’s remark. Luke shifted uncomfortably, his hands tucked into his pockets as if unsure whether to laugh or remain serious.

Sylus crossed his arms, his mind churning through the implications. So, the ringleader wasn’t completely off the grid after all. His son’s death had stirred him into action, but whether out of vengeance or a twisted sense of pride, Sylus didn’t care. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that this lead could be the break they’d been waiting for.

“Do we have a possible location?” Sylus asked, his voice sharp with intent. "Any information on the woman?"

“No location,” Kieran admitted, his tone tinged with frustration. “But it’s only a matter of time. We’ve got eyes on his usual contacts. The woman responsible for the blood draws...her name is Serene Grey. Twenty six years old, originally from Snowcrest. Father is Adam Grey, former chief medical officer of Asko Hospital. Has a brother that works at Asko as well by the name of Noah Grey."

"Upon digging for more info on Noah, we discovered he actually works for E.V.E.R as...head researcher."

Sylus nodded, the gears turning in his mind as he considered the next steps. Reese had been an obstacle, an annoyance at best. His father would likely prove more challenging—but Sylus welcomed the opportunity. If the man was bold enough to seek revenge, he would find nothing but destruction waiting for him.

As for the woman....this was getting interesting.

“We'll pay a visit to her old man soon,” Sylus instructed, his tone firm. “And Luke?”

“Yeah, boss?” Luke replied, his shoulders stiffening slightly.

Sylus fixed him with a pointed look. “Don't let it happen again.”

Luke nodded quickly, muttering a hasty, “Got it.”

They further discussed some details and with that, Sylus dismissed them, his thoughts already shifting back to you. As he made his way back toward the living room, he glanced at his watch. The food would be ready soon, and he wanted to wake you gently. You might not realize it yet, but your comfort and safety were his top priorities—and he would ensure they stayed that way.

When Sylus stepped back into the living room, you were still curled on the couch where he’d left you, your figure bundled into a loose throw blanket, your breathing slow and even as you napped. His chest tightened as he paused to look at you, taking in the subtle changes in your form—the swell of your belly, the softness in your expression as you slept.

It was almost too peaceful to disturb, but he knew the chef would soon be done with the food. You needed to eat, and he wouldn’t let your soup grow cold, not when you’d been struggling to keep anything down for weeks prior.

He knelt beside the couch, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. “Honey” he murmured softly, his tone low and coaxing. “It’s time to wake up.”

A faint groan escaped you, your brows furrowing as you shifted under the blanket. Your eyes fluttered open halfway, barely registering him as you burrowed deeper into the cushions, your face half-hidden.

“Go away,” you mumbled, your voice muffled and thick with sleep.

Sylus smirked, resting his arm along the edge of the couch as he leaned closer. “Come on, kitten. You’ve been asleep for a while. The food’s almost ready.”

“Don’t want food anymore,” you muttered, turning your head away from him. “I want to sleep.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and indulgent. “Well I'm sure the little one wants food. You'll be irritated later too if you don't eat now.”

You huffed, clutching the edge of the blanket like a shield. “I’m not a baby, Sylus. I can decide if I’m hungry or not.”

“Mm, not a baby, but you sure whine like one when you’re woken up,” he teased, his hand lightly stroking your arm through the blanket. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be, you know.”

You cracked one eye open, glaring at him with as much annoyance as you could muster in your half-asleep state. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re adorable,” he replied, his voice softening as he leaned closer. “Now, come on. Sit up for me. Let’s not make a fuss.”

You sighed dramatically, but ultimately shift to a sitting position. With a groan, you pushed yourself up, the blanket slipping down your shoulders as you blinked groggily at him.

“See? Not so bad,” he said, his tone soothing as his hand found the small of your back, steadying you. “You’re doing so well, kitten. I’m proud of you.”

The words seemingly caught you off guard, your sleep-fogged mind taking a moment to process them. You gave him a half-hearted glare, though the obvious nervousness in your demeanor gave you away.

“Don’t patronize me,” you mumbled, brushing your hair out of your face.

“I’m not,” he said, his expression softening further. “You're growing a baby, its a lot of stress on the body. It’s okay to need rest, but you need to eat too. Let me take care of you.”

His words, though tender, only seemed to add to your frustration. You didn’t want to need him, didn’t want to rely on his care. That much was obvious. But he hoped you were going to start realizing how much you needed him as time passed and your body grew heavier.

“Fine,” you muttered, folding your arms over your chest as you leaned back against the couch. “Not like I have much choice.”

His lips quirked into a small smile as he brushed his fingers against your cheek, his touch gentle and reassuring. “I’ll take that as a thank you.”

You rolled your eyes, but Sylus didn't miss the tiniest of smiles that appeared on your lips before it disappeared just as quickly. He felt his heart flutter at the sight of it. Was it genuine? Did he actually manage to make you smile genuinely?

“Wait here,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’ll bring the food over when it’s ready. Don’t fall back asleep on me, alright?”

Sylus glanced back over his shoulder as he stepped into the kitchen, his sharp eyes catching the way you shifted on the couch. You hadn’t quite settled back under the blanket, but you looked like you were contemplating it, your hand absently brushing over the soft fabric.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. You could be stubborn, but there was something about these moments—the quiet vulnerability you tried so hard to mask—that softened him in ways he didn’t expect.

“She’s exhausted,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else as he reached for the tray the chef had prepared. “And moody as hell.”

But even as he said it, there was no trace of annoyance in his voice. If anything, there was a quiet fondness, an odd warmth that settled in his chest. He didn’t mind your little barbs, your occasional defiance. It kept things interesting, kept him on his toes.

What bothered him more than your sharp tongue was the exhaustion he’d seen in your eyes, the weight you carried despite his efforts to make things easier for you. He knew he couldn’t fix everything—not all at once—but he could do this much. He could make sure you ate, rested, and had everything you needed.

Carrying the tray back into the living room, he found you still sitting upright, albeit reluctantly, your gaze flicking toward him as he approached.

“There we go,” he said, setting the tray down on the table in front of you. “Just like you asked—French onion soup and chai tea. All exactly how you like it.”

You didn’t respond immediately, your expression a mix of irritation and reluctant gratitude as you reached for the tea.

Sylus knelt beside the couch, his hand resting on the armrest as he looked up at you, his tone softening into a laugh. “You’ll feel less moody once you eat.”

He meant it, not just about the food, but about everything. He would keep at it, keep working to wear down the walls you’d put up between you. He had time, after all.

"Yeah yeah...whatever...".

As he watched you take your first tentative sip of tea, a quiet determination settled in him. He didn’t necessarily need your approval—not yet, anyway—but he wanted it. He would earn it. Slowly, steadily, he would prove to you that this wasn’t just about the baby.

This was about you too.

The days had started blending together, each one marked by the strange chaos your body seemed determined to throw your way. For the most part, the nausea had subsided—thank God for that small mercy—but other symptoms had eagerly taken its place. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so achy, so irritable, so out of control. Your body didn’t feel like yours anymore, and the thought made your chest tighten if you lingered on it for too long.

The bump was the worst reminder. It wasn’t big yet, not obvious to anyone but you and Sylus, but every time you caught your reflection or brushed your hand against your stomach, it was there. An unignorable swell that seemed to grow more pronounced with each passing day.

Is it too early for this? you wondered earlier that evening, turning sideways in the bathroom mirror. You’d stared at the slight curve with a mixture of denial and disbelief. Shouldn’t I be smaller at sixteen weeks? The idea that your body might be working faster than normal made your stomach churn, but you shoved the thought aside. You couldn’t afford to let paranoia swallow you whole.

Still, the changes were hard to ignore. Your moods swung like a pendulum, flipping between cranky, melancholic, and just plain tired. And then there was the neediness—a subtle, insidious thing that snuck up on you when you weren’t expecting it. It wasn’t just the way you barked orders at Sylus, demanding more tea or a specific meal; it was how much you found yourself leaning on him, sometimes without even realizing it. He seemed to thrive on it, which only made it worse.

Sometimes you caught yourself bossing him around just to test the limits of his patience. But when he didn’t snap, when he indulged your whims with that strange mixture of love and affection, you hated how grateful you felt. It was annoying. Frustrating. And a little comforting, though you’d never admit it to him.

“This tea is cold,” you say flatly, setting the cup down on the table in front of you with a soft clink.

Sylus glances up from his seat across the room, where he’s casually flipping through files. He quirks an eyebrow at you. “Cold already? Didn’t I just bring that to you?”

You cross your arms, leaning back against the couch cushions. “And yet, here we are. Cold tea.”

He chuckles under his breath, setting the files aside and standing. “Since when did I become your butler?”

“Blame your baby,” you say, giving him a tired but pointed look. “I didn’t ask to feel like this, you know. The least you can do is keep my tea warm.”

He smirks, picking up the cup and holding it up as if weighing it. “You know, I could just let you drink it as is. Room temperature isn’t so bad.”

You glare at him, narrowing your eyes. “Sylus...”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he laughs softly, shaking his head as he heads to the kitchen. “Anything for you, sweetie,” he says over his shoulder, his tone dripping with smugness.

When he returns with the reheated tea, he hands it to you, his gaze lingering on your face. “Better?”

You take a sip, giving a small nod. “For now.”

“For now?” he repeats, amusement flickering in his voice.

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “I might need a refill later.”

Sylus leans against the arm of the couch, watching you with an almost infuriatingly amused expression. “Anything else, kitten? Or are you just going to keep ordering me around all day?”

“Well…” you pause, shifting slightly and pretending to mull it over. “A pillow for my back wouldn’t hurt.”

He doesn’t move at first, just stares at you with a grin that’s both indulgent and teasing. “You’ve got quite the list it seems.”

“I’m pregnant, remember?” you reply sharply, looking him square in the eye. “That was your idea. So now you get to deal with it.”

He chuckles again, shaking his head as he grabs a pillow from the other chair and places it behind your back with surprising gentleness.

“There,” he says, his tone mockingly sweet. “Anything else, or am I allowed to sit down now?”

You smirk, taking another sip of tea. “I’ll let you know.”

Sylus leans down, his lips curling into a smirk just inches from your ear. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re like this,” he murmurs, before straightening and sitting back in his chair, his smugness still palpable.

“And you're lucky my tea is warm now” you quip again, enjoying the brief flicker of surprise in his eyes before he bursts into quiet laughter.

For now, you’ve won this small battle—and it feels pretty good.

Tonight, though, that confidence was nowhere to be found. You woke up drenched in sweat, your back aching as you tried to stretch out against the mattress. The room felt stifling, like the air was pressing down on you, and your throat was parched, so dry it felt like sandpaper. Your breasts, now twice the size they normally were, ached. Your back didn't feel any better. Your stomach felt like it was on fire. You groaned, reaching blindly for the glass of water on the nightstand, only to find it empty.

“Ugh, seriously?” you muttered, rolling over to look across the room. Sylus was there, sitting in his usual chair with a book in his lap. He looked calm, almost serene in the dim light, and for a moment you hated him for it.

“Sylus,” you called weakly, your voice hoarse. He glanced up, his eyes softening when they met yours.

“Hmm?”

“Water. I need more water,” you said, your voice bordering on a whine.

“I’ll get it in a bit, sweetie,” he replied, not moving from his seat.

You blinked at him, disbelief turning quickly to anger. “Please do it now. I feel like I’m gonna die of thirst!” you snapped, your voice breaking slightly as frustration bubbled up inside you.

Sylus raised an eyebrow but still didn’t move, clearly not taking your outburst too seriously. “You’re not going to die,” he said with a faint chuckle.

That did it. Hot tears welled up in your eyes before you could stop them, spilling over as a sob broke from your throat. “You don’t get it! I’m fucking thirsty, and I’m sweating like crazy, and my back hurts, and—”

Your voice cracked, and you covered your face with your hands, tears spilling between your fingers as you sob. Sylus was on his feet immediately, crossing the room to kneel beside you.

“Okay, okay,” he said softly, his hands brushing yours aside to reveal your tear-streaked face. “I’m sorry. I’ll get your water right now, alright?”

You sniffled, nodding miserably as he stroked your cheek with surprising tenderness. He really was being more lenient with you. He stood and disappeared into the adjoining bathroom, returning moments later with a freshly filled glass.

“Here,” he said, handing it to you as you struggled to sit up. “Drink slowly.”

You did as he said, the cool water soothing your throat and easing some of the heat in your chest. When you handed the glass back, Sylus sat beside you, his gaze warm and amused.

“You’re being extra fussy tonight, kitten” he teased gently, brushing a strand of hair from your damp forehead.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, turning your face into the pillow to hide your embarrassment. You hate him. You hate him. You hate him. Stupid pregnancy hormones.

He chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “It’s okay to be fussy,” he murmured. “You’re allowed to feel however you need to feel. I'm here, and I promise I'll move faster.”

You didn’t respond, your exhaustion pulling you back toward sleep. But as you drifted off, you couldn’t help but feel a small, grudging sense of gratitude for him. The situation was still awful...but at the very least he was helpful more often than not.

As the days drag on...something else begins to get harder and harder to ignore. It starts in your chest, spreading lower like a slow burn, and you shift in your seat, trying to shake the feeling off. There’s no reason for this. You’re just tired, emotional—pregnancy hormones doing what they do best. And yet, the ache persists, coiling in your stomach, a dull and relentless reminder of something you don’t want to acknowledge.

You curl your legs beneath you, drawing your arms around your knees as if the action alone could protect you from the thoughts creeping into your mind. Thoughts of warmth. Of touch.

It’s pathetic, really. You’ve spent every waking moment fighting against Sylus’s suffocating presence, building walls to keep yourself sane, and now your own body is betraying you. A part of you craves the very thing you swore you’d never ask for.

The realization hits you hard, and your fists clench against your knees. You’re horny. There’s no other way to describe it. The longing has burrowed into your core, gnawing at your resolve, and it’s almost unbearable.

Your lips press into a thin line as an image flashes in your mind—Sylus’s broad chest, the toned muscle beneath his shirts that you’ve tried so hard to ignore. The memory of his deep voice rumbles in your ears, soothing and infuriating all at once. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to force the image away, but it lingers, like an unwelcome guest taking up residence in your thoughts.

You shake your head violently, gripping the pillow behind you as though it’s a lifeline. No. Absolutely not. You’re not doing this. You’re not going there. You won’t let yourself fall into this trap, no matter how loud the ache screams inside you.

Sylus is attractive. Objectively, maddeningly so. That fact you can’t deny, but it doesn’t erase the monster he is. The outside may look like something out of a magazine—perfectly crafted to draw you in—but the inside? That’s where the truth lies. Beneath that chiseled exterior is someone who has taken everything from you, someone who thrives on control, who manipulates and twists and owns every space he inhabits.

And yet…

Your hands shake slightly as you rub at your temples, the guilt swelling alongside the ache. How could you even entertain this? How could you feel something—anything—that even bordered on desire for him? It feels like a betrayal of yourself, of everything you’ve endured.

You glance toward the other side of the room, where Sylus sits, his long legs stretched out as he reads something on his tablet. He'd been oddly quiet this morning. He’s entirely unaware of the storm raging inside you, his calm, confident aura infuriatingly unshaken.

You can’t do this. You can’t let this get the better of you. Whatever this feeling is, it’s nothing more than hormones. You’ll fight it, like you fight everything else. Because no matter how tempting his warmth might seem in this moment, you know better.

The outside may be beautiful, but the inside is rotten. And you refuse to let yourself forget that.

Fighting it proved to be harder than you thought though. You found yourself drifting into indecent thoughts about Sylus despite how hard you were trying to distract yourself. And while it seemed he was none the wiser, you couldn't let yourself be caught. So...you come up with a plan. Its simple. Just wait for him to leave for awhile. Then you can find relief. No doubt he'll end up taking Mephisto with him, and the twins never enter without knocking first.

Yes. Simple...

With finally Sylus gone on one of his many business endeavors, the silence of the room beckons you, offering a rare moment to chase the relief you crave. You lie back on the bed, your breath shallow, heart racing with anticipation and desperation. Your hands move with a familiar urgency to your heat, seeking to quell the storm of emotions raging inside you.

You close your eyes, trying to summon the faces from the flickering screens of porn you once watched, fantasies that used to bring you to blissful release. Yet now, they feel hollow, like echoes in a cavernous void.

Xavier's face appears unbidden, a ghostly specter that twists your heart with longing and pain. You shove the image aside, unwilling to let it linger, to let it hurt you more than it already has. The more you fight against it, the more the ache in your core swells, an insatiable beast that refuses to be tamed.

Your fingers move against your aching clit with increasing urgency, but the pleasure you seek dances just out of reach, a cruel mirage. Frustration mounts, your body tense with the effort of chasing a release that remains elusive. Each attempt feels more futile than the last, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you strain against the confines of your own mind.

It feels as if your body has turned traitor, mocking you with its stubborn refusal to yield. The need is a fire burning inside, consuming you from the inside out, leaving you raw and exposed. A low, guttural cry escapes your lips, a sound echoing in the empty room, testament to your solitary struggle.

Your hand falls away, defeated, your body still thrumming with that desperate ache. It remains, a relentless reminder of your captivity, both within these walls and within yourself.

Why can't you finish? This should be easy...is it nerves? Maybe the trauma you've been through is making this difficult? It has to be. No way in hell that bastard stole your ability to orgasm. You try and try for what seems like forever, growing increasingly frustrated with each failed attempt at reaching bliss.

Come on, just… just relax. It's just your body. Don't think about it. Don't think about him. Don't think about why you're even in this situation. Just…

Red eyes. Sharp jaw. Deep voice. Chiseled abs. Your mind begins to swim with him and you hate it. You hate it so much and yet as if your fingers have a mind of their own you begin to actually feel immense satisfaction at the thought of his face.

How did it come to this? A prisoner in your own body, at the mercy of a monster. And now, this…this ache that refuses to subside ? It's like your body is betraying you, craving touch, any touch, even as your mind screams in revolt.

"You could've just asked for my help."

You snap up, pulse quickening as Sylus comes into view in the doorway, watching as if he just caught a mouse in a trap. A small smile plastered on his face as he takes in the disheveled state of your body.

His voice is smooth, dripping with a confidence that makes your skin crawl even as it sends a shiver down your spine. He steps into the room, closing the door behind him, the air charged with his presence.

"Get out," you snap, trying to muster defiance, but your voice betrays you, laced with a tremor of desperation. You snap your legs together as he draws closer to the bed.

Sylus chuckles softly, moving closer with a predator's grace. "Stressing yourself isn't good for the baby, honey" he murmurs, as if offering a kindness. He sits beside you, his gaze assessing, the weight of his attention a tangible force.

"Open your legs. Let me help you."

Your heart races, every nerve in your body on edge as he reaches out, brushing your hand aside with a gentle insistence. His touch ignites a war within you, your mind screaming in protest even as your traitorous body responds with a shiver of anticipation.

He gently but firmly pushes your legs furthur apart and slides down to circle your clit with his thumb.

You loathe him, despise the power he holds over you, yet the heat of his fingers against your sensitive clit sends a jolt of pleasure through you, sharp and undeniable. His touch is maddening, a mix of precision and pressure that leaves you gasping, your back arching involuntarily against the thin mattress.

"Stop," you breathe, a plea tangled with a moan, your body at odds with your will. But he ignores you, his fingers moving with a practiced expertise that draws reluctant cries of pleasure from your lips.

"Ah! Mghn..."

You hate this. But your body loves it. You try and push yourself back against the headboard, further away from his hand but he just follows, even going as far to take his free hand and pin you down by your chest, ceasing any further struggle to get away.

No. No. No. No.

Sylus's touch is gentle, yet insistent, coaxing a response from your body. You try to resist, to will yourself into numbness, but it's no use. Your clit pulses under his fingers, the sensation building, growing, until you're on the cusp of orgasm.

"You're fighting it, kitten" he whispers, leaning closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Let go."

The words are a dark caress, and despite the hatred simmering beneath your skin, the relentless pleasure he coaxes from you drags you towards a precipice you can't deny. Tension coils in your belly, tighter and tighter, until it snaps, a white-hot explosion of sensation that leaves you trembling and breathless.

You lay there, shattered and whole, the aftermath of your climax a bittersweet balm against the reality of your captivity. Sylus withdraws his hand, leaving you bereft and aching, a reminder of your betrayal by your own desires.

Sylus watches you carefully, his gaze soft yet piercing as he strokes your cheek with deliberate tenderness. His fingers brush away the stray tears slipping down your face, and his voice drops to a near whisper, low and soothing as he leans in close.

“That feels better, doesn’t it, sweetie?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours in the gentlest of kisses.

Your breath catches, shame clawing at your chest like a vice. A fresh wave of tears wells in your eyes, spilling over as his words echo in your ears. How could you let this happen again?

You nod.

The warmth of his arms encircles you, his presence overwhelming yet inescapable. Every part of you screams to push him away, to reclaim some piece of yourself, but you can’t move. You’re frozen in his hold, trapped between the comfort he offers and the revulsion that churns in your stomach.

Sylus shifts slightly, his hands moving with care as he adjusts your clothes, ensuring every part of you is covered once again. His touch is meticulous, deliberate, as though he’s putting the pieces back together, though you know he’s the one who broke them in the first place.

You don’t resist. You don’t say a word. The tears flow silently as he presses a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there for a moment too long.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, cradling you closer, his voice laced with something you can’t quite decipher—satisfaction, maybe, or perhaps something deeper. “Just let it out.”

And you do. Because there’s no one else. No one else to turn to. No one else to hold you in this moment, no matter how much you wish it weren’t him.

Sylus’s arms tighten around you, his steady heartbeat pressing against your own, a cruel reminder of how much power he holds over you. He reaches down and caresses the now very obvious curve of your pregnant belly. This is what he wants. The realization strikes you like a blow to the gut, but it doesn’t change the reality.

He’s made it very clear: there’s no one else.

The tears continue to fall, the weight of your shame and helplessness crashing over you. The relief, the longing to hold him close, the urge to shove him away. It all swirls in your head and escapes in the form of wet tears. And Sylus holds you through it all, his presence consuming, suffocating, and maddeningly inescapable.

The days following that night are...strange. You can’t quite put your finger on it. There’s no anger bubbling beneath the surface, no fire demanding you lash out or rebel in some small, insignificant way. You just feel...drained. Exhausted. It’s as though the pregnancy has drained you of everything, leaving you with only enough energy to exist in this fragile limbo.

You avoid Sylus more than usual, though it’s impossible to fully escape him. He notices, of course—he always does. His eyes track your every movement, his brow furrowing in concern each time you pass him with barely a word.

“Are you feeling sick again?” he asks one evening, leaning against the doorway of the library where you’ve buried yourself in a pile of books you aren’t even reading. His voice is softer than usual, tinged with something almost like worry. “Do you want anything?”

You shake your head quickly, not looking up. “No. I’m fine. The pregnancy’s just...taking its toll, that’s all.”

It’s a half-truth. Physically, the changes to your body are draining—your back aches constantly, your feet swell more than you’d like to admit, and your appetite has become a ravenous, insatiable beast. But none of that is what’s really bothering you. No, what keeps you quiet and withdrawn is something you can’t even begin to say aloud.

You’re scared.

Scared of the way your heart stutters when Sylus brushes past you. Scared of the way your pulse quickens when his hand lingers on your lower back or brushes your cheek. Scared of the heat that rushes to your face when you see him changing, his toned chest and sharp features invading your thoughts in ways you don’t want them to.

Why is this happening? You hate him. You hate what he’s done, how he’s stolen everything from you. So why does your stomach flutter when he smiles at you? Why do you find yourself leaning into his touches before you even realize it?

It’s confusing, maddening, and you can’t let yourself dwell on it. So you don’t. You shove those feelings down, deep enough that they can’t reach you.

Instead, you turn to food. It’s one of the only things that makes sense anymore, one of the few sources of comfort that doesn’t terrify you. But tonight, nothing in the house appeals to you. Not the chef’s carefully crafted meals, not the endless trays of snacks Sylus insists on having ready for you. No, you want something specific—something from a bakery back in Linkon. Its a craving that's been bothering you for awhile.

You sit on the couch, fidgeting with the hem of your dress, working up the courage to ask. It feels ridiculous, but eventually, you can’t help yourself.

“Sylus?” you say softly, glancing over at him.

He looks up immediately, his piercing gaze locking onto you. “Yes, sweetie?”

You hesitate for a moment before blurting it out. “I...I want a dessert. From a bakery in Linkon.”

His brows furrow slightly, a mix of suspicion and curiosity playing on his face. “Why there? The chef can make you anything you want.”

“It’s...it won’t be the same,” you insist, trying to sound casual. “The baby wants that specific one.”

At that, Sylus chuckles, the deep sound sending an irritating warmth through you. “The baby wants it? Or you?”

You bite your lip, refusing to meet his gaze. “Both.”

He smiles slightly, studying you for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before nodding. “Alright. I’ll get it for you soon. I think I have an idea of which one you're talking about”

The words catch you off guard, and before you can stop yourself, you murmur, “Thank you.”

Sylus smiles, clearly pleased with your response, but you can’t help the heavy feeling in your chest. Thanking him...for a danish. The irony isn’t lost on you. This man has stolen everything from you—your freedom, your life as you knew it—and yet here you are, expressing gratitude over something as trivial as a pastry.

It didn't shock you that he already knew the bakery you were talking about. He had stalked you for quite awhile. Of course he knew.

Nothing was a secret with him. He always knew.

You turn your face away, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach as Sylus leans back in his chair, content. And once again, you’re left alone with your thoughts, spiraling in the confusion and bitterness of it all.

Later that day, Sylus presents you with the danish you’d requested, the golden pastry nestled neatly on a small plate. Its flaky layers glisten under the soft light, and the smell alone—warm, buttery, and slightly tangy—makes your mouth water. You can tell he’s proud of himself, standing there as if awaiting praise.

“A lemon-raspberry danish,” he says with a slight grin, watching as you reach for it.

You hesitantly pick it up, the texture soft under your fingers, and take a cautious bite. The tangy sweetness of the raspberry filling bursts against your tongue, perfectly balanced by the buttery flakiness of the pastry and the sharp zest of lemon. It’s exactly how you remembered it—nostalgic, comforting, and bittersweet all at once.

The flavors transport you to a memory you hadn’t revisited in a long time. You and Tara sitting on the steps outside that very bakery in Linkon, sharing a box of pastries. It was a sunny afternoon, the kind that made the city feel alive in the best way. Tara had just finished a long rant about some guy who ghosted her after three dates, her dramatic hand gestures making you laugh so hard you nearly choked on your own danish.

“Seriously, if he’s not texting back, it’s his loss. You’re too good for him anyway,” you’d said between bites, nudging her with your shoulder.

“Oh, stop. You’re only saying that because I shared my last danish with you,” Tara teased, swiping at a smudge of powdered sugar on her lip.

The two of you had laughed until your sides hurt, the world feeling light and uncomplicated in a way it hadn’t in a long time.

But as the memory fades, your smile falters. No doubt Sylus had been watching then too—stalking, waiting. His shadow had been there even in your happiest moments, lurking unseen, ready to strike when you least expected it. A wave of nausea creeps up your spine as the realization settles in. Your grip on the danish tightens for a moment, then slackens as tears prick at your eyes.

Just as you’re about to take another bite, something strange happens. A sudden flutter in your stomach, light and quick like a butterfly’s wings. You gasp audibly, your fingers losing their hold on the danish, sending it tumbling to the floor.

Sylus’s brows knit together in confusion as he steps closer. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You press a trembling hand to your stomach, your heart racing as you feel it again—another flutter, faint but undeniable. “I—I think…the baby moved,” you whisper, barely able to process the words as they leave your mouth.

Sylus’s eyes widen, his gaze immediately dropping to your bump. The softness in his expression surprises you, and when he speaks, his voice is uncharacteristically gentle. “Can I feel?” he asks, his hand hovering uncertainly over your stomach, not quite touching.

You hesitate, your mind a chaotic mix of emotions. Do you even have a choice? You swallow hard, nodding slowly. “Yes…sure. Go ahead.”

His large hand presses carefully against the curve of your belly, warm and steady. The room falls silent, the air thick with anticipation as neither of you move, waiting for something to happen. Then, there it is again—a faint, fleeting flutter, like the soft brush of a feather.

Sylus’s face lights up with unmistakable joy, his grin wide and unguarded. For a brief moment, he looks almost boyish, overcome with awe and excitement. “Did you feel that?” he asks, his voice just above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might scare the baby away.

You nod, still in shock, your hand joining his on your bump instinctively. “I did,” you murmur, your thoughts a whirlwind. It feels so surreal, this moment of connection with the life growing inside you.

“It’s the sugar,” Sylus explains, his tone light and filled with a wonder you’d never seen in him before. “I read somewhere that babies tend to move more when their mothers eat something sweet. It must’ve gotten a rush from that danish.”

You glance up at him, his eyes still glued to your stomach, and for a moment, you see nothing but pure, unfiltered happiness. It leaves you feeling...confused. While Sylus basks in the moment, your own feelings remain a tangled mess of shock, fear, and something you don’t dare name.

The words tumbled out of your mouth almost unconsciously:

"That’s cool."

Cool? Cool was not the word. It wasn’t even close. You were reeling, overwhelmed by the undeniable reality. It’s alive. It’s real. The bump you’d been trying to push out of your thoughts, the changes to your body, the way your emotions and cravings had pulled you in so many directions—it all had culminated in this undeniable moment. The baby moved. The life growing inside you, something you’d been pretending didn’t truly exist, had just made itself known in the most undeniable way.

Your hand lingered on your stomach, frozen there as if pressing harder might help you process it. Your breaths quickened. Your chest felt tight. This was happening. It was all happening. There was no pretending anymore. No amount of denial or mental gymnastics could take this away now. You were going to be a mom. And the weight of that realization hit you like a wave crashing over your head, pulling you under, leaving you gasping for air.

Your vision blurred, the edges of the room spinning. “I need to sit down,” you murmured, your voice shaky and uneven.

Sylus was by your side in an instant, guiding you gently toward the couch. His hands were steady on your arms, his voice soft and soothing as he helped you ease down onto the cushions. “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he said, his tone reassuring but filled with a concern that only made the knot in your chest tighten further.

The moment your head hit the couch, the tears started. Quiet at first, a few strangled hiccups that escaped before you could stop them. Then the floodgates opened, and sobs wracked your body, shaking you to your very core. You didn’t even know why you were apologizing as the words slipped out between gasps for air. “I'm-I'm sorry...I’m just-hic-scared…I’m not ready to be a mom. I don't know what to do with a baby.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, the raw emotion pouring out of you. Anger, fear, sadness—they all collided, creating a storm in your chest that you couldn’t contain. This wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. You hadn’t asked for this. You hadn’t wanted this. And yet here you were, forced to face a future you weren’t ready for, a responsibility you couldn’t escape.

Sylus knelt beside you, his expression filled with a tenderness that only made the ache in your heart worse. He didn’t look angry or frustrated, didn’t seem irritated by your outburst. Instead, he cupped your tear-streaked face, his thumb gently brushing away the dampness on your cheeks. “I know,” he murmured, his voice calm, steady. “I know it’s a lot, sweetie. And I know you’re scared.”

You shook your head weakly, wanting to protest, wanting to shout, to blame him for all of it. But the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was cry as his touch stayed constant, grounding you in a way you didn’t want to admit you needed. His presence, his warmth, the way he was handling you like something fragile—it was infuriating and comforting all at once.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Sylus continued, his voice low, almost a whisper now. “I’m right here. Let me worry about everything else. All you have to do is focus on the baby. Just focus on staying healthy, on taking care of yourself. That’s all I want. You’re not alone, I promise.”

His words wrapped around you like a blanket, both suffocating and oddly reassuring. You didn’t want to be comforted by him. You didn’t want to feel like he was on your side, like he cared about you. But the way he was looking at you—his eyes soft, his touch gentle—made it harder to resist the crack in your armor.

The sobs quieted, your breathing slowing as his hands moved to gently rub your back. “It’s okay,” he whispered again, his tone as soothing as the repetitive motion of his hand. “You’re okay.”

But were you? You didn’t feel okay. You felt trapped, lost, like the world was crumbling around you. And yet, there was this flicker of something in your chest. A tiny, almost imperceptible spark of hope that maybe…just maybe…you could survive this. You didn’t know if you’d ever be okay, but for now, you let yourself lean into his touch, your body too drained to push him away.

You felt his hand move to your stomach again, resting there lightly. “You’re doing so good,” he said softly, his voice laced with something that sounded almost like awe. “Better than you think.”

Sylus's hand lingered on your stomach, his thumb gently tracing slow circles over the fabric of your dress as if he could soothe you through the small gesture. His gaze flickered between your face and your bump, his expression an almost unreadable mixture of tenderness and determination.

“You know,” he said softly, his voice breaking the quiet, “in just a week, we’ll find out if it’s a boy or a girl.”

The words hit you like a second wave. A week. Seven days. The thought of knowing felt surreal, overwhelming. Another tangible piece of this puzzle that had forced its way into your life. You didn’t respond immediately, your mind swimming with the implications. Finding out the gender would make it feel even more real.

Sylus’s lips curved into a small, warm smile as if he were savoring the thought himself. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” he continued, his voice low and steady. “What they might be like, who they’ll look like more…you or me.”

His eyes softened further as he looked down at you. “I’m hoping they’ll have your kindness, your strength. But maybe with my stubbornness,” he teased gently, as if trying to coax a smile from you.

You said nothing, too caught in the tidal wave of emotions crashing over you. A baby. A week from now, you’d know more about the life growing inside you, and there was no running from it. The warmth of his hand against your stomach, his voice filled with quiet excitement—it was too much. It felt suffocating and yet oddly comforting, as if a small, rebellious part of you wanted to hold onto that warmth even as the rest of you wanted to push him away.

Sylus must have noticed your silence because his hand moved from your stomach to your cheek again, gently cupping it. “I know this is a lot,” he murmured, his voice soft. “But you’re doing so well. Just one step at a time, okay?”

You swallowed hard, nodding slightly even as fresh tears welled in your eyes. You hated that you couldn’t hold it together, hated how easily he could break through your defenses with his touch and his words. But as the exhaustion weighed you down, you found yourself leaning into his hand, too drained to fight back any longer.

“A week,” you echoed weakly, the word barely a whisper. Your voice cracked, betraying the emotion bubbling just under the surface.

“A week,” Sylus repeated, his tone full of quiet promise. “And no matter what, I’ll be right here with you.”

Dr. Merrill's voice was calm and measured, a steady rhythm that filled the small, sterile room. “So far, everything looks fantastic,” he said, his gaze fixed on the screen as he maneuvered the ultrasound wand over your belly. The cool gel smeared across your skin sent shivers up your spine, but it was nothing compared to the anxiety tightening in your chest.

“The baby is progressing much faster than anticipated. Based on the measurements, it appears that your 19 almost 20 weeks despite being only 18 weeks currently."

Your stomach clenched, your mind latching onto his words like barbed wire. Faster than anticipated? How could that even be possible? What did that mean? Was there something wrong? A flurry of questions raced through your mind, fear bubbling up and threatening to overwhelm you.

Dr. Merrill seemed to sense your panic because he glanced at you, offering a reassuring smile. “It’s nothing to worry about,” he said quickly. “The growth is steady and healthy, which is what matters. Every pregnancy is unique, especially in cases like yours. The baby’s just growing a little ahead of schedule.”

You nodded faintly, but his words did little to ease the knot in your stomach. Your eyes flicked to Sylus, who sat beside you, his gaze unwavering on the monitor. He looked calm, composed, but there was an intensity in his eyes that made your skin prickle. This was his doing, wasn’t it? Whatever...abnormality he had passed on to the baby was now manifesting, and you were the one who had to carry it.

“Are you both still wanting to know the baby’s gender?” Dr. Merrill asked, breaking through your spiraling thoughts.

Before you could even open your mouth, Sylus responded. “Yes,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for debate.

You blinked, your throat tightening. Of course, he wanted to know. Of course, he would make the decision without asking you. You wanted to feel angry about it, but the truth was, you weren’t sure if you wanted to know. The idea of knowing made it all so much more real, more permanent, and you weren’t ready for that.

Dr. Merrill hummed, turning back to the screen. “Let me get a clearer image here,” he said, adjusting the wand slightly. “Sometimes they like to get in weird positions, and it can be hard to tell.”

The room fell silent, save for the rhythmic whooshing of the baby’s heartbeat echoing through the monitor. Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at the screen, watching the grainy, shadowy outline of the baby move. It was surreal, seeing the small, growing life inside you, knowing it was real, that it was happening.

“Ah,” Dr. Merrill said, his face lighting up with a smile. “There we go. Congratulations—it’s a girl.”

A girl.

The words hit you like a freight train. A girl. Your whole world tilted, the ground beneath you crumbling as a rush of emotions surged through you. You didn’t know how to feel, didn’t know how to process the news. A girl. An innocent, fragile little girl.

Your chest tightened painfully as the reality of it sank in. Sylus was going to be her father. This little girl, this pure and precious life, would grow up with him as her role model, her protector. The thought made your stomach churn. He didn’t deserve her. He didn’t deserve the chance to shape her, to mold her.

He didn't deserve a girl. Or any child for that matter.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, and you had to fight to keep them from falling. You couldn’t cry here, not in front of him. But the overwhelming wave of despair was suffocating, threatening to pull you under. Despite the conflicting feelings of having this child, you still felt this innate need to protect an innocent life. But how could you, when you were trapped, powerless yourself?

Sylus’s voice cut through the haze, soft and filled with a soft tenderness. “A girl…” he murmured, his gaze fixed on the screen. His lips curved into a small, genuine smile, and for a moment, he looked almost human. Almost. “She’s perfect.”

You had to clench your fists to keep from glaring at him. Perfect? How dare he call her that? How dare he speak about her as if he had any right to feel pride, to feel joy? The tears threatened to spill over, and you bit the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to stay composed.

“She is,” Dr. Merrill agreed with a smile. “Everything looks great. Strong heartbeat, good development. You’re doing a wonderful job.”

You couldn’t respond. Your throat felt too tight, your chest too heavy. A girl. The word echoed in your mind, over and over, until it was all you could hear. You wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything to release the storm raging inside you. But you couldn’t. All you could do was sit there, nodding faintly, as if everything was fine.

The words "It's a girl" echoed in your mind, even as the room fell back into a quieter rhythm. Dr. Merrill continued his commentary, pointing out the baby’s developing features, but his voice faded into the background. A girl. Your world felt like it was spinning, the weight of the revelation pressing on your chest. Your hands instinctively moved to your stomach, palm resting on the faint bump that seemed more real than ever before.

As Sylus’s gaze remained fixed on the screen, a smile softening his features, you felt a chill run down your spine. Would he hurt her? Would he hurt you again? The thought struck like lightning, sharp and unwelcome, jolting you back into a reality you thought you had begun to adjust to. Sylus had always been unpredictable—dangerously calm, calculated. He claimed to love you, but that love came with chains, both literal and metaphorical.

Your pulse quickened, fear worming its way through you, coiling tightly around your heart. You thought about the punishment weeks ago, the cold detachment in his eyes even as he had cooed reassurances afterward. He had meant to teach you a lesson, or so he said. Was there a limit to what he would do? What if his twisted vision of love clashed with the reality of raising a child? Would he lash out? Would he expect you to be the perfect mother, the perfect partner, and punish you if you weren’t?

Your fingers dug into your dress, clutching the fabric as a wave of nausea swept over you—not the kind brought on by pregnancy, but the kind born of dread. You glanced at Sylus out of the corner of your eye. He looked so…tender, so impossibly gentle as he studied the ultrasound image of the baby. It was jarring, a dissonance you couldn’t reconcile. How could someone so dangerous appear so human in moments like this?

You tried to push the fear away, reminding yourself of the past few weeks. He’d been softer, more attentive, letting you get away with small defiance here and there. But was it guilt? Or manipulation? Was he lulling you into a false sense of security, only to remind you later who held the power?

The thoughts swirled, relentless, until you couldn’t take it anymore. You turned your gaze back to the screen, focusing on the tiny outline of your daughter. The tears you had fought earlier pricked your eyes again, and you blinked rapidly, willing them away. You couldn’t cry, not now. Not in front of Sylus.

“Are you okay?” His voice broke through your spiral, soft and tinged with concern.

Your throat tightened as you looked at him, his expression gentle but expectant. You forced a smile, a weak, hollow thing that didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

Sylus reached out, his hand brushing yours as he gave it a small squeeze. “It’s okay to feel overwhelmed,” he said softly. "You’re not alone. I’m here.”

The words should have been comforting, but they only made the fear twist deeper. You managed a small nod, not trusting yourself to speak. As Dr. Merrill continued, explaining the next steps in the pregnancy and when your next appointment would be, your mind kept drifting back to the same question.

Would he hurt you again? Would he hurt her?

You weren’t sure you wanted to know the answer.

The dim light of the hospital room flickered softly, casting a pale glow over Xavier’s prone figure. The IV line in his arm fed him a steady drip of the experimental treatment Dr. Grey had promised would revolutionize recovery. The liquid in the IV bag shimmered faintly, almost unnaturally, as if alive. Xavier had been staring at it for hours now, unwilling or unable to look away.

Pain wracked his body. His bones ached, deep and constant, as though the marrow itself was burning. His broken ribs throbbed with every breath, his arm screamed with a phantom intensity, and his leg...He grit his teeth against the agony that threatened to drown him entirely. This was what he had agreed to—this hellish, unrelenting torment.

He had to keep reminding himself why.

You.

The image of your face swam before his closed eyes, your smile now tinged with shadows of fear and sadness. It was the only thing keeping him grounded as his body betrayed him. The treatment worked fast, Dr. Grey had said. But it didn’t work gently.

The first sign of its effects had come on the second day. His bruises, deep and grotesque, began to fade with alarming speed, mottled greens and yellows overtaking purples and blacks. But with that strange acceleration came a new kind of pain. The kind that started from the inside. It felt as if his bones were knitting together too quickly, the cells regenerating faster than his body could handle. His skin itched and burned around the fractures, and he found himself clawing at his casts in a desperate attempt to relieve it.

By the third day, he was writhing in his bed. A low, guttural groan escaped him as his body contorted, trying to find a position that would ease the agony. Every movement felt like needles piercing his skin, his muscles spasming involuntarily. The nurse came in once, her face pale, clearly unsure of how to handle what she was seeing.

"Mr. Xavier, should I—should I call Dr. Grey?" she stammered, her fingers hovering over the emergency button.

"No," Xavier growled through clenched teeth. His voice was hoarse, guttural, almost feral. "I can handle it."

He had to handle it. There was no choice.

By the end of the first week, the pain began to transform. It didn’t lessen exactly, but it shifted, becoming a deeper, heavier pressure. His body felt foreign, as though it was no longer his own. He stared at his hand one night, flexing the fingers that had been nearly useless days before. The movement was smoother, stronger, almost unnervingly precise.

The dreams began soon after.

They started as whispers in the dark, strange, disjointed voices calling his name. They spoke in languages he didn’t understand, yet somehow the meaning seeped into his mind. Images followed—the deep, glowing eyes of something monstrous, endless fields of bone and ash, and your voice, soft and distant, calling for him to save you. He’d wake drenched in sweat, his heart pounding in his chest, the pain in his ribs a dull echo compared to the terror in his mind.

Dr. Grey visited him on the tenth day, his expression equal parts excitement and curiosity as he examined Xavier.

“Remarkable,” Grey murmured, his gloved hands tracing over the edges of Xavier’s still-healing ribs. “The calcification is nearly complete. The rate at which your body is mending itself is unprecedented.”

“It doesn’t feel remarkable,” Xavier muttered, his voice gravelly. He shifted in bed, wincing as a sharp jolt ran down his leg.

Dr. Grey chuckled softly. “Yes, I imagine it doesn’t. Pain is a natural byproduct of accelerated cellular regeneration. Your body is essentially rewriting itself. Old cells are being discarded, new ones are forming, stronger, more efficient. It’s fascinating.”

“Fascinating,” Xavier bit out. “Tell me this is worth it.”

Dr. Grey’s gaze met his, and for the first time, there was something almost reverent in the doctor’s expression. “Oh, it’s worth it. You’re not just healing, Mr. Xavier. You’re becoming...something more. You’re going to feel it soon.”

“Feel what?” Xavier demanded, but Grey only smiled.

By the twelfth day, he felt it.

Strength. Pure, raw strength coursing through his veins like fire. His muscles no longer felt weak and atrophied, but alive, buzzing with energy. He tested it hesitantly, clenching his hand into a fist. The simple motion made the metal frame of the hospital bed groan.

“What the hell…” he muttered, staring at his hand in disbelief.

The dreams grew more vivid that night. This time, it wasn’t just whispers and shadows—it was you. You stood before him, your hand outstretched, your eyes filled with fear and longing. But before he could reach you, Sylus appeared, his form larger than life, his presence suffocating. His laugh echoed around Xavier like a taunt.

He regularly woke up gasping, his entire body drenched in sweat.

By the two-week mark, Dr. Grey returned for another check-in, this time bringing a portable scanner to examine Xavier’s progress.

“The bone density is incredible,” Grey said, almost giddy. “You’ve surpassed even my most optimistic projections. Tell me, how does it feel?”

“Like I’m being ripped apart and stitched back together,” Xavier said flatly, though there was a hint of awe in his voice. “But…I feel stronger.”

Grey nodded, his eyes gleaming. “You are stronger. Faster, too, I imagine. Your body is adapting to a level of efficiency most humans could only dream of.”

Xavier clenched his fists, testing the strength he could feel bubbling just beneath the surface. He looked at Grey, his expression hard. “I need this to work. I need to be ready.”

“It’s working,” Grey assured him. “You’re already becoming something extraordinary.”

Xavier’s jaw tightened as he looked out the window, his resolve hardening. He would endure whatever it took. The pain, the dreams, the uncertainty—none of it mattered if it meant he could stand against Sylus and win.

And bring you back where you belonged.

The hospital room was no longer a place of recovery—it had become a crucible. Xavier sat on the edge of the bed, his posture rigid, his face etched with exhaustion and determination. His body felt alien, heavier, more robust. Each breath he took was deeper, his lungs expanding with a power he hadn’t felt in years. The IV, once a lifeline, had been removed days ago, though the marks on his arm remained, faint reminders of the transformation he was enduring.

He flexed his fingers, watching as veins bulged beneath his skin. His hand felt like it could crush steel. His leg, the one that had been shattered, now supported him with ease. He stood, testing his weight experimentally, and the floor beneath him groaned faintly. The pain, once constant and unrelenting, was now gone, replaced by an intense, simmering energy that coursed through his veins like electricity.

But this wasn’t just healing.

This was something else.

The night before, the dreams had taken a dark turn. You weren’t in them this time—Sylus was. His face loomed larger than life, his voice a haunting echo in Xavier’s mind.

“You still think you can save her?” Sylus’s laugh was sharp and cruel.

“You’re weak. I’m not.”

The dream shifted, and Xavier was in a room of mirrors. His reflection stared back at him—at first. Then it began to change, the features warping into something unrecognizable. His body grew monstrous, his skin taking on a faint shimmer, his veins glowing faintly beneath the surface. His own voice boomed, low and guttural.

“You can’t win by becoming me.”

Xavier had woken up in a cold sweat, his heart pounding in his chest. But the worst part wasn’t the dream—it was the lingering sense of truth in Sylus’s words.

What even is he?

Dr. Grey entered the room now, his presence a sharp interruption to Xavier’s spiraling thoughts. The doctor’s face was alight with excitement, a clipboard in hand as he approached with brisk steps.

“Xavier,” Grey began, his voice almost reverent, “you’re beyond what I could have imagined. Your scans are perfect—better than perfect. Your bones, your muscles, even your cardiovascular system have all strengthened exponentially. You’re no longer recovering—you’re evolving.”

Xavier looked up, his expression unreadable. “What exactly am I evolving into?”

Grey hesitated, his professional composure faltering. “Something better.”

“That’s not an answer,” Xavier said, his voice low and dangerous. His hands clenched into fists, and the sound of his knuckles cracking echoed ominously in the room.

Grey took a step back, holding his clipboard defensively. “We’re still learning. But Xavier, this isn’t a curse—it’s a gift. You’re stronger, faster, more resilient than any hunter we’ve seen. And this is just the beginning.”

Xavier’s jaw tightened as he processed the words. A gift? It felt more like a curse. His body was different, yes, but his mind… his mind felt fractured. The dreams, the voices, the way he could hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears—it didn't seem human. And that terrified him.

Later that night, the pain returned. It wasn’t the sharp, acute agony of before—it was deeper, more primal. His body burned from the inside out, the energy coursing through him reaching a boiling point. He doubled over, gasping for air, sweat pouring from his body as he collapsed to the floor.

“What’s…happening…” he groaned, his voice barely audible.

Dr. Grey burst into the room moments later, his expression a mixture of fascination and concern. “It’s the final phase,” he said, almost breathless. “Your body is adjusting. You need to ride it out.”

“Ride it out?” Xavier snarled, his voice laced with anger and desperation. “It feels like I’m dying.”

“You’re not,” Grey assured him, though his wide eyes betrayed his own uncertainty. “Your body is adapting to the new cellular structure. This is the turning point.”

Xavier growled, his fingers digging into the tiled floor as he fought against the searing heat that consumed him. His veins pulsed visibly beneath his skin, glowing faintly as the transformation reached its peak. He let out a guttural roar, his entire body convulsing as the energy erupted within him.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

Xavier collapsed onto the floor, his chest heaving, his body drenched in sweat. He looked himself over. He still looked the same. Nothing had really changed in appearance. But he felt it—a new strength, raw and untamed, thrumming through every fiber of his being. He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, the floor cracking beneath his weight as he moved.

Grey approached cautiously, his eyes wide with awe. “How do you feel?”

Xavier looked up, his eyes meeting Grey’s with a piercing intensity. “Stronger,” he said simply, his voice low and steady.

Grey nodded, a triumphant smile spreading across his face. “It worked...it fucking worked. After all this time".

Xavier stood slowly, testing his new body. He felt…unstoppable. The fear, the pain, the weakness—all of it was gone, replaced by an unshakable resolve. He clenched his fists, turning to the doctor.

"Explain what the hell just happened to me. Now".

The nursery was almost done. The soft pastel colors you’d chosen covered the walls, delicate stenciled clouds floating above the crib. The rocking chair you’d insisted on was placed just right near the window, and Sylus had made sure every little touch met your exact specifications. It should have filled you with pride—or at least contentment—but instead, your chest felt heavy. Each item in the room was a reminder of the life being built here. One you weren’t sure you could ever truly belong to.

The past month had been...interesting. For one, everything hurt. Boobs, back, legs, feet. The cravings had been intense too. Sylus had been more than happy to indulge you of course, and he never complained when you would be up all night eating snacks in bed. Your need for touch and attention had been getting...intense. You refused to have Sylus touch you in that way again though. Thankfully he had backed off. You had gotten noticeably bigger and it seemed as though was trying to be careful.

It still clawed at the back of your mind though. An unknown, festering longing. But you shoved it down.

Sylus had even gotten a custom pregnancy pillow made for you, curved just for your shape. It was incredible. And the best part, was now you had an excuse not to be so close to him in bed now. He had even joked that the pillow might replace him. If you didn't know any better you'd say that things had gotten...normal. Everyday was a internal battle in your head but on the outside? You were just his pregnant fiancé.

Nothing more.

You stood in the middle of the room, admiring the handiwork. So much time had passed. How many weeks had it been now? You had to be at least six months. A life so distant from your own, yet you’d molded yourself into the role so well. Too well. You could feel Sylus’s presence behind you, a constant weight at your back, as if he were as much a part of this space as the furniture. His gaze was heavy, observing your every move.

You masked your true feelings with a small smile, directing Luke on where to place the stuffed animals and instructing Kieran to adjust the curtains for the hundredth time.

“They’re not even, Kieran. Please fix it.”

"Yes m'aam!"

The twins didn’t protest. They simply obeyed, accustomed to your meticulous demands over the past few weeks. Sylus stood at the doorway, his sharp gaze following every movement. His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable, but you could feel his eyes on you like a brand.

“Actually,” you said after a moment, turning toward Sylus, “don’t you think they deserve a break? They’ve been working hard.”

Sylus raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking slightly as if amused by your suggestion. “A break? You think they need a break?”

You nodded, feigning innocence. “Of course. They’ve done a lot, and we’re almost done here. I think they’ve earned it.”

The room went silent for a moment, the tension thick as Sylus studied you. You held your breath, wondering if you had pushed too far. But then, to your surprise, he nodded.

“Fine,” he said, his voice calm but laced with suspicion. “Luke, Kieran, take an hour. Go.”

The twins didn’t need to be told twice. They quickly gathered their things and left, exchanging another glance as they passed you, their steps echoing down the hall. The silence they left behind was deafening.

You let out a small sigh, your gaze drifting to the room. It was beautiful, almost surreal. So much time had passed since you started this charade, and yet it felt like no time at all. You’d molded yourself into this role so well it almost scared you.

“This is nice,” you murmured, running your fingers along the edge of the crib. “Really nice.”

You had gotten really used to lying through your teeth.

“It is,” he replied smoothly. “Thanks to you.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, but you refused to let it show. Instead, you focused on the closet, noting the empty shelves waiting to be filled. That gave you an idea—a reckless one. “We should go to Linkon,” you said suddenly, turning to look at him. “There’s so much more we need. Baby supplies, clothes, toys. It’d be nice to pick some things out myself. Linkon has some really nice stores.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them. Sylus’s eyes darkened slightly, his brow arching as he studied you. “Linkon?” he repeated, his voice calm but laced with suspicion. “And why, exactly, would you want to go to Linkon? So you can run and take my baby to your ex-lover?”

The accusation hit you like a blow, and for a moment, your breath caught in your throat. Was he onto you? Had it been that obvious?"

“Seriously?” you snapped, unable to keep the frustration from bubbling over. “Do you have to see ulterior motives in everything I do? I just want to pick out some things for the baby. Linkon is my birthplace. Of course I'd want to get my own daughter's stuff from there. That’s all.”

Sylus stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate. The heat of his body seemed to surround you as he gazed down at you, unblinking. “Don’t lie to me,” he said softly, but his tone was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing? Don’t think for a second that I actually believe you’ve accepted this.”

You felt your heart pounding in your chest, anger and fear battling for dominance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, feigning innocence, but your voice wavered.

He chuckled, a low, humorless sound. “You’ve gotten good at lying, I’ll give you that. But not good enough.”

Your pulse raced as he leaned in closer, his presence overwhelming. You could feel the walls closing in, the nursery that had felt so spacious moments ago now suffocating. Your mind scrambled for something—anything—to diffuse the tension.

“I just thought it would be nice,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “To pick out a few things out for the baby myself. Isn’t that normal? Isn’t that what you want? For me to be...invested in this?”

"Are you truly invested though? “Why don’t you just tell me what you’re really thinking?” he says, his tone soft but firm, each word cutting deeper than the last.

"Lets end this little game of ours, kitten".

Your pulse quickened and you felt like your heart just dropped in your stomach. Fuck. Fuck. He had known the entire time?? The entire time?

You step back instinctively, your shoulders brushing against the wall as he closes the space between you. His presence is overwhelming, his gaze pinning you in place. “Sylus, I don’t—”

“Don’t,” he cuts you off, his voice low and commanding. “Don’t insult my intelligence. I’ve given you everything. I played along. Don’t think for a second I'd be dumb enough to think you've accepted all of this the second I propose.”

Your mind races as you scramble to regain control of the situation. “Sylus, no,” you say, your voice trembling with false sincerity.

“I want to be with you,” you blurted out, the words bitter on your tongue. They felt like shards of glass cutting through your throat as you forced them out. You hated yourself for saying them, but you hated him more for putting you in this position.

He stares at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours as if he’s weighing your words. Then, slowly, he reaches for your hand, his fingers closing around yours with deliberate care. “Prove it,” he whispers, pulling your hand to his chest. “Resonate with me.”

“What?” you whisper, your breath hitching.

“I know all about your Aethor core,” he says, his voice steady but laced with a quiet intensity. “It’s controlled by your heart, isn’t it? If you want to be with me, truly, then you should have no problem resonating with me.”

The words felt like a trap closing in around you. Where did he even get information like that? Your mind raced, your chest tightening as the weight of his demand pressed down on you. His hand held yours firmly against his chest, and you could feel the faint flicker of energy radiating from him. The room seemed to shimmer, faint bursts of light and energy sparking between you as his Evol intertwined with yours.

But nothing happened.

The flickers of energy faded, the room falling into silence once more, leaving only the sound of your labored breathing and the thundering of your heart. Nothing. There was nothing.

Sylus’s jaw tightened, his fingers slowly releasing your hand as the weight of the failure settled between you. His eyes darkened, the cold edge of disappointment cutting through the air like a blade. “I knew it,” he muttered, his voice low and heavy with something deeper than anger—hurt.

“Sylus, please,” you started, but he stepped back, his expression a storm of emotion that left you reeling. Hurt. Anger. Sadness. It all seemed to blur together in the lines of his face.

“I wanted to believe you,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with bitterness. “I wanted to believe that you were finally…” He trailed off, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he turned away from you.

The weight of his disappointment crushed you, but fear and anger burned hotter in your chest. “What do you want from me, Sylus?” you snapped, your voice breaking. “You think I can just forget everything you’ve done? Everything you’ve taken from me?”

He turned back to you, his eyes blazing with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “I’ve given you everything you could ever need,” he said, his voice rising. “I’ve protected you. I’ve provided for you. All I’ve asked is for you to let go of the past and accept what’s here, what’s now. You can’t even give me that.”

You feel your own emotions boiling over, the weight of his accusations too much to bear. “Well maybe if you weren't a fucking freak who kidnaps girls off the street and impregnates them, maybe you'd have someone that loves you!” you say tears streaming down your face.

There's nothing but silence. Sylus says nothing, unmoving. You can feel his irritation radiating off of him but he stays still.

"Is that how you really feel?"

"Yes. There hasn't been a day where I haven't hated you. I hate you. All want to do is murder you right now."

Sylus’s movements were slow and deliberate, each step toward you carrying a weight that made your breath catch in your throat. His expression remained unreadable, his eyes locked onto yours with a calmness that only made your panic worse. Then, to your utter horror, he reached to his side and pulled out a sleek, black gun, holding it firmly in his hand.

Your heart slammed against your ribcage as he extended it toward you, pressing the cool metal into your trembling hands. "W-what are you—" you stammered, your voice breaking as you stared at the weapon.

His voice was low, steady, almost too calm. “You said you wanted to murder me,” he said, his gaze never wavering from yours. “Here’s your chance.”

Your heart pounds erratically in your chest, your entire body trembling as you grip the weapon tighter. “Sylus…” you whisper, your voice breaking.

His hands come up slowly, his movements deliberate as he guides yours, positioning your finger over the trigger. “I’ll make it easy for you,” he murmurs, his gaze steady and calm, but his words are laced with an unsettling challenge. “End it. If you hate me that much, take your shot.”

“What...!” you cry, shaking your head as tears stream freely down your face. “Sylus, stop!” But his grip on your hands is iron, unyielding, as he guides the barrel steadily to his chest.

“This is what you wanted,” he says softly, his voice carrying a mix of defiance and something heartbreakingly tender. “To kill me, isn’t it?”

The room feels like it’s spinning. Your chest tightens, your breath shallow and erratic as his words twist deeper into your mind.

Do I hate him? Do I really want this?

Your thoughts clash violently, a storm of anger, fear, and confusion tearing through you.

“You’re fucking crazy,” you sob, your voice cracking. “I hate you. I fucking hate you!” The words leave your mouth like venom, but even as you say them, a flicker of doubt lurks in the back of your mind.

Do I hate him enough for this?

Sylus doesn’t flinch. His gaze is steady, his eyes locked onto yours, filled with an unnerving combination of determination and something heartbreakingly tender. He presses the barrel harder against his chest, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Then prove it. Pull the trigger."

“I...wait,” you choke, shaking your head as sobs rack your body. The gun feels impossibly heavy in your hands, like it’s tethered to the weight of the entire world. “No, I can’t...I can’t do this.”

“Why not?” he challenges, his grip firm but not forceful, his words cutting deep. “You’ve said it over and over—how much you hate me, how much you want me gone. Do it. End it.”

Your mind is in chaos. You see flashes of everything—his cruelty, his control, his moments of tenderness. You hate him. You hate him. Don’t you?

But then why does your hand tremble so much? Why does your heart ache as you look into his eyes, calm and accepting? He deserves this. He deserves this, doesn’t he?

"Do you want some help?" he asks, seemingly unaffected by your tears.

“Sylus,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, shaking your head. “Please…stop.”

He ignores you and simply gives you a small smile, his eyes boring into yours. "I'd rather die by your hands anyways".

Before you can process his words, his finger joins yours on the trigger, and in a single, horrifying moment, he pulls it. The deafening crack of the gunshot echoes in the room, reverberating in your ears as Sylus staggers back.

The recoil jolts through your arms, and the force sends the gun clattering to the floor. Sylus staggers back a step, his hand clutching his chest where the bullet tore through him. Blood blooms against his shirt, dark and stark against the fabric, spreading rapidly.

Your knees hit the floor as a strangled scream rips from your throat. “No! No, no, no…Sylus!” you cry, crawling toward him, your hands reaching out instinctively. “You can’t die…You can’t die!” Your voice cracks with desperation as you press your palms to his chest, trying to stop the flow of blood. “Are you fucking crazy?!”

His breathing is shallow, his body warm as blood pulses out of him. You feel your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, your vision blurring as you sob uncontrollably. “Sylus, please,” you whisper, your voice breaking as you clutch at him. “I didn’t mean it… I didn’t mean what I said…I'm sorry. Please I'm sorry.”

And then, just as your hands grow slick with his blood, something impossible happens. The wound begins to close. Slowly, impossibly, the torn flesh knits itself back together, the blood retreating as if drawn back into his body. The hole in his chest seals completely, leaving only unbroken, unmarred skin.

Your mouth drops in horror, your mind spinning, every rational thought crumbling under the weight of what you’ve just witnessed. “Wh-what…what are you?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Sylus sits up slowly, brushing your hands aside with a faint smile. “Yours,” he says softly, as if the answer should have been obvious.

You scramble back, your body trembling as you struggle to process what you’ve just witnessed. “No…no, this isn’t possible,” you whisper, shaking your head. “You can’t… you shouldn’t…”

“Does this show you,” he murmurs, leaning closer as his voice drops to a soothing tone. “That I’m not going anywhere? No matter how much you fight me, no matter how much you think you hate me. I’m here. Always. You wanted to take my life, now you've taken it.”

"I-I...you're alive? After getting shot...?"

You sink even lower to the ground, beginning to tremble on your side. Relief, confusion, distress all encompass your mind. Your hands fly to your face, trembling as you try to block out the sight of him, the impossibility of what just happened. Hot tears spill freely, soaking your palms, and the sound of your ragged breathing fills the suffocating silence of the room.

What are you?

The words burn in your mind, a question you can’t force past your lips. You shake your head, trying to push away the horror of his unbroken gaze, his calm acceptance of the bullet meant to end him. The very same man who pressed a gun to his own chest and showed you the futility of your anger.

He's actually a monster...? A real monster...?

The tears come harder, your body shaking as the truth of your situation sinks in deeper than ever before. You’re trapped with a man who defies the very laws of life and death. You can’t fight him, can’t win, can’t escape. And now…now you carry his child.

Your hands drift to your belly, the slight curve that has grown over the past weeks now feeling heavier than it ever has. A new wave of anguish wells up in you as your mind spirals. What kind of child has he put inside you? Is this baby even human?

The thought fills you with dread, and you cry harder, burying your face in your hands as the room blurs around you. You can still feel Sylus’s presence, his eyes on you, unwavering. But you can’t look at him. You can’t bear to see the man who holds you captive, the man who claims to love you, the man who just proved he’s more than a simple man.

The sound of his steady breath fills the room, a sharp contrast to your sobbing. But then, as you finally look up through tear-blurred eyes, you see it—his chest, the place where the bullet tore through, now whole. The blood remains on his shirt, a stark, visceral reminder, but the flesh beneath is unbroken, smooth. Impossible.

Your breath hitches, and a new wave of sobs wracks your body. What kind of monster is he? What kind of thing are you trapped with? You shake your head, trembling, as you bury your face in your hands again.

You don’t hear him approach, but then you feel it—his hands, warm and steady, gently cupping your shoulders to lift you up onto your feet. His touch doesn’t feel cold or monstrous. It feels human, tender even, and it only makes your sobs harder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice low and thick with emotion. “I had to show you. I had to…” There’s something fragile in his tone, almost pleading, as if he’s begging for you to understand.

His hands slide down your arms, wrapping around you as he pulls you close. You stiffen instinctively, your mind screaming at you to pull away, but your body is weak, wrung out from the flood of emotions and the unbearable reality pressing down on you.

“You’re scared,” he murmurs, his lips close to your ear. “I know. But you don’t have to be. You’ll never have to be afraid of me harming you, sweetie. Not ever.” His arms tighten around you, his warmth radiating through your shaking form. “I’ll protect you. I’ll protect her.”

His words break through the storm of your sobs, a reminder of the life growing inside you—the child he forced upon you, the child who’s part of him. The tears don’t stop, but they shift, mingling with a deep, guttural dread.

He pulls back slightly, his hands moving to cup your tear-streaked face. His thumbs brush softly against your cheeks, wiping away the tears. “I’m sorry,” he says again, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “I know I scared you, but I needed you to see that no matter what you do, I’ll always come back to you.”

You stare at him, your mind a swirling storm of emotions—fear, relief, anger, confusion, and, beneath it all, something you don’t want to name. Something terrifying.

“Why?” you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible. “Why would you show me something like this?”

His gaze softens, and he leans closer, resting his forehead against yours. “Because I love you,” he says simply. “And I’ll never let anything take you from me. Nothing, not even death can keep us apart.”

You feel the weight of his words, their suffocating finality, and you squeeze your eyes shut, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. You hate him. You hate him so much. But in this moment, with his hands so steady and his voice so soothing, you feel yourself falling apart, breaking into pieces in the arms of the man who shattered your life.

You cry against him until your chest aches, until the tears won’t come anymore, until you’re left hollow and trembling in his arms. Your breaths slow, but your heart still pounds, fear and confusion swirling in your mind.

And then you feel it.

A small, sudden flutter in your stomach, faint but unmistakable. Your breath catches, your body freezing as the sensation repeats, soft yet insistent, like a tiny whisper from within.

Your hand flies instinctively to your belly, fingers trembling as they press against the fabric of your dress. The baby kicks again, stronger this time, as if responding directly to your overwhelming emotions. The realization crashes over you like a tidal wave, and fresh tears pour down your face, your vision blurring under the weight of this new reality.

She can feel it.

Your baby—this innocent life inside of you—is aware. Aware of your turmoil, your anguish, your fear. She’s not even born yet, and already she’s being touched by the chaos swirling around you. The thought steals the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping in the stillness of the room.

She can feel everything.

The truth sears through you, sharp and unrelenting. You feel your body quaking, your hand pressing harder against your stomach as though you can shield her, protect her from the storm you’ve unwittingly pulled her into. You can’t let her feel this. You can’t let her suffer for your despair.

You close your eyes tightly, willing yourself to take deep, even breaths. It’s okay. You’re okay.

The words echo in your mind like a mantra, shaky but desperate, as you fight to calm your racing heart. You try to project it outward, to send a wave of reassurance down to her, to let her know she’s safe, even if you don’t fully believe it yourself. You don’t know how to love this baby yet, not completely, not with everything you’re carrying. But if there’s one thing you can do, one thing you have the strength for, it’s this: you can at least let her feel that everything is okay.

She deserves that much.

But as your breathing steadies and the kicking subsides, replaced by a faint, comforting stillness, the weight of the same question slams into you once more. Your mind spirals with questions, each one darker and heavier than the last. But one in particular prevails.

What kind of monstrosity is he?

Your gaze shifts toward Sylus, who’s gazing down at you, his face a mixture of concern and an unsettling calm. He’s too much—too strong, too powerful, too inhuman. His very presence warps reality, bends it around him in ways that leave you gasping for air. He isn’t a man, not really. He’s something else entirely, something that defies everything you thought you knew about the world.

“Sylus…what are you?”

The question echos unanswered in the stillness of the room, their weight pressing down on you as the last shreds of your hope slip further from reach.

#umi writes ♡︎#sylus x reader #sylus #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace smut #lads #sylus x reader smut #love and deepspace #lnds #l&ds #lnds sylus #sylus love and deepspace #love and deep space sylus #xavier x reader #lads smut #lads scenarios

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primordial0riginator · 2 days ago

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Let’s seee….

Tag: anyone who wants to!

Blorbo Poll

Rules: make a poll with five of your all-time favourite characters and then tag five people to do the same. See which character is everyone's favourite.

Tagged by @powersuitup. Probably very predictable picks for anyone who knows me but whatevs.

NP tagging @tweetthang96, @coolnerdyrn, @kayliemalinza, @raaorqtpbpdy, and @thephilosophersapprentice.

#tagged in #thank you for tagging me!!!#this is tough because I have many a blorbo going for me #but I’d say these have been the most persistant in my life #persistent* why tf did I spell it with an A #well OK Chaos is a recent addition because I only first played Hades this year but I can tell they and Hypnos are gonna be in my brain now #I didn’t put Hypnos tho bc he’s done dirty in the games and I feel like ppl just won’t get it 😔#anyway yay :3 #two of these are niche imo but I must put them to be true to myself #long post

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spatialwave · 2 days ago

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are you jealous?

➸ ask: “Please could we get ‘i'm not jealous. you're just mine’ for Jayce��” ➸ pairing: jayce talis x fem!reader ➸ word count: 1.9k ➸ tags: mdni! smut, nsfw, pwp, rough sex, dominant!jayce, jealousy, established relationship, no use of y/n. ➸ notes: hehe, thanks for asking!!

Jealousy was a trait that Jayce buried deep within. One that he wasn’t proud of, and he hated every fibre of his being when his mind was filled with thoughts of it. Especially when it came to you.

You were beautiful, a goddess among men. The poor man couldn't watch you waltzing through Piltover without his arm stretching over your shoulders as a silent declaration of “She’s mine.”

Jayce’s frustration often translated into the bedroom, where he could get rid of pent-up anger and stress. You were happily oblivious to it, indulging in any attention you could collect from the man. He was your boyfriend; his attention was the only one you sought.

Your heels clicked against the hardwood floor, the door shutting and locking behind you as you entered your home, with Jayce lingering after—another day, another fancy charity event, with the Man of Progress at the centre of attention.

“Oh, gods,” you uttered quietly, lifting a foot behind you to help remove the uncomfortably tall heels one by one. “Remind me never to wear these out again.”

Jayce was oddly silent behind you, only the quiet hum of acknowledgement as he shrugged his coat off and hung it neatly on the rack.

“Hello? Jayce?” Your voice was louder this time, having spun on your heels to wave your hand in front of his face, “Had one too many glasses of wine, did you?”

You were met with a look of discontentment, his brows slightly furrowed together. You blinked, head tilting curiously.

“You had fun talking Salo’s ear off all night, did you?” He huffed; the accusation caused your mouth to drop.

“Excuse me?” You questioned, delicate fingers lifting to your necklace as you began taking your jewelry off. You didn’t have the time for petty arguing as you walked toward your bedroom, eager to undress, “I suppose I had a few good chats with him about the future of Piltover. Why are you so upset? I’m making connections, aren’t I?”

“I’m not,” Jayce hurried behind you, footsteps heavy, “I’m just saying that you seemed to like his attention.”

His words were hushed as he spoke, obviously a bit sheepish for saying so. The wine in his stomach had done a great job removing the filter he’d so carefully put up every day.

“I can tell when you’re upset. I’m not an idiot… and quite frankly,” you looked over your shoulder once inside your room, hands behind your back struggling to undo the zipper of your dress, “I don’t appreciate the callous accusation. What’s your point?”

Jayce was quick to help, fingers pulling down the zipper of your dress. His lips met with your skin as your shoulders and back became exposed. Stubble tickling you and leaving you a bit breathless.

It was hard to stay upset with him.

“I’m just saying…” his voice wandered as he pressed kisses along your shoulder, up your neck and into your ear, “You were all over him.”

Your eyes had fallen shut, hands keeping the dress pressed against your chest so it didn’t fall right to the floor. The kisses left you shivering with each movement—realization hitting when he kissed the shell of your ear.

“Jayce,” you whispered, turning your head to look at him. You stared into his eyes, hazel with golden flakes that sparkled under the right lighting. His rough hands were on your hips, possessive

“Are you jealous?” The words fell from your lips along with a smirk, the question lighting your insides aflame.

“Not jealous,” he growled into your ear, hands grabbing your hips and pulling you back so your ass was pressed against the obvious erection growing beneath his slacks, “you’re just mine.”

Oh, gods. That awoke something in you.

“Ah,” you let out a gentle moan, allowing yourself to enjoy the way his hands groped at you eagerly, practically ripping the dress from your body that you no longer cared about keeping neat as it crumpled to the floor, “So, you don’t like it when other guys talk to me?”

Jayce huffed, lips attacking your neck from behind, unafraid to bite into the skin and suck. A silent reaction that spoke volumes.

His hard cock pressed against your ass again, separated by his slacks and the lace panties you wore that wouldn’t be on your body for much longer. You were suddenly pushed forward against the wall next to you, a gasp escaping your throat as his hands reached around your body from his spot behind you and delved right into your underwear.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he whispered, voice heavy and laced with lust. Two fingers rubbed slow circles against your clit, and it took all your energy to keep your knees from buckling beneath you, “Laughing at his terrible jokes… your fucking hand on his arm.”

A mewl escaped your lips, ass pressing back into him with need as his fingers assaulted your clit and shot an overwhelming amount of pleasure through your body. Your hands were pressed against the wall, nails scratching at it.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered.

“You think you can just flirt with anyone you want?” He growled, licking a long stripe up your neck, lips ghosting against your ear and his other hand squeezing painfully tight on your hip, “Tell me.”

“No,” you answered obediently. You had never flirted, or at least intended so, but gods, you’d be damned if this wasn’t turning you on.

His fingers moved easily through your folds, soaking wet as your juices seeped through your underwear.

“Will you be a good girl for me?” Jayce whispered, lips moving down your shoulder and back as he dropped to his knees behind you. Fingers hooking into your panties and pulling them down your body, slowly over the globes of your ass.

“Yes,” you said softly, eager to please.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he whispered, hands fondling your ass before giving a hard smack. “I said, tell me.”

You winced in pain, “I’m yours, Jayce. Only yours.”

Jayce had never quite felt this way before, a rush of power and dominance taking over. Knowing very well now that this side of him wouldn’t go unseen again.

His eager eyes watched as his hands spread your cheeks apart, exposing your tight hole and pussy that was so wet it dripped down your thighs. A pitiful mess, clenching around nothing.

“That’s right, baby,” he groaned, leaning in and licking from your swollen clit to your entrance. He poked and prodded, earning whimpers of pleasure from you that filled his stomach with heat and made his cock twitch in his pants.

He pulled away from your cunt after a minute of devouring you like a starved man, chin wet and glistening as he pushed a slow, deliberate finger inside your pussy, that squeezed impossibly tight around the digit. Having been waiting for any form of stimulation.

“Fuck—“ you choked, face pressed against the wall and ass out.

He then stretched you with two fingers, your tight heat clenching hard around them. Your hips stuttered, knees shaking, and you had to use the strength of your hands pressed to the wall to keep you upright. The wet sounds of your cunt being fingers with no remorse filled the room, mixing with your quiet moans and Jayce’s soft praises.

“So good,” he whispered, kissing the back of your thigh and under the curve of your ass, “Do you think I should fuck you? Do you deserve it?”

“Yes, please,” you cried, unable to take any more of the teasing as your nails scratched the wall again. His fingers pumping inside you had already made you crawl slowly towards your release, but the absence of stimulation on your clit kept you from falling off, “I deserve it—“

“Prove it,” his voice was heavy, full of lust. He moved slowly to stand behind you, the sound of his belt undoing, making you tighten around the fingers that abused your swollen sex.

You glanced over your shoulder, a pout on your lips as you looked at him with pleading eyes.

“Please, Jayce, I’m all yours,” you begged, cheeks burning a furious red as you fucked yourself back onto his fingers, “Only yours, I promise.”

“Gods,” he breathed, removing his fingers from your cunt and pushing them between your lips, “You’re lucky I love you.”

You sucked around his fingers, the familiar taste of your juices heavy on your tongue. You moaned loudly around them, face pressing against the wall as he pushed his cock inside your greedy cunt with one sharp thrust. His thick girth stretched you, an amount of fullness that always surprised you, even after countless times of being fucked by him.

He snapped his hips against yours at a relentless pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing louder than your mewls.

Jayce lifted a hand into your hair, tugging your head back so he could breathe against your ear, “You take me so well, baby.”

A whine strangled in your throat, a delicious sound that settled a familiar heat in the pit of Jayce’s stomach. He let go of your hair, leaning back so he could focus both hands on your

hips, squeezing so tight that you’d be surprised if your skin didn’t form lingering bruises in its wake.

Your heat enveloped him perfectly, your inner muscles clenching tight around his length with each deep penetration. Enough to rumble a groan from his chest as he focused on fucking you brutally and senselessly, feeding off every cry of pleasure that came from you.

“Cum for me,” his words came heavy from his chest, leaning forward as he greeted your otherwise abandoned clit that was dying for attention with a heavy-handed touch, “Please, baby. I need you to cum.”

Your toes curled against the floor as you felt the tight cord in your abdomen snap, his fingers circling your clit and cock stretching you out, leaving you nothing more than a sex-induced mess. His name rolled off your tongue in repetition, walls tightening hard around his cock as you milked him–desperate for him to fill you.

“Fuck, Jayce–”

“Just like that,” he groaned, eyes watching the way his cock sheathed inside your aching cunt, “fuck, baby, you look so good. You take me so good. So fucking perfect.”

A moan caught in his throat as he leaned forward, teeth and lips pressing against your shoulder. He came hard, hips stuttering and losing his pace as his cock twitched inside you as his climax hit him with unbridled intensity. Jayce’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, grunting heavy sounds against your skin as he slammed into you with one final thrust.

His cock pumped stream after stream of hot cum inside you, your still spasming walls coaxing out every last drop.

“Ah, fuck–” he sputtered, his body nearly going limp as he let go of your hips, muscled arms instead wrapping around your waist, “... I love you.”

The sweetest giggle bubbled up from your chest, turning your head against the wall to meet his gaze, “That was hot,” you murmured, blinking slowly, “You’re sexy when you’re jealous.”

“Please, no,” Jayce groaned, chuckling dryly as he buried his face against your neck in coy embarrassment, “I hate it.”

“You’re a dork. I love you, too.” You beamed.

#jayce talis #jayce talis x reader #jayce talis x you #jayce talis x y/n #jayce talis fic #jayce talis fanfic #jayce talis smut #jayce x reader #jayce x you #reader fic #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane fanfic #arcane fic #wordsbyspatial #spatialanswers

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adieutristana · 1 day ago

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getting married headcanons / arcane women x fem! reader

the thought of marriage and weddings have been on my mind for weeks now and i’m not sure why, but i’m a sap like that. i also haven’t been able to find many fics in the arcane tags about marriage so i figured i’d write my own :)

i’m getting to requests as quickly as possible! my first final is this friday and i’m kinda freaking out. things should speed up once im on winter break!

summary: headcanons of what it would be like marrying arcane characters.

characters included: jinx, vi, mel, sevika, caitlyn.

tags/warnings: fluff. SO much fluff. mentions of (happy) crying, mentions of drinking, s2 spoilers / mentions of death (caitlyn), slight hurt/comfort

men dni.

jinx;

✧.* you had spoken of marriage before, and every time you did, jinx became incredibly emotional. the girl had never seen marriage as something in the cards for her. a master criminal, a symbol, a living martyr? sure. but never a wife. so when you brought up the fact that you one day wanted to marry her, she was inconsolable in the best way possible.

✧.* to think that someone loved her enough to want to marry her, to want to spend the rest of their life by her side was unreal. she never thought she would have that.

✧.* so naturally, when you got down on one knee in front of jinx and opened a velvet box, presenting her with a shining diamond- jinx was in hysterics. she immediately broke into a fit of tears. blubbering, she nodded frantically, shakily taking your hands in hers. you felt a few tears of your own fall from your eyes as you slipped the ring onto her finger.

✧.* "yes, yes, yes- oh god, yes, i want to marry you. are you sure, though? i mean... will i make a good wife? are you sure you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody like me?"

✧.* "yes, jinx. i want all of it. all of the chaos, all of the mischief and adventure. all of you."

✧.* jinx immediately makes it a point to show off her brand-new, shiny ring to absolutely everyone. she’s engaged now, and she’s gonna make it everybody’s problem. she would go into sevika’s usual spot- a local casino just to track her down and shove her hand in her face. sevika would just raise an eyebrow, and look back up at jinx. seemingly unamused.

✧.* “i’m a fiancée now! see?”

✧.* “i can see that.”

✧.* “you can at least act like you’re excited for me!”

✧.* jinx’s favorite part of being engaged is probably planning the wedding. she makes almost all of the decorations herself- centerpieces, messy tablecloths, colorful banners. they’re crude and chaotic, but they’re jinx.

✧.* you do manage to talk her into letting a friend make flower arrangements and cater, though.

✧.* while jinx wants to look nice for her big day, she doesn’t really put that much thought into what she wears, instead wanting to hear your input. if you want her to wear a suit, she’ll do so! if you’d rather see her in a dress, fine by her. however, i can’t see her in an extravagant wedding gown… probably something simple.

✧.* she does insist on wearing her hair in a single braid, though.

✧.* jinx wants a small wedding, at a local empty hall she can decorate however she pleases. close friends and (your) family are the only guests welcomed.

✧.* when the day of the wedding comes, jinx is both ecstatic and a nervous wreck. a million thoughts are swirling through her mind, whispering to her from every angle. what if you leave her at the altar? what if you get cold feet? but the fact that you are there, she knows you’re here for the long haul, is what grounds jinx.

✧.* jinx somehow convinced vi to walk her down the aisle.

✧.* it actually wasn’t hard at all, she’s just exaggerating. despite the strains and tainted history between the two, vi wouldn’t miss the chance to see her little sister get married for anything in the world.

✧.* when she walks down the aisle, she’s the first one at the altar. twiddling with her thumbs, eyes darting around the hall.

✧.* when she finally sees you being walked down, though, jinx isn’t able to hold back her tears. it starts out small, then a dam breaks. you just look so beautiful.

✧.* it comes time for the reading of vows, and jinx’s voice is trembling. bless her, she’s sniffling and trying through shaking hands to unfold the paper.

✧.* “i’m not good with words, you know this. i never have been. but you make it so easy. i’ve never felt more like myself with someone, never felt so loved and cared for. i still wonder why you chose to marry someone so chaotic, a ‘master criminal,’ as the pilties put it. but i can’t explain how grateful i am. you love me for everything that i am, and everything i’m not. it’s you and me, always. i love you.”

✧.* after exchanging rings, jinx is practically pouncing on you to close the distance between you. the exact moment the officiant says ‘you may now kiss.’

✧.* jinx is completely different during the reception. the music selection is so perfectly her, but also so you. she’s (horribly) dancing, tugging your wrists to invite you to dance with her. whooping and singing along to the music. this is the happiest you’ve ever seen jinx. your wife.

vi;

✧.* vi is also someone who never saw herself getting married, honest. she had a prison wife at one point, but that was just to get her through each grueling hour at stillwater. the girl never saw herself being married for real. until she met you.

✧.* she first began calling you her wife playfully. vi is a sucker for pet names, isn’t she?

✧.* “i’m home! how’s my wife doing? i didn’t keep ya waiting long, did i?”

✧.* but the more she called you her wife, and the more positive your reactions to the nickname became, it dawned on her that she actually could see herself marrying you. that option had just never clicked in her mind.

✧.* the two of you never properly talked about marriage per se, but it was silently agreed that it was a possibility.

✧.* however, it still caught you completely off guard when vi proposed to you.

✧.* it was in the middle of a field, which already struck you as odd. vi wasn’t one to go exploring in nature typically, but she said she wanted to see the stars with you, so you didn’t ask any questions.

✧.* you’re side-by-side with vi on a shared blanket, while your girlfriend uses her finger to point out each constellation. she’s wrong about the name of the majority, but you don’t have the heart to tell her that. she’s just too cute.

✧.* however, at the end of the night, when you’re occupied with folding the blanket, you glance over your shoulder to see vi on one knee. your hand claps over your mouth and the blanket falls onto the ground.

✧.* “(y/n), i love you. you know this. i tell you every day. but we’ve been together for a while now… and i think i’m ready to take the next step. i call you my wife anyways, why not make it official?”

✧.* with tears welling in your eyes, you nod again and again. hands covering your mouth and one shakily stretching to let vi slip the ring onto your finger.

✧.* it’s a simple ring; a silver band with a rectangular alexandrite in the center. but you can tell from the shine that vi had been saving for this purchase for a while.

✧.* vi wanted to get a ring worthy of you. a ring that showcased her endless devotion to you, and damn, she did a good job hiding the ring as long as she did.

✧.* vi doesn’t waste any time when it comes to planning. she wants a small wedding, but still intimate and romantic.

✧.* almost everything is done by the two of you, with minimal help from jinx. vi does centerpieces, invitations, and the music, while you take care of the catering, flower arrangements, and guest planning.

✧.* jinx likely just makes a few light coverings to give the illusions of different colored lights during the reception.

✧.* your girlfriend fiancée wears a tailored black suit, with a maroon vest and tie. she put a lot into being able to rent it, so she wants to make sure she looks perfect for her soon-to-be wife!

✧.* the day of the ceremony finally arrives. vi is nervous, but she does her best to keep herself grounded. it isn’t until she’s stood at the altar waiting for her bride that anxiety truly sets in.

✧.* yet, all of that anxiety melts the instant she sees you walking down the aisle. your eyes light and full of adoration, only for her. the smile on your face is enough to light up the entire universe on its own.

✧.* it’s then, when she takes your hand as you step up to the altar, that she begins to feel tears pricking at her eyes.

✧.* vi has her vows memorized. she made a habit of reading them aloud every night at least twenty times, over and over again. but she still manages to stumble over her words; something you can’t help but giggle to.

✧.* “my love for you has always been clear. since the day i met you, you’ve never left my mind, or my side. i love all of your cute habits, all of the things you think i don’t notice, the sound of your voice, your smile, those eyes… i love all of you. i promise to love you now, and forever. you complete me.”

✧.* vi is fully crying by the time she finally gets to cup your cheeks and press her lips to yours, holding the kiss longer than she probably should. but she just can’t help herself. you’re her wife now.

✧.* she doesn’t get shitfaced during the reception, but your wife is definitely pretty drunk on the dance floor. busting out moves you didn’t even know she had.

✧.* she feels free to let loose now, have fun, with you by her side. dancing with her. singing along to the music without a care in the world.

mel;

✧.* with mel, marriage wasn’t really a conversation the two of you had, instead, it was a given from the beginning.

✧.* mel takes relationships very seriously and sees anything casual as a waste of her precious time. marriage is the end goal when mel gets into any relationship, so it wouldn’t be any different for you. she loves you, and you love her, the natural thing to do is to get married.

✧.* however, she is a patient woman and willing to wait for whenever you’re ready to commit to marriage. she is busy after all, she can wait as long as needed.

✧.* when you finally are at a place in your life- financially, mentally, emotionally, to be able to comfortably get married, mel wastes no time proposing to you.

✧.* you figured it would be the other way around, and actually did begin window-shopping for a general idea of what ring you’d purchase for your girlfriend.

✧.* but mel has a way of knowing things, and she tells you that she’ll buy it.

✧.* “i know you’ve been browsing around, here and there for a ring. be patient. i’ll handle that, okay?”

✧.* when mel proposes, it’s in a small, intimate space in her home. the woman goes to plenty of galas and parties as a councilwoman, but she wants this moment to be only between her and her girlfriend.

✧.* warm candlelight fills the room, the scent of peonies and baby’s breath subtle. you’re unsure of what’s going on for such decorations- was there a holiday that you forgot? your anniversary wasn’t for another few months, so surely-

✧.* a soft voice from behind you pulls you back to reality. the sight of mel, on one knee, holding open a violet velvet box.

✧.* “my dearest. i know i tell you regularly, and i know you’re aware, but i love you. i love you more than life itself, and i want nothing more than to make the next commitment to you. i need to marry you, (y/n).”

✧.* and god, the ring itself. the stone is practically a boulder. it’s a gold band with a cluster of diamonds framing one big diamond in the middle. yes, mel is the most wealthy woman in piltover, but she’s truly outdone herself.

✧.* you’re in tears, mumbling out choked ‘yes’s as your now-fiancée beams. she takes extra care, gently slipping the ring onto your finger. letting you know just how beautiful it looks on you.

✧.* as much as mel would love to be thoroughly involved in planning the wedding, duty calls. so you have creative liberty- she trusts you. she also does hire a professional wedding planner to get most of the difficult work done. the last thing mel would want is you worrying your pretty head before marrying her.

✧.* a grand hall, with gold interior, fountains, high ceilings and glass chandeliers was selected for your wedding. a place which many former high-ranking members of piltover’s society have been married in years prior.

✧.* as for a dress, mel chooses a grand, white gown. silk with lace trimmings, and a cathedral-length veil. she doesn’t mind what you wear, the only thing that matters to her is your comfort.

✧.* naturally, the majority of piltover is invited to the wedding. it’s not every day that the most high-ranking woman in your city gets married.

✧.* the day of the wedding comes. mel is an expert when it comes to keeping herself calm on the outside; stoic and poised. but internally, she’s a mess.

✧.* mel medarda, getting married? it’s always been something she’s wanted, but now that it’s happening, it’s hitting her what she’s about to do. yet, that makes it so much more exciting.

✧.* her worry is more about what how she’ll be perceived by the public, and presenting a much more vulnerable side of herself.

✧.* when mel walks down the aisle, bouquet in hand, orchestra plucking strings, she’s taking deep breaths to ground herself. this is really happening.

✧.* she sees you walk toward the altar, and she immediately has to close her eyes. only for a second. you look absolutely divine- it’s overwhelming. so many emotions: love, adoration, gratitude, all swirling in mel’s chest.

✧.* mel has her vows memorized. she’s always had a good memory, but she can’t stop her voice from cracking and breaking every few words. the moment is just all-consuming.

✧.* “my love for you is eternal. it always has been, and it always will be. to be stood before all of piltover, making this promise to you is an opportunity i am honored to have. i promise to fiercely love you for as long as you will allow me to, and as long as you will love me. (y/n). my love, my light, and now my wife.”

✧.* she has to wipe away a few stray tears from her face afterward, but she giggles and tightly embraces you. just before brushing your lips with hers, a moment she wishes she could stay in forever.

✧.* the reception is refined and calm. although others may be getting a bit tipsy, mel would much rather slow-dance with you on the floor. stand beside the cake, champagne in hand, just admiring you for all that you are. she swears you’ve never looked more beautiful.

sevika;

✧.* sevika has never given marriage a second thought. for other girls? sure, but never her. she had a job to do, a city to protect, and that was her priority.

✧.* until you in passing mentioned being old and married in jest. that statement hit sevika like a bag of bricks.

✧.* trying to lay her head down to rest, your voice plays on a loop in sevika’s head. being old and married. married. married to each other.

✧.* she simply can’t shake the thought. again, she had never given marriage a second thought, but sevika could truly see herself marrying you. that was how loyal and devoted she was to you, how much she loved you.

✧.* sevika doesn’t mention it, though. that’s the kind of woman she is, isn’t it? moving in silence, but with intention nonetheless.

✧.* however, one day, sevika slips out of your shared home to take care of ‘business.’

✧.* “be back soon, love. i won’t be long. -sevika”, reads a note left on your dresser.

✧.* where sevika is actually going is to a metal smith in zaun, a humble craftsman in a shared space with various other artists. she wants your ring to be perfectly you, and she wants your ring to be one that nobody else possesses. so custom-made is the only option.

✧.* a thick silver band with an amethyst in the center, and engravings on the inside. it takes about two weeks to finish, with sevika checking in about twice every week in the wee hours of the morning. this is one of the most important projects she’s ever overseen.

✧.* once she finally gets it, sevika will not let go of the ring box. a heavy maple wood box housing the most important possession she has, soon to be yours.

✧.* of course, sevika fiddling with her left pocket doesn’t go unnoticed by you. but she brushes it off, tells you that she wasn’t sure if she left something in there from the day before.

✧.* her proposal is spontaneous. she tries to plan it, but she simply cannot wait any longer. she takes the ring box out of her pocket, presenting it to you and slowly opening it.

✧.* “i don’t… i don’t do this stuff. i don’t know how to, i’m sorry. but i… i love you, and i can’t stop thinking about what you said before. about being old and married. i want that, with you.”

✧.* it’s so rare that sevika is completely unguarded, even in private. she’s a soft lover, but you can tell that right now, all of her walls are down. poor woman, she’s even shaking.

✧.* you just grab her hand, a stray tear falling down your cheek, and whisper, “yes.”

✧.* sevika has no idea where to start when it comes to wedding planning (or event planning to begin with.) so you take on most of the responsibility for planning, occasionally enlisting help from friends.

✧.* of course, sevika is still very involved in terms of observing and helping you make decisions.

✧.* you choose a small hall, enough to hold a handful of guests. sevika doesn’t have many people to invite, granted, but there needs to be enough room for her playing mates at the casino, jinx, and your guests.

✧.* your fiancée chooses a dusty plum suit, tailored to her body and the smallest golden hoops in her ears. (you didn’t even know she had her ears pierced until the day of the wedding.)

✧.* the day comes, and sevika sees you walking down the aisle. she stares at you in nothing short of awe, pure joy. her mouth hangs open.

✧.* when you finally step up to meet her at the altar, it takes everything in the woman to not simply whisk you away then and there. patience, sevika, she tells herself.

✧.* she has her vows written down, despite trying to memorize them. she’s just filled with too many emotions. nerves, mostly.

✧.* “standing here now, i realize more than ever how much i love you. you’ve brought something to my life i never thought i’d feel: unconditional, unwavering love. i don’t know how you do it, but you make every day better than the last. you’ve gotten through to my heart. i swear to love you, to be loyal to you, and to protect you.”

✧.* she doesn’t even wait for the officiant to say that you may kiss, she’s immediately closing the distance between you as soon as you finish exchanging vows, kissing her wife again, and again, and again.

✧.* sevika doesn’t do much during the reception, mostly drinking little sips of whine and gazing at you with that longing expression you’ve come to know. if you try to drag her out onto the floor to dance with you, she’ll playfully groan and roll her eyes. but you know she loves it. she loves you.

✧.* “come on, sev, dance with me!”

✧.* “i don’t dance.”

✧.* “well, you do now!”

caitlyn;

✧.* the topic of marriage is a difficult one for caitlyn. as a member of one of the highest-ranking houses in piltover, it’s an expectation that she will one day marry. not necessarily from her parents, but from piltover and tradition.

✧.* honestly, she was indifferent. if she found someone she’d like to marry, great. but if not, she wasn’t going to hold her breath or beat herself up over it.

✧.* when you came into her life, caitlyn could feel her perception of marriage slowly changing. it was still indifferent at best, but she now understood why marriage was so common. why it was a thing, even. her love for you grew stronger by the day, and she wouldn’t be opposed to marriage- if it was you.

✧.* not married because she has to be, but because she wants to be.

✧.* caitlyn is transparent about all of this with you, telling you that while she’s okay with the idea of marriage, she doesn’t expect it. it’s the least she can do: be honest.

✧.* ultimately, the decision is in your hands, and you decide that you undoubtedly want caitlyn to be your wife.

✧.* so you browse every single jeweler in both piltover and the undercity. looking for any hidden gems amongst them. independent jewelers, chains, even heirlooms from your family. but in your search, you find a sole jewelry dealer in the undercity. selling a silver engagement ring with sapphire clusters that perfectly match caitlyn’s eyes.

✧.* you’re in the family’s garden, cait looking off into the distance. observing… the leaves, the flowers, the way the light hits them? you’re unsure, but you decide now is your opportunity.

✧.* “caitlyn.”

✧.* caitlyn quickly turns her head to you, looking the slightest bit concerned. “hm?”

✧.* that’s when you drop to one knee and take out a ring box. caitlyn’s eyes blow wide, both hands clapping over her mouth. she can’t believe the scene that’s playing out in front of her.

✧.* “i can’t contain myself anymore. caitlyn, the time i’ve had with you has been wonderful. the most amazing time of my life. you are the epitome of grace and diligence, consistently leading. you bring out the best in me day after day, and my life feels complete with you in it. caitlyn kiramman, will you marry me?”

✧.* bless caitlyn, she’s trying so hard to keep the tears threatening to spill at bay. she only nods, once, then twice, then over and over before bringing you into a deep kiss.

✧.* when you slip the ring onto her finger, you wish you could freeze time and frame this particular moment. the adoration in the woman’s eyes is one you can’t describe.

✧.* when it comes to wedding planning, cait wants to be as involved as possible. of course, she has a job to do, so that does prolong the planning. but patience is a virtue she learned early, so she doesn’t mind.

✧.* “what’s another few months? we have all the time in the world, dear.”

✧.* the two of you choose to have a small and intimate wedding, inviting her father, a few council members, and anyone you’d like to invite.

✧.* caitlyn chooses a sleek v-neck black dress, fitted to her form with a long train. she opts to wear a small tiara instead of a veil.

✧.* upon further examination, you notice that it’s the very tiara cassandra wore on her wedding day. silver, with small rubies delicately placed. caitlyn honoring her mother in this way brought a whirlwind of emotions to you, but you knew she would be happy for her daughter.

✧.* and for that very reason, among many others, caitlyn’s wedding day is an emotional one for her. she’s elated to be finally marrying the woman she loves, but she wishes more than anything that her mother could be there to see it.

✧.* seeing cait walk down the aisle does wonders to you. waiting at the altar for her was excruciating as is, but you almost have to pick your jaw up off the floor as your fiancée makes her way closer and closer to you. she looks otherworldly.

✧.* she chuckles and beams at you once she steps up to the altar. taking a moment to just admire you. she reaches a slim hand out to gently tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, cupping your cheek in her hand for only a moment. her sapphire eyes full of adoration.

✧.* caitlyn has her vows written down, in that annoyingly perfect penmanship of hers. she reads from the paper, glancing up at you constantly while having to wipe her eyes.

✧.* “(y/n), i didn’t know if this day would ever come. but i’m so glad that it has. my love for you knows no bounds, it festers and grows and builds onto itself every day. it’s exhilarating, as is every day by your side. to call myself your wife will be my greatest honor. and to welcome you into the kiramann family, an even greater honor.”

✧.* she’s fully crying by the time she finishes reading out her vows, looking up at you with the best smile that she can muster. she’s so overcome with love, she can’t help it.

✧.* the moment the officiant says you may kiss, caitlyn is placing one hand firmly on your waist and the other wraps around your lower back. holding you close and brushing her lips against yours.

✧.* cait’s reception is rather relaxed, with a selection of mostly classical and contemporary music playing quietly over speakers. however, she insists on having several slow dances with you. she’s surprisingly good, which makes you suspect she’s experienced with this.

✧.* guiding you back and forth with expertise, her head buried into the crook of your neck. holding you impossibly close to her as she hums in contentment.

#arcane x reader #jinx x reader #mel medarda x reader #vi x reader #sevika x reader #caitlyn kiramman x reader #reader insert #arcane x you #sapphic

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royalarchivist · 24 hours ago

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Pac: This is the new me, ok? I want you to welcome... the new Pac! [...] This skin is really cool, I think I'm gonna use this more often.

Himaru: ...What happened to you, man? Did you get run over? 😰

Pac: [Laughs] Don't judge me, don't judge me!

Being ugly in Arkanis is a crime, and unfortunately for all of us, Pac loves being a criminal. 😓

[ Full Subtitle Transcript ↓ ]

—

Pac: Guys– This is the new me, ok? I want you to welcome... the new Pac!

Pac: [Laughs]

[Pac gets kicked from the server with the message: "Change this"]

Pac: [Laughing] No! No! No– I won't change, I won't change, I won't change! I won't change! Let me- let me in! No no no– What a dictatorship– there can't be a dictatorship here, no– No, I won't change! [Stammers] I'm- I'm myself! I'm myself!

Pac: [Pinches his nose so he has a nasally voice] Hi friends, welcome to class. I'm going to talk like that, ok? I'll even turn off the facecam, because today, I'm going to– I'm kidding, no no no.

Pac: Man, this skin is really cool, it really is. I think that this– I'm gonna use this more often, man. [Reading chat] "Halloween is over" Guys, this– This is who I am now! Who I am– This is me now, I'm this person here.

[Red text appears on the screen saying "30 seconds to change"]

Pac: "30 seconds to change–" Hang on, what is this?! No– calma, what is–? Guys, for the love of god–

[Another warning appears saying "20 seconds to change"]

Pac: No!!! No! No no no! No no no! You can't do this! You can't do this here. You- you can't. You can't make me change my skin.

[A final warning appears saying "10 seconds to change"]

Pac: No– You can't, I won't take it off! I'm going to my class now, I have to go to class! This is my "studying" skin! I- I–

[Pac gets banned]

Pac: [Hits his desk]

Dono: The skinmakers in chat are crying, having heart attacks, collapsing. It's horrible, dude.

Pac: [Laughs] It's not that ugly, it's fine, it's good.

Himaru: [Long pause] ...What happened to you, man? Did you get run over?

Pac: [Laughs] Don't judge me, don't judge me! Ok? Look at- look at- look at JVNQ! He has a funny face too, but nobody says anything about it!

Himaru: No man, I'm not judging you, but– I just wor- I'm just worried! [...] Well for me, I'll be serious with you: it doesn't matter what's on the outside, ok? What matters is what's inside, got it?

Pac: Thank you. [He hugs Himaru] Do you think I'm poggers? Do you think I'm poggers? Say it.

Himaru: No Pac, it doesn't matter that you look ugly, ridiculous, like a truck reversed into you then ran you over, like someone hit you–

Milo: my god

Himaru: –like Anderson Silva crushed you in the ring– Hey, it doesn't matter! What matters is that your heart is beating.

JV: And you have a home!

Himaru: Understand? Give love to others, ok?

Pac: My god.

Milo: he was saving those insults

Himaru: And that's all, ok man? You can be at peace, ok? I won't- I won't judge you, I'll just... I'll just do one thing, man.

Pac: What are you doing?

Himaru: I'm just going to avoid eye contact, ok? But I'm still talking to you, I'm still listening, ok? I hear you.

Pac: ...I can't believe this.

#Pactw #Arkanis #Himaru #JVNQ #Milo #Pac #December 3 2024 #I forgive all of cubito Pac's rights and wrongs EXCEPT THIS #This was cc Pac's fault but he frickin made it plot relevant #Thank you a WHOLE bunch to Kia for looking over this #I don't think I can do another translated edit this long again 💀 I don't have the stamina #As much as I love Arkanis and Pac it's just too much to do solo #I need someone to drop off transcripts at my doorstep so I can just add them into Sony Vegas #without worrying about translations or transcript stuff #o(-( sorry to complain in the tags I'm just a bit tired and frustrated #I love Pac and Arkanis!!! I wish I could do more!!! It's such a cool series but I don't speak Portuguese #So alas. I do what I can #For real though – literally everyone who's ever helped me with translation stuff is the only reason I'm able to keep doing this #So thanks to you guys #Especially Kia who has put up with so many of my questions and has the patience of a saint #Edited #Translated #Subtitles #Also shoutout to the Arkanis admins for trying to stop this disaster pftt. That was so funny

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capuccinodoll · 3 days ago

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Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter seven ♡

Summary: Joel's mind is a stormy place. WC: 14.5k A/N: Hope this part finds u well <3 remember that I no longer use the tag list, and if you want to receive notifications you can activate them on this blog or on capuccinodollupdates. Thank you for your lovely messages and comments, don't forget to leave feedback, it helps and motivates me a lot! love u <3

Joel met you on the night of your your twenty-second birthday, at a small, slightly chaotic party your friend Cassie had put together in her dimly lit apartment. It was one of those nights where the air felt like it held a secret, but Joel wasn’t planning to go. He didn’t know Cassie, or you, and the idea of spending an evening with Brianna’s friends felt more like an obligation than anything resembling fun. But Brianna had that way about her, the kind of charm that made saying no feel almost impossible.

“Come on, it'll be fun,” she’d said, her fingers brushing against his cheek in that practiced, easy way of hers. Her eyes sparkled, soft but insistent. “And I want you to meet everyone.”

Everyone turned out to be Cassie, her boyfriend Freddie, Paul, Paul’s younger sister Iris, and you. He didn’t know much about you, but Brianna filled in the gaps as she rifled through her purse for something or other.

“Well, it’s her birthday,” she said, glancing up with a small smile. “I told you about her—Cassie’s best friend from way back. It’s at her place.”

Joel frowned. “I don’t even have a gift. What am I supposed to bring? What does your friend likes?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve got it covered,” Brianna said, already moving on to another task, as if his presence at this party were a foregone conclusion.

He sighed, leaning back against the couch, watching her with the sort of resignation that felt familiar by now. “I’ll feel out of place,” he murmured.

“You won’t,” she said, dismissive, like it wasn’t even a possibility. “Do it for me, Joel. Then we’ll go to that bar you like after, okay?”

And so he found himself standing, shaking his head but moving toward the bedroom anyway. He picked up the phone to call Tommy, wanting to check on Sarah. It was always like this—this invisible tether that pulled at him, the need to make sure she was safe, that she wasn’t lonely or scared. Sarah’s nanny had quit a few weeks ago, and the new one, while kind, was still a stranger in their world. Joel had made it clear to everyone he wouldn’t tolerate anything less than kindness toward his daughter, but still, worry clung to him like a second skin.

When he left the house, Sarah had been curled up on the couch with her fruit and a movie, looking happy enough. He tried to focus on that image, tried to let it soothe the part of him that always itched with concern. But the worry followed him, up the stairs and into Cassie’s apartment.

The apartment was small, warm with the low buzz of conversation and the flickering light of candles Cassie had scattered around. Brianna took his hand, leading him through introductions. Smiles, nods, the blur of names until they got to you.

You were perched on the armrest of a couch where Cassie sat, and the first thing he noticed was the way your gaze landed on him—sharp, assessing, like he wasn’t quite what you’d expected or wanted. Something tight curled in his chest, an instinct he didn’t know how to name. You didn’t say much, just offered a polite, somewhat distant smile when Brianna pulled you into a quick hug. Your eyes were tired, your posture restrained, your hands folded neatly in your lap like you were holding something in.

Joel noticed the way your shirt hugged your frame, the soft sheen of your black stockings, the way your legs crossed at the ankle like you were trying to make yourself smaller. He didn’t like how quickly he cataloged all these details—how automatic it felt, like he was breaking some unspoken rule. He nodded politely, offering a faint smile, and then stepped back, unsure how else to exist in this moment.

He stayed on the edges after that, with Brianna attached to his side, her hand slipping under his collar, her lips brushing against his temple in a way that felt like it was meant to remind him he belonged to her. But Joel couldn’t stop noticing you. The way your eyes flickered away whenever Brianna leaned into him. The barely perceptible shift in your shoulders when Cassie started recounting some story about your last birthday. Like the whole night was built on a kind of friction you were trying not to let show.

Joel wasn’t sure why, but the sight of you unsettled him. Maybe it was the way you carried your discomfort so carefully, as if you didn’t want to ruin the party. Or maybe it was because he knew that feeling so well. That ache of being somewhere you didn’t entirely want to be, surrounded by people who didn’t really see you.

At some point in the evening, Joel felt the weight of it all—Brianna’s hand on his arm, the too-loud laughter from the living room, the vague pull of unease he couldn’t shake. He shifted, leaning away from Brianna’s touch.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her tone lined with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Joel replied, a little too sharply. “I’m just gonna check on Sarah. Be back in a sec.”

He disentangled himself from her and headed for the kitchen, his hand fishing for his phone in his pocket. As he closed the door behind him, the sudden quiet felt like stepping into a different world. The party was still humming on the other side, but here, in the stillness, he could breathe.

He unlocked his phone and scrolled through the messages from Sarah’s nanny. They weren’t dire—just updates about Sarah refusing to sleep and crying because her movie had ended. Joel sighed, his stomach knotting anyway. Late nights made Sarah clingier, her emotions harder to soothe, and he hated not being there.

He typed out a hurried reply: Put the movie back on. She’ll probably drift off in a few minutes. If not, call me—I’ll go back home.

From the living room, someone shouted, karaoke. The cheer that followed was met by Joel’s quiet relief at being tucked away in the kitchen. He let out a breath, leaning against the counter, when the door creaked open.

You stepped in, freezing mid-motion when you noticed him. For a moment, you just stared, your expression shifting from surprise to something softer. The tension Joel had sensed in you earlier seemed to have dissolved in this quieter space.

He straightened instinctively, a faint warmth rising to his face.

“Oh, hi. Happy birthday,” he said, his voice a little uneven. “Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to say it earlier—”

You waved him off with a small smile, interrupting. “No worries. Thanks.”

There was something about the way you carried yourself in the quiet that Joel found disarming. The edges of your earlier wariness had softened, and for the first time, he saw you for more than a glance. You were calm, reflective, maybe a little tired—but there was something else, something Joel couldn’t quite place.

He searched your face for a hint, for the thing that had inexplicably drawn his attention from the moment he saw you. But it eluded him, like trying to name a feeling he didn’t yet understand. He liked you—he realized that much instantly. And not just for the way you looked; you were beautiful, that much was clear. It was something deeper, more intangible. Something that felt a little bit dangerous to analyze, something he could discover if he allowed himself the time... and he couldn't. What was he thinking?

Joel left that night without saying much else. Every time Brianna suggested they meet up again—usually with you in attendance—he found a reason to decline. Polite, noncommittal excuses. Work, Sarah, tiredness. It didn’t matter. The truth was, he wasn’t sure why the idea of seeing you again felt impossible, only that it did.

It wasn’t long before things with Brianna unraveled. They hadn’t been falling apart so much as they’d never truly held together. Their conversations ran on parallel tracks that never quite met; their connection relied on superficial agreements that felt thinner every time they spoke. The breakup came naturally, quietly—no grand argument or dramatic gesture, just a mutual fading. Joel knew it was for the best.

He told himself that the timing wasn’t right for anything serious. Not with Sarah so young, not with the weight of his responsibilities pulling him in every direction. Dating, he decided, wasn’t a part of his life right now. His world revolved around work and his daughter. There was no room for anything else.

That’s why he didn’t expect to see you again.

But then came that Saturday afternoon. Joel stood outside his house, his chest heavy with the tightness of panic, his breath caught in the raw edge of fear. Sarah was nowhere to be found. She had been playing hide-and-seek, though he hadn't known the game had begun... Apparently. His heart thudded in his chest as he drew closer. And then, the sun caught your face, illuminating every angle, softening the edges. You were holding a bundle of plastic flowers (why? he had no idea), their bright colors clashing with the quiet confidence in your smile.

“Joel,” you said, your voice light, like the beginning of a melody. And there it was—the unmistakable spark of recognition in your eyes. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted you to remember him until that moment, when you did.

He nodded, trying to muster an air of casual indifference, even as something in his chest shifted, calmed.

“Hey,” he said, the word almost too small to hold the sudden rush of feelings he wasn’t ready to name.

How could he name the feeling? The space between the last beat of his heart before he saw your face again and the next was a quiet, breathless eternity—because from that moment on, you would be the reason behind every quickened pulse, every ache and swell in his chest.

That afternoon passed like a blur. Sarah had invited you to stay for dinner before Joel even had a chance to think, let alone object. The meal was simple—chicken, vegetables, and bread that Sarah insisted she’d “helped cook.” You’d laughed, the sound light and warm, and Joel found himself watching you more than he should have. You didn’t seem to notice the way his eyes lingered when you reached for a plate or tucked your hair behind your ear. If you did, you didn’t let on.

Two weeks later, you had dinner again, but this time Joel introduced you to his brother. And all those things that passed you by, Tommy picked up on instantly, impossible to ignore the unmistakable attitude of his smitten brother. And after you’d left his home, he leaned back in his chair and gave Joel a look that was all knowing smirk.

“So,” Tommy drawled, leaning back with an almost smug ease, “are you finally gonna ask her out, or are we stuck with this whole pining routine forever?”

Joel exhaled sharply, running a hand over the back of his neck. The movement was unsteady, betraying the heat rising to his face despite his effort to appear unaffected.

“I dunno,” he muttered, his voice low and hesitant. “Not sure she—”

Tommy cut him off with a loud snort, shaking his head in disbelief. “She would, you idiot. Of course, she’d say yes.”

Joel looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly as they met his brother’s. He searched for any trace of teasing, waiting for Tommy to give himself away. But there was none. His younger brother’s expression was steady, his confidence unshakable.

“Go ask her now,” Tommy said, his tone nudging toward playful but still earnest. “She’s probably still awake. Probably thinking about you, you know.”

Joel let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as if to brush off the suggestion. “Oh, knock it off. I’ll ask her, alright? Just… when the time’s right. Not now.”

Tommy rolled his eyes dramatically, but he didn’t press the matter further. He knew Joel well enough to understand when to let things lie.

Joel, however, wasn’t brushing it off as easily as he seemed. He would ask you. Someday. Just not yet.

But that day—the day he’d finally say something—never seemed to come.

The more time Joel spent with you, the harder it became to imagine risking the delicate balance of what you already had. You fit so seamlessly into his life, into Sarah’s life. It felt natural, effortless. You’d come over for dinner, sharing stories around the table that made Sarah giggle and Joel’s chest feel a little lighter. Sometimes, you’d sit on the porch with him as Sarah played in the yard, her laughter echoing in the quiet evenings. Joel trusted you with his daughter in a way he trusted almost no one, a rare kind of faith he didn’t extend easily.

Your presence turned ordinary days into something brighter. There was a comfort in your company, a quiet joy in the small moments you shared—your easy laughter, the way your eyes softened when you looked at him or Sarah, the unspoken understanding that passed between you. Those moments felt like tiny gifts, precious and irreplaceable.

But weeks turned into months, and every time Joel built up the nerve to say something, doubt crept in and stopped him. What if it changed everything? What if you didn’t feel the same way? Or worse—what if you did, but things didn’t work out? The thought of losing the quiet, steady friendship you’d built, the one that had come to mean more to him than he’d ever anticipated, was unbearable.

Eventually, Joel convinced himself that friendship was enough. And in a way, it wasn’t a lie. He truly was happy in your presence, content with the moments you shared. He told himself he could live with the unspoken, that he didn’t need anything more.

But sometimes, late at night, when the house was silent and the world felt still, his mind would wander. He’d think about the way your smile lingered when you thought no one was watching or the way your laugh seemed to wrap around him like a warm embrace. In those moments, he couldn’t deny the truth buried deep inside him: he wanted more.

Still, he decided it was safer to push those feelings away, to bury them deep where they couldn’t surface. And so he did. He buried them so well, smothered them so completely, that he nearly convinced himself they were gone. Until, somehow, he forgot they were even there.

Well, he’d managed to bury it—convince himself it was gone—until that night, when everything shifted.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise. Not really. Somewhere deep down, a quiet voice had always been whispering the truth to him, persistent and patient. But Joel had ignored it, pushed it aside like an overdue bill he didn’t have the energy to deal with, telling himself he’d face it another day. And yet now, there it was, no longer subtle or ignorable, staring him in the face with a weight that felt impossible to avoid.

Because deep down, Joel had always known that if the two of you crossed that invisible line—if he let himself take even one step past the boundary you’d built—nothing would ever be the same. It wasn’t the intimacy itself that gave him pause. Joel wasn’t afraid of touching you, of holding you close, or of sharing the kind of closeness he’d once told himself he didn’t need. That wasn’t it. What unsettled him, what gripped him with both exhilaration and dread, was the certainty that after that moment, he’d never be able to step back. He’d never be able to pull away from you, not in the way he had before, not in the way he’d convinced himself he could. Because once he gave in—once he let himself have you, even for a moment—Joel knew with startling clarity that he’d never recover. You wouldn’t just be part of his life anymore; you’d become part of the very center of it. And that terrified him as much as it thrilled him.

And then, he met Sienna. She entered his life at a time when he had successfully buried those feelings for you so deep that they rarely surfaced anymore, their edges dulled by time and avoidance. Her arrival was almost perfectly timed, slipping into the space he’d created in his effort to distance himself from emotions he hadn’t dared confront. And it wasn’t just convenience; he genuinely liked her. She wasn’t a substitute or a stand-in for something unresolved. She was her own person, someone who caught his attention and managed to hold it, filling his brief days with her with a kind of lightness he enjoyed. But, she wasn't you.

Sienna, with her warm smile and quick laugh, who was easy to like and even easier to spend time with. She was smart, kind, and effortlessly beautiful, the kind of woman who made you feel comfortable in your own skin. He’d met her one morning at the bank, a serendipitous encounter that had led, improbably, to him asking her out. It had surprised even him—Joel Miller, diving headfirst into something for once, emboldened by a rare flash of courage.

The first date had been pleasant. A simple dinner, unpretentious conversation, and laughter that lingered. When he got home, he’d felt good—content, even. Tommy had stayed to watch Sarah, and Joel hadn’t mentioned the date to you. It hadn’t seemed important at the time. Just one night out, nothing more. Not worth bringing up. But later, as he lay awake in bed, the quiet of the house pressing in around him, he felt it—the faint, prickling weight of guilt. It wasn’t sharp or overwhelming, just a subtle ache that settled low in his chest, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.

The second date was even better. Dinner had been just as easy as the first, and afterward, they’d gone to see a movie. Sitting in the dim theater, their shoulders brushing occasionally, Joel had felt a faint sense of familiarity, a hint of comfort that he didn’t expect. When Sienna invited him in for coffee after she’d smiled at him in that warm, open way of hers, Joel hesitated. Something inside him pulled back, and though his refusal was polite, it wasn’t just about needing to get home to Sarah. It was something else, something he couldn’t name.

On the drive back, his mind wandered. Passing your house, he noticed the soft glow of light spilling from your window and, for a moment, considered stopping by. Maybe he could sit with you for a while, let you bring some clarity to the restless thoughts swirling in his head. You always had a way of calming him, grounding him, even when you didn’t know he needed it. But he didn’t. Instead, he went home, crawled into bed, and left the lamp on as he drifted to sleep. Yet, even in those moments before sleep took him, thoughts of you tugged persistently at the edges of his mind.

By the third date, doubt had begun to creep in. Joel found himself questioning why he hadn’t told you about Sienna. Why he was keeping it to himself, why it felt so unsettling. It wasn’t as if you’d judge him, he told himself. If anything, you’d probably encourage him, tell him he deserved to be happy, that he should give it a real chance. That was who you were—supportive, unselfish.

But the thought of you knowing made something twist in his chest. It felt wrong, somehow, like it would shift the delicate balance between you. Admitting it to you felt too final, as though saying it aloud would confirm that he was searching for something else, something permanent, and he wasn’t ready for you to know that. He couldn’t untangle the knot of emotions tightening inside him, couldn’t put words to the unease that crept in whenever Sienna smiled at him or touched his arm. All he knew was that no matter how good things seemed with her, thoughts of you were never far behind.

Then came his birthday. You’d confronted him that night, quiet and firm, catching him off guard with your piercing gaze and steady voice.

“Why would you lie to me?” you’d asked, your tone a mixture of hurt and bewilderment. “We're friends. Why wouldn't you tell me you're seeing someone?”

And just like that, the truth he’d been avoiding stood between you, unspoken but undeniable.

You cornered him, and he didn’t handle it well. The anger Joel felt in that moment wasn’t just irrational—it was childish, unfair, the kind of emotion he’d scold Sarah for if it came from her. But it rose inside him, stubborn and hot, because deep down, Joel felt as though he was betraying you. The thought alone unsettled him; it was absurd. You weren’t his, and yet, the idea of you holding that kind of sway over him—being able to tilt the axis of his decisions—left him feeling exposed, furious. He knew, with unsettling clarity, that if you asked him to leave Sienna, he would. That realization burned, not just because of the power you held over him but because he was certain it wasn’t mutual. At least, he thought so.

“I know you too well to know you’re just jealous,” he spat, the words sharp and venomous, aimed more at himself than at you. He hated the way his own insecurities betrayed him, how they shaped the bitterness in his tone. The accusation was hypocritical; he knew that better than anyone.

The month before, when you casually mentioned that Travis had asked you out, Joel felt like the ground had been ripped out from under him. Your tone was so light, so unaffected, that it caught him off guard, knocking the air out of his lungs. His reaction was instant and visceral, jealousy surging like a tidal wave and gripping his chest in a vice. The mocking laugh that escaped him wasn’t intentional—it was sharp and bitter, a reflex from the worst parts of himself. Out of all the men in town, why him? The sting of it still lingered, the memory sharp and vivid.

Three years ago, Joel had first met Travis Dunn on a scorching Sunday afternoon. The kind of day where the sun bore down relentlessly, turning the air into a suffocating blanket of heat and making every movement feel sluggish. Joel was outside his house, organizing tools in the back of his truck, more out of habit than necessity, while the hours stretched long and slow.

Two houses down, across the street, Travis was in his yard, wrestling with an overgrown bush that refused to yield. Joel had noticed him before—a new face in the neighborhood—but they’d never spoken. Deciding to introduce himself, Joel grabbed a rag to wipe his hands and wandered over, his shoes crunching against the dry grass.

Travis straightened when he saw Joel approach, leaning on his shovel with an easy, welcoming smile despite the oppressive heat.

“That’s real kind of you, Joel,” Travis said after Joel offered to help, his voice friendly and conversational. “But I’m just about done here. Damn Texas sun’s brutal, though. Still tryin’ to get used to it.”

Joel chuckled, nodding in understanding as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “Yeah, it’s a killer. You get used to it after a while. Been working outside my whole life—kinda got the skin for it now. But if you ever need a hand, I’ve got the tools. Sometimes even the time.”

Travis nodded, brushing damp hair back from his forehead, and smiled sideways, an idea forming in his mind. “Actually, there is something.”

Joel tilted his head, curiosity piqued. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Travis hesitated only a moment before blurting out your name as an invocation of the terrible, and the mention of you froze Joel’s easy smile in place, turning it into something tight and forced.

“You’re close to her, aren’t you?” Travis continued, his tone almost playful. “She’s something else. So sweet, beautiful too.”

Joel forced himself to nod, his voice flat. “That she is.”

“I like her,” Travis admitted, a nervous laugh bubbling up as he spoke, oblivious to Joel’s growing tension.

"No shit." His voice was low, flat.

“I mean, I was relieved when I realized you two were just friends. For a while there, I thought you might be, y’know, together.”

Joel’s brow furrowed. “What made you think that?”

“The way you act around her, and the way she acts around you,” Travis said with a shrug. “You’re together a lot. I dunno, it just... felt like a thing.”

Joel didn’t respond, but the silence between them thickened.

Travis, either unaware or unconcerned, grinned and added, “Anyway, you might wanna watch yourself, man," he said with a smug grin. "If you're not careful enough, I might just swoop in and take her off your hands forever. And trust me, I don’t do refunds—especially not with something as gorgeous as her."

Something snapped inside Joel. The casual arrogance in Travis’s tone, the smug smile—it was too much. He stepped closer, his posture rigid. Something as gorgeous, he said? Who did he think he was, strutting up and talking to him with all the confidence in the world, like they were old friends or something?

“What did you just say?” Joel’s voice was low, the Southern drawl sharpening into something dangerous.

The grin faded from Travis’s face, confusion flickering in his eyes. “Oh, sorry—”

"Y’ain’t gonna get anywhere near her with those words, Dunn," Joel growled, his voice low and thick with anger, his strong southern accent accentuating with emotion. "You better watch your damn mouth 'fore I show you what it really means to cross a line."

"No, listen—"

"No," Joel cut him off, stepping even closer. "You listen here, boy. You think you can talk about her like she’s some kinda prize to be won? Like she’s just sittin’ ‘round waitin’ for some fool like you to come swoopin’ in and steal her away? You’re downright dumb if you think you can underestimate her like that—like she’s some kinda damn manipulable thing you can just twist ‘round your finger."

“Joel, I didn’t mean—”

“You stay away from her,” Joel warned, his voice calm but edged with steel. “You hear me?”

Travis’s hands went up in surrender, his expression wary. “Alright, alright. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Joel stared him down for another beat, his jaw tight, before turning on his heel and walking away. His fists were clenched, heat simmering in his chest long after the confrontation ended.

For a while after, Travis kept his distance, careful not to overstep again. But three years later, when he reappeared, asking you out as if that encounter had never happened, Joel was flooded with a familiar anger—and something else. The possessiveness he thought he’d buried roared back to life, impossible to ignore.

“Why don’t you like him?” you had asked Joel that afternoon, your voice laced with curiosity as you leaned against the counter, watching him with that determined look that always made him feel like there was no escape. He had just scoffed at Travis invitation, brushing it off like it was the most ridiculous idea he’d ever heard.

Joel barely paused before spinning his answer, sharp and dismissive.

“I just don’t like the guy,” he said, his tone gruff. His hand reached for the coffee mug on the table, more to occupy himself than because he needed another sip.

You didn’t let it go, of course. You crossed your arms, head tilted, waiting for something more.

“He’s... weird,” Joel added with a shrug, avoiding your gaze. “Something about him rubs me the wrong way.”

That was a lie, and he knew it. The truth was more complicated, and Joel hated complicated. He didn’t like Travis because the guy seemed too perfect, too slick, the type who could charm everyone in the neighborhood without even trying. Worse, Travis hadn’t done anything genuinely wrong, and Joel knew it. Hell, he wasn’t even all that bad of a guy—just the kind who could make you laugh, who could say the right things at the right time. And Joel? He wasn’t about to admit that every quip and joke Travis threw your way felt like a punch to his gut.

The real problem was simpler, though Joel would never say it out loud: he didn’t want Travis—or anyone—getting close to you. Because deep down, he was terrified that if someone did, you’d start to drift away from him. Slowly, naturally, like it was the most normal thing in the world. He could already picture it—the quiet evenings you two spent together fading into quick hellos and polite smiles as your life began to revolve around someone else.

And Joel wasn’t sure he could handle that.

You didn’t make it easy for him, either. You’d always talked to him about your boyfriends—there weren’t many, but enough to leave a mark. He listened like the good friend he was supposed to be, his face calm and unreadable. He even gave you advice sometimes, measured and practical, and he pretended to be relieved when things didn’t work out. But the truth? He was selfish. He couldn’t deny the ugly twist in his stomach every time you lit up talking about someone new.

The worst part was the details. You shared everything—how they made you feel, the way they looked at you, the tiny, romantic gestures that made your heart race. Joel would sit there, nodding along, while his insides churned. Sometimes, he was almost convinced you did it on purpose, like you wanted to poke at the feelings he’d buried so deep. But then he’d shake that thought away because it couldn’t be true. You didn’t see him like that.

Still, the possessiveness lingered, and it wasn’t one-sided. Whenever Joel mentioned a woman he was seeing, your posture would stiffen ever so slightly. He noticed the way your smile faltered, the way you suddenly seemed distracted. Joel kept his descriptions vague, never giving you the kind of vivid details you offered him. At first, he found a strange satisfaction in your reactions. If it bothered you that much to imagine him with someone else, maybe—just maybe—you felt the same way he did.

But then you’d start listing their flaws with pinpoint accuracy, dissecting them in a way that left him wondering if you had a secret playbook for unraveling his attempts at romance. And you were always right. Every critique you made landed, exposing cracks he’d tried to ignore, as though you saw right through his attempts to prove he had control over his feelings.

It frustrated him, how easily you could tear down the façade he worked so hard to build. Yet a small part of him—a selfish, conflicted part—was glad. Because it meant you were paying attention, and maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to lose him either.

Sienna had taken him by surprise. She was unlike anyone Joel had encountered in a long time, and that unfamiliarity left him unsure how to talk about her—especially to you. He knew you were angry, and he couldn’t blame you. You had every right to feel shut out. Still, Joel couldn’t help but dig in his heels. His life was his own, and no matter how close you two were, some things felt too personal to share.

Yet, despite his stubbornness, the guilt lingered like a low hum in the back of his mind. He couldn’t stop replaying that night, the one you had so carefully planned, the kind of evening he usually dreaded but had come to cherish since you had entered his life.

It had been just the three of you: Sarah, you, and him. Tommy had bailed last minute, caught up in some errand or chore Joel couldn’t even remember now. But Tommy’s absence hadn’t dampened the warmth of the evening. It was perfect in its simplicity. Everything Joel loved most in the world sat around that small kitchen table, the faint glow of the overhead light softening the edges of the moment.

Joel wasn’t big on birthdays. He never had been, and neither were you, which was probably one of the reasons you understood him so well. For him, it was complicated. As a kid, he’d get excited—what child wouldn’t? But as he grew older, birthdays became a cruel reminder of time slipping away, of how life only seemed to grow more complicated with each passing year.

The last time he had truly enjoyed the day was the year Sarah was born. He could still picture it vividly, like a snapshot preserved in his mind. He and Amelia had been newly married, their relationship rocky but held together by the promise of their daughter. Their apartment was small, the wallpaper peeling in the corners, but that night, none of it mattered.

Amelia had baked him a cake. It wasn’t anything fancy—a bit uneven, with frosting that leaned to one side—but Joel had loved it all the same. She had dimmed the lights and sung "Happy Birthday" softly, her voice barely above a whisper as he held Sarah in his arms. Joel blew out the single candle with a quiet wish: that this fragile moment of happiness might last forever.

After cake, he had sunk onto the couch, Sarah nestled against him, her rhythmic breathing lulling him into one of the most peaceful sleeps he’d ever had.

Joel hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the next thing he knew, Amelia was shaking him gently awake, her fingers brushing against his cheek.

“Come on, Joel,” she’d murmured. “Go to bed. You’ve got work in the morning.”

The next morning, Joel was stirred from sleep by the sound of Sarah’s crying. It was sharp and persistent, cutting through the fog of his exhaustion like a knife. His eyes fluttered open reluctantly, his body heavy with the weight of another long day ahead. He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling as the cries continued, loud and unrelenting. Something felt off, though he couldn’t quite place what it was.

“Amelia?” he called out groggily, his voice rough from sleep.

There was no response. The silence, save for Sarah’s escalating wails, gnawed at the edges of his unease. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Joel sat up, running a hand down his face as if to wipe away the lingering haze of sleep. His chest felt tight, a faint, inexplicable tension coiling there.

Pushing himself to his feet, he shuffled toward Sarah’s crib in the corner of the room. She was red-faced and wriggling, her tiny fists flailing in frustration. Joel bent down, scooping her up with the practiced ease of a man who had done this many times before.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured softly, rocking her gently against his chest. Her cries tapered off for a moment, replaced by hiccuping gasps, but it didn’t last. Soon enough, the wails returned, sharper and more insistent.

Joel recognized the sound immediately—it was hunger. The kind of cry that pierced through everything else, demanding attention. He adjusted her in his arms, cradling her close as he moved toward the kitchen.

“Amelia?” he called out again, louder this time, his voice tinged with irritation and concern.

Still no answer. His eyes scanned the dimly lit apartment, searching for any sign of his wife. That’s when he saw it—a piece of paper sitting on the kitchen table. Bright yellow, stark against the dark wood, it seemed out of place, almost glaring in the soft morning light.

Joel’s stomach twisted. A sinking feeling settled deep within him, heavy and cold. Shifting Sarah in his arms, he stepped closer, his boots creaking softly against the worn floorboards.

The note was short—just five lines scribbled hastily in Amelia’s familiar handwriting. Joel’s eyes moved over the words, his heart pounding in his chest as he read them.

She was gone.

The words blurred for a moment as the meaning sank in. She was gone. Amelia had left, abandoning both him and Sarah with nothing more than a half-hearted apology. The note was filled with excuses: This life isn’t for me. I need something more. I’m sorry. I can’t keep lying to myself. I can’t do this anymore.

Joel’s hand tightened around the paper, crumpling it as Sarah’s cries rose again, loud and demanding. The sound seemed to echo in the hollow space inside him, amplifying the storm that had begun to rage in his chest.

“Bullshit,” he muttered, his voice low and trembling with barely restrained fury. He tossed the crumpled paper onto the floor, watching it roll to a stop near the edge of the table.

The anger came fast and hard, crashing over him like a wave. It wasn’t sadness he felt—not yet. It was anger, raw and consuming. Anger that Amelia had been so cowardly, so selfish. She had left a note, five lines scrawled on a piece of paper, and walked away without looking back.

His fists clenched at his sides as his jaw tightened. She hadn’t just abandoned him—that, he could handle. Their marriage had been strained for a long time, both of them going through the motions more out of necessity than love. But Sarah? She had left their baby.

How could she walk away from their daughter, from the tiny life they had created together? Joel’s thoughts spiraled, his mind racing through every moment he had tried to make things work, every sacrifice he had made to ensure their family had a future.

Was it his fault? Had he pushed her too hard? Or had she been looking for an escape all along?

The questions churned in his mind, but Joel didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on them. Sarah needed him, her cries piercing through the fog of his thoughts. He held her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he rocked her gently.

“It’s just us now, baby girl,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “But I promise you, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll take care of you. Always.”

And in that moment, his anger hardened into resolve. He didn’t have the answers, and he didn’t have Amelia. But he had Sarah, and that was all that mattered.

From the moment Joel heard Sarah’s first cry, the sound pierced through him like a revelation, sharp and clear. In that instant, his entire world shifted. It was as though the pieces of his life, fractured and disorganized, suddenly rearranged themselves around this tiny, fragile being. Everything else fell away—the struggles, the exhaustion, even his own doubts. There was only her.

When he first held her, she felt impossibly small in his arms, her body warm and soft, her head nestled against his chest. She opened her tiny mouth, her cries quieter now but still insistent, and Joel couldn’t help but smile through the exhaustion. Her fist closed around his thumb, her fingers barely curling all the way, and he felt his breath hitch in his throat.

That was it. That was the moment he knew. Nothing else mattered. Not his job, not his own dreams or fears. Sarah was his purpose. She was everything, and he would do anything—everything—to protect her, to make sure she would always be safe and never want for anything.

He threw himself into work with a ferocity he hadn’t known he possessed. Early mornings turned into long nights, and he pushed through each shift with a singular thought in his mind: This is for Sarah. He dreamed of a better life for her, one where they wouldn’t have to struggle. He wanted her to grow up in a house with a backyard, not in the cramped apartment they currently called home.

But his hours away from home weighed heavily on Amelia. She spent most days cooped up in the apartment, caring for Sarah alone. Joel knew it wasn’t easy for her. He saw it in the lines of exhaustion etched into her face, the way her shoulders sagged by the end of the day.

One night, after a particularly grueling shift, Joel came home to find Amelia sitting on the couch, her head resting against the back of it, her eyes closed. Sarah was asleep in her crib, the faint hum of the baby monitor the only sound in the room. Joel sat down beside her, placing a hand gently on her wrist.

"You'll see," he murmured, his voice soft but firm. "Time's gonna fly by, and before we know it, she'll be runnin' around, goin' to school, talkin' our ears off. So fast, we'll wish we could turn back time and have her be a baby again."

Amelia opened her eyes, her gaze tired but sharp. “That’s easy for you to say,” she replied, her tone edged with bitterness. “You’re nobody’s barf towel, Joel. Sometimes I wish she’d grow up faster.”

Her words hit him harder than he expected, like a quiet punch to the gut. Joel felt a pang of guilt and tried to see things from her perspective. He knew she was overwhelmed. He knew his long hours left her bearing the brunt of the daily grind at home. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fully understand. For him, those fleeting moments with Sarah—feeding her, rocking her to sleep, holding her tiny hand—were treasures.

“I know it’s hard,” he said after a long silence, his voice heavy with sincerity. “But we're doing this for us, for her. So we can have more. So she can have more.”

Amelia sighed and stood up, muttering something about needing a shower. Joel stayed on the couch, his head in his hands. He was doing everything he could, wasn’t he? But the cracks in their relationship were growing deeper, and he didn’t know how to fix them.

And then, a week later, she left.

Joel didn’t care that Amelia had abandoned him—not really. Their relationship had been hanging by a thread for months, maybe longer. But the fact that she had walked away from Sarah? That was something he could never understand. How could a mother leave her own child?

Everything got harder after that. Joel had to reorganize his entire life. He adjusted his shifts at work, found a nanny he could afford, and learned to function on less than two hours of sleep. Every day was a balancing act, and every night he fell into bed completely spent, knowing he’d have to do it all over again the next day.

He was alone. Completely, utterly alone. His parents were long gone, and his friends were too busy with college and their own lives to offer more than the occasional word of encouragement. Tommy tried to help, moving in with him for a while to lend a hand. But Tommy was still just a kid himself, more often getting into trouble than out of it. Sometimes it felt like Joel was raising them both.

But no matter how hard it got, Joel never wavered. Sarah was his everything, his reason for pushing forward even when it felt impossible. And when he looked at her—her tiny smile, her bright, curious eyes—it was all worth it. For her, it would always be worth it.

Why would Joel want to celebrate his birthday? For years, the date had meant nothing to him. If anything, it was a day he preferred to forget. Even Amelia’s absence, once a source of raw pain, had dulled into something distant, like an old scar that no longer ached. He was better off without her, he often told himself. Why would he want someone in his life who could abandon her own child so easily, without a second glance?

Eight long years of birthdays came and went, each one passing without fanfare. That is, until you showed up.

It was a warm afternoon when Brenda knocked on Joel’s door, Ian trailing behind her with a small red-wrapped package in his hands. You stood next to them, your bright smile lighting up the quiet entryway as if it had been waiting for this exact moment.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?” you asked, your voice full of playful reproach. You’d only been living next door for a couple of months, but you spoke as though you’d known him far longer.

Joel shrugged, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Didn’t think it was important.” His tone was casual, almost indifferent, but the way his eyes darted to the floor betrayed the discomfort he felt about the subject.

“Well, that won’t do,” you said with a firm nod, your excitement practically radiating off you. “We have to throw you a celebration.”

Before he could protest, you’d already begun making plans, dragging Tommy—who was lounging on Joel’s couch—into your whirlwind of preparation. In what felt like record time, you had organized a small dinner in your backyard, insisting on inviting the people Joel cared about most. Brenda, Ian, and of course, Tommy, were enlisted as guests, and Sarah eagerly volunteered to help with the preparations.

The two of you spent the afternoon in your kitchen, Sarah perched on a stool as she carefully spread cream over a sponge cake. It wasn’t perfect—some spots were uneven, and the red lettering that spelled “Happy Birthday Joel” varied wildly in size—but the effort was unmistakable. You even let Sarah place the single candle right above the word “birthday,” despite her giggles about it looking “a little crooked.”

In the backyard, you strung up Christmas lights, their warm glow transforming the space into something almost magical. A flowered tablecloth adorned the table, set with colored glass plates and matching glasses. It was simple, yet charming, and as Joel stepped outside to see what you had done, he felt an unfamiliar tightness in his chest.

You stood there, watching him expectantly, your hands clasped together as if bracing for his reaction. Joel scanned the scene—the lights, the table, the cake—and then his gaze settled on you. He felt overwhelmed, unaccustomed to this kind of attention, to the idea that someone had gone out of their way to make him feel special.

“Do you like it?” you asked softly, a hint of uncertainty creeping into your voice.

Joel cleared his throat, nodding slowly. “Yeah,” he said gruffly, his voice betraying a mix of gratitude and awkwardness. “It’s… it’s nice. Real nice.”

What he couldn’t say—what he didn’t know how to say—was how much it meant to him. No one had ever done something like this for him before. Sure, Tommy would swing by with a gift and some good-natured ribbing, and Sarah always crafted him heartfelt gifts, usually paired with a movie night of her choosing. But this? This was different. It wasn’t just thoughtful; it was intentional.

You had done it simply to make him happy, without expecting anything in return. And that was what stayed with him.

A few weeks later, when your birthday rolled around, Joel found himself returning the gesture. He spent the better part of the day barbecuing in his backyard, carefully grilling your favorite dishes and picking up a cake from the bakery he’d overheard you mention. He wasn’t the most expressive man, but he wanted to show you how much your efforts had meant to him.

The party was small but warm, filled with laughter and good food. Joel watched you closely, noting the way your eyes lit up when you saw the cake, the way you laughed with Sarah and Tommy, the way you seemed lighter somehow.

It was only a few days later, during a quiet evening, that you opened up about your own complicated feelings toward birthdays.

“You know,” you began, sitting on Joel’s porch with a mug of tea in your hands, “I’ve never really liked my birthday either.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah? How come?”

Your birthday was always a delicate subject, one you rarely spoke about. The day carried a weight too heavy for celebration.

When you were fourteen, just two days before your birthday, your father passed away after a year-long decline that left him a shadow of the man he had once been. Your relationship with him had never been easy. There was a distance between you, a lack of understanding that made every interaction fraught with tension. He didn’t understand you, and you couldn’t bridge the gap to reach him. So, when his illness took hold, it wasn’t just his body that deteriorated—it was also any chance of finding common ground. Watching him grow weaker day by day, his spirit worn thin, felt like mourning someone you had never truly known.

When he finally passed, it was strange. The grief was there, sharp and biting, but layered with regret, guilt, and a strange hollowness. Your mother, shattered by the loss, withdrew into her own anguish, locking herself in a grief so consuming that it swallowed her whole. She became a ghost of herself, distant and unreachable, leaving you to navigate the loss alone.

Somehow, you were left adrift. With your father gone and your mother emotionally absent, the world seemed colder. The rest of your adolescence blurred into a haze of solitude. Nights became long and heavy, filled with tears that no one heard. Birthdays, once a day of excitement, became unbearable.

“It’s not worth celebrating,” your mother had said one year, her voice hollow. “What’s the point? It’s just a reminder of what we lost.”

And you believed her. You let the day pass quietly, pretending it didn’t matter. But deep down, it did. Every year, the ache in your chest returned, as if your father’s death had marked you in ways you couldn’t escape.

When you moved to Austin, Cassie was determined to change that. She insisted on throwing you a party, bringing her friends together and decorating her small apartment with balloons and streamers. She wanted to make the day special, to give you the joy she believed you deserved. But instead of feeling included, you felt like a stranger in the crowd. The forced laughter and cheerful chatter only amplified the loneliness you carried inside.

Joel noticed it immediately. From the first glance, he saw something in you that mirrored his own quiet pain, his own complicated relationship with birthdays and loss.

With the Millers, though, it was different.

Joel had a way of pulling you out of your own head. He didn’t ask if you wanted to celebrate; he simply turned on the music, took your hand, and pulled you into the courtyard to dance.

“C’mon, don’t make me look ridiculous all by myself,” he teased, his hand warm and steady on yours.

“I’m terrible at this,” you protested, laughing despite yourself as he spun you clumsily.

“You think I’m any better?” he shot back, making an exaggerated face of concentration that sent you into a fit of giggles.

His other hand rested lightly on your waist, tickling just enough to make you squirm.

“Stop!” you laughed, swatting at him, but Joel only grinned, spinning you again until you were both dizzy and breathless.

The weight in your chest began to ease. Slowly, the familiar sadness faded, replaced by something you hadn’t felt in years—a glimmer of happiness. The music, Sarah’s laughter in the background, and Joel’s insistence on making you smile wove together into a moment so genuine that you couldn’t help but let go, even if only for a little while.

With the Millers, you felt something you hadn’t in years: belonging. Joel, Sarah, even Tommy—they made you feel like you were part of something bigger, something that mattered. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were happy. And for once, your birthday didn’t hurt.

On the afternoon of his birthday, Joel made it a point to leave work early, a rare indulgence. The day had been grueling, his body carrying the weight of hours spent hauling, lifting, and concentrating through a persistent ache in his shoulders and arms. By the time he pulled into the driveway, fatigue clung to him like a second skin.

But the moment he stepped through the door, all of that began to melt away. The warm, savory aroma of your cooking wrapped around him like a welcoming embrace, teasing his senses and making his stomach rumble in anticipation. From the kitchen, he could hear Sarah's laughter, a sound so bright and carefree it seemed to lift the heaviness in his chest. And then there was your voice—soft and melodic, weaving effortlessly into the rhythm of his home, a sound that had come to symbolize comfort itself.

He paused in the doorway for a moment, letting it all wash over him. The tension in his shoulders began to ease, his mind quieting in a way it rarely did. Home. It wasn’t just the place—it was you, Sarah, the life you all shared within these walls.

As he stepped further inside, Joel noticed something different about you that evening. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on but felt instantly. He always noticed you—more than he liked to admit. His gaze often lingered longer than it should, studying the way your lips curved when you smiled, the way your hands moved with quiet purpose, the subtle shifts in your voice when you were excited or uncertain.

Tonight, though, it was as if the world had conspired to make you glow. You wore that dress he liked, the one that clung just enough to hint at your shape without being overdone. The warm light from the kitchen seemed to catch on your flushed cheeks, making your skin look soft, almost luminous. Your hair was tied up, exposing the graceful curve of your neck and the delicate, fine hairs at its nape.

He found himself staring, his fingers itching with the desire to reach out and touch that spot just beneath your ear, to let his thumb trace the softness of your skin. He could already imagine the way it would feel, the warmth of you under his touch. But Joel stopped himself, swallowing hard and forcing his hands into his pockets.

His tongue betrayed him then. A slip—a small comment, laced with more emotion than he intended.

The three of you sat around the table, and Joel took his first bite of the stew, eyes widening, a kind of bliss washing over his face. He tossed his head back and groaned.

“Sweet Glory,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “Thank you for this.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, though part of you couldn’t help but feel a pang of something between irritation and flattery. “You say that every time I cook for you.”

He shook his head, smiling as he chewed, then spoke softly, his gaze slipping downward.

“I’m not exaggerating—I love everything you do.” A pause, and then a quick, awkward clarification. “I mean, everything you cook.”

You didn’t seem to notice, though, your focus elsewhere. But Joel felt the heat rise in his face, a faint flush creeping over his cheeks. He turned away quickly, clearing his throat as if that could erase the moment. Joel hadn’t meant to say it aloud. The words slipped out before he could stop them, his voice soft but heavy with emotion.

I love everything you do. It wasn’t just a compliment—it was a confession, unguarded and dangerously close to exposing everything he’d tried so hard to bury.

If someone had told Joel how that night would end, he would have laughed, dismissed the thought outright. It was unthinkable, a fantasy he’d never let himself fully entertain. But as the hours unfolded, something inside him began to shift—subtle at first, like a whisper at the edge of his mind, then growing louder and more insistent.

But then came the emotions, rushing in like a storm—anger, jealousy, desire, all tangled together in a mess he couldn’t untangle. The anger was irrational, sharp and sudden, a flash of heat that burned at the thought of you smiling like that at someone else. The jealousy felt even worse, a bitter ache in his chest at the mere idea that you might one day belong to someone else, someone better than him. And the desire... it was unbearable. It had been building for so long, so quietly, that he hadn’t noticed it until it was too late to ignore.

Something broke inside him.

“Fine. I’ll leave you alone, and maybe then you can run across the street and fuck Travis Dunn, if you want it so badly,” he shot back, impatience tinging his voice as he turned toward the still-open door.

The words hit you like a slap. You froze for a moment, the anger washing over you in a wave. Before you could think twice, you rushed up to him, gripping his arm tightly to force him to turn and look at you.

“What the hell did you just say, Joel?” you hissed, grabbing his shirt, fingers bunching in the fabric as you backed him up until his shoulders hit the wall by the door. “Go on, say it again!”

Your breaths came fast, chest rising and falling as the rush of anger pushed tears to your eyes. You couldn’t believe he’d actually spoken to you like that, cutting right through to something raw and vulnerable. He’d never spoken to you like that before. Maybe he was a little drunk, or maybe he was losing his mind.

But there was no softness in his gaze, no hint of the Joel you knew. His stare was sharp, almost wild with something simmering underneath, something you didn’t understand. To you, this whole argument made no sense, at least not his reaction.

Joel’s grip on your wrist was firm, almost grounding, as he pulled you closer, pressing your palm against his chest. “I can’t stand that asshole, but go ahead and fuck him if you want,” he spat, voice laced with frustration. “Go fuck the whole neighborhood while you’re at it. I really don’t care anymore.”

His words were harsh, designed to cut, but they only drew a laugh from you—sharp and derisive. A tear slipped down your cheek, uninvited.

“What, did you ever care?” you asked, your voice trembling on the last syllable, thick with emotion.

But Joel didn’t respond, and the silence ignited a fire in you, something that swirled beneath the surface, ready to boil over.

“Do you know why we’re friends, Joel?” Your pulse quickened, each beat like a drum in your ears. “Because it just works between us. There are no ulterior motives. You know why? Because I don’t like you like that. You’re not even my type, and you never will be. And no, I’m not jealous that you’re dating some woman you’ll probably dump in less than a month, so get the fuck over it and leave me the fuck alone!”

He wasn’t your type. He wasn’t your type. He wasn’t your type? The words echoed in Joel’s mind, each repetition a fresh sting to his ego and a sharper stab to his heart. But your eyes told him a different story. They mirrored his own intensity, and that unspoken connection was undeniable.

In that moment, he surrendered to an impulse he had fought to suppress countless times before. He kissed you, a kiss laden with every restrained emotion, and carried you to your room. The world around him blurred; it felt surreal, as if he were watching himself from a distance. Every sense was heightened, every touch electric, his entire being focused solely on you.

You were perfection to him. The intoxicating scent of your skin, the soft texture of your lips, the sweet taste of you—all of it was exquisite, overwhelming. When he was finally inside you, he felt as if his heart might explode from the sheer intensity of it. The warmth, the sweetness, the way it consumed him—it was almost too much to bear, almost too beautiful to be real. Every sound you made unraveled him further, pushing him closer to a peak he had thought unattainable. The desire that coursed through you felt almost tangible, as if he could taste it on his lips with every kiss.

As you drifted off to sleep beside him, your face looked so peaceful, so heartbreakingly beautiful, that Joel couldn’t resist. He leaned in, brushing the gentlest of kisses across your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids—each kiss a whisper of affection, as though trying to capture this fleeting moment. Only when the rhythm of your breaths lulled him into calm did he finally surrender to sleep at your side.

But deep in the stillness of the night, he stirred awake. His emotions, once overwhelming, had quieted; his mind, no longer softened by the haze of passion, now felt sharp and cold. And then it struck him—a suffocating wave of fear.

What had he done? What had he done? The question echoed relentlessly in his mind, each repetition laced with dread. He had crossed a line, dragging you into his chaos, disrespecting you in a way that made his stomach twist with guilt. He had shattered the bond you shared—a friendship he had held in the highest regard. He had taken something pure and irreversibly tainted it with his own selfish desires.

Panic surged through him, relentless and unforgiving. How could you ever look at him the same way again? Surely, you wouldn’t want him in your life anymore. The thought of losing you gutted him.

A storm of thoughts battered his mind as he quietly slipped out of your house like a ghost, each step feeling heavier than the last. The walk back to his own home was a blur of regret and self-recrimination. By the time he shut the door behind him, the weight of what he had done pressed down on him completely. He knew, with a sinking finality, that he had ruined everything.

He had ruined everything.

And four days later, the dagger in his chest sank even deeper.

Swallowing hard, you tasted the salt of your tears, and it burned your throat like an unwelcome reminder of the turmoil within.

“I’m not sure I can be your friend anymore, Joel,” you confessed, your voice shaking with the weight of your admission.

He shook his head, disbelief flashing across his features as a weak smile broke through the hurt. It was as if he couldn’t quite fathom the words that had just escaped you.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do,” you asserted, each syllable a battle against the rawness in your chest.

“No, you don’t,” he countered, stepping back just inches, his tone laced with incredulity. The mocking sneer that crept onto his face felt more like a mask than a reflection of his true feelings, and yet, the moisture pooling in his eyes betrayed the battle raging within him.

You regarded him in silence, the atmosphere thickening with unspoken words as you watched his smile fade into something that was almost painful. It twisted his features, morphing into a look of discomfort that hung between you like an unsaid apology. He remained still, his gaze locked onto yours, waiting for you to break the tension with a word or a gesture. The sight of him like that burned inside you, igniting a longing to rewind time, to swallow your questions, to let him live his life free from the weight of your curiosity and the tangled feelings that had blossomed between you. But that wasn’t an option; the reality of your situation loomed large and unavoidable. You had to confront the truth: he didn’t feel the same way about you, and for him, sleeping with you felt like a transgression, a sin, a burden he couldn’t carry.

“Joel, please,” you began, your voice cracking under the pressure of your emotions. A tear slipped down your cheek, salty and bitter, tasting of the anguish that your words carried. “I can’t be your friend anymore. I can’t do this. I’m sorry, I really am, but you’re breaking my—” You hesitated, swallowing hard against the swell of grief that threatened to overwhelm you. “I think this is over.”

"She just needs time," Joel told himself, clinging to the fragile hope that things would eventually mend. But that comforting thought crumbled when he saw how easily you seemed to move on, as if he no longer existed in your world. You carried on with your life without so much as a glance in his direction, each moment of indifference cutting deeper. It felt like a deliberate erasure, and Joel's heart shrank under the weight of it, splintering all over again. Did you truly not want him in your life anymore?

His decision to break things off with Sienna had come with a strange clarity. Her warmth, her charm—things he had once appreciated—now felt hollow, like they no longer belonged in his life. Joel couldn’t pretend otherwise. He couldn’t lie to her, tell her everything was fine, and carry on as though his heart wasn’t consumed by someone else. She deserved more than being a placeholder for feelings he couldn’t shake.

In the aftermath of the breakup, Joel thought he might finally find the courage to come to you. To apologize, to face you honestly. He imagined himself laying it all out—his regret, his fear, and the possibility of something more. Perhaps, if you felt even a fraction of what he did, you could both explore the connection that had ignited that night. He had told himself he was ready to risk it all, to bare his soul if you would give him even a sliver of space to do so.

The breaking point came when Tommy casually mentioned you and Travis. The words were innocuous, but the storm they unleashed within Joel was anything but. Something dark and bitter began to fester in his chest—jealousy, anger, resentment? He couldn’t quite name it, but it clawed at him, a toxic mix that he struggled to contain. It wasn’t his proudest moment. It wasn’t even close.

“What’s this?” he asked, a note of suspicion in his voice.

Tommy leaned back, watching him with a faint smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

“Your girl next door gave it to me,” he replied, each word almost too measured. “Said it was yours.”

For a few moments, Joel just stood there, as if frozen, processing Tommy’s words. He looked down, finally lifting the lid and peering inside. There, neatly folded, was his sweatshirt—the one he’d handed you one chilly evening when he picked you up from work. Beneath that was his old Pearl Jam t-shirt, the one you’d borrowed after a swim in his pool last summer. His favorite coffee mug sat tucked in the corner, along with a few CDs, a dog-eared paperback he’d loaned you weeks ago. Each item seemed to carry its own little echo of the time he’d spent with you.

After a few seconds, Joel placed the lid back on the box, sliding it away from him with a muted thud. He kept his expression steady, but his jaw was set, and his eyes remained fixed on the counter.

“When did she give it to you?” he asked, his voice strained but steady.

“A few moments ago,” Tommy said with a shrug, holding back a smirk as he noticed the tightness in Joel’s expression. “Saw her walking back from Dunn’s house, actually.”

Joel let out a dry, sardonic laugh, a smile twisted in disbelief. "Right. Of course."

"Actually," Tommy said, savoring another spoonful of ice cream, "he walked her to the door, all sweet-like. Gave her the whole mushy goodnight routine—kiss, movie shit." His gaze stayed fixed on the bowl, though Joel could see the glint of mischief there, Tommy barely holding back a grin.

Joel’s fingers drummed on the counter, his gaze hardening. “She must be happy then,” he muttered.

Tommy didn’t look up, just continued with his ice cream, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Sure she looked that way to me.”

“Like I care,” Joel muttered, his gaze fixed hard on the box beside him, fingers curling against the edge as if steadying himself. “I can bet everything I’ve got she doesn’t even like him that much. That guy isn’t worth it, and she knows it.”

Tommy’s mouth quirked with amusement as he leaned back against the counter.

“Too bad that’s not up to you,” he said, casually pushing Joel’s buttons, almost like he enjoyed watching his brother’s patience fray. “She looked happy. And for what it’s worth, in her own words, she does like him.”

Later, in the solitude of his room, Joel tucked away the box—the one filled with memories and unfinished gestures. He couldn’t bear to look at it, to confront what it represented. Instead, he tried to distract himself, but the emotions that swirled within him refused to be ignored. But he didn’t. Fear, hesitation, and the unrelenting weight of what-ifs kept him rooted in silence.

What Tommy told him shattered any remaining hope Joel had of making things right with you. Whatever fragile intentions he had to mend the rift between you dissolved in an instant, crushed under the weight of his own assumptions.

You had moved on, hadn’t you? It seemed so, as if you had turned a new page in your life without a second thought. Apparently, that night with Joel hadn’t meant as much to you as it had to him. The realization struck like a knife, twisting with every memory of that fleeting connection he had held onto so desperately. Anger bubbled up alongside the pain, a raw, bitter cocktail of emotions that left him reeling. He wanted to show you that he could move on, too—that he wasn’t as affected, that he could be indifferent.

But the act fell apart every time he saw you with Travis. The sight of the two of you together hollowed him out. You looked happy, didn’t you? The way you smiled, the ease with which you leaned into Travis—it was more than Joel could bear. Each moment of apparent joy between you and this other man chipped away at something inside him, leaving him feeling smaller, more fractured.

Still, the urge to seek your forgiveness lingered. It gnawed at him, the desire to bridge the gap and find some way to fix what had been broken. But every time he mustered the resolve to approach you, his feelings betrayed him. Anger surged to the surface, overpowering the vulnerability he had tried so hard to embrace.

Instead of mending things, he withdrew, consumed by resentment and heartache. The man he became in those moments was someone he didn’t recognize—someone fueled by a mixture of longing and bitterness, too afraid to confront the truth of what he felt, yet unable to let it go.

“That’s mine,” he said.

“What?” you managed, almost gasping, your eyes darting between his face and his hands, as if looking for something—anything—to explain this new, impossible tension.

Joel didn’t move. He was still, a presence that loomed larger by the second. His gaze was steady on you, tracing your body and your face, slow and deliberate.

“The flannel,” he repeated, his voice dropping lower, rough around the edges. “It’s mine.”

You looked down at the fabric, the soft, familiar warmth of it, and felt a sudden jolt. God. He was right. It was his. But it had been yours for years. You'd worn it so often, so comfortably, that you'd forgotten it ever belonged to anyone else. Maybe he'd lent it to you once, a lifetime ago, on one of those cold nights when you both sat under blankets. But he’d never asked for it back, had he? He never seemed to care, and you never thought to return it. It had just... stayed with you.

When you lifted your eyes back to him, Joel had moved off the wall, stepping toward you with slow, deliberate steps, closing the distance between you. Too close. He was too close, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body as his presence engulfed you.

“What happened?” His voice was soft, but there was a simmering undercurrent, a teasing tone that made your pulse quicken, though you weren’t sure why. “Did you forget to include it in your little box when you gave everything back to me?”

You felt a bitter chuckle bubble in your throat, an angry little sound that you couldn’t quite hold back. You shook your head slightly, irritated, your chest tight as you opened your mouth to speak, but he interrupted you, his words coming fast, sharper than before.

“Doesn’t your little boyfriend mind you wearing another man’s clothes?” he asked, his voice dripping with something like disdain, like he had been holding that question inside for far too long. His eyes darkened, gliding down to the fabric again, then to your body, before he reached forward, his fingers brushing the edge of the flannel as if testing the boundaries. “Or does he already know this isn’t the only thing of mine that’s wrapped around you?”

Later that night, Joel’s fingers entwined with Clara’s, but her hand was cold, and the contact felt unnatural. When she wrapped her arm around his, an almost visceral rejection welled up in him. Her touch wasn’t comforting; it was suffocating.

The pair walked in silence as they left the Hoffmans’ yard. Joel kept his eyes ahead, determined not to glance back. But he couldn’t help himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you resting your head against Travis’s chest, your body cocooned in his jacket. The sight made Joel’s stomach twist painfully.

This was his fault. He replayed the night in his mind, how he’d told you to take off his shirt, how he’d inadvertently pushed you closer to Travis. Regret pressed heavily on him, a weight he couldn’t shake.

“Do you like wine?” Clara’s voice broke the silence as they neared her house.

Joel turned to her, his gaze distant, his mind still lost elsewhere. His entire body felt stiff, as though rejecting even the possibility of being there.

“Actually, I should get home,” he said abruptly, his voice flat.

Clara blinked at him, her expression faltering. Her easy smile gave way to a confused grimace, but Joel didn’t try to read her emotions.

“Oh,” she murmured, awkwardly. Then, with a hesitant laugh, she added, “Why don’t you come in for a bit? We could… have some fun.” Her hand reached for the collar of his shirt, a playful but suggestive gesture.

Joel gently pushed her hand away, the discomfort etched across his face.

"I really don’t feel like it," Joel said, his voice sharper than he meant it to be, the irritation slipping through despite his effort to hold it back. "And if I’m bein’ honest, I don’t like the way you’re always throwin’ yourself at me, especially in front of everybody like that. It ain’t right, and it sure as hell don’t sit well with me."

The words hung heavily in the air, cutting and cruel. Joel knew his tone wasn’t fair—it came from anger that had little to do with Clara herself. But he didn’t care. If anything, it was a chance to end this farce, to kill two birds with one stone.

Clara’s face flushed, embarrassment washing over her features. She stammered, “Then… why did you invite me to come with you?”

"I wanted to tell you in private," Joel drawled, his voice low and steady, each word carrying the weight of his frustration. "I don’t like you, Clara. Not like that. It ain’t fair to either of us. So why don’t you just go on and find someone else, someone who actually wants what you’re offerin’?"

Her lips parted, as though to say something, but Joel didn’t wait to hear it. His feet were already carrying him away, his thoughts full of you. Always you.

He cursed himself silently, the same harsh words looping in his mind. He was always screwing up, always doing the wrong thing. Everything he touched seemed to fall apart, especially where you were concerned. It was as if he was wired to ruin everything.

He was screwing up, screwing up so bad that he kept hurting you. And he knew there was no turning back when that Saturday after the Halloween party, your eyes had locked onto his, sharp and unyielding, cutting through him like shards of glass. Your voice, heavy with pain, lingered in his mind, echoing with all the things he couldn’t fix.

"Do you think what you’re doing is right, Joel?" you asked, your tone sharper than before, slicing through the fragile quiet between you.

His brows knit together, confused, and he tilted his head slightly as if to ask what you meant.

"Do you think you’re accomplishing anything by sleeping with the women in this neighborhood?" you continued, your words rushing out faster now. "I mean, first you sleep with me—oh, the worst mistake of your life—then you sleep with Clara. And what about Sienna? What does she think of all this? You’re a selfish, irresponsible man, Joel Miller, so irresponsible." The words kept spilling, your voice trembling now, laced with both anger and something softer, something that felt like pain. "And as if that wasn’t enough, you’ve ruined us. Completely. And I hate you for that, Joel. I hate you because you’re not the man I thought you were. And i love you so much I—"

Your gaze dropped to the ground, unable to meet his eyes. The tears welled up before you could stop them, blurring the edges of your vision and leaving your cheeks hot.

You hated how raw it all felt. How exposed. And worse, how the alcohol that had loosened your tongue was no longer numbing enough to shield you from the reality of what you’d just said.

Before you could stop him, Joel’s hands came to rest gently on your arms. The warmth of his touch made your stomach flip, and it took everything in you to pull away.

“No,” you said firmly, shaking him off and turning on your heel. But you barely managed two steps before your foot caught awkwardly in front of the other, sending you stumbling.

You yelped as your palm scraped against the ground, but Joel caught your other arm before you could fully collapse. The heat of embarrassment rushed to your face as you stood quickly, brushing off your dress and refusing to look at him.

You marched toward your door with renewed determination, ignoring the sting in your palm and the sound of his voice calling after you.

“Wait,” he said, his tone softer now, almost pleading.

But you didn’t stop. Your trembling fingers fumbled with the key, eyes fixed on the lock as if opening the door quickly enough could make him—and everything you’d just said—disappear.

The key slid into the lock on your first try, a stroke of luck you hadn’t expected. You stumbled inside, not bothering to close the door behind you. Maybe it was unconscious, or maybe some buried, foolish part of you wanted him to follow. Whatever the reason, Joel did, shutting the door softly as he stepped in, his footsteps trailing after your clumsy, rushed ascent up the stairs. His hand found your lower back more than once, steadying you whenever your feet betrayed you and your balance faltered.

When you reached your room, his presence pressed down on you, heavy and inescapable. Your chest felt tight, emotions boiling over with an intensity you couldn’t contain. The exhaustion—of everything—clawed at your insides, raw and relentless.

“Fuck you, Joel,” you spat, spinning to face him, your palms colliding with his chest in a sharp slap. The sound echoed between you, loud and angry. You hit him again, this time harder, though he barely moved, only stepping back an inch. “Fuck you. Fuck you. You’re a complete asshole, and I hate you. I hate you so much.” Your fists clenched, pounding against him now, the blows strong but harmless.

The pain in your eyes, the tremor in your voice—it shattered Joel completely. Every crack in your expression, every unsteady word, drove home the truth he had been avoiding: he had hurt you. Deeply. Irrevocably. And in that moment, the weight of his guilt became unbearable. He felt like he deserved every ounce of hatred and anger you could muster, every harsh word or cold glance. Hell, he deserved worse. He deserved every bad thing the world could throw at him.

When you lay down on the bed, exhausted and emotionally raw, Joel felt an overwhelming urge to stay. He wanted to be near you, to watch over you, to be a steady presence even if you didn’t want him there. But your words had been clear, leaving no room for misunderstanding. Reluctantly, he obeyed, dragging his heavy feet out of your space. The weight of his body mirrored the weight in his chest as he trudged home.

Once inside the dark silence of his living room, the self-loathing consumed him entirely. He sank into a chair, burying his face in his hands as the shame and regret clawed at him. How could he have done this to you? How could he have hurt the sweetest, kindest woman he had ever known? He replayed every misstep, every moment he let his anger or fear get in the way of treating you the way you deserved.

Joel knew he had to make it right, no matter the cost. He had to apologize, to lay bare his mistakes and accept whatever consequences you chose to impose. Even if it meant watching you move on with Travis.

The thought of seeing you with another man was agonizing, like a knife twisting in his chest. But Joel couldn’t ignore the truth: despite his disdain for Travis, the man made you happy. He’d seen it in your laughter, the easy way you leaned into him, the light in your eyes that Joel himself had dimmed. And wasn’t that what you deserved? Happiness, warmth, stability—all the things Joel doubted he could give you.

He hated himself for the jealousy that still lingered, for the bitterness that coiled inside him like a serpent. But more than that, he hated himself for failing you. You deserved better. So much better. And if Travis was that for you, Joel would accept it, no matter how much it tore him apart.

But then, when you went to his house...

He would never have imagined the way your lips sought his again, desperate, hungry. Joel could hardly believe what was happening. The feel of your kiss finding him again, so warm, perfect—it was as if the world had tilted off its axis. For a moment, he thought he must be dreaming. Maybe this was all in his head, his mind playing tricks on him because he couldn’t bear the thought of you being gone. It was too perfect, too real. He convinced himself that any second now, he’d wake up and find himself alone again, lost in the hollow ache of regret.

But no, you were there. Really there. Beneath him once again. The weight of your presence was grounding, pulling him back into a reality where everything felt possible, where maybe—just maybe—he could make things right. Your head resting on his chest, the soft rise and fall of your breath against his skin—it was everything he had wanted and more. For the first time in weeks, Joel felt at peace. His heart beat so strongly in his chest it felt as though it could burst, and for a moment, he forgot all the mistakes, all the pain. Nothing could ruin this. Nothing, least of all him.

This time, he promised himself, he would do things right. He wouldn’t let fear dictate his choices. He wouldn’t push you away. He couldn’t. Not again.

But just as quickly as that fragile peace had settled—

Sarah arrived, interrupting the quiet moment with a sudden presence that jolted him awake. The sound of her voice was enough to make him freeze, the peace slipping away.

Downstairs in the living room, Joel forced himself to straighten, to steady his nerves. His hands were clammy, his pulse racing, but he masked it all. His posture was rigid, controlled, serious as always. Nothing about him would give away the chaos he felt inside.

You looked between Sarah and him, your gaze flicking back and forth, and Joel noticed the shy smile that touched your lips. His chest tightened, but he couldn’t help but notice the softness in your expression.

"C'mon, what do you wanna eat?" she asked. "You're staying, right?"

“I… sure, uh, I don’t—I have to do something first, okay?” you said, your voice a little unsteady, a little unsure, but there was a determination in your eyes that he couldn’t ignore.

Sarah, ever the curious one, tilted her head, her face full of contentment, though it quickly shifted to confusion.

“What?” she asked, a hint of innocence in her voice.

Joel, feeling the need to regain control of the situation, stood up from the doorframe. He walked over to Sarah, his hand gently resting on her shoulder, grounding himself in the familiar warmth of his daughter.

“Why don’t you help me pick out dinner in the meantime?” he suggested, keeping his voice calm and steady, just like he always did. It was the easiest way to pull Sarah away, to give you space without making it obvious.

Without another word, you left his house, your legs unsteady, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts, of questions. Joel watched you go, his chest heavy, knowing that what had just happened was different.

As he watched you leave, he knew one thing for certain: Sarah was going to wait for you for dinner. That, at least, was something he could count on.

#honey love dark eyes #capuccinodoll #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #tlou fic #joel miller smut #tlou hbo #tlou joel #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou #the last of us

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rosiesrroses · 2 days ago

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Breakfast in bed | ln4

in which y/n is finally done with her exams so lando spoils her with breakfast in bed.

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

warning: just fluff

finished: 2 December 2024

posted: 2 December 2024

word count: 366 words

my love for you is ever lasting, it will last until eternity ends~

yourusername ~ 22 hours ago

(caption 1: last exam!! / caption 2: matching hair clips ☆)

third person pov

The morning light shone into Y/n and Lando’s shared bedroom. The soft bedding covered her body and her face was buried deep into her pillow. Lando walked in, carrying a light blue tray filled with y/n’s favourite breakfast and coffee in her favourite mug.

He put the try on his side of the bed and walked over to y/n’s side. He smiled at her sleeping figure, sat beside her, and lovingly caressed her face.

He was so proud of her–the late-night studying and the endless practice exams. She worked hard to reach this point, and he wanted her to accomplish her dreams. And now that her exams were over, he was ecstatic to spend more time with her and spoil her.

Y/n slowly stirred, her eyes fluttered open as the sunlight came through their window. She turned her head, meeting Lando’s gaze and a sleepy smile spread across her face.

“Good morning,” she mumbled as she stretched and readjusted the pillow under her head.

Lando chuckled softly. “Good morning, my love,” he replied, his voice gentle.

Y/n yawned and sat up. “What time is it?” she asked softly as she looked around the room.

“It’s still early but I thought I’d surprise you,” he replied, smiling at her as he showed her the tray.

Y/n’s eyes widened as she noticed the tray. “You didn’t have to do this,”

“Of course I did,” he smiled softly. “You’ve been working so hard, and you deserve this,”

Y/n’s heart melted. “Thank you,” she said, her smile growing. “You’re too sweet,”

He smiled at her. “You better eat up, we’ve got a long day ahead of us,”

“Where are we going?” she asked as she put a piece of strawberry in her mouth.

“I am taking you on a shopping spree. Anything you want, it’s yours,” he grinned.

“Really?” she asked softly, in disbelief.

“Of course, you deserve it,”

yourusername

Liked by landonorris, yourbff and others

Tagged: landonorris

yourusername Thank you to the world's best boyfriend ever for being so supportive during this exam season and for spoiling me with breakfast in bed ❤🥞🛍

Comments on this post have been limited

taglist ~ @linnygirl09

note ~ hi everyone! i hope you guys enjoyed reading this, because i did enjoy writing this. i want to say sorry if my writing isn't the best- i'm still getting back into writing.

masterlist ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

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adieutristana · 2 days ago

Note

could you write something about jinx in the alternate universe x fem reader? something like putting on makeup and painting their nails together talking about the future

ohh this is adorable! thank you for requesting <3

no joke i listened to geronimo’s cadillac by modern talking on loop the entire time i was writing this. please give it a listen it’s amazing

summary: powder (act iii) and fem! reader getting ready together.

characters: powder (act iii au)

tags/warnings: fluff, act iii spoilers, i can’t think of anything else honestly?

men dni.

the gentle sound of a guitar fills the cluttered room over a stereo.

you’re sat with your legs crossed parallel to powder, who is currently taking various makeup products out of a small pouch. she settles on her products of choice, and she presses her lips together in a thin line before glancing up at you.

“ready?”

she asks.

“ready as i’ll ever be.”

you affirm with a small nod. your girlfriend’s eyes soften as her lips tug into a gentle smile. the smile you’ve grown so fond of over the past few years. the smile that makes every hardship during the day, every obstacle, every moment of insecurity worth it. your heart tightened in your chest as she dipped a brush into a yellow shade in her palette and leaned over you.

“close your eyes.”

her soft voice says. she gently brushes shades of light yellow over your eyelids, the sensation foreign and odd. slightly ticklish. you try to keep a straight face for powder, not wanting to mess up her work, but you can’t help your face loosely scrunching up every now and again. she whispers little comforts such as ‘relax,’ or ‘just a little longer’ before you hear the palette snapping shut.

you open your eyes to the sight of powder scrambling on the floor for a tube of mascara. she picks out a few lipstick tubes mistakenly, then finally lands on a skinny tube of black mascara. she twists it open, and this time instructs you to keep your eyes open. it’s tough to not blink, but you manage, and powder’s smile makes a return. that damned smile.

“you know, trinket, this is pretty nice. getting away from the chaos of the academy and everyone else. i like when we have these moments, just you and me.”

powder communicates as she brushes rouge on your cheeks, switching sides then examining your face to make sure you have an equal amount of product on each side. you nod in affirmation and take her free hand to slowly intertwine your fingers with hers.

“hopefully we’ll have many more of them to come.”

you reply.

she just chuckles in response before moving on to lipstick, twisting up the tube to reveal a dusty pink shade. she’s now impossibly close to you as she ever-so-lightly parts your lips, and you can feel her breathing against your skin. her focus is laser sharp as she applies the lipstick.

“all done!”

powder exclaims, grabbing your shoulders and helping you up from the floor. she leads you over to a mirror and stands directly behind you, hands still gripping your shoulders.

“do you like it? i think i did a pretty good job.”

she giggles, and your expression is one of slight shock- only for a moment.

“powder… you really outdid yourself. it’s beautiful.”

you whisper, gazing at yourself in the mirror. your eyelids sparkle bright, the shades she chose perfectly compliment your complexion. your eyelashes look longer than ever. you around to wrap her in a tight embrace. she lets out a content hum, relaxing in your arms and letting you ruffle her choppy blue hair.

“you’re beautiful.”

you place your chin atop powder’s head for just a second, looking at the two of you in the mirror- a happy couple- before an idea comes to you.

“hey, love?”

“hm?”

“you did my makeup… why don’t you let me paint your nails?”

you offer, pulling back to give her a promising look. she looks to the side, playfully tapping her chin with her index finger before enthusiastically nodding. you give her a lighthearted scoff, and head over to a clear drawer with nail polish.

she has almost every color of the rainbow. assorted purples, pinks, yellows, hues of turquoise and azure; but you land on a metallic sky blue. one that matches her beautiful blue hair. after making your choice, you look over to see powder is already sat back in the spot she occupied before.

“i don’t think i’ve ever painted someone else’s nails before,”

you comment, palms shaky. you’d painted your own countless times, but never another person’s. powder just reached over with the hand that wasn’t yet painted, and gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

with that gesture, you open the bottle and begin slowly brushing over each nail. the blue looked even more beautiful on powder than it did in the bottle. she looked down at what you were doing, then back up at you, then back down. a cycle. your girlfriend tried to keep her eyes off of you, but she just couldn't. you looked so cute when you were so focused.

"i know we're going to this party later, but do you wanna grab something to eat afterward?"

powder asks. those kind eyes looking straight into yours. you hummed and nodded, trying not to break your focus.

"i'd like that. maybe we can walk around a bit after, look at the undercity at night?" you suggested with a hum.

powder gave you a smile.

"that'd be nice. maybe get a glimpse into our life after you graduate.. where do you think we'll be then?"

you're finally finished the girl's nails, and you pull back. she looks at them for a moment, examining the way the light catches the metallic polish from multiple angles. you take a pause to think as you screw the lid back onto the bottle.

"...i'm not sure. but we'll be happy, right? maybe we'll get married."

"married? you move fast!" powder teased.

"pow-pow, we've been together for two years."

she gives your shoulder a light shove, giggling before she places a chaste kiss on your cheek. one that'll probably leave a stain in its wake.

"i know, silly. i'm just teasing. i'd love to get married to you one day.. but you've gotta finish that degree first!"

"that seems like forever away." you groan to yourself, under your breath.

"hey, it's not so bad. we can go on a lot of adventures between now and then, right? i'll be at your graduation, you'll be there for all of my milestones. it works out!"

you just smiled, shaking your head. powder was right. the two of you had all the time in the world on your hands, all the opportunities to do whatever you chose. that was one of the greatest things. that you had time, and someone you loved by your side. someone who loved you.

you inch closer to powder and wrap your arms around her waist loosely. she raises her eyebrows at the sudden proximity, but is relaxed. you close the distance between you and your girlfriend, placing your lips on hers, settling into a gentle rhythm. feeling one of her hands settle on your lower back and the other cradling the back of your head. feeling her smile against your lips.

as you pull away, you notice powder looking at you with those big baby blues. she's giddy and smiling ear-to-ear, then swiftly brings you into an even tighter embrace, flush to her chest.

"we should probably get going, shouldn't we?"

"probably.. but it won't be a big deal if we're a few minutes late."

you comment. powder just chuckles and pulls you into another kiss.

#jinx x reader #arcane x reader #powder x reader #reader insert #arcane x you #sapphic

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picnokinesis · 4 hours ago

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I was gonna do this in the tags but I actually wanna make it a proper rec list to give some of my favourite artists some love haha, so sorry op, feel free to ignore this. But! Using the metric of monthly listeners on Spotify, since it's the only metric I have (and since Spotify Wrapped just dropped), here are some of my favourite little guys:

Chncer - 77 monthly listeners - discovered these guys listening to a radio show about local artists when I was up in Carlisle for a few days. They haven't got much music out but I love their song Put the Sun in My Hand

Beautiful Boy - So, these guys don't seem to be on Spotify, but they have 143 subscribers on YouTube. They have this song called But You Do that I absolutely adore, but I can't actually find it anywhere anymore, other than an acoustic session that they did here

Breakbeat Heartbeat - 696 monthly listeners - if you like sad chiptune music, then these guys are for you haha. Really love the tracks You Were My Friend, Constellations, and I Need You

Brolly - 7,435 monthly listeners - these guys have a fantastic album called Wolfe which I love a ton, but especially the tracks They Run, They Hide and Love Grew Legs (which has made me cry more than once haha)

Unknown Chapters - 7,488 monthly listeners - these guys are such a vibe. Highly recommend the songs Born and Bred and Frozen Bones

Blackchords - 15,541 monthly listeners - I think I discovered these guys through their song Into The Unknown, but honestly their entire self-titled album from 2009 is fabulous, especially the track Broken Bones

The Jerry Cans - 15,731 monthly listeners - I only found out about these guys a month or so ago, but they are SO so fantastic. They include a lot of traditional throat singing which is sounds so cool (especially when they get the violin to kind of mimic the pitches of it). Highly recommend both the albums Inuusiq and Echoes, and especially the songs Ukiuq, Nirliit, Qaumajuujusi, Havava, and Atauttikkut

There Will Be Fireworks - 24,875 monthly listeners - absolutely love these guys. Their album The Dark, Dark Bright is one of my favourites, it's SO good. Highly recommend the songs River, South Street, Something Borrowed, Roots, and Bedroom Door

Voice of Baceprot - 32,959 monthly listeners - these guys are genuinely so so awesome. Highly recommend PMS and School Revolution, but they also do some sick covers so I recommend checking out their live shows!

Twin Pumpkin - 37,287 monthly listeners - I need to listen to more of this guy, but I am soooo obsessed with their song Monolith

Wake Owl - 51,475 monthly listeners - these guys have this gorgeous EP called Wild Country which is just sooooo so good, especially the songs Wild Country, Gold and Grow

Okay I think I'll leave it there for now, although I'm sure I'm forgetting some. Special shout out mention to some artists that I think less people will have heard of but had a bigger monthly following than the above and so didn't quite make the list:

Luca Wilding (Book of Fate, Carmen)

Racing Glaciers (the entire Caught in the Strange album, and the Don't Wait For Me EP)

Wojciech Golczewski (the album The Signal, and The Priests of Hiroshima)

aeseaes (Carrion Comfort, All in Blue)

Civil Twilight (Oh Daniel, Holy Dove, Human, and Letters from the Sky)

Barcelona (Come Back When You Can, Lesser Things - please listen to Lesser Things - and Response)

Matthew and the Atlas (the entire album Morning Dancer, the entire album Temple, To the North, Out of the Darkness, Counting Paths)

Bloodywood (who are like, well known in certain circles but not others haha - listen to everything they've ever written though ALSO NEW TRACK ON FRIDAY and I am going to be SO normal about it)

Anyway hope someone enjoys this lol. Talk to me about music I love so much music

enough about taylor swift already. reblog and tag the smallest, least known artist you listen to

#taka rambles #music #music recs #op i am SO sorry I know you said the tags I know I know #but I had too much to say hahaha #I was gonna put yaelokre and french 79 on here too but they had like #over a million listeners HAHAH #i was like oh! okay! this is less obscure than i thought HAHAH #mon rovia also had waaaaaaaay more than i expected!#which was really nice to see!#anyhow-

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redwinelew · 1 day ago

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the boy is mine | lewis hamilton [3/3]

social media au. latina + singer!reader

summary — a certain formula 1 driver caught your attention, and you can't help but let the whole world know about your attraction. (read part one and two here)

face claim — rosalia

song — the boy is mine by ariana grande

warnings — none!

author's note — apologize that pt3 took so long!! i got sick lol. but here's the final part!! i love this series so much and i hope u guys enjoyed it as much as i loved making it!

all pictures taken from pinterest. credit to owners.

messages!

instagram!

liked by ynln, lewishamilton and 7,937 others

f1wagsupdates YN LN supporting Lewis Hamilton at the Belgium Grand Prix today!

via photographeruser

view all 256 comments

user1 omg yn wag debut 🙏🏼

user2 lewis already lurking in the likes 😭😭

user3 their smiles 😭🩷

user4 bringing her to the merc garage already.... chat how serious do we think they are

user5 user4 probably just friends. personally i do not see this progressing as an actual relationship

user6 user5 i hope not cause they look so adorable together though :(

user7 user6 honestly if yn hornily wrote "bed chem" about lewis then "guess" WITH lewis and still failed to get the man it'd be so hilarious lmfao

user6 user7 it'd be HIS loss though imagine fumbling someone like yn 🙏🏼

user7 user6 fair enough

instagram!

liked by pierregasly, carmenmmundt and 926,213 others

ynln george in the back bcs that pic didn't match the aesthetic of my feed

tagged lewishamilton, f1, mercedesamgf1 and georgerussell63

view all 10,638 comments

ynln also congrats on the win or whatever lewishamilton

lewishamilton ynln ouch

lewishamilton ynln congratulating me as a second thought? i regret inviting you already

ynln lewishamilton i would've been there either way 🙏🏼

lewishamilton ynln if i recall correctly you said showing up at the race is a bad idea and that people would talk

ynln lewishamilton i didn't say i wouldn't be there period 🙏🏼 i had to show otherwise you would have lost

lewishamilton ynln my good luck charm ❤️❤️ this is why i love you

ynln lewishamilton i know right you are soooo lucky to have me

user1 ynln lewishamilton damn should we leave????

user2 user1 FR LIKE YN ARE WE INTERRUPTING SOMETHING 😭😭

user3 ynln lewishamilton oh my god they are DATING dating i'm freaking out like crazy right now

user4 ynln lewishamilton SHE GOT THE BOY

user5 ynln lewishamilton omw to write a horny love song about my crush so he'd like me back brb 🏃🏻‍♀️🌬️

georgerussell63 i'm hurt yn and i already got dsq

user6 georgerussell63 LMFAO POOR GEORGE 😭😭

carmenmmundt loved talking to you we should hang out soon!!

ynln carmenmmundt would love to!! text me babe

user7 carmenmmundt ynln they're bffs already omg

user8 user7 mercedes wags have to stick together 🙏🏼

instagram!

liked by ameliadimz, ayame.p and 3,162,738 others

lewishamilton the win might be mine but this boy is forever hers ❤️

tagged ynln

view all 12,263 comments

ynln OKAYYYY

ynln i'm putting that caption in the song btw

lewishamilton ynln you can take full credit baby

ynln lewishamilton ofc i am you wouldn't be coming up with that clever ass caption if it wasn't me 🙏🏼

user1 ynln WHAT SONG

user2 ynln DON'T IGNORE US

user3 ynln she's so 😭😭

user4 THEY ARE HARD LAUNCHING EVERYBODY STAY FUCKING CALM

user5 this is so crazy we already seen them saying i love you on this app PUBLICLY and yet i still can't believe they are actually dating rn 😭😭

user6 user5 I KNOW RIGHT and to rhink this all started bcs she was down bad for this man 😭😭

user5 user6 she's giving me the courage to confess to my crush but i just KNOW as soon as i try i'd fumble it so bad

taglist — @seonghwaexile @totallynotluluu @omgsuperstarg @exotic-iris13 @formulaal @josephqunnies @book-obsesseds-world @st4rgirl-ellie @czennieszn

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callmeastra · 2 days ago

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Guys can we like... NOT write literal incest fanfiction about Leon Kennedy? Like??????? Disgusting????

Do not tell me it's a kink or something. It's just sick.

And trust me, Leon would get a restriction order against all of you who write it.

Older boyfriend Leon is *chef's kiss*. Daddy kink is alright, I like that one too. Whatever includes Leon not being related to the reader AT ALL.

Like, seriously... INCEST???????

Get tf out of here. Hella my face.

p.s. don't @ me w/ "don't use the x reader tag cuz you just want attention". I put it here for a reason. The more you tell me not to, the more you show me why it should be there.

#leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy oneshot

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perenians · 2 days ago

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i hadn't even finished the first episode when i started drawing this guy...

#i like him so much already and i'm only on episode 4 #he's like the perfect character he even has the dimple i always put on MY characters #my dimple!!!! he has one dimple just like me!!!#ahh i'm so nervous about posting this for some reason #critical role fandom i am terrified of you because i've only listened to four episodes of exandria unlimited #nobody's gonna see this because of all the freaking out in the tags LMAO #dorian storm #exandria unlimited #critical role #robbie daymond #per doods #peren schmeren

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simp-ly-writes · 1 day ago

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To Forgive, Is to Regret

─────── · · Hate the Love That Drives Ambition (pt.2)

Pairing: Father!Silco x Mother!Reader, Jinx & Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: When you thought to have rid yourself of Silco once again, he somehow always finds a way to come back and this time in the form of a blue-braided girl who is more determined than ever to have you all together.

─ · · TAGS: female pronouns used, reader called 'mom/mother,' angst, groveling, found family, fluff, miscommunication, blood and violence, hurt/comfort, alcohol and suicidal thoughts mentioned, swearing, happy ending, not beta read.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 4,185 | PART ONE

─ · · A/N: so proud of this fic, let me know if you enjoy! :)

─────── · ·

When Silco returned back to Zaun most people that saw him walking back to the Last Drop thought nothing of it with his long calculated steps and hardened glare. His coat flaps flying behind him in the wind as wisps of his breath exited his nose and rose up with the smog. But it was when he sat at his desk, cigar in one hand, knuckles turning white around a amber filled glass in the other, that Sevika could tell something was most certainly wrong with the man.

Sevika opened and then closed her mouth, thinking it better not to say anything in that moment. She listened as his foot tapped underneath the desk as he wore underneath his breath before flinging everything off his desk with the back of his hand, glass shattering against the floor.

The table groaned by the force in which he gripped the wood afterwards, hair falling down onto his forehead as his yellow eye twitched in pain.

Silco's mind raced with the image or your eyes burning hatred into his own, the unshed tears welling in your eyes before they couldn't stop. He felt the knife pushing past his skin, its cold exterior finding the warmth of your arms circling around his shoulders as you welcomed him before it became twisted, digging and scraping, he was bleeding, Silco felt sick as you shoved him away, kicking and yelling like he was the devil in everyone else's sight.

He remembers the feeling of your cheek in his palm, his fingers brushing past your quivering lip. He wanted nothing more than for you to grip his vest and wrap your legs around him with the same force you pushed him away with.

He wanted nothing more than to explain if he could have you physically but you did not even give him that. You shook your head, your son, our son, Silco corrected himself, his heart gripped so tight he felt sick, hunching over himself as he groaned. Cigar burning his fingertips as he closed his eyes tighter, no, you spoke so softly.

Yet such a simple word that he heard on the daily did nothing to compare when it came from between your lips as Silco's parted, murmuring what echoed through his head, no...

"No!" Silco yelled into the room as Sevika took a step back, trying to push herself into the darkness. lies- would love me, would protect me- lies!

I never meant to lie to you, if I had known a minute earlier... If I had known a minute earlier. Silco shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thought of seeing only your blood left on that sewer grate and the years of torture his imagination put him through thinking that his henchmen that turned to be rivals had done to you...

How your skin must have split, shattering its radiant glow. How your smile must have been cut by your screams, your bones broken alongside your hope, you disgust me. Silco groaned, hands shaking as he struggled to breathe before going into a fit of coughs.

Jinx sat upon open the rather's, her shoulders tense as she looked down at her father-figure in what looked to be a deep pain; something she understood deeply as she picked at the skin by her fingertips leaving just enough skin before they bled.

She had never seen Silco like this... so far gone and removed from himself. He was acting like a completely different person, muttering to himself, and is that a tear running down his eye? Jinx was concerned, the wood beam she sat upon groaning as she shifted her weight in contemplation of going down to greet he struggling man yet a knock at the door told her else wise.

The oxygen becomes thin in the room as the seconds tick over not slow enough. Silco nods his head towards the door, falling back into his chair and reigniting his cigar before looking up towards the ceiling where he catches a hint of blue.

Sighing he looks down to see who arrives seeing his contracted hitman turn in the men who had hunted you through the streets he had thought to have scared in order to keep you safe, you disgust me.

The scaled hitman opens his palm, demanding his payment as Sevika throws him a dufflebag of cash before the heavy oak doors slam closed. And with a calmness both women hadn't seen earlier, Silco stands up from his chair, tapping his cigar out before unbuttoning and rolling up his sleeves.

The ex-henchmen's eyes go wide with panic, they move their bound feet and hands frantically, trying to flee from Silco as he slowly walks over and stands before them both at his feet.

They watch as his head tilts, neck cracking with the side-to-side motion. A band over their mouths blocks their screams of their impending doom as Silco leans forwards, hair covering parts of his eye yet his yellow one glows through the darkness as he chuckles.

"You took everything from me," Silcos words echo throughout the room, softly spoken to hide the pain fluctuating in his words. He lets his words sit heavy in the room, falling and engraving themselves into their ears before all that can be heard his their screams calling out to Silcos heart.

Sevika shifts her footing, looking up to Jinx who blankly stares at the two dead figures in the office, her eye twitches before she jumps down watching as Silcos back tenses, shoulders rising and falling with his ragged breaths.

Grabbing a towel set down on an armchair, Silco cleans off the blood from his fingers tips slowly, watching them get clean before interlacing his fingers and closing his eyes, "one minute quicker, hm," he whispers underneath his breath before looking over his shoulder.

"Sevika?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Dispose of these corpses, burn them, throw them into the bay, I do not care- just be rid of them, " Silco demands, stepping over one of their legs before standing before Jinx who opens her arms in a silent ask before Silco sighs and gives her a hug.

Jinx can feel his tremors, his fingers shaking as they pick up a braid, "you know that I will protect you, always," Silco whispers into her hair and all Jinx can do is nod, her mind racing with scenarios to explain what just happened but she decides to save those questions for another moment as she waits for Silco to calm.

─────── · ·

"Let us take a walk," Silco says, appearing suddenly in Jinx's space a few days after the... event. She stands up abruptly, shutting down the music and nods violently before jogging after the man.

Silcos hand stay in the pockets of his jacket as he walks down through the streets and through the mist before standing above a drain cover. Jinx raises a brow, looking around the alleyway confused.

"Why are we here?" she asks, turning with a whistle as she kicks an empty trashcan, a rat scurrying away between her feet as her lip moves up, showing her teeth in disgust.

"Here is where I lost another part of myself, here it died," Silco states before crouching down to feel where he remembered your blood to have settled between its grooves. "But I though Vander tried to drown you in the bay?"

"That he did but he only killed a weak man then. Here is where I don't identify with the living any longer," Silco explains before standing to watch the confusion cloud over Jinx's features.

"I don't get it... are you like a cat with nine lives or some shit?" Jinx asks, taking a step closer to poke at the man with a smile yet all she receives is a bitter chuckle and dead stare forwards.

"Hm, no. You could have had a mother, you do have a mother, before the world had to take that away from us too. See that we can only trust in one another and if you were to kill me for whatever reason know that I would not blame you for there is little I could want now, even my own life," Silco spits out that last word with distaste as Jinx panics, hands stopping just before giving the man another hug.

"Why- why would you say something like that?!" Jinx cries, stepping back as she shakes her head. "I could have had a mom, how, what? Silco- I'm so confused..."

"I loved a woman- love a woman ever since I had known Vander. She reminds me much of yourself, bright, cheerful, intelligent and holds a wicked sense of humour. She could just stand there and you couldn't help but want to be near her... and then I... I killed her unknowingly... the men I had hired to protect her took her from me. Took the life away we could have had together as a family..." Silco turns around without another word, storming back to the Last Drop in need of another drink as Jinx watches him leave with a huff before reaching down to feel here Silco just touched.

"I'll find you," Jinx says with a determined tone to herself before standing back up and jogging to catch up with Silco.

─────── · ·

You stood in your apartment, a pot of stew boiling on the stovetop as you danced around to a record you had just bought. Your cat was sitting in their window box, tail swaying side to side with the beat as the setting sun illuminated the space in a golden glow.

A sudden turn of the front door had you smiling as you moved underneath the kitchen sink to dispose of your vegetable offshoots, "welcome back hun! I folded your laundry and dinner should be ready in five!"

You had heard no response, moving up swiftly and knocking your head against the countertop as you cursed, rubbing your scalp. To your surprise, your son, Rhyker was not there waiting for you at the dining table but a young woman around his age with two long braids that dragged across the floor.

How the fuck do people keep getting in? You ask yourself, picking back up that kitchen knife as you point it towards the younger woman. "And just who the fuck are you?" you question, the blade glimmering in the sunlight through the sheer blinds.

"I'm Jinx, pleasure to meet ya!" she says with a smile while opening her arms before stepping up to stand on the table, bending down to grab the knife out of your hand and to shake your other. "And now I'm gonna politely ask you to break-up with whatever 'hun' you have and come back with me!"

You stare at her, blinking and unmoving before furrowing your brows and tilting your head, "Is that a threat?" you ask in a calm tone, your patience reaching its breaking point after the week from hell you had experienced since Silco had decided to make a reappearance into your life. Rhyker had non-stop been asking questions every time he came home and every time you refused to answer he threatened to go and find his father and ask him himself.

You pinched your brow, trying to remove the oncoming headache as Jinx through the knife across the room without a second care and you did not even budge that had Jinx smiling. "I'll make it one if you don't start moving your top-side-ass to the door. I really need you to come with me, I mean I was used to his brooding and off-putting nature but now? Its a step to far, I mean, asking me to kill him? God, whatever you two must have done together must have been important for him..."

The door opens as Jinx's speech dies on her lips once seeing a younger Silco enter the door, "no fucking way," she mutters underneath her breath before leaving you in the dust to pick at your sons features and walk around his form.

"You look so much like him, holy shit!" the blue-haired woman says as you roll your eyes. "If Silco want anything to do with us, tell him this again for me, maybe it'll finally get through his thick skull, we are never coming back- not after what he did to me- to us!" you shout, picking up the knife once more as Rhyker rolls his eyes before setting down his bag. Not even sparing Jinx a second look before serving enough bowls for all three of you at the table.

"If you want answers, you might as well stay for dinner since I don't think my mom is letting us out of Piltover except in a bodybag," Rhyker explains without looking up from the pot as you and Jinx look between one another. This was going to be a long night...

─────── · ·

"So wait, let me get this straight, you and the old man were running Zaun and what? A little life or death scare and your out of it? I mean I at least die one a week, no wonder you are in Piltover you weak ass," Jinx says with a scoff before downing the rest of her second bowl of stew, "Great cooking by the way."

You return a scoff, picking up everyone's plates before moving back towards the sink. "When you get older... have a child... you tire more easily from that line- that at times, all you wish is to cross over rather than ride it," you explain.

"You sound just as depressing as Silco is, you two I would say are fucking perfect for one another," Jinx retorts, giving Rhyker a shove as he glares at her.

"No, that man has caused my mother nothing but pain. It was a mistake on my part going to look for him," Rhyker says, giving Jinx a shove back of her own as she miles wildly at him. "Well tinker-boy, know that me and your mom are heading back to Zaun tonight if you like it or not! I really need her, I mean Silco is ruining the business after he returned from whatever happened topside!"

"What? Did he finally feel the weight of his choices then? Good, then let him suffer as I did raising my boy by myself on the run and exhausted. If he can't last a few days then what good is he to me?" you retort, "I think it's time for you to leave."

"But!"

"No," Rhyker stands, looking down upon the blue-haired girl with a hardened glare. She can see Silco flashing in and out of her vision as she shakes her gaze clear and next thing she knows, she's being thrown out into the hall, the door locking behind her.

─────── · ·

Jinx stares at the closed door, giving it a solid kick before heading back to the Last Drop where Silco was already waiting for her in the lobby. "And where have you been, young lady?" Silco demands, kicking a shard of glass with his boot as both watch the pice shatter some more and scatter across the uneven floors.

"I went to go see, mom. She's really pretty, Silco! I have no idea how you pulled someone like her back in your days, I mean even her neighbour looked interested," Jinx says with a wide smile watching as Silcos eyes widen before hardening.

"What. did. you. just. say?" Silco asks again, annunciating every syllable.

"I. went. to. go. see. her." Jinx responds back before reaching over the bar to pour herself a glass of juice. "And just so you know, you son says 'hi'" With a echoing slurp, she sets her glass back down before giving Silco a pat on the back and running out the doors, "They're serving roast tomorrow!"

─────── · ·

Like clockwork, every night the blue-haired girl who you learned to be 'Jinx' shows up at your door and invites herself in for dinner. It takes weeks for you to finally warm up to her as Rhyker struggles with the concept of not having all your attention yet at the same time enjoys how much she seems to know about Silco without having to annoy you any longer.

You start to see her like your second child by the end of the mouth, making sure to buy foods she likes in the fridge and her favourite juice prepared as well for dinner. She helps you with the dishes afterwards, chatting to you (or sometimes at you), about how things are going in the Undercity as you nod along.

Her stories make you smile as she using her whole body to tell them, you love watching as Rhyker and Jinx share their sketchbooks and tech with one another on the living room carpet as you lean against a doorframe and observe them both, "do you two want some snacks?" you ask, looking at the time to be early morning hours yet nobody seems ready or really wanting to leave just yet- not even yourself from this moment.

Jinx nods enthusiastically as you laugh, her smile only growing from the sound as Rhyker throws a pillow at her before they both are play-fighting and tossing the couch contains everywhere before settling down for cheese and crackers. You nibble on some yourself, nodding along as they present to you their newest findings and next thing you know, you all are asleep in front of the fire that burns through to the next day.

When your eyes reopen you see Jinx staring down at you her hand hovers over your head as you reach up and hold her hand with a smile, "you are welcome to move in with us," you speak softly, not wanting to wake Rhyker up.

Jinx's eyes well with tears as she gives no reply but hugs you, gently before tightening as she sobs. You rub up and down her back, humming in her ear and rocking back in forth, "thank you," she whispers, closing her eyes to savour the moment as do you.

─────── · ·

Silco paced around his office, Jinx had not come back in days and every-person he hired to scout the undercity turned back without answers and empty handed. Sevika rolled her shoulders, "I could always look topside-"

"No. she wouldn't be there still, not unless..." Silco trails off before shaking his head and standing, Sevika beings to follow after him before he pauses, looking over his shoulder. "I should be good on my own, take the day off, If I do not return... know that you are left in charge-"

"Boss! I-" Sevika begins to plead, a part of her knowing how everything would turn tits up if he left.

"No, this is something I must do on my own for myself." And with that, he was gone from the shadows and emerged into the daylight, awaiting at your doorstep and surprised to see Jinx opening the door in fluffy pyjamas.

Silco glared, about to tell her, what if an officer was here instead? what if- "Don't worry, I knew that it was you at the door. Wouldn't have opened it otherwise, I know I'm still hot stuff up here now come in!" jinx opened the door that bit wider and Silco looked around the space in search for you.

"Mom-" Jinx's eyes widened alongside Silcos as they sat there in silence at the call of the title before Jinx continued, "Mom, won't be home until tonight. She's helping with one of Rhyker's school events."

Silco nods, closing the door behind himself and locking it before observing the various photos on the walls he didn't have a chance to the first time he visited. Only a visitor, Silco reminded himself as he set down a picture of you with a younger Rhyker in your arms with flowers in your hair.

You smiled widely in the photo as you did in each image, Silco watched as Rhyker grew up through them all before pausing at a smaller on on the mantel. It was you standing behind Jinx and Rhyker, your hands on their shoulders as they both looked up to you with smiles. Silco's heart ached, his fingers twitching to caress your face through the glass before falling back down to his side.

Jinx watched while rubbing her arm, "We hide that too anytime anyone comes over, I hide with Mr. Whiskers over here," Jinx explains, pointing to the cat now resting on her shoulders between her braids with a smile.

Silco observes how calm she appears, walking around the apartment and pouring out two glasses of water, "You know, I don't think I've ever been happier here. Sure I like walking around and shit and I do miss my stuff, and that drawing from Vi... and you and I guess Sevika couldn't give a shit but I miss her too and I just... I don't know."

Jinx can't explain what she feels when in the comfort of your home, of having a sibling that does annoy her yet also protects her, speaks with her and you... offering unconditional love, opening your home up to her even when she was connected with Silco. And maybe that was what made you offer it in the first place, that vision only your heart could see through its pain and torment just as Silco stood there in the Silence. Listening to how the tap dripped and the cat purred.

"I can see how it would be hard to leave, I do miss you back at home," Silco says yet hating the look of guilt that washes over her face. "Do not feel guilt, child, for living through happiness."

Jinx nods, "I have been having less... thoughts as well. I just, I don't want anything to ruin this."

"I know how you feel," Silco says, taking a seat at the table as Jinx does the same opposite of him. "Moms, not going to be happy when she see's you here," Jinx says watching as the cat hops down from the table to return to the sunlit windowsill.

Silco hums, disregarding Jinx's last words, "To love, is to hate. To forgive, is to regret, and when we face our reflections, we live wanting the past."

"Don't go speaking poetry on me again, old man. No wonder mom can't figure her feelings over you when you constantly speak in riddles!"Jinx ridicules, pointing a finger across the table as Silco shifts in his seat.

"I regret not following after your mother... of not taking a step away from my work to prioritize her. I was so focused on building our future, something I thought we both could be proud of. Yet my ambition drove through it all and now we are stuck here. It is no longer if Sevkia would have told me a minute earlier before the enforcers came- no. It was always me..." Silco sentence slows as he hears footsteps nearing. He is surprised to have not noticed the two people entering the room as Jinx smiles. Taking Rhyker by the arm and heading to his room as he shows her his newest robot.

Silco moves to stand before you place a hand on his shoulder, thumb rubbing at his back in a soothing motion. Silco reaches up, placing his hand atop your before picking it up and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

You both sit there in the silence that speaks greater than any words you both could come up with. Both of your life lines meeting at an intersection once more. You toy with us, picking up your other hand to feel the softness of his hair going through your fingers as Silco leans back so his head rests upon your chest.

"I don't know if I have it within myself to forgive the past you, Silco. But maybe I will be able to live with the new one," you explain, watching with a small smile how his eyes close from your touch as he murmurs back, "the old me died when I saw only your blood in that alleyway but my love will remain throughout the ages."

"I hope that love is something I don't have to count on again, Silco."

"You won't need to but only count on my actions."

"I hate that I have always loved you, Silco," you chuckle, beginning to pull away before Silco stands, stopping you as he pulls you into a hug, your head resting upon his chest, listening to how his heart beats in time with your own.

"Hate, love, all are the same at the end of the day as they both share passion at their core. All I want is you, your lips or your words placing stakes into my heart. Nothing of that matters as long as I have you. I love you, darling," Silco says, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other resting upon your lower back as you let out a breath.

"I love you too."

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: who doesn't love a happy ending 🥰

─ · · PART ONE

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