#one piece ch 4 - 6

[beaulesbian]

One Piece ch. 004 - 006 || ch. 485 (ep. 377)

What good is ambition if I can't even save the life of my own captain?

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt.14

Word Count: 27.1k

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were forgetting his voice.

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

What did Xavier sound like?

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

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

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

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

The before was fading.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe he was just good at pretending.

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

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

What are you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were definitely going crazy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was actually nice to be delusional for a bit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if it was all a lie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I feel like having cake today"

"What flavor, honey?"

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

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

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

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

"...."

"Alright, here you go."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the least he could do after everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe it was survival. Or maybe it was exhaustion.

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

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

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

So, what more could you do?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Shut up..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was it possible to be tired of being tired?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then his lips found your skin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Better than him.

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

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

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

An innocent life. Trapped with you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just had to make it count.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn't want to think about it anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All you cared about was Linkon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first thing you felt was the sun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. You can’t give up that easily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don’t lose focus. Not yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The worker beamed. “Great choice!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Go. Go. Faster. Don’t look back.

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

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

And then you saw it—him.

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

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

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

Love.

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

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

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

You had gotten one of your birthday wishes after all.

[charlotteking23]

The Lion's Lamb - chapter 1 - MV1/33

Max Verstappen x reader

The lion's lamb series: Aesthetics, Ch. 2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch.6, Ch.7, Ch.8

You spent most of your life alone. It wasn't your decision but artists tend to isolate themselves by accident. you were the type to find inspiration and peace when alone.

You would spend hours in your room, painting, until your vision became a reality.

Most people would never work as hard as you do to make a living, but you lived in Monaco. The country where money flowed. You knew you weren't like other residents that surrounded her in this country.

You weren't rich and you didn't have a trust fund to fall back onto. Don't get it wrong, your paintings sold high enough to be able to live in the country permanently, but you were barely scrapping by.

Some might ask why you choose to live in Monaco when you could have been living somewhere else more comfortably.

Monaco itself was known for their wealth and in your line of work, you need the rich to buy your work. You had about three regular clients in Monaco that provided 80% of your entire income.

Coffee was the only time you took a break and wandered into the outside world. And today was one of those days where you needed a break. you had been in your room for the past 4 hours trying to come up with something, but your mind was blank with ideas.

A client had commissioned a piece about 3 months ago and gave the 23 year old a wide range of creative ability on the painting as long as it was a darker piece.

You were the epitome of bright and bubbly and couldn't seem to get her mind into a darker frame of thought. With the piece needing to be done in a months time, you were starting to stress.

You had ordered your cup of coffee at your usual spot. You heard your name being yelled at the counter and quickly went up to grab your drink. Once in hand, you turned only to run into a wall, spilling coffee all over herself and the wall.

To add fuel to the fire of the already embarrassing situation, you slipped on the coffee that had spilled on the ground and fell to the floor hard causing more attention to be drawn onto you. While on the ground, you noticed two shoes in front of you.

You hadn't run into a wall like you originally thought, but instead a man. Your eyes followed the shoes all the way up at the man's face.

Piercing blue eyes stared down at you in annoyance. You could tell he wasn't truly taking you in but rather glaring at you for spilling both their coffees.

Jumping up quickly, You immediately grabbed some napkins off the counter of the coffee shop and tried your best to wipe the stains off the mans white shirt.

"I'm so sorry sir!" you said with tears building in your eyes. "I didn't see you! I'm so sorry!"

As you wipe the man's chest, he grabs your hands causing you to look up at him. It was then, he took in the details of you standing before him.

Your big eyes stared up at him, tears threatening to spill out of the sides. You had a light sprinkle of freckles that ran along her cheekbones and over your nose.

You had long hair that was pulled back out of Your face, but bangs to frame your face perfectly. Your lips were the perfect size and your cheeks were now the color of your lips from embarrassment.

There was a certain shine in your eyes that drew him. He couldn't tell if it was because of the tears or something else, but he needed to find out.

"It's alright," he said. You picked up an accent that wasn't from Monaco but you didn't know where.

"Please, sir, let me buy you your coffee! It's my fault, I can at least try make up it up to you by getting you another."

He nods his head at your response causing a smile to erupt across your face. The man loved how every part of your face lit up at his response. He didn't even say a word, yet you acted like he hung the stars just for you.

"How do you like your coffee?" you asked.

"Black," he state.

With a nod of your head, you told him to sit down while you waited in line. There were only two people ahead of you but you didn't want the man to have to stand with you after you ruined his clothes.

Being around him longer than necessary would cause more embarrassment on your part.

After getting both their coffees again, you found your way back to the blue eyed stranger sitting at a corner table by the window.

"Here," you said while putting it on the table. You noticed his shirt was definitely going to stain and winced slightly at the brown blob on his chest "Again sir, I am so sorry!"

You started digging in your bag for some money to give to the man for dry cleaning. Pulling out whatever you had, you tried to hand it to the man, "Here. It's not a lot but it should pay for dry cleaning to get that stain out."

"No," was the simple response you got.

"Please! It'll make me feel better if you take it! It's the only way I can make up for spilling you coffee!"

"Sit down," he said. You tilted your head in confusion at the blue eyed man. "Sit down and tell me your name. I don't want your money but I will take a name and a conversation as payment."

A blush quickly took over your cheeks as you shyly looked away from the man and sat down across from him. When you sat down you finally got a good look at his face.

He was attractive. He had these piercing blue eyes that would stare into your sole. He looked at you with softness but you were scared to be on the other end of that stare when he was angry.

He was tall, or at least taller than you, but that wasn't saying much compared to him. He was a dirty blond and had a bit of scruff that started to turn into a beard.

You could tell he didn't smile much due to him having very little smile lines. He was a serious man and it showed.

"Your name?" He stated.

"(name)," she said softly, "and yours?"

The man's eyes quickly flashed a look of surprise before they softened again, "Max."

[igbylicious]

whichever way [woosan x reader] pt14

pairing: woosan x f reader

rating: 18+

genre: smut, fluff-ish, neighbours au, FWB to QPR

ch. summary: You and Wooyoung do a little online shopping for a good cause.

wc: 9.3k

ch. warnings: sub Wooyoung, dom San & reader, pegging, anal fingering / sex (Woo receiving), blowjobs, cumming untouched, hairpulling, dirty talk, degradation kink, dacryphilia (ofc), orgasm control, multiple orgasms, light spanking, Woo gets spitroasted — but first he sucks the strap uwu, petnames (‘cockslut’, ‘babygirl’, ‘good boy’ for Wooyoung, ‘baby’ for reader)

a/n: features a soft-bodied, aromantic reader who uses she/her pronouns.

a/n²: only the epilogue left 〒▽〒 don’t touch me i’m emotional 〒▽〒

masterlist. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, epilogue

The sky is already darkening by the time San gets back to the apartment building after his late afternoon gym visit, and a crisp smell hangs in the air from an autumn shower that recently passed by. It’s invigorating, keeping San bright and alert despite the satisfying ache in his body from his post-workout exhaustion.

He picks up the mail on his way back; including yours, of course. His key chain has been a little heavier for some time now, but he likes the weight and jingle of it in his hand.

San sifts through the mail as he waits for the elevator to come down. It takes a bit longer than usual, but finally the door opens with its familiar ‘ding’ — revealing one of San’s neighbours inside.

Mrs Yoon.

“Oh! Hi, Mrs Yoon,” San says awkwardly, standing aside to let her through. He tries not to think about the last time he talked to the old lady, which only makes him think about it harder, an embarrassed heat burning under his skin.

Mrs Yoon gives him a crinkled smile as she steps out the elevator. “Hello, young man,” she politely greets him back, but there is a cheeky glint in her eyes.

San’s skin burns hotter, and can’t decide if it’s a mercy or a torment that she doesn’t acknowledge their previous conversation, leaving it all unspoken between them. Instead she simply wishes San a pleasant evening and starts to walk past him, going about her business without embarrassing him any further.

She probably intends for it to be a mercy — but something nags at San as Mrs Yoon leaves, and he realises he can’t let her go just yet.

“Ah, Mrs Yoon, could you wait a moment? Please?” he asks. “There is something I’d like to talk about.”

She stops her little shuffle towards the exit, blinking at San in surprise. “Of course, dear. What’s on your mind?”

What’s on his mind? You. You are.

Specifically, the jaded resignation on your face when you’d brushed off San’s concern about Mrs Yoon’s boyfriend-comment; when you told him you’re used to it.

He doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like that you need apathy to shield yourself from a world that’s oblivious to your lived experience at best, and at worst believes it’s something to be fixed. San isn’t naive; he knows he can’t take away society’s constant pressure for romantic attachment by himself. But there is something he can do right here and now.

Maybe today, he can be your shield instead.

“Um, Mrs Yoon, when we ran across you the other day… I just wanted to say, she’s not my girlfriend,” San says with calm warmth, a friendly smile on his face. Making it clear as politely as possible that he’s not starting a discussion, just stating a fact.

Mrs Yoon blinks at him in confusion, but then she breaks out in a smile of her own, filled with misplaced understanding.

“Ahhh, I see! And the other young man, he is not your boyfriend then, hm?” she grins slyly, like she’s in on some covert plot of secrecy. “I got it, your secret is safe with me. Though if I can give a piece of advice; a little more discretion wouldn’t hurt if you want to keep it a secret for much longer! If an old biddy like me has figured it out, then I can’t be the only one.”

San sighs a weary chuckle at the further misunderstanding. “No, no there’s no secrets. Wooyoung is my boyfriend,” he says, and Mrs Yoon’s confusion comes back tenfold. “But it’s different with her. We’re… We are friends. Really close friends. She’s very important to me.”

Something softens in Mrs Yoon’s face at San’s simple earnestness. She scratches her chin as she mulls it over, but eventually comes to a decision with a firm nod. “Hmm, well. Nothing wrong with that either, I suppose. Just as long as you three treat each other right.”

The safe politeness in San’s smile melts away, making way for honest happiness. “We do, Mrs. Yoon. Always.”

Grinning, she reaches up to suddenly pinch his cheek. San lets out a tiny ack, more out of surprise than pain, though her grip is surprisingly strong. “Now that I know,” she winks cheekily, then releases him. “Have a nice evening together, young man. She’s very lucky to have a good friend like you.”

Ah, and there Mrs Yoon gets it wrong again. “No, I’m the lucky one here, I reckon,” San grins. She shakes her head with a little reedy laugh, like his answer is exactly what she expected from him.

With that, San parts ways with Mrs Yoon and takes the elevator to the top floor. To you and Wooyoung.

San finds his and Wooyoung’s apartment empty when he drops off his bag — though honestly, he’s stopped thinking of the two spaces as ‘yours’ and ‘theirs’. So he gives Byeol a sweet little kiss on the top of her sweet little head, then goes over next-door without too much thought. Some days San enjoys a bit of alone time, but this is not one of them.

No, San can’t wait to curl up on the couch against one or two of his favourite people, maybe order in some food today so the time can be spent just lazing around in each others’ company.

When he opens the door to your apartment (strictly legally speaking), San hears an animated conversation happening. He perks up in curiosity, heading in closer to make out the words of what seems to be a lively discussion.

He finds you and Wooyoung on the couch, scrolling through something on your phone.

“Oohh, this looks pretty! And affordable too,” you say, looking to Wooyoung for his agreement — until you spot San and give him a little wave. “Hey, welcome back! Had a good workout?”

“Yeah, real good,” San says, a fond smile crinkling his eyes. Sounds like you and Wooyoung are looking at apartment listings again; something that started out as just fun and casual, building little fantasies around the possibilities, but the search is slowly growing more intentional.

But Wooyoung makes a face at your phone screen, shaking his head. “Too small,” he says decisively. “Ah, San! San! Good, you’re here, you can settle this for us!”

“Sure, lay it on me,” San says, naively assuming it’s about one of the listings. Then again, the way you immediately roll your eyes in exasperation…

“Seriously, Woo? You’re still on that?”

Wooyoung ignores you, turning to San with grim determination. “San. Tell her that if I don’t get to fuck other people, then she doesn’t get to either! A closed relationship, that’s what we agreed on.”

“That’s what you agreed on. You and San. I never agreed to any such thing.”

San blinks in baffled confusion. What? “Wait, you want to sleep with others? You barely have the stamina to keep up with us,” he blurts out, unable to fully process the idea that you’d want to open the relationship up.

“Hey,” you pout.

“What, ‘hey’?” he chuckles. “You’re the one who blamed us for that UTI because we are, and I quote, ‘horny demons who thrive on obliterating your poor bladder’s bacterial ecosystem’. Seriously, since when are you looking for more?”

“I’m not! Woo is just making drama over nothing!” you sigh, shooting Wooyoung some heavy side-eye. “I only pointed out that because we kinda winged this whole throuple situation, that technically we never made any rules about me and any hypothetical interest I might have.” Your side-eye deepens at the last part.

“Right,” Wooyoung says, returning your side-eye in equal force. “Hypothetical. Because you totally didn’t bring that up out of nowhere after sniffing around for gossip on San and Yunho’s past… activities.”

Yunho?! Since when is he on your radar?

It throws you too; your side-eye breaks as you look at Wooyoung in surprise. “That’s what this is about? Because I asked about him?” You let out a small, endeared giggle at Wooyoung’s jealous streak. “Woo, I’m just curious about the guy, is all! I finally get to meet him in person next week, I’ve only heard him on voice chat when you guys play that Mile of Mythologies thing together.”

“League of Legends!” San and Wooyoung protest simultaneously like clock-work.

“Yeah yeah,” you grin. “So, can we stop throwing a fuss over nothing or picking on me for having a delicate bladder?”

“Hey, I’m not picking on you for that. Honestly, all things considered it’s kind of a miracle you only got a UTI once. You got a toughie in there!” Wooyoung points out, grinning as he pats your lower stomach.

“Thank you! Now let’s go back to the important things in life, shall we?” You raise up your phone back up to go look at apartment listings again. Or so San thinks, at least.

(Somewhere in the back of his head, San vaguely notes that technically, you still haven’t agreed on a damn thing about the sleeping-with-other-people thing. Not that Wooyoung’s objections were needed; you don’t seem to actually have any serious considerations about Yunho, or anyone else. Well, and even if you did…

San smiles absent-mindedly. It’s not like he has bad memories of those past ‘activities’ with Yunho. The direct opposite, in fact. The idea of teaming up on you or Wooyoung… Wait, what? Hold on, where did that thought come from?)

“You really don’t like this one, Woo?” you ask Wooyoung, tilting the screen to him, completely unaware of the newly sparked scenarios inside San’s head.

“I told you, it’s too small!”

San shakes off whatever the hell is going on with his imagination, and focuses on his curiosity about this apartment. It must be real nice if you’re so set on the place, even if Wooyoung disagrees.

“This is too small?? Damn Woo, never knew you’re that much of a size queen.”

San frowns. Size queen? Again; what?

“Hey, who can blame me? I’ve gotten used to a certain… stretch,” Wooyoung says, a bold grin spreading over his face.

A stretch??? …Okay, maybe San needs to re-examine his assumptions about what you and Wooyoung are looking at.

“God you’re nasty,” you sigh in exasperation, but there’s a laugh hidden in there too. “Fine, fine, let’s see what else they got.”

San has finally reached you, standing behind the couch to look over your shoulder at the screen. His eyes widen as the veil of confusion lifts away, a surprised flush hitting his cheeks.

No, those are not apartment listings on your screen.

Those are sex toys.

Specifically, you and Wooyoung are looking at strap-ons.

“How about this kit?” Wooyoung asks, gesturing at the next one you scrolled to. “That looks promising.”

At first, your face lights up with interest, but it is quickly replaced by a grimace when you notice the cost. “Looks good but… might be a tiny bit out of my price range.”

“Our price range,” Wooyoung counters firmly. “Think of it as an investment for the future! What do you think, Sannie?”

“Um,” is the most eloquence response San can muster at this moment.

“Look look, it even comes with a few different dildos, see! And the harness is backless too,” Wooyoung says, eyebrows wiggling as he zooms in on one of the images.

The picture shows the back-view of a model wearing the harness, held into place by a supple-looking leather waistband and two elegant black straps wrapped around the upper thighs, snugly fitted just below the model’s completely exposed ass.

“…How’s the size? Is it adjustable?” you ask, not entirely convinced yet but slowly swayed by Wooyoung’s sales pitch.

San feels a heat crawl up to his face, and tugs at the neckline of his shirt as unbidden images float up in his mind of your ass in that harness. No, San definitely needs no further swaying. Fuck, his imagination sure is working overtime today. He’ll pay the whole damn thing out of his own pocket if the money is really a concern to you.

You nose through the product specifications, your face brightening at what you find. After that, it’s not long before the kit finds itself dropped into your shopping cart.

“Three days?” Wooyoung groans when he sees the shipping date, falling back into the couch miserably. “How am I supposed to wait that long?”

“Aw, you poor thing,” you coo teasingly, patting Wooyoung’s hair. “What a trial. What a tribulation.”

San grins when Wooyoung scoffs and grabs for your hand to get a bite in on your forearm. You yelp, unsuccessfully trying to fend him off. San lets the chaos entertain him for a moment, then he gently untangles you both. “Woo, I’m sure we can find a way to make the time go by faster,” he chuckles. “Like… how about you take a few days to think about what you’d like to happen once it’s here?”

Like magic, Wooyoung’s face instantly shifts to a thoughtful expression. “Well,” he says, tapping his bottom lip, “I do have a few ideas…”

Never one to be timid about his ideas, you naturally know the deepest, most intimate and depraved depths of Wooyoung’s fantasies by the time you have him on your knees in front of you.

You don’t need to see the hunger in his eyes as he stares up at you to know badly he wants this; don’t need to hear the breathless inhale when your fingers tangle into his hair, how his tongue eagerly darts out to wet his lips when you tug him forward — pushing the tip of your strap right against those plump lips.

Because you already know that is exactly what Wooyoung wants. To take your cock down his throat and choke on it.

The weight of the black, silicone dildo hanging between your legs is unfamiliar, a little awkward even, but the harness is more comfortable than you expected.

You’d stayed a bit concerned about the fit until the discreetly packaged arrived, but after fiddling with some adjustments you could breathe easily. The leather now sits perfectly around your waist, and the black straps don’t dig painfully into your thighs like you’d feared, instead framing your ass in a way that must be extremely flattering to say the least — if the way San’s eyes keep trailing back to them is anything to go by.

However, for now San’s gaze is fixed on Wooyoung.

San sits on the edge of the bed, legs spread lazily and leaned back with his hands resting on the mattress, making no effort to touch Wooyoung even though he is within arm’s reach. Head slightly tilted, he watches intently how Wooyoung’s lips part as the silicone cock is pushed past them.

Wooyoung wastes no time, sinking down with a muffled groan. Messily he sucks and laps at the strap, low moans and wet noises drifting upward. You let out a blissful sigh at the view, his pretty lips stretched around your cock. He blinks up at you as he somehow manages to grin even with his mouth stuffed, his dark eyes shiny with impatience and need.

“Little more, Woo. I know you can give me more,” you hum, running your hand through his hair. “Show me how hungry you are for my cock before I fuck you with it.”

“Mmh—”

Wooyoung eagerly follows your lead when you guide his head up and down, taking you deeper and deeper with minimal encouragement. He never holds back, treating your strap like it’s a real cock; and through his pure unbridled enthusiasm, you sink away into the illusion.

Your breaths grow heavier whenever Wooyoung pulls back to suckle indulgently at the tip, thick wet swipes of his tongue as he groans, his eyes fluttering shut every time you pull his hair to force your length down his throat again. Every pass of his mouth rubs the silicone dick’s rounded base against your cunt, and its strategically placed protrusion sends sparks through your core.

You start to roll your hips into him, chasing those sparks as Wooyoung’s head bobs to meet your shallow thrusts. It’s not long before he gags around you with an obscene gurgle, a thin trail of drool escaping past the corner of his lips. Instinctively you freeze, but Wooyoung shakes his head and whines. His cheeks are flushed, a watery gleam brimming in his eyes as he stares up at you, wordlessly begging you to keep fucking his throat.

“Aw, he’s tearing up already,” San chuckles, leaning forward so he can grasp Wooyoung’s chin. “Looks so pretty with cock between his lips, doesn’t he? That smart mouth stuffed full, working so hard to please you.”

Wooyoung lets out another whine at San’s praise, only more worked up by the edge of condescension in his voice.

“Sweet babygirl,” you grin fondly. “Come, make Sannie feel good too. Can you do that for me?”

Wooyoung makes a noise, immediately reaching for San, who guides Wooyoung’s hand to wrap around his cock. He groans lowly, his back arching ever so slightly at Wooyoung’s practised strokes.

“Good boy,” San sighs, a lazy smile on his lips. “Now, get back to sucking that cock properly, hm? Wanna see you choke on it.”

Wooyoung moans loudly, more drool spilling down his chin. He keens when you pull his hair a little harder; it’s all the reminder he needs to go back to gagging around your cock, meeting the roll of your hips as you fuck his face. He breaths harshly through his nose, struggling to control his breathing but never slowing down, taking your strap down his throat like a champ without ever neglecting San.

San’s chest is starting to heave as Wooyoung jerks him off, lips parted and eyes heavy-lidded. His low whine sears through you, as does the sight of his large hand leading Wooyoung’s to pump his leaking cock. Wooyoung revels in how he’s being used, teary eyes drifting shut as he fades away into a cockdrunk haze.

“San?” you say in a strained voice, more affected by the strap’s base gentle rubbing against your clit than you expected. (Or maybe the growing pressure in your core has more to do with Wooyoung, with seeing him like this.) “I think it’s time.”

Wooyoung’s eyes peek open at the sound of your voice, shimmering wetly with unshed tears. (…Yep, that definitely helps.)

“Yeah, it’s time,” San agrees, his voice equally strained.

He guides Wooyoung’s hand down to the base of his cock, to give it a squeeze just to take the edge off. Then he moves to kneel behind Wooyoung, who almost sobs in anticipation when San grabs two handfuls of his plump ass, spreading the cheeks apart.

Wooyoung whimpers around your cock, his hands grasping at your thighs for something to anchor him while San removes a modestly-sized plug that was warming Wooyoung up for this moment. You pat his hair reassuringly, cooing soft praises at Wooyoung, who groans as San’s lubed up fingers breach his rim to loosen him up a little further. San presses a soft, lingering kiss on Wooyoung’s shoulder and moves his fingers just as gently, gradually picking up speed.

You know San is not avoiding Wooyoung’s prostate when he jerks violently, the strap slipping out of his mouth, no longer muffling his loud whines. “F-fuck, right there, r-right there, Sannie…” he moans weakly, rocking back into San’s fingers.

Clumsily, Wooyoung grabs at the strap to try and stuff it back into his mouth. The tip catches against his cheek first, smearing a thick streak of saliva across his face. You sigh contently when Wooyoung keeps his hand around the silicone cock, rubbing the pleasing protrusion at the base firmly against your cunt as he wraps his swollen lips around its length.

“Still kinda tight… Relax, babe,” San grunts, curling his fingers in a way that has Wooyoung let out a throttled mewl. He runs his free hand soothingly over Wooyoung’s back. “Ahh, no wonder you’re tense,” he purrs. “Gonna be your first time getting fucked by two cocks like this, isn’t it? You’re such a greedy, perfect cockslut that it’s easy to forget you never took more than one at once. Just doesn’t seem right… those pretty holes were made to be used and ruined by some good dick.”

Tears escape Wooyoung’s lashes as he gurgles around your strap, his motions getting shakier with every filthy word from San, trembling harder with every thrust of San’s fingers. His own cock looks achingly hard, flushed a deep red and twitching, precum beading at the tip.

“Careful, Woo,” you gently chide him. “You’re not allowed to cum until I’m fucking you properly.”

Wooyoung whimpers, trimmed nails digging into your thigh as he desperately holds back from reaching down to bring himself relief.

A dangerous grin flashes across San’s lips as he also realises just how close Wooyoung is. “Oh? The cockslut can’t even wait until he’s stuffed full the way he should be? Are you gonna fall apart on just my fingers?”

“Mhh hm—”

Wooyoung can’t get his muffled noises of denial past his obstructed throat. He tries his best to obey your instruction, but San does nothing to make it easier on him.

Instead San’s wrist snaps harshly, the squelch of lube obscenely loud. His eyes are sharp and filled with dark intent, watching how Wooyoung shudders and whines, pushed closer and closer to his limit—

You can see the exact moment Wooyoung realises his efforts to hold back are futile, his eyes going wide a split second before he convulses, inadvertently pushing the strap down the back of his throat again. San’s free hand is on Wooyoung’s cock in a heartbeat, making sure he spills messy splatters of cum on San’s fingers and his own chest.

Wooyoung pants for air, spluttering and coughing when you pull the strap from his mouth. “S-sorry, I didn’t— didn’t mean to—” He babbles a rushed apology, staring up at you with wet eyes, his face red and puffy.

“Shh, it’s alright,” you hush him, going down on your knees so you can cradle his face, brushing your thumbs over tear-streaked cheeks. “Tried so hard, didn’t you?”

“Hm-hm,” he whines in agreement.

“Our pretty babygirl just gets overwhelmed so fast, doesn’t he?” you hum, pressing small pecks on his cock-swollen lips. “So sensitive that a few fingers is all it takes.”

Wooyoung sniffs, nodding weakly. “Y-yeah.”

“Look at that, made a mess all over yourself,” you tease, catching some of the white essence dribbling down Wooyoung’s chest. “Not your fault it’s so easy to wreck you. That’s just who you are, isn’t it? A needy, desperate thing.”

He whines an unintelligible noise. For anyone else, your words might have been humiliating; but for Wooyoung, they set something inside him free. Not his fault; just his nature.

San slowly kisses up Wooyoung’s neck, rubbing his shaky arms. It’d almost be sweet, if not for the satisfied curve of San’s lips. He’s gotten Wooyoung exactly where he wants him. “It’s okay, Woo,” he says, playfully nipping at his earlobe. “You can make it up later.”

Wooyoung’s attempt at answering is smothered by San’s mouth with a sudden, hard kiss. Your breath catches at his intensity, fervid and hungry. Just the sight of San and Wooyoung entangled alone is always enough to make your toes curl; from their shared, sensual passion, to the simple beauty of their contrasted features, the striking delicacy of Wooyoung melting into San’s masculine solidness.

You could watch them forever like this, but San does not allow you to be their spectator for long. Without even breaking the kiss, he reaches out to tug at your arm, pulling you into them. You go willingly.

Wooyoung welcomes you with a soft whine as you nip and suck at his neck, the split-glistened strap pressing against his half-hard cock. He proves himself every bit the desperate, needy thing that you called him, turning his head to switch between kissing you and San, groaning against your lips as he’s engulfed with heated attention from two ends. Breathlessly he gasps between kisses, trembling while you and San slowly leave a tapestry of hickeys and bitemarks over his neck and shoulders.

It’s when he starts to rock his hips, grinding back against San, that you reach for his dick. It’s still partially soft, still sensitive from cumming earlier. Wooyoung jerks into your grasp, his loud, keening whine stifled by San’s tongue down his throat. Fresh tears spill down Wooyoung’s cheeks as he shakes his head, his hand weakly clinging onto your arm — but his body tells a different story entirely, his spine arching as he contorts with overwhelming pleasure.

You are captivated, your tongue dragging over his wet cheek as you chase an instinct to lick up his tears. “Yeah, you can take it,” you murmur by his ear, making sure to keep a steady pace with your hand. “Want you hard and leaking when I finally fuck you. You owe us that much, don’t you think? Or is our babygirl going to disappoint me again?”

Wooyoung whimpers, head falling back against San’s shoulders. “C-can take it,” he slurs, now openly rocking his hips to fuck up into your hand.

San’s eyes blaze as he watches you exert your control over Wooyoung. Once your hand has settled into a rhythm, San firmly pulls you close again, capturing you in a hard kiss this time. Heatedly he explores the familiar crevices of your mouth while Wooyoung squirms and mewls between you, jaw slackening and eyes rolling back.

Your cunt aches at Wooyoung’s noisy writhing, and you press a gentle hand against San’s shoulder to push him back.

He begrudgingly parts from your lips, breathing hard. Focus slowly returns to his eyes as he grins down at Wooyoung’s wrecked state. “He’s ready?”

“I think so,” you hum, gently cradling Wooyoung’s cheeks. “What do you say, Wooyoungie, ready to take my cock?”

Wooyoung nuzzles at your palm, the rise and fall of his chest slowly steadying. “Ready,” he sighs with a languid smile, tinged with anticipatory excitement. “Want it… want your cock so bad, want you to fuck me…”

You giggle, bumping your forehead against his. “Good boy,” you praise, and leave a light peck on his nose. “Then that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

Almost effortlessly, San lifts a squirmy Wooyoung on his feet, then onto the bed, manoeuvring him onto all fours.

Wooyoung moans when you run a hand over the sweet curve of his ass, peeking over his shoulder to look at you. You knead at his cheeks, staring intently at how lube has has trickled out his stretched hole, down to his thighs. It’s all too tempting to dive in and lap it up, to tease him with your tongue and sink your teeth into that pretty ass, but you doubt Wooyoung has much patience left in him — and neither do you, for that matter.

“San?” you ask, nudging at the container of lube to reapply a fresh layer. San grabs the bottle; but instead of handing it over to you, he just grins and slides up behind you.

Generously he slicks up his own hand, and your breath hitches as San reaches around to lube up the strap for you. There is something unexpectedly sensual about his big hand gliding over the length of your silicone cock, firm strokes that have you instinctively rocking into his touch, like you can feel him.

Wooyoung lets out an impatient whine. “Please…” he begs, wiggling his ass at you, and you decide he’s been forced to wait long enough.

You softly tap San’s arm, at which he retreats to rest his sticky hand on your waist instead. He hums when you press a soft kiss of gratitude on his lips, and then you turn your full attention back to Wooyoung.

He shudders when the silicone cockhead presses at his entrance, then slowly sinks in.

It’s not the biggest dildo that came with the kit, not quite matching San in thickness, but you preferred to start out with a size that you know Wooyoung can handle. Still, it’s girth is satisfying enough with a nice upward curve, and a subtly ribbed shaft that’s already doing a number on Wooyoung, if the way his fingers dig into the sheets is any indication.

“Oh fuck,” he grits out, eyes clenched shut.

You take your time to bottom out, making sure you can do so comfortably, and Wooyoung comes apart further with every slow inch. His arms buckle, falling onto his elbows when your thighs press against his ass, fully buried inside his tight hole. He pants hard, fingers digging into the sheets.

“Please please please,” he babbles, “oh fuck please move, please fuck me already, fuck—”

“Hm, I think he likes taking your cock,” San observes dryly, a mocking lilt in his voice. He reaches around you to give Wooyoung’s ass a light smack, grinning when Wooyoung whines harder in response. “Yeah, he likes it.”

You don’t react with more than a sound of acknowledgement; too focused on the roll of your hips, too taken in by Wooyoung’s choked noises as you finally take mercy, the ribbed strap gliding in and out at a steady pace.

In a way, the rhythmic motion of thrusting into Wooyoung is intimately familiar, yet also entirely new. You’ve fucked Wooyoung with a toy before, sure, but the simple snap of your hand doesn’t compare to the physicality of using almost your entire body to bury your cock into him. Your arms tense as you hold onto his hips to keep him steady, your thighs and core muscles flex to buck against his ass over and over again.

(Already you can tell that you need to conserve your energy, not wanting to wear yourself out before Wooyoung is a sobbing ruin, utterly wrecked and completely sated.)

Wooyoung gasps and whines with every thrust, his fists tightening into the sheets — but despite his obvious pleasure, a tendril of frustration flicks at you; you’ve seen Wooyoung in the throes of depraved passion often enough to know you’re not hitting the spot that will obliterate him, not in the way San can. You try to adjust, searching for his prostate, but it’s trickier when you can’t actually feel inside him, and your efforts only seem to make your thrusts more awkward.

San puts his hand on your waist when he realises you are getting in your own way, squeezing reassuringly. His breath falls on your ear as he guides your motions, easing your hips into a smooth roll that soon has Wooyoung let out a pitched cry, his entire body jolting.

“That’s it,” San rasps in satisfaction, letting you move on your own again, “that’s how you fuck that tight hole. Look at you making such a pretty mess of Wooyoungie, all cockdrunk on you.”

Wooyoung keens at the praise, whimpering every time you hit that sweet spot.

You can’t help a moan of your own, a hot wire thrumming through your core — that only grows sharper when San’s hands wander down to your ass. At first he just lightly squeezes, but soon he takes full advantage of the harness’ open back, spreading your cheeks apart to expose you to the cool air. His thumbs inch inward; one is still covered with a remnant of lube, slowly circling your sensitive rim.

Your breath hitches at the unexpected touch, making you buck harder into Wooyoung. His voice breaks with every snap of your hips, “Hngh, ah ah—” hiccuped moans spilling past his lips.

San grins, his thumb resting against your entrance, never quite pressing inside. “Fucking him so well, baby,” he groans, lazily sucking a wet patch into your neck. “Tell her, Wooyoung. Tell her how well she’s fucking you.”

“S-so well,” Wooyoung sobs, clawing at the sheets. “Fucking me so well…”

His garbled cries burn through you, the heat inside your core stoked by his writhing, desperate state. So pliant, so willing to surrender himself to you.

However, your thighs burn for another reason entirely; muscles straining with the effort of fucking Wooyoung into this mindless stupor. You slow the roll of your hips, giving yourself a breather while enjoying Wooyoung’s pitiful whines of protest maybe a little too much.

“But this is not enough for you, is it?” you hum, rubbing your hand over the small of Wooyoung’s sweat-slicked back. “You want Sannie’s cock too, to have that clever mouth used again like it should be.”

San lets out a raspy chuckle as Wooyoung nods frantically. “I don’t know, baby, our Wooyoungie looks like he might be at his limit. You sure he can take us both?”

Wooyoung squirms in frustration. “I can, Sannie, you know I can,” he snivels. “Please, want it, want it, San-ah—!”

He jolts when San smacks his ass again, whining loudly as he burrows his face into the bed.

With that, San moves away from you, his fingers digging into the curve of your rear as he goes. Wooyoung moans weakly when San sits on his knees in front of him, clasping Wooyoung’s chin between thumb and index finger to lift his head.

“Then prove it,” San says coolly, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Show us what a good cockslut you are.”

Wooyoung shivers at the dismissive tone of San’s challenge, like he isn’t expecting all that much. He shakily pushes himself up on his hands, biting down a groan at how your strap rubs up against his insides. One last glance over his shoulder, while he still can, drinking in the sight of you with hungry, tear-filled eyes.

And a glorious sight you are, shiny drops of sweat beading down the valley of your chest, heaving from exertion. Both of you completely enraptured by this new experience, the new sensations that come with it. The ribbed dildo feels amazing, better than Wooyoung dared hope — but far more than that, he is on the brink because it’s you, you fucking that toy into him.

You catch his gaze, biting your lip at the contact. “Remember, Woo,” you say, voice tight, “remember the signal if I’m too rough on you.”

Wooyoung lets out a hoarse chuckle, giving you the widest, dirtiest grin he can muster. Too rough? On him? Fuck, how are you blowing his back out and still manage to be this adorable? “Sure, will do,” he rasps, tapping San’s thigh in demonstration of the nonverbal sign.

San grasps onto Wooyoung’s chin again, yanking him back. He taps the head of his cock against Wooyoung’s cheek, leaving a trail of precum, exactly where your strap smeared saliva across his face earlier.

“C’mon, Woo,” San says, still giving him that unimpressed look, the one that makes Wooyoung squirm without fail, “do you want this cock down your throat or not?”

Wooyoung’s breath instantly shallows, his jaw relaxing on instinct. He groans in bliss as San nudges the flushed tip past his swollen lips, sinking home. Your hips move in a slow roll and Wooyoung lets himself get swept away by the rhythm, taking San deeper inch by inch.

His mind goes blank, lost in the toe-curling slide of your strap, the hefty weight of San on his tongue — fuck, he loves sucking that fat cock. How the thickness of it strains his jaw, but within manageable levels after all the countless practise he’s enjoyed. He’s proud of that, how his gag reflex has faded to a mere afterthought, only brought back to the forefront when he’s caught off guard (and even then, it’s good). Proud of the cracks in San’s unaffected facade that Wooyoung breaks through with nothing but the tightness of his throat and his skilful tongue.

Right now though, you’re making it harder for Wooyoung to use that tongue to its full potential. Every rough thrust jostles him, pushes San’s dick deeper without any room for skill, reducing Wooyoung to nothing but a cocksleeve to be used. (San does not seem to mind, his groans low and breathy.)

He whimpers as you slam into him without mercy, his aching cock slapping against his stomach with a lewd smacking sound, drawing sharp jolts of pleasure. You’ve well and truly honed in on his sweet spot now, pressure building up and up and up until Wooyoung feels like he’s clawing at the ceiling. San’s hand rests on Wooyoung’s throat, squeezing with only a gentle pressure to keep him steady as he’s split open from two ends; an overwhelming barrage of sensations that goes beyond feeling ‘full’. Wooyoung feels whole.

Desperately he moans around San’s cock with a muffled, pathetic sob, the world blurring out of focus. One brush of a hand against his throbbing dick and he’d be done for, he’s sure of it; but despite cumming untouched earlier, now that edge stays just out of reach. Trapping Wooyoung at the height of pleasure with nowhere to come down.

He’s whimpering, body trembling under the unending onslaught. Too much, some might cry out — but not Wooyoung, never Wooyoung.

No, for him it is perfect. He stopped believing in ‘too much’ long ago, after he heard enough of those two words in his life. That he talks too much, wants too much, gives too much, is too much.

But here, between these two hearts, he is exactly right.

Addled memories flood through his dizzied thoughts, physical pleasure blurring into intense emotion.

With San, Wooyoung knew it from the very start; an unshakeable certainty within moments of their first meeting. San has always embraced his chaotic energy, soaking it up like a sponge and giving back to Wooyoung in equal measure. Making it easy for Wooyoung to throw himself into their relationship with what some might call reckless abandon — but San never dropped him. He is never too much for San.

Wooyoung had been too much for you, once. Crashing head-first into your boundaries back when he kissed you; pushing too hard because he did not want to be pushed away. But it only brought you closer, seeking out the places where you can meet each other; where Wooyoung can be himself without compromise without compromising you. Where Wooyoung can taste the word ‘love’ in his mouth and see you light up with joy, the same joy that you and San give him in turn.

No, he’ll never be too much for you either. He knows that now.

Wooyoung lets out a hoarse, garbled cry at a hard hit of your cock against his prostate, breaking him out of his hazy thoughts and right back to the present, back in the middle of your and San’s heated attention and affection. Right where Wooyoung thrives.

Fuck, he’s light-headed. He feels like he’s floating, vaguely hears praise drift to him from both sides. Good boy. Taking it so well. That’s what those pretty holes are good for. He’s drowning in it, barely feeling his body anymore, only the pleasure buzzing through him.

He slowly realises San’s fingers are tangled through his hair, helping his head stay up.

Wooyoung moans indulgently, blinking up at him. He can only imagine what a mess San is looking at; Wooyoung can feel the wetness of spittle and tears trailing down his cheeks, his chin, even his throat. Fuck, he wishes you could see it too, what a fucking pathetic wreck he is for you both.

San makes a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a groan as he looks down on Wooyoung. “Cockdrunk,” he says, his grin sharp. “Completely wasted. Can you even handle my load or are you too fucked out to swallow?”

Immediately Wooyoung whines in protest. He can do it, he can do anything for you and San. Doesn’t want San to pull out, doesn’t want you to stop moving, not yet not now not ever. He swallows around San’s cockhead, messily lavishing his tongue against the twitching shaft.

You giggle breathily at Wooyoung’s enthusiasm, squeezing at his hip. “Now San, don’t underestimate our Wooyoungie,” you playfully admonish him. “This is what he’s made for. He can take it.”

Yes yes yes. Agreement sings through Wooyoung as he humps back against you in gratitude. You get it. You understand.

San grunts at the stifled moans around his cock, Wooyoung’s increased efforts causing him to hiss sharply through gritted teeth. He can’t last much longer, his fingers tightening in Wooyoung’s hair, breath going pitchy as his hips jerk.

Wooyoung groans when San’s cock twitches in his mouth, hot sticky ropes of cum hitting his tongue. Maybe he is a little too fucked out after all, some seed trickling down his chin as he struggles to gulp down every drop with lewd, wet noises.

San pants harshly as he slips out, pumping himself with quick strokes to wrest as much as he can for Wooyoung to take. Finally he wipes the tip on Wooyoung's glossy lips, then nudges him to turn his head and give you a proper view. Your sharp moan lances through Wooyoung's painfully hard cock — but distress takes over when you slow down.

So close, he was so close oh god you can’t stop now. Wooyoung sobs pitifully, wiggling his hips as he babbles his wretched pleas.

Your cunt throbs at his desperation, his face flushed red and shiny with bodily fluids. Equal parts guilt and arousal sear through you at the unintentional denial, but fuck your thighs are burning. (Today has given you a whole new appreciation for San's muscle strength.)

“Shh, it’s okay, just want you to ride me,” you hum, stroking his quivering thigh. “Wanna see that beautiful face when you cum, can you do that for me, Wooyoungie?”

He lets out another choked up sob but nods frantically, whimpering when you pull out to lay down. Shakily he moves to sit in your lap, helped by San’s steady hold. Wooyoung whines in relief when you fill him up again, after a fresh coating of lube. He groans at the new angle, throwing his head back.

You rub your hands up and down his thighs, letting your eyes wander over him; his sweat-slicked torso, the veins pulsing in his shaky arms, cock leaking against his stomach. You lightly wrap your fingers around it, causing Wooyoung to stutter out a surprised “Ah—!”

“Go ahead, Woo. Show me,” you tell him breathily, bucking your hips up. “Show me how badly you want to cum on my cock.”

Wooyoung does not need to be told twice. He leans back to brace his hands on your legs, arching his back. The roll of his hips starts slow, easing himself into it, but soon you can see his lithe muscles rippling as he bounces in your lap. There is no restraint in him, his face contorted with pleasure as he whines, gasping every time you buck your hips to meet his. He looks utterly deprived. He is perfect.

San curls up next to you on his side, sluggish in the wake of his own orgasm. He pecks at your shoulder, tracing lazy circles on your stomach, close to where Wooyoung fucks into your hand as he moves. “You haven’t cum yet, have you?” San murmurs, his hot breath fanning across your skin.

“N-not yet,” you admit, “but—”

But fuck, you are getting close.

It’s been a long, slow build-up with the base of the strap rubbing against your cunt; not always catching your clit just right, but you have a bit more control now that you’re laying down, to wiggle or guide Wooyoung’s hips. More than that, you are so deeply mesmerised by Wooyoung that his pleasure might as well be your own. Fucking himself seemingly tireless even though he’s gasping for breath, surely reaching his limit. His whiny sobs sear through you, your own breath catching in your throat as you slowly, inevitably, begin to tilt over.

San lets out a low, rumbling chuckle, and slings an arm over you to leisurely play with one of your tits. The light pecks on your shoulder turn to insistent, open-mouthed kisses as San sucks wet bruises into your skin. You bite down a whine as he thumbs at your nipple, your hips bucking up harder into Wooyoung. You move your hand quicker, stubborn to drag Wooyoung right down with you.

“God, look at you,” you groan, straining to get the words out, “look so pretty, crying on my cock.”

Wooyoung makes a strangled noise. “’Cause— ‘cause it feels so good,” he chokes out. “Y-you—” but whatever else he wants to say is drowned out by breathless, high-pitched moans.

You use your last shreds of energy to piston the strap harder into Wooyoung, jostling him in your lap. His body bows forward, hands scrambling to grab onto your shoulders, almost knocking San in the face. San nips at Wooyoung’s wrist, but easily readjusts by latching his mouth onto your breast instead.

You tense up, hips stuttering as you curse under your breath — and then San’s teeth sink into the soft, sensitive flesh, biting down. The pain jolts through you like a catalyst, your peak rushing at you; you try to stave it off, try to get Wooyoung there first, but that only makes it chase you faster. The force of it rips through your nerve endings, your nails digging into Wooyoung’s waist as you finally topple over with a ragged cry. Your toes curl almost painfully, body trembling as white-hot sparks fray your senses.

Your eyes try to squeeze shut but you force them open, gasping breathless moans as you stare up at Wooyoung; intent on seeing him succumb before you can fully come down from your own high.

His abdominal muscles flex with tension, his thighs clenching as he threatens to lose his rhythm. You shakily pick up the pace with your hand, sliding over the slick length of his cock. Wooyoung keens and weakly ruts against your strap, keeping constant pressure on your still-twitching cunt. San’s fingers wrap around yours, helping you to keep moving while you squirm from the relentless waves rippling through you.

Wooyoung lets out a throttled whine, doubling over as he unravels, spilling a hot and sticky mess all over your fingers and stomach. Your grip on him weakens, but San forces you to keep moving, milking Wooyoung for everything he’s got until he’s shaking uncontrollably on top of you, sobbing out pathetic whimpers.

When San finally takes mercy and lets go, Wooyoung crumples on top of you with a tired moan. The dildo slips out as he burrows himself in your arms, uncaring for the watery strings of cum smeared between your bodies.

“Oh fuck… that was… ‘s was fucking amazing…” he mumbles, nuzzling against your chest.

You giggle tiredly, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Yes? Did we make a good investment into our future with this one?”

“Mhn…” Wooyoung makes a vague noise of affirmation. He seems about ready to pass out, but there’s still a dazed smile on his face when San tips up his chin. “Good, yeah…”

San’s lips curl into a fond smile, chuckling when Wooyoung grouses at being manoeuvred just enough so San can take the harness off of you. He sets the glistening dildo aside for later cleaning, then gives your worn-out cunt an affectionate pat. You whine even at the light touch, but sigh contently when his warm hands massage your sore thighs. Fuck, you’re going to have one hell of a muscle-ache tomorrow.

San grins at your pained expression. “Wanted to see Wooyoung ride you, hm?” he teases. “No other reason for changing that up, I’m sure.”

“What are you insinuating, Choi San?” you grumble, half-heartedly rolling your eyes.

He laughs, continuing to work your aching muscles. “Nothing, nothing! Just… are you sure you don’t want to join me at the gym sometime?”

You make a face at him, at the same time that Wooyoung pipes up, “Nu-uh. If you need an extra workout, you can just fuck me some more.”

“…That does sound like a lot more fun than a gym membership,” you accede. “Sorry, San.”

San chuckles, shaking his head. “Can’t argue with that. C’mon, let’s get that mess cleaned up,” he says, nudging Wooyoung to roll off of from you with a groan.

You take the wet-wipes that San offer you, and clean the dried crusts of cum on Wooyoung’s stomach. His eyes are half-lidded and he hums weakly when you stroke his cheek; you suspect he’ll doze off for real soon.

“Hm, would be nice if we could find a place that has a bathtube,” you sigh wistfully as you start to clean yourself, yearning for the comfort of a warm soak right now. “Though I guess it’d be hard to find one that fits all three of us.”

“I like that,” San smiles while he tugs a blanket over Wooyoung to make sure he doesn’t get cold. “We’ll make it work somehow. We always do.”

“Stacked on top of each other?” you suggest playfully.

San pouts. “I’d feel bad for whoever is at the bottom,” he says, utterly earnest — and you’d tease him for it, if your heart didn’t burst with affection at his simple, straightforward consideration.

Wooyoung, however, has no such hangups. “Then it has to be you, I guess,” he mumbles with a tired grin.

San’s pout intensifies into a sulk, but his face instantly softens when Wooyoung tugs at his and your wrists, wanting you closer. Soon Wooyoung is snuggled up in the middle, embraced from both sides. He groans happily at the gentle kisses San presses against his neck, the featherlight brush of your fingertips over his cheek, your arm slung lazily around him.

You catch San’s eyes while Wooyoung dozes off, warmth glowing in your chest at his dimpled smile. He reaches over Wooyoung to rest his hand on your waist, always in need of those little physical threads of connection. You shift your leg to weave another thread, hooking your ankle around his shin. The three of you fitting together perfectly.

“Come on, go talk to him then,” Wooyoung sighs at you in exasperation, one hand on his hip, the other holding a spatula as he waves you off. “You’ve been nosy about him for ages, now you got your chance and you’re in here distracting me instead? No ma’am, get your fine ass out there.”

“But—”

Wooyoung gives you no time for excuses, grabbing your shoulders from behind and forcibly ushering you out of the kitchen, to the living area. To San, and to the guy San’s talking to.

The ever-illusive, long awaited friend, finally back in town.

Jeong Yunho.

Honestly, you don’t even know why you’re nervous about this. It’s not like Yunho is the first close friend of San and Wooyoung that you’ve met; you’ve even talked to him before! Just over voice chat, saying ‘hi’ when San or Wooyoung are gaming with him, but still!

Wooyoung’s photographs have even prepared you for his ridiculously handsome face (seriously, why are all of their friends like this?!), but you’re still caught off guard by his physical presence. It’s not just his height, though that’s definitely a factor. Just something about the way he stands in the room, his posture relaxed with an easy confidence. Really, Yunho shouldn’t be intimidating; he oozes kindness and reliability, the type of guy who personally makes sure you get home safe after having one drink too many at the bar.

Maybe it’s the glances he’s been casting your way. Something in his thoughtful expression makes you feel like he’s carefully taking your measure. Seizing up if you’re right for his friends.

…Or maybe it’s not that deep, and you simply are anxious about making a good impression. After all, this is the guy who helped San to work through his insecurities, and even introduced him to Wooyoung. Without him, you’d never have ended up in this cosy arrangement with them.

While you cautiously go up to him and San, Wooyoung calls out from the kitchenette.

“Oi, Sannie, can you help me out with something!”

Oh, that bastard.

You look over your shoulder to fire a glare at Wooyoung, but he just grins back at you. You roll your eyes, sigh out those nerves, and go over to Yunho. San gives you a wink as he walks past, and also gives your ass a light smack. Yeah. Figures.

Yunho’s big brown eyes shine with curiosity as you approach him.

“So. You’re San and Wooyoung’s… friend, right?” he says, with the slightly hesitant tone of someone who knows he’s dealing with a square hole but only has round pegs to try and fit in there. “Nice to finally meet you in person.”

“Yeah, same,” you smile back at him, internally cursing Wooyoung into the special circle of hell reserved for backstabbing traitors. “And ‘friend’ is not inaccurate, no,” you allow, trying for a shy grin. “We’re still workshopping it out! The latest idea was that I call the guys my ‘umbrellas’, but… yeah. Maybe a little more time in the workshop for that one.”

“Umbrellas?” Yunho blinks in confusion, but it only takes a split second before understanding breaks out on his face. “Ahh, got it — ‘Woosan’.” He giggles, hiding his mouth behind his hand. You can’t lie; it’s pretty dang cute. “San came up with that one, didn’t he?”

“He did!” you giggle with Yunho, the shared laugh helping you to relax. “Was real proud of it too!”

With the discovery of a common ground between you (a penchant for lovingly poking fun at San and Wooyoung), you loosen up and fall into light conversation. His laugh is easy and his jokes are playful, and it’s soon obvious to you why the guys are so attached to him.

Apparently Yunho is coming to a similar conclusion about you, eyeing you with a thoughtful expression.

“You know, to be honest I was surprised to hear San and Wooyoung wanted to try something with a third. Really surprised,” he chuckles awkwardly, scratching his cheek. “San was pretty clear he wanted a closed relationship. But… yeah. I can see it. Makes sense.”

He nods, and something has softened in his eyes while he talked. Suddenly you have the distinct impression that you weren’t wrong for feeling like Yunho was taking your measure.

A small smile curves around your lips at Yunho’s simple observation, your eyes glancing to the kitchenette where San is ‘helping’ Wooyoung by stealing food and getting in his way. “I mean, none of us really planned for me to stick around like this,” you point out, feeling oddly timid. “We didn’t plan for any of this to shake out this way. It just… did.”

Yunho hums in acknowledgement. “Yeah, that’s just how things go sometimes, isn’t it,” he says, his smile crooked. “Well, whatever you end up calling this, they seem real happy with how it’s going. If they’re your umbrellas, what’d that make you? Their parka?” he teases.

“Oh hell no!” you splutter. “Veto, veto! Don’t you dare put that idea into their heads, I’d rather make do without any labels at all, thankyouverymuch!”

“Alright, I won’t!” Yunho giggles again at your indigence, round cheeks lifted by his laugh. “Label or no label, whichever way works for you, right? And clearly this works.”

You glance at San and Wooyoung again, bubbles of warmth popping in your chest at the sight of them. San has abandoned all pretence at being helpful, his chest pressed against Wooyoung’s back and arms wrapped around his waist, trying to smooch him while Wooyoung is completely focused on the food.

San is the one who sees you watching them first, his cheeks dimpling at you in a soft smile. Wooyoung quickly notices San’s attention wandering, but his vaguely offended expression fades when he catches your eye, replaced by a cheeky grin. (Ugh fine, yes his stupid little plan worked.)

“Yeah, it works,” you say quietly to Yunho, feeling San and Wooyoung’s affection wrap around you even all the way from the other side of the room. It really does.

[infamous-light]

You Belong to Me Ch. 11

Alcina Dimitrescu x F! Reader

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8 Ch. 9 Ch.10

AO3: You Belong to Me

Summary: Lady Dimitrescu's obsession knows no bounds as she becomes increasingly possessive over you. Will you succumb to her dark embrace, or find a way to break free before it's too late?

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: Yandere, possessive/obsessive behavior, canon typical violence

The grand doors of Castle Dimitrescu groaned as they swung open, allowing the silver moonlight to spill across the polished marble floors. Lady Dimitrescu stepped inside, cradling your limp form in her arms. Your body trembled, delicate and frail, as the aftereffects of the strange, cloying substance from Lady Beneviento’s garden still coursed through your veins.

“Mother,” Bela greeted, stepping forward with a spark of delight glinting in her amber eyes. “I’m so pleased to see that you’ve brought her back. I was beginning to worry she might’ve been lost to us forever.”

Cassandra and Daniela positioned themselves on either side of their older sister, their eyes flickering between their mother and the pitiful sight of you.

“Likewise,” Lady Dimitrescu replied, her eyes narrowing with barely concealed rage as she glared down at you, making her displeasure clear. “She should consider herself fortunate to have returned to my care, unharmed, I might add.”

Her grip on you tightened for a moment, a firm, possessive squeeze that made you shrink in her grasp.

“She is lucky to be in one piece,” Cassandra remarked, her lips curling into a wicked grin. “The Lycans out there would tear her apart without a second thought. The village is no place for a delicate little thing like her.”

Daniela’s laughter followed, a dark, almost sinister giggle.

Lady Dimitrescu, however, made no comment. She merely hummed as she carried you toward the plush couch by the crackling fireplace. Gently, she lowered you onto the soft cushions, her touch almost tender despite the anger surrounding her.

For a brief moment, your gaze wandered to the Lady’s daughters as they moved around their mother. Bela stood poised beside her mother while in stark contrast, Cassandra slouched lazily into an armchair, one leg draped carelessly over the armrest. With a casual flick of her wrist, she unsheathed her sickle, her fingers tracing its sharp edge as she absentmindedly twirled it in her hand. Daniela, standing just behind Bela, fidgeted with an almost restless energy, her fingers twitching at her sides as though itching for action.

Your attention returned to Lady Dimitrescu as she rose to her full, imposing height, her presence casting a shadow over you. With her hands planted firmly on her hips, she glared down at you in clear disapproval.

“I must say, I am deeply disappointed in you, pet,” she began, her voice unnervingly calm. “Escaping was an act of sheer foolishness. You should have known better than to believe you could actually get away.”

Lady Dimitrescu went quiet, her eyes swirling with a mix of emotions. For a moment, she seemed almost… hurt.

“I have provided everything for you,” she pressed on, bitterness sharpening her tone. “The food you eat, the clothes on your back, the very shelter that keeps you safe from the outside world. You have been cared for in ways no one else could ever offer you, yet this is how you repay me – by behaving like a spoiled, ungrateful brat.” The final word was spat with venom.

The foyer sank into a thick, oppressive silence, the weight of her words settling like a heavy fog. Lady Dimitrescu wasn’t wrong, not entirely – she had given you all those things. But underneath it all, you were nothing more than a pet to her. A possession. A creature she controlled, drugged, and twisted for her own needs.

You didn’t ask for any of this!

The truth lingered at the back of your tongue, but you dared not voice it. Not right now, at least.

Then, with a slow, menacing drawl, she spoke again, her voice dripping with chilling finality. “If you even consider escaping again, remember this: I know exactly where your family lives.”

A cold wave of horror washed over you, slowly wrapping around your heart and settling deep in the pit of your stomach. “No…”

A malicious smile formed on Lady Dimitrescu’s lips as she leaned in, almost relishing the fear emanating from you. “Oh yes, while you’ve been scurrying about, Bela kindly informed me of your family’s whereabouts. Though, I would’ve eventually pieced it together on my own. It just made tracking you down far simpler than I anticipated.”

Your eyes darted to Bela, whose expression was unreadable. The memory of her question from days ago resurfaced: she’d asked, almost casually over lunch, if you had any family left in your village. At the time, you wanted to avoid the subject, to say nothing, but you knew that Bela and her sisters would easily see through any lie. You had no choice but to answer truthfully.

Now, a bitter understanding settled in – you realized that was exactly how Bela intended to use that information against you.

“The villagers, too, were remarkably helpful, offering up all sorts of details. It didn’t take long before I paid your family a visit.” Lady Dimitrescu’s smile grew wider, her head tilting as her eyes sparkled with dark amusement. “I know exactly who they are, where they are, and just how easy it would be to pay them another... visit.”

A tremor ran through your body, every nerve on edge. She knew where your parents lived, and she could hurt them if she chose to.

“I hope you understand now, pet, that there’s no use in running. I will always find you.” Lady Dimitrescu’s voice trailed off before her expression hardened. “Don’t make me remind you of the consequences of such reckless actions again. You won't like what happens next time.”

Her words sank deep, like ice settling in your chest. The long-forgotten dreams of freedom, of returning home, felt so distant now, like a fading memory slipping through your grasp.

“So, my little runaway,” Lady Dimitrescu began, a sardonic smile curling her lips. “Care to enlighten me? How, exactly, did you manage to find the house key?”

Your heartbeat thundered in your chest, still reeling from her prior words. You had hoped she would forget about the method of your escape, but it seemed that hope was in vain. All you could do was stare up at her, helpless.

“Well?” Lady Dimitrescu prompted.

There was no way you could tell her the truth. You couldn’t bring yourself to say the words that might get someone hurt – or worse, killed, because of your confession.

Should you risk lying?

The dilemma churned inside of you like a relentless storm. No matter how you tried to spin the story, you knew the Lady and her daughters would sense your deception. But perhaps you didn’t need to tell her every little detail – just enough to satisfy her questions.

You took a shaky breath before responding, “I found the key in Miss Bela’s bedchambers, my Lady.”

Lady Dimitrescu raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, her irritation palpable.

“I know where the key was, you foolish little girl,” she said, her voice thick with impatience. “What I want to know is how you knew to look there.”

Her gaze held you captive, demanding an answer.

For a fleeting moment, the image of that young woman slipping you the note flashed across your mind. Your throat tightened as guilt and desperation warred within you. If you told the Lady the truth, you'd be handing her the woman's head on a silver platter.

“Pet,” Lady Dimitrescu warned. “Choose your next words wisely. I will uncover the truth, one way or another.”

A shudder ran through you, and you shut your eyes tight, bile rising in your throat. You despised yourself for what you were about to say.

“The maid who brought us breakfast yesterday gave me a note. It told me where the key was hidden. That’s how I managed to escape.”

Four pairs of eyes fixed on you, their gazes like fiery brands, burning into your skin.

“I suspected you didn’t orchestrate this on your own.” Lady Dimitrescu muttered to herself.

You could almost see the cogs turning in her mind, replaying yesterday’s events. Her eyes snapped back to you, as sharp as a dagger. “That would explain your erratic behavior that morning.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze locked on you, calculating. Gradually, she turned her attention to her eldest daughter.

“Bela,” she said, her voice colder than before. “Which of the staff has access to clean your bedchambers?”

Bela’s frown deepened, her brows knitting together as suspicion settled on her face.

“Ingrid and Ana,” she said slowly. Then, her expression grew darker as a sudden realization flickered across her features. “It seems one of them has been rummaging through my belongings if they knew where the key was hidden.”

Lady Dimitrescu turned back to you, her gaze chilling. “Who did you ask for help?”

Your heart raced, and your mouth moved in a silent plea, but no words escaped as the pressure in your throat tightened.

“Answer me, pet!” Lady Dimitrescu’s voice rang out as she closed in on you. “Who else helped you? And don’t even think of lying to me – I’m well aware that either Ingrid or Ana tipped off that maid about the key’s location. She’s new and belongs to the kitchen staff only; she wouldn’t have known on her own. And I highly doubt you knew to approach either of Bela’s maids for help first, so tell me, who did you ask for help initially?”

Your heart was beating so fast you could have sworn it was about to burst from your chest at any moment.

Her gaze was pure steel as she bit out each word. “Who. Was. It?”

The image of Catalina appeared in your mind.

You didn’t want to betray her. She was your dearest friend, the one who had stood by you through so much. You owed her everything. You couldn’t – wouldn’t – do this to her. The thought of it made tears begin to well in your eyes, blurring your vision.

Without warning, Lady Dimitrescu seized your jaw, her fingers digging painfully into your cheeks.

“Tell. Me.” Her voice was a deadly growl. “Or I’ll have one of my daughters drag a servant in here and have her be flayed alive. And you will watch.”

Your heart thundered in your chest as her threat rattled through you. The thought of someone innocent – someone who had no part in this – being dragged in here and killed for no reason, made your stomach twist. You couldn’t let that happen and Lady Dimitrescu knew that. Defeated, your gaze lowered to the floor, and a single, broken whisper fell from your lips. “Catalina.”

Lady Dimitrescu inhaled sharply through her nose.

“So, it appears I have a nest of rats scurrying through my castle,” she hissed, her fingers releasing the grip on your jaw. “Girls, wake the entire staff. Have them gathered here. Immediately.”

Your eyes widened at the command.

“It seems I must remind everyone of the consequences awaiting those who so blatantly disregard my rules.”

Lady Dimitrescu’s gaze lingered on you, a silent warning in her eyes.

***

The main foyer of Castle Dimitrescu was awash with a tense silence.

The staff stood in a nervous cluster, their eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and unease, darting toward you before quickly averting their gaze, as if your very presence might condemn them. Then you saw her – Catalina. Her face was pale, her lips pressed into a bloodless line. Her wide, horrified eyes locked onto yours, freezing you in place. You struggled to meet her gaze, the weight of what you’d done making your chest feel hollow and heavy at once.

You stood by the fireplace, its flickering warmth doing little to calm the relentless hammer of your heart against your ribs. Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela surrounded the staff, their sharp gazes dissecting them like wolves surveying a pen of sheep.

At the forefront of the foyer, Lady Dimitrescu loomed, her lips pressed into a tight, displeased line.

“Ingrid, Ana, Petra, and Catalina. Step forward.” Lady Dimitrescu ordered.

The four women moved forward hesitantly, their steps faltering, as though the floor might give way beneath them. Their heads remained bowed, avoiding Lady Dimitrescu’s intense glare.

“It seems that you all have taken it upon yourselves to defy me. To aid my pet in an audacious attempt to… escape.” The last word dripped from her lips like poison.

Her gaze sliced toward you for the briefest moment and a shiver snaked down your spine under the force of her stare.

The staff exchanged nervous looks, but none dared to speak.

Lady Dimitrescu shifted her full attention back to the four women, now quaking before her.

“Petra,” she purred, her voice a dangerous caress. “Tell me, who was stupid enough to reveal the location of the main house key to you?”

Petra’s face drained of color, and she trembled, her fingers nervously twisting the frayed edge of her apron as if it could somehow steady her.

“I-It was Ingrid, my Lady.” She stammered.

Ingrid’s eyes widened, panic swirling within them. Lady Dimitrescu’s gaze snapped toward Ingrid, who flinched as if struck.

“Is that true?” Lady Dimitrescu demanded.

Ingrid’s lips quivered, unable to form any words at first. Then, she nodded frantically, her voice breaking. “Yes, my Lady! But it wasn’t my fault! I-I only did it because Catalina asked me to! She came to me first!”

Catalina’s face twisted in desperation as she let out a strangled cry. “Please, my Lady! I –”

Lady Dimitrescu raised a hand and Catalina’s voice died mid-sentence. Her gaze swept over them before settling on Ana, who stood frozen, her hands shaking at her sides. She studied Ana in silence, her eyes narrowing with an intensity that made the woman’s knees nearly buckle.

“Ana,” Lady Dimitrescu said, her voice softer now, but no less commanding. “Get back in line.”

Ana nodded quickly, her voice a shaky whisper. “Y-Yes, my Lady.”

Ana retreated into the crowd, her shoulders quaking, a mix of dread and relief coursing through her.

“So,” Lady Dimitrescu drawled, her voice lethal. “You three find it acceptable to conspire against me? To assist my pet in such a brazen act of defiance?”

They shook their heads in unison, eyes wide with terror.

Lady Dimitrescu’s eyes settled on Petra, and a slow, cruel smile appeared on her lips.

“You disappoint me, Petra,” she said, her tone deceptively soft. “Two weeks. You’ve been under my roof for a mere two weeks, and already you’ve committed an offense that I cannot overlook.”

With a sharp flick of her wrist, five gleaming blades extended from her fingertips, catching the faint light like the fangs of a beast. Petra gasped, her eyes widening in sheer horror as Lady Dimitrescu’s other hand shot out, grabbing her forearm and lifting her up in midair.

“No! Please, my Lady! Have mercy!” Petra begged, but her cries were cut short as Lady Dimitrescu’s claws plunged into her chest with a sickening crunch, tearing through flesh and bone with ruthless efficiency.

A frightened yelp slipped past your lips, and you instinctively clamped a hand over your mouth in shock, unable to tear your eyes away from the grisly scene. The staff erupted in horrified gasps and screams as Petra’s lifeless body crumpled to the floor, her blood spreading in a dark, viscous pool around her.

Ingrid’s chest heaved with shallow, panicked breaths, her eyes flickering anxiously between the Lady and the door. Desperation overtook reason as she bolted past Lady Dimitrescu and headed straight for the exit.

She didn’t make it far.

Cassandra appeared in a blur of movement, her sickle gleaming as it arced through the air with lethal precision. It found its mark, embedding deep into Ingrid’s calf with a wet, visceral thud. Ingrid’s scream tore through the foyer – a raw, guttural cry of pain and terror – as she collapsed onto the cold, unforgiving floor. Looming over her, Cassandra grinned wickedly, her smile stretching unnaturally wide. With a cruel twist, she ripped the sickle free, drawing another tortured wail from Ingrid. Cassandra chuckled with sadistic delight.

Lady Dimitrescu shifted her focus back to Catalina, who had collapsed on the floor in a trembling heap, a strangled sob escaping her lips. She shook so violently that it seemed as though her fragile body might break apart. A cold knot of terror formed in your gut as Lady Dimitrescu began to advance on Catalina, her blades still glinting with Petra’s blood.

You couldn’t let Catalina die.

“No!” The cry ripped from your throat, raw and desperate.

Before you could process what was happening, your body moved on its own. You rushed forward, wrapping your arms tightly around Lady Dimitrescu's legs as best as you could.

“Please!” You pleaded, your voice breaking as you buried your face against her dress. “Don’t hurt her! I promise – I’ll never try to escape again! Just please, spare her!”

The words tumbled out in a frantic stream, muffled against the rich fabric as your tears soaked through. You couldn’t bring yourself to look up, too afraid to meet the wrathful glare you could feel boring down on you. Yet, even as your heart raced and fear clawed at your insides, you tightened your hold, hoping against hope that your plea would be enough to save Catalina’s life.

Every second stretched into an eternity as Lady Dimitrescu remained still.

Then, ever so slowly, her claws retracted. A large, iron-like hand curled possessively around the nape of your neck and tugged you away from her legs. She leaned down, her lips grazing your ear as she whispered in a voice meant only for you to hear, “Very well. I will spare her. But understand this – her life is now in your hands, pet. Do not make me regret this decision.”

A wave of relief washed over you, causing the tension in your body to ease slightly. However, as her words sank in, a flicker of nervousness twisted in your stomach. The realization that Catalina’s life – her very survival – was now solely dependent on your actions.

Straightening up again, Lady Dimitrescu fixed her burning gaze on Catalina.

“Get out of my sight.” She sneered.

Catalina scrambled to her feet; her sobs muffled as she fled the foyer. The rest of the staff stood motionless, paralyzed by fear. It wasn't until Lady Dimitrescu's icy gaze passed over them that the tension in the air seemed to break.

“Let this be a lesson to all of you,” Lady Dimitrescu’s voice echoed. “Disobedience will not be tolerated. And if any of you dare assist my pet in escaping, let me make this perfectly clear: I will hunt you down and ensure that your suffering is far greater than anything you could ever imagine. Dismissed.”

The staff immediately scattered like roaches.

Lady Dimitrescu glanced at Cassandra, a smirk beginning to pull at her lips. “Take Ingrid to the cellar. Do what you will with her.”

“Yes, mother.” Cassandra's smile grew wider, her eyes gleaming with predatory hunger as she gazed down at Ingrid, who clutched her bleeding leg. “We’re going to have so much fun together.”

Ingrid screamed in agony as she was roughly hauled away by the sickle lodged deeply in her leg. Cassandra cackled maddeningly and a sense of dread filled you as you feared for Ingrid's fate. But as the sound of Ingrid’s cries faded, your gaze shifted, drawn to Petra’s lifeless body.

Lady Dimitrescu chuckled at Cassandra’s antics before turning toward her two remaining daughters. “Bela, Daniela, fetch me a pair of manacles and deliver them to my bedchambers, please. Oh, and have someone clean this mess up.” She motioned toward Petra's bloody corpse, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

“Yes, mother.” They replied in unison, their forms dissolving into a swarm of flies before vanishing to carry out their mother's command.

The mention of manacles being brought to her bedchambers should have sounded an alarm in your mind, yet you remained trapped in a strange, dazed trance. Your eyes stayed locked on Petra, the horror of the scene almost too much to process. The sight of her, so cold and still, made you sick. You had always known Lady Dimitrescu was capable of such cruelty but seeing it up close was still difficult to bear.

Lady Dimitrescu's gaze flickered over to you, catching your reaction. With a heavy sigh, she bent down and scooped you up into her arms.

“This had to be done,” she explained, her tone softening. “The staff needed to learn their place. They need to understand that you are mine and they will respect that – whether they wish to or not. I cannot allow disobedience like this to happen again.”

You remained silent, the words hollowing out your chest. Petra had suffered this fate only because she had tried to help you, and you loathed yourself for it.

Lady Dimitrescu continued talking but it sounded distant, muffled, as if you were submerged underwater. The world around you seemed to slip away, and you barely registered the sensation of being carried through the halls. It wasn't until she lowered you onto the vast, plush bed that your surroundings began to make themselves known.

Moments later, Bela and Daniela appeared, each holding a set of heavy manacles. Their gazes darted to you briefly before focusing on their mother.

“Secure them to the bed.” Lady Dimitrescu said.

Bela and Daniela moved swiftly as they fastened the manacles to the bedposts. Bela grabbed your left wrist, her touch firm, and for a brief moment, you glanced up at her in confusion. Before you could react, she clicked the manacle into place. Daniela mirrored her sister's actions, grasping your left ankle and locking it into its own restraint. With a mischievous grin, she gave the manacle a light, almost mocking pat.

“There we go.” Daniela remarked, her smile wide.

You stared at Lady Dimitrescu in disbelief. “What...?”

Her gaze swept over you as she sat by her vanity, her fingers starting to remove the hairclips.

“I don’t trust you,” Lady Dimitrescu stated simply. “Despite the promise you had made earlier, it would be foolish of me not to take any precautions.”

Your heart tightened in your chest. Deep down, you had known that something like this would happen once she found you again, but it still didn’t make you feel any better.

“Don’t pout, pet,” Lady Dimitrescu cooed. “If you prove yourself obedient, I might consider removing them. But for now, during bedtime, you will remain restrained.”

Your face fell further, a blend of anger and resignation swirling within you. Lady Dimitrescu tsked softly before turning her attention to her daughters.

“Thank you, girls. You may go.” Her lips curved into a smile, carrying a hint of warmth.

Bela and Daniela returned their mother’s smile before slipping out of the bedroom, their footsteps gradually fading into the quiet halls.

Lady Dimitrescu rose gracefully from her vanity and approached the bedside where you lay. Leaning over, she placed a hand on your chest, her touch gentle as she guided you back against the pillows. She drew the bedcovers up, smoothing them over you as she tucked you in.

“Rest now, my dear,” Lady Dimitrescu murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead. Her eyes lingered on your face, a flicker of something genuine – concern, perhaps – dancing in their golden depths. “I'll see you in the morning.”

[talesofesther]

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 | 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

What once was mine

ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5 | ch 6 | ch 7 | ch 8

When watching what once was supposed to be the rest of his life, in an empty room in the TVA, Loki sees someone he can’t recognize; a girl who’s all tenderness and loose smiles, and most importantly, she was smiling at him.

Make it taste like love

You felt him before you even met him. And despite the pain he carried around, his soul was one of the most beautiful you’d ever seen.

Tangle me in all your broken pieces (and watch me stay)

ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3

An Asgardian god has just threatened your planet and you were called in to provide a little help. What you didn’t expect was to develop a strange soft spot for said god, who hid more pain behind his cold facade than you thought possible.

Too close to the stars

Somehow, between your overwhelming sweetness and insistence on treating him as if he was someone worth saving, you had managed to sneak your way into Loki’s cold heart. He simply hadn’t managed the guts to tell you, but a bit of a Christmas spirit might just change that.

[lot-of-nothing]

Entwined (Ch. 8)

Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

Weekend getaway (the r rated stuff) :)

Warnings: SMUT and FLUFF

Author's Note: WHEN I TELL YOU TO LISTEN TO 'NAKED IN MANHATTAN' BY CHAPPELL ROAN ON REPEAT WHEN YOU READ THE SMUT, I AM SO DEADASS SERIOUS. It will convey the exact level of passion and excitement that is happening.

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7

Before the elevator doors could close behind you, Melissa’s hand was clutching yours as she set off towards your hotel room. Her confidence and determination reminded you of a hot summer night during your twenties when you walked her home from a party - as soon as you approached her apartment, her hand was in yours, but her mind already between the sheets of her bed. 

“You aren’t too busy to stay tonight, are you?” Melissa cooed as she stopped in her tracks outside of her apartment door. She gave your hand a strong tug which sent your tipsy body stumbling into hers - your hands gripping her sides to steady yourself.

Her statement was obviously rhetorical when she attached her lips to yours. One arm wound around your neck while the other slithered up your chest to hold your chin - both effectively holding you in place. Not that you wanted to go anywhere anyways. 

As of a week ago, she and Joe were on a break (again), and suddenly you were both attached at the hips once again. Her hands had been wandering for days - slowly testing the waters to see how far she could get with you. And each time Mel’s skin brushed against your own, you felt electricity crackling across your body. 

Melissa still hadn’t lost her touch. Her hands had found their way under your shirt, thumbs stroking your skin, sending those same jolts across your body once more. You were losing yourself in the moment. Her hands felt everywhere all at once. You could have sworn that her pink lipstick covered your face. Each touch made you feel intoxicated. 

You found yourself fading into past memories when you heard her breathless, gruff voice in your ear. And suddenly you were 16 again.

“I need you.” The redhead whispered as she pressed you against her bedroom door. 

You had picked her up from her boyfriend’s house at one in the morning. She had snuck out to see him, but when her sexual escapades resulted in disappointing results, she called pleading with you to rescue her.

“I-” Your brows furrowed, head bowed, and hands clutched her sides. How could you tell her that you had no clue what to do with all of her bottled up desire? It felt like she expected the world from you, but your inexperience made you freeze up like a deer in headlights.

Her mother, sisters, and brothers were home. You couldn’t have the devout Catholic Ms. Schemmenti see you being more than friendly with her daughter, but Melissa’s canine teeth gently sinking into the side of your neck made your worries start to fade. 

She tempted you once more, “Come on, baby.”

With unexpected expertise, Melissa fished her hotel key from her pocket and pressed it to the sensor on the door. Your heart leapt when you heard her giggle as she fumbled with the door handle. Overwhelmed by your desire for her, you forced your lips to hers once more and backed her into the hotel room, letting the door slam behind you. 

It was blurry as you both approached the bed. Dominance would shift back and forth as you pressed one another to the walls and tore at each other's clothes. She had come away as the winner when she pushed you back onto the bed. 

Melissa’s gaze was hungry as she stared down at you. Her hands undid her jeans, and you loved the way her jaw shifted when she was met with the slight challenge of sliding her jeans over her wide hips. She slowly stripped before you, taking off each piece of clothing without breaking her eye contact. 

“Take a picture. It lasts longer.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Your response had been so quick that Melissa wasn’t expecting such forwardness. She always loved teasing you about your tendency to admire her, but often you would just look away with a red face. 

The redhead was comfortable changing in front of you, but would usually turn away from you when she removed her bra - always preserving some assemblance of privacy. This time, however, she remained facing you, staring you down as she revealed her chest to you. In the past, you had always had the decency to stare down into your lap, but now you soaked up the sight. 

She took a few steps closer, and time stopped. She was towering over you as you sat on the edge of her bed, her breasts were at eye level. Her hand caught the back of your neck, causing you to stall in place. You couldn’t believe the momentum of her hand was pulling you towards her enchanting body. 

“Well, don’t be shy now.”

Shaken from lingering in your memories, you caught her nipple between your lips, settling into the comforting position of our hands and mouth on her tits and her knees on either side of your lap. Her fingers scratched your scalp and played with your hair as small hums of satisfaction emanated from her body. 

When you detached your lips and looked up to meet her eyes, Melissa’s intensity wavered for a moment. A soft smile graced her lips and she cocked her head, “You always look beautiful like this.”

You had no words for her. You only wanted to make her feel good. 

With strong hands gripping her thighs, you lifted her momentarily to exchange places with her on the bed. And rather than loom over her for the same body worship, you sank to your knees, taking your rightful place between her legs. 

“This always feels so right...”

Of course it does. You knew this, but after years apart, you were happy to remind her (or prove to her) how well you knew every square inch of her. It was so satisfying to hear each one of her vocalizations, each more unrestrained than the last as she lost control over herself. 

Maybe it was pure ego, but you always told yourself that you were the only one that could do this to her. That could bring out this part of her. Why else would she keep coming back for more?

With the pure motivation of proving yourself to be Melissa’s most competent lover, you probed her cunt more thoroughly and savored her flavor as she grew wetter. 

“I have to feel you against me.” Mel’s hands on your cheeks and growl drew you from continuing to swim through the memory any longer. 

While you weren’t sure what she had in mind, you were directed by the impatient and aggressive woman sharing the bed. Her hands desperately tugged at any remaining clothes, causing you to nervously fumble around as you stripped. 

When you were finally naked, she had you with your back against the bed and her manicured nails teasing your cunt, testing your wetness only to find you soaked. Reliving the past while also being in the present with Melissa had you feeling frenzied for her touch, and you let her know as such when you muttered ‘please’ over and over. 

“I will, baby.” Her voice was breathy and your clit throbbed at hearing the pet name. You knew you were weak for Melissa Schemmenti, but now you felt like absolute putty in her hands, ready to do what she requested at any second. 

You were disappointed when she momentarily moved away. It was impossible for you to contain your groan when your cunt made contact with hers as you weren’t expecting the coolness of her sopping heat against you. 

Instinct took over you both as you gripped one another's hips and thighs, attempting to draw the other closer for increasingly satisfying sensations as you grind your cunts together. When her mouth found yours, it felt as though she was trying to swallow you whole with each open mouthed kiss and swipe of her tongue. From the way she held and kissed you, it was hard to contend which one of you was the most desperate for the other’s touch.

Melissa was turned around and completely lost in the humping, grinding, and swirl of limbs. Her thoughts were so overrun by her body chasing down the orgasm she craved, the filter for her thoughts had completely shut down.

“I love you,” she breathed, hand squeezing at the back of your neck, “I never want... you... you to think otherwise.”

You lost track of the night from there, completely blinded by her admission.

Hours later you would still have her sprawled out on her back, chest heaving with each tantalizing thrust of your hips. You had her repeat those first three words over and over, breathing them in as if you needed them to live. While you couldn’t force the same words from your mouth, you hoped each of your kisses and movements could reflect the love you held for her until you were ready to return the sentiment. 

--

It had been disappointing to wake up to an empty bed, but the photo of Melissa in a black bikini waiting for you in your texts had you throwing on your bathing suit to make your way to her by the pool before you had truly shaken the sleep from your body. It was easy to push the thought of not admitting your feelings from your head. You knew you loved her, but hearing her say it was far better than anything you had experienced in years. For now, it was easier to focus on that than your own shortcomings in vulnerability.

When you found her by the poolside, Melissa patted the spot between her legs, and while the innuendo would typically make you blush, her tone and eyes only conveyed an innocent sweetness. “I didn’t have the heart to wake you, but I saved you a seat.” 

“Thank you?” With a bit of nervous skepticism for the unusual docility from Melissa, you crawl onto the round cushioned pool chair and shiver at the feeling of her hands immediately finding your shoulders. 

“I can help with your sunscreen.” She offers with a forceful execution as she is already applying sunscreen to her hands before you have an opportunity to accept the offer. Mel’s hands work the lotion into your screen, lingering on your shoulders and biceps as she speaks casually, “The UVs are already high so I’m gonna read for a bit to tan. You can lay here with me or whatever.” 

You shrug and nod, not wanting to seem too overzealous at the prospect of publicly being seen together. “Yeah, sure.” 

Your heart was thudding in your chest when she patted your back and said ‘good to go’. There were no examples of public displays of affection between Melissa and you for you to base this interaction off of. Cautiously, you slide down enough to recline back into Mel’s lap. 

Rather than confirming your anxious worries of rejection, Melissa shifted to having your head resting on her thigh while she drew up her other knee to rest her book onto. While she wasn’t turning pages in her book, her fingers brushed against your cheeks and forehead or twirled locks of your hair. 

Her thoughts must have been wandering elsewhere as she spoke up suddenly, breaking the longstanding, comfortable silence between you, “When we get back, you should meet Barb. You could even come to a family dinner if you wanna.”

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta, @unicorniusfallapatorius, @sapphicxrat, @earpivore, @jeridandridge @petty-femme27, @darkcolorphantom, @a-queen-and-her-throne, @cosmichymns, @ara-a-bird

[exhaslo]

Puzzle Pieces Ch. 6

(Mafia!Miguel x Shy!Reader)

Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5

Warning: Eventual Smut so Minors DNI, mentions of abuse, blood, murder, language, fluff, bullying, mentions of sex

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was just a small ray of sunshine threatening to poke through your curtains. Wincing at the light, you whimpered as you started to wake up. Fluttering your eyes open, you slowly tried to adjust to the room's lighting. It took you a moment to realize that you weren't in your room, but still in the living room.

"Hm?"

Slowly sitting up, you rubbed your eyes, bobbing your head as you woke up. Feeling something poke against your panties, you looked down and immediately grew flustered. Miguel was sleeping on the couch, which meant that you slept on top of him all night.

Covering your face with your sleeves, you shyly looked down to see what was poking you. A squeak nearly escaped your throat as you quickly got up. Feeling something over your shoulders, you gripped onto Miguel's jacket and proceeded to cover your face with it. Shyly, you glanced towards Miguel's erection,

"Hm...."

You were debating on waking him, but he looked so relaxed. Still holding onto his jacket, you quickly went to get Miguel your pillow and blanket, wanting him to be more comfortable. Once fixing him, you quickly went to wash up and prepare breakfast.

Once washed up, you glanced at yourself in the mirror, trying to cover your flustered cheeks. Miguel actually stayed over the night. The two of you actually kissed. Pressing his jacket towards your lips, you couldn't help but smile.

Putting his jacket on, you giggle towards how big it was on you. It felt nice and cozy. Eddie never let you wear his stuff. Flinching at the thought, you shook the memories away and hurried to the kitchen. Miguel was a big man, he must eat a heavy breakfast. Hopefully, he will like your cooking.

---------

Miguel grunted softly as he slowly started to come to. He winced towards the light, hissing very quietly as he covered his face. With a heavy inhale, Miguel shot up, wondering why he was smelling food. Immediately, he recalled knocking out at your place.

Miguel sighed quietly as he spotted you making breakfast in your small kitchen. A smile against his lips as you wore his jacket. Miguel wasn't going to say anything about the horrid smell of bacon soaking into the jacket. No. He wasn't going to say anything because of how good you looked wearing his clothes.

He licked his lips, remembering how you tasted last night. Moving your blanket off him, Miguel tensed at his large erection. Did you happen to see it? Glancing towards you again, Miguel knew that if he were to masturbate here, it would not be quietly.

"Hm~ Hm~ Bacon and eggs~ Mhm~ Bacon and Eggs," You chuckled, singing quietly to yourself.

"Can I assume bacon and eggs are on the menu?" Miguel asked, watching you jump.

"M-Miguel! M-Morning! H-How...How did you sleep?" You asked him, quickly lowering the heat and hurrying to him. Once you were close enough, Miguel stole a quick kiss,

"Honestly, better than most nights," He told you, watching your cheeks turn bright red, "How did my little bunny sleep?"

"A-Ah...G-Good...S-Sorry if I'm heavy."

"Ha, heavy?" Miguel stroked your cheek, enjoying you nuzzle your head into his palm, "Nothing of the sort."

"Mhm~" You hummed happily, "Um...I have s-some spare bathroom amenities if you want to w-wash up...I...I uh, don't have any clothes for you...if...if you like morning s-showers." You stuttered, playing with his jacket sleeves.

"I'll just wash my face, thank you."

Miguel stole one more kiss from you before heading to the bathroom. He needed to take care of his little problem down there. Miguel let out a heavy sigh as he sat on the toilet seat and grabbed his cock in his hands. Just having you sit on his lap last night was such a turn on.

Miguel grunted lowly as he stroked faster. He couldn't believe what you were doing to him. Normally Miguel would never break like this whenever he fucked a woman. It was always just a quick relief, but you. Oh, you were tormenting him.

"Fuck...(Y/N)..." Miguel groaned, hoping that the running water was loud enough to cover his lewd noises.

"B-Breakfast is r-ready, Miguel!" You called out.

His name rolled off your lips so nicely. All you had to do was cry it out as Miguel stuffed your pussy with his dick. To have you putty in the palm of his hands.

"(Y/N)," Miguel groaned, cumming against his hand.

Taking a moment to catch his breathe, Miguel proceeded to clean up the mess he made. This was what you were doing to him. You were making the biggest and baddest mafia leader cum in your bathroom. You were breaking Miguel down.

---------

"Um...I-I wasn't sure how much you liked to eat...S-So...I hope this is a big enough...portion." You said, placing the plate in front of him, "I-I hope you like it."

Miguel didn't have the heart to tell you that he never truly ate a home cooked meal before. This would be the first in a very long time he had a meal in the comfort of a home. Also, you gave him quite a big portion. Miguel resisted a chuckle at your adorable attempt. You were already doing a good job as his future wife.

"Sit and eat with me." Miguel told you. You nodded, grabbing your small plate and sitting across from him at your small table, "Is that enough to fill you?"

"O-Oh, yes. Y-You know I don't eat much,"

"Hm," Miguel kept eye contact with you before you both started to eat, "You look good in my jacket. Keep it."

"O-OH! S-Sorry! I-It was just...so cozy...A-Are you sure?"

"That jacket will just be the first of many clothes of mine you'll wear," Miguel muttered lowly, watching you smile into the jacket sleeves, "Yes, amor (love)."

"Oh, um, I-I've been m-meaning to ask. W-What does...amor mean? A-And that other w-word you c-call me sometimes...con...conjeta?" You did your best to repeat. Miguel chuckled lowly,

"They're just my little nicknames for you. Nothing bad," He hummed, taking a bite of his food, "You're good at cooking."

"Oh, um...T-Thank you." You nibbled on your toast, glancing towards Miguel, "Um, about last night...W-Why were you asking me all of that stuff about...the mafia?"

Miguel avoided your gaze, knowing that he would cave. He had decided to hold off on telling you about that part of his life. Miguel wanted to take care of you first. He wanted to make sure that you were willing to stay with him no matter what.

"Yesterday at Central Park. It was a mafia attack, I wanted to make sure that you were okay. This city if filled with different mafia gangs. I'm sure you weren't aware of that when you arrived in this city."

"Oh...no...."

"I had a feeling." Miguel stood from his seat, taking his empty plate to the sink. You quickly followed, taking the plate from him, "What are you doing tomorrow night?"

"Hm? Oh, um...T-This will be my...first Halloween here...S-So I'm not sure," You admitted while doing the dishes.

Miguel stood behind you, watching you hesitantly roll your sleeves up. He furrowed his brows, seeing small cuts on your wrists. Inhaling deeply, Miguel looked away immediately. As much as he wanted to be angry, something else was boiling inside Miguel instead.

"I'll pick you up after work tomorrow. It's too dangerous to be alone here." His voice got lower as he started to walk towards the door.

You gasped, quickly finishing up and drying your hands. Rushing towards Miguel as he approached the door, you gripped his shirt slightly. Miguel slowly turned towards you, pity in his eyes. You frowned at the sight before hugging him,

"E-Even though...we got interrupted...I-I was really h-happy with our date y-yesterday!"

Miguel hung his shoulders before turning around to engulf you in his embrace. He lifted your chin slightly, giving you another deep kiss. He resisted a smile as he felt you go on your tippy toes to try and gain from height on him. You were too cute.

"Until tomorrow, mi amor (my love)."

"Mhpm~"

----------

The crimson sunset coated the city beautifully. It looked even better with a glass of vodka in Miguel's hand as he sat on the roof of his penthouse. A cold breeze blowing against his hair, distracting Miguel of all his frustrations.

After leaving your place, Miguel couldn't get the image of those scars out of his mind. Not even Alchemax nor his mafia business could erase those vivid images.

"(Y/N)," Miguel whispered your name ever so gently.

Someone as innocent as you should have never thought of such a thing. This emotion Miguel was feeling was sorrow. Never had he'd encounter such a thing close hand. Miguel found it strange. He could easily kill someone or stand before a dead body...

But the thought of you being one of them?

Sipping his liquor, Miguel kept repeating the image of you rolling your sleeves hesitantly. Something that you desperately wanted to hide. You were scared. Miguel didn't want you to be scared. He wanted to understand.

And the kill the fucker who hurt you.

"Lyla, I have a mission. I need that brat Miles on this case." Miguel spat as he took out his phone.

'Sure thing boss. Where shall I send him?'

"(Y/N)'s hometown. I need to know who her ex was and what exactly happened between those two."

"Ohhhhh~ You're serious about her~" Lyla giggled over the phone, "Does this mean I can finally kick out all those greedy sluts who keep knocking at the office?"

"I thought I already told you to do that?" Miguel shook his head slightly, "Actually, do whatever. I just need that information."

"Yes sir,"

Hanging up on his assistant, Miguel let out a heavy sigh. The stress of everything was getting to him, plus the holidays were around the corner. Miguel needed to relieve his stress, but he was waiting for you. He refused to see any other women if he was going to make you his wife.

"(Y/N),"

----------

You hummed quietly as you worked on another puzzle. The thought of yesterday still lingering in your mind. Miguel's treatment towards you and the kiss. He was such a great boyfriend. You were just worried if you were being a good girlfriend.

That was always your worry.

Clenching the puzzle piece in your hand, you tried to calm down and forget the past. Nothing you ever did was good enough. You were never a good girlfriend. Shaking as tears rolled down your cheeks, you rushed into your bedroom and engulfed yourself in Miguel's jacket.

The warmth, the coziness and most of all, his scent was still there. Wrapping yourself in his jacket started to calm you down. Slowly returning to your puzzle with Miguel's jacket on, you tried to go back to your mental safe space.

Miguel wouldn't be this nice to you if you weren't being a good girlfriend, right? Looking at your bookshelf full of puzzles, you wondered if Miguel would like to do one with you? Perhaps tomorrow, you could bring one along with your cookies you forgot to give him.

"Maybe...I should ask him?" You muttered, looking for your phone.

Once found, you first texted Miguel asking if it was okay to call him. You didn't want to be a burden after all. Within a second, Miguel was the one to call you.

"H-Hey!"

"Are you alright?" Miguel asked. You smiled into your sleeve,

"Y-Yeah, I just wanted to ask you...what we were doing tomorrow night? If...If it's alright...for me....to bring something."

"Oh, I should have explained better, sorry mi amor. The city is pretty dangerous on Halloween. I want you to stay over at my place so I can keep you safe. Bring whatever you need to feel comfortable."

"S-So a puzzle?!" You chirped, not even registering the part where you were staying over at his place.

Miguel chuckled over the phone, "As many puzzles as you want." He hummed.

You cheered quietly, "I can't w-wait! Goodnight, Miguel~"

"Goodnight, (Y/N)"

Once you hung up, you quickly went to your wall of puzzles, wondering which one Miguel would like. After deciding on a few, you finally registered what Miguel said. Your face turned bright red as you dropped the box on the floor,

"I-I'm s-staying over....at....at M-Miguel's?!"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

next chapter

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[anki-of-beleriand]

A Heart Made of Glass ch. 17

Summary: Ten years ago you left Wanda and the Avengers to heal your broken heart. You never stopped being a hero, just as you never stopped being in love with her. But life had to go on.

Now, after all that time, she is back and with her is a young woman needing help and an enemy that may not be as afraid as Wanda to lay a claim on you.

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Powered!F!Reader - Scarlet Witch x PoweredF!Reader - Past Wanda Maximoff x Vision - CarolxF!Reader

Warnings: Angst, drama, mentions of cheating, fluff, violence, Switch!Reader, internalize homophobia, hurt, comfort, Wanda being a complete mess, anger management issues, jealousy, Requited/Unrequited love, idiots in love, swearing, mentions of alcohol. More tags as the story progess.

Author's Note: This story is a continuation of Dirty Little Secret I was really surprised at the response I got for the story. Thank you for the support.

This is the story of their lives, as it was supposed to be. Sometimes our story is not what we wanted it to be but what we needed it to be.

Please, do remember English is no my mother tongue so forgive my grammar, spelling and funny mistakes.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Epilogue

Chapter 17

The way it was supposed to be

Autumn was a strange experience in this part of the world. It was not too cold, but it brought with it heavy rain and windy afternoons that usually turned into lukewarm nights.

You had come to appreciate life for what it was: the passing of time and the golden experiences and memories you built with loved ones. After you had left the Avengers, you had faced a world that was submerged in a darkness that was not compatible with yours. You experienced firsthand the awful requests made by the common citizen, the envy and the everlasting hatred some of them held in their hearts. Natasha had always said you were far too noble, that your heart was far too loving to actually comprehend or even be a part of a job that could destroy that piece of innocence you still held closer to your soul.

You didn't believe her, though. 

You remember the anger, you remember the resentment, and you remember the pain. At some point, you thought darkness was all you should experience, everything you were capable of. The missions you had taken became the outlet of your anger and frustration, and it wasn't until you saw your reflection after a nasty confrontation with some mercenaries that you were confronted with the person you were changing into. You were walking down a road that could pretty well transformed you into a villain, it took time and tears and so much frustration but, by the time you crossed paths with Wanda you had put to rest your resentment and hatred against what had happened. 

The morning breeze sneaked inside the room, the curtains shifted slightly letting you see the heavy clouds gliding above the villa. You shifted your weight, turning to look at the sleeping form on the right side of the bed.

Wanda had her eyes closed, with the lines around her eyes completely relaxed and her lips slightly parted. Her hair was fanned over the pillow and her hand had been resting on your hip protectively. At some point during the night the both of you had moved through the bed, and Wnda had found herself snuggling closer to you while giving you space so as to not hurt your leg. 

It never occurred to you that another encounter with Wanda would result in the both of you starting something else. At some point in time, you always thought you would tell Wanda everything that you had been through emotionally and that after that, you would let her go. Now years later, and after a very tiresome mission, you couldn’t help but feel as your heart melted at the sight of the other woman sharing your bed.

You never stopped loving her.

Turning on your side, you held back an exclamation of pain while lifting your free hand. Your fingertips mapped out the features of Wanda’s face brushing on the skin on her jaw down her neck to the arm that was still holding onto you. Your lips broke into a smile, your heart beating without a control inside your chest and a little voice inside your head just begged to the woman still fast asleep to not break your heart.

Not again.

With a sigh, you leaned in placing a single kiss on her lips before sitting up. Your leg was hurting a little, but it wasn’t nothing that you couldn’t control, so with the help of your shadows you stood up hopping to the crutch that was resting on the bedside table. 

With a last glance to the sleeping form of Wanda you closed the door behind yourself and decided to go to the kitchen. The noise of conversation and kitchen utensils being pushed around told you were in for an interesting morning conversation.

___________________________________

Natasha was ignoring the bickering between America and Yelena, she had her eyes firmly planted on the paper she brought that morning but the smirk playing on her lips told you she had not kissed a single word. 

At times, you wondered how people found family in the most unexpected places with the most unexpected people. You had always been grateful with Natasha, she had made it her duty to share with you what she longed for. With a smile you took another step closer to the older woman knowing the skidding of the leg in the floor was something you couldn't hide at the moment. 

You knew the older woman had heard you approaching, though her posture ever changed the muscles on her back tensed. You sat down on a chair looking over at the paper before grabbing the mug Natasha had in front of her. 

“That's mine.” She stated never looking away from the news, you shrugged taking a long sip of coffee. 

“Was.” You nodded to the paper, “what is it?”

“Nothing much, they had been ignoring the incident so far.” Natasha put the paper down, turning her attention to you. “How are you feeling?”

You winced placing a hand on the table, “I've been better, no gonna lie. The pain this morning is not that bearable.”

“Must be you sudden outing yesterday, you forced yourself more than you should.” Natasha pushed her lips, her green eyes gleaming dangerously. “Where is Wanda?”

“In my room.”

Natasha gave a brief nod, her hand sought out yours grasping it tightly. You glanced at the table just before lifting your eyes to meet hers. In there you found a softening stare, the glimpses of a smile and understanding of the situation. It was more than enough for you. 

“How are things with her?” The question rolled out of her lips though you were pretty sure she wanted to say something else. 

Shifting on your spot, you lifted your face to see out of the window where America and Yelena had finally come to a silent agreement while going through the training routine. 

“They are fine, I guess.” You chuckled when Natasha huffed, tilting your head you continued. “Sometimes it is hard to just leave the past behind, but then when I'm with her I remember the innocence of my feelings for her back then and how different they are now.”

“Love is for children.”

“Indeed.” You mirrored the smile Natasha was giving you. “I think I never stop caring, and I never stop feeling. It is different now we are learning and getting to know one another.”

Natasha gave a curt nod, she squeezed your hand once more. Her face hardened for a moment, crunching her nose as in deep in thought. 

“She is recovering, you know? Strange has been telling us how much she had changed, how happy she has been as of late.” Natasha leaned back dropping her shoulders. “Wanda had gone through so much, I don't think she should go back to this life. And quite frankly, I don't think you should either.”

This was a conversation the both of you had put to rest before the whole incident with Thanos and Steve's death. The world had been changing and non-powdered individuals were already working to make the world a better place, not only that but they had been creating new technologies to keep in check those they deemed far too dangerous to be left free. It was something both, Steve and Tony, had been fighting in their own way but that had continued happening during the five years after the Blip. Being a superhero, trying to save everyone was no longer something that could be done so recklessly or even out of good will. It required to be smart, to know which battles to fight and most of the time it was quite unfair. Besides, you and Natasha had tried out the runaways routine, you had been searching to settle down, hence the normal job you had gotten back in Norway. And Natasha, well… 

You glanced at the woman in question, the wrinkles around her eyes were finally showing and there was a complete aura of tiredness she had been carrying for a while. Natasha was tired, and she would be more than happy to step aside. 

“That's why you have been training Yelena.” Your eyes opened wide with realisation, Natasha broke into a half smile but said nothing. “That's the reason you have been working with her, why you have been delegating missions.”

“Yes.” Natasha shrugged standing up and making her way to the coffeemaker. “I have taught her everything I could and she now has a bigger web than mine, she and America should be the next in line.”

“Does she know?” You turned your attention to Yelena then back to Natasha. “She had dreamt to work alongside with you for a long time, you know that was her whole purpose for a while.”

“Yelena is no fool, she knows but we have opted out to not talk about it.”  Natasha poured some coffee shrugging. “At least not yet.”

This was a lot to take in, once more you fo used your eyes on the two women training outside. Yelena was already a seasoned warrior, she had a different glint in her eyes and the missions along with the harshness of her upbringing shown through those clear eyes. America was still young, and even with her experience, she was still hopeful and full of righteous energy around her. She followed instructions easily, learn and then broke those rules to adapt them to her own style. Yelena smirked, she liked what she was seeing in the teen. 

Once more, your mind went back to the young woman laying on your bed. You thought about the days you had spent with her and the life you could have with her. You ère also tired of going around protecting the world putting yourself on the line. You were tired of being alone, thinking your life was only to be a hero. Or a villain. 

Natasha put a mug filled with coffee right in front of you, she offered a wink nodding to the stairs. 

“You two deserve happiness, perhaps it's about time we retired and let the young ones to save the world.” 

You blinked a couple of times, your ears straining hearing the sound of naked feet on the wooden floor. 

“Just in time, do you want some coffee Wanda?”

“Yes, please.” 

You didn't move but your lips curled into a content smile when you felt the sweet touch of a hand brushing your lower back. A bottle of painkillers was put to rest in front of you, turning around you could see only concern in Wanda's eyes. 

“You forgot this upstairs, I thought you may need it since I know you're in pain.” Wanda lifted her hand to brush your hair, caressing the side of your face. 

“Woah, not even a good morning kiss or anything?”

The smirk on your face was matching the one Natasha wore at the moment, Wanda squirmed glancing at you with wide eyes then back at Natasha with some apprehension. You raised a brow at her, and Natasha this time around mirrored your actions. 

“I don't…”

“You don't want to?” The question left your lips with a hint of pain, Wanda opened her eyes shaking her head. 

“Yes!”

“Then, what's the problem?”

“I don't think she wants to, to be honest. Bad breath, perhpas?”

This time around Wanda opened her eyes shaking her head, her cheeks completely red and there was a hint of panic running through her mannerism trying to get the situation under control. 

“No, of course not!!”

You rolled your eyes trying to stand up while shaking your head. 

“Come here, you doofus.”

Natasha snorted turning around to give the both of you a little privacy. You smiled into the kiss, Wanda relaxed her posture stepping back wearing a shy smile. 

“See? It wasn't that hard.”

Wanda pushed you lightly back on the chair, busying herself to try and hide her blush and calm her beating heart. 

“You should take the pills, Y/N, you really look in pain.” Natasha came with another mug she placed in front of Wanda. 

For a brief instant, Wanda and Natasha crossed stares and there was a moment of understanding between them. It was everything Wanda needed it to feel at ease with the situation, to finally let it go and pursue what she wanted with you. 

“You guys have any plans for today?” Natasha inquired leaning back against the sink. 

Wanda glanced at you her green eyes shone with concern pursing her lips but not daring to voice her thoughts. You wanted to go out, to keep exploring the city with Wanda by your side but the pain on your leg would make it impossible. After a moment of consideration you lifted your eyes to the other woman who was waiting for you to answer. 

“No, I guess yesterday's adventure was enough for me and me leg, so today I will rest.” You cocked your head nodding to the yard. “What about you, guys?”

“Not on my end, though I overheard Yelena and America wanting to go to the Old City.” Natasha pursed her lips, “I think they had something planned but I can't quite figure out what it is.”

You chuckled takin a sip from your coffee, Wanda stood behind you her hands resting comfortably on your shoulders. 

“Then, I could cook, if you want and we can stay here, just for today.”

Wanda lowered her gaze until her eyes found yours. Your heart skipped a beat, just as your eyes shone with the deepest of emotions you were experiencing for her. Natasha observed te both of you from afar, wondering just how missing chances the relationship had faced until a mission confronted them with the reality. How many heartbreaks could have been prevented if anyone had worried enough to help and guide the both of you. Natasha softened watching the subtle caresses and brushes of hands, the tenderness behind the stares and the attention Wanda poured on you without any shame. 

There was only hope for the future, and Natasha hoped after the conversation she had with you that morning that you would make the right decision. 

“I think that's perfect.” Natasha jumped forward pointing at you, “get change and go to the pool, you can rest there with Yelena and America and Wanda and I will take care of the rest.”

You blinked a couple of times, your mouth opened ready to retort but the hand on your shoulder stopped you. 

“I think that's a great idea, you can spend some time outside and we will take care of everything else.” Wanda offered a reassuring smile, though you could see the glint of trepidation in her green eyes. 

“Only if you're sure.” 

“I am.” Wanda nodded then grabbing the bottle of pills shake it in front of your eyes. “Keep this with you at all times, and tell me if you need anything at all”

You had a feeling this sudden eagerness to get rid of you had nothing to do with lunch and more so with Natasha and Wanda wanting to have a conversation. You hesitated only for a moment before standing up, you flashed them a content grin before dragging yourself to your room and getting ready for the day. 

_________________________________ It was bound to be a cloudy day, with just the exact amount of warmness for a Tuscan city. You at down on the lounge chair fixing your position so the leg, you leaned back watching as Yelena and America cleaned up a little before coming over to where you were resting. America wore a simple smile, her hair pulled up into a ponytail while she sat on the chair next to yours, Yelena accommodated at the bottom of your chair.

“So, you and Wanda…” Yelena shifted frowning, “what’s really going on?”

You snorted knowing this was the long-awaited conversation you had pending with Yelena. It was one thing to talk about it with Natasha and even with America, but Yelena had always been overprotective of you and at the end of the day the situation presenting itself at the moment was not something ideal. Not for her, anyway.

“What do you want to hear, Lena?”

“The truth would be nice.”

America glanced at the both of you, shifting forward, she opened her mouth to speak but stopped when you lift a hand shaking your head.

“I guess, this was something bound to happen at some point.” You declared; Yelena raised a brow leaning forward.

“Was it? I thought you hated her.”

“I never hated her, Yelena, you know that.”

“I just never expected you to…” Yelena let out a heavy sigh, she leaned back shrugging. “I guess I just never thought it would be like this, you know?”

“I know.” You could see the acceptance in Yelena, the small hint of a doubt gleaming in her eyes was only a response to you being so distant as of late.

“I always thought you would end up with Danvers, not with Maximoff.” Yelena rested her elbows on her knees, she glanced at America then back at you. “Are you happy, at least?”

You chuckled, “I think that we have been working on just getting to know one another once more before jumping into anything rash. But yes, I am happy.”

There was a moment of silence that was filled only by the sweet breeze of early morning brushing their skin, you closed your eyes for a moment enjoying the quietness around you. Yelena was contemplating her future, the restlessness inside her was still pushing her to keep running, to keep moving and get out there into the world.

“Are you?” You asked, Yelena blinked a couple of times pursing her lips.

“Am I what?”

You rolled your eyes nodding, “Happy. Are you happy?”

Yelena looked taken aback by the question, she was silent for a moment until her lips broke into a familiar grin. It was a sight not many got a chance to see genuinely on the blond-haired woman’s face and you were happy to see your family was also getting that little piece of peace and happiness they had always deserved.

“I am. Strangely enough, I have been working on the missions and my life, and I have never been so happy with what I do, or who I am.” Yelena punched you playfully on your leg when you start chuckling. “You better not be laughing at me, I haven’t seen someone so smitten since…”

“…Since you and Kate?”

You raised your brows at the comment, Yelena changed colours going from white to red in almost a second. America covered her mouth almost immediately, but you were just too shocked by such a revelation and of course the reaction it got from Yelena.

“Who is Kate?” You finally asked, America rolled over just on time before Yelena threw at her.

“I’m gonna kill you, you brat!”

“Sorry, sorry! I forgot!”

You observed sitting down on the chair lounge as Yelena caught up with America who was laughing by now. Yelena was speaking in a mixture of Russian and English, she caught up with America before the both of them lose their balance and fell into the pool. It took you a moment to recover from the shook, but as soon as you did you start laughing watching as America was now getting the advantage and was laughing tickling Yelena and swimming out of the way of the blond-haired woman.

They came at you dripping water, with their morning clothes completely drenched and a sense of dignity that didn’t match their recent childish games. You leaned back waiting until they took some of the clothes off grabbing some towels to get dry.

“So, who is Kate?” You asked once more, Yelena lifted her chin trying to pretend this conversation was not going to turn into a discussion about her recent explores in New York City.

“She is a spoil brat, that is quite good with the bow.” She said sitting down while scowling at the way America snorted.

“Okay, and …you like her?” Now this came as a surprised to you since Yelena had never shown any interest in anyone.

Yelena shrugged, “she is fine.”

America opened her mouth to speak but thought better off what to say when she found those clear eyes of Yelena on her.

“A couple of weeks ago I was called for a job in the States.” Yelena mumbled, you know remembering the call, Yelena shifted as if uncomfortable. “I met this woman, she was trying to get to a gang that was terrorizing the city but most importantly, they were threatening her mom.”

“And, is she pretty?” You chuckled when Yelena lifted her arms in defeat, America came right in winking at you.

“I gotta say she is quite beautiful, and she is also funny and pretty smart.”

“So, you’re also smitten by her?”

“What?! No, of course not!” America blushed shaking her head trying to ignore the glare from Yelena.

You cocked your head, blinking a couple of times, “how did you meet her? Weren’t you at school?”

“I was.” America lowered her gaze then returned her attention to you, “but I also have been helping Yelena around, I think…I think it is only right.”

It was at that moment you understood what Natasha meant about the youngest generation. You heard everything Yelena and America decided to tell you at the moment, how they had been working together alongside Kate and other people around the world to build up a new team. It was such an strange concept, watching as they tell you of their hopes and their goals, how the name of the Avengers was still used reverently by many and how others were still waiting for someone to come forth and saved them from the clutches of evil doers.

“You better go get change, I think Natasha and Wanda would be over soon and then we will talk more about this.” You finally said taking everything in.

Yelena was the first one to stand up, she hesitated before turning to you.

“I am happy.” She stated once more, “and I’m glad to know you are happy too. Wanda is not such a bad election, after all.”

“I am happy for you as well, Lena.” You grabbed her hand squeezing it comfortingly. “I don’t want you to get hurt, and I don’t want you to keep any secrets from me, you know I will always be there for you.”

Yelena nodded squeezing your hand back before going inside the house. America had stayed behind, her clothes clinging to her frame. She glanced at you for a long moment, and you waited for the young woman to speak.

“When I first came here I was highly irrational on a lot of things, your relationship with Wanda was one of those things.”

“I remember.” You furrowed your brows, America softened he features.

“I think you were patient with me, and I thank you for…just for listening to me, for helping me out.” She stated swallowing down her emotional response to the conversation, “I know it was hard for you when you saw her that first time back in Norway, but I am glad to see that things are working out with the both of you.”

It was something you never expected to happen, and by the way America was talking at the moment it was something the young woman had doubted as well. Then America stood up and came to you wrapping her arms around you.

“I’m so happy for you and Wanda, I really hope this could be the second chance the both of you deserve.”

Then, America was gone and you were left alone with your thoughts.

The morning was growing old, with not a single sound interrupting your thoughts you observed the trees and the grass, your eyes dancing around the backyard with images of the past, the present and the unknown future dancing inside your head.

Without meaning to, you fell asleep with only hope for the future to not be broken by the past.

____________________

The supermarket was a long way from the Villa.

Natasha and Wanda had driven quietly while letting the music in the car to fill the silence. Wanda glanced out of the window, her thoughts going back to you and how you were fairing with the pain on your leg. She had been dead worried the moment she heard of your accident, when she finally got to see the state you were in her heart had dropped with her mind going blank before crumbling with a single, terrifying thought sneaking inside her head: what if she loses you again?

“She was being reckless.” Natasha broke the silence, her eyes were on the road but Wanda had a feeling the other woman had been observing her out of the corner of her eyes.

“Was she?”

Natasha snorted nodding, “she wanted to finish the mission as soon as she could, she was trying to go back to her monthly date with you.”

Wanda tensed clenching her fists closed, she could imagine you entering a fight in use of your powers to try and get the advantage to finish the mission. Natasha tilted her head turning the car around, her eyes found those of Wanda briefly before continuing.

“I know you and her had been seeing each other for quite some time.” Natasha read the uneasiness on Wanda, the way the younger woman shifted on the seat while lifting her face with her eyes flashing determination.

“Natasha, I…” Wanda started but then trailed off, she was not sure how to approach this conversation.

“Many would say what the both of you are doing is stupid, and it should only lead to you breaking her heart all over again.”

There was a flash of hurt in Wanda’s eyes, she lowered her gaze frowning at the veracity of those words. Everyone had been waiting for Wanda to mess up again. She had even doubt that any kind of relationship could be built with you for as long as her initial betrayal would not be forgotten. It was a constant ghost haunting her whenever she tried to get closer to you. But it was this what the both of you had been working on, it was something Wanda didn’t want to repeat.

“Will I ever be free of my past mistakes, Natasha?” Wanda finally asked tiredly, “I’ve been trying s hard to…”

“To forget about it?”

“To redeem myself.” Wanda retorted forcefully, frowning. “I know I mess up, there is nothing I can do about the past, but I can do something about my present and my future. I have been fighting so hard against the prejudices, against the anger and resentment you guys held against me.”

Wanda spoke with a shaky voice, yet there was full determination in her stance and the force behind her voice. She passed a hand through her locks, her eyes turning to the city spreading before them.

“The moment I saw Y/N once more my whole being shook with longing, my heart broke knowing I could never be with her again because of my mistakes.” Wanda felt the tears welling up in her eyes, she never noticed Natasha stopping the car nor the older woman glancing at her with understanding in her eyes.

“I tried to be her friend, to at least get a chance to earn her friendship and then…” Wanda closed her eyes the visions of the twins, of the lived her counterpart was living with you, the glimpses of what her future could be.

“…then she gave me this chance and I don’t wanna mess up. Not again. I just…I want to love her, I want to be with her.”

The tears rolled down, Wanda lowered her face unable to open her eyes and find herself under a glance of scepticism. She held back a sob when a warm hand placed itself on hers, Wanda opened her eyes finding the green eyes of Natasha glancing back into hers.

“I know it hasn’t been easy for you or her, Wanda. I just want to make sure this is something you and Y/N want.” Natasha softened leaning back into the seat. “I know you guys are till working on your relationship, and I’m glad you were given a second chance with her. Just…don’t break her heart.”

Wanda stood speechless for a moment, she shook her head wiping away her tears breaking into a tiny smile. This was the very first time she actually felt the complete approval from Natasha, it Wanda didn’t know how much it meant for hr until that moment.

“I won’t, believe me, all I want is to…to make her happy.” Wanda sighed looking back into the street. “To love her and be loved by her.”

“Good, then you two should just talk about what the next step is going to be.” Natasha stated seriously. “A lot of things had changed since you were a teen and the world is not what it used to be, perhaps it is time for you two to consider this before making any decisions.”

Wanda was slightly confused at this, she thought about those words furrowing her brows. What did she want with you? Of course, she thought about being with you but, where would she live from now on? Was she ready to leave Kamar-Taj? What did she want to do with her live? What about you?

Natasha chuckled shaking her head, “of course you two were far too busy to even think about this.”

“I haven’t had the time to actually sit down and think about it, you know?” Wanda answered defensively. “Ever since I was back and the fight with Thanos my life has been a rollercoaster, I haven’t had the time to think about anything at all.”

“I know.” Natasha shrugged turning the car on again. “It is worth thinking and talking about with Y/N, don’t you think? Just to know where you guys are doing from now on, how you guys want this second chance to go. Just, think about it before doing something rash or…”

Natasha didn’t finish her thoughts, but for Wanda it was quite obvious what she meant. The young witch leaned back against the seat thinking about this, up until that point she had not considered any of this and while Natasha finally reached the supermarket and spoke about the ingredients and the things they would need in the house, Wanda couldn’t help but thing of the conversation that was waiting her back in the Villa.

A conversation that might lead to the future she was looking with you.

_______________________________

America realized she had come into the strangest of families she could meet in her travels.

She sat at table watching as Natasha and Wanda worked around with the dishes and the food getting everything ready while Y/N and Yelena talked about football and the oncoming matches in the European league. The environment was finally free of any tension, and all that was left was a room filled with familiarity and hopefulness.

It had been a long way to get to this point, America had been jumping around universes before coming across you and the others. She knew that it had been a long way before you and the others could come into this kind of gathering; a year ago everyone had looked at Wanda with anger and resentment, but those stares had been changing with time and at the moment the only thing America could see was acceptance, on Natasha’s and Yelena’s side, and love on your part.

America couldn’t help but smile.

Even in the midst of such dangers in the world, even after all the hurt and misunderstanding there was still hope for something as beautiful as love and friendship was possible.

“Okay, you two just shut up and enjoy,” Natasha finally sat down nodding to Yelena and Y/N, the both of them turned to their plates, with Wanda sitting by your side.

“You guys really went out of your way to cook,” You softened your stare while turning to Wanda, “it’s good to know someone is out there to make sure Tasha is not burning pasta.”

Yelena started laughing until a napkin hit her face, Natasha glared at her sister who flipped her. The older woman raised a brow rolling her eyes at the mature response, America chuckled taking a sip from her glass.

“I burn it once, and in all honestly it wouldn’t have happened if you had collaborated a little.”

“Hey! It wasn’t my fault at all!”

“You were supposed to be watching over the water, Y/N.” Natasha replied dryly, you winced remembering the incident smiling sheepishly.

“Yeah, well…we got better after that incident.” You said turning to Wanda with a reassuring smile, Wanda merely chuckled turning to her food.

“I don’t have a problem cooking for you, so we can prevent any accident in the future.”

Wanda spoke before she could stop herself, she tensed lightly her eyes glancing at you with her breath caught in her throat. You nodded taking some of the pasta in your mouth, closing your eyes enjoying the taste of the sauce.

“Mmm, well if you cook like this, count me in.”

Natasha and Yelena glanced at one another before turning their attention to their food, Wanda grinned nodding silently. You took another bite and soon the conversation changed into what you and Wanda had done the day before and what were Yelena’s and America’s plans for the next couple of days.

The conversation went around the table with light topics and stares that spoke more than words. You smiled through the whole ordeal, your hand sneaking around to grab Wanda’s one giving her a reassuring squeeze. Wanda relaxed into your touch, the conversation she had with you the day before and the conversation she had with Natasha still dancing inside her head.

The afternoon sun snaked inside the room, your eyes fluttering open to find the wooden ceiling of your room darkening slightly while the day gave way to the night. The room had the windows opened, with a sweet breeze lurking around to freshen up your skin; there was not a single sound you could detect yet your powers ignited with the movement of a shadow in the far end of the room. You stretched sitting up to accommodate your frame, your eyes squinting to make sense of the form standing by the window.

Wanda Maximoff was standing on the far end of your room contemplating the red and yellowish hues of dusk breaking into the sky.  She had her arms around herself, leaning against the windowsill with her eyes staring far away.

You couldn’t help but soften under the sight, your heart beating painfully inside your chest. With some trouble, you fixed your posture and stood up; taking a deep breath you started making your way to her. Wanda shifted her weight turning around when she heard your approaching footsteps.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” She straightened up ready to come up to you but you stopped her with a gesture of your hand. She hesitated but waited until you reached out to her, a proud smile playing on your lips.

“See? I could do it.”

“I never doubt about your ability to do it, but the wisdom of forcing yourself to do so.” Wanda replied with a light scowl, “how are you feeling?”

“Much better, thank you.”

The sight beyond your window was breathtaking, you leaned against the rail of the window closing your eyes for a moment. Wanda observed you with a warm heart, her arms twitching at her sides until she chewed on her lower lip before wrapping her arms around your waist. You tilted your head, your eyes finding those of Wanda, you felt the corner of your lips twitching upwards while those green eyes twinkled with hesitation.

“This is quite a sight, what were you thinking about?” You leaned back snuggling closer to Wanda, the other woman felt her stomach broke into a million fluttering butterflies while her heart stopped at the gesture.

She tightened her hold on your placing her chin on your shoulder, “I was thinking about finding a job, perhaps finding a house in Ulsteinvik.”

Wanda waited patiently, she could feel the tension in your body and the hold of your breath as she revealed this.

“That sounds nice.” You replied finally breaking into a smile. “I know just the job position for you. I bet you would be a great teacher.”

Wanda chuckled shrugging, “perhaps. I just thought…I couldn’t keep running, and I don’t want to be away from you.”

“Would you stay with me?” You asked, more than living together your house was big enough to have her in there, Wanda hesitated before shaking her head.

“I want us to do this the right way, living with you right now would not be…right.”

You nodded accepting this, your hands rested on top of Wanda’s ones. The last lights of the day soon disappear and gave way to a fresh night; you rested in Wanda’s embrace for a while enjoying the warmth her body provided.

“This was my last mission, Wanda.” You finally stated, “I won’t be going out unless the world is really ending and there is no other option. America and Yelena, they are ready to take over but I just think this should be over. I won’t be a field agent, and while I would love to help around with some desk work…I don’t think I want to go out anymore.”

“I don’t want to fight anymore.” Wanda replied back, “I am tired, and the world is…unforgiven.”

“I know.”

Wanda pecked your cheek, “I will be with you, if you allow me and we can be normal together.”

You smiled nodding.

“I would like that.”

You always thought you wouldn’t be able to forgive Wanda for what she did.

A part of you had always hoped for a confrontation in which you would scream at her, you would hurt her and showed her how happy you were without her by your side. Anger and resentment had defined those first years after the breakup but then, after all that had happened, after everything the both of you had faced, you found yourself resting in her arms thinking about the future.

It was a second chance you didn’t regret at all.

You realized just that beyond that anger there was still love, and that not everything was about you being a hero and saving the world. You could step aside and still be yourself with the people you love by your side. You lifted your eyes to the darkening sky thanking whoever was watching that you had crossed paths with Wanda once more, now after all the scars had been heal you could start a new life, and this time around you would make sure that everything would be as it should have been the very first time.

A story about two broken people who found it in themselves to give each other a second chance to live, to love and to be happy.

[penkura]

knowing [8/8]

Summary: Sanji knew you were the one the moment he met you.

Pairing: Sanji x Reader

Warnings: None really. Normal One Piece stuff I guess.

Note: I changed my mind, I'm posting this today because I loved this and just can't wait any longer. Thank you all for reading this little fanfic!! I wrote this before I fully finished reading Wano, so it's not 100% accurate at first, but that's fine, this is a fanfic of course. I hope you all enjoy, and I do have another two one-shots connected to this series!

Taglist:

@jzkeisuke | @arcanumlaw

[Ch. 1] ● [Ch. 2] ● [Ch. 3] ● [Ch. 4] ● [Ch. 5] ● [Ch. 6] ● [Ch. 7]

With Big Mom and Kaido defeated, Wano freed from the Animal Kingdom Pirates reign, you were beyond relieved when you'd heard you could all rest. Luffy and Zoro seemed near death, both had just woken up when you'd snuck out with Sanji to another area. He still needed rest more than you, and Chopper had followed along to make sure neither of you did anything to upset your wounds. You'd made it out with a few small burns, some scrapes and cuts, a slightly deeper wound on your abdomen, but Chopper had taken great care of you and gotten you as close to 100% as he could. Sanji too of course, he suffered slightly worse wounds than you did, but the geishas had taken great care of him and he had nowhere near the same battle damage as the other two members of your monster trio. Chopper had instructed him to lay down and rest, which Sanji did, trusting your doctor that he knew what was best, despite his wanting to join in whatever party was being started in the other room. You knew there was no way the people of Wano would let you leave without a large celebration, Sanji would just have to wait for that.

After Chopper left the infirmary you'd walked off to, you gave Sanji a smile while saying something about changing your own bandages real quick. Despite your insistence that it was fine, he looked away while you stripped off your shirt to change your bandages, instead quietly pulling something small out of his pocket to occupy his eyes, wondering if now was the best time or if he should wait.

"What's that you've got there, Sanji?"

Your voice brought him out of his millions of thoughts, making him decide that yes now's the time, before he smiled softly and held it up, making your eyes widen and your mouth open just a bit.

There's no way…no way, right?

"I picked this up in Dressrosa."

"Sanji, you did not."

Sanji grinned at you, nodding happily. "I did! I saw it and…I thought of you instantly."

It was a small ring he held in his hand, a thin silver band with some blue gem on it, perhaps a small sapphire, you weren't sure, but it was very pretty to you anyway. You didn't care for gaudy, showy jewelry anyway, so if this really was an engagement ring, you were all too ready to accept.

Even without a ring you'd accept. You loved Sanji, more than anything. If he had shown up to the women's bunks in his pajamas without a ring at 3am and asked you to marry him, you would accept even then. The middle of battle, though not his style, you'd say yes. An evening after dinner where you'd both drank a little too much and were giggly messes, if he said 'marry me' you'd accept instantly, whether you remembered it the next morning or not.

It didn't matter. You'd marry Sanji no matter how he proposed.

"Maybe I'm crazy, or all that wedding talk because of them got to me, or even us playing husband and wife for the time we did here, but…I'm certain of this." His voice was quiet, even though it was just the two of you at the moment, and it made you start to tear up.

It definitely was crazy. The fight with Kaido and Big Mom had ended just two days ago, you were still surprised Sanji was even capable of walking and sitting up right after his fight against Queen. You half wondered if he suffered a blow to the head that knocked something loose that was making him do this right now.

But really, you knew he hadn't. He was mentally sound, he knew what he was doing.

"Sanji…"

"I'm probably the worst mess of a man you've ever met, I'm worthless really, but I know I love you," Sanji smiled softly while you cried and gladly held your hand out for him to take when he reached out for it, "I don't want to ever again look at another woman the way I look at you. I can't imagine myself with anyone else, married to anyone else, becoming a parent with anyone else, if we're so blessed. Everything that's happened recently just made me more aware of that."

Sanji moved more towards the edge of the bed while gently pulling you closer to him. You couldn't have cared less if he was on one knee or not, it didn't matter to you.

What mattered was that it was Sanji.

You wished you weren't crying, especially when he pulled you down beside him, just to place his forehead against yours and wipe your happy tears away.

"I love you so much, [Y/N]. You mean the world to me and I just want to be with you forever. I wanted to ask you weeks ago now, even when we all met up again in Sabaody…but now feels like the perfect time. Please, [Y/N], will you marry me?"

Trying your hardest to stop crying, you nodded and kissed him, hoping he didn't mind your salty, teary kisses.

"Yes! Yes, a million times yes, my dear!"

Sanji pulled you into a tight hug that you returned, telling you again that he loved you and you responded in kind. You took a few minutes to fully calm down, and once you did, you let Sanji put the ring he'd bought all the way back in Dressrosa on your finger, not at all surprised it was a perfect fit. Of course he knew your ring size, either that or he borrowed one of your rings you wore for fun and took it with him to get the right size.

"A perfect fit."

"Just like us." You smiled brightly at Sanji, which he returned before kissing you again.

Your sweet moment was interrupted when the door to the infirmary almost flew open, and you jumped back up a bit, only to be relieved when you saw it was Zoro, who looked like he didn't know what he was even doing there.

"What do you want, moss head??"

"...looking for Chopper." Zoro's eye wandered over to you, noticing you'd been crying and he looked almost ready to cut down Sanji, until he took in the fact you now had a ring on your finger.

That same ring he'd watched Sanji pick out in Dressrosa.

"Oh!" You nodded, giving a smile. "He left a while ago, said he was going to go check on the Samurai and Luffy!"

Zoro nodded, turning to leave before he stopped and looked over his shoulder at you. "Congrats. If he hurts you, let me know and I'll kill him."

"Zoro!"

"As if you could, moss head!!"

"Sanji, stay in bed!" You pushed him back down when he went to get up, a scowl on his face while Zoro left and closed the door behind him. Sanji started complaining to you about the "stupid moss head" and how he couldn't touch him, but it made you laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh…it's just…it's like a little brother protecting his big sister…that's all Zoro means by it."

Somehow, Sanji understood what you meant when you said that. If his family had been different, he probably would have been the same with Reiju, protective of her when any potential boyfriends or suitors would come to see her, if they ever did considering how their father was. If your lives were different, if you had met under different circumstances, he was sure your biological brothers would be the same.

While he was thinking about it, Sanji barely realized you had crawled into bed with him, until you wrapped your arms around him and hugged him close. He did the same, kissing the top of your head as well.

"I love you, Sanji."

"I love you too."

I can't wait to marry you.

+!+

Once the Thousand Sunny had taken off from Wano, your next destination decided by the log pose, you were determined to be married with your found family as the witnesses. While in Wano, you and Sanji had slipped away to find something like a courthouse, whatever their equivalent was, to get a marriage certificate so you could have a small ceremony on the Sunny. It took a bit of time, but you found a place that processed marriage certificates and got one printed immediately, knowing that technically, as soon as you signed and dated it, you'd be husband and wife.

You hadn't told anyone yet, Zoro would never, you knew that, but you had told Sanji you wanted everyone there and to be married on the ship you called home. He quickly agreed, telling you that he'd do whatever you wanted for the wedding, while thinking it was the best place for you two to get married. You were both absolutely sure your crewmates would be happy for you, they'd all be glad to participate in the wedding and help you two tie the knot.

You also made Sanji promise not to spend so much time on the cake or to make it too big, though you had to give some leeway there due to Luffy. But he promised he wouldn't work on it so much that he was doing last minute touches when he was supposed to be saying his vows to you. You didn't want the wedding to be an extravagant, fancy affair. Just something small and simple with everyone you loved there.

Sanji didn't tell you, though, that he'd talked to Nami and told her you two were engaged and wanting to get married as soon as possible. She was so happy for the two of you that she burst into tears and hugged him, about to run off to find you when he stopped her. He wanted to surprise you with your parents and siblings at the ceremony, and knew your home was an island in the New World, so Nami put the ship on a detour there in the middle of the night when Sanji had a night watch, so no one would have any idea. There were no questions about where the ship was heading the next morning, and Nami was constantly talking about romance and things like that to you, trying to get you to spill your engagement to her. Anything she said you related back to Sanji with a smile, annoying her that you were acting so dense.

It was about two days before your unknown arrival to your home island that Sanji convinced you to tell everyone. You had gone over it multiple times in your head, wondering if it was a good time, before he told you that you'd probably never be ready to tell them, so might as well do so now. When he said that, you ended up agreeing and when everyone was on the deck that night, Sanji told them all you two had an announcement to make.

"You guys aren't gonna leave, are you??" Luffy was so terribly concerned that you and Sanji had chosen to leave the crew, but you quickly reassured him it wasn't anything like that.

"No, no, not at all! We," you took a breath and smiled at Sanji, taking his hand, "We've decided to get married."

"Ahh!"

"And we want the ceremony to be on Sunny in a few days."

"AHH!!"

Everyone was so excited for the two of you! Nami immediately ran over and hugged you, Robin joining her after a moment and both asking to see your ring, where Sanji got it, and what you were going to wear. Luffy laughed a bit and threw himself on Sanji, saying he was glad for the two of you. Brook said something weird about marriage; Franky was crying but patting Sanji on the back; Usopp wanted to know when and how you'd be married without a priest; Chopper said he was very excited for the two of you; Jimbei also gave his congratulations, saying he may not have known you both very long, but you seemed like quite the loving couple, and Zoro, who still viewed you as his sister, reiterated his previous statement of being willing to kill Sanji if he ever hurt you. Before Sanji could argue back at him, Zoro put a hand on his shoulder and congratulated him, causing everyone that heard him to be shocked, and then even more surprised when Sanji thanked him.

The Straw Hats threw a celebration party for the two of you the rest of the night, almost like an engagement party. There was a point where Sanji had slipped away, knowing you were in good hands with Nami and Robin, who were trying to help you decide on a few things for the wedding. He went back to your shared room, picking up the transponder snail you'd bought a while back, and made a call to the Baratie. He didn't let whoever picked up know it was him, requesting to speak to Zeff personally.

"Hey, old man, it's me."

"Sanji? What's this about, calling after heading off two years ago?"

"I…I had some news I wanted to tell you, that's all."

He couldn't see him, but Zeff was a slight bit concerned with how calm Sanji sounded, to the point he made him hold on while he transferred the call over to his personal snail.

"Sanji, you in here?" You had gone searching for your fiance once you noticed he was missing and found him in your room, he waved you over to sit beside him on the bed while he waited for Zeff to get back on the phone. "Who'd you call?"

"Zeff."

"Ooooh." You nodded and took his free hand in yours, Sanji gripping it tightly, nervously waiting.

"All right, what'd you wanna tell me, kid?"

"I'm…getting married in a few days. I just…I wanted you to know."

It was quiet for a bit, and you worried that maybe Zeff was angry that this was the first thing he'd heard from Sanji in over two years, but then heard laughter.

"So! You finally found a girl willing to put up with you, huh?"

You giggled and Sanji smiled.

"I found a girl that's done more than just put up with me."

The two of you stayed on the line with Zeff for a while longer, Sanji's tight grip on your hand loosening after he realized Zeff was truly happy for him. Eventually you decided to let him have his privacy with his true father, kissing his cheek and returning to the party your crewmates were still throwing.

You finally decided you'd get married four days later, the two of you were ready for this step and didn't want anything to interfere, not the Marines or another pirate, nothing.

However, when Nami had said you'd all reached an island to dock at, your breath caught in your throat and you started to tear up when you recognized the pier, despite it being nearly seven years since you'd last been there.

"This…this is my home."

"Yeah," Sanji held your hand and gave you a smile, "I…figured you'd want your family there when we got married, so I asked Nami if we could take a detour. Is…is this okay?"

You looked up at him and smiled brightly, despite the tears threatening to fall down your face. "Of course!!"

Once the Sunny was fully docked, you didn't bother waiting for your allowance from Nami, grabbing Sanji by the arm and dragging him in the direction of your childhood home. None of your crewmates bothered to stop you, they did stop Luffy from following and getting in the way of you introducing your fiance to your family.

To your surprise, your family already knew you were on the way, you figured Sanji had something to do with that as well (you'd be correct if you asked him). Your mom was the first to hug you, telling you how much she missed you and how beautiful you'd become in the last few years. Your dad told you the same, before he and your mom introduced themselves to Sanji, you weren't at all surprised at how easily he won them over despite not being able to ask their permission to marry you.

All your siblings ended up running at you when they knew you were there, and it made you beyond happy to see you had a new sister after all. She was a little more shy around you, but Sanji speaking to her convinced her that everything was all right. Everyone ended up mentioning how they had copies of your wanted poster, your brothers would brag to their friends that their big sister was a badass pirate while your sisters would use that as leverage against the boys in town they didn't like, and it all made you blush and become flustered.

Your parents insisted the two of you and the rest of your crewmates join them for dinner, which you happily accepted and so did Luffy when he heard. Your family gladly accepted your found family, sharing stories and having a lovely time with everyone around.

It got to be a little much for you, you had to step out on the porch for a bit so you didn't get too overwhelmed, Sanji following you a moment later to make sure you were okay.

"You know, sometimes, I wonder what would've happened if I hadn't left."

"Oh yeah?"  Sanji smiled a bit while lighting a cigarette and watching you.

You nodded, sitting down with your legs dangling off the edge of the porch, your youngest sister having followed you and Sanji out the door and now cuddling next to you. She'd opened up quickly and became attached to you and Sanji.

"I wonder if we ever would have met."

"I still would've found you."

"You're sure about that?" You laughed a bit, but Sanji sat down beside you, putting his arm around your shoulders.

"Luffy still would have come to the Baratie and convinced me to join him. We'd still have all the same adventures, and eventually end up here…where I'd find you. And I'd still be attracted to you, and try to get you to come with us, and we'd still end up together."

Humming a bit, you nodded.

"I know you'd still find me."

+!+

The next day was your wedding. You'd woken up early with a bit of happy anxiety, Nami and Robin were already up and ready to help you get dressed and do your hair. You'd ended up buying a white sundress with a [f/c] colored sash around the waist and white flats to make it simple, you never really wanted a fancy wedding dress anyway. Nami took a curling iron to your hair and added some soft curls, while Robin brought you a flower crown your sisters had made overnight for you to wear in place of a veil. Both girls were still beyond excited for you, and Nami kept giving you hugs through the morning. You and her were like sisters at this point, she'd already called being aunt to any kids you and Sanji may have in the future. Having her and Robin with you helped calm your nerves, and you were more than ready to get married to the love of your life.

Sanji, though, was almost a nervous wreck. He'd already gone through half a pack of cigarettes, before he even got dressed for your wedding. You'd told him during the events at Whole Cake Island that you really preferred black suits on him, so he gladly got one specifically for your wedding, choosing a [f/c] colored tie to match with you. He didn't know why he was so nervous, probably the fears that he wasn't good enough for you and wouldn't be able to make you happy were the cause, but he couldn't stop his racing mind. He tried everything but went back to smoking as his stress reliever, worried you'd change your mind at the last second and leave him.

"She's not gonna leave you."

Surprisingly, Zoro was the one to get Sanji to calm down.

"And what if she does?"

"She won't. She wouldn't have agreed to marry you and plan a wedding so quickly if she wasn't sure about it. If she didn't want to be with you she would've rejected your ass all the way back at Alabasta."

"What. How do you know about that?! I thought you didn’t know until Skypiea!"

Zoro rolled his visible eye and smirked.

"You guys weren't exactly subtle back then. Freaking weirdos making out in the kitchen."

Despite Zoro being amused, Sanji knew he was right. If you really didn't love him and were going to leave, you probably would have done so after everything that happened with his family and that attempted arranged marriage. Instead you had stuck by him, giving him a smile and hug when he first told you how much he loved you, repeating it to him every day since you all had left Thriller Bark, telling him even more so after you'd retrieved him from his screwed up family, giving him the time he needed before showering him in hugs, kisses, and constant 'I love you's so he knew you'd never leave him or let him go again, and that you understood what he was doing when he fought with Luffy and 'broke up' with you in front of his brothers and sister. When he told you everything about his childhood, despite your crying and wishing you'd been born in the North Blue so you could have been his friend, you accepted every bit of it, telling him how much his mother must have loved him and you would have loved to have met her. He'd never felt more relieved than when you said his past didn't matter, the things his father said didn't matter. What mattered was that he was Sanji and you loved him. That was the first time he'd cried to you, hugging you and letting you stroke his hair, while he thanked you for loving a “failure” like him.

"You're not a failure. You're Sanji, and you're perfect as you are."

Sanji knew Zoro was right, you'd never leave him. If you did he'd fight to get you back, but he was sure that wouldn't be necessary.

"Yeah, you're right. Thanks."

"No problem. …don't tell anyone about this."

"Wouldn't dare."

+!+

Your wedding ceremony went off without a hitch, several hours ago now, and you and Sanji were finally married. While you were being wed, you couldn't stop smiling and crying lightly, Sanji giving you soft sweet smiles while he held your hands. Your mother, Nami, Franky, and Brook were all blubbering messes, you wondered if they'd actually heard anything the whole time. Your dad was slightly teary, but he'd never fully admit that to you. All your siblings were excited, more so that they were on a pirate ship but your wedding was a nice excuse to be on the ship. Luffy couldn't stop grinning, he was beyond happy for the two of you. Usopp was also slightly teary, mostly because he couldn't believe you two were actually getting married. Chopper was anxiously waiting for when he could have cake, but he had told you when he saw you earlier that day that he thought you looked pretty. Robin smiled, looking at you like you were her baby sister who was getting married and she couldn't have been happier for you both. Jimbei acted as your priest, after you learned he actually could legally perform marriages, you practically begged him to be the one to marry you. He agreed quickly and you were grateful for it. Zoro, always the quiet one, watched without much emotion visible on his face, but those of you who knew him well enough could see he was happy for you.

Of course, you and Sanji were the happiest ones there. Your ceremony wasn't long, it didn't need to be really, just something small to show you were committed to each other, now and forever. When Jimbei pronounced you husband and wife, and said Sanji could kiss you, you had to keep yourself from almost bouncing out of your shoes in excitement. Once he did kiss you, everyone cheered for you, which made you giggle after breaking the kiss and giving Sanji a smile that he returned.

"We're married!"

He couldn't help it, Sanji picked you up and spun you around, he was so happy! You two had gone from awkwardly facing your feelings for each other, to now being deeply in love, and married finally. He set you back down, only to kiss you again, laying his forehead against yours afterwards.

"I love you, ma femme."

"I love you too, my husband!"

"Come on you lovebirds, let's start the reception!"

The reception, which was really just a normal Straw Hat party, went on for several hours. You had to step away at one point to bid farewell to your family, none of whom wanted to see you go but they understood you couldn't stay on your island for more than a few days, and the Sunny would be taking off in the morning.

Sanji noticed quickly you'd disappeared from his side while he was fighting to keep Luffy from finishing off your piece of cake, and when he saw where you were, he put Zoro in charge of keeping Luffy at bay so he could go stay with you.

Your family had already walked off the dock and back into town when you felt Sanji wrap his arms around your waist and place his chin on the top of your head.

"We'll come back someday."

"I know we will."

"And you can always call or write."

You nod, looking up at Sanji with a smile. "This was a wonderful surprise, thank you. It meant a lot to have them here."

Sanji returned your smile, kissing your forehead. "Anything for you, mon amour."

You were about to suggest the two of you slip out and go off to bed, before Luffy shouted your names.

"Come oooonnnn!! The party's for you guys!" Really he just wanted more cake, but Sanji and Zoro had stopped him from having anything more until you had what you wanted.

Grumbling a bit, Sanji pulled away but still held your waist, causing you to giggle a bit and turn around in his hold, putting your arms around his shoulders.

"A bit longer, then we'll go to bed." You whispered before kissing him with a smile.

He sighed but still nodded. "Fine, fine."

Your reception continued well into the night, you avoided drinking too much so you'd remember it not only in the morning but in years to come. Eventually everyone had either passed out or was calmed down enough to start cleaning, refusing any help from you or Sanji and telling you to both go on to bed, with a kind a smile from Robin or Nami but a sly smirk from Franky.

Once you did, you both simply admired each other's ring and how right it felt to have them now. Within a few more minutes your exhaustion was taking over and you took Sanji's hand in yours, snuggling right up next to him, causing him to do the same with you. You'd consummate your marriage another night, but for tonight, all you wanted was to bask in the fact you were married to the love of your life, and enjoy the warmth that came from knowing that you were his and he was yours. Sanji had tried to say something to you at one point, but you were so near sleep you didn't hear him, except for when he chuckled lightly and kissed the top of your head.

"I love you, [Y/N]...in every lifetime and every universe, I'll always love you."

[areyouwell]

Nostophilia

Noun: An extreme fondness for returning home. For returning to where the heart belongs.

Ch.10

Ch.9, Ch.8, Ch.7, Ch.6, Ch.5.5, Ch.5, Ch.4, Ch.3, Ch.2, Ch.1 <-

Pairing: Mutant!Reader x Logan Howlett

Warnings: none

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: did y'all really think i was gonna leave it like that? im mean, but im not that mean <3

Taglist:@badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside @justice4billiam @holyhumorliteraturelight @cxptainbuck @sseleniaa @sadslasher13 @yallgotkik @whyamistillontumbler @maddiedinosaur @bethexo07 @pwpwppeepeoor @y08h

“Hey firefly,” Logan murmured as he set his jacket down on the back of the only chair in the room. The only piece of furniture in the room. It was unspeakably cruel, he thought, how much of your life you’d spent in clinical rooms such as this one, only to spend the rest of eternity in the exact same setting. The sphere of shadow pulsed dully with light like usual, an endless back and forth between your mutation and your brothers. Light encased in dark. 

It had been two years since you’d done this. Since you’d saved the lives of everyone you held dear by doing the one thing you’d always been warned against. You’d known the consequences. Of course you had. Charles hadn’t been subtle in reminding you that using your own shadow would result in this. But you’d done it to spare everyone. 

Crossing the empty, white room, Logan set his hand against the solid, thrumming surface, feeling the small pulses of energy within the prison of your own making. He hoped, somehow, you could still hear him. Still sense his presence, even though he knew it was unlikely. Jean had said he was just hurting himself by continuing to see you. But he dared to hope. For the first time in his godforsaken life, he allowed himself hope. 

“Hi sweetheart,” he murmured again, resting his brow beside his hand. He swore he could still feel you in there. Still smell that one shower gel you used to use. Smell the cherry-flavoured chapstick across your lips. “Sorry s’been a while. Charles has us run ragged with the government. Yeah, they’re still up in arms about the whole thing. Stuck-up pricks.” He growled, smoothing his thumb over the glassy surface of the sphere. “Tryna play it off like they had no goddamn clue any of this was happenin’.” He knew it was his mind playing tricks on him, his own hopes manifesting in his brain, but he indulged in the way he thought he felt you react, a ripple of irritation within the endless well of darkness. “Yeah, I know. We’re workin’ on it, kay? Promise.” 

He didn’t mind Charles working everyone overtime to figure everything out. He owed the Professor big time for working this deal. In exchange for everything the team knew collectively, he was allowed to come in and see you, or what was left of you, every now and then. No cameras, no observations, just you and him. Of course, it hadn’t been like that the first few times. Whatever you had done was completely new in terms of containment, and he used to grit his teeth at the way they poked and prodded what you’d become, searching for any kind of reaction. It was too reminiscent of what you’d already gone through, and he fucking wished you could have been held beneath the school. At least then he didn’t have to wait for fucking government permission to see you. 

It was torture, waiting for every request to be approved or denied, pacing in his room after Charles sent the first email, heading out on Scott’s bike just to blow off some goddamn steam and hoping the faint adrenaline rush would be enough to knock him out by the time he returned. 

It never was. 

With an exhausted sigh, Logan dragged the chair closer to you, the steel complaining beneath his weight as he took a seat. “Wish I had more to catch ya up on but uh, not much’s happened since the last time I was here. Kitty’s beggin’ me to bring her along, by the way. So’s Morgana.” Once again he let his hopes manifest, eyes tricking him into seeing the light within flicker slightly in what he interpreted as excitement. “Yeah? Well alright then, I’ll let 'em know.” He smiled slightly, before his expression faltered, a wave of heartbreaking longing spearing his heart. 

“They miss you, ya know. Kitty and Morgana. Fuck, we all miss you, but they both took it hard. Morgo’s kinda filled in your role, and Jade’s role before you, bein’ like a big sister to her. Oh, and you’ll be pleased to hear Marie and Bobby are finally datin’.” His mind saw the shadows ripple once again, the steady pulsing of light becoming irregular for a moment. “You’re tellin’ me. She kept cryin’ on my shoulder because he wouldn’t notice her or some shit like that. Guess he finally did.” He shrugged, resting his hand back on the surface of your prison, feeling the warmth of your phantom laughter. It sparked his own series of slight chuckles, his thumb smoothing over the surface of the darkness.  

“Erin dropped by the other day with Atlas. They’re uh, engaged now, if you can believe that.” He still couldn’t stand to be around her. After everything she did, the role she played in your death, whenever she would stop by, which was extremely few and far between, he’d always find somewhere else to be. In the weeks following your death, she’d stayed beneath the school in recovery. There was only so much Atlas could do against a slash to the throat, but Morgarna refused to speak to her for a full month afterwards. Even now the redhead was curt with her, only exchanging the briefest of pleasantries whenever they ‘were in the area’. Logan could see right through her ruse though. She was trying to drown her guilt in the empty forgiveness from her friend. Atlas may have been able to understand why she did what she did, but it had almost resulted in your death. 

That was something he could never forgive. 

“I won’t be goin’. To the wedding. Sorry if you wanted to hear how it goes but I think Morgo might make an appearance then dip pretty quick so I’ll get the details from her if ya want.” Something deep within the prison rippled slightly, and he couldn’t make up his mind whether or not it was anger or excitement. Though he guessed, with the last interaction between the two of you, it was most likely the former. Not that it was real. He had to remind himself of that. None of it was real. 

A heavy sense of loss weighed in his heart. Thinking about Erin and Atlas’ wedding made him feel physically sick, but not because of his deep hatred for the girl. But because he couldn’t stop thinking that it should have been you and him. One day, far off into the future, it should have been the two of you getting married. Starting a life together. Maybe one day, even a family. You’d never expressed explicit interest in having kids, but it was something he’d entertained before in the afterglows of your nights together. Something he was always too fucking afraid to bring up.

Now he’d never get the chance. 

“Sorry sweetheart,” he gave the surface of the sphere a soft pat as if you could sense his sudden shift in demeanour. “Just… gettin’ to that time again I guess,” he explained quietly. He never really knew what to do on the days of your anniversary. Should he celebrate? Should he mourn? Should he try and spend it with you in this fucking alabaster room or should he drown his sorrows in liquor and try to forget? The last two years he’d spent it doing the latter, whether he’d intended to or not. It burned to think of the life he could have lived with you, the things you could have done together. But it burned more to ignore it completely. 

Pain was a funny thing. No matter what he did, there really was nothing he could do to escape its claws. A rogue tear lined one of his eyes, and despite promising you he wouldn’t cry during these visits, there were times that even he couldn’t stop himself. “Fuck I miss you, Firefly. So fucking much…” There was so much he still had to say. So much he still had to do. And there had been for the last two years. He was stuck in this purgatory state, not really living but being unable to die. Just… existing. Surviving. And he knew you’d kick his ass for it. He vowed to live a life you’d be proud of, but that proved a lot harder than he thought it was going to be when the woman he wanted as his life partner couldn’t be by his side. 

The surface of the orb shimmered, the glow within stuttering slightly to his grieving mind’s eye. You were telling him off. That much he knew. “Yeah, ‘gotta get my shit together at some point’, right?” He chuckled to himself as he remembered the ways you would attempt to imitate his voice, the way your chin would tuck against your neck to reach the lower parts of your voice and yet still get nowhere near close to his registry. The way he would tell you to stop when, in reality, he wouldn’t give a rat’s ass if you did it forever, as long as you were by his side. 

But you weren’t. He couldn’t protect you. And he knew you’d beat his ass to the ground for the guilt he felt, but he couldn’t help it. He was supposed to protect you. Supposed to keep you safe. And you’d died doing the very same thing for him. The irony wasn’t lost on him, and if it didn’t feel like razor blades to the chest, he’d appreciate the way fate worked. 

If only. 

His phone bleeped from his jacket pocket and he grit his teeth together, closing his eyes against the spike of irritation that flared through his system. He knew who it was and what they wanted, but that didn’t mean he was going to answer straight away. That was until there were three more consecutive notifications, and with a rough sigh, he thrust his hand into the pocket and snatched out his phone. 

“Alright darlin’. Duty calls, somethin’ about a string of real strange murders in the area Chuck wants us to investigate. Thinks it’s some mutant goin’ on a spree,” he paused, feeling the energy within your prison shift uncomfortably. “When’ve you ever known me to be reckless?” The ghost of your mutation spiked beneath his palm and he blew out a laugh. “Okay, yep, I’ll be safe.”

Logan had a moment of self-awareness and the sinking realisation that he must be going insane. Who else would talk to the embodiment of their dead ex’s mutation as if it could hold a conversation? As if it were replying to him. He was going mad. 

With a heavy sigh, he stood from the chair, dragging it back to the corner of the room before swinging his jacket across his shoulders, settling the leather around his arms. After having such an intense moment of realisation, he forwent the usual kiss goodbye. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Promise,” he mumbled, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but here. Anywhere else he could be drinking himself into an early grave. Or he supposed, earlier grave. Maybe then he could see you again. 

Logan turned to leave, pausing as if to look back to you but decided against it. That was until he caught the reflection of the sphere in the glass of the door. Whilst yes, he was happy to admit he was crazy, he also knew when he was gaslighting himself, and when he was feeding his own delusions, which stopped the moment he stood from the chair. 

Then if that was true…

Why the fuck was the glow within the prison convulsing like that?

He turned back to the sphere, his head tilting to the side as he took a slow step forward. This wasn’t his imagination. Or if it was, he was a lot more tired than he thought he was. But no, it wasn’t his grief playing tricks on him. The light was fading and growing rapidly, like panicked breaths. And it wasn’t his imagination that felt the sharp, almost burst of kinetic energy when he placed his hand against the surface. There was always a hum of power that accompanied the sphere, but not like this.

Logan’s eyes widened slightly, fear icing his blood. What the hell was going on? If this was where he’d watch you fade away after two years of being like this, he didn’t think he could handle it. A bullet to the head wasn’t enough to kill him, something he’d already tried, but living after seeing what he dreaded to see simply wasn’t an option. 

A low, almost imperceptible hum accompanied the frantic pulsing, rising and falling with each anxious glow until even somebody without enhanced hearing would have been able to pick up on it. Taking a step back, Logan couldn’t help but feel yet another overwhelming sense of guilt. He didn’t think he’d done anything wrong. Did he touch the surface too much? Disturb whatever fragile balance you’d found with your brother? He swore lowly, looking around for anything or anyone that might know what the fuck was going on.

Crossing to the small control panel on the wall by the door, Logan jammed his thumb against the speaker, pressing the alarm multiple times before anybody came to the receiver. 

“What?”

“R’you not seein’ this? The fuck is goin’ on?” He snarled, panic rising in his voice as the usually solid surface of the prison started to writhe and hiss like a ball of angry snakes. 

“Hold please.”

“Don’t you fuckin’–” Logan couldn’t believe he’d just been told to hold whilst your mutation had started going fucking crazy. “Motherfucker!” He shouted loud enough to grab the attention of any officials who may be in the control room. Though he couldn’t tear his attention away from the now rapidly deteriorating shadows in the centre of the room. “No… no no nonoNO!” he roared desperately, his voice catching on the ghost of a sob. “I can’t… I can’t do this again, Firefly– please… please don’t make me do this again…” Logan fell to his knees, his head bowing hauntingly similar to the way it did the first time he lost you. “Don’t do this…”

“You didn’t kiss me goodbye.” 

Logan felt as if he’d just been struck by lightning, every hair on his body standing on end as goosebumps prickled his skin. He thought he would have to die before he heard that voice again. Slowly, ever so slowly, he raised his head. 

And his mind went blissfully blank, his heart freezing in his chest. He had to be dead. There was no other way this could be happening otherwise. No other way he’d be looking at you standing across from him, as beautiful as the day he lost you. 

“Hey, handsome.” Your smile was so fucking soft, he didn’t even attempt to cease the tears lining his eyes, flowing down the sides of his face. He staggered to his feet, unable to take his eyes off you. You were exactly the same other than one noticeable change. 

One of your eyes had shifted golden, your iris now the exact same hue as the ones your brother had. 

He whispered your name so delicately, as if any louder and you’d shatter in front of him, and he’d wake up from this dream. But you just smiled wider, nodding gently. He’d intended to approach you slowly, to work his way over to you, wade through the quagmire of confusion, elation, and heartbreak before he got to you. Until your knees buckled beneath you and you collapsed. He surged forward, his chest expanding as his hands graced your sides, pulling you into him as he cushioned your fall.

You were real. This was real.

You were corporeal, here, in his arms, with him. 

His mouth fell open with silent sobs, crushing you into him with careful force, in case you would shatter. Your scent wrapped around his heart like a blanket of comfort, inspiring the same feeling he would get as if he’d just come home to you after a long day. But it was the other way around. 

You’d come home to him.

“Sorry…” you murmured a little weakly against the scruff of his beard, your nose tucked into the side of his neck. “Been a while since I used legs…”

“Wh… how? I don’t– I thought– why?” He had so many fucking questions dancing in his head, a carousel of confusion twirling about his mind as he pulled you back so he could look at you. Truly look at you. 

“I said. You didn’t kiss me goodbye. Pissed me off.” You explained as flatly as you could whilst being utterly exhausted. Logan blinked rapidly, your explanation meaning absolutely nothing in the face of reality. 

“I don’t… understand. You came back after two years because I didn’t kiss you?”

You chuckled tiredly into his chest, barely strong enough to hold your own head up. So he did it for you, his hand cradling the back of your head, supporting you in any way he could. 

“I’m kidding. Jus' took me a while to thread myself back together, honestly. Look, new arms!” You lifted your arms as high as you could, which really wasn’t much considering your severe lack of strength. But Logan gently took your wrists in his hand, his thumb smoothing over the clear skin. No scars. No marks. Just you. And whilst those scars were a testament to everything you’d been through, everything you’d survived, the new meaning wasn’t lost on him.

This was a fresh start.

“And Rowan…?” He asked slowly, his eyes raking from your smooth wrists back up to your face, taking note of each vanished blemish he’d come to know so well. Your lips pulled into a slightly sad smile.

“He’s still here… just, not around, if that makes sense?” 

Brushing back a stray hair from your brow, Logan really took in your new appearance, unable to stop himself from smoothing your cheekbone beneath your one golden eye. “Yeah… it makes sense,” he kept his voice as steady as he could in the face of more emotion than he’d felt since losing you. He felt like he was trying to hold back a tsunami with a spatula, wanting nothing more than to crush you into his chest and cry until his voice was hoarse. “So… you could hear everything?”

“Every word.”

“And I wasn’t…” going crazy, he finished in his head, unable to voice his thoughts. But you knew. Your soft smile of understanding told him you knew. 

“No, you weren’t. It was all I could do, send little wisps and waves to let you know I was still there. Still listening.” You fell into a contemplative silence for a moment, your eyes closing as you rested tiredly against his chest. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Not giving up on me…”

The dam holding his emotions back cracked, breaking apart completely when he watched tears filter along your lash line. Knowing you didn’t have the strength to hold yourself up, he braced a broad palm against your back and the other against the side of your neck, pulling you up towards him and finally, finally sealing his lips to yours. 

He kissed you with fragile passion, terrified that, with nothing more than a light breeze, you’d be taken from him again. But the way your hands managed to slide up his chest to the scruff at his jaw, the way you leaned into him as much as you could, the way your lips parted for him to find his way home to you. It told him all he needed to know. 

No more experiments.

No more Kreva. 

No more fear of who or what you were. 

This was a new beginning. A fresh start. The start of the rest of your intertwined lives. The other half of his soul had come back to him, knitting together the shattered remains of two years spent grieving. 

Everything he wanted to say to you. Everything that was still left unsaid. He had a second chance. You’d gifted him a second chance. And he wasn’t about to let it slip through his fingers. Not again. 

Never again. 

“Never gonna give up on you, Firefly” he whispered against your lips, carding his hand through the roots of your hair. 

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

[charlotteking23]

The Lion's Lamb - Chapter 5 - MV1/33

Max Verstappen x reader

The Lion's Lamb Series: Aesthetics, Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.6, Ch.7, Ch.8

You were not the one to complain.

You knew the life you lived was one many dreams of having. As an American, you grew up hearing stories about the American Dream, but your dreams lay elsewhere.

The United States had beautiful places, cities, and people, but you felt your inspiration was elsewhere. So you left.

Your family wasn't happy about your plan, but if leaving was what made you happy, who were they to stop you?

For a year, you traveled around Europe, taking in the art and culture at every stop. Once you saw Monaco for the first time, you knew it would become your new home.

Moving there would cost money, and it was not in the price range of a struggling, traveling artist.

You had saved up as much money as possible, yet you still couldn't afford to buy, let alone rent an apartment.

You stayed not far outside the city-state and would often travel into Monaco when your work required it.

In doing so, you meet your saving grace and your worst nightmare: Amelia.

Amelia is your roommate. You often like to believe she is the devil reincarnated, but never voice your opinion because of what the girl's father is doing for you.

Amelia came from a prominent British family and her father, Michael, was a financial genius, making her more than well-off in life.

But the girl herself knew nothing of hard work, having had everything handed to her on a silver platter.

This caused her to become poisoned to the core in your opinion. She was a gorgeous girl, but her personality was nothing but ugly.

Many ask the young American girl, Why? Why would you live with someone you thought was terrible?

Getting a decent price rental in Monaco isn't the easiest. Most places are not affordable for a person in your income bracket, and the apartment complexes you could afford were designated for Monegasque citizens only.

And you haven't yet met the requirements to become a citizen. The young American girl met Amelia at an art show where she was being featured in Monaco.

Well, you had initially met the British girl's father, Michael, when he bought one of her pieces being displayed that night.

The two had immediately hit it off and it wasn't long until he offered you a room in his flat in Monaco.

They had developed a relationship, but not one many would expect from an older man and a younger girl.

He had seen you as a daughter and had hoped that in offering you a place to stay, your hardworking and sweet nature would rub off on his daughter.

Once you had moved in, Amelia immediately started bullying and belittling you. You couldn't figure out why you were being treated this way, but the British girl held a slight jealousy towards the younger girl.

Her father gave you a lot of attention and she knew that he wished you were his daughter rather than her.

You put up with her terrible behavior because her father was doing you a favor out of the goodness of his heart.

You had tried to make herself feel better about being there for free and tried to reduce the British girl's attitude towards you by cooking and cleaning, but that made it seem like you were the older girl's maid, and so you were treated as such.

Max had arrived home in the early hours of Monday morning. Usually, he would have gone out and celebrated his win with his team, but not this time.

Getting back to you, which was stuck in his mind, has become the most important thing to him.

Those around him didn't think twice about Dutchman, not attending the after-party, knowing, that even though he won, he always thought he could do better. This is mainly just due to his father. 

Jos Verstappen wasn't a good man and everyone knew that. He was an even worse father.

At a young age, he had drilled the idea into his son's head that there would always be someone better. 

"You will never be good enough," were the words that echoed through Max's head. 

He'd never been praised by his father, even after he won his first world championship. There was never a good job out of his father's mouth.

Because of this, the young driver had pushed himself. Not take a break, rarely celebrated, and devoted all of his attention to racing. Until now at least. 

Christian Horner knew the Dutchman better than most. He knew Max's parents and knew that the lack of childhood the boy had, had affected him greatly.

Don't get it twisted, most F1 drivers never had a normal childhood like everyone else, but Max's was much more extreme.

While the younger driver's father was present in his life, he still lacked the paternal figure he needed, and Christian filled that void. 

While it wasn't obvious to anyone else, the Redbull principal knew there was a certain pep in the driver's step after the race.

Usually after a race, Max is often seen with his head, buried in screens, analyzing every turn, every overtake, just trying to see what he needed to do to improve.

This time, that wasn't the case. Instead of immediately analyzing his race, he instead called someone.

No one had ever been able to take the driver's attention away from his job.

This immediately caught the attention of the British man.

He had seen the slight smile and the way his eyes lit up when speaking on the phone from across the paddock. He figured this wasn't just anyone Max was talking to, he knew this person had to be special.

The team principal knew how much stress his driver had been under recently, so to see him smile, even just a small one, made him extremely happy.

With how quickly the driver took off after their meetings, Christian knew there was a special someone in the young man's life.

The only hope was that this unknown girl brought the Dutch driver, the happiness he truly deserved. 

Early Monday afternoon, you received a text from your blue-eyed man.

7 PM dinner. I'll pick you up.

The text itself was straightforward and assertive, causing you to bite your lip and nervousness and excitement.

You were happy, though that he was true to his word about seeing you again. You just didn't expect it to be the day he came back home from a work trip.

You quickly responded with your address. You weren't the type to send your address to someone you had just met, especially someone she didn't know well, but this was different. Max was different

6:45 PM, and the knockhead resonated throughout the large apartment.

You quickly raced over to the front door, not only to keep your roommate away from the man who had caused your heart to skip a beat but also because you had missed him and couldn't wait to see him.

It was a strange feeling for you to miss someone, you barely knew, but you couldn't help it.

You knew he had been waiting on the other side of the door and you needed a moment to completely gather yourself. Your heart was racing as you wiped your clammy palms on the side of your dress.

You threw open your front door without a second thought, afraid that if you stood there any longer without opening the door, he would leave.

There he stood, on the other side of the door the most beautiful man, in your opinion, you have ever seen. He was wearing a white button-up, a simple blue blazer, and black slacks.

He emanated old money, and it wasn't a bad look on him at all. In his hands though, was a bouquet for the beautiful pink tulips.

You couldn't believe this man wanted to go out on a date with you.

"Hi," Max breathed out, holding out the flowers towards the girl in front of him, "these are for you."

In the blink of an eye, you had thrown yourself into the Dutchman's arms. He was surprised at this but responded to the hug almost instantly. Burring his face in your neck, feeling like, for the first time, he had finally found a home in your arms.

"I've missed you," the muffled voice said as your face was still buried in the driver's chest.

Chuckling, he pulled away regretfully and grabbed your chin tilted up towards him, "I've missed you, too, a little lamb."

Grinning, you looked down at the flowers in Max's hand before taking them, "these are beautiful."

A smile was plastered on your face as you walked inside to put the flowers in the vase. Max, followed after you but continued to linger in the entranceway, not wanting to intrude.

He watched as you continued to rummage through every single cabinet, trying to find a vase, or anything similar, so you could display the beautiful flowers.

You had been through all the cabinets before you finally sighed, realizing you'd have to go ask Amelia where they were. 

"Sorry," You had told the man in your doorway with an apologetic smile, "I have to ask my roommate where we keep the vases". 

Max had smiled back at you, reassuringly, not minding all as you walked down the visible hall before turning to face a closed door. Curiosity filled the man's mind as he watched his little lamb's entire body change.

Your shoulders had dropped, your steps had slowed, and the excitement you had held in your body just moments ago had completely evaporated.

He had found the answers he needed when he had overheard the conversation between you and your roommate. 

"Amelia," You said softly while knocking on the older girl's door.

"What!" the older girl responded with such harshness, that you were questioning how badly you needed the vase. 

"Do you know where the vases are?"

"God," the girl said exasperated and her words dripping with disgust, "How a

re you so fucking stupid that you can't find a simple thing like a vase?!"

"Sorry," you said meekly and started to turn away before you heard a voice that stopped you. 

"They're on top shelf in the cabinet above the fridge," Amelia stated. 

With a quick thanks, you quickly walked back to the kitchen, found the vase, and displayed the flowers, before telling Max you were ready to go. They left quickly after that. 

The ride to their date location was quiet. Usually, there was never any awkward tension between the two, but now, the car was filled with it.

You couldn't stop your hands from fidgeting, especially after noticing Max's hands white-knuckling the steering wheel as he drove. 

"We don't have to go on this date if you don't want to," You had finally broken the silence, not being able to sit there anymore, "I'm sorry if I did something wrong. I understand if you don't want to be around me anymore, you can just drop me back off if you'd like."

Before you could get another word out, Max quickly pulled the car over to the side of the road.

You thought that he didn't want to see you anymore, and he had pulled the car over as an indication that you should get out. Your eyes had started to water and your heart started to break. 

The Dutchman's head had whipped around to look at you so quickly, you were surprised he didn't get whiplash, "What are you talking about? Why would I want to drop you back off?"

"Well," You had started to play with your hands again, " you seem mad at me for some reason."

"Why would I ever be mad at you?" Max questioned with a soft voice. 

"Because I made you wait while I found a vase."

"Little Lamb," he had taken your hand in his, causing you to look up at him with those gorgeous eyes he adored, "I could never be mad at you."

"You're not mad?" You asked.

"I am mad, but not at you. Your roommate. The way she spoke to you had pissed me off. You never should be spoken to that way, no matter what."

Max had reached his hand up to caress your cheek softly. He wanted to make sure you knew that his anger wasn't directed at you.

He had been so upset with the way your roommate spoke to you, that he chose to keep his anger to himself instead of lashing out at you and possibly scaring his little lamb. In doing so, he hadn't realized that his sweet girl thought he had been upset with you.  

"You're beautiful, my little lamb," Max says, "Both inside and out. Please don't ever doubt yourself or my feelings towards you. 

A blush had erupted across your face, along with a shy smile. His words were nothing but sincere and you knew that. He quickly pulled you closer and left a quick kiss on your forehead, before turning back to the front of the car and continuing on their way. 

Max made sure to hold your hand the rest of the way. 

Taglist: @shelbyteller, @smithieandy, @fangirlforever2000, @herexpertcollector, @vip-access, @genevieve-blr

[sanjisluvbot]

Isekai Yandere Strawhats x Reader

Masterlist

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[ Check Masterlist for ch 9-19 ]

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Life began to feel so boring. The days blended into one another and suddenly we’re in march. Staying up late catching up on your favorite show because there is nothing better to do right now. One piece was such a breathe of fresh air, full of adventure and characters that seem amazing to be around and explore the world with. You wished to be in the world where u can freely be who you wanted, the world where you weren’t shackled by the burdens of reality.

You’ve been around all the corners of the internet so you know of shifting and astral projection which is exactly what seems to be going on right now. Rewatching episodes leading up to the time skip around 4 in the morning till your eyes flutter shut. Suddenly the wafting scent of the ocean filled your nose. “ Is she a stowaway?” “ How have we just found her we haven’t been on land for over a week now”. You opened your eyes to the snout of a reindeer and other very familiar faces.

You sat up so fast knocking into the poor doctor. Panic set through you because the first assumption anyone would have is that they’re in a dream or— congrats you’ve finally lost your damn mind. “ Who are you people”.

“ We’ve got the same question for you”

“ well I asked first”

The blunt part of a sword was thrust into your face by a very angry green swordsman. Fear etched across your face you give him a once over. Zoro. To your left was Robin and chopper holding his snout on her lap. There should be absolutely no reason that you’re in this world with these wacky 15th century pirates from your goofy anime show. Your voice shakes as you try to convince the green haired man to stop threatening your life.

“ Listen this is surely a misunderstanding, I really don’t understand how I have gotten here and I’m not really too sure who you people are.”

Maybe if they think that I don’t know who they are I can figure out a way to get out of this mess without ruining the story.

“ What is your last memory before you woke up on our ship” a voice from behind spoke. Turning to the left at the top of the stairs was Nami with Sanji following behind her.

“ I was laying in my bed falling asleep and then I woke up here”

After that you were bombarded with questions, what’s your name, your age, if an 8ft skeleton can see your underwear and it nearly drained the life out of you. The sun was now beginning to set after such a long day of being interrogated by the crew you used to watch through a screen. The captain was sitting on the head of the Sunny watching the day fade away when he stretched his arm to you pulling you to sit with him.

It was quiet for a while and nerves began to set in. Does he see through me? I know a lot of people don’t give luffy the credit but he’s way more intelligent than you’d think. “ What is it like where you’re from y/n” he spoke as he turned to face you.

“ Very different.”

“ Tell me about it please”

The sun completely faded into night and the stars littered the sky while you told luffy about “ where you’re from” and he was absolutely entranced by the world he’s never been. You ended up telling Luffy the truth about your origins, somewhat about himself, there was just something so compelling and trusting about him you didn’t think nothing of it. You slept in the girls room next to Nami that night, thinking about the next step and getting home.

Was this really a dream or did your desire to escape mundane life make you shift into this world of unknown.

The next day you went to eat breakfast with the crew and luffy starts spouting all the things you told him the night before. With seemingly no thought behind his words as he swallowed everything on his plate, though his crew members all stopped to stare at you in confusion.

“ I thought you said you weren’t from here?”

“ You said you didn’t know how you got here”

“ Well I wasn’t exactly lying, I really don’t know how or why I’ve been transported into your world. I just didn’t want to scare you or make you think I’m crazy with all of this.”

Over the next few days you were beginning to settle with the crew, you spent hours getting to know everyone and having the most fun you’ve had in years. Nami and Robin were curious about your world and you were more than elated to tell them all the things you enjoyed. The boys liked when you played their silly games, Sanji was obsessed with everything about you and loved having you perched on the counter when he was cooking so you can serve as his taste tester.

Zoro only just began to acknowledge you after finding out you also had a love for drinking, it became really easy to bond with the man. You knew you had to go back but what’s the harm in spending time with such a loving group of people, it’s not everyday someone is given your experience don’t waste it being worried.

You were able to convince Nami to give you a blank sheet of paper where you wrote all the things you knew about shifting and astral projection. You’ve been with the crew over a week now spending every night trying to shift back to your world. Sometimes you feel close others are strangely disturbed by Robin and Nami whether they are sparking up a conversation with you or knocking things over which disturbs your concentration.

The next few days you began to see birds meaning you were finally reaching land, the sabody archipelago. You know the way this arch ends and you need to go home now before you spend two years on an unknown island doing who knows what because YOU aren’t a straw hat and you have no place where you can learn to polish your skills.

The bubbly island became visible and you’d be reaching it by midday, while you were sitting on the head of the Sunny with Luffy again he asked you his million dollar question.

“ Y/n join my crew” he smiled. Your cheeks burned and you had to turn away from the boy whose smile brightened all your days.

“ Luffy I would love to but—”

“ Great- EVERYONE Y/N” you clasped your hand over his mouth.

“ Luffy l can’t join your crew. I have to go home I don’t even belong in this world”

“ Why do you want to leave” sadness dripped from his voice.

“ Yeah, we’ve been having so much fun” the small doctor announced from the deck.

“ It has been very fun I’ll admit but I don’t belong here with you guys. I’ve got a whole life in my world— and a family and just so much to do.” You reasoned.

The rest of the day the crew seemed angry and distant, you simply couldn’t understand why. When they all found out where you really came from they said they would help you get home. During dinner that night you were seated between luffy and Zoro who barley uttered a word while hushed conversations were surrounding the rest of the table. It was insufferable and reminded you of elementary school when someone didn’t want to be your friend anymore and told everyone about it.

“ Luffy are you upset with me? I haven’t done anything wrong”

“ Why do you want to leave? You just joined the crew and were on a new island”

“ I never said I was joining your crew luffy”

“ you know the captain doesn’t take no for an answer y/n” Zoro chuckled.

With a huff you stood up everyone’s eyes landing on you. “ Are you all acting this way because you don’t want me to leave?”

“ Why would we want a crew member to leave us?” Nami’s voice wobbled as tears formed in her eyes. Are they serious? When did u ever agree or tell these people that you were a part of their crew.

“ Listen closely all of you. You have to understand I am not from here, I never joined the straw hats, and I don’t even have any powers I can’t protect myself.”

“ That’s why you have me Y/n-chwaaan”

“ ignore that idiot cook but you have Luffy and I, we wouldn’t let anything happen to you”

“ Who is an idiot you damn moss ball !”

A fight between the cook and the swordsman broke out and you would usually find everything hilarious but…

These people have convinced themselves you are one of them and they don’t want you to leave. You decided tonight will be the night where you will go home with or without their help especially because you already know what’s in store the next day. Laying next to Nami that night waiting for her breathing to even out so you can concentrate with no interruptions you hear soft sobbing.

“ Are you alright Nami..”

“ Y/n I know you want to go back but can you stay a little longer we all care about you and enjoy having you around. We really feel like you’re one of our crew mates”

“ Sure, I’m not missing anything important right now” lying is better than letting this girl cry all night. When her breathing finally evened out you were able to try again.

Eyes fluttering open you were finally in your own bedroom. It was just as you left it, your iPad paused on the intro to one piece and the sun was showing through your curtains.

I really did it.

Life began as usual but you had a newfound appreciation for all the little things that made life worth it. Friends and family found your new outlook pleasant and you finally felt like you turned on a new leaf. While you were getting ready for bed applying all of your creams and oils the Tv in the living room turned on.

Wealth, Fame, Power.

A chill ran through your spine, you haven’t watched the show in over a month in fear of being brought back into that world by some odd chance. Getting up to turn off the tv something in the hallway made a noise. The fear of someone or something being in your house had you clenching on the door knob for dear life.

Just open the door nothing is there you’re only scaring yourself.

Opening the door and walking down the dark hallway into the softly illuminated living room the episode of the strawhats finally meeting up after two years was playing.

“ My favorite arch I should rewatch soon”

“ Why don’t you live it instead?” A voice from behind hissed.

You felt your heart thumping in your ears as you slowly turned to be met with a very angry Captain.

——

Not proofread ! 🫶🏽

I was inspired by a similar stories I’ve seen down the tl hope you enjoyed. Pt 2 coming soon maybe

[acesw]

a short patch timeline on reverse 1999

So I've been going back and forth for almost a year now on comprehending and helping people comprehend the timeline in Reverse: 1999 because oh my god, it's so, so convoluted that it's still taking a long time for me to even write down the information without overexplaining it. And that's just the main story.

However, I've been able to piece together the timeline events by patch and chapter to make things easier for everyone. (...unless you want me to even include the anecdotes, which is another can of worms I'd like to not open.)

However, since 2.0 forwards will be taking place after 1.9, I won't be including the patch names. But, I will put their placements in the timeline without making specific notes to avoid spoilers.

I'd like to first note that 1.6 (Notes on Shuori) has no definite placement on the timeline. The reason why is that 1.6 is personally considered a timeline anomaly; there are plot holes and information that made it difficult to deduce when it took place. (i.e. Yenisei's origins, Getian's character story, Bessmert's* presence) For now, I will leave this out.

Additionally, a lot of the character stories take place between the past and the future. Thus, the character story that chronologically takes place the earliest by far is Lucy's while the latest would be Ezra's.

—

First of all, we start with 1.8 (Farewell, Rayashki) in its entirety. From Windsong's past, to her arrival in Rayashki, to when the second "Storm" took place, and Vila and the kids needed to adjust to this new normal.

Next is Chapter 3 (Nouvelles et Textes pour Rien) and Chapter 5's interchapter. (The Star) Both the story of Vertin's becoming of the Timekeeper, and Greta Hofmann's experience with the Apeiron group are both aligned. Greta even mentions Vertin in her log after returning to the Foundation.

Afterwards we skip to 4 years later, and we're now in 1966. (Post First "Storm") Three events occur here. First, 1.1, (Theft of the Rimet Cup) then 1.3, (Journey to Mor Pankh) and then finally, the Prologue of our story. (This is Tomorrow)

Its then quite straightforward afterwards. We immediately follow up with the first 4 Chapters taking us through 1929 to late 1913. Then afterwards, we have Chapters 5-7 taking place within the first 3 weeks of January 1914, and then we're immediately taken to August 1990 at the end of Chapter 7.

I'd like to also add that within those 3 chapters, both rougelikes (Echoes in the Mountains and Series of Dusks) took place within the same time. Although, Series of Dusks ends before Chapter 7 due to Semmelweis and Lorelei leaving with the Foundation right before the "Storm" hit.

Now, in 1990, we start with 1.2 (Nightmare at Green Lake) followed by patches 2.0-2.2, all of which take place in immediate succession. And then for now, we end with 1.5. (Revival! Of the Uluru Games)

So if I put all of these in one list, it looks like this:

Notes on Shuori (1.6) - Undetermined placement

Farewell, Rayashki (1.8) - 1999+1 (1996) -> 1999+2 (1985)

Nouvelles et Textes pour Rien + The Star (Ch. 3 and Ch. 5 Interchapter) - 1999+4 (1987)

Theft of the Rimet Cup (1.1) - March 1966

Journey to Mor Pankh (1.3) - April-May 1966

This is Tomorrow (Prologue) - Jun. 3 1966 -> Feb. 14 1929

In Our Time (Ch. 1) - Feb. 14 1929

Tender is the Night (Ch. 2) - Feb. 15 1929 -> Aug. 1913

Nouvelles et Textes pour Rien (Ch. 3 - Present Time) - Aug. 25 1913

El Oro de Los Tigres (Ch. 4) - Aug. 26 -> Oct. 10 1913

Prisoner in The Cave (Ch. 5) - Dec. 24 - Jan. 4 1914

The Star (Ch. 5 - Interchapter) - Jan. 4 1914

Echoes in the Mountain (Rougelike 1) - Undetermined time, before Jan. 8 1914

E lucevan le Stelle (Ch. 6) - Jan. 6-12 1914

Series of Dusks (Rougelike 2) - Jan. 8-13 1914

Vereinsamt (Ch. 7) - Jan. 12-13 1914 -> Aug. 1990

Nightmare of Green Lake (1.2) - Sept. - Oct. 1990

Patches 2.0 - 2.2 - Sept. - Nov. 1990

Revival! Of the Uluru Games (1.5) - Jan 1991

The story can only get even more convoluted from here. As of the moment, I've been sort of working on a larger timeline to piece the entire story together, especially since we've yet to finish it before the story ends. New stories and information continuously flows in the meantime.

[infamous-light]

You Belong to Me Ch. 8

Alcina Dimitrescu x F! Reader

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7

AO3: You Belong to Me

Summary: Lady Dimitrescu's obsession knows no bounds as she becomes increasingly possessive over you. Will you succumb to her dark embrace, or find a way to break free before it's too late?

Word Count: 3.9K

Warnings: Yandere, possessive/obsessive behavior

Your mind raced as you absorbed the message.

Could this be your way out?

The thought spiraled through your mind, igniting a flicker of hope deep within your chest. It was a chance – a slim one, fraught with danger and uncertainty – but a chance, nonetheless.

You stole a glance at Lady Dimitrescu, her elegant figure poised at her vanity, commanding the space around her. She focused intently on her reflection, her fingers moving with the precision of an artist as she applied the cream to her face.

Your own fingers trembled as you folded the note with as much discretion as you could muster, slipping it into your pocket. You took a deep breath, attempting to steady the storm of nerves swirling within you. Suddenly, Lady Dimitrescu’s gaze shifted from her reflection and locked onto yours through the mirror. Her eyes were sharp and penetrating, cutting through the air like a blade.

“Is something troubling you, dear? Your heart seems rather restless.” She inquired; her voice smooth but laced with concern.

Your stomach clenched in response to her words, the fear you were desperately trying to suppress bubbling dangerously close to the surface. You searched frantically for a plausible excuse – anything that might sound convincing enough to satisfy her. You swallowed hard, the action feeling monumental, as you fought to steady your voice and calm the tumultuous beating of your heart.

“I don't feel well, my Lady.” You managed to say, your words wobbly as they spilled from your lips.

You could hear the tremor in your own voice, and you hoped she would attribute it to your alleged illness. Lady Dimitrescu frowned, her eyes narrowing further as she scrutinized you from head to toe.

“You were feeling fine just a moment ago.” She remarked, her voice low and suspicious.

The tension hung in the air like a dark cloud, oppressive and foreboding. She turned in her seat, pivoting to face you fully. The fabric of her bathrobe rustled softly as it rode up to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of her upper thighs. Her golden gaze, unnerving and intense, seemed to dissect you piece by piece, leaving you feeling raw and exposed. Your stomach churned violently, and for a moment, you thought you might actually get sick.

“I-I know. I thought I was,” you stammered, fighting to keep your composure. “But then a wave of nausea hit me, and I don’t really feel hungry anymore. The drug... it’s still affecting me.”

Fear gripped you so tightly at the thought of being caught with the hidden note that your hands began to shake. Before Lady Dimitrescu could open her mouth to respond, the plate slipped from your fingers, crashing to the floor in a shower of ceramic shards, scattering like the remnants of your fraying resolve. Lady Dimitrescu's eyes widened in surprise. The initial shock was quickly replaced by a simmering irritation that twisted her features into a dark scowl.

“I-I need to go to the bathroom. I think I'm going to be sick.” The words tumbled from your lips as panic surged within you.

With a sudden jolt, you sat up, your heart racing despite your weakened state. You forced yourself to move across the bedroom. The world around you twisted and blurred, dark shadows shifting into a disorienting backdrop that threatened to swallow you whole.

“Pet!”

Lady Dimitrescu's voice cut through the haze, a sharp command that made your skin prickle. The intensity of her gaze felt like a weight upon your back, yet you willed yourself to ignore her, pushing forward into the bathroom. You slumped against the cool porcelain of the sink, its unforgiving edge digging into your chest as you fought to draw in a single breath. Each inhalation felt like a struggle, your lungs constricted as panic took over, threatening to pull you under. You needed to escape this stifling place, to distance yourself from her.

Suddenly, a large shadow enveloped you.

“Pet,” Lady Dimitrescu said, her voice low and silky, as her hand reached out to cradle your jaw. The warmth of her palm contrasted sharply with the chill in the air, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. “Look at me.”

She gently but firmly forced you to meet her gaze, turning your body with a grip that left no room for defiance. Her eyes pierced into yours, demanding your undivided attention.

“What has gotten into you? You reek of fear.” Lady Dimitrescu said, her voice slow and deliberate.

Oh, no, no, no, no.

There was no way you could confess about the note or how the maid had helped you earlier. Your brain desperately wracked for something, anything, that might divert her suspicion. Perhaps honesty was the best approach – though not the truth she sought. You hoped against hope that it would work.

“That’s because I am scared,” you began, your voice quivering. “I’m scared of you, your daughters – of this whole place! Being drugged and forced to be your pet, it’s all too much! I just want to go home! I miss my family!”

Tears brimmed in your eyes as you spoke, and you silently prayed that she would buy your explanation. Deep down, you meant every word. The fear, the confusion – they were painfully real. For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though a flicker of hurt crossed Lady Dimitrescu’s face before she quickly masked it with her usual veneer of authority. 

“Such dramatics,” she said, annoyance threading her tone. “I understand that this transition is difficult for you, but you must embrace your new reality. In time, you will come to see that this is your home now. You belong to me, and you will adapt to this new life, whether you wish to or not.”

Relief washed over you, grateful that she had fallen for your half-truth. However, her words lingered, unsettling you. The notion of belonging to her, of being bound to this castle still made your skin crawl. She straightened up once more, releasing her grip on your jaw.

“Now, dry those tears and finish your breakfast,” she commanded, her voice carrying an edge of dismissal. “We don’t have all day.”

***

Currently, you sat across Lady Dimitrescu’s desk, your gaze fixed on a few documents laid out before you. The whole morning consisted of helping her go through her notes, meticulously analyzing every detail and ensuring nothing was overlooked. The task was mentally exhausting, each page filled with complex information that demanded your full attention.

As you shifted in your seat, trying to find a more comfortable position, Lady Dimitrescu's keen eye caught the movement. She paused her work, her eyes lingering on you for a moment before a small smile played on her lips.

“Perhaps we should take a break,” she suggested as she set her pen down. “I’ve had my fill of these reports. How about we pay a visit to the atelier?”

Your gaze snapped up in surprise. You had heard of the room during your first week here, but you’ve never stepped foot inside. Very few of the staff ever did. Her eyes locked onto yours, glimmering with a mischievous light that made your heart beat a little faster.

“The atelier?” You questioned; your curiosity piqued.

“Yes, I would like for you to see it,” Lady Dimitrescu continued. “The atelier is where I keep my more personal projects. I think you’ll find it quite... charming.” She rose from her chair with a fluid grace that seemed almost unnatural. “Come. There's much to show you, and I believe a change of scenery will do us both some good.”

***

You approached a heavy wooden door adorned with intricate carvings. As you drew closer, the elaborate designs came into sharper focus. The carvings depicted a lush, intertwining array of vines and flowers, each petal and leaf painstakingly carved with a level of skill that spoke of centuries-old craftsmanship.

You didn't have a chance to study it further as Lady Dimitrescu pushed the door open, the heavy wood moving effortlessly under her touch.

Inside, the atelier was a stunning contrast to the rest of the castle – a treasure trove of artistry and inspiration. The walls were lined with canvases draped in rich colors while some half-finished sketches were scattered about. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystal pendants catching the light and casting a soft, golden glow that highlighted the finer details of all the artworks. And in the center, stood a large canvas, partially concealed by a heavy velvet drape.

“What do you think, pet?” Lady Dimitrescu said, her voice a low purr.

You stepped into the atelier; your senses overwhelmed by the vivid colors.

“It’s… beautiful.” You breathed, your eyes wide with wonder.

She hummed appreciatively. “Indeed. There is one piece in particular that is my favorite.” She gestured to that same large canvas in the middle. “Would you like to see it?”

You gave a brief nod. “Yes, my Lady.”

With a flourish, Lady Dimitrescu pulled back the drape, revealing a striking portrait of a woman – her features eerily reminiscent of your own. The painting captured every detail: the arch of the brows, the curve of the lips, the delicate contour of the cheekbones, but it was the eyes that held you captive. They sparkled with an otherworldly light, almost as if they were alive.

You could feel Lady Dimitrescu's gaze boring into you, scrutinizing every flicker of emotion that crossed your face. You swallowed hard, a chill creeping down your spine as you processed the painting.

“It looks… just like me.” You murmured, unable to tear your gaze away.

“Precisely.” Lady Dimitrescu said, stepping closer to you.

“Why?” You croaked, your voice sounding strained.

“There’s something about you that intrigues me,” she whispered. “Perhaps it’s fate that brought you to me.”

The corners of her lips curved upward, revealing a hint of her sharp, predatory teeth. The air grew heavy with tension, as if the very atmosphere around you had thickened.

“There’s so much more I want to share with you. So much more you could become.” Her voice was almost hypnotic, filled with promise and a hint of something darker.

Your stomach twisted, a knot of anxiety and unease forming deep within you. As the weight of her gaze came down on you, Lady Dimitrescu’s expression shifted, a playful smile breaking the intensity of the moment.

“But enough of my musings,” she said, her tone lightening. “What do you say we turn our attention to something a bit more hands-on? Would you like to try your hand at painting?”

The sudden change in topic made you do a double take. You blinked, the tension momentarily dissipating as you processed her unexpected suggestion.

“Me? Paint?” You echoed. “I’ve never really done it before.”

You looked up at Lady Dimitrescu, searching her face for any hint of mockery, but found only sincere encouragement.

“That’s fine,” she said, her smile widening. “It doesn’t require perfection; it requires passion.

She led you toward a blank canvas leaning against the right side of the wall, surrounded by a plethora of vibrant paints and clean brushes. You hesitated, glancing at the canvas and back to her.

“What should I paint?”

“Anything your heart desires,” she replied, stepping back to give you room. “Just let your instincts guide you.”

“Okay, I’ll give it a try.” You said uncertainly as you stepped forward.

You grabbed a paint brush off a nearby table, its weight feeling foreign in your hand. Next, you picked up a palette and a few tubes of acrylic paint. You squeezed out dabs of paint - vibrant reds, deep blues, and sunny yellows onto the palette. Slowly, you began to swirl them together with the brush, watching as they transformed into new hues – emerald greens and sunset oranges.

With a tentative stroke, you pressed the brush against the canvas, the bristles gliding smoothly across the surface. Each movement felt clumsy at first, but as you gained confidence, your strokes became more fluid and expressive. You layered colors, allowing them to blend and bleed into one another.

“Beautiful,” Lady Dimitrescu murmured, her gaze fixed on you as you worked. “You already have a natural sense of color. I can see the potential.”

Encouraged by her words, you started to create bold strokes, blending hues and allowing your emotions to flow onto the canvas. For the first time, you felt a sense of freedom.

Not long thereafter, you set the palette aside and stepped back to assess your work. Before you flowed a waterfall that tumbled down a rugged mountainside while the surrounding landscape was filled with lush green trees and rocky outcrops. While the colors weren't as smooth as you had hoped, and some areas lacked refined detail, the painting held a certain charm. It wasn't bad for your first attempt at painting.

“It’s remarkable, dear.” Lady Dimitrescu said, stepping closer to admire your work.

You blushed at her praise. “Thank you, my Lady. I didn’t know I could do something like this.”

“And that’s the beauty of discovering oneself. We often underestimate our own potential,” she stated matter of fact. “Now, I'd like to show you a technique that is helpful for beginners. It's called dry brushing. I'll demonstrate on a blank canvas so that you can observe closely.”

She reached over your head and picked up the palette you had just used. As she did so, the board ended up tilting slightly and some of the remaining paint dripped off the edge, landing on your vest. The sudden sensation of cold, wet paint soaking through the cloth made you flinch back.

“Oh my,” Lady Dimitrescu said in surprise, though there was a small, knowing smile on her lips, as if she found the situation both charming and entertaining. “I do apologize, darling. It seems I’ve turned you into a canvas of sorts.”

You lifted the bottom of your vest in a futile attempt to keep the paint from running further down the fabric. Her gaze followed your movements, and she reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against the paint-stained spot.

She let out a soft sigh. “Go wipe the excess paint off, pet, and leave the vest in the laundry basket. Return here once you’ve finished.”

“Yes, my Lady.” Your voice came out more awkwardly than you intended.

You turned to leave but not before your eyes were drawn back to the portrait of yourself. The uncanny precision of the details, the intensity of the gaze staring back at you. It unsettled you in a way you couldn't quite explain.

As you finally exited the room, you couldn’t help but wonder why Lady Dimitrescu had chosen this moment to show you the atelier. To show the painting of you.

What was her intention?

As you made your way to the Lady’s bedchambers, you paused, glancing down the hallway where her daughters' bedchambers were. The corridor stretched out before you, silent and shadowed. Nobody was around. The note in your pocket burned, reminding you of the main house key that was supposedly in Bela’s bedroom.

Your heart began to race as you debated snooping around in her bedroom. You didn't know where the Lady's daughters were, and the thought of running into one of them made your palms sweaty. Bela was known for her strict adherence to her duties, often seen patrolling the castle and overseeing the staff. Cassandra spent most of her time in either the armory or the cellar. And Daniela typically lingered in the library, absorbed in her books. You prayed that today they would follow their usual routines.

This might be your only chance to search for the key. It was a risk you had to take.

You pivoted on your heel and made your way down the hallway. The silence was almost deafening, each of your footsteps echoing against the carpeted floor. After a few more steps, you came upon Bela’s bedroom door. A small red gem rested in the center, which gleamed in the low light like a drop of blood. It matched the one on her necklace that she always wore.

You looked both ways one more time.

Nothing.

The hallway was empty. You slowly opened the door, the hinges creaking slightly, and slipped inside. The door clicked shut behind you. Bela’s bedroom was tidy and dark, the only light coming from a few scattered candles and the low flickering embers from the fireplace. Near the back was a large bed, pushed against the furthest wall, its canopy draped with rich, heavy curtains. A nightstand stood next to the bed, a single candle flickering on its surface. To the right was the fireplace and next to it was a desk, neatly arranged with papers and books, presumably placed there to keep Bela warm as she worked. On the left side of the bedroom was the vanity.

Where could the key be?

Logically, it would make sense to check her desk first. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you approached the desk, your fingers shaking slightly as you reached for the first drawer. It slid open, revealing a stack of neatly organized documents. You began to rifle through them, the papers rustling underneath your touch. Letters, schedules, and reports passed through your hands, but unfortunately, the key wasn’t there. You looked on top of her desk and moved some folders and books around, hoping the key might be hidden in plain sight, but it yielded nothing as well.

You walked over to her vanity and opened each drawer as well. Bottles clinked together, brushes rolled aside, but there was still no sign of the main house key.

A cold sweat broke out on your forehead and your hands began to feel clammy. You wiped them on your pants, feeling the fabric cling to your palms.

You needed to hurry.

You turned around and walked over to the nightstand. You opened the top drawer and moved some papers and personal objects aside. Your fingers brushed against the edges of journals, loose sheets of parchment, and small trinkets as you sifted through the contents.

Then, your eyes widened.

The key.

It lay nestled beneath a stack of old letters. For a moment, you simply stared at it, hardly daring to believe your luck. Then, with a swift motion, you quickly grabbed it and stuffed it in your pocket. You made sure to close the drawer before you made your way to the door. You cautiously opened it and peeked your head out. The hallway beyond was dim and deserted. Your breath came a little easier as you stepped out. You closed the door quietly, the latch clicking into place with a soft sound that seemed louder than it was.

You couldn’t believe it. You had the key!

Your heart raced with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. This was your chance to escape, to reclaim your life from Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters.

You picked up the pace as you made your way down the hallway, heart pounding violently inside of your chest. Before you could turn the corner, Catalina's face flashed across your mind for a split second, halting your steps mid-stride. The image of her warm smile and kind eyes filled your thoughts, bringing an unexpected pang of guilt. You wanted to say goodbye to her, to thank her for the help she provided in this nightmare. The thought of leaving Catalina without saying a word felt wrong, but you knew that time was not on your side. In the end, she would understand. She would want you to leave.

As you stood there, lost in thought, a distant scream sliced through the air, chilling your blood. It was followed by an eerie giggle. Possibly Daniela by the sound of it.

You knew you couldn't linger any longer.

You had to leave.

Now.

As you descended the staircase, you caught sight of a maid, her back turned to you as she dusted one of the heavy-looking vases. You hesitated for a moment. You couldn’t take the risk of her spotting you; if she did, it would surely spell disaster for both of you. She would have no choice but to alert Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters if she didn’t want to lose her life. Plus, you didn’t want to think about what the Lady would to do you if you did end up getting caught.

You continued down the steps slowly, your heart racing as you maneuvered through the foyer. You stayed close to the shadows, glancing nervously at doorways and corners, half-expecting one of the Lady’s daughters to pop out at any moment.

Finally, you reached the main door.

Your heart was pounding so hard it felt as if it might burst from your chest. You pulled the key from your pocket and inserted it into the slot with trembling hands, praying that it wouldn't make too much noise. The mechanism clicked, and you held your breath, waiting for any sign that you had been detected. You strained to listen, your senses on high alert, but the castle remained fairly silent. You pushed the door open with ease, and a rush of cool, fresh air hit your face. The sensation was almost overwhelming. You stepped out and shut the door behind you as quietly as you could. The final barrier between you and the horrors of Castle Dimitrescu was sealed away with a soft thud.

You let out a ragged breath, feeling the oppressive weight lift off your shoulders. The tension that had coiled tightly within you began to unwind, like a spring slowly being released. You could almost sob in relief, the overwhelming urge to break down right there nearly consuming you. But you knew that there was no time for that. You still needed to get away from here, to put as much distance between yourself and the castle as much as possible. Turning away from the main door, you sprinted across the courtyard, adrenaline overriding the lingering effects of the drug. Your breath came out in short, rapid bursts, your lungs burning with the effort, but you didn't slow down. You had to get away, you had to reach safety.

The chill in the air was sharp, nipping at your exposed skin and seeping through your clothing. It pierced through your layers, making every breath feel crisp and biting, but it was a minor inconvenience compared to what you had endured recently. Snow covered the landscape, its pristine blanket stretching as far as the eye could see, making each step a struggle. Yet, the sun's warm rays managed to break through the overcast sky, melting some patches away and revealing damp, slushy areas that squished underfoot. It reminded you that even in the harshest of winters, warmth could still break through.

Eventually, the winding path ahead twisted through dense woods, shrouded in shadows and thick underbrush that seemed to close in around you. A sense of trepidation settled in your chest, memories of local tales about the woods resurfacing in your mind. You had heard of Lycans roaming the outskirts of the forest, their howls often echoing in the distance during the night. Yet, for some reason, they mainly avoided the villages. It was as if an unseen force forbade them from coming too close, a mysterious boundary they dared not to cross. Regardless, it didn’t ease your fears.

As you pushed forward, several branches scratched at your arms and face, their jagged edges catching on to your clothing and drawing minor scrapes that stung in the cold air. But you hardly noticed the pain; your focus was fixed on the path ahead, each step taking you closer to home.

You couldn’t wait to be reunited with your parents again.

[into-the-feniverse]

Finished reading Trigun/TriMax a couple days ago and have been feverishly trying to piece together a timeline, so here’s the result of that ✨

EDIT: as of 3/13/24 this has been UPDATED

For a more detailed timeline (with vol/ch marks): google sheet

Full res of the graphic (& other resources): bit.l/trigunresources

Notes & rest of the timeline under the cut!

Edits as of 3/13/24

The detailed spreadsheet is organized and color coded! If you'd like a more concise breakdown of events/see some of my reasoning behind certain time stamps feel free to skim through that

Changed where in the timeline the Maylene and Wolfwood events happened (originally where I had placed them would have made Maylene like 6 when she and Wolfwood reunited which is NOT correct)

moved where in the timeline Knives started collecting the GungHo Guns (at latest he started in 0090 (20 years before 0110) since it's noted that Monev has been training in a cellar for the past 20 years

Moved where Knives initially tracked down Conrad (felt like it needed to happen at least a decade before July)

Changed up some of the months (personally, I don't think the Ark launched in December, since that'd put Milly and Meryl's arrival to the colony in July, which wouldn't make sense. So I placed the ark launch in October which of course offset some of the other month stand ins)

Added an earth year for when Knives and Vash are born. The explanation is I think at minimum there was at least a 2 year period between them and Tesla (since Rem was around for that whole process). I do think it was more than that, but that’s the earliest possible year I think it could have happened. Personally I’m more in the camp of 5-10 years, but def not 50 like in tristamp

Old Notes:

If you see any typos or phrase inconsistencies: no you don’t 💕 (😭)

Blue text can be completely ignored, that’s just kinda my personal preference/wild guesstimating of when “exactly” those events happened

Blue lines can also be ignored, they’re also just rough guesstimates on where exactly in the timeline these could have happened

The distance of the lines from one another doesn’t really mean anything, I started trying to follow a system to notate when things happened really close together but it was//// not consistently done ngl

Fun fact: by the time Wolfwood leaves the orphanage Meryl is 18! And she was 14 at the time of July’s destruction

Additional fun fact: Brad is 17 when he and sensei meet up with Vash in the Factioned city (which I think is absolutely RIDICULOUS), and we know this because he was 4 the one/last time he had met Vash and it’s been 13 years since

It was noted by Karen, one of Meryl’s coworkers, that she and Milly had been on assignment with Vash for about 4 months. (Might be that they were out searching for him during that time as well, but I’m choosing to interpret it as they were actually with him for that amount of time)

I’m also working on a 98 timeline for comparison (but more like just sequence of events cause I don’t think I have the patience to sift through the lore quite as much… mainly making it just to clarify how the anime delineates from the manga)

I am//::: feeling v unhinged after this and feel like it could be improved/i need to do a more thorough read, but I’m calling it quits for now before I actually go insane (but hopefully some people will find it somewhat helpful!)

Also: if anybody has any notes to add or clarifications/corrections I would be more than happy to hear them 👂