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p0orbaby · 13 days ago

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It’s Called Free Fall

summary: therapy makes you realise a lot of things

warnings: none

a/n: there’s not actually any alexia in this, but she is mentioned

word count: 2.7k

The therapist’s office feels like it’s been curated for someone far more refined than you—someone who actually takes their therapy seriously, rather than as an ironic lifestyle choice. The walls are a pale, flat grey that veers perilously close to lifeless, and there’s this overwhelming sense of emptiness, like everything here exists for display rather than use. The chairs, two narrow-backed leather things angled just slightly towards each other, appear less like furniture and more like sculptures. You imagine some recent graduate from a New York art school positioned them just so, meticulously arranging each one to make sure it induced the precise mix of discomfort and luxury.

The table between you and Dr. Vargas is another matter entirely—a sleek slab of polished mahogany, thick enough that you could lean your entire weight on it without even a squeak of protest. Its surface is bare except for a single leather-bound notebook, a fountain pen and a ceramic dish, all aligned to a degree that feels almost militaristic. There’s not a single loose thread in the rug, not a fingerprint on the glass of the one window facing out onto a garden view that’s suspiciously verdant for the middle of winter.

Even the fern, perched in the corner like it’s waiting for its close-up, seems too green, too lush. It’s ridiculous, but it’s all part of the aesthetic, this carefully curated minimalism, the kind of cultivated restraint that says, “We don’t need embellishments. We’re here for the truth.” You’re here, supposedly, for honesty and revelation. But to you, it all feels a bit too staged, like a hotel that boasts a “homely charm” but is actually cold and sterile beneath the surface. You suspect Dr. Vargas might even mist the plant herself in some sacred ritual of maintenance, a sort of last-minute grounding exercise to fill the silence between clients.

You settle back in the chair, draping one leg over the other, and make a mental note to mention it next time you’re in some magazine interview. “Austere,” you’d say, “but in a chic way. I once caught my therapist hand-polishing the leaves of a houseplant.” You let yourself savour the image for a moment, glancing at the fern, which seems to return your gaze with silent judgement.

Dr. Vargas has her pen poised in that infuriatingly neutral way, a half-smile that somehow manages to be both welcoming and utterly unreadable. She’s mastered this look; the expression that says, I’m here for you while also suggesting she’s already a step ahead, already written your entire profile out in her head, neatly categorised into sub-headings like “Avoidant Tendencies” and “Control Issues.”

You begin with a sigh, throwing a glance at the ceiling in mock contemplation. “I’ve been thinking about another place. A chalet, maybe. Something in the mountains this time.” You pause, letting the idea sit, feigning like it’s just occurred to you. “Somewhere remote, where people can’t just… get to me”

You’re fully aware that she sees right through it. This isn’t her first rodeo; you’re sure she’s dealt with hundreds like you before, masters of diversion who fill sessions with banalities rather than facing anything real. But Dr. Vargas, in all her maddening professionalism, gives nothing away. She just tilts her head, the soft scratch of her pen against her notebook barely there as she writes something down.

“A place to escape,” she offers back to you in that maddeningly placid tone.

“Yes. Escape,” you echo, knowing full well the word holds no weight here. Escape from what, exactly? You let your leg bounce a little, as if the rhythm might lend some gravity to your words. “And there’s this new project I’m in talks with—A24, actually. They want me to do something… serious. A proper rebrand. Gritty. Artistic.” You drawl out “artistic” with the faintest of smirks, like you’re amused at the thought of it all. A lifetime of playing these games, and you’re practically a pro by now.

Dr. Vargas’s face betrays not a flicker of interest or amusement. She simply nods, that little encouraging tilt of her head again, like she’s waiting for you to get to the real point, the heart of the matter. But you’re not giving in so easily.

“It could be big, you know,” you continue, lifting your chin a fraction. “And I’ve got Alexia, of course.” The name slips out, deliberately nonchalant, though you feel its weight instantly, like it’s left a mark on the air between you.

Dr. Vargas raises her eyebrows, ever so slightly. “Alexia,” she repeats, not quite a question, not quite a statement. Just… acknowledgment, and yet it still feels as if she’s plucked something out of you without you realising. You don’t like it, the way she turns your own words against you.

“Yeah,” you say, shrugging. “She’s… brilliant. On the field, off it. You know, she’s—” You trail off, allowing a smirk to play on your lips. “Not bad to look at, either”

She gives no reaction, doesn’t even break eye contact. You imagine her poker face would rival that of any seasoned card shark. But it’s her silence that presses at you, coaxing out more than you intend to reveal. It’s a trick she’s used before, and yet here you are, willingly falling into it.

“Honestly,” you continue, almost laughing as if sharing some private joke, “you should see her after a match. There’s this… intensity, this rawness. Shirt off, sweat-drenched, eyes still blazing from the game. It’s… invigorating.” You roll the word around like a fine wine, savouring it as you go. “It’s like the universe threw me a bone, just when I was getting bored”

Dr. Vargas finally moves, a slight shift of her head, her mouth curving up in a near-smile. “And yet, you’re here”

Her words drop between you like a carefully placed stone. You scoff, rolling your eyes, but there’s something in her expression—an almost imperceptible softness that somehow feels like an accusation. “Therapy’s a hobby,” you shrug, leaning back, as if the very idea of anything deeper is laughable. “I’m always in therapy, Doc. News flash”

“Yes,” she agrees smoothly, not missing a beat, “but you don’t usually bring her up”

“Come on,” you counter, with a smirk that’s designed to look careless, “I bring her up all the time”

“Not like this”

Her voice is calm, almost gentle, but her gaze sharpens, pinning you in place. You feel a spike of irritation, or maybe it’s something else. You cast a look towards the fern, now faintly silhouetted by the afternoon sun, its shadow long and narrow across the wall, an unasked-for third party in this strange little dance. The absurdity of the whole scene hits you, but before you can fully detach, she’s speaking again.

“You’re talking about her differently. More… openly.” There’s no edge to her tone, no overt judgment, yet it feels like she’s peeled back a layer, glimpsed a part of you you hadn’t meant to reveal.

In the moments that follow, you stub out your cigarette on the pristine ceramic dish Vargas keeps on the table, the one she’s claimed is “not for smoking” but never actually moved after that one session. You’ve taken it as tacit permission, though you know damn well it irritates her—just another way to test the boundaries in a room that prides itself on having none. That’s half the point of these sessions: see how far you can stretch them. How much she’ll let you say, or not say. And you’ve mastered the art of saying absolutely nothing, all while filling the space with empty words.

Dr. Vargas doesn’t speak, doesn’t press, which is almost worse than if she did. There’s just the persistent softness in her eyes, the quiet implication that she understands more than you’d prefer. You remember Alexia’s eyes looking at you like that once, right after you’d tried to make some grand point about the nature of relationships—one of those pseudo-philosophical tangents you like to go on. She’d just looked at you, with a kind of bemused patience that felt a little too genuine, a little too close to knowing you.

You roll your shoulders, shake off the memory. But it clings.

“Alright,” you say, letting the smoke spill out as you form the words. “Maybe I don’t do ‘love’ like everyone else. I’m not here for a candlelit dinner and a mortgage. I’m not,” you add with a quick laugh, “one of those people who turn into some sap over a nice couple’s holiday in Santorini”

Dr. Vargas gives a small nod, an acknowledgement rather than agreement, her expression neutral but open, giving you room to continue.

“But, yes. Fine.” You take another drag, a deliberate pause. “Maybe I… care about her. I care about her. She’s different, alright?”

“Different how?” she asks gently, with an infuriatingly patient tone.

You groan, shifting in your seat. “Come on, don’t make me quantify it. That’s your thing, not mine.” You know you’re stalling, using your usual deflections, but there’s an itch underneath it, a part of you that feels raw just acknowledging that Alexia is, in fact, ‘different.’

You can feel her eyes on you, waiting for you to take the bait you’ve laid out for yourself.

“Fine, you want specifics?” you sigh, feigning annoyance, though you know you’re the one who’s led the conversation here. “She… laughs at my worst jokes. Like, really laughs. Not in a polite way, but genuinely, like she thinks I’m the funniest person alive, even when I’m barely trying. It’s stupid, really, but it gets me”

“And how does that make you feel?” Vargas leans forward, like she’s zeroing in on something significant.

You chuckle, low and dismissive, waving the question off with your cigarette. “How do you think it makes me feel? It’s… fine. Nice. A bit strange, maybe. I’m not used to being seen like that.” You pause, the weight of that admission lingering in the air between you.

She doesn’t react, doesn’t push; she just lets the moment settle, knowing there’s more.

You sigh, smoke curling up around you, as your mind goes back to other little things—the way she has this weird ritual of picking all the green M&Ms out of the bag and tossing them to you, claiming they’re “bad luck.” How she insists on reading the morning news out loud, in that silly, exaggerated announcer voice, just to make you laugh while you pretend to read emails. Or how she makes you tea at exactly the right temperature, handing you the mug with a grin like she’s just given you a priceless gift. These are things that, on the surface, should be forgettable, the kind of mundane moments that fade. But they don’t, do they? Not with her.

Dr. Vargas’s voice interrupts your reverie, soft but insistent. “You’re smiling”

You realise she’s right; you’re smiling without even meaning to, and it’s a small, stupid smile, the kind that feels too open. You try to erase it, but it’s too late. The vulnerability’s already there, a quiet confession written across your face.

You roll your eyes, more at yourself than at her. “Alright, so what? So she’s… alright, she’s fun. She’s got that energy, you know, that lightness. It’s kind of… refreshing”

The words slip out unbidden, and you feel a pang of something resembling regret. Refreshing. A word that implies something else by omission—that most of your life, most people you’ve known, have been exhausting. The irony isn’t lost on you: someone so completely different from your own brand of detached sarcasm, from your carefully cultivated ennui, has managed to slip under the radar and wedge herself into your carefully controlled life.

Dr. Vargas watches, her silence pressing you forward.

“Look, I don’t think about it too much,” you say, trying to inject a casual note into your tone. “I don’t need to psychoanalyse every smile, every inside joke. I’m not here to have my relationship broken down into neat little psych terms”

“Maybe you should think about it,” Vargas says gently. “Maybe that’s why you’re here”

You scoff, but there’s a softness in the sound, a hint of resignation. Because she’s right, isn’t she? You came here because, as much as you don’t want to admit it, this thing with Alexia has started to matter, in a way that’s both terrifying and strangely compelling. You’ve always prided yourself on staying a step removed, on being a spectator in your own life, observing rather than fully engaging. But with her, you’re finding it harder to keep that distance.

“Fine,” you mutter, leaning back, letting your head rest against the chair, staring up at the ceiling as though the answers might be written there. “Maybe she’s… special”

The words feel strange in your mouth, too vulnerable, too open. You don’t say “special” often, especially not in this context. But there it is, a reluctant admission.

“I mean, it’s not like I’m in love with her,” you continue, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “She’s great—don’t get me wrong. She’s amazing in bed. I can’t remember the last time someone made me cum so much. And she’s got this thing about her, you know? Like this fire, this intensity. It’s like when she looks at me, she’s looking right through me. And yeah, I guess that’s… intoxicating. But that’s all it is. Right?”

Dr. Vargas nods, a small, subtle gesture. “Why does that scare you?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you watch the smoke dancing away from your cigarette, dissipating into the air, leaving nothing behind but a faint, lingering scent. You think about what it is you’re so afraid of—because there’s something there, something you can’t quite name, a sense that if you let this thing with Alexia continue, it might change you in ways you’re not ready for.

“Because I don’t do… attachment,” you say finally, the words coming out sharper than intended. “I’ve built a life that doesn’t depend on anyone else. And she’s… she’s a complication”

You can feel Vargas watching you, sensing the weight of what you’re not saying, the unspoken truth that this isn’t just about Alexia, that it’s about something deeper, a fear of vulnerability, of losing control. She doesn’t push, though; she just waits, letting the silence do the work for her.

After a long pause, you take a breath, letting your gaze drift to the fern by the window, its leaves glossy and perfect, so meticulously maintained it almost looks fake. You wonder if it’s ever felt the strain of trying to keep everything together, to present a flawless exterior while something more fragile lurks beneath the surface.

“You know,” you say, almost to yourself, “it’s funny. For the longest time, I thought love was just a distraction, a temporary fix for people who couldn’t handle being alone.” You take another drag from your cigarette, exhaling slowly. “But with her, it’s… it’s different. It’s like she makes everything brighter, sharper, like she’s tuned into some frequency I didn’t know existed”

Dr. Vargas doesn’t respond, just nods, letting you continue.

“And the worst part?” You chuckle, a self-deprecating sound. “The worst part is that she’s getting to me. She’s in my head, even when she’s not there. I find myself thinking about her in the middle of the day, wondering what she’s up to, if she’s thinking about me too”

There’s a fragility in the admission, a crack in the armour you’ve built around yourself. And it terrifies you, this sense of letting someone in, of letting them get close enough to matter.

You stub out your cigarette, watching the last curl of smoke dissipate into the air. It feels like a metaphor for something, though you’re not sure what.

Dr. Vargas gives you a small, knowing smile. “Maybe falling in love isn’t as bad as you think it will be,” she says gently.

You shrug, trying to play it off, but there’s a part of you that knows she’s right. Because for all your detachment, all your carefully cultivated distance, there’s something about Alexia that feels like home, like she’s a part of you you didn’t realise was missing.

“Maybe,” you say, the words soft, barely audible.

Love. The word lingers like an uninvited guest. You try to dismiss it, try to laugh it off, but it keeps creeping back in.

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whywontyoucomeout · 2 months ago

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A warrior’s pride

———————

In the remote hills of the Jiangnan region, where mist rolled over jagged cliffs and rivers carved their way through ancient forests, there was a name spoken with equal parts reverence and fear: Mei Lian, the Crimson Tiger. She was a legend, a master of the martial arts known for her unmatched skills in combat and her unyielding resolve. Bandits, warlords, and even the imperial soldiers trembled at her name. For nearly a decade, she had roamed the land, a solitary force who upheld justice where the law could not reach, dealing swift retribution to those who preyed on the weak.

But now, Mei Lian was no longer roaming.

Atop a high, secluded mountain, she had made her home in a modest wooden house. The air here was crisp, free from the stench of cities and the blood-soaked battlefields where she had earned her fearsome reputation. Her house was surrounded by tall pines, with a garden where she grew herbs and vegetables. From this vantage point, she could see the wide expanse of the world below—rolling hills, deep valleys, and distant towns where life continued, oblivious to the storms of violence she had once raged through.

Mei Lian was alone, save for the life growing inside her.

Her hand rested on her swollen belly, feeling the steady, rhythmic movements of the child within. She was near the end of her pregnancy now, her body heavy and slow. It was a strange sensation for someone who had lived her life in the perfection of physical discipline, whose every movement had once been like flowing water—graceful, quick, and deadly. Now, she found herself in a different kind of battle: the quiet, internal struggle of awaiting motherhood.

The child’s father, Liu Zhang, had been a warrior like her, an honorable man who fought beside her during the rebellion against the corrupt local magistrates. They had shared brief moments of peace between battles, moments where the world outside ceased to matter. But he was gone now, killed in the final skirmish that had broken the magistrate’s hold over the region. Mei Lian had taken vengeance swiftly, but after the blood had cooled, she found herself not only alone but pregnant with the last remnant of their love.

In the quiet isolation of her mountain home, she prepared for the child’s arrival as best she could, gathering herbs for medicine, building a fire pit to keep them warm through the cold nights. Yet even here, far from the noise of the world, the legend of the Crimson Tiger had not been forgotten.

One afternoon, as Mei Lian rested in her garden, her senses—sharpened by years of combat—picked up the faintest sound of rustling in the trees. She narrowed her eyes, her hand instinctively reaching for the sword that leaned against the porch. Her movements were slower now, and her belly made certain stances awkward, but Mei Lian was still dangerous. She still remembered the rhythm of every strike, the dance of every blade.

A group of figures emerged from the forest shadows, six in total. They were dressed in ragged black robes, their faces partially hidden by scarves, but Mei Lian recognized the emblem sewn onto their sleeves—the symbol of the Black Talon gang. She had crossed paths with them many years ago, scattering their forces and killing their leader when they had terrorized the countryside. Clearly, they hadn’t forgotten.

The one in front, a tall man with a scar running across his face, stepped forward. His eyes flicked down to Mei Lian’s pregnant belly and then back up to meet her gaze.

"The great Crimson Tiger," he sneered. "We’ve heard the stories. And yet, here you are, living like a hermit, heavy with child. Looks like you’ve softened."

Mei Lian’s eyes remained cold, her hand steady on the hilt of her sword. She said nothing.

"You see, we’re not here to kill you," the man continued, pacing slowly. "At least, not yet. The Black Talon has risen again, and we owe you for what you did to us. But seeing you like this… helpless, vulnerable… we thought it’d be better to wait. To see you suffer first. Maybe we’ll take everything from you again, just like you did to us."

The others chuckled darkly, their hands resting on the hilts of their own weapons, eager to strike.

Mei Lian finally spoke, her voice calm and steady, but laced with quiet fury. "If you wish to die, then take a step closer. But if you value your lives, I suggest you turn around and leave."

The leader’s grin widened. "Oh, I see. Still the fierce Crimson Tiger, even in your condition. But you can’t possibly fight in your—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Mei Lian moved.

With a flick of her wrist, she drew her sword, the gleaming steel cutting through the air with deadly grace. "Come then," she said, her voice low and steady. "Let’s see how brave you are."

The first man lunged at her, overconfident. Mei Lian moved like water, swift and fluid, sidestepping his attack with ease. She struck once, her sword slicing through his defenses and disarming him. He fell to the ground, clutching his wounded arm, groaning in pain. But she had no time to celebrate the victory—another man was already upon her.

This one was faster, but she was faster still. She parried his blow, her movements sharp and precise, though the weight of her belly made her balance more difficult than usual. Her muscles strained with the effort, and each motion required more energy, more focus. But her skill was undeniable. With a swift upward strike, she disarmed the second attacker, sending him crashing to the ground.

The others hesitated, exchanging nervous glances. They had expected an easy victory, but now they were faced with the reality of fighting a legend, pregnant or not. Mei Lian’s chest rose and fell more quickly now, the weight of her pregnancy beginning to take its toll, but her stance remained solid.

Two more came at her together, trying to overwhelm her with numbers. Mei Lian ducked under a swinging sword, her belly brushing against the fabric of her robe as she spun and deflected a second strike. Her movements, though still precise, were slower than she wanted. Her body protested with each step, each twist, the burden of the child inside her pulling her down.

Still, she fought on. She delivered a crushing elbow to one attacker’s chest, sending him sprawling, while her sword slashed across the other’s arm, dropping him to his knees. She was breathless now, her body covered in a light sheen of sweat. The fight was taking more out of her than usual, but she was still standing.

Only two remained.

The leader of the group, watching from the back, finally stepped forward. His eyes were sharp, calculating. He had let his men soften her up, and now, with her breathing ragged and her legs trembling under the weight of her own body, he saw his chance.

"You’ve fought well," he said, his voice cold, "but you’re tiring, Crimson Tiger. You can’t keep this up forever. Let’s end this."

Mei Lian didn’t respond. Her eyes locked on him, her grip tightening on her sword. The leader raised his weapon and moved toward her with measured steps, his movements more controlled than the others. He was skilled, she could tell, and unlike the rest, he wouldn’t underestimate her now.

Their swords clashed in a flurry of strikes, the sound of steel on steel ringing out into the night. The leader was relentless, pressing her harder than his men had, forcing her to block and parry with more effort. Mei Lian’s arms ached, her back strained, and her legs felt like they would give out at any moment. Her belly, heavy and cumbersome, made each movement harder, but she refused to yield.

The fight dragged on, each of them trading blows, but slowly, Mei Lian gained the upper hand. She anticipated his attacks, countering with precision. Her strikes found their mark, cutting into his defenses, and with one final, powerful slash, she knocked the sword from his hand.

The leader stumbled back, falling to his knees, his eyes wide with shock. Blood trickled from a wound on his shoulder, but it was his pride that had suffered the most. He had been utterly defeated.

Mei Lian stood over him, her chest heaving, her sword pointed at his throat. "It’s over," she said, her voice cold and hard. "You’ve lost. I told you before—leave me alone. If you ever come after me again, I will not be so merciful."

The leader’s face twisted in shame and fear. He looked up at her, his eyes filled with desperation. "Please... don’t kill me. I... I was wrong. I beg you, spare me."

Mei Lian’s lip curled in disgust. "You beg for your life now, after sending your men to die for you? You are a coward. You didn’t have the honor to face me yourself until you thought I was weak."

The man lowered his head, his voice trembling. "Please. I won’t come after you again. I swear it."

"Swear all you want," she said, her voice like ice. "But your words mean nothing. You are nothing." She stared down at him, her eyes cold and unrelenting. "You’ll live, but you’ll never forget this day. Your cowardice will follow you for the rest of your life."

As she spoke, a sudden pain ripped through her abdomen, sharp and unexpected. Her breath hitched, and for a moment, her vision blurred. The contraction was sudden and powerful, far more intense than any kind of pain she had felt before. Her hand instinctively flew to her belly, her fingers gripping the fabric of her robe as she tried to steady herself.

The leader saw her falter and, sensing an opportunity, lunged for a hidden dagger at his waist. He moved quickly, hoping to strike her down while she was vulnerable.

But Mei Lian’s instincts were faster than his desperation. In a blur of motion, she raised her sword and, with a single stroke, severed his arm at the elbow. The man’s scream echoed through the forest as he fell to the ground, clutching the bleeding stump where his arm had been.

"You should have listened," she said coldly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Now, that missing arm will remind you of today. Of your failure."

The leader, sobbing in pain and fear, scrambled away, his remaining hand pressing against the wound to stem the bleeding. He stumbled into the trees, disappearing into the night, his cries growing fainter as he fled.

Mei Lian stood alone once more, the forest quiet around her. She watched him go, her body trembling with exhaustion. The pain in her belly was still sharp, her muscles tensing with each passing moment. She dropped her sword, her knees giving way as she sank to the ground, her hands clutching her abdomen. The pain was intense, but she breathed through it, trying to steady her mind.

Minutes passed, and eventually, the pain began to subside. False labor. Her body, exhausted from the fight, had played tricks on her.

She leaned back against a tree, closing her eyes as she caught her breath. The fight was over, but the real battle was still to come.

For now, she needed rest.

Weeks passed since the intense battle that nearly pushed her body to its limits. Mei Lian had taken the time to rest, allowing her body and mind to recover from the strain. Though she had defeated the men, her body had been tested in ways she had never imagined. Her swollen belly had become a constant reminder of the challenges still to come.

But now, she resumed her daily activities, moving with the same grace and strength as always, though slower, more deliberate. Her belly had grown even more, something she hadn’t thought possible. Already large before the fight, it now seemed as if it was on the verge of bursting. The tightness of her skin behind her clothes was ever-present, and even her largest robe could barely contain the sheer roundness of her abdomen. At night, when the weight of the day’s tasks made her feet ache and her back stiffen, she would loosen the robe’s bindings, allowing her belly to be free. As the rope fell away, her belly would spill forward, its vastness unrestrained by the fabric.

It was a sight she had become used to over the months, but even now, she found herself staring at it in awe. Her belly had taken on a life of its own, heavy, round, and impossibly tight. The skin stretched to the very limit, yet not a single mark marred its smooth surface. It was as if her body had been preparing for this moment all along, and now it bore the full weight of the child she carried. The moonlight filtered through the small window of her home, casting a soft glow over the taut surface of her belly. She could see every detail—the way it rose high, nearly blocking her view of her legs, the way it curved outwards in a perfect, enormous dome, stretching her skin to its very limit.

Mei Lian lay back on her bed, her robes loosened, her enormous belly fully exposed in the dim light of her home. She rested her hand on its round, taut surface, feeling the baby shift slightly inside. "How am I supposed to push this out?" she muttered with a wry smile, lightly tracing the tight skin with her fingertips.

As the days grew shorter and the weight of her belly heavier, Mei Lian began her preparations for the birth. She gathered clean cloths, set water to boil, and placed a sturdy blade within arm’s reach—just in case. Every few moments, her sharp eyes scanned the surrounding forest from the window, her senses honed from years of battle. Everything appeared normal: the rustling of leaves in the breeze, the distant calls of animals, the quiet hum of the night. Yet, an uneasy feeling gnawed at her. Something wasn’t right, though she couldn’t quite place what it was.

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, Mei Lian felt the first stirrings of labor—a tightness in her abdomen that quickly spread into a deep, aching pressure. She inhaled slowly, leaning back against the wall of her home, her mind slipping into the calm focus she had cultivated over years of martial discipline. This was another battle, a different kind, but one that required the same endurance and strength.

The pain intensified, coming in waves now, pulling her deeper into the physical struggle. She knew her time was near. She had prepared for this, just as she had prepared for every battle, every challenge. Everything was in place—the herbs she had gathered, the water she had boiled, the linens she had carefully set aside for the newborn.

But as she moved toward her bed, her body heavy with the strain of the contractions, something caught her attention—a sound. It was faint at first, barely more than the wind slipping through the trees, but it grew louder, unmistakable. The door creaked open, and her heart skipped a beat as the familiar figure stepped into the room.

The Black Talon leader.

Mei Lian’s hand instinctively reached for her sword beside the bed, but the sharp contraction that followed was too much, her body doubling over in pain as she gasped. The blade slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor, and her breath came in ragged bursts as the labor took full control of her.

The leader’s grin widened as he stepped forward, staying just out of reach of her fallen sword. His gaze flicked down to her belly, then back to her face, and he chuckled darkly.

“Ah, the mighty Crimson Tiger,” he said softly, his voice thick with mockery. “Look at you now. Reduced to this. I told you I’d find a way to make you suffer. Watching you in your weakest moment… it’s almost better than killing you.”

You think you’ve hidden yourself well," he began, his voice dripping with mockery. "But I’ve been watching you, waiting for the right time. And now… now you’ve given me the perfect opportunity." His gaze dropped to her belly, round and taut, heavy with the child she was struggling to bring into the world. A twisted grin spread across his face. "Look at you. So… enormous."

Mei Lian’s breath hitched, the pain already mounting inside her, but she refused to show weakness. Not to him. Not to the man who had burned entire villages just to hunt her down. She clung to her dignity, even as her body betrayed her.

"You’re as big as a mountain," he continued, stepping closer to her, his eyes gleaming with cruel delight. "I’ve seen women give birth before—my wife has borne me five children—but not a single one of her pregnancies came close to… this." He waved a hand toward her belly, as if gesturing at a grotesque display. "How in the world will you handle it? With a belly that size, you’re going to suffer for hours… maybe even days."

His words cut like a knife, but Mei Lian kept her gaze locked on him, refusing to let his taunts burrow deeper than they already had. She gritted her teeth against the growing pain, but he seemed to feed off her tension.

"Imagine," he sneered, circling her bed slowly. "You—the Crimson Tiger—known for your strength, your speed, now reduced to this." His eyes gleamed as he took in the sight of her swollen form. "You can’t fight me like this. Not with that enormous belly weighing you down. You’ll be too busy screaming, too busy pushing that monster of a child out to do anything."

He chuckled, the sound low and dark, as if he was savoring every moment of her struggle. "I can already see how hard it is for you, how uncomfortable you must be with all that weight. How can you possibly manage to bring a child like that into the world, hmm? A child so big… maybe even too big for you."

Mei Lian clenched her fists at her sides, her body already slick with sweat, her mind a whirl of pain and fury.

As Mei Lian lay on the bed, her body wracked with pain as labor began, the leader of the Black Talon stood nearby, a smug, twisted grin playing across his lips. His shadow loomed over her like a dark cloud, and she could feel his eyes on her, watching with sadistic pleasure as she struggled to manage the mounting contractions.

Mei Lian gritted her teeth, fighting back a scream as another contraction hit, her body tensing against the wave of pain. Her breath came in short, labored gasps, her mind trying to focus through the agony. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of a response, but she couldn’t remain silent. Her honor, her pride as a martial artist, demanded it.

"You’re... disgusting," she managed to spit out between clenched teeth, her voice strained but defiant. "You… can’t even face me in battle… head to head... You have to wait until… I’m at my most vulnerable to strike. This… this is not a warrior’s way. It’s cowardice."

The leader’s smile widened, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement as he listened to her labored words. "Oh, come now, don’t pretend this is about honor. I’m not here to fight fair, Crimson Tiger. I’ve watched you defeat countless men, and I know that head-to-head, I would fall like the rest. But here… here you are, reduced to a woman in labor, helpless, vulnerable." He chuckled again, stepping closer, watching her closely as her body convulsed with another contraction. "And it’s only just begun, hasn’t it? Look at you… barely able to speak through the pain."

Mei Lian’s body shook with the effort of holding herself together. The pain was growing, the contractions more frequent, her muscles tightening with each wave that passed through her. She could barely catch her breath between the spasms, and the urge to scream was becoming harder to suppress. But she fought it, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.

"You… are nothing but a coward," she growled, though her voice cracked as another contraction surged through her. She gasped, her hands gripping the edge of the bed as her legs trembled beneath her. "No courage… no honor…"

Her words were cut off by a sharp cry of pain, her body rebelling against her will as the contraction reached its peak. Her back arched involuntarily, her breath coming in ragged bursts. The baby was coming, and she could feel the pressure mounting, the unbearable stretch inside her. But the leader, standing calmly nearby, merely tilted his head, enjoying the spectacle.

"You really think you’re in any position to lecture me about courage?" he mocked, stepping closer again. "Look at you, trying to hold on to your pride, trying to keep your composure… and failing. Your body betrays you, and there’s nothing you can do about it. I think… I’ll wait a little longer. Watch as that enormous belly of yours gives you more pain. How long until you break?"

Mei Lian’s fists clenched, her knuckles white as she tried to push back against the waves of agony crashing through her. Each word he spoke dug into her like a blade, and the humiliation of being at his mercy in this moment was almost too much to bear. But she wouldn’t give in. She couldn’t.

"Keep talking," she gasped, her voice ragged as she forced herself to look up at him, her eyes blazing with fury despite the tears welling in them. "It’ll… only make your defeat that much sweeter."

The leader smirked, his eyes scanning over her struggling form, his gaze settling on the enormous curve of her belly. "Defeat? You think you’ll come out of this victorious? Not like this. Not with that belly, that… burden. No warrior’s training can help you now." He gave her a mocking look, his voice dripping with scorn. "Just wait… you’ll scream soon enough. And I’ll be right here, enjoying every moment."

Mei Lian’s breath hitched as another contraction hit, this one more brutal than the last. Her body contorted with the pain, and she could feel her legs trembling uncontrollably beneath her. Her thighs, once strong and firm from years of training, now shook with weakness, unable to stand up to the sheer intensity of the labor. The urge to scream welled up inside her, almost impossible to contain. She bit her lip hard, trying to focus, but it was getting harder to maintain her composure.

The leader, noticing her silence, stepped even closer. "Go on… scream. Let it out. I want to hear you scream for me, Crimson Tiger."

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay quiet, but the pain was too much. A guttural cry tore from her throat, despite her efforts to keep it in, and she collapsed forward onto the bed, her body shaking from the effort.

The leader laughed, clearly enjoying every moment of her struggle. "There it is. That’s more like it."

Mei Lian’s eyes burned with fury, but she could do nothing. Another contraction hit, stronger this time, and she clenched her teeth to keep from crying out. Her body screamed at her to push, but she resisted, her muscles trembling with the effort.

She had never allowed herself to show weakness in front of an enemy. She had never let anyone see her vulnerable. And now, the thought of this man—this vile, spiteful creature—seeing her in the throes of labor, seeing her exposed in the most intimate way, filled her with shame and anger. She clamped her legs shut, her body rigid with tension, as if by sheer will she could stop the birth, stop him from seeing her like this.

The Black Talon leader raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Ah, so you’re trying to keep some dignity, are you? You think you can fight it? How long do you think you’ll last, Crimson Tiger, before the pain forces you to open up? Before you have to let go of that pride?”

Mei Lian glared at him, refusing to answer. The pain was unbearable now, rolling through her like a storm, each contraction more powerful than the last. Her body was betraying her, forcing her toward a place where no battle-hardened warrior could maintain control. She gripped the edge of the bed, her knuckles white, her breathing shallow and rapid as she struggled to contain the pressure building within her.

But the pain—oh, the pain—it was relentless. It demanded that she push, that she surrender to it. Sweat poured down her face, her muscles trembling as she fought to maintain her composure. But the child was coming, whether she willed it or not. The contractions intensified, each one longer and more agonizing than the last.

Finally, a low, guttural groan escaped her lips, and despite her resistance, her legs began to part. The pain was too great, the pressure too overwhelming. She could no longer fight the natural process her body was undergoing. With a gasp, she spread her legs wide, exposing herself completely in front of her enemy, her hands gripping the sheets as another wave of pain coursed through her. A guttural cry tore from her throat, as she throw her head backward, face up the sky: “Nghhh ahhhhhhh”.

The Black Talon leader’s grin widened as he leaned back against the wall. “There you go. That’s it. You can’t fight it forever, can you? No matter how strong you are, in the end, you’re just like every other woman. Weak. Vulnerable.”

Mei Lian’s body shook with exertion, every muscle in her powerful frame straining as she pushed with all her might. Her legs were spread wide, trembling under the immense pressure, her fingers gripping the sheets so hard the fabric was on the verge of tearing. The baby’s head had emerged, just barely, stretching her to her limits, only to retreat again, slipping back inside with agonizing slowness. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps, her face drenched in sweat, but no matter how hard she tried, it felt like her efforts were in vain.

The leader, standing over her, let out a loud, mocking laugh, the sound echoing cruelly in the small room. “Look at you,” he sneered. “All that strength, all that skill, and you can’t even manage to bring a baby into the world.” He circled her slowly, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he watched her struggle. “It comes out… then goes right back in,” he said, mimicking the motions with his hand. “What’s wrong, Crimson Tiger? You’re frustrated, aren’t you? All that effort, and yet the baby doesn’t want to stay out.”

Mei Lian gritted her teeth, her eyes stinging with unshed tears of frustration. She wanted to scream, to strike him down, but her body betrayed her, consumed entirely by the pain and pressure of labor. She could feel the baby slipping back again, and her heart sank with the familiar sensation. It was so close, yet impossibly far, and the leader’s taunts only made the ordeal worse.

“Look at you,” he continued, his laughter growing louder with each failed attempt. “You’re trying so hard, pushing and screaming, but the baby just keeps slipping back. It’s almost funny. All your enemies have fallen before you, yet this little one seems to be defeating you.” He shook his head, smirking. “How pathetic.”

Mei Lian’s mind screamed in fury, but her body was no longer her own. The child inside her was demanding to be born, and the pain was forcing her to push with all her might. She bore down, her face contorting in agony as the baby began to crown. She could feel it—so close, so near the surface—but then, just as she thought it would finally emerge, the child retreated again, slipping back inside.

A strangled cry of frustration escaped her lips, and she gripped the bed harder, her body shaking with the effort. She pushed again, her entire being focused on bringing this child into the world, but once more, the baby began to emerge, only to retreat again. It was maddening, the way her body refused to cooperate. The baby teased the world, appearing for a brief moment before sliding back, as if it were mocking her.

The Black Talon leader watched her struggle with dark amusement, his eyes gleaming in the firelight. “What’s the matter, Crimson Tiger? Can’t even manage a simple birth? You’ve killed men with your bare hands, and yet you can’t even push out a child? Maybe all that fighting has made you too stiff.”

Mei Lian’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tried again and again to push. Each contraction felt like it was tearing her apart from the inside, and the baby’s refusal to fully emerge only deepened her despair. She had fought in the fiercest of battles, endured wounds that would have killed others, but this—this was a battle she had never trained for.

Her vision blurred with tears of frustration, but she refused to give in. She would not be beaten by this. Not by him, and not by her own body. She would bring this child into the world, no matter how much it cost her. The labor dragged on, each minute feeling like an eternity as the baby danced on the edge of life, just out of reach.

“Come on, Mei Lian,” the leader taunted, leaning forward now, his face full of mocking delight. “You can do it. Just one more push, and maybe this time it’ll stay out. Or maybe not. Maybe you’ll just keep struggling, over and over, until you have nothing left. Wouldn’t that be something?”

Her body shook, her muscles screamed in protest, but Mei Lian gritted her teeth, her eyes burning with determination. She gathered every ounce of strength she had left, every bit of willpower that had seen her through countless battles, and pushed again.

Mei Lian's body trembled as she bore down with all her strength, the intensity of the birth overwhelming her senses. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, her heart pounding in her ears as the baby’s head finally began to emerge fully. The pressure was immense, like nothing she had ever experienced in battle. The pain coursed through her body in waves, but for the first time, the baby’s head no longer retreated. Progress had been made, and though the pain was excruciating, she felt the smallest glimmer of hope.

But her victory was far from assured.

The Black Talon leader had been watching her closely, his cruel amusement never wavering as she struggled to bring her child into the world. His twisted smile darkened as he realized what was happening—the baby was coming, inch by inch, despite his taunts. His victory over her, the moment he had so patiently waited for, was slipping away.

He couldn’t let that happen.

He rose slowly from where he had been leaning, his eyes narrowed with intent. Mei Lian, between contractions, noticed his movement. She could see the calculating look in his eyes, the way his body tensed, preparing to act. His expression had shifted from amusement to something more dangerous—he wasn’t just here to mock her anymore. He was going to intervene.

“I can’t let this happen, Crimson Tiger,” he said in a low voice, stepping closer. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, but he didn’t draw it. Instead, his gaze shifted downward, focusing on the baby’s head, which had only just begun to crown. “It would be a shame to let this child live when I could so easily take it all away from you.”

Mei Lian’s heart raced as she realized his intent. Her body tensed with a mixture of pain and fury as she understood that he wasn’t going to kill her—not yet. He wanted to rob her of her child first, to make her suffer by denying the life she was fighting so hard to bring into the world.

“I’ve watched you fight tooth and nail through this,” he sneered, taking another step closer, his eyes gleaming with malevolent glee. “But it seems your baby is just as stubborn as you are. It keeps coming back, but I can fix that.”

He waited, watching her closely as her body tensed with another contraction. It was clear he was waiting for her moment of greatest pain, the moment she would be most vulnerable. Mei Lian gritted her teeth, forcing herself to breathe through the pain, to stay calm even as every nerve in her body screamed for her to push, to keep fighting for the life of her child.

But instead of pushing, she did the opposite. She slumped back against the bed, allowing herself to groan loudly, letting her eyes flutter shut in an exaggerated show of exhaustion. Her breathing became shallow, her hand falling limply to the side. Though the pain was very real and intense, Mei Lian forced herself to act as though it was too much, as though she had no strength left to resist.

“Ah, that’s more like it,” the Black Talon leader said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Finally showing your true weakness.”

He stepped closer, crouching down beside her, his face a mask of cruel delight. He reached out toward the baby’s head, his fingers stretching forward as if he could simply push the child back inside her, as if he could undo all her progress with a single motion.

Mei Lian’s heart pounded with a mixture of terror and fury, but she kept her breathing shallow, her body limp. She had learned long ago that the best way to defeat an enemy wasn’t always through brute force but through patience and strategy. She had let him believe she was defeated, let him believe he had the upper hand.

And as his fingers brushed the baby’s head, Mei Lian’s eyes snapped open.

With a sudden surge of strength, she raised her leg and delivered a powerful kick to his face, her foot connecting with his nose in a sickening crunch. The Black Talon leader’s eyes widened in shock for a split second, realizing it when its already too late. The kick feels like every kicks she has ever delivered combined into one. He collapsed to the ground, lifeless.

Mei Lian had done it. The danger was gone, at least for the moment, and now she could focus entirely on the task at hand.

But as the adrenaline faded, the pain of the labor returned tenfold. The strike had made the baby slipped in again. Mei Lian gripped the edges of the bed, her breath coming in ragged gasps as her body was once again seized by the brutal force of the contractions. She no longer had the luxury of distraction—this was the battle that demanded everything she had left.

Her muscles strained, every inch of her body on fire as she bore down, trying to push the baby further out. The head was there, emerging little by little, but each time she thought she was making progress, the child seemed to slip back just a little, as if refusing to fully enter the world.

Sweat poured down her face, dripping onto the sheets, and her breath came in desperate, shallow gasps. Her legs shook with the effort, and her body screamed for relief, but the baby refused to come easily. Mei Lian gritted her teeth, her mind filled with frustration as the head inched forward, only to retreat again. It was maddening. She had never felt so powerless, so out of control.

She tried pushing again, harder this time, her body trembling with the effort. The pain was unbearable, searing through her like fire, but she bore down, focusing every ounce of her strength on bringing the baby into the world. Her muscles tensed, her breath came in sharp, ragged bursts, and for a moment, she thought she had made progress.

The head slipped a little further out, and for the briefest second, hope surged through her. But then the baby retreated once more, and Mei Lian let out a cry of frustration, her body collapsing back against the bed.

The firelight flickered in the room, casting long shadows across the floor. Outside, the wind howled through the trees, but inside, all Mei Lian could hear was the sound of her own labored breathing.

Her body was tired. So tired. But there was no choice but to keep fighting.

Mei Lian inhaled deeply, gathering her strength once more. She couldn’t afford to give up now. She had fought through too much, endured too much pain to let this final challenge defeat her. The baby was close, so close, but it would take everything she had left to bring it fully into the world.

She closed her eyes, centering herself as she had so many times before in battle. She slowed her breathing, calming her mind despite the chaos of her body. The next contraction hit, and this time, she pushed with all her might, focusing on the baby’s head, on moving it just a little further out.

The baby responded, inching forward, the pressure building as its head stretched the limits of her body. Mei Lian’s muscles burned, her legs trembling uncontrollably, but she kept pushing, refusing to let the pain stop her.

The baby’s head emerged a little further, and this time, it stayed.

But she knew the hardest part was still ahead. The shoulders had yet to come, and the baby’s body still needed to follow. The contractions slowed for a brief moment, giving her a merciful pause, but Mei Lian knew that this was far from over.

She took the brief respite to steady her breathing, her hands gripping the sheets tightly as she prepared for the next wave of pain. The baby was nearly there, but the birth was far from done.

The next chapter of her battle was about to begin.

The room seemed to shrink around her, the walls pressing in as Mei Lian lay on the bed, legs spread as wide as they could go, her body straining, stretched to its absolute limit. She could feel the baby’s head pushing against her, a searing pressure that made her want to scream, and she did, the sound tearing from her throat in a way that she hadn’t allowed herself to do before. Her powerful legs, the same ones that had delivered so many decisive kicks in battle, now trembled uncontrollably, utterly useless in this moment of life and death.

Her legs couldn’t help her now.

Her arms, once strong enough to defeat entire groups of thugs, lay beside her, limp and shaking, unable to provide any aid. It was an overwhelming realization, one that hit her harder than any punch or sword strike ever had. For years, she had trained her body—her arms, her legs, her mind—sharpening them into weapons that could take down any opponent. She had relied on them, on her strength, her control. But now, here in the throes of labor, they were nothing but quivering limbs, trembling and shaking with the effort of trying to bring her child into the world.

Mei Lian’s breath came in gasps, her chest heaving as another contraction gripped her, pulling her deeper into the relentless pain. Her legs, once so solid and sure, now buckled beneath the weight of her labor. They couldn’t support her. They couldn’t carry her through this battle.

Her mind reeled at the absurdity of it, at how all her years of training, all her discipline, were worthless here. She could take a life with a single blow, but now, bringing one into the world, she was helpless.

The baby’s head was there, pushing against her, stretching her body beyond what she thought was possible. Her legs spread even wider, as if they couldn’t get any further apart, yet still, it wasn’t enough. The baby was stuck, just barely crowning, and no amount of strength seemed to make it move forward. Mei Lian felt her will beginning to crumble, the frustration building inside her like a storm.

Tears welled in her eyes, and her breath hitched as she stared down at her enormous belly, which had become her greatest challenge. It rose like a mountain, stubborn and unyielding, mocking her with its stillness. Despite her best efforts, despite the sweat pouring from her body and the pain tearing through her, the belly remained, unmoved, unshaken.

It was as if her own body were conspiring against her, refusing to let go, to release the child she so desperately wanted to meet. Her hands moved almost unconsciously, trembling as they pressed against her belly, fingers splayed wide. She could feel the hardness beneath her skin, the baby waiting just beneath the surface, but no matter how much she pushed, the mountain remained.

She broke, tears spilling from her eyes, her voice raw as she whispered through her sobs. “Please… please, baby, come out,” she begged, her voice cracked and hoarse. “I can’t do this alone. Please… please…”

Her hands dug into her belly, massaging the taut skin, her breath ragged as she sobbed through the pain. Her body screamed for release, her heart cried out for her child, but the baby remained stubbornly lodged in place. Mei Lian’s frustration boiled over, a mixture of helplessness and anger that she had never felt before. How could she, the Crimson Tiger, who had faced down death so many times, be defeated like this?

But the labor was relentless. Another contraction hit, even stronger than before, and Mei Lian felt the burning sensation grow more intense as the baby’s head began to shift. The pressure was unimaginable, her body straining as she bore down, pushing with everything she had left. This time, there was progress—slow, agonizing progress, but it was there.

The baby was moving forward.

Her breath caught in her throat as she felt it, inch by inch, the head creeping forward. Her entire body trembled with the effort, every muscle taut as she fought to bring the child into the world. Mei Lian gripped the edges of the bed so tightly her knuckles turned white, her legs trembling violently as she bore down, her body shaking with exertion.

The baby’s head moved again, just a little further, and a sharp cry escaped her lips, her voice a mixture of pain and hope. The pressure was immense, the burning stretching sensation unbearable, but she was making progress. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the baby inched forward, each push bringing it closer to the world.

Mei Lian’s tears mixed with the sweat pouring down her face, but she didn’t care anymore. She didn’t care about the pain, or the exhaustion, or the fact that her powerful legs were now trembling like those of a newborn fawn. All that mattered was the child, and the need to bring it into the world. The contractions hit again, and she pushed once more, her body quivering as the baby’s head came further, inch by inch.

Her sobs turned to groans of effort as she gave another push, her hands pressing down on her belly, trying to help the baby along. The head was nearly there now, so close, but still, it felt like an eternity before it would be free. Each push felt like a battle won, but each victory was short-lived as the baby resisted, stubbornly inching forward in its own time.

Mei Lian screamed, the sound raw and guttural, as she gave one final, desperate push. The baby’s head moved further, finally passing the point of no return. The sensation was a mix of pain and relief, her body straining, stretched to the limit, but she could feel the shift.

Several more pushes later, the baby’s head emerged fully, its slick, round form finally free from the grip of her body. Mei Lian collapsed back against the bed, her chest heaving, her heart pounding in her ears as she gasped for breath.

The hardest part wasn’t over yet, but the baby’s head was out. The rest of the body would follow soon.

Mei Lian’s chest heaved, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she lay back, feeling the baby’s head fully emerge. She had done it—or so she thought. But as she tried to push again, hoping the rest of the baby would follow, her body met resistance. The shoulders—broad and unyielding—were stuck.

A new wave of frustration surged through her. The baby was so close, yet still, it would not come. Mei Lian pushed with all her might, every fiber of her being straining, but the shoulders refused to budge. The sensation was maddening. She could feel the child so close, practically at the edge of entering the world, but her body wouldn’t release it. The pressure was unbearable, the pain relentless, and her will—so strong throughout the labor—began to crumble.

She groaned in agony, her voice raw with frustration. Her powerful legs, which had carried her through battles and knocked out countless foes, were trembling beneath her, completely useless in this moment of pure, primal struggle. She shifted her position, trying to adjust, but nothing worked. The baby’s shoulders remained stuck.

Mei Lian’s eyes blurred with tears, her mind racing. **There had to be a way. There had to be a way.**

Her gaze fell to her enormous belly, still rising high and swollen, mocking her efforts once more. It hung heavy and round, her skin pulled tight, yet it felt as though no matter how hard she pushed, her body was holding on, refusing to let the child out. She let out a guttural cry, pressing her hands to the firm mound of her stomach as if willing it to release the baby.

The weight of her belly, the heaviness of it, seemed almost unbearable now, like a burden she had been carrying for far too long. It hung low, unmoving, despite all the strength she had poured into pushing. Tears blurred her vision as she clutched her swollen belly, her voice breaking into desperate sobs. "Please… please, baby… please just come out," she whispered, her strong, battle-hardened hands trembling as they pressed against her taut skin. "I can't… I can't take this anymore. Please come out of me…" Her composure shattered, she wept openly, feeling utterly vulnerable, overwhelmed by the unbearable pain and the helplessness of it all.

But the baby remained lodged, the shoulders stuck in place, refusing to slide free.

Desperation clawed at her, but in the back of her mind, her training kicked in. She needed to change her position. The battle wasn’t lost yet. She had always been adaptable in a fight, always able to shift her stance and find the advantage. Maybe, just maybe, if she could find the right position, she could free the baby.

Gritting her teeth against the pain, Mei Lian shifted her weight, rolling onto her hands and knees. The movement was agonizing, her body screaming in protest, but she had no choice. She buried her face into the mattress, gripping it with trembling fingers. Her knees spread wide, and her belly hung low, almost touching the bed beneath her. Her buttocks rose high in the air, her body bent forward, exposing herself completely to the empty room.

She had never felt so vulnerable, so raw and exposed.

Her mind briefly flashed to the battles she had fought, the men she had faced down without hesitation or fear. Yet here she was, in the most private, the most intimate of battles, her body betraying her in its moment of greatest need. It wasn’t the fists of an enemy or the edge of a blade that she fought against now—it was her own body, and the child she so desperately wanted to bring into the world.

The position was humiliating, her body completely open and bared, but Mei Lian no longer cared. Pride meant nothing now. All that mattered was freeing the baby.

Another contraction hit, stronger than ever, and Mei Lian let out a fierce scream, her fingers digging into the mattress as she pushed with everything she had. Her back arched, her belly hanging low and swaying as she strained. She bore down hard, pushing her buttocks backward, trying to make as much room as possible for the baby to descend.

The pressure was overwhelming, the feeling of the baby’s broad shoulders stretching her beyond anything she had experienced before. Her legs trembled with the effort, her fingers clutching the mattress desperately as if it could anchor her through the storm of pain.

Her scream grew louder, raw and guttural, as she felt the baby shift inside her. The new position was helping, but it was still slow, agonizing progress. She pushed harder, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, her entire body shaking with the effort. Her mind teetered on the edge of exhaustion, the relentless pain making her feel as though she couldn’t continue, but she had no choice. The baby was coming, and she had to bring it into the world.

The shoulders, once so firmly lodged, began to move.

Mei Lian could feel it—the slow, gradual release as the baby’s shoulders began to slide free. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever experienced before—painful and yet filled with the faintest hint of relief. Her legs shook, her arms trembling as she gripped the mattress, her face pressed into the bedding.

She pushed again, harder this time, her voice a hoarse cry as she bore down, her hips swaying slightly as she pushed her buttocks back even further. The pressure was immense, the baby’s shoulders moving ever so slowly, but it was happening. The baby was coming.

Another push, and this time she felt it—the shoulders finally sliding free, the baby’s body following in one smooth, agonizing motion. The relief was immediate, though the exhaustion hit her like a wave, her entire body trembling with the effort she had expended.

Mei Lian let out a final, breathless scream as the child was born, its small, slick body slipping from her and into the world. She collapsed forward onto the bed, her face pressed into the mattress, her chest heaving with deep, ragged breaths. The pain began to ebb, replaced by a dull, throbbing ache, but the overwhelming sensation that filled her now was one of pure, unfiltered relief.

The battle was over. The baby was here.

She remained there for a moment, her body still trembling from the effort, her breath shaky as she tried to comprehend what had just happened. The room felt eerily quiet after the storm of her labor, the only sound the faint whimper of the newborn child behind her.

Slowly, painfully, Mei Lian shifted, turning to look at the baby she had fought so hard to bring into the world. The child lay there, slick with birth, tiny and perfect, its small cries filling the room.

Tears welled in her eyes again, but this time, they were tears of joy, of relief, of triumph.

The Crimson Tiger had fought her hardest battle—and won.

#pregnant kink #birth kink #birth story #birth denial #giving birth

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