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kinaesthetiqueer · 6 months ago

Text

What These Hands Can Be

Rating: G

Words: 7,174

Pairing: Jaune Arc/Pyrrha Nikos

Characters: Jaune Arc, Pyrrha Nikos, minor Nora, Ren, RWBY, Oscar, Ozpin, Theodore, & Rumpole

Other Tags: Post Volume 9, set in Vacuo, alternating POV

Summary: Pyrrha barely knows what to do with her hands these days. She's been gone so long that everything, and everyone, is so different now. Even Jaune. Especially Jaune.

Author's note: My gift for @ssarkosghost for @remnants-of-rwby-exchange! I am so sorry that is a day late; please forgive me. I went to edit and accidentally added 3k... It is in its entirety below but the AO3 link will be by chapters.

gloved

Pyrrha spends a lot of time looking at her hands now.

Her nails are often chipped, bitten. When she was young, her mother had her wear gloves to curb the habit. They were just thick enough to keep her from nibbling the thin keratin to ragged edges. Mittens helped protect her young hands from bitter Argus winters when she wanted to build snowmen at the park. Garden gloves kept dirt from gathering under her nails as she worked alongside her mother in the tiny flowerbed their townhouse called its own. As she grew older, darker pairs helped to camouflage the tell-tale glow of her semblance in use, carefully hiding her critical advantage. Gloves, for one reason or another, have followed her throughout her life.

The desert is too hot for them.

Without them, Vacuan sands and wind roughen her palms beyond belief. Her callouses toughen, her fingertips thicken, and her palms crack, no matter how much moisturizer she applies after showers. There are other ways to minimize the damage, but to keep one’s aura shield engaged all the time outdoors was one of many marks of an outsider. Pyrrha shrinks at the thought of attracting even more attention.

Most people don’t recognize her these days anyway. Pyrrha runs her hands through her ponytail, much shorter than she remembers. It had been like when she’d emerged from the glowing golden portal, blinking and confused, stepping into what appeared to be a war room meeting of her closest friends and many unfamiliar adults.

“I’m sorry, I… I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Pyrrha had whispered into the silence, rubbing her throat. Her bare feet made little plap plap sounds on the cool sandstone as she took a few unsteady steps forward before stopping just out of reach of the closest person- a young, wide-eyed boy she didn’t recognize.

The portal shrunk, fizzled, and faded into oblivion while she struggled to remember why she’d just stepped into their midst. She fidgeted with the ends of her sash in her hands. Still, the urge to rub her throat remained, as if she needed to warm her voice box before speaking any more.

The crying and screaming broke the silence first- Nora’s shrieks, Ruby’s choked sobs, Yang’s cracking voice. Then came the questions- Blake’s skepticism, Ren’s disbelief, Weiss’ caution.

Are you really Pyrrha?

Oh, of that, she was positively sure.

What happened to you?

She had died, that was somewhat evident by the scar tissue that twisted and stretched beneath the fabric of her loose linen dress and the horrifying memory of searing heat. Ruby had nearly vomited on the spot at her halting recollection of her death, gaze pinned to the [place that Pyrrha massaged at her collar.

Where have you been?

That question haunts her, even now, a little over two weeks later.

One year, eleven months, three weeks, and five days. The number rolled off Nora’s tongue quicker than it had any right to, but with such fury and despair that no one questioned its accuracy. That was how long it had been since the Fall of Beacon, since she’d been gone, how long she’d been dead to her friends. It’s a massive amount of time to be unaccounted for and unexplainably absent. It had taken a woman Pyrrha had never met to get them to all finally believe that she was herself, that she wasn’t some trick of the enemy or especially vivid group hallucination.

It was when she’d taken Robyn Hill’s hand that she had first noticed she was no longer wearing her gloves. Robyn was wearing fingerless ones, much like Nora’s, but black. Robyn’s grip was firm, her soft smile reassuring.

“Just tell the truth,” she said.

There was not, and still is not, much to tell.

She’d died. There was nothing. Then there was golden light and they were staring at her. She was herself. She was alive. She didn’t know why her hair was cut or why she had a sash that should be ash, just as much as she should. She answered question after question until they sort of devolved into a distressed, hopeful argument about her existence.

At that point, with the truth told and nothing more for either of them to do, Robyn helped her sit in an extra chair to watch the proceedings. The action of sitting only made her realize how exhausted she was by the affair, even if she wanted nothing more than to be accepted into their fold again.

That being said, the results of their argument mattered little. Instead, Pyrrha finally dared to look over to the one person, out of friends and strangers, that had yet to say a word.

Jaune?

He stared at her, blue eyes wide. His hair was cut in an unfamiliar way and streaked with white that she didn’t remember. The lines around his eyes spoke to an age that shouldn’t be possible, but his haunted expression was more than just seeing his old partner back from the dead. That expression spoke volumes, though he did not.

“Hey,” Jaune says now, knocking on her open door “You ready to go?”

Pyrrha looks up from the creases in her palms, the unbroken lifelines and calloused fingertips, the bare nails and chapped knuckles. The tanned skin there is some of the only exposed skin she has. The rest of her is covered in brown, sheer compression arm and leg sleeves, a burgundy athletic romper, copper vambraces and greaves, and long boots and UV goggles, both suited for the sand. Her sash flows to her calves as she stands and reaches for Mellon and Tora, bringing them to her side with just a thought.

Her red gaiter hugs her neck, making it difficult for her to reach up and massage her throat. Jaune nods and turns into the hallway without a second thought though, so it’s not as if he needs to hear her say anything.

Pyrrha pulls the fabric up over her nose and follows Jaune without a word.

2. clenched

Pyrrha is dead.

Three words, one truth. Through the past years, it’s the one thing he has forced himself to believe and remember, despite the pain it causes. He had promised to fight in her memory, to do what she would have done. The tattered remnants of her extra sash always hug his waist, taut when he twists or bends and flaring out when he leaps or falls. Its flowing length reminds him that its owner lost her battle so that he might win a war. Isn’t that the truth of it? Such things are unchanging, immutable. Decades to reckon with that truth and now here it is undone, just as surely as his aching bones and rusted armor.

Pyrrha is back, Jaune thought when she stepped out of the glowing portal. Pyrrha is… alive?

Her bright green eyes, darting with uncertainty and anxiety, were as expressive as ever. Her hair was shorter, though still a ponytail in that same brilliant red. Her crown was absent, though its charms hung from her ears. With the white linen dress and her sash wrapped around her waist, she looked a bit mismatched, contrasting youth with a world weary frown he often saw in the mirror.

Two weeks and three days ago.

Jaune’s own tally picks up where Nora’s left off.

He can hear Pyrrha’s footsteps behind him as he winds his way through the cool hallways of the Shade Academy dorms. Her footsteps don’t sound like he remembers them, less assured. He tries not to listen and focuses on finding the way out. Another quirk of Shade was a particular aversion to exit signage; early on, it was helpful to stick with some of the other students, whether those from Vacuo or those who chose to attend Shade after the Fall. Now he’s that person for Pyrrha, leading her to the open common area that exits to the main campus.

I bet Pyrrha could probably just use a compass to get out.

His chuckle dies in his throat. No longer is it a hypothetical. What once might have been a bittersweet thought is a plausible reality.

Pyrrha is alive. She’s right there. Right behind me.

His thoughts echo her name relentlessly, a plea, a prayer, a petition. It’s caught between his ears in a way that he can’t force it past his lips.

It’s a trick. It’s just another trick- Jaune swallows, closing his eyes briefly to steady himself. In his mind’s eye, he can see Pyrrha behind him, cruel joy in her emerald eyes, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. He can almost feel the pain of Miló slicing through the gaps in his armor again.

No, it’s not. She’s here. We both are.

He takes a deep breath, holds it, and exhales. He hears Pyrrha step around him, approach his left side, and take a deep breath of her own.

“You… didn’t actually explain… what are we supposed to be doing?” Pyrrha murmurs, brushing against his side. The gesture can’t be more than an accident but suddenly it feels like every eye in the common area is on him and her, together.

He sidesteps, awkwardly covering the flinch by heading toward the doors again. He does remember the stilted text he’d sent; it’d taken nearly three hours to compose it.

> Need you ready for combat in fifteen. I’ll come by your room.

“Oh yeah, right. Headmaster Theodore got a transmission from a couple of miles out that a relay tower was damaged badly by the windstorm last night. He wants you to clear and organize the metal before someone actually fixes it.”

Jaune times his shove of the door with the end of his explanation and hopes that Pyrrha will not ask the obvious question. They step into the hot afternoon sun. Jaune squints, but Pyrrha just lowers her goggles over her eyes. She looks even more Vacuan than some of the townsfolk. While the so-called Beacon Brigade students, like teams CFVY and SSSN had to earn their respect at the ‘Skirmish of Shade’ and Jaune and RWBY came upon their respect with their efforts in Atlas and beyond, Pyrrha managed to curry the favor of a fair number of Vacuans simply through her sacrifice at Beacon. Her new outfit, her weapons, even her rudimentary scroll- they were all gifts from local shops. In a way, she belongs to this desert kingdom more than anything or anyone else.

“Jaune?”

He flinches too hard to hide it this time, but her expression is unreadable.

“Yeah?” Jaune swallows bitter bile, waiting for the inevitable question.

“Where are we going?”

We. Right.

“West, out of the city. Come on, we’ll be faster on the rooftops.” Jaune heads for the closest wall gate, desperate to leave his thoughts behind him.

“Jaune, please accompany Pyrrha on this mission,” Oscar had asked simply this morning in Theodore’s office. Before that, Jaune had been unsure why he had been summoned; Oscar’s text had very few details. Probably because he would have already been walking in the other direction, soulless desert be damned, if he’d known what these three had planned.

Headmaster Theodore, Professor Rumpole, and Oscar- yes, actually Oscar, judging by the slightly guilty expression- watched him expectantly.

“A squall came through last night and the Western relay node has gone offline; we need the wind damage cleared before we can actually repair it,” Theodore explained further. “That’s where you come in. I’ve sent coordinates to your scroll. Clear the debris and report back.”

Jaune casually adjusted the straps of his chest plate, trying to conceal the hitch in his breathing. “Oh, well, I was supposed to-”

“Xiao Long has been reassigned to a different mission with her teammate Schnee. Mr. Daichi and Ms. Scarlatina are handling your original mission,” Professor Rumpole raised an eyebrow up at him. “You’re clear to help your partner with this.”

“I mean, sure, but what about back up?” Jaune swallowed, nervous. “I’m sure Nora would love to help! They’ve been pretty close, right? Oh, or Ren! Grimm have been really nasty in that part of the desert, yeah? Wouldn’t it be better if-”

“If her partner stopped avoiding her?” Rumpole finished, crossing her arms and glaring at him. “We’re spread too thin to have full teams on small jobs.”

The room was silent for a moment.

Professor Rumpole wasn’t quite as terrifying as Professor Goodwitch, but eventually, he still looked away.

“Fine. We’ll get it done,” he muttered, already turning to go. He could see Oscar making a face out of the corner of his eye. Good, he could stand to feel a little guilty about it. There’s no doubt this was his idea.

I don’t want to… not yet.

“What’s the problem here? Stop spitting into the wind!” Theodore retorted, standing from his chair, pressing his gloved hands to his desktop and peering at Jaune. “Didn't you miss her?”

He froze, a wave of rage passing through him. He clenched his teeth and fists as the feeling filled every crevice of his soul and simmered into a boil. Then, just as quickly, the wave receded, drawing back until he was hollow once more.

“Of course, sir.” Jaune turned and left without another word.

It’s not as if anyone else would understand.

3. hesitant

Jaune leaps from rooftop to rooftop, with his only objective seeming to be to get out of the city in the westward direction. By the time Pyrrha’s moisture wicking underclothes have soaked up a gallon of sweat, they’re finally on the outskirts of the capital. They’re heading into the blazing sun, which isn’t relenting as it sinks lower toward the horizon.

Not once does he look back at her, only opting to look once she’s at his side in the shifting sands. Even then, he only glances at her and nods once. He pulls his scroll out,much higher tech than hers, and orients them with a map. In the distance, a blue objective waypoint blinks steadily. She nods and he puts it away as they set off.

Her words stick in her throat, like they so often do these days. As they jog through the sand, heat waves shimmer. The trick to running through the desert, as Fox Alistair graciously advised her last week, is to never give the sand a chance to know you’re there. Pyrrha springs from step to step, lightly pressing on the hundreds of grains under her sole for just a moment before pushing off again. Jaune runs alongside her, much more fit than she remembers. It almost makes her laugh, to see him so seriously engaging in exercise that would have had him gasping or swearing at Beacon.

Almost.

The sun has sunk lower into the sky by a few degrees by the time the mangled tower comes into view. Pyrrha almost skids to a stop at the sight of it, slowing her gait as they approach.

“Badly damaged?” She croaks out as they slide down the dunes that have been blown into formations around the structure. Once the sand settles under her, she takes a long drink from her water pouch. Jaune does the same, moving into the shadow of what’s still left standing.

“Emphasis on badly,” Jaune quips dryly. Then he looks over, startled, when Pyrrha snorts. The sound surprises her as well. She clears her throat and busies herself with another drink of precious water.

“Blueprints?” Pyrrha asks, conserving her words.

Jaune passes over his scroll. She peers at them, looking up at the twisted metal structure. Some of it can be bent back into shape, mainly the huge looming top half of the tower that hangs at a seventy-five degree angle. Other pieces scattered around are definitely just scrap now.

As she looks over and over the structure, she circles it and memorizes the appropriate shapes. Scattered shrapnel gathers into a pile without much thought, neatly pulled from the sand before it can pose a trip hazard. On her third circuit, Pyrrha dares to look up at Jaune.

He still sits listlessly in the tower’s shadow, sand pooling around the ankles of his boots. He has his arms folded across his knees, chin on his arms as he watches her work. Their eyes meet briefly before his gaze darts away. Still, he remains angled toward her.

Pyrrha points up at the twisted spires where the forces of nature had torn the metal apart. “Some of these are too big for me to adjust–”

“That’s fine,” Jaune says quickly. “Do what you can and we’ll–”

“–by myself?” Pyrrha finishes, trying not to look too hurt. The face coverings help with that. Nothing can hide how her shoulders curl in for a moment, betraying how much she wants to shrink under Tora and let the sand cover her.

“What am I gonna do?” Jaune snaps bitterly. His anger carries like sand on the wind. They stare at each other for a long moment, at once a few feet and a million miles away. Pyrrha coughs, reaching beneath her gaiter to massage her throat.

“You could… boost me?” Pyrrha suggests gently. No sooner than the words have left her mouth does she regret them.

Oh… I should have let him tell me. She frowns, licking her lips nervously. Would he have though?

Blue eyes snap up, wide and betrayed. Jaune’s eyebrows furrow, putting the pieces together. His accusation is swift and accurate: “Nora.”

“She’s been catching me up on what I missed,” Pyrrha says apologetically, clearing her throat again.

That was a bit of an understatement. Nora had spent an hour or so each night in their shared room rambling about JNPR’s misadventures after Beacon. Even though Nora falling asleep mid sentence was somewhat normal for them, she’d still double checked with Ren that she was okay, or at least close to it. They hadn’t yet gotten to the part where Nora earned the sharp, spider-webbing scars that adorn her skin now; Pyrrha hasn’t been sure if she’s allowed to ask.

“It has been a rough few months for us, Pyrrha,” Ren had said over mugs of cactus leaf tea, squeezing her hand kindly. “Let her enjoy talking to you again.”

It’s hard not to enjoy their late night talks. When the desert is dark and cold and the Shade dorms cool down enough for a light blanket, it’s positively cozy to listen to Nora ramble on about events she can only imagine. Besides, Nora doesn’t expect her to talk; she doesn’t need Pyrrha to clear the scratchy, annoying feeling in her throat to contribute. Her simple hums, sighs, and giggles do just fine.

“She’s mentioned it a few times so far,” Pyrrha explains as she fidgets, twisting her bare fingers around each other until her joints ache with the strain of contortion. There’s no escaping this awkwardness. There’s only the two of them, the blistering heat, and the dead reception tower for miles.

Jaune gets to his feet, stiffly approaching despite stumbling down the small remaining dunes. She watches him flex and clench his hands as he nears, until he’s just inches away from her, standing shoulder to shoulder. He stares up at the relay tower while she stares at the smooth expanse of his cheek.

Her fingers twitch.

“Yes. I can boost you,” he says finally, after they’ve stood there for a moment. She nods. After hovering with hesitation for a half-second, Jaune puts his hand on her shoulder.

Pyrrha gasps, reeling from the sensation.

Once before, she’d felt this power- the clear, pure, and deep well of Jaune’s soul. Back then, it had been just a moment, a passing awareness. Now, Jaune’s aura flows through her, intense and all-encompassing. It’s a cool stream, a fresh snow, a crisp mint leaf, an ocean wave-

“Hey, hey,” Jaune snaps, suddenly in front of her. He steadies her by the shoulders, searching her eyes with panic. “What’s wrong?”

Pyrrha surprises herself by laughing, joy as clear as wind chimes. When she lifts her goggles to wipe the tears of mirth from her eyes, they evaporate from her skin almost immediately. He lets go of her shoulders and steps back, swallowing hard.

“I was right,” Pyrrha gasps, trying to catch her breath. “You do have a lot of aura. Jaune, that’s amazing!”

For a moment, Jaune’s face is open and hopeful, beaming with something close to joy. Then something shifts; his expression shutters as surely as the city of Vacuo before a sandstorm. He takes another step to the side, keeping his hands to himself.

“It’s… well, yeah.” He sighs, looking up at the defunct lights that line the vertical beams of the tower. “I’m not the same stupid kid I was at Beacon.”

What?

Pyrrha opens her mouth but nothing comes out. She squeaks, furious at her voice for abandoning her. She reaches out for Jaune, but draws back almost immediately. He side-eyes her, gaze dropping to her hand, then to the sand at their feet.

“I can do less, if it’s easier. Just figured you’d want to get back to campus as soon as possible, you know?” Jaune continues, concentrating until his hands shimmer with aura. “I also don’t have to touch you. I should have asked. That’s on me.”

She frantically massages her throat with both hands, trying to get her fingers to find purchase on the sweat-soaked skin under her chin. Jaune frowns at the ground again, hand hovering near his belt now.

Finally, her voice struggles free. “Jaune, I–”

He hushes her. Somehow, that hurts more than anything else.

“Do you feel that?” He whispers, hand firm on the hilt of Crocea Mors now. Pyrrha feels anger swell and flare in her heart at the dismissal.

“Jaune, this is important–!”

It doesn’t matter how important what she needs to say next is.

The ground beneath them explodes.

4. sweaty

Beware sudden dunes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Jaune shouts as the burst of sand sends him flying several feet into the air.

The brisk advice had come from a fair number of people, namely members of CFVY who he'd tagged along with on missions in the early days of their return. The vagueness was purposeful, as any number of wildlife, geographic features, ruins, weather, or worse, Grimm, could cause new sand dune to arise. Velvet had at least elaborated with a story about a huge family of mole crabs.

This was no mole crab.

Jaune recovers midair, twisting to get his bearings as huge claws flail menacingly, reaching for purchase and prey. In mere seconds, the creature uncovers itself, shaking off sand to reveal its inky black carapace, ashen boney plates, glowing red markings, crimson eyes, and golden stinger.

“Deathstalker!” Jaune calls out, unsure where Pyrrha is. He expands his shield and lets its hard light wings catch the wind, carrying him out and away from the relay tower. He stumbles into a run at the far edge of the crater made of dunes. Now that he turns around, frantically sweeping his gaze across the landscape, it’s relatively obvious that the dunes that allowed the tower's full height to be revealed were hiding something dangerous. Relay towers didn’t sit in craters of their own making, not in this ever-shifting landscape.

Not again. No, no. Where is she?

He searches for bright red among the settling sand cloud, shielding his eyes as the Grimm hisses. It swivels its body toward the communication tower. Jaune’s heart sinks as he sees the object of its focus.

Pyrrha crouches within the twisted spire of the relay tower, precariously balancing one of the remaining beams. Her newly forged weapons, not too dissimilar from Miló and Akoúo̱, glint in her hands. The blade of Mellon, in its short sword form, retracts on its cord as she watches warily, making the sound that the creature hones in on. Though she is still, the whirring is like catnip; this Grimm is on the hunt.

“It can hear you!” Jaune shouts to her, running down the dune to the fight. Nothing else is likely to be here, right? A Grimm this big shouldn’t tolerate too many others. But a Grimm this big shouldn’t be so close to the settlements either! …I guess anything’s possible with three Kingdom’s worth of stress calling every Grimm on Remnant.

As he’d expected, the Grimm swivels toward him, its beady red eyes glimmering in the sunlight. With the scattered sand settling, the heat becomes oppressive again. He ducks and parries the pincher that swings toward him with his sword, then blocks the other with his shield. The impact nearly squashes him, but he activates his shield to force it back. His timing is perfect, almost instinctual now.

“Jaune!” Pyrrha shouts from above. As the deflected claw rears into the sky, a swarm of shrapnel attacks the creature’s face, piercing its eyes until they weep black and red sludge. Jaune scrambles out of the way as it flails and screeches in agony. Pyrrha clambers down the ladder-like structure, face unreadable behind her goggles.

The sand explodes in front of them as the Deathstalker slams its stinger into the sand where he’d just been standing.

“Great!” Jaune shouts bitterly as they sprint away from it, putting the relay tower between them and the monster. “Now it’s pissed and blind!”

“I’m sorry! It was about to crush you!” Pyrrha cries out. “What else was I supposed to do?”

He rolls his eyes and doesn’t answer. What else indeed.

The Deathstalker screeches behind them, drowning out Jaune’s harsh bark of laughter. Still, Pyrrha looks at him oddly, tilting her head. He ignores her, looking around. The Grimm itself is nearly half the size of the crater. The only thing nearby is the tower, its twisted metal, and the concrete platform that anchors it in the desert. Above them, the bulk of it twists to the side like a misshapen crane arm.

“Get us up there!” Jaune demands, gratified that Pyrrha questions neither his order nor his tone. She immediately crouches and launches him off her shield. Carefully composed as he soars upward, Jaune grabs one of the steel beams and pulls himself onto it. Pyrrha follows, wrapping Mellon’s grappling cable around a piece of metal a few feet away. It carries her to safety for the second time today just as the Grimm scuttles over, ramming its stinger into the sand again. Its struggle to remove the stinger conceals the sound of the cord retracting this time.

Small mercies.

Pyrrha looks over her weapons in her hands, perched next to him. “Jaune-”

“I’m thinking!” he hisses, watching the beast howl with frustration as sand sprays up into the air and its stinger comes up empty.

She yanks her neck gaiter down to her collar and lifts her goggles into her bangs. “Listen to me!”

“What part of thinking-”

“Jaune,” Pyrrha cries out. “I’m not going to lose you again!”

“You didn’t lose me, Pyrrha!” Jaune snaps back. “You can’t lose something on purpose.”

This high in the air, the hot, dry wind whips around them. Pyrrha licks her lips, expression pinched in a rare moment of irritation.

“What?”

The tide within Jaune swells. The wave crests, but it doesn’t break. He looks away, trying to spot the shimmering mirage of Vacuo city in the far distance. At this time of day, it’s too hazy with the darkening sky to see much of anything.

“I thought you remembered everything,” he mutters. Then he swallows, “this isn’t the time for this.”

Get it together.

“I fail to see any other time for it!” Pyrrha exclaims, voice cracking. “Why is it that it takes mortal peril for us to talk to each other?”

“No way! You don’t get to put this on me!” Jaune snarls, unable to quell the vicious bite in his voice. “All I ever wanted to do was talk to you! You couldn’t even let me return the favor! You kept me going at Beacon, day in and day out, but when the time came for you to actually trust me, you shoved me away! You didn’t even give me a chance-”

“Ozpin didn’t even want us fighting her!” Pyrrha puts her shield on her back so she can balance better, coiled like a spring on the precarious perch. Jaune mirrors her, except he sheaths his sword instead. Old, buried anger comes to the surface. He’s kneeling amongst the rubble of Vale again, trying to make sense of the locker he’s just crawled out of and hoping against hope that he’s having a particularly bad nightmare.

“Exactly! Ozpin died fighting Cinder! But you thought you could do it by yourself?” Jaune laughs bitterly, all too aware that there are tears streaming down his face. “Do you know how many times I’ve defended you and your last choice? Surely, I thought, surely my partner didn’t ship me off and go get herself killed in a fight she knew she'd lose! Of course she thought she stood a chance! Of course she just needed to get me out of her way!”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. Even the Grimm is quiet beneath them.

“Did you… Did you just think I thought you were in my way?" Pyrrha shouts, eyes wide in disbelief.

Jaune doesn’t hesitate to snipe back. “What else was I supposed to think?”

Pyrrha’s face twists with pain or anger; they’re so unfamiliar on her countenance that it’s hard to tell. She clenches her empty hand, pressing her fist against her thigh.

“I was protecting you!”

“I didn’t need you to protect me!” Jaune counters, as the wave of anger finally crashes to shore. “I needed you, Pyrrha!”

5. gentle

In two weeks and three days, Jaune has not once said her name.

His initial silence was unsettling. His surprised stare was unyielding. After all of the excitement and questions had settled, he’d finally spoken, cutting across the chatter.

“Robyn, could you?”

She’d taken Pyrrha’s hand again, almost apologetically, then nodded at Jaune. He’d taken a deep breath, before looking her in the eye, seeing her and not just past her. She’d shivered, feeling undone by his intensity.

“What are you?”

Those three words inspired nothing but confusion. “I… I don’t think I understand. What am I? I’m… a huntress-in-training? A girl?”

Your partner?

She’d kept that one to herself.

Despite wanting to puzzle out the expression on his face, she glanced down in time to watch Robyn’s aura shimmer from pale purple to bright green. She looked back up at Jaune, at Ruby and her team who looked between her and him with varying levels of disapproval and understanding. Finally, Jaune sat back in his chair and sighed, apparently content with that answer. The tension still did not leave his shoulders.

“Alright then,” he said quietly into the silence. “Welcome back.”

The greeting felt hollow, especially since he went out of his way to avoid her from that moment onward. In fact, between her miraculous return and their current mission, she could count their conversations on her fingers.

Now, she rubs her fingertips on the woven texture of her compression tights, savoring the distracting sensation. There’s nothing else to say but the truth.

“I knew I was going to lose you,” Pyrrha insists, using the word that had started this entire argument. “But I wanted you to at least be alive if I had to.”

Jaune is pale, his fury waning by the moment. The tear tracks on his cheeks dry almost as quickly as they’re created. “What did that matter? We could have both made it out. It wasn’t… You didn’t… Damn it, Pyrrha.”

“Jaune, hear me please. Running would have killed me, even if I still drew breath,” Pyrrha swallows nervously, but the lump that has plagued her all these days is completely gone. She continues, “I thought if I fought, I might survive. I could live or die with that, if you were okay. I hadn’t abandoned my duty and I hadn’t failed you.”

“But you made me abandon you.”

Pyrrha smiles, just for a moment. “That was selfish of me, wasn’t it?”

“It was!” Jaune shouts, flinging his free hand out so hard he nearly loses his balance. Pyrrha flings her own hand out, yanking his breastplate toward her with her semblance. He yelps as he stumbles forward over the metal trusses, nearly colliding with her. He flails for a moment, but quickly regains his balance.

The tower groans. With both of them tipping the scale away from the base, its stability compromises rapidly. Pyrrha glances down at the scuttling Grimm beneath them, still wandering in the fugue of its own rage and agony.

“Yes. It was,” Pyrrha whispers. She relaxes her semblance, allowing him to move away from her.

Jaune doesn’t budge. Neither of them do, knelt precariously across from each other. Her hand hovers between them, still outstretched and bare. Gently, she places her hand on his cheek, expecting him to flinch. But he doesn’t. He leans into it, sighing and letting his eyes slip closed. His skin is rough to the touch, with soft barely-there hairs that tickle the ridges of her finger pads. It’s a wonder all of its own, the feeling of her skin pressed to his.

“I have always loved fighting by your side, Jaune,” Pyrrha murmurs, stroking her thumb along his cheekbone and wiping his tears away. “It terrified me that you might die by mine.”

“Then let me choose that,” Jaune whispers. “You owe me at least that much.”

The metal scaffold beneath them shudders, nearly throwing them off. Pyrrha keeps them both pinned to it, gasping with the force of the continued ramming. Below them, the Grimm has finally given up on trying to reach them directly. It slams its pinchers into the heavily fortified poles at the base, screeching in frustration. They gawk at it, then at each other as the metal beneath them begins to creak and sway even more. The Deathstalker screeches and turns in a circle, viciously stabbing into the stand with its claws.

“Okay,” Pyrrha promises quickly, though the thought of it seizes her heart in a familiar vice grip. “I swear I won’t… I won’t make that choice for you again.”

Jaune nods into her hand, closing his eyes briefly. He sighs.

“To be clear though,” Jaune says with a tiny, watery laugh, “I’m not trying to die by your side anytime soon. Or ever?”

Pyrrha responds with a tiny giggle of her own as the Deathstalker begins to slam the tower again, jostling them. “So not today?”

“Definitely not today!” Jaune yelps. “Fight and live?”

“Fight and live!” Pyrrha repeats, pulling away to put Mellon back in her belt. They scramble to their feet, running for the main tower as the metal twists and groans beneath them. Jaune turns back to grab her hand, helping them both stay steady as they leap for the tiny grate that acts as a service platform within the main body of the tower. Some twenty feet below, the Deathstalker continues to bellow and batter the foundation, its single-minded hatred fueling it beyond reason. That fury makes it dangerous to fight up close, but in a few more hits, they won’t have a choice.

“Jaune?” Pyrrha shouts over the cacophony of bestial rage and structural collapse. He tears his gaze away from the furious Grimm and raises an eyebrow at her. She squeezes his hand and grins. “Help me?”

He smiles in understanding. This time, when Jaune activates his semblance, Pyrrha is ready for the burst of power and energy that flows through her. She flings out her free hand toward the huge piece of tower that had been their perch, seizing it and flipping her wrist to twist it off the main structure.

The motion shakes the tower, but Jaune catches her by the waist, anchoring them both by clinging to the foundation beam nearby. Pyrrha gasps her thanks, then continues to focus on the task at hand. She lifts the huge chunk of metal as easily as a handful of ball bearings, then crushes her fist, shaping it into a wicked javelin of steel.

Then, with Jaune holding her steady, she flings the makeshift weapon at the Deathstalker’s back. The Grimm screeches in agony as its carapace rips in two, expelling viscous sludge several feet into the air. Flailing its stinger, it struggles where it's skewered into the sand, then finally goes limp. It, and its sludge, dissipate, carrying black ash onto the wind and into oblivion.

They both relax their semblances as one, exhaling with relief. Still Jaune doesn’t let go of her; she makes no effort to move away. Further beyond the relay tower, the sun sinks below the horizon, throwing reds, oranges, and dark purples into the sky.

“Uh, well… if headmaster Theodore asks…” Jaune clears his throat, looking down at the metal carnage below them. The Grim had completely destroyed every bit of the distribution box and shredded the cable connection. CCT technicians, they were not, but anyone could see it was beyond hope. “It was like that when we got here?”

Pyrrha snorts once, then again and again until she’s howling with laughter. She turns and throws her arms around his neck, gratified when he hugs her back with the same intensity. The tower trembles a little underneath them, but it’s not going anywhere anytime soon. Neither are they.

She’s been back for two weeks, three days, and a handful of hours, but only now does Pyrrha feel that she’s home.

“Hey, Pyr?” The love in the nickname punches the wind out of her lungs. She nods into his shoulder until he continues. “The next time you want me to leave, just ask, okay?”

She nods again, clinging to him even tighter. However, she knows, just as well as he does, that she could want nothing less than that. She pauses, concerned.

Does he know? Please… I need him to know.

Choked, Pyrrha murmurs, “I never want you to leave me again, Jaune.”

She can hear the tears in his voice as he replies, “Okay, good, we’re on the same page then.”

Let’s stay that way.

Their trek back to Shade takes much longer than their breakneck outgoing pace. They take down small Grimm here and there, chatting about pasts both separate and shared, walking shoulder to shoulder in the cooling desert. He hugs her before leaving her at her room door, promising breakfast together. It’s both the most normal and oddest thing that has happened in her whole second life.

Exhausted, Pyrrha showers and crawls under her blanket. Whatever missions she had today, Nora isn’t back yet, though it’s plenty late enough for their nightly life updates. Somehow though, she knows she wouldn’t be able to listen for very long. Her eyelids droop shut and she snuggles into her pillow, grateful for its softness.

“I can only do this for you,” whispers the memory of an unfamiliar voice, just as she’s drifting off. “You’ll arrive just when you’re needed and you’ll arrive just when you need it. You’ll say what you need when the time is right to say it and you’ll listen when you need to hear. Everything beyond that is up to you.”

When she wakes the next morning, it’s because Nora is bouncing on the end of her bed.

“Pyr, wake up! It’s Friday! It’s five-thirty and it’s already hot!” Nora announces gleefully. Moreso than other mornings, she can’t help but notice her energy seems more genuine than usual, more like the joy she once had at Beacon. “Get up, get up! I want breakfast!”

Pyrrha sits up slowly, combing her fingers through her hair. Small grains of sand fall to the blanket. She also has the distinct sensation of a dream slipping through her fingers. She frowns, grasping for the memory to no avail.

“Pyrrha?” Nora asks, coming to rest on her knees in front of her. “What’s wrong?”

She blinks at her friend and smiles. “I had a dream I think… I just can’t remember it anymore.”

At this Nora beams and crows, “Dreams, scheams! Who needs them? We have the whole day ahead of us!”

Her hope and enthusiasm is contagious. Pyrrha grins and sweeps her into a tight hug. Nora squeaks and hugs her back, obviously startled but not unhappy about it. When she finally pulls back, neither of them mention the tears on the other’s cheeks.

“You said something about breakfast?”

Nora takes her by the hand and drags her out of bed, then throws her combat outfit at her face. She catches it easily.

“Yep! And it waits for no one! Come on, we have so much to do today!”

Pyrrha can feel her heartbeat quicken with joy, tugging her lips into a smile.

Today, and everyday after that…

It’s a life worth fighting for.

Epilogue

Thursday Evening

Theodore sighs. “Oz, this is a risky gamble you’re taking.”

The nickname makes him twitch a little bit.

Half a dozen conversations have come and gone, not to mention a host of different people needing their audience. Oscar makes no decisions without Theodore’s council and he makes none without Rumpole’s. They’ve been in this office for hours, and yet there’s no question of the gamble to which he refers. It’s been a few hours since he’d called Jaune in for a mission assignment.

“Oscar,” he reminds the headmaster. True, it was Ozpin’s memory of JNPR’s initiation shenanigans that had given him the idea, but it was a plan all of his own. “And it’s nothing they can’t handle.”

“How long do you think it’ll take for them to realize we’ve sent them to a defunct relay tower with an active Deathstalker den?” Rumpole mutters.

“Hopefully longer than it takes for them to say what they need to say to each other,” Oscar replies, sipping his cactus leaf tea.

Rumpole is even shorter than Oscar, but her unimpressed glare manages to make him shrink into his chair a bit, chagrined.

“I may… also have Ren and Nora on standby at the current Western relay node, just a half mile way?” Oscar admits, flushing. “If something goes wrong, they’ll handle it.”

This made Theodore laugh loudly, his voice booming in the tiny office. Oscar winces at the sound, but it’s impossible to escape it. By the time the older man finishes, he has tears in his eyes.

“Ah yes, the other partner duo famous for currently getting along!”

“How convenient,” Rumpole drawls, dusting off her vest with a roll of her eyes.

“Two Nevermore, one bullet,” Oscar quips. He salutes them with his teacup and heads for the door.

Well, you certainly seem rather pleased with yourself, says Ozpin, amusement plain as day.

Oscar smiles into his tea, a small smile just between them.

By magic and miracles beyond his own power, Jaune, Nora, Pyrrha, and Ren had each other once more. With these little nudges, team JNPR will surely ride again, changed but whole.

It’s the least we could do, don’t you think?

#arkos #jaune arc #pyrrha nikos #rwby #rwby fic #remnants of rwby: fanworks exchange #kina updates #i am unreasonably proud of this one i really hope you like it!#ssarkosghost

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the-real-treasure · 4 months ago

Text

Treasure Treasure!

An OPLA Sanji x Reader

Master List Here

Previous Chapter: Sweet Syrupy Lies

Chapter Six: Let Sleeping Cats Die

Summary : As fights rage in the grounds of the mansion and mysteries are revealed, the hunt for pirates and pale girls begin in the shadows of the old stately home.

Author's Note: [WARNING] Please heed the trigger warnings and know that this chapter depicts the Reader losing control of their body and act gratuitous violence done, physically, by the Reader while not in control. If you do not want to read it, it will be marked with lines of asterisks (**********) at the beginning and end. If you don't think you can handle it, please do not attempt to. The story is not as important as your mental wellbeing. Thank you for reading.

Trigger Warnings: Threats and extreme descriptions of violence, blood, death (not a main character), Reader's Devil Fruit power is overwhelming and overstimulating, Reader's Devil Fruit is sentient, swearing, threatening language and behaviour, loss of body autonomy and control, scars, body mutilation, vomit Word Count: 4,875 **Edited: 16/09/24**

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Your arm was shrieking with pain as loudly as your mouth. The chains that had been engraved in your skin for as long as your memories served, now stretched across the gravel path, having left a large bleeding welt on the face of Roku. The searing pain made your body quiver, it felt like the flesh of your arm had been gouged out, the ink stealing muscle and sinew from you as it escaped your body. The entire chain clattered as it hit the ground, dark metal almost black in the dim light, laying parallel to the one still wrapped around your ankle.

With a snarl, he snatches the end of your chain from the ground, and using both now, he yanks you towards him again. Another rattling scream leaves you, the feeling like your arm is being torn from your body, and you realise that while the chain had vacated its space on your arm, it remained attached at your wrist.

Thinking fast, you weave your arm through it as the metal is pull taut, and as it pulls your back from the ground you stamp your foot down on the chain wound round your leg. With a pained yell, Roku gives another yank, and you let him lever you upright, kicking the offending metal from your leg before it slinks back to its master, and you take a firm grip with both hands on your own chain.

Now standing upright, your head swims with the pain, but you are used to having a loud and cloudy mind, so this isn't much different. Your eyes churn in a vortex, a pair of phosphorescent gold and aqua whirlpools gleaming in the night as your glare at Roku, sharp canines on display as you bear your teeth in a snarl. He returns the expression, green eyes reflecting gold as the light catches in them and fangs matching your own as he growls in return.

"Wheres you from den? Was your name?" He steps one foot back, leaning his body back and pulling you forward, arm burning and bear feet digging into the ground and sending small rocks skittering. You pull back against him, keeping the chain between you pulled tight.

"Nakayoshi Y/n. And I'm from Baratie, you ungodly fuck!" You grit your teeth and yank the chain with all your strength, but it barely sets him wobbling and he sniggers as he slams the chain, wrapped securely around his knuckles, into the ground, pulling it back up as it sends a wave though the links, knocking you off balance for a moment.

"Not where you lives now, I mean wheres you born, you stupid or someit?" Your face falls in confusion at his words and you take a firm step towards him. You wind the loosening chain tighter around your arm, and it slots back into your skin with ease, the scorching pain lessening slightly as you advance on the brute.

"I was born," you grunt as you take another step, keeping the chain taut but pulling closer and closer as Roku stands watching you, "in the North Blue, why do you care?" A wicked smile pulls at his cheeks, revealing the black, rotten and missing teeth in the back of his mouth.

"I care," he replies with glee, "'Cuz yer lying. And if there's one thing I hates, it bes a LIAR!" And with a whooping laugh, he takes the chain and, with all his might, swings it behind him. You offer no resistance, letting the motion pull you at roaring speeds towards him. You reach out a hand as you rocket past him, and your sharp nails catch in his cheek, ripping through his eye and skin and tearing the ear off his head as you go.

With a pig like squeal, he drops his hold on the chain, hands clapping to the side of his face to hold its structure in place as he leaps and pounds on the ground in a roaring fury. You gag as the blood spatters over your face, arm and chest and the mangled ear drops to the ground with a wet 'splat'. The chain clangs to the ground in a heap, and you wind it back into place in your arm, each link back in place relieving your pain as it goes. He explodes in rage behind you.

"YOU LITTLE FREAK! YOU LYING CONNIVING LITTLE SHITBIRD! THE ONLY ONEs WIT THESE CHAINS IS THE KUSARI FAMILY AND ALL THEM BASTARDS IS ON GAKA ISLAND, SO DON'TS YOU LIE TO ME!" You stare in bewilderment as his hands drop, revealing the mutilated sight of his face.

Blood pours from the gashes crossing his face, and you swallow back bile at the damage done. From the bridge of his nose, four gashes, deep and weeping, trail up over the right side of his face, eye gouged and bloody, leading to the side of his head where the skin where his ear had been was butchered beyond belief. The air around you was filled with the sound of his panting breaths as he advances towards you.

"If you fink, after that, tha' I'm gonna let you live, yous have another fing coming." Blood spattered out of his mouth as he spoke. He dropped his stance and let his arms hand low. From the long baggy sleeves of his blood soaked shirt, metallic clinks sound as two lengths of chain fall to the ground, ends still snaking up his arms. "You'wa gonna wish tha' basta'd fatha of you was neva let you leave home!"

With a bellow, he lunges, chains lashing towards you. You drop and skitter out of the way, leg catching both of his as he shoots past you. You let out a shout as you roll through one of the pristine hedges, hands slipping out from under you as you tumble face first down a long lawned hill before crashing through a thick layer of bamboo. As he stumbles and lands in the ground just as you did, you hear the harsh echoing clang of the chains hitting the brick of the house. Snarling he spins on his heel, chasing you through the bush and careering down the sharp incline after you. He lunges at you again, and you scramble backwards on your hands and bum as he whips he chains into the ground at you over, and over and over, each time advancing closer and closer on you. He raises both arms over his head to bludgeon you with the chains and you stiffen, staring up at him as your heart races and your head pounds.

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For a moment it feels like time freezes around you. A shrill ringing fills your mind as your vision glazes over, and your body feels like its swimming though tar. For a fraction of a fraction of a second, your whole body flares with pain and then-

Nothing

Emptiness engulfs you and you feel, suspending in mid-air. You watch, like your body isn't your own, as you lift your arms and catch the swinging chains as the crash down towards you.

You feel no pain. You feel nothing.

Roku's eyes widen as you bounce upright, and still you watch, still in your silent empty bubble as your body moves and you sit helplessly. Your body leaps, with frightening ease, passing over the giant of a man who naturally towered over you. His eyes widen, and you realise that you're moving faster then you ever have as he struggles in slow motion. Pulling his chains with you, you straighten your arms above your head,

And yank straight down.

The crack echoes through the quiet in your mind and the man behind you begins shrieking. Dropping your grip and turning to face him, your body looks down at the man laying prone, back snapped and sitting at an horrifying angle, your eyes burning bloody red.

Disgust at your actions fill you but the nothing batters you from everywhere surrounding you. You will your legs to step back, away from him.

Nothing happens.

You struggle, desperate to turn your head, to squeeze your eyes shut, for anything.

Still nothing.

You want to scream, but everything refuses as your body finally moves, driving a knee in between the shoulder blades of the screaming man on the ground and takes a hold of either side of his head.

Stop! Stop-stop, don't, please! PLEASE!

(Survivesurvivesurvive)

(It's not a voice you know.)

Don't do this! I can just leave him here, don't do it!

(Protect)

(This has never happened before.)

The crack echoes across the ground, and your sense crash down around in a flash so sudden you nearly vomit.

(If you think I won't protect you like this again, you're wrong)

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A scream of "STOP!" bounces through the air around you as you stare at the sight below you in horror. Roku was vicious, it seemed like he would happily have killed you, but this- you couldn't- it wasn't meant to-

"Y/n?" A shaky voice calls from your right, and as your hands shakily pull away from the man corpse below you, you turn your head. As the red in your eyes melt away into their aqua again, everything sounds like its under water.

Staring at you against a background of tall straight bamboo, stood a small crowd of horrified Marines carrying your unconscious captain, headed by a terrified looking Helmeppo and an aghast Koby. A shaking Den Den Mushi camera is lifted over the heads of the Marines, the flash illuminating the petrifying image of you that would circulate in the next few days with the news coo in a newly minted wanted poster, soaked in blood and crouched over the mutilated corpse, glowing eyes shrunken and unfocused.

You slowly, slowly, rise, swaying on your feet. One of the men holding Luffy aloft drops his hold on him, instead pulling and raising his rifle and pointing it at your face.

"FREEZE!" Head still bleary, your eyes turn to Koby, the pink haired boy already staring at you. Helmeppo nudges him. He's shaking.

The blonde nudges him again, gesturing up at your figure when he looks back. His eyes are wide behind round glasses, he takes a step forward and speaks after stuttering for a moment.

"By order of the Marines, I'm placing you under arrest for m-" his lips pull together and quiver slightly, eyes darting to the body at your feet, "m-murder." The word is gasped out, much quieter then the rest.

You just look at him.

One of the other cadets, a tall boy with black hair, that was stood at the back of the group moves forward hesitantly.

You don't move.

He takes hold of one suddenly aching arm, and then the other, before pulling them both behind your back to snap shackles into place on your wrists.

Your eyes begin to water and your breath quickens as the world around you finally begins to stop spinning. As he shuffles you down to stand behind your captain, you hear a gargled murmur leave him.

"Meaattttt." Helmeppo turns, bravado returning now that you're cuffed and under control, and asks him,

"What was that, Straw Hat?" He marches up the barely conscious pirate. "You got something to say?"

Within the second he finished speaking, Luffy opens his mouth and projectiles disgusting blue vomit all down the front of Helmeppo, the rancid smell mixing with the putrid metallic tang of blood in such a terrible mixture that it turns your already weakened stomach and you screw your eyes shut, damning the return of your hypersensitive senses.

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Koby leans over Luffy, patting him on the back as he continues to gag and retch on the ground. He finally sits up, wiping his mouth as he turns to the boy beside him.

"Koby, I gotta go back. The butler." Your ears prick up. The man in the dark suit in the cellar did look awfully familiar. "He's gonna kill Kaya, and then he's gonna go after my crew." Helmeppo sneers,

"I think we're in more danger of your crew going after him." He starts as he turns to peer at you, glowing eyes already staring at him in the dark. Koby ignores him.

"I'm under direct orders to bring you in." Luffy rests his hand on Koby's shoulder.

"You said you wanted to help innocent people. Kaya's innocent." Helmeppo sighed.

"You know what? Screw this." Helmeppo draws his pistol and points it at your captain. A shot of panic rushes through you, and you push towards him, the now four cadets between you and him standing in your way.

"Helmeppo, don't!"

"Father always said, "Dead pirate weighs the same as a live one.""

"Garp gave us strict orders!" You hear a grunt from either side of you, the two cadets clinging to your arms dropping to the ground unconscious as Zoro slips past you, nudging a stolen key from one of them into your hands.

"He gave you strict orders. Start walking pirate. Or die." They both turn as Zoro incapacitates the other two, and you free your hands, rubbing your aching wrists.

"Hey haircut."

"Zoro!" Luffy cheers, before looking puzzled, "Y/n? When did you get here?" You blinked tiredly.

"Don't worry about it." Zoro moves forward, and with one swift punch, knocks Helmeppo out and to the ground. Luffy clambers up and stands at Zoro's shoulder.

"How'd you know where to find me?"

"I didn't. Thought I was headed back to the house." He takes a quick look around the clearing, "Who's the dead guy?" Your body deflates slightly.

"Roku. Gardener." Zoro looks at you from the corner of his eye,

"How'd that happen?"

"Don't worry about."

"He's a member of the Black Cat Pirates. I won't." His words do little to ease your conscience. Luffy takes off on the path they came from, back towards the house. You and Zoro follow behind. Koby calls out behind you.

"Hold it right there! BY order of the Marines, I'm placing you under arrest." Luffy walks back, pushing past you and Zoro as the later rests his hands on his swords.

"Koby, I know you've got a job to do. But I'm gonna go back, and help my friends. So don't try to stop me."

Koby gives a shaky nod. Luffy replaces his hat on his head and he sprints off into the night, you and Zoro close behind, leaving the boy alone with his fallen comrades.

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You and Luffy push a few garden ornaments into the space below the heavy door guard as Zoro lifts it clear. With a swift kick, the large wooden doors are open and you all crawl into the entry way, now devoid of life and colour in the flickering lamp light.

"Let's split up." As Luffy takes the stairs two at a time, you follow Zoro into the darkness of the hallways. The lights flicker overhead as you walk.

Rushed footsteps behind you draws both your attentions, and you venture deeper in to the building.

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The hushed noise and scuttling footsteps lead you back to the entryway, floorboards creaking as Buchi the cook walks down the stairs in what must be his pirate regalia. Unsheathing two knives, he grins at Zoro.

With a shink, Zoro pulls free one of his swords.

"Thought we took out the trash." With a yowl he lunges at Zoro, and you duck out of the way. Backing into the wall you squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath. A thought runs through your mind, and for a fraction of a second you wonder if it may work. You focus your mind on the nagging pains running up and down your arms and think about how Roku used his chains with ease. For the rest of that moment you dare to hope this could work.

Zeroing in on the itching sensation of your tattoos chains, you envision the burning feeling of them being ripped out, and try and shift it, morph it. You let your grip on them release, imagining you hear the clinking of them falling free and tumbling to the floor.

And you feel it too.

As a thump sounds beside you, you spin to face it. Sham's eyes are locked on the gaps ringing your arms and the chains hanging loose from your wrists.

"I think Roku was right." She hissed, "You're from Gaka as well." You snarl at her.

"I have no idea what that means or where that is," the chains clang together as you wrap them around your hands and correct your stance to swing, "but if you want to think like him, you (can die like him too!)" Your stomach clenches at the words as they escape you, not sounding like your voice, but haven't time to ponder it as she screams and darts towards you.

You yell in return and swing your arm down at her, the length of chain smashing into the wood flooring as she spins round you, keeping out of the long reach of your swing as she parries, catching and wrapping it around the blade of her own sword as she ends up back to back with her crewmate.

"Maybe this time," she shouts at the larger man, "we keep his swords!"

You pull back your other arm, lashing the chain down at her head. She jumps up and off her partner, latching on to the swinging chandelier above your heads as the metal thrashes down the length of Buchi's back, leaving the man howling in pain as he continues the fight with Zoro.

You take a swing at the dangling maid, missing her by a hair as she drops back to the ground, taking over with Zoro, as your chains wipe out several rails of the stair banisters. Pulling them free, you turn on the nearing Buchi, ducking under the swipes of his blades.

Letting Zoro move past you, you follow him through the hole you had created, moving up the stairs as Sham launches at you both. She lands between you, and Zoro easily pushes her back over your outstretched leg, sending her tumbling backwards down the stairs, landing in a heap at the bottom. Sitting up, she chucks the Wado Ichimonji into the large wooden clock next her.

She and Buchi grin menacingly up you both.

Zoro leaps over the banister, landing in the middle of both pirates as they whale on him. You slip back through the hole, knocking Sham's legs from under her and she falls, dropping her remaining sword. You snatch it from the floor, driving the blade into the solid wood of the stairs, snapping off the hilt and lobbing it at her forehead. It makes contact as she dashes at you, sending her wobbling back to the floor, where she grabs your dragging chains, twisting around and jerking harshly.

You had learnt your lesson with Roku, and let her yank you into her, striking her firm in the chest with your curled fist, still partially wound up in metal. She lets out a choking gasp and drops her hold, a thumping crash from behind you as Buchi smacks into the floor as well.

You straighten up both pirates slowly and painfully stand, moving to near Zoro as he sheathes the Wado Ichimonji and you gather both your chains into loops in your hands.

With a yell both pirates strike at you, Zoro knocking Sham away and swinging around her as you pelt Buchi with quick strikes from your chains. With a final knock to the chest, both pirates collapse at your feet, leaving you both panting.

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As Nami, Luffy, Usopp and Kaya come down the stairs from the attic, Zoro pulls open the doors to let the sunlight stream in. You stand by the pirates, making sure neither breaks free of their restraints as they grumble at each other. Sham hisses as Nami walks around them.

"Sorry about the mess." Zoro looks over to Kaya, "You probably need some new staff." Kaya answers breathily,

"I think I'm done with staff for a bit." Her eyes glance at Buchi and Sham before searching around the rest of the room in panic and she stands up straighter. "Where's Roku? Is he still out there?" Zoro eyes rise to look at you and you shuffle in place.

"He's..." Kaya looks over to you, "He's at the bottom of the hill, near the path up." Your eyes dart back down as everyone but Zoro watches you. "He won't be bothering anybody anymore." Kaya swallows and looks down at her snarling ex-employees. Zoro sighs.

"Too bad we can't collect their bounty."

"No, no." Nami agrees, "The Marines already know where we are. We have to get out of here."

"I'm pretty sure one took a picture of me."

"Pretty sure?!"

"It's blurry, I couldn't focus!" Luffy interrupts your argument before it can start.

"Where are we gonna go? We don't even have a ship." A small smile grows on Kaya's face.

"Yes, you do." Nami glares as Luffy turns his smug smile on her.

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"Wow." Luffy approaches your new ship, in awe of her once again. "That looks just like your lawyer friend."

"Merry ran the shipyard after my parents passed. He was their dearest colleague. My oldest companion."

"Then his memory will live on. I hereby name this ship the Going Merry!" She smiles wistfully at him.

"It's yours now. Your new home."

"Thank you Kaya." Turning back to the ship he lets out a loud and resounding cheer before turning back to the three of you and wrapping you all up in a tight hug. "Yeah! We did it! Yeah!" Releasing you and turning back to the wharf and eyeing the retreating figure calls out "Usopp! What are you waiting for? Get your stuff." He looks down at Luffy confused.

"What stuff?"

"You're coming with us. Right?"

"Wha-uh? Uh, uh-n-no I couldn't."

"Just come on already." You spin to look at Zoro, shocked, and he rolls his eyes. Luffy leans into Usopp.

"I'm gonna need a great sharp shooter. Just like Yasopp. And I saw what you did back there. Sticking up for your friends. That's exactly the kind of guy I need on my crew."

"But..." he looks longingly over at Kaya. "I couldn't leave Syrup Village. What-what about Kaya? She needs me to take care of her."

"Usopp," she interrupts, and Luffy steps back, and the rest of you come up behind him to listen. "You've been a great friend, but I think it's time I start taking care of myself."

"But I said I'd never leave you. And don't you need help with the shipyard?"

"The shipyard was my parents' dream. I think I might do something different. Like..."

(Help people like I wasn't)

Your stomach rolls as the quiet voice echoes through your head.

"Study to become a doctor."

"So... I guess, this is goodbye." Usopp whispers.

"I'll see you again someday. And when I do, I expect to hear all about the real adventures of Captain Usopp."

With a gentle smile, she leans in a gives him a loving kiss. A fond smile grows across your face as Luffy turns to you all in confusion.

"They-they do know I'm the captain right?" Nami places her hand on his shoulder and shakes it gently.

"Let them have this one."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You approach Nami where she stands by the rudder reading a compass and lean awkwardly on the railing. Without looking up from her readings she asks,

"What do you want?" you lick your teeth and click them together.

"So you know, like, islands and stuff, and where they are right?" She turns her head to narrow her eyes at you.

"Yessss..." She draws out the 's' as she looks at you. You purse your lips.

"Do you recognise the name 'Gaka', by any chance?" She snaps her compass shut, frowning.

"I think so," she pulls out her map journal, and flips through the pages. "Why?"

"Something the gardener and maid said," she peers at you over the lip of the book, waiting, "Roku, the gardener, has chains like mine," you play with the sleeve of your coat, "and he and the maid said something about how it's 'a thing on Gaka' or something, I don't know. It's just," you shuffle up beside her as she runs her finger over the pages, "I thought I was from North Blue, but I know there's no Gaka Island there. Unless its a town or a village there that wouldn't be on a map but-"

"It's not," she cuts off, staring wide eyed at one of the pages before turning it to you, "it's on the Grand Line."

You blink, staring at the notes and land markings on the page, a perfect sketch of the map you had all stolen from the Marines. There, in a small cluster of islands towards the left of the map, one of the islands is marked in clear, neat script 'Gaka'.

"I guess," Nami continues with a small smile as you take the book in your hands, "you'll be seeing your family soon enough."

Nami walks down to the main deck as you continue looking at the tiny etching of your supposed home island.

"I told you it would work out." Luffy calls down from the figurehead.

"Yeah well don't get used to it."

"Get used to what?"

"Being right."

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On a Marine ship back at Syrup Village, Koby stands with his eye pressed to a spy glass watching the Going Merry head out to see. Beside him, the Vice-Admiral chuckles as his right hand comes up behind him.

"Sir, for you, before it gets sent out with the newspapers." He hands the taller man a freshly printed Wanted poster, with the text 'Wanted' and 'Dead or Alive' are pasted above and below a picture of a young person with long h/c hair half pulled up in a teal suit, their eyes glowing against the darkness of the background. A bounty of 12,000,000 Berries and the name 'Nakayoshi Y/n' is listed as well. "Lietuenant Yano specifically requested one be made up. Add on the man's death here, there's good reason for a bounty. We believe they'll be aboard that ship too."

Koby's eyes widen at the image and the number, darting back to the smaller ship as Garp calls for them to make chase.

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Usopp comes into the galley where everyone was already situated, watching as you glare into a pot of boiling water, towel raised in your hands.

"Guys! Check it out..." he trails off as he watches along with everyone else as, for the fourth time without fail, the water bubbles more and more aggressively before popping and hissing up into flames. You calmly drop towel over the top, easily snuffing them as Nami and Usopp stare in horror, Zoro in confusion and Luffy in excitement.

"Wow!" he claps for you as you move it off the heat, lifting the towel to reveal a puff of steam and a smouldering, empty pot, "how'd you do that?"

"An extreme lack of skill." Usopp draws attention back to himself with a cough.

"Using my unparalleled artistic talent, I made us a new Jolly Roger for the ship." As he unfurls the flag mocked up to look like him, you run an appraising eye over the stitchwork. "Ta-da!" You all look at him. "I know, I know, my flair for design often leaves people speechless." Luffy folds up the flag and hands it back to Usopp.

"I already drew our flag."

"Okay, but this one is so much better."

"Neither of the flags are gonna scare anyone away." You hum in agreement to Zoro.

"But, if we're talking technically, Usopp's is better sewn than Luffy's." Your captain stares at you, betrayed, and you scrabble to correct yourself, "Probably just because of practice, it was your first go, you'll do better!"

"Okay, but the Jolly Roger is supposed to reflect the captain." Usopp wraps the flag around his shoulders like a blanket.

"I am the captain. We are the Straw Hat crew!" Luffy interjects before Usopp starts talking over him.

"They call me Captain Usopp."

They devolve into bickering with each other over the captain title and the flag as you, Nami and Zoro begin to laugh at their nonsense. Luffy grins as he claps Usopp on the chest.

"You see? This is what it's all about. From now on, it's all gonna be smooth sailing."

As if speaking misfortune into existence, an explosion of cannon fire rings out as a crash rocks the ship.

"What was that?" Usopp asks, clinging to Luffy. Nami frowns.

"You had to open your mouth."

You all go running up to deck, you and Nami climbing the stairs to look for the attacking ship.

"Marines..."

"We're under attack!" Nami yells to the boys as they all come up behind you. More explosions ring out around you as the Marine vessel continues to fire on you.

Luffy peers at them with the help of a telescope, spotting something before pulling it away from his eye.

"Grandpa?" He asks in confusion. You all look at him and chime in unison.

"Grandpa?!"

Next Chapter: Returning Tides of Home

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crazystargirl · 1 year ago

Text

jealous? i don't get jealous! ♥

NONE OF THESE LINKS BELOW ARE UPDATED

pt. 3 || pt.4 || pt. 5

pairing ♥: spider soccoro x reader, spider soccoro x human!reader, jealous!spider soccoro x reader

word count ♥: 0.7k!

author's note ♥: ok so funny story i forgot to find the photos and edit them so please ignore how vibrant they are (its hurting my eyes) i might fix it later but idk im lazy lmao, anyways heres pt 4! i honestly dont know if i hate this or not and i feel like it might be kinda rushed

you woke up to spider shaking you softly, it was bright outside which was something you were not used to since you pretty much spent all your time in the lab

"y/n/n you're the last one up"

"holy shit what? why didn't you wake me up earlier?" you say with a groan

"baby we did or at least tried to, i was the last one to try"

Neteyam come in and starts laughing, you glare at him

"why the fuck are you laughing?"

"no it's just that lo'ak owes me and spider since he said there was no way spider could wake you up, but it looks like he did!" Neteyam says gleefully

you groan and try and lay back down but spider grabs you

"nuh uh y/n you gotta get up" he says as you continue to struggle against his grasp

"I'll leave her to you" neteyam says as he walks out

you continue to fight spider and eventually he gets annoyed so he just tosses you on his shoulder and starts to walk

"shit! spider! put me down!" you say trying to get off

"no chance y/n/n you needed to get up and if i didn't do that you would've gone back to sleep"

after marching you out to where everyone was he finally put you down

"good morning y/n!" tuk says giving you a hug

"morning tuk" you hug her back

"why was spider carrying you?" Lo'ak blurted out and as expected everyone was staring at him

"uh cause she wasn't going to get up and come out if i didn't" spider says looking at Lo'ak strangely

"why can't he do that hm? you jealous?" kiri says joining in on the conversation

"what no why would i be" Lo'ak says bitterly

spider knew full well that lo'ak had a crush on you and was going to do everything in his power to make sure that you were not going to end up with him

"alright kids settle down" jake says coming over to you guys

"but things just got so interesting" neteyam says with a pout

you all laugh not realizing the Lo’ak was evidently pissed at all of yall

jake tells everyone that some of yall can go fishing with him, Neytiri, and tuk or go exploring

You all decided that you were just going to go exploring since in all honesty no one wanted to go fishing

as you guys started exploring, you noticed lo'ak kind of lingering behind the group

you decide to hang back and talk to him

"hey lo'ak you good?"

he looks at you like a deer in headlights, shocked that you decided to talk to him

it seemed that the whole time or even whenever you were allowed out the lab spider was always all over you, giving him barely anytime with you and obviously making him jealous. the worst part? you never even tried to stop spider which made lo'ak mad

"yeah im good, why whats up?" he said looking down at you

"nothing you just look pale and upset"

"yeah little bro you should go back to camp, you look like you're gonna faint or something" neteyam says looking back at the two of you

"alright i guess I'll go…" Lo'ak says turning around

"i can go with him" you say looking at the group "y'know to make sure he doesn't get lost or anything"

"thanks y/n" Lo'ak says looking at you and starting to walk, you folkowing behind

Kiri and Neteyam turn to spider whose eyes are narrowed and looks mad

"Dude you good?" Neteyam says looking at spider

"Yeah…no… i dont know" spider says sitting down

"Spider you like y/n its so obvious that its kinda vomit worthy" kiri says kneeling next to spider

"Yeah you get jealous whenever she's with or talking to lo'ak" neteyam adds

"i dont get jealous!" spider says looking at the two

"sure keep telling yourself that" kiri says laughing, "but seriously you need to ask her out before lo'ak does"

"we love our lil bro but honestly he's not gonna be good with y/n" neteyam adds

"i know i do i just dont know if i can do it…like what if she rejects me? thats gonna be awkward" spider says

"you gotta try first at least please for our sake?" kiri asks

"yeah alright i will" spider says getting up

"thats the spirit! now lets go so we can get back at a decent time!"

series taglist ♥: @ok-boke, @spiderscrrowife, @myh3artttt, @multi-simp-page, @universal-s1ut

regular taglist ♥: @xyzstar, @ourloveisgod23, @dizscreams, @kaesworldxx, @bhk1234uwu, @nonniesworld, @lanaslittletwinkie

©crazystargirl 2023 || do NOT copy or repost my work without my permission

#spider socorro #spider socorro x reader #spider socorro fluff #atwow spider #spider soccoro #spider soccoro x reader #jack champion #jack champion x reader #jack champion x you #jack champion fluff #fluff #atwow

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jennay · 1 year ago

Text

The Set Up (4)

Josh

Master List

AN: I don't know how I feel about this chapter, but I edited so much, didn't like it, and then went back and fixed it. Lol, the way that the siblings interact is definitely how my brother would be. What do you think? Anything more you'd like to see as far as a genre? Drama, funny, or more romance, all that good stuff? I'll get more Rory in soon! I'm trying to progress the story too.

Word Count: 1772

You shiver as the cold wind cuts through your coat. You stare at the hospital building in front of you, its windows like dull eyes in the gloomy sky. You feel a knot of fear in your stomach. You don't want to go in, and why the fuck is it snowing in spring? You sigh as you sit on a bench under the awning; it's cold, but you dread walking inside. You take out your phone and dial Rory's number. He picks up after two rings, thankfully.

"Hey, how are you holding up?" He asks in his warm voice.

You bite your lip. "I just got here. I'm still standing outside."

He sounds concerned. "Are you okay?"

You shake your head, even though he can't see you. "I don't want to do this." You say in a low voice.

He pauses momentarily, then says softly, "I know it feels like shit right now, but it will be okay. You're stronger than what you give yourself credit for."

You feel a tear roll down your cheek. When Rory speaks to you, it's like he always knows what to say, and you tend to believe him.

"Thanks." You quietly say. "I just feel bad for not coming last night."

You hear him lightly laugh on the other line. "You didn't get home till 3 in the morning. What could you've done? It's not exactly like the hospital wants people wandering at weird night hours. I think you made the right choice."

You lightly shiver. "I guess I should go inside before my fingers fall off; my family doesn't need that right now." You tease.

He chuckles, "Yeah, that would be bad. Go in; I'll be here if you need me. Call me when you're done, okay? I'll be up for a while."

"Okay." You quietly say, "Bye, Rory." You hang up and put your phone back in your pocket. You take a deep breath and stand up. Walking towards the hospital entrance, you hope for the best.

When you open the door, you're hit by the smell of disinfectant and bleach. The cleaners try to mask the smell of sickness and death, but it only worsens it. It sends chills down your spine every time you enter the doors.

You make your way down the hall, looking for room 209. You watch the numbers getting higher, and anxiety fills your chest. You're not sure what you're walking into.

You pull out your phone again and text Rory: Are you sure I'll be okay? Cause I feel like I'm going to vomit.

Opening the door, you gasp as you see your dad lying on the hospital bed. He looks nothing like the man you remember. His face is pale, his eyes are shut, and his body is hooked to machines that monitor his vital signs. He barely seems to breathe, and you wonder if he's still fighting for his life. You approach him slowly and hold his hand, hoping he can feel your presence. "Dad?" You whisper, your voice shaking.

You don't recognize this stranger in front of you. You feel powerless and hopeless, unable to do anything but wait. You're so lost in your thoughts you don't notice your brother standing by the window, looking at the city blankly.

The sun was setting behind the city skyline, casting a reddish glow on his face. You wondered what he was thinking, how he was coping with the situation. He looked broken and lost.

You stand beside Josh, and with your little energy, you gently squeeze his arm. "Hey." You quietly said.

You wanted to say more, but words failed you.

Josh turns his head, and his green eyes fall on you. "I thought you weren't coming back till tomorrow?" He wraps his arms around your shoulders, giving you a welcoming hug. "Sorry, this had to be your reason for coming back." He sounded guilty as if he had done something wrong.

"Dad always needs to be the center of attention." You joked, trying to lighten the mood. You knew he needed some humor right now, even if it was forced. "I thought he was doing better. Nobody tells me anything." You'd been so busy and caught up in your life that you barely kept in touch with your family, and right now, you regretted it.

"You know, it's good to see you, even for this." His voice sounds hoarse and tired. "I stayed last night so Mom could get some sleep, and I don't recommend sleeping on that chair." He lets go of you and points to the flower-cushioned chair. "My back hurts."

You nod and set your bags down on the small wooden table. You see a vase of flowers, a get-well card, and a framed photo of your family. You smiled sadly at the memory of happier times. It was taken last Christmas when you gathered at your parent's house for the holidays. You're all smiling and laughing, unaware of what is to come.

You sit on the soft couch, feeling the cushion sink under your weight. "You can go home and get some rest. I planned on staying tonight." You offer, hoping he would take care of himself. "Mom's coming back in the morning."

"I think I'll stick around for a little bit. How often do I get to catch up with my little sister?" He grins. "Not every day I get to sit with a celebrity." He teases.

"Stop." You loudly groan.

You watch Josh walk to your father and bring his hand to his face brushing his hair away from his forehead. He whispers something in his ear that you can't hear.

"You know...you could call me too." You say softly.

He turns, "Yeah, I'm not very good at either. I know. Mom scolded me already." Josh shrugs as he walks over to you and sits on one of those old flowery chairs he warned you about. "What's new? Mom said you were out in the middle of nowhere filming."

You agree with your mom's statement. "Yeah, we were almost done filming the last episodes of the new season."

"Kieran Culkin's in it with you right?" Your brother chimes in, trying to remember the actor.

"Yup." You take a sip of your water bottle, trying to hide that you don't have much to say.

"I remember you were really into that death metal shit and made me watch Lords of Choas. I think I still get nightmares."

You raise your eyebrows. "What? No. That's not Kieran, you idiot."

He looks at you puzzled, "Well, it's not Macaulay either, and he's a Culkin. You can see it in the eyes."

"There's three of them who act."

"No way." He takes out his phone and does a quick search. "Rory Culkin. I thought he was Kieran. They look so similar."

You roll your eyes and shake your head. "They're brothers, of course, they look similar, but they're not identical. You can tell them apart if you have eyeballs."

Josh laughs at your response, "Are you being protective?"

You dodge the question and smirk as you tease your brother, "Are you and Ivy married yet? Any kids on the way?"

He frowns at you with annoyance and shakes his head. "No, and hell no. You sound just like Mom. Why isn't she nagging you for kids?"

"Because I'm single. That would be a scandal to her." You glance at your phone and see a text message from Rory. Your heart flutters as you read his words. It's normal to feel nervous. Just breathe. You can do this.

You imagine his sweet voice in your ear and text back quickly. Unknowingly you are smiling like an idiot.

I kind of wish you were here.

I'll be back in New York soon. I promise.

Your brother snorts. “You've got a boyfriend, don't you?" He grins wickedly. "I can't wait to tell Mom. She'll stop nagging me and start bugging you instead."

You feel your cheeks heat up and try to conceal your smile, but he's already caught you. "Shut up," You laugh. "He's nice, okay? And I really like him. I don't know how he puts up with me, to be honest, my whole existence is chaos."

He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. He expects you to spill the beans.

"I ditched him on our first date to come here." You sigh. "He was so cool about it." You beam and add, "I must be pretty special."

He nods and gives you a half-smile. "You're something, all right." Josh doesn't trust your taste in men. "What's his name?"

"How about I tell you more after our first date?"

He chuckles at your response. "Damn, you're so easy to read. It's that Rory guy. That's why you got defensive when I called him Kieran." He leans back in his chair, "Oh boy, your co-worker's brother? That's a recipe for disaster." You shrug, "It was Kieran's idea!"

"Yeah, but you work with him and for him! What will you do when you dump this guy like you always do?" You roll your eyes, "I don't do that anymore. I've changed."

"I thought you were against dating in the industry?" He stands up, yawning and stretching out.

"Can we drop it? I feel like dad's listening to everything and it's awkward." You say. "I want to tell Dad myself, not have him overhear. He's going to lecture me when he wakes up."

Josh smirks and walks over to the bed; he looks at your dad with a sad smile. "He'll wake up. He's a fighter. He always has been." He kisses your dad's forehead and then hugs you tightly. "I'm sorry for giving you a hard time. I just want you to be happy." He says sincerely.

You hug him back, feeling a lump in your throat.

"Let's go get some coffee. You look like you need it and I have a long drive home." He says, leading you out of the room.

You glance back at your dad one last time, hoping he can hear your thoughts. Please wake up. You think as the door closes behind you.

Part Five

#rory culkin x you #rory culkin fanfic #rory culkin #rory culkin x reader #the set up part 4

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iris-writesx · 11 months ago

Text

i think i’ve seen this film before, and i didn’t like the ending | stede x ed x izzy

read it here or read it on ao3 <3

this is my longest fic yet omg!!! it was a pain to write LMFAO but i’m glad it’s done. i’m really falling in love with this au, i hope you all are too :) if you see any mistakes please kindly look past them i’m editing this with 0 hours of sleep in me :,)

hurting stede is becoming a habit and i’d promise not to do it again but my wips say otherwise… sorry stede baby i love you

title is from “exile” by taylor swift featuring bon iver x

6.4k words — modern day au, hurt-comfort, angst, car accident, ptsd, vomiting, hospitals

more from this au; and now i see daylight

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The house was always too quiet when Izzy was home alone.

He was used to the noise. Stede’s murmured rambling or Ed’s humming or the buzz of the coffee machine or the shower going in the other room or- or anything, really.

He just liked the noise. When he was home alone it was silent, and he fucking hated it. Nowhere he had ever lived had been quiet.

So Izzy had turned the TV on at a low murmur, just to fill the silence. Some old sitcom was running, again — it seemed like the same show was always on. It was something Ed enjoyed, got a laugh from, but Izzy thought it was just a load of bollocks.

At the thought of his partner he glanced at the clock that was hung on the wall behind the television, and huffed a breath as he counted the hours until Ed would be home; four.

At least Stede would be home quicker, as long as he didn’t dawdle in the shop. He and Stede both had gotten home from work early as it was a Saturday, and Stede had the bright idea that he wanted to make a nice dinner for Ed when he got home, but they hadn’t had their shopping delivered yet so food was sparse.

“We could go and get something nice from the shop- what about that lovely salmon he likes? Or the lamb, or the-” Stede had started rambling, as Izzy had just groaned, sinking into his armchair.

“I don’t fancy going out again, can we not just get take-out?” Izzy had grumbled in return.

So Stede, as stubbornly romantic as he was, had decided to just go on his own, and with a kiss against Izzy’s lips and a promise to get them both teas on the ride back, Stede had left on his little mission.

And Izzy — though he was happy he wasn’t out again, because his leg was getting a little sore — was missing the loudness of company.

Scowling a little, he reached for the remote and turned the volume up, until the noise was loud enough that Stede would’ve been complaining about it, and sunk back into his chair with his eyes on the screen, to see what Ed liked about it.

But his eyes kept flickering up to the clock. Ten, twenty, thirty minutes had passed, and no text from Stede to say he was on his way back. But maybe he had popped in to see Ed at work, or he really was just being picky and taking a lot of time. He debated on calling, but then Stede would just get even more distracted talking to him.

Izzy huffed out through his nose and crossed his arms, refused to touch his phone where it laid on the coffee table.

Forty, fifty minutes, an hour. Nothing. The shop was only a fifteen minute drive, and even if there was traffic, it didn’t take that long to get some fucking salmon. He was barely focused on the show, anymore — the dialogue fell into a low buzz as his gaze flickered between the clock and his phone screen.

“Fuck sake.” Izzy mumbled under his breath as he leaned forwards to take his phone into his hands, cold with its neglect over the past hour, and quickly opened Stede’s messages to type out a quick text, “On your way back yet?” Izzy sent it, paused, before he added, “Miss you.”

By the time another thirty minutes had passed, with no reply, Izzy could’ve started pacing. If he sat there for any longer he was going to go fucking crazy, so he left his phone on the coffee table and forced himself up, grunting as his back clicked, and walked into the kitchen to make himself a coffee.

Stede was probably fine, he forced himself to think as he moved around the kitchen, turning on the coffee machine and placing his cup underneath the spout. He often got distracted. Knowing his partner, he’d come home with ten more things than they needed, carried away.

That’s why he was taking so long. He was just carried away.

If it were Ed in place of Stede, then Izzy would’ve had a reason to be worried. It had been years since Edward had been on a bender, but those nights waiting by the phone to find out what pub he had to drag Ed from that night were ingrained into his memory. It was something he’d never truly forget about, never stop worrying about, even if Ed was coming up three years sober, now.

The coffee machine was buzzing away as Izzy leant against the worktop, briefly let his eyes close. Any second now, he’d hear the jingle of keys and a cheerful “I’m home!”, and he’d have to tell Stede off for buying half of the shop whilst he was there.

Only that didn’t happen. The coffee machine stopped buzzing… but, with furrowed brows, he realised there was a different buzzing that was going in the living room.

Fuck, his phone.

He was constantly forgetting to turn it off of silent when he and Stede got back from work. Stede would fucking call in the five fucking minutes that Izzy had left the room.

He left his coffee abandoned on the stand of the machine and walked back into the living room, picking up the still-buzzing phone… and he deflated when the Caller ID read Lucius.

He answered the call and through gritted teeth got out, “What do you want, Spriggs?”

“Don’t you ever answer your fucking phone?” Lucius almost yelled, his voice at a too-high pitch. Panicked.

If he was calling about something at work Izzy was going to strangle him the next time their shifts crossed over.

“I was in the kitchen. What do you want?” His patience was wearing very thin. If Stede called and he missed it because of Lucius he was going to kill that boy.

“I-” Lucius inhaled, and Izzy could hear the shake of his breath. It sounded like he was crying. “Are you sat down?”

Izzy felt his heart thump against his chest worriedly. “What?”

“Sit down, Izzy,” breathed the voice on the phone. “I’m- I’m sorry, I don’t know how to say this-”

Izzy refused to lower himself down to sit on the couch. He was rooted to the floor, turning cold. He had been here before, though usually Ed was the one who called. “Is it Edward?”

“What?” Lucius got out in one breath, confused. “No, no it’s not- why would I be calling for Ed you dingbat he’s your partner-”

If Lucius wasn’t calling about Ed then-

Oh.

“Why are you calling?” He barely managed to get it out, afraid.

A choked noise came from the other end of the phone, and Izzy closed his eyes. “It’s- it’s Stede. Fucking idiot forgot to swap me out as his emergency contact, he’s-” he inhaled deeply, before, “he‘s been rushed to hospital.”

“What?”

Izzy felt numb. As much as it ached every time it had happened, he was used to Ed’s drunken calls. The slurred apologies and begging to get picked up, promises that it wouldn’t happen again only for the same calls to come a few days later. It had been a miracle when Ed had finally put himself into rehab, and another miracle when he stayed sober.

But Stede? Fuck, the worst Izzy had to deal with on that front was his panic attacks. This was new and different and scary.

“He was in a car accident.”

Then his blood ran cold. He didn’t realise that his balance was teetering until his leg knocked into the arm of the couch and he had to sit down, breathing shakily, trying to stay conscious.

Now this? He had never been on this side of that phone call before.

He had been the one in the accident, and in the hospital. Had woken up to Ed crying by his bedside, had later been the one crying too when he looked down and saw empty space where his leg was supposed to be.

He wished to be there again if it meant he didn’t have to be stood *here*. If it meant Stede didn’t have to be-

“Is he alive?” Was the first thing he could croak out, almost didn’t hear Lucius’ sniffles through the buzzing in his ears.

“Yes- yes, he’s alive. They just called to say he’s-” Lucius choked. “-been rushed into surgery as soon as they got him to A&E.”

It felt like he had been punched in the gut, like all of the air had been squeezed from his lungs. Stede had been in a car accident. The same thing that had taken his leg. His chest was tight, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t- he couldn't-

“Izzy?” The boy’s voice pushed through the white noise in his ears. “Jesus fuck, please breathe-”

“I can’t get there.” Izzy suddenly choked out, mortified. He had no way of getting to the hospital — Ed had the other car, and Stede’s was apparently now wrecked.

I would have had another car, he thought, if i hadn’t have crashed, I would have had a leg-

“Izzy?” Lucius’ voice broke through the fuzziness of his head, then. “I’m on my way to pick you up, alright? I’ll drive you.”

That, at least, was enough to make Izzy content, or whatever the fuck content was supposed to feel like in that situation. It felt like his heart was about to beat out of his chest, like he was about to pass out, it felt… it felt worse than when he had lost his leg.

Because it was Stede.

Izzy didn’t know how long it took Lucius to arrive to the house. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours- fuck, it could have been days. He didn’t move from where he was sat on the arm of the couch. He didn’t let go of his phone, even once Lucius had hung up. He didn’t- no, he couldn't do anything. It felt like his head was underwater, like he couldn’t see or hear or breathe.

When Lucius did get to the house, Izzy didn’t even grab a jacket, he just heard the doorbell and left. He wasn’t going to need anything. He just needed Stede to be okay.

The boy was talking as they got into his car, but Izzy couldn’t listen through the rush in his ears. He wasn’t even consciously moving, he just found himself in the car, seatbelt buckled, and stared out of the window as Lucius started driving. He had turned the radio on as a low hum that settled in the background, but Izzy couldn’t even hear it.

He only realised that Lucius had been trying to get his attention when he felt a swat to his arm, and turned his head to face him.

Lucius looked terrible. He always had known that he cared for Stede; if he remembered correctly, he was the first person that had been hired for Stede’s library, which is why he was emergency constact in the first place. Their friendship exceeded Izzy and Ed’s relationship with Stede. It was clear that he had been crying, but it was also clear that he was putting up an effort to hold himself together.

“Izzy,” he spoke slowly, and he realised that maybe he had been trying to pull Izzy’a attention for a little while. “You should call Ed. I didn’t… I just called you, I just assumed he’d be at work, y’know?”

Izzy nodded, but in the process of pulling his phone out to call his other partner — the one that was okay, who wasn’t in a fucking hospital after almost fucking dying — he felt a wave of nausea at the realisation that Ed had already been through this.

They were roommates when Izzy had lost his leg, so he had been the one who had been called to the hospital, he had been the one sat in the waiting room for hours on end whilst Izzy was in surgery, he had been the one who had stuck by his bedside for the duration of his stay at hospital. It had taken such a fucking toll on him — Izzy had almost expected him to relapse underneath the stress of it all.

And now he had to live through it all over again with Stede.

Just in case he did happen to throw up, Izzy rolled down the window and took some breaths, before he forced himself to call Ed.

It took a few tries before he actually got through to him, but the moment Ed picked up Izzy felt like he was going to fucking break.

“Izzy, love,” fuck, he sounded so cheery. “Miss me this much?”

Izzy swallowed, his hand shook as it held his phone to his ear. “You need to leave work.”

“What?” The shift in Ed’s tone was palpable. “What's wrong? What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, it’s-” he sighed, screwed his eyes shut. “It’s Stede. He’s at the hospital.”

“Fuck- is he okay? What the fuck happened? Are you with him?”

“I’m on my way with Lucius,” he cleared his throat when it felt like it was closing up, and for the first time that afternoon he couldn’t force back the tears that had built any longer. Even just talking to Ed was breaking down his defences. “He-” his stomach lurched, and his free hand curled into a fist around the material of his trousers. “He was in a fucking car wreck.”

The silence on the phone was worse than any response he could’ve imagined. It lasted so long that Izzy grew uncomfortable with it, before Ed’s faint voice finally broke through again, “What? Is… is he okay?”

“He’s… alive,” Izzy wished he didn’t have to do this, he wished he was the one in the hospital again instead. Stede had always been the best one at words, this should’ve been his job, he should’ve been there. “I don’t know anything, I don’t- I don’t know just… fucking come to the hospital, Edward,” he paused, before his voice wavered when he tacked on, “Please.”

“Yeah, yeah I’m leaving now, I’ll be there,” Ed breathed out. “I’ll be there. I love you, Iz.”

“Love you too.”

Once Ed had hung up the phone, it wasn’t too long until they reached the hospital. The hospital that Izzy had spent far too much time in; his three week stay, the countless checkups, the times he’d had to pick Ed up from there after he’d gotten hurt on a bender.

And now he was there for Stede.

Izzy was fucking sick of this place.

When they got to the reception, Lucius did all of the talking. Izzy couldn’t make himself say Stede’s name with the context of what he was implying — Is Stede Bonnet okay? Is he alive?

The rushing was in his ears again, so all Izzy picked up from the receptionist was that he was still in surgery, before he was being pushed in the direction of the waiting room by Lucius. He didn’t realise that his balance had been giving out again until he was all but shoved into a seat, and Lucius grasped his shaking hands.

“She said the surgery should take a few more hours, if that,” he would never in a million years have turned to Lucius for comfort before, but the way he was rubbing Izzy’s knuckles did help a little. “He’ll be okay, he’s strong, you know that.”

Fuck, Stede was the strongest person Izzy had met in his life. Where Edward was physically strong — could hold his own, could work effortlessly at the garage for hours on end — Stede had put up with so much, Izzy didn’t understand how he did it.

Stede had expressed to them on many occasions how he had never fit in; not with his family, not at school, not with anybody. He’d experienced abuse, bullying, a fucking divorce, and yet he was still kicking, still smiling, still finding the joy in every little fucking thing.

What could be stronger than that?

Time didn’t even seem to fucking pass whilst he was sat in the waiting room. Lucius was beside him, he knew because he hadn’t let go of his hand — Izzy wasn’t sure if it was to comfort him or himself at that point, but it was kind of nice — though his surroundings had kind of fuzzed out into nothing as he got thinking, because-

Stede had asked him to go with him.

Izzy should have been in the car. He should have been a good partner and gotten into the fucking car and went with him, and if he had been there then would Stede have even crashed?

There was a tight grip on his shoulder and Izzy blinked a few times to focus his eyes, to actually pay attention to his sight, and it was the first good feeling all afternoon when he actually focused and saw Ed leant down in front of him.

He looked like shit, too. He had clearly been crying, still dressed in his jumpsuit from work which he hadn’t bothered to change out of. His name tag was pinned to the material of it, “Ed, happy to help :)”.

Stede had added the smiley face himself after Ed’s first day.

Izzy let his expression crumple for the first time that afternoon, and Ed didn’t hesitate before tugging him into his arms.

Once the first tears fell there was no point trying to stop them, and a violent sob ripped itself from his chest as he buried himself in Ed’s arms, gripped onto him so tightly that it must have been uncomfortable for him, but Ed didn’t say anything. His embrace was jerking every so often; Ed was crying too.

They were huddled in each others embrace crying for fuck knows how long, and only when they had both stopped sobbing did they finally release each other. No words really needed to be spoken, they were both in exactly the same boat.

A fucking sinking boat.

Even once they had pulled from the hug, Ed didn’t let go of him. His hands stayed on his arms, gripped on, like he needed to be touching him. But one glance downwards and Izzy scowled, nudged Ed with his shoe.

“Stop kneeling you twat,” his voice sounded rough even to himself. “You’ll fuck your knee.”

Ed just shrugged, reached up with one hand to wipe the tears from Izzy’s face, before he did the same to himself. “In the best place for that to happen, right?”

Neither of them laughed at the joke.

Only once Ed had wiped their faces did he get up from the floor, and took the seat up beside Izzy, and it was then that Izzy realised that Lucius was no longer there.

He frowned, “Where’s-”

“Lucius?” Ed took his hand, squeezed tightly. “He’s outside, calling Mary-” Izzy’s sudden expression was enough for Ed to squeeze his hand again. “Hey, his kids need to know at least, mate.”

Oh god his kids.

Izzy just nodded, eyes down on their joined hands, and not much was said after that.

Waiting for news turned into just a long stretch of endless fucking time. Eventually, Ed couldn’t handle being sat still any longer and paced the waiting room, brought them both cups of water that Izzy didn’t touch, walked around and sat down and walked around again.

Izzy just stayed rooted in his chair, didn't move. It felt almost like a punishment, having to sit there and just wait to know if Stede was fucking okay, but it was a punishment that he knew he deserved, because he should have been in the fucking car.

It was his fault.

It was his fault that Stede was there.

That he was there waiting.

That Ed was pacing, losing his mind.

That his kids would have to hear-

His stomach lurched, and Izzy didn’t think before he got up from his seat and made a beeline for the toilets that were just down the hallway. He heard Ed calling his name but didn’t turn back — he barely made it to the basin before he hunched over and threw up, gagging over the bowl of the sink until nothing else would come up.

A hand was against his back after a moment, and he didn’t need to look up to know that Ed had followed him into the bathroom.

Izzy retched for another few minutes, and by the time he was finished he felt fucking worn out. He was still hunched over the sink, just trying to breathe, and Ed’s hand was still stroking his back and making sure he was okay and he didn’t deserve to have to deal with Izzy on top of the worry of Stede.

“Stop,” he croaked, reached back to shove Ed’s hand off of him. “Stop, Edward, just-” he coughed, spat into the sink when the taste of vomit overwhelmed his senses. “Go back to the waiting room.”

“Fuck off,” was Ed’s response, and his hand was back on him. “Just take a minute, you’re okay-”

“Exactly, I’m fine,” Izzy held onto the rim of the sink and his hand trembled with the force of his grip as he turned to face Ed. “I’m perfectly fine when I-” the tears were flowing again and he angrily wiped them away with his spare hand. “I should fucking be in there-”

“What?” Ed’s eyebrows scrunched, and he shook his head. “No, Iz-”

“I should’ve been in the fucking car!” Izzy yelled, blinked rapidly through his tears. “He wanted to make you some fucking fancy-ass dinner and asked me to go to the shop with him and I said no and I- I should’ve been in the fucking car-”

“Izzy-”

“I should’ve been there and I should’ve stopped it-”

“Iz-”

“And then he wouldn’t be in fucking surgery-”

“Izzy,” Edward gripped his shoulders so tightly that he had no choice but to look up at him through his tears. “It was a fucking accident. You couldn’t have known.”

“If I was there then I-”

“Then you would’ve been hurt, too, and I’d be here by my fucking self,” Izzy could see it, then; the worry in Ed’s eyes, the fear, and he felt so fucking selfish for making Ed worry about him on top of everything else. “It’s a good thing you weren’t there.”

Ed pulled him into his embrace, then, and Izzy squeezed his eyes shut as he held onto him fiercely as he forced the tears away. He understood Edward’s words, of course he did, but it didn’t mean that he believed them. If he was there then maybe he could’ve stopped the accident, or maybe they would’ve taken longer so they wouldn’t have been at the spot at the same time as the accident, or maybe it just… wouldn’t have happened at all.

And of all people for it to happen to, why Stede?

Why did shitty things always happen to the best people?

It was some time before Izzy finally peeled himself from Ed’s embrace. He didn’t feel better, not by any means, but he had eased up enough to return to the waiting room, which he supposed counted for something.

“Better?” Ed lifted a hand and wiped Izzy’s tears for the second time that day.

Izzy didn’t trust his tears not to return if he spoke again so he simply nodded, and let Ed guide him back out of the bathroom with a hand against his back. And when they returned to their seats, neither of them let go of each other. Ed had Izzy’s hand in his lap, where he messed with his fingers to keep his need to move satisfied, and Izzy let himself drift off in the comfort of Ed’s touch. It made the waiting a little more tolerable.

By the time that one of the doctors finally came out into the waiting room, the agitation was rolling off of Ed in waves. The doctor barely got Stede’s name out of his mouth before Ed was up and walking over, pulling Izzy along with his much larger strides.

“Mister Teach and Mister Hands, I presume?” The doctor asked.

“Who do you think?” Ed bit out, teeth gritted, but the man stood in front of them didn’t seem phased; he was probably used to the anger and the impatience. Who would react well when put into this fucking situation?

“The surgery went quite successfully, and Mister Bonnet is being moved to recovery as we speak-”

“Can we see him?” Ed almost lurched forwards, practically vibrating with the anticipation.

“Not quite, they'll take some time to get him settled, so I came down to explain the extent of his injuries,” he gave a polite smile to the two of them, before he gestured down the hall. “Why don’t we talk in my office?”

If Izzy thought that he had felt nauseous earlier, then being sat in a stuffy office whilst he was forced to listen to the injuries that Stede had sustained was his own personal hell; it was a blessing that he didn’t hunch over the trash can sat by the desk to throw up.

He sat numbly in his seat, gripping onto Edward’s hand for dear life as he listened to the doctors words; the impact and penetrating injuries, the stitches and the cast, the medication they had put him on. A lot of it was words he didn’t quite pay attention to long enough to understand, he just grasped the fact that Stede was okay, that there was no serious damage.

Which felt like it was easier to fucking breathe.

Izzy’s conversation a few years prior had gone so completely differently. There had been no hope to save his leg from the start once it had been crushed in the wreck, mangled within the metal and the glass shards of the accident. He’d had countless conversations after the surgery about what was next, how to move forwards from that.

But Stede wouldn’t need those, he was okay.

Ed must have had the same thoughts racing through his brain, as in his peripheral vision Izzy watched as he grabbed a few tissues from the box on the doctor’s desk and lifted them to his face.

By the time the doctor had said all that he wanted to say, they were finally allowed to go and see Stede, and the relief that coursed through Izzy’s body almost made him collapse. He and Ed followed the doctor to the ward that Stede had been placed in, and every step closer they got to seeing him, Izzy felt more and more ill.

Stede deserved so much better than this.

The ward itself was generally empty, so only Stede’s bed and one other were occupied as they walked into the room. The clinical smell was making Izzy’s head spin, it was too familiar. Everything was too familiar and he fucking detested it.

Stede had occupied the bed by the window, and the first thing that Izzy noticed as they approached was the cast on his left arm. And although he had heard from the doctor that his legs were fine, Izzy couldn’t help his gaze as it flickered downwards towards Stede’s legs, and he felt the physical relief when he saw that they were fine. Once they had gotten closer, Izzy could see the finer details; the bandage wrapped around his shoulder, the cuts across his face from the shattered glass, the IV that the hospital had him attached to. The man in the bed was so far from the lively Stede that they knew, it made him feel sick.

Ed took up residence in the chair that was the closest to the window, and once Izzy had pulled the curtains around the bed, he sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the bed. Stede’s hand was cold as he took it in his own, and he didn’t think before he lifted it up to press his lips to his knuckles, eyes fallen shut.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against the skin of Stede’s hand, too quiet for even Ed to hear. “I should’ve been there.”

His eyes flickered upwards after a moment, and watched a similar scene with Ed; he had clasped Stede’s hand in both of his as best as he could with his cast, was pressing repeated kisses to the skin of his fingers, and though Izzy couldn’t make out all of his words, he could hear countless amounts of, “you’re okay” and “we’re here, love” and “we aren’t going anywhere”.

Though the wait in the waiting room had been bad, trying to gather the patience for Stede to wake up was almost excruciating. He was still heavily dosed up on medication so it wasn’t surprising, it was just almost painful.

Though the felt when he started to wake up; Stede’s fingers twitched in Izzy’s hand before they gripped, and he took one look up to Edward’s face and saw that he had obviously felt the same.

“Stede?” Izzy murmured, the same time Ed got out, “Stede, love?”

It took another few long moments before Stede moved again, stretched out with a little more purpose than mindless twitching, and hummed in response when Ed continued to speak to him.

“Oh fuck, mate,” Ed’s words sounded tearful. “Gave us quite a scare there.”

“Wha-” Izzy watched as Stede forced his eyes to blink, and squinted underneath the bright fluorescent lights of the ward. “What?”

Izzy lightly dragged his fingers along the inside of his wrist and back down to his palm, in an attempt to be comforting. Ed had always been better at comforting touch — Ed had always been better at a lot — but Izzy was trying. “You’re okay, you’re in the hospital.”

Stede had to blink some more before he could actually look at the space around him, but when he did he took some time to examine the space around him, before he glanced between his partners either side of him. “Oh, I- yes, I- I suppose I am…” Izzy could see the moment that his face paled, that his already cloudy eyes dulled, and his words punched out of him in one breath, “The car-”

“Easy, love.” Ed murmured, pressed some more kisses to his hand.

“The-” Stede inhaled deeply, blinked through the tears that built in his eyes. “I didn’t see it coming, the other car, I couldn’t- I couldn’t stop it- they were going too fast-”

Izzy’s chair scraped against the floor noisily as he pulled it forwards as close to the bed as was physically possible. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

Stede’s head whipped around to face him when he spoke, and his eyes almost bulged out of his head. “Izzy,” he choked. “Oh my Izzy, thank god you weren’t with me.”

He didn’t quite know how to respond to that, so he just pressed his lips together and kissed Stede’s hand, let Ed carry on with the talking.

Soon enough, there were nurses joining them to check Stede over once he had awoken, and Stede was still on medication, so it didn’t take long for him to drift off into sleep again. In fact, by the time midnight rolled around, Stede had drifted off on three separate occasions. Ed had fallen asleep closer to eleven o’clock, hunched over Stede’s bed with his cheek pressed to Stede’s thigh through the covers, snoring quietly.

Izzy didn’t know how he did it. He wouldn’t be closing his eyes long enough to let Stede out of his sight even just for a moment, let alone long enough to sleep. It was bad enough that Izzy had let it happen once, he wasn’t going to risk it again.

Though, despite his choice not to sleep, it didn’t mean that he wasn’t tired — in fact, he was fucking exhausted. Leant back in his chair with Ed’s jacket draped over his shoulders, since he hadn’t thought at the time to bring his own — not that at the time of leaving the house he had been registering anything and had long since taken off his prosthetic just to be more comfortable, had it rested against the side of Stede’s bed. A headache was pressing behind his eyes, undoubtedly the stress of the day that was catching up to him, and although he knew sleep would feel good, he wasn’t about to let it happen.

“Izzy?”

Izzy jolted in his seat as he looked up at Stede, he hadn’t even realised that he was awake. “Hey, Stede,” he murmured, stroked the back of his hand — carefully missing he cannula — delicately. “How’re you feeling?”

“A bit achey, but I’m fine,” Stede shrugged, but Izzy shot him a look, because he had a habit of downplaying things. “Really I am! It’s my arm that’s annoying me more than anything.”

“Do you want me to go and find a nurse?” Before Stede could even ask he had reached for his prosthetic, but Stede’s hand gripped his wrist tightly and immediately made him pause.

“No, no Iz, I feel quite alright with you here.”

Izzy frowned, then. He couldn’t help himself. How could Stede be so oblivious to the fact that it was his fault that he was there?

“I’m…” Izzy inhaled deeply through his nose, closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” He heard Stede ask, followed by a little laugh. “You weren’t the one who crashed into me, were you?”

Stede was smiling, and Izzy couldn’t find anything funny about it. It felt like he was being eaten up from the inside up by his guilt, his regret — he should have been there.

“You asked me to go with you,” his voice was strained as he pushed the words out of his mouth, locked his eyes on their joined hands. “I didn’t, if I… if I had gone I could’ve stopped it, or-”

“What?” Stede sounded incredulous. “You can’t be serious, Izzy.”

“Of course I’m fucking serious, you could’ve been really hurt.”

“Hey,” the softness of his tone was enough to pull his focus upwards, and when he looked at Stede’s face he was frowning. “If you were there, we would’ve both ended up here, and- well, you know Ed, he would’ve been running around like a headless chicken not knowing what to do,” he breathed a slight laugh, and paused to tangle his fingers through Ed’s hair, lightly stroking it back. “It was in no way your fault, darling.”

“I just-” Izzy huffed out an irritated breath when his words wavered again, he’d done enough fucking crying for the rest of his life. But he felt Stede squeeze his hand — fucker was still trying to comfort him whilst he was the one held up in a hospital bed — and he held his hand back just as tightly. “I kept thinking about when it happened to me and- and if you…”

He didn’t need to say anymore, just the look on Stede’s face told him he understood.

“Oh darling,” he breathed, frowned. A moment passed before Stede withdrew his hand, and instead pulled back the covers of his bed to pat the space on the mattress beside him. “Join me?”

Izzy just rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a twat, there’s not enough room.”

“Please?” Stede pouted, which was completely unfair because Izzy couldn’t resist when he did that. “You won’t hurt me or anything, promise.”

Izzy stared for a moment; his eyes flickered over Stede, Stede who was still bandaged and looked worse for wear, but somehow was still smiling, and Ed who was hunched over the other side of the bed fast asleep, and despite the circumstances, he really wouldn’t choose to be anywhere else.

Stede held his arm and helped him shift from the chair to the bed, and tried his hardest not to jostle Stede too much as he got settled in the bed beside him. Izzy tucked an arm around him, pulled him against his side, and sighed when Stede relaxed against him, lulled his head against his shoulder.

Whatever nurse came to do the next checkup would undoubtedly complain about Izzy being in the bed, but he couldn’t find himself to care if it made Stede happy.

“Darling?” His voice hit Izzy’s neck in a warm breath, and relaxed him against the pillows a little.

“Mm?”

Stede took Izzy’s free hand and lifted it, pressed his lips to his knuckles ever so gently. “I’m okay, I promise,” he started, turned his head to dot some kisses against Izzy’s shoulder, too. “I’m sorry if I scared you earlier, I really didn’t mean to. And i just want you to know that I don’t blame you, not at all. It couldn’t possibly have been your fault-”

“But-”

“Hush,” Stede elbowed him, effectively silenced him. “It wasn’t. In fact, I feel much better because you’re here, okay?”

There was no chance for him to argue with that, as Stede had leaned up enough to press a soft kiss to his lips, just a light little thing, but it felt so nice. The tension physically drained from Izzy’s shoulders, and he melted against the pillows with Stede tucked against him. “There’s a love. I think we all need some sleep.”

“You tell me if I hurt you,” Izzy grumbled. “Fucking dumb idea, having us in here together. Ed’s already squishing you.”

He heard Stede’s smile in his voice when he spoke, “I feel much better with you both here. I’ll be better in no time if we keep this up,” there was a pause, in which Stede kissed the exposed skin of his neck, before he added, “If you stop complaining, that is.”

Izzy rolled his eyes but didn’t mention it, because even if the idea to have them all squished up together was stupid, he certainly felt better with Stede in his arms. His hand that had wound around Stede reached out enough to hold Ed’s arm, and only once he had both of them within reach did he allow himself to relax, sighing out as he felt Stede start to nod off against his shoulder.

For the first time that day, it actually felt like things could be okay.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

comments would mean the world <3 requests are open!

#our flag means death #our flag means death fanfic #our flag means fanfic #ofmd #ofmd fanfic #stede bonnet #edward teach #blackbeard #izzy hands #blackbeard x stede #edward teach x stede bonnet #stede bonnet x edward teach x izzy hands #stede bonnet x izzy hands #edward teach x izzy hands #steddyhands

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swanhookheart · 1 year ago

Text

Thoughts on AI writing, the WGA strike, and ways to help

This whole post is a hot mess, but I think it communicates the point I'm trying to make so I'm gonna hit "publish" and call it a day, peeps!

In the last four years, I have worked as a writing tutor, a teaching assistant for first-year composition, an embedded tutor for ESL writing workshops, a reading partner, editor-in-chief of my school's literary magazine, and as a freelance college essay coach. I'm also a novelist (unpublished but working on it), a poet, recipient of my community college's 2021 Outstanding English Student Award, a voracious reader, and in possession of a two-year degree in Creative Writing (four-year Berkeley literature degree coming in Spring). I guess you could say I like words.

I could go on for days about all the reasons I hate ChatGPT being used as a writing aid (especially by students—ffs, pls don't make me have to report y’all for academic dishonesty; it will be a shitty experience for both of us), but here’s one I really care about: vulnerability.

As it is, ChatGPT's ability to generate prose rivals my own at about age eight (that is, it looks like a thesaurus vomited all over the page and still struggles to spell the word "fluorescent" when prompted—fuck that word, to be fair). But let's envision a world two, maybe five, years down the road where AI is capable of generating a flawless sentence. It's well-structured, the grammar checks out, everything's spelled right, and the words the algorithm has chosen work to communicate its thoughts. Even then, AI wouldn't be able to replace or compete with even the most inexperienced writers among us. Why? Because, in my opinion at least, imperfections are what make art, art.

Any time I get the urge to overthink something I've created or edit it to the point of unrecognizability (which is often; I have OCD, fam!), I like to think of this sentence in Latin:

perfectus est.

To those who have not subjected themselves to completed 2 years of Latin, this might look like it'd translate to "it is perfect", but the actual, direct translation beside the adjective "perfectus, -a, -um" in all my textbooks and dictionaries has been, instead, "finished, completed". Proper classicists can feel free to correct me here, but the original Latin doesn't seem to carry with it quite the same connotations of quality or superiority that we have in the English word "perfect", and that's low-key fucking inspirational. I think about it like this: things can be "perfect" without being flawless. They only need to be done, and "done" leaves a lot more freedom for self-expression. If just being "done" makes something "perfect", then whatever peculiarities that piece possesses are also perfect. This makes total sense in my mind, but I feel like I'm on the verge of having a stroke trying to articulate it.

Art, for me, is never about the completed piece itself. It's the quirks, it's the process, it's the slight imperfections—like finding out 14 years after starting my fantasy series that the surname of one of my main characters is slang for "severe diarrhea" but being too committed to the name at this point to change it. It's the brushstroke in a painting that doesn't quite stay in the lines or the musician’s voice cracking as they sing through an especially personal set of lyrics. Some wise person once gave me a variation of this advice, and I’ve just kind of run with it ever since: the little details in our creations we convince ourselves are flaws are, more often than not, just spaces where our humanity is seeping through. They’re not bad. They’re just instances of us, as creators, making ourselves vulnerable in the name of our craft. Whether it's in a writing workshop, therapy, school, or anywhere else, I think we all feel a bit self-conscious or even uncomfortable any time we have to share pieces of ourselves with others. Baring our souls is scary. But I like to think humans are generally good at heart, and the kinds of things they typically have to say in response to these instances are designed to enhance the bits of humanity they find in our works, rather than erase or destroy them. So, making choices as artists that force us to feel vulnerable and get us out of our comfort zone because we think we’re “not doing it right” are not just welcome experiences to those intent on growing, but essential. And AI cannot do that. It can't feel, it can't think, and so these moments of vulnerability never occur. The opportunity to generate real, human connection has been lost.

The human brain is a remarkable thing. It’s "trained", as it were (in the same way ChatGPT is trained), to think the way it does not just because it's consumed a lot of other people's material, but because it's experienced a lot in its own right. We've all experienced love, we've mourned, we’ve endured trauma, we’ve laughed to the point of tears, we've left the fucking TV remote in the refrigerator again dammit, and all of these things affect how we relate to the world and to certain topics we may write about. We’re not even touching on how neurodivergence and other brain stuff can further change how we experience life; there’s even more variety to be found when factors like that are taken into account, but I'm not trying to write a dissertation here. As the products of all these influences, our brains make very intentional choices when we write (even when it feels like we're just slapping stuff on a page and hoping it sticks). The formal features of our prose are all going to be dependent on a combination of things we’ve done, felt, and read.

I mean, I guess some might want to use the Infinite Monkey Theorem (the idea that, if you leave infinite monkeys with infinite typewriters for an infinite amount of time, they will inevitably produce a finite number of texts, including the Complete Works of William Shakespeare, an infinite number of times) to argue that writing is actually more formulaic than artistic and so maybe utilizing these algorithms is totally fine. I guess the algorithm is being compared to infinite monkeys here. I don’t know. I’ve gotten hungry since sitting down to write this silly blog post and so I’m getting a little distracted. But humans aren’t alive an infinite amount of time, and the brevity of our existence necessitates a certain urgency in what and how we write—an urgency that leads us to conclude it’s better our work be flawed but out there than faultless but stuck inside our heads. So we write. We write good shit, we write bad shit, we buy a copy of Scrivener or MS Word, we join Tumblr dot com and publish all kinds of silly memes and dick jokes, and we get a world full of funky, crazy, chaotic art that reflects our funky, crazy, chaotic selves. Our humanity seeps out with every word we commit to paper, and we let it because it’s better to live in a world filled with jagged edges and mismatched hues than it is to live in one created by something that is literally fucking incapable of feeling.

You might think this is a great blog post. You might think it's garbage. You’re valid either way. But AI couldn't have written it. It’s full of tiny little pieces of me that just kinda slipped their way in as I was writing. It’s not super polished. It’s a bit all over the place because oh my god I’m craving a cookie but want to finish writing this before I leave my desk to go and get one. No matter what anyone’s thoughts are on my particular voice, though, I think we can all agree that it exists. It exists because I write often—daily, if I can—and because I feel, I think, I am. Those things come through, and they’re what make this a semi-coherent (I hope) blog post as opposed to a smattering of random words ChatGPT probably couldn’t define for you at gunpoint. Whatever you think about this post, AI couldn’t have written it and that’s the point.

This is just one of the reasons why I support the WGA strike and will continue to do so for as long as it takes the union to get the deal they deserve. I am not and will likely never be a member of this union, but the work they’re doing with this strike to push back against AI and its wildfire-like proliferation across creative industries is essential. Algorithms simply cannot do the work that humans do—not today, not ever. Not because they’re not advanced enough, but because vulnerability is what make art, art. Connecting with other human beings—which is all any of us ever really hope to do with our art anyway—requires that vulnerability.

I’m just some random dweeb on the internet, seeing marginalized workers struggle because a bunch of crappy billionaires don't want to come to the table and feeling like shouting some words into the void about it. Maybe nobody will see this post, and that’s okay. But maybe they will and I can do some good with it. I haven’t got a lot of money to help (I’m in my broke college student era). But donations to the Entertainment Community Fund are being accepted and these funds go back into the hands of union (WGA and SAG-AFTRA) members as hardship funds if they need financial help during the work stoppage—this is my understanding, at least; pls correct me if I’m wrong!

Link below:

If you can’t donate, please reblog. I know it would mean a lot to me if I were in their position.

#writers strike #WGA #support the wga #Chatgpt #artificial intelligence

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ertrunkenerwassergeist · 1 year ago

Note

Do you have anything written for To Live is to Die Twice that you are willing to share?

I just looked through my folder and found something. More than I expected, actually. XD (It's not edited at all though, so beware the mistakes)

Here you go

Mors drifted through the In Between, guided by the gentle prodding of a presence just beyond his understanding, until it suddenly stopped and sensations came rushing back all at once. The experience was so jarring he forgot he was supposed to breathe. His lungs felt like iron bands were clamped around them, burning hot and ice cold at the same time.

He could hear something. It was warbled, like someone trying to talk underwater and his ears were full of cotton. Something crashed into his chest and if he had had any breath left, he would have gasped. A spark ran through him. It was some kind of magic, but it was gone too quickly for him to say what kind of magic it had been. It could have been a lightning spell trying to fry him from the inside out for all he knew.

Suddenly he could breathe.

Greedily he sucked in gulps of air and blinked blearily against the golden half-light. Was this how souls arrived in the Ring of the Lucii? If so, it sucked balls.

An unbidden groan made its way past his lips. Somebody was talking again in hushed tones and gentle words, but his brain was too scrambled to make out what was being said. Fingers carded through his hair. This was embarrassing. Showing weakness like that in front of his ancestors and needing to be molly coddled like that.

Mors forced his eyes open – it took more effort than he thought it would – with the intention to make the person stop whatever they were doing and came up short as he stared up at a cracked ceiling. It must have been beautiful once, a distant part of his brain – the part that had always had an interest in architecture his own father had never truly allowed him to pursue, not that it had stopped him, of course – voiced as his eyes trailed the crumbling stucco and the bits of plastering that still held traces of colour.

This wasn't the Ring of the Lucii.

Where by Bahamut's bladed wings was he?

The fingers carded through his hair again and he flinched back. As it turned out, whipping his head around was a bad idea. Black spots crowded his vision and nausea made his stomach lurch rather unpleasantly. Mors was sure he would have vomited all over the scratchy bedsheets, if his stomach hadn't been empty already.

He forced himself to take a few deep breaths until he didn't feel like his whole world was spinning around him in a dizzying array of shadows and soft light anymore. The frame of the bed creaked ominously as he shifted his weight to gain a better look at the person, whose fingers should fucking stop already.

It was a young man who looked like he had barely hit twenty – if that – with an unruly mop of long, black hair that currently obscured half his face, and striking violet eyes. There were thin lines tattooed around his eyes and along the cheek and temple of the left side of his face. Mors suppressed a derisive snort. If Regis had dared to do something like this he would have beaten him black and blue for disrespecting his family line like that.

The stroking of his hair finally stopped as the young man seemed to get the hint that his touch wasn't welcome. Mors couldn't help the unbidden sense of loss-emptiness that washed through him and squashed it down mercilessly.

A soft sigh rushed past the young man's lips and they twisted into a slight smile as Mors's eyes focused on him.

“Finally with me again? You had all of us worried.”

With a furrowed brow Mors inched further away along the bed until his back hit the wall. Only now that he could feel the old stone at his back, did he realize how cold the air hitting his face was. He shivered in the warm cocoon of the blankets he was wrapped in, and scowled at his own reaction. He was a King of Lucis, and not some pampered noble that wouldn't know the sharp edge of a blade, even if it hit him in the face. But here he was, barely able to move, limbs heavy and without the strength to summon a weapon.

Then it registered what the young man had said. What did he mean 'again'? Wait, no. That wasn't as important as: “What do you mean 'us'? Who are you?”

He snapped the words out with all the air of a man who knew his questions would be answered – or else. His mouth clicked shut sharply as he heard the sound of his own voice. This wasn't how he was supposed to sound. He hadn't sounded like that since -

Before his mind could slip into the dark hole that was his death and what by Pitioss is wrong with me, there is something wrong, wrong, wrong, an amused huff made his attention snap back to the man sitting on a stool next to the rickety old bed.

“Such insolence. It must really run in the family.”

…What?

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

The man blinked like he had just realized something. He leaned slightly back and carded his hair out of his face – it was long enough to fall between his shoulder blades – and Mors's breath shuttered in his chest. That face. This unknown man looked so much like Regis, and by extension, him, it hurt.

Oh Gods, Regis. How was he doing? Had he grieved at all? Mors had always done his best to protect his family, even if he knew that Regis thought different. He had seen it in the growing distance his son kept, the polite, empty words they exchanged, the looks Regis and Clarus had exchanged when they thought themselves unwatched.

#ask #raven-6-10 #ffxv #deep city au #to live is to die twice #mors lucis caelum #snippet #geist writes #I haven't continued this in ages #XD #I wrote down lots of potential continuations for chapter 1 #but they're all in notebooks #and in german #and to this day I haven't found the energy to translate them #geist answers

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ravenelyx · 1 year ago

Note

For the fic writing ask game! 13, 22, 38, 53, 66, 75!

Hello Soph <3<3 thank you sm !!

13- Do you listen to music while you write? If yes, what have you been listening to recently?

Nope, too distracting truly 🥲 no matter if it has words or not -- by brain stalls and I just end up either staring at the wall or singing :")

22- Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

Sometimes i do it before the story itself even exists (like ilyet and arranged heartbreak or the wips listed in my masterlist), sometimes in the middle (an epiphany moment in which my brain goes YOU KNOW WHAT---?).

Titles are usually based on the core of the story if the fic is rather long:

I love you in every timeline: inspired by DSMOM originally -- it's actually a wordplay on the entire story : it holds its essence entirely, playing on the identity of the two girls, the contrast of Sebastian's emotions and the way time affects the whole ordeal (how he himself has as well, directly on indirectly, affected both past, present and future). I have a very late scene written out already which explains pretty much everything, but I can't spoil it and I feel like a quivering leaf when i think about it (brain write faster pls i want to reach it soon --- but not so soon bc it's literally towards the end)

Arranged Heartbreak : pretty self-explanatory (i had thought the title to be lame at first and then I just... didn't care)

As for the other short fics, they're pretty simple titles tbh --- except for the list in my masterlist: I went all out and those don't even exist yet

38- What is your most self-indulgent posted story?

ILYET itself 🥲

She's my precious, my baby, my dearest love --- also, MC 2.0 herself is based on my OC (Lys Lovelace my dear) since I haven't written anything about her (appearance and stuff is still ambiguous as a true x reader story)

53- What is the most-used tag on your ao3?

I expected it to be something angsty : it's actually "fluff" :||

Just fluff

I'm a sappy idiot fr

66- What’s a fun fact about ILYET?

Edit: one fun fact no one probably knows about is that the whole fanfiction was actually born from a teen wolf edit that ended on my tiktok fyp... yeahhh... and it's a stydia scene, when Lydia walks up to the group asking "where have you guys been?" and Stiles turns around, completely struck. And then idk why my brain just decided to take that scene and just... make the whole thing up into what it is now...

75- Is there a particular fic that readers gravitated towards that you didn’t expect?

Pretty much all of them -- I've never really had any online presence before tumblr so I wasn't really expecting anything when I first started writing, really :"")

I remember when i posted the prologue of ilyet: it was late at night, (friday night, about 11:45 pm -- i remember it like it was yesterday) so I just posted it, went to sleep and expected nothing in return -- then I woke up to like 300 notes in barely a few hours and I literally jumped out of my skin🥲🥲 those were the good times

But fr -- I expected Loved like to flop bc I literally word vomited it at 4 am, posted it without even rereading it, and then woke up to ppl liking it fr (I still hate it, don't doubt, but still...)

Aaaand... yeah.

Ask game here <3

#ravenelyx:answers #sophiver #writer ask game #fanfic ask

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dollgxtz · 24 days ago

Text

His Watchful Eye Pt.10

Word Count: 22.3k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What would you look like fully pregnant?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It hurt. It fucking hurt.

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

Xavier.

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

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

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

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

Our child.

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

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

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

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

Next week, everything would change.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is it sweetie?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, to his surprise, you reached out.

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

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

But the moment was fleeting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is bad.

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

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

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

What can I do?

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

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

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

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

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

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

The arcade.

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

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

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

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

He blinked again, and it was gone.

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

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

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

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

“Oh! Okay, well...uh...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anything to pull you out of the darkness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The words hit Sylus like a physical blow.

Xavier. Always Xavier.

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

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

He couldn’t listen anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s when you saw it.

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

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

And then you realized you weren’t alone.

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

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

But it was Sylus who truly terrified you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he too, smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ultrasound day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The heartbeat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the darkness was all that remained.

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

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

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

Sylus noticed, of course. He always noticed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some things could never be made right.

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

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

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

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

You snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you weren’t done. Not yet.

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

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

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

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

“You don’t get it, do you?” you choked out, your voice trembling. “I don’t want your love. I don’t want this baby. You’ve destroyed everything I ever cared about. I can’t love you. I can’t love this…this monster growing inside me.”

Sylus flinched at the word monster, his expression tightening as if you had slapped him. His hands, which had been hovering near you, fell to his sides, limp and defeated.

For a moment, the two of you just remained there, the space between you impossibly wide. Your chest heaved with the weight of everything you had just said, the truth burning in your throat.

Sylus’s face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed as if he were holding back tears of his own. If you hadn't known any better you would've thought he was about to cry. You’d never seen him like this—never seen him so…broken. It should have made you feel better. It should have given you some sense of satisfaction to see him suffer the way you had. But all it did was leave you feeling hollow, empty.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m so sorry.”

Sylus stood there, his chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. You could see the way your words had broken something in him, the raw vulnerability in his eyes, but he didn’t back down. Not yet. His fingers twitched at his sides, as if he wanted to reach for you, to pull you close, but he seemed to know better now. Instead, he took a step closer, his voice cracking as he spoke.

"Your old life was killing you,” Sylus said, his voice soft but edged with frustration. "You were overworked, exhausted, running on fumes. You barely had time for yourself. You were drowning, and I saved you from that. You don’t see it now, but I gave you a way out."

You felt the familiar surge of anger swell in your chest, hotter and fiercer than before. His words felt like a slap in the face, as if he was dismissing everything you had worked for, everything you had built in your life—no matter how hard it had been. He didn’t get it. He didn’t understand. And the fact that he thought he had "saved" you only made it worse.

"Saved me?" you spat, your voice rising with disbelief. "You think you saved me? Sylus, I wasn’t asking to be saved! I didn’t need you to swoop in and decide that my life wasn’t good enough for me. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine!"

He froze, his expression tightening, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

"Yeah, I was tired. Yeah, I was overworked sometimes," you continued, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. "But I chose that life. The life of a hunter. I chose to work hard. I chose to push myself because it was my life. I could decide if I wanted to be exhausted or not. I could decide if I wanted to keep going or take a break."

"You took that away from me."

Sylus shook his head, a deep crease forming between his brows. "You’re not seeing it clearly. You were on the edge, about to burn out completely. I just...I gave you a way out. Somewhere you didn’t have to fight so hard all the time."

"Well, it wasn’t your decision to make!" you yelled, your voice breaking as the tears welled up again. "It was my life! My choice! Maybe I would have burned out, maybe I would have fallen apart, but it would have been my choice to do that! And for the record, I am fighting here. Every single day I have to fight the urge to slam my head into the wall until I pass out and die!"

Sylus’s face twisted with something between guilt and frustration, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "I’m trying to give you something better," he insisted, his voice thick with emotion. "A life where you don’t have to struggle every day. A life where you’re cared for, where you don’t have to worry about anything."

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and hollow in the tense silence between you.

"I don’t want that life, Sylus," you said, your voice soft but laced with anger. "I want my own life. The one where I get to make decisions for myself. Even if it’s messy and exhausting."

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Sylus stared at you, his eyes wide, his lips parted as if he wanted to say something—anything—to convince you that he was right. But you could see the cracks in his resolve, the way his shoulders slumped just a little, the way his gaze flickered with something close to defeat.

For a moment, he didn’t speak. He just stood there, his chest heaving with the weight of everything unspoken between you.

Then, finally, his voice came, soft and tender.

"Why can't you see that this is better for you?," he whispered, his eyes searching yours for something you couldn’t give him. "Your safe here, with me. You saw what happened to you when you ran. Can't you understand?"

You shook your head, your throat tight with the tears you were fighting back from spilling any further. Why were you crying so much? Stop crying in front of this asshole.

"You can’t decide what’s better for me," you said quietly. "That’s not love, Sylus. That’s control."

And with those words, the last bit of fight seemed to drain from him. He stood there, silent and still, as if he didn’t know what to do, as if he were finally realizing the depth of what he had done. You watched as his face let go of all the frustration, and he turned to you.

You braced yourself for the usual. Sylus was nothing if not predictable in the way he handled your anger. You expected the chuckle, the smirk that would twist his lips as he dismissed your emotions, reducing them to a symptom of your hormones. He’d likely pull you into his lap, force you to melt into him until your tears spilled out, and he’d whisper something charming or infuriating, depending on his mood. That was Sylus—always in control, always one step ahead of your emotions, bending them to suit his will.

But this time, there was no chuckle. No smirk.

Instead, he stood up from his chair, pushing it back gently, and then…he knelt.

He knelt in front of you, and it took a moment for your brain to process what was happening. Sylus had never knelt before you, never shown this kind of vulnerability. It was always you looking up at him, feeling the weight of his presence, the force of his control pressing down on you. But now, for the first time, you were looking down at him.

It was jarring, seeing him like this. His eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them, filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. You wanted to pull away, to retreat into the safety of your anger, but something in the way he looked at you kept you rooted to the spot.

He reached for your hand, his fingers cool against your skin as he took it gently in his. You stared at him, waiting for the shift, waiting for him to pull you into his world of manipulation again. But instead, he sighed softly, and you watched, stunned, as he brought your hand to his lips and kissed it with a tenderness that sent a shiver down your spine.

"I’ve…lost people before," he began, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it, filled with something raw, something you weren’t sure you wanted to confront. "People I cared about. People that…didn’t even care about me. And yet, it still hurt."

His words hung in the air, heavy and unexpected. You blinked, unable to tear your gaze away from him. This wasn’t the Sylus you knew. This wasn’t the man who had taken you, who had controlled and manipulated every part of your life since that fateful day you had arrived here. This was someone else—someone who, for a brief moment, seemed…vulnerable.

"I don’t want to live through that again," he continued, his voice steady, though you could hear the pain beneath it. "I don’t want to lose you. I want to give you everything I have. Everything I own. My body, my soul—it’s all yours."

His words struck you like a blow, leaving you reeling. You wanted to pull away, to scream at him for saying such things after everything he’d done. But something about the way he spoke, the way his eyes searched yours, made you stay.

"No," Sylus said, his gaze softening as he looked at you, his hand still holding yours. "You don’t belong to me. At least…not your heart. I know this. I’ve known it for a long time. But I’m hoping…one day, you’ll see me and…not see a monster."

You felt your breath catch in your throat. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Sylus—the man who had torn your life apart, who had taken you from everything you knew—was kneeling before you, admitting to his flaws, his mistakes. The tenderness in his eyes was almost too much to bear, and you hated how it made your heart clench, how it made you feel something you didn’t want to feel.

"I am far from perfect," he continued, his voice soft and filled with regret. "I know I’ve made my mistakes. I know I’ve hurt you in ways that…can’t be undone. But even if I’m forever chasing your love, I’ll never regret bringing you here the way I did. It was the only way I could ensure your life with me was safe."

Your mind was spinning, struggling to comprehend the weight of his words. How could he say that? How could he sit there, offering you everything, knowing that he had destroyed everything you once were?

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. You were too stunned, too overwhelmed by the depth of emotion in his eyes. This wasn’t the cold, calculating man you had come to know. This was someone who, in his own twisted way, genuinely believed that he was protecting you, that he was giving you something better.

Before you could gather your thoughts, Sylus shifted. He reached into his pocket and pulled something out—a small velvet box. Your heart skipped a beat as he opened it, revealing an intricately designed ring. It was striking, a silver band with a dark, rectangular gemstone at its center, surrounded by an elegant vine-like pattern that twisted and intertwined along the sides. Small black stones glimmered against the metal, adding depth to its gothic beauty.

Your breath caught as he took your hand again, his fingers trembling slightly as he held it. The ring was heavy with meaning, and as he slid it onto your finger, the cool silver touching your skin, you felt a strange, sinking sensation in your chest. It was beautiful, but there was something in the weight of it, in the way it encircled your finger, that stirred a mix of emotions—both a mix of confusion and adrenaline.

It fit perfectly. Of course it did.

Sylus knew everything about you—every detail, every aspect of your body. He had studied you, watched you, learned every inch of who you were. This was just another reminder of how deep his control went, how he knew you better than you wanted to admit.

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with something so raw, so earnest, it made your throat tighten.

"Will you be my wife?," he whispered, his voice low and thick with emotion. "Marry me, have my baby. And everything is yours. Everything I have, every part of me. My money, my soul, my heart—it’s all yours."

You stared at him, your mind racing, your heart pounding in your chest. The weight of the ring on your finger felt suffocating, but the look in his eyes, the way he knelt before you with such open vulnerability, made it impossible to tear yourself away.

You wanted to scream, to tear the ring off and throw it back at him. You wanted to tell him that none of this mattered—that no amount of money, no promises of devotion, could ever erase what he had done to you. To scream about the audacity to ask you to marry him after everything. But the words wouldn’t come. You were frozen, trapped between the anger boiling in your chest and the strange, unwelcome tenderness in his eyes.

For a moment, the two of you sat there, the space between you filled with unspoken emotions. Sylus’s hand lingered on yours, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles as if he were trying to convey everything he couldn’t say aloud.

"I’ll give you the world, sweetie," he whispered, his voice so soft it was almost a plea. "You just have to let me."

And for the first time, you didn’t know what to say.

The ring on your finger felt like another chain, binding you to him in ways you never wanted. But the way he looked at you, the way his eyes pleaded for something more—it made the anger inside you waver, just for a moment.

You stared at Sylus, feeling the air shift between you. For a moment, all you could focus on was the absurdity of what was happening. The man who had turned your life upside down was kneeling in front of you, asking you to marry him. But as the seconds ticked by, the weight of it all began to settle in. The small smile on his face grew as you realized something startling.

He wasn’t joking.

Sylus was serious.

This wasn’t some game, some twisted manipulation to push you further into his control—this was real. He was genuinely offering you a choice. A small one, sure. But a choice nonetheless. The ring on your finger, the sincerity in his eyes—it wasn’t just another part of his plan. He was giving you an opening, a crack in the armor you hadn’t expected to find.

You blinked, your heart racing as the realization hit you. Can I use this?

Your mind began to spin, ideas and possibilities swirling around you. If Sylus really wanted this—if he genuinely wanted you to be with him, to be his wife—then maybe…maybe you could use it to your advantage. Maybe, if you played your cards right, you could turn the tables on him.

Could you pretend? Could you manipulate him, make him believe you were coming around, that you were falling for him? If you played the role well enough, if you made him trust you, maybe you could get closer to freedom. Maybe you could finally escape this nightmare.

Your breath hitched at the thought. The idea of pretending to love him, to be anything but what you truly felt, made your stomach churn. But if it was your only way out, if it meant getting closer to freedom—could you do it?

You studied him for a moment, weighing your options. He wasn’t manipulating you in the way you’d come to expect. He was pushing you to a certain answer, yes, but the sincerity in his eyes was undeniable. For all his control, for all the power he held, he was offering you something—something you could use. The idea sent a small spark of hope through you, a glimmer of possibility in the otherwise suffocating darkness.

Sylus raised an eyebrow, watching you closely, clearly waiting for your response. He was confident, but not in the way that made you feel trapped. He was giving you the space to think, to decide. His face was calm, but there was an anxious look twinkling in his eyes.

It was your move.

“If I say yes…” you began slowly, your voice steady but laced with challenge, “can I start coming outside of this room?”

Sylus blinked, and for the briefest moment, you saw something flicker in his eyes—surprise. He hadn’t expected that. You’d managed to throw him off, if only for a heartbeat. But as quickly as the moment came, it was gone, replaced by the familiar, teasing grin that always made your blood simmer. Only this time, there was something different—less control, more excitement.

“You want to bargain, hm?” His voice was warm, the amusement still there, but it wasn’t manipulative. It was almost…tender, as if he found your attempt at negotiating endearing rather than frustrating.

“How cute.”

Before you could respond, he moved. Standing up, Sylus rose from his kneeling position, his full height looming over you. The sudden shift in power was palpable, and despite the defiance thrumming in your veins, you couldn’t help but feel the space between you shrink, the air thickening with tension.

Sylus took a step closer, his presence overwhelming, but there was no smugness in his expression now. Just a quiet intensity, a soft eagerness that made you realize—he was serious. He wanted this. The idea of you saying yes was something he genuinely wanted, not just some ploy for control. His playful teasing melted away into something deeper, something more real.

“You can only come out when I’m around,” he said softly, his tone gentle but firm. “And when you’re in here, you’ll still wear the chain. I have to protect you, sweetie. But...”

He trailed off, watching your face carefully, waiting for you to absorb his words. Then, he leaned down slightly, bringing himself closer to your level, his eyes never leaving yours. His smile softened, tender now, his excitement barely contained. “But if you accept my proposal, I’ll agree to your terms. You’ll get what you want. You’ll come out of this room more often. I’ll give you that freedom, bit by bit.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. This wasn’t a calculated move on his part—there was no hidden agenda in his eyes, no manipulation lurking in the depths of his voice. He genuinely believed he was offering you something. He believed that this was a fair deal.

He wasn’t just teasing you. He was hopeful. Sylus was hoping you’d say yes, hoping that this—the two of you—could work. The thought was startling. You could use this. He wanted your agreement so badly he was willing to bend. If you played this right, if you acted like you were coming around, you could manipulate him. Slowly. Carefully. Get his guard down, map out the house, and then...escape.

The realization made your pulse quicken, but you kept your face neutral. You couldn’t let him see that flicker of hope now burning inside you. You couldn’t show him your hand.

Sylus, seemingly oblivious to your internal struggle, took another small step closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, intimate and sincere. “So, what’ll it be, sweetheart?” His tone was soft, coaxing, but filled with anticipation. “I’ll keep my end of the deal. I’ll give you a little more freedom. You just have to say yes.”

The ring on your finger felt impossibly heavy, the symbol of everything you stood to lose...and maybe, everything you stood to gain. The idea of agreeing to marry him made you feel sick, but the thought of staying locked in this room, with no way out, was worse. If you could use this—if you could pretend to love him, make him believe it—then maybe you could finally have a chance at freedom.

Your throat felt tight, and for a moment, you weren’t sure you could speak. But then, with your heart pounding in your chest, you swallowed your fear.

“I’ll say yes,” you whispered, your voice calm, though your insides were trembling.

Sylus blinked, and for a split second, you saw raw, unfiltered joy flicker across his face. His eyes softened, lighting up with a tender excitement that caught you off guard. He didn’t say anything, didn’t gloat or smirk. Instead, he reached for your hand, his touch gentle as he pulled you just a little closer.

“Good girl,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

For a moment, you were frozen, unable to tear your eyes away from him. His tenderness—the way he looked at you—was almost overwhelming. You hadn’t expected this. You’d expected him to gloat, to make some smug comment, but instead, he seemed genuinely... happy.

His fingers lingered on yours, as if he didn’t want to let go, and you could feel the weight of his emotions pressing down on you. This wasn’t a game for him.

And that made your next move all the more dangerous.

“I’m serious, Sylus,” you said softly, pulling your hand away slowly but not forcefully, letting him see your resolve. “If I agree to this, I need to know you’ll give me more. I can’t live like this forever. I need more freedom.”

He watched you carefully, his eyes searching yours, and for a moment, you thought he might push back. But then, he nodded, his lips pulling into a small, sincere smile.

“I’ll give you what you need, sweetie,” he promised, his voice low and warm. “Your pregnant after all, you can't raise a baby in one room.”

You forced yourself to smile, knowing that this was anything but a cheerful moment for you. But for now, you had to play the part.

You could feel his anticipation thick in the air, almost tangible, his dark eyes locked onto you with that infuriating mix of tenderness and excitement. But you weren’t done yet. No, this was your chance. If you were going to manipulate him, it had to be flawless, it had to be convincing. You had to make him believe that this was real.

"Come closer," you whispered, your voice deliberately softer, almost seductive, as you tilted your head and looked up at him through your lashes. It was an invitation, your eyes pulling him in, baiting him, while you leaned slightly forward.

Sylus raised an eyebrow, the intrigue clear in his expression. For a brief moment, there was a flicker of suspicion in his gaze, as though he were weighing your sudden change in demeanor. Could he sense something? Was he catching on? But then the wariness melted away, replaced by a look of quiet excitement, his features softening. He moved even closer, his posture relaxing as he leaned toward you.

This was the moment. The moment to pull him deeper into the illusion, to make him believe he was winning.

Without giving yourself time to second-guess, you reached up and grabbed his face, pulling him into a kiss. His lips were warm against yours, but he didn’t respond immediately. His body stiffened, and in that split second of hesitation, panic surged through you. Had you pushed too far? Did he know you were playing him?

The silence stretched unbearably, the seconds dragging out as fear twisted in your stomach. But then, just as quickly, Sylus seemed to relax, and he kissed you back. The tension drained from his body, and you could feel the relief ripple through him. He believed you.

His lips moved softly against yours, and you realized with growing unease that he was good at this—too good. His hands slid to the sides of your waist, gentle but deliberate, his fingers making their under your nightgown as the kiss continued, in a way that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. You felt the warmth of his skin against yours, and to your horror, you found yourself leaning into him, your body betraying you with a response that wasn’t part of the plan.

This was supposed to be a game—a trick to manipulate him into letting his guard down. But instead, you were getting lost in it. You could feel the kiss deepening, growing more intense, and Sylus was taking his time, savoring it. His lips moved with a kind of hunger that caught you off guard, and his hands, now wandering higher under your nightgown, made your breath catch. A small gasp leaves your lips as he manages to slip his tongue into your mouth, beginning a slippery and lustful dance with your own tongue. A wave of panic hit you as you realized your resolve was slipping. No. This isn't how it was supposed to go.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you forced yourself to pull back, breaking the kiss abruptly. Sylus blinked, his face twisting with surprise, but you didn’t give him a chance to react or ask questions. A mixture of two of yall's saliva slid down your chin and you wiped it. You needed to get out of there before you lost control completely.

“I—" you stammered, quickly placing a hand over your stomach, hoping the gesture looked convincing. “I feel like I’m going to throw up dinner.”

The words tumbled out hurriedly, and you could hear the desperation in your own voice, but it didn’t matter as long as Sylus believed it. You watched as his expression immediately shifted, the concern in his eyes growing as he laid a hand on your shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with genuine worry.

You nodded, your pulse racing, already halfway to the bathroom. “Yes, I just—I need a minute.” You didn’t wait for his response, rushing toward the bathroom as if you couldn’t get away fast enough. You rushed through the entrance, leaning against the wall for a moment, trying to steady your breathing.

The adrenaline was still coursing through your veins, your mind spinning from what had just happened. You barely had time to process it as you quickly knelt in front of the toilet, forcing yourself to make exaggerated retching noises loud enough for him to hear. Your heart was still racing, your lips still tingling from the kiss. You needed to calm down, to think.

“Sweetie? Do you need anything?” Sylus called from the other side of the wall, his concern cutting through the noise in your head. “I’ll see if I can get something for the nausea that’s safe for the baby.”

You leaned over the toilet, trying to mask your deep breaths. “I’ll be fine!” you called out, making sure your voice sounded weak, vulnerable. You forced another fake gag. “I just need a minute.”

You held your breath, waiting to see if he’d come to check on you. Your heart pounded in your ears, half expecting him to walk in, but then you heard the sound of his footsteps retreating. You were alone. Finally.

A slow, genuine smile crept across your face, something dark and satisfying twisting inside you. The kiss had thrown you off, but in the end, it didn’t matter. The plan was still intact. Sylus was buying every second of it, and he had no idea what was coming next.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt powerful again. You had him wrapped around your finger, and he didn’t even know it.

“My turn now, Sylus.” you whispered to yourself, the smile widening as you stared down at the toilet, your heart still racing with the adrenaline of what you’d just done.

Because now? Now you were the one in control.

And Sylus had no idea the storm that was about to descend on him.

Xavier stood at the edge of the city, his hands resting on the cold metal railing of the balcony outside of the Hunter's Association, his eyes fixed on the distant skyline. Linkon looked the same as it always had—its towering buildings and busy streets alive with movement—but to Xavier, the city felt hollow. It was as if everything had lost its meaning the moment you were taken. Nothing seemed real anymore. Not since that day.

His jaw clenched as he stared down at the street below, where people moved about, oblivious to the war that raged inside him. The lie he had been forced to tell weighed heavily on his chest, suffocating him. It gnawed at his conscience, at the very core of who he was.

He had told everyone you were gone. That you had escaped the country, far from reach, that you were safe. He had even given them details—fabricated images of a life where you were living free and happy from the shackles of life. It was all a lie. A lie Sylus had demanded he spread to protect you.

But the truth…the truth burned inside him every second of every day.

You hadn’t just left. You weren’t safe. You were still out there, trapped in Sylus’s grasp, and there wasn’t a damn thing Xavier could do about it. Not without risking your life.

“Fuck.” The word escaped his lips in a low, frustrated growl as he ran a hand through his hair. He had been searching for months, chasing every lead, every whisper that might bring him closer to finding you. All of that work, just to be stopped dead in his tracks by Sylus's threats. Sylus had buried you deep. And with every day that passed, Xavier felt you slipping further away.

The memory of the last message still haunted him—Sylus’s threat, calm and chilling.

"You're going to tell your captain that you saw and talked to your… partner. That she is fine and just felt trapped with work, so she fled to another country. After that, get rid of the SIM card. I will know if you don't. Don't test me."

It had been a warning, clear and direct. A warning Xavier had no choice but to obey. Because as much as he wanted to tear the world apart to find you, to rip Sylus apart piece by piece for what he had done, he couldn’t. Not without endangering your life. And that was something he couldn’t live with.

So he had lied. To Tara, to the captain, to everyone that was worried. They had believed him. Captain Jenna had even told him to pass on the message that you were relieved of your duties. They thought you were free, safe, living a life far away from all of this madness.

It had been weeks now. Weeks of living this lie. Of watching the world go on without you, of everyone around him moving forward, believing the false reality he had constructed. But every day without you felt like another day lost, another day stolen by Sylus. The job continued. His life went on.

But you weren’t there.

And without you, nothing mattered.

Behind him, the door to the balcony creaked open, and Xavier tensed. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Tara. She had been hovering around him for days, concerned but respectful of his space. She didn’t understand—how could she? To her, it looked like you had simply left him, like you had chosen to walk away from everything the two of you had built. To her, it looked like he was mourning the loss of you, mourning the heartbreak of being left behind.

He wasn’t mourning your absence.

He was mourning the fact that he couldn’t save you.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Tara said softly, her footsteps light as she approached. Her voice held that same gentle concern it always did, but today, it made Xavier’s chest ache even more. “I know this has been…hard for you.”

Tara came to stand beside him, leaning her arms on the railing, her gaze sweeping over the city, brown hair swaying in the wind. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the cold wind swirling between them. The air felt heavy, thick with the things they weren’t saying.

Xavier swallowed, his throat tight, his pulse pounding in his ears. He wanted to respond, to say something, but how could he explain any of this to her? She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. Sylus had made sure of that. He wasn’t just protecting you with the lie—he was protecting Tara and everyone else from Sylus’s reach.

Tara sighed, turning her gaze to him. “I miss her too, you know,” she said, her voice tinged with sadness. “I thought the two of you were going to make it through anything. And then…she just left. Won't answer my calls or texts either.”

Xavier’s jaw clenched as he tried to keep his emotions in check. He couldn’t tell her the truth. He couldn’t let anyone know that you hadn’t left by choice—that you hadn’t ran—but had been taken. He couldn’t risk Sylus finding out. Not when your life hung in the balance.

“I know,” he muttered finally, his voice rough. It was the only thing he could manage without completely falling apart. He couldn’t lie any more than that right now, not without losing control.

Tara’s eyes softened, her voice gentle. “I still can’t believe she just left like that though. It doesn’t make any sense. She was so in love with you, Xavier. She was my best friend. I mean, maybe…” She hesitated, her brow furrowing in thought. “Maybe one day she’ll come back. People change, you know? Maybe she just needed space.”

Xavier wanted to scream. The idea that you had “just needed space” was so far from the truth it was almost laughable. But he couldn’t correct her. He couldn’t say anything. All he could do was let Tara believe the story he had been forced to tell—the story that you had left, had chosen to disappear from his life, leaving him brokenhearted and searching for closure.

He hated it. Every single second of it.

He turned to face her, trying to hide the rage bubbling beneath the surface. “I hope so,” he said, the words bitter in his mouth. He didn’t believe it. He couldn’t let himself believe anything other than the truth. The truth was that you were still out there, trapped in Sylus’s grasp, and every day that passed was another day you were suffering, another day he wasn’t there to save you.

Tara studied him, her expression soft with sympathy. “You really loved her, didn’t you?” she asked quietly.

Loved. The word twisted like a knife in his chest. He loved you—more than anything. More than anyone could ever know. And yet, here he was, lying to everyone about where you were, letting them believe you were gone. It felt like a betrayal to everything the two of you had shared.

He nodded, but the movement felt hollow, empty. “I still do,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“I just wish I understood why,” Tara continued, her gaze drifting back to the city below. “Why she would leave like that. Why she didn’t tell anyone. Maybe…maybe it wasn’t just about you. Maybe she was going through something we didn’t know about.”

Xavier’s stomach twisted, guilt and frustration gnawing at him. You were going through something, but not in the way Tara imagined. You were going through hell—real hell—and no one could save you because they didn’t even know. No one, not even Tara, could see past the lie Sylus had crafted. The thought of how trapped you must feel, how alone, was unbearable.

He turned his back to the railing, staring at the ground as he wrestled with the fury building inside him. “Maybe,” he muttered, unable to say more. The truth was there, threatening to spill out, but he couldn’t afford to let it. Not when Sylus was probably watching.

Tara sighed again, running a hand through her hair. “I guess all we can do is wait. Maybe one day, she’ll pop up!"

Xavier felt like his chest was caving in. He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to scream at the absurdity of it all. You weren’t coming back because you hadn’t left in the first place. You hadn’t abandoned him. You hadn’t chosen this. You were a prisoner, and there was nothing he could do to bring you back—nothing without risking your life.

He looked at Tara, forcing a tight smile, though every part of him felt like it was crumbling.

“Yeah….”

The silence stretched between them again, and Xavier felt the weight of it pressing down on him, the burden of carrying this lie suffocating him. How long could he keep this up? How long before he slipped, before someone started asking the wrong questions?

And how long before Sylus pushed him past the point of no return?

Tara gave him a small, sympathetic smile. “I know you’ll be okay. You’re strong, Xavier. Stronger than most people. Just…don’t forget to take care of yourself too.”

Xavier nodded, not trusting himself to speak again. He didn’t feel strong. He felt like he was falling apart, piece by piece. The only thing keeping him together was the burning rage that refused to die—the rage that promised he’d find you, no matter what it took.

“I’ll be fine,” he lied, his voice quiet but strained. “Thanks, Tara.”

Tara gave him one last look before nodding and heading back inside, leaving Xavier alone with the howling wind and his shattered thoughts. He leaned against the railing, staring into the distance, his mind racing.

The weight of the lie pressed down on him, suffocating, but the anger beneath it was sharper, fiercer. He couldn’t let this continue. He couldn’t keep pretending you were just gone. Somewhere out there, Sylus had you, and every day that passed, every minute that slipped by, was another moment you were trapped in his clutches.

The day was finally over, though Xavier's body told a different story. Every muscle ached, every wound from the fight with the Wanderers throbbed as a sharp reminder of just how distracted he had been. The blows had landed harder today, his reactions slower, his mind somewhere else—on you. Normally, combat was his escape, the adrenaline pushing out everything except survival. But lately, even the thrill of the fight couldn't drown out the thoughts gnawing at the edges of his mind.

The thought of finally getting some rest was almost too good to believe. Akso Hospital was his next stop. A routine appointment—just a quick check-up, maybe get some medication to help him sleep. God, he needed it. The idea of sleep had become almost foreign to him, though. Xavier had never had trouble sleeping before. But lately...

The nightmares. They wouldn’t stop.

Every time he closed his eyes, you were there. Trapped, terrified, screaming for him to save you. But in the nightmare, no matter how much he willed his body to move, to run to you, he was frozen. Helpless. His legs wouldn’t budge, his hands wouldn’t lift. And then the worst part—the smile. His lips stretched into a cold, unnatural grin as if he was glad you were suffering. It haunted him, the way he could do nothing but smile like some twisted puppet controlled by unseen forces. The helplessness, the horror—it tore at him every night.

Xavier shook his head, forcing the memory away as he arrived at Akso Hospital. The building stood gleaming in the dimming light, its massive glass windows reflecting the fading hues of the evening sky. The hospital seemed almost otherworldly in its perfection, standing untouched by the chaos that raged in his life. The metallic façade shimmered, catching the last glimmers of sunlight, giving the place an almost clinical brilliance.

As he stepped inside, the doors slid open with a quiet whoosh, revealing the sterile, unnaturally bright interior. The floors were spotless, gleaming under the fluorescent lights, so polished that he could almost make out his reflection beneath his boots. The scent of disinfectant was sharp in the air, a smell that brought a strange comfort in its predictability. The atmosphere was calm, orderly—everything Xavier’s mind wasn’t.

He headed toward the waiting area, his footsteps echoing in the sterile silence of the hall. Nurses moved efficiently, their white shoes squeaking softly against the tile as they navigated through the quiet hum of hospital life. After checking in on the holographic panel near the front, Xavier slumped into a chair, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he rubbed his hands over his face. He tried to clear his thoughts, but the ever-present gnawing in his chest wouldn't let go. The waiting felt endless, each second dragging painfully.

Finally, the nurse called his name.

“Xavier?” The nurse stood in the doorway, clipboard in hand, her voice pulling him from the fog that had settled over him.

He stood up quickly, brushing off the exhaustion that clung to his limbs, and followed her down the hallway. The halls were lined with doors, each leading to an examination room, and the quiet click of doors opening and closing filled the air with a sterile monotony. Soon, he was led into a small, brightly lit room where Dr. Merrill greeted him with a warm, familiar smile.

“Xavier,” Dr. Merrill said, his voice calm and professional, though tinged with the comfort of someone who had seen him before. The doctor’s movements were quick, practiced, as he reached for his stethoscope.

“Let’s start with your heart and lungs,” Dr. Merrill said, leaning forward as Xavier sat on the edge of the examination table. The cool metal of the stethoscope pressed against Xavier’s chest, the coldness biting into his skin as the doctor listened intently. His brows furrowed slightly in concentration.

The routine check-up was almost comforting in its monotony. Breathe in, breathe out—Xavier’s chest rose and fell rhythmically, the familiar pattern grounding him. Everything was normal. Physically, at least. His heart, his lungs—they were fine. Just like always.

But the silence that followed was thick with unspoken questions. Dr. Merrill stepped back, making a few notes on his clipboard, before he glanced up.

“How are you holding up mentally?” the doctor asked, his voice carefully gentle.

Xavier hesitated, the tightness in his chest returning. He had kept so much of it bottled up for so long, the weight of it pressing down on him like a vice. He could feel the tension rising, the words threatening to spill over.

“Not great,” Xavier admitted, his voice low. “I’ve been…having trouble sleeping.”

Dr. Merrill’s expression softened, his eyes reflecting a quiet understanding. “That’s not surprising, considering the work you’re involved in. A lot of people in your position go through this. Stress can really do a number on the mind.”

He paused, studying Xavier’s face more closely. “Are you having nightmares?”

Xavier nodded slowly, feeling the familiar knot of anxiety tighten in his stomach. “Yeah. Every night. They won’t stop.”

Dr. Merrill leaned back against the counter, his gaze never leaving Xavier’s. “It sounds like you’re dealing with a lot more than just a lack of sleep. Nightmares are tough. And constant nightmares… they can take a toll.” He sighed, shaking his head slightly. “I can relate. Between the hospital and traveling for home visits outside of Linkon, I’m not sleeping much either. Sometimes I wonder why I decided to get into gynecology on top of being a general practitioner.”

Xavier offered a weak chuckle, though it felt forced. “Yeah, I guess we’re both running on fumes.”

Dr. Merrill smiled sympathetically. “I’ll prescribe you some sleeping tablets. Take them as directed—they should help ease you into a better sleep pattern. Hopefully, that’ll help with the nightmares, too.”

The doctor scribbled on a prescription pad before tearing it off and handing it to Xavier. The small slip of paper felt heavy in his hand, as though it held more weight than just medication. He stared at it for a moment before slipping it into his pocket.

“Thanks, docter,” Xavier muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I appreciate it.”

“Take care of yourself, Xavier,” Dr. Merrill said with a nod, his tone kind but firm. “You need to look after your health to keep fighting those wanderers!”

Xavier offered a small nod in return before making his way out of the examination room. The visit had been routine, and yet, that sense of unease still clung to him, wrapping around his chest like a vice. Nothing in his life felt routine anymore.

As he headed toward the exit, a sudden urge hit him. Damn it, he needed to use the bathroom. His steps quickened as he spotted the restroom signs. Thankfully to have found them quickly he rushed in and did his business. He exited the bathroom, wanting to hurry before the pharmacy closed, but as he passed the break room, he stopped. Voices. Familiar ones.

He froze.

It was Dr. Merrill, speaking in hushed tones with someone else. Dr. Zayne. Xavier recognized him—a surgeon, dark hair, sharp features, hazel greenish eyes that always seemed to be assessing everything. He was the top surgeon at the hospital despite being so young. Their voices were low, barely audible, but Xavier strained to hear them. Something about their conversation gripped him, holding him in place.

“Yeah, it was a bit sad,” Dr. Merrill was saying, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of concern. “The girl didn’t seem all that excited. I’m supposed to go back in a few months for another check-up.”

Dr. Zayne’s response was quiet but curious. “Maybe she’s just nervous?”

Dr. Merrill let out a soft laugh. “Maybe. But honestly, it felt like she was acting like she was forced to be there. Felt bad for the husband.”

Xavier’s heart stopped. Forced? His mind raced, panic surging through his veins like fire. No. He swallowed hard, his body going cold as the words replayed in his head. Could they be talking about you?

He stiffened, every instinct screaming at him that something wasn’t right. His pulse thundered in his ears, his body frozen in place. Were they talking about you? They had to be. It was too much of a coincidence. He strained to hear better but the began speaking even quieter. Was there a way he could sneak in without them noticing and listen?

Just then, the door to the break room opened, and the two doctors nearly collided with Xavier. He stumbled back, forcing a smile as he muttered a quick apology. Dr. Merrill brushed it off with a nod, unaware of the storm raging behind Xavier’s eyes, and walked away, leaving the hospital as his shift ended.

Xavier stood there, rooted to the spot, his mind spinning wildly. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t a coincidence. The pieces were falling into place, and the conversation he had overheard only confirmed what he feared deep down.

There was something more—something hidden—beneath the surface of their words.

His jaw clenched as he turned and strode out of the building. He didn’t even think as he made his way to his car, his hand already reaching for the gun he kept safely stashed under the seat. His fingers curled around the weapon, the cool metal grounding him as his mind raced. He waited until Dr. Merrill started the engine in his own car before following behind him.

This was crazy. Had he lost his mind? Threatening his doctor for possible information?

Maybe.

Or maybe—just maybe—he’d gotten another lead after all. And he wasn’t about to waste it.

Xavier's fingers tightened around the grip of his gun, the cold metal sending a shiver up his spine. He sat in the driver's seat of his car, his mind still reeling from the overheard conversation. His heart was pounding, adrenaline rushing through his veins. He knew that what he’d heard wasn’t just some random exchange—it couldn’t be. It was too specific. Too familiar. His gut told him they had been talking about you, and Xavier had learned to trust his instincts.

His hands were steady as he checked the chamber of his weapon, the soft click of the slide bringing him a fleeting sense of calm. He wasn’t sure where Dr. Merrill was headed, but if there was even the slightest chance that this lead would bring him closer to you, he had to follow it. He couldn’t afford to hesitate.

He started the car, the engine roaring to life as he pulled out of the hospital parking lot, his eyes scanning the road ahead for Dr. Merrill’s vehicle. His pulse raced, the tension building with every second. He’d waited too long, spent too many sleepless nights wondering where you were, replaying the last time he’d seen you over and over again in his mind. And now, finally, there was something—something tangible that might lead him to you.

As he turned onto the main road, his gaze locked on the back of Dr. Merrill’s car, just ahead of him. He kept his distance, careful not to draw attention. His mind was a whirlwind of possibilities—questions he didn’t have answers to yet, but he was determined to find out.

What did he know? The thought clawed at his chest, threatening to choke him with the weight of it.

Dr. Merrill’s car turned onto a narrow, dimly lit street, heading toward the outskirts of Linkon. The city lights began to fade as they left the busier part of town behind, the roads becoming quieter, more desolate. Xavier felt his breath catch as they moved further away from the familiar streets, the looming possibility that you could be close gnawing at him with every passing second.

His mind kept circling back to the words Dr. Merrill had said: She didn’t seem excited. Felt like she was acting like she was forced to be there. His blood boiled at the idea that you had been forced into anything...what did that mean? You didn't seem excited about what? And Sylus…Sylus had to be the cause, right? The rage that simmered beneath the surface flared up again, a dark heat burning through him.

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest, the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he followed Dr. Merrill from a safe distance, his mind racing with the possibility that this man held the key to finding you. He couldn’t afford to lose him now. Not when he was this close. As the doctor’s car turned off the main road and entered a quiet, suburban street, Xavier tightened his grip on the steering wheel, making sure to keep his car far enough back to avoid suspicion.

Dr. Merrill’s car eventually pulled into the driveway of a modest-looking house. It was a quiet, unassuming neighborhood—exactly the kind of place where secrets could be hidden in plain sight. Xavier parked a few houses down, waiting for the doctor to get out of his car before he stepped out of his own, slipping into the shadows like a predator closing in on its prey.

His hand hovered over the gun tucked securely into his holster, the weight of it grounding him, giving him focus. He couldn’t afford to let emotion cloud his judgment—not yet. He had to approach this carefully, methodically. Dr. Merrill had information. Information that could lead him to you. And Xavier wasn’t about to let him slip through his fingers.

He moved quickly and silently, his years of training guiding him as he made his way toward the doctor’s house. The door had barely shut behind Dr. Merrill when Xavier was already there, pressing himself against the side of the house as he glanced through the window. The lights inside were dim, the faint glow of a lamp illuminating the living room.

Dr. Merrill had settled into a chair, completely unaware of the danger closing in on him.

Xavier slipped around the side of the house, his pulse quickening as he found the back door unlocked. He pushed it open with practiced ease, slipping inside without making a sound. The house was eerily quiet, the ticking of a clock the only noise that broke the silence. Every step he took was careful, calculated. His eyes scanned the room for anything that might give him an edge.

And then he saw him. Dr. Merrill, seated with a cup of tea in hand, oblivious to the storm brewing in the shadows.

Xavier’s breath was steady as he approached, the gun drawn, his footsteps silent on the hardwood floor. He closed the distance between them in an instant, and before Dr. Merrill could even register his presence, Xavier was behind him, pressing the cold barrel of the gun against the back of the doctor’s head.

“Don’t move,” Xavier growled, his voice low and lethal.

Dr. Merrill froze, the cup of tea slipping from his hand and shattering on the floor. His breath hitched as the realization of what was happening sank in. He didn’t dare turn around, didn’t dare make a sound.

Xavier leaned in closer, his grip on the gun tightening. “Tell me what you know,” he demanded, his voice cold and controlled. “Or your brains will be all over this room.”

Dr. Merrill’s body trembled, his voice barely a whisper. “X-Xavier? What the—”

“I don’t want explanations,” Xavier cut him off, pressing the gun harder against his skull. “I want answers. Where is she?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Don’t lie to me,” Xavier snapped, his patience wearing thin. “I heard you. I know you saw her. Now, you’re going to tell me everything, or I’ll blow your head off right here. No one will find you for days.”

Dr. Merrill swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest. He could feel the gun pressing into his skin, the cold weight of it a constant reminder that his life hung in the balance. He took a shaky breath, his mind racing for a way out. But there was no way out. Not with Xavier standing behind him, not with that murderous rage in his voice.

“I don’t…I don’t know where she is exactly,” Dr. Merrill stammered, his voice shaking. “I—I’ve only seen her for one checkup. Sylus… Sylus is the one who—"

Xavier stiffened at the sound of Sylus’s name. He had been right. He had followed his gut at it had been correct.

"Don’t say his name,” Xavier hissed, his teeth gritted as he leaned closer. “Tell me what you know about her condition. What has that bastard done to her?"

Dr. Merrill swallowed again, his hands gripping the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“I—I can’t,” Dr. Merrill whispered, his voice barely audible now, as if the words were being forced out of him against his will. “You don’t understand…If I say anything…Sylus will—”

“I don’t care what Sylus will do to you,” Xavier snapped, cutting him off sharply. “You should be more worried about what I’m going to do if you don’t start talking. Now, where. Is. She?”

Dr. Merrill swallowed hard, a small, terrified whimper escaping him as his thoughts raced. His whole body shook under the weight of Xavier’s threat, but the shadow of Sylus loomed larger, darker. “I can’t…” he whispered again, shaking his head. “I can’t tell you. If Sylus finds out I told you anything, he’ll do worse than just kill me. You don't know him like I do."

The doctor was shaking visibly now, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. “He…he…” Dr. Merrill’s voice trailed off, his terror palpable. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. Couldn't say much more. Not because he didn’t want to, but because the fear of Sylus’s retribution was overwhelming.

Xavier’s finger twitched on the trigger, his own frustration boiling over. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, and the thought of you suffering while he was stuck here playing this game only made his blood burn hotter. He needed answers. Now.

“Listen to me,” Xavier said, his voice low but laced with a deadly calm. “You think I'm joking?”

Dr. Merrill’s voice cracked as he tried to respond, the fear of Sylus warring with the fear of the gun pressed to his head. “She’s relatively fine. She didn't look hurt,” he managed, his voice shaking. "But I can’t say more. I can’t. Please, if I tell you—”

Xavier leaned in even closer, his lips curled in a snarl. “You’d rather be afraid of him than me? Even with a gun to your head?”

The doctor didn’t answer, too paralyzed by fear, and Xavier hesitated for a moment, his finger on the trigger, his thoughts racing. He could kill him. He could end this right here. But would that get him closer to you? Would that get him the information he needed? The doctor was scared—scared of Sylus, scared of what might happen if he revealed too much.

Xavier took a deep breath, his chest tightening as he stepped back slightly, easing the pressure of the gun. He didn’t want to kill Merrill, not really. But he needed something, some leverage to get to you. His mind worked quickly, formulating a plan.

“Fine. You don’t have to tell me everything,” Xavier said, his voice quieter now but no less dangerous. “But you’re going to help me. You’re going to get me closer to her.”

Dr. Merrill stayed frozen, his body still trembling as he dared to look over his shoulder. “H-How…?”

Xavier’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “Lie to Sylus. Tell him it’s urgent. Tell him you think something might be wrong and you need to check her in person. I'm going to stow away in the back of your car, and when you go inside, I'm going to find a way in.”

Dr. Merrill’s eyes widened, panic flashing in them. “He will find ou—”

“He won’t,” Xavier interrupted, his voice cold and unyielding. “If you play this right, he won’t have any reason to suspect anything. You’ve done it before. Set up an appointment. Make it believable. Say you need to run more tests, whatever you have to. I’ll follow and take it from there.”

Dr. Merrill’s breath came in shallow gasps, his fear still tangible, but he could see that Xavier wasn’t giving him a choice. His eyes darted between the gun and Xavier’s face, searching for any sign of mercy.

But there was none.

“Call him now,” Xavier ordered, the gun still steady in his hand.

Dr. Merrill’s hands trembled as he reached for his phone, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He dialed the number, his voice barely steady as he waited for Sylus to pick up.

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest as he listened, every muscle in his body tense, his ears straining to catch every word.

“Sylus?” Dr. Merrill said, his voice shaking. “It’s…it’s Dr. Merrill. I, um…I think there might be something wrong. With the-I mean, I…I need to see her again, in person. It’s urgent. I want to make sure I didn't miss anything.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and Xavier’s hand twitched on the trigger, his eyes locked on Merrill.

Finally, Sylus’s voice crackled through the phone, calm but dangerous. “Is that so? Very well. Come by tomorrow around 9 am.”

Hearing Sylus's voice ignited an anger in Xavier's heart so big he nearly grabbed the phone from the doctor, still he kept quiet, even trying not to breathe so loud as to not tip off Sylus that someone else was there.

The call ended, and Dr. Merrill let out a shaky breath, his hand still gripping the phone tightly as he looked up at Xavier with wide, terrified eyes.

“It’s done,” Dr. Merrill whispered, his voice barely audible. "I did what you asked..."

Xavier didn’t lower his gun just yet. He stared down at Dr. Merrill, his expression hard, unreadable, as if deciding whether or not to trust him.

“You better hope you’re telling the truth,” Xavier said quietly, his voice thick with menace. “Because if you’re lying to me—if this is a trap—I’ll make sure Sylus never gets the chance to kill you.”

Dr. Merrill nodded quickly, his body trembling with fear. “I swear, I’m not lying. I did what you asked.”

Xavier hesitated for another moment, his eyes locked on Merrill, before finally stepping back and lowering his gun. He didn’t holster it, though. Not yet. He wasn’t done.

“You’ll take me there,” Xavier said, his tone flat. “And you’ll make sure she’s safe when I get her out. Do you understand?”

Dr. Merrill nodded again, his face pale, his entire body trembling. “I understand.”

Xavier glanced toward the door, his mind already moving to the next step. He was getting closer—closer to finding you, closer to ending this nightmare. He wasn’t going to stop now.

Without another word, he turned and headed toward the door, the tension still crackling in the air between them. As he reached the threshold, he cast one final glance over his shoulder at Dr. Merrill.

“Pray that you’re telling the truth,” Xavier warned, his voice low and deadly. “Because if you’re not, there won’t be enough left of you for Sylus to recognize.”

And with that, Xavier disappeared into the night, his heart pounding with the promise of what was to come.

He was going to find you.

And nothing—not Sylus, not fear, not anything—was going to stop him. He didn’t care about Sylus’s stupid threats in this moment. He would bring you home before Sylus ever layed a finger on you.

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