#so I'm like. do I tag it as that? is there a tag for that? guess I'll find out when I get there

[madamechrissy]

Pornstar Satoru

Pairings- Pornstar Satoru x shy f!reader

Warnings- mentions of sex and sexwork, masturbation, mentions of drug use, weed smoking, Gojo has an OF hehe, lots of longing, pining, Satoru can't get hard if it's not you, whipped ass Satoru

This will be a FULL fic as a thank you for 11k followers (I can't BELIEVE I'm almost there!?!??) I wanted to show a little preview first, so here are some hcs!! Thank you all sm for following meee <3 Comment to get tagged!

Pornstar Satoru is one of the most famous pornstars there are, hence him constantly wearing jet black shades and hoodies at times, he never knew just who he'd run into that would recognize him. Whether it's his flicks or his OF - he's the top .01 % - he gets a lot of notice, especially in bustling LA. But, he loves what he does, he especially loves watching his abs flex in the camera as he hits one of his lovely costars from the back.

Pornstar Satoru loves making the costars and girls he collabs with actually cum, where they're shaking and squirting all over his latex covered cock. Not that fake shit like he watches them do with other men- no Satoru makes sure to slam that curved tip against their cervix, to roll his thumb right on their clit with the perfect amount of pressure. Perhaps that's the secret to how famous he really is, along with his good looks.

Pornstar Satoru makes so much money from each shoot and is in high demand, so he can have whoever he wants as a co star. They line up to have a chance at him, watching his videos and aching for a chance to feel his cock hitting them deeper than damn near anyone could hit, to say they got to shoot with the Satoru Gojo. This just makes Satoru fuck them harder, smiling right at that camera, as women dream it's really them that have captured his pretty blue eyed gaze.

Pornstar Satoru thinks it's a pretty damn good life, being rich for fucking beautiful women on camera, as he's inhaling a blunt after a threesome shoot with his best friend - and often costar- Pornstar Suguru, as they talk about who got the girl to squirt more, right in the middle of a bouguie party in East LA. Suguru let's out a throaty laugh, while Satoru narrows his blue eyes. 'I had her cumming so hard she was shaking' he says, taking a hit and handing it back to Suguru. 'Nah, that was all for me, did you see...'

Pornstar Satoru stops listening when he sees you enter the room, completely out of place at the coke filled, booze filled party, wearing a pair of black glasses that cover half of your pretty face, and a little nervous look as you stand there, in a cute white pleated skirt and a big oversized sweater. Satoru smacks Suguru on the shoulder then and he coughs up smoke. 'Shit what is it?' Satoru looks back at you, when you're handed a drink, some guy flirting as you look down shyly. 'Who's she?' Suguru blinks a bit curiously. 'I don't know, she's pretty though'

Pornstar Satoru scowls at Suguru who snorts in laughter then. 'Satoru we don't have 'girlfriends' and she... looks like a good girl' your eyes catch his then, across the room, like something shifts as you smile sweetly, before peering at your phone, biting your lip in concentration. 'I'm talking to her' Suguru chuckles as he watches his friend, and Satoru feels his heart race when he comes too close to you, something he can't say he's felt, even pleasing countless beauties, nothing has quite altered him as your sweet turn of lips, as you look down at your converse, so out of place you're fucking adorable. 'Hey sweetheart... Satoru Gojo' he says, introducing himself with ease, expecting you to maybe notice him, get starstruck, fuck women get wet just near him, but you simply grin, and your name whispers through his mind when it spills from your lips.

Pornstar Satoru has you sitting with him later, you fall into easy conversation, you're a little gamer nerd, you love science and the environment, he just bets you were head of your ecology club in college, which you quickly confirm, all while you're in awe of just how beautiful this man is. He's sweet, he's sexy... you feel he shouldn't even be talking to you. You're pretty but... he's experienced so clearly, by every way he moves, he's worldly, so confident, and you've never really left this little part of LA, but the two of you can't stop talking, to the point you forget what brought you here.

Pornstar Satoru laughs with you, as you're sitting side by side, and he lights up a blunt, leaning back on the burgundy couch on the outskirts of the party, inhaling it deep into his lungs. 'Want a hit, sweets?' he murmurs, you take it nervously, putting it to your lips and inhaling a bit, before coughing, covering your mouth. Satoru chuckles, 'you're cute' earning your cheeks heating up. 'Can you tell I don't do this?' you're nervously tapping your leg now. 'Yeah, what does bring you here, doesn't seem your...' 'my scene?' he nods then. 'yeah, that.'

Pornstar Satoru watches avidly as you sip on your drink, wincing at the strong liquor. 'Well, my friend invited me over, but she's running late' Satoru grins now. 'Party time is different, everyone comes late, that's on time. About fifteen minutes late' 'oh no I came early!' you smack your own forehead, giggling along with him. 'Are you like... a model, or an actor?' you ask, eyeing him and his baby blues, the cheekbones so perfect, those lips that wrap the blunt again. 'You could say I'm a bit of both,' he muses, then spits out his drink when you ask 'what are you in!?'

Pornstar Satoru coughs just a bit, he's never been ashamed of what he does, but he's nervous for some reason to tell you. Why, he doesn't know. 'I'm... into some indie flicks' you brighten up then. 'Oh, let me know, I love lowkey films! I bet you're great' Satoru sighs, gulping down the rest of his drink and eyeing your cup. 'Want more?' you frown now, maybe you're asking too much, or offending this actor that you don't recognize him!? You nod, the amount of people around you making you press against this friendly, pretty white haired stranger just a little more.

Pornstar Satoru has another drink, eyeing the sea of bodies undulating in the extravagant mansion, and soon the two of you are dancing together you're cute and so awkward, Satoru's enjoying this far, far too much. He has plenty of costars and fans come up to the two of you, but he's too interested in showing you how to move your hips to pay them any mind, when finally your friend comes. Satoru instantly recognizes her, she's a pretty famous co star he's collabed with on her Onlyfans not long ago. When she sees you giggling and enjoying yourself so much, she damn near drags you away, making Satoru curse.

Pornstar Satoru eyes you when your friend whispers in your ear- 'you really don't recognize him!?' you blink curiously, looking at him more closely. 'Should I?' she sighs then, eyeing Satoru up and down. 'He was in my OF videos, we collabed' you heat up furiously then. 'I never watched your videos! I just subbed to be supportive!' she giggles. 'You're so cute, I thought you at least watched some?' you shake your head nervously. 'I don't really watch, is he... like an OnlyFans guy?' Satoru is back over with Suguru now, while you sip your drink, feeling your body warm up. 'He's the top pornstar there is, the collab was like a dream. He's really sweet but you should know is all, you're kinda...' you glare. 'kinda what?' she giggles again. 'you're just... sweet, emotional, is all'

Pornstar Satoru expects you to be done with him once you find out, after all you just seem innocent, uncorrupted for this city, not the kind of girl to be at this party where lines are being snorted off bodies, and people are naked and jumping in the pools, a heady, wild atmosphere. But you smile at him, as you murmur - 'he's sweet?' to your friend. She nods then. 'He is, but just know... he doesn't date so, it'd only be physical' you frown at that now, that's not something you think you can do, you're about as demisexual as it gets, hence your very limited experience. 'He doesn't date at all?' Your friend gently touches your shoulder. 'No, love, I'd hate to see you hurt'

Pornstar Satoru catches you before you leave later that night, when you are just feeling too out of place, his big hand wrapped around your delicate wrist, earning you looking up at him. He can't stop thinking how pretty your eyes would look rolled back, how good your lips would feel wrapped around his cock, as you relax a bit, turning and looking up. 'Headed out already?' he asks softly, you flush as you remember just what he does for a living, your friend had just described his cock in far too vivid detail. 'It's not really my thing, but I'm glad we met, Gojo' you smile so cute then, leaning up and pecking him on the cheek, his arm wraps your waist as he leans down, inhaling that sweet vanilla scent cloying to your skin.

Pornstar Satoru pulls you in closer, blue eyes staring under snowy lashes. 'Can I... get your number?' Satoru has never asked for a number a day in his life, but he delights in watching you shift nervously, nodding as you tuck your hair behind your ear. 'Yeah, I'd like that' he exchanges numbers, tilting your chin up then, watching the way your eyes dilate, the color spread on your pretty cheeks. 'She told you?' you clear your throat, nodding a bit, still being captured by his fingers. 'I don't judge at all, Gojo, I'd still like to be... friends...' your whisper is met with the most subtle kiss on your lips, shooting desire hot and heavy until Satoru releases you, plump lips smirking- 'sure, sweets, we can be friends'

Pornstar Satoru can't get you off his mind, the feel of your skin on his, the sweet sigh against his lips. He is on a big shoot and - the Satoru Gojo that never gets soft - is having trouble keeping it up, to the amusement of his costar Pornstar Sukuna. Satoru scowls at his comments, just picturing your sweet lips against his for that brief moment. A man who just fucks and fucks, and doesn't feel, is hung up just on some fucking kiss. He has to take a break after pleasing his costar with his fingers, she's cumming so much she doesn't notice, but the directors wonder why he's off. He's in his own dressing room, eyeing the phone, hands shaking as he decides to type a message - 'could you give me a picture, sweets, to save as your caller id?'

Pornstar Satoru finds his cock is right back on hard when you send one quickly, just a cute selfie with a little peace sign, but he sees your glossy fucking lips, the teeth indentations he aches to rub the tip of his cock on, along with just a hint of your breasts. Your nipples press against the thin material of your little tee shirt- Pokemon, he notices, smiling- his cock throbbing. 'Can I get one too?' you're biting that lower lip nervously as you ask, getting a picture of him shirtless then, doing nothing to stifle the curiosity in your mind, your heart racing as you seee his body. 'You at a shoot?' you ask in the messages, he hesitates before answering - 'yes' - and somehow you feel jealous of whoever his costar is. You message a - kill it, Gojo! - despite the feeling in your tummy, little do you know you're drowning his fucking mind when he performs later, feeling the star squirting all over his latex covered cock.

Pornstar Satoru can't stop texting you that week, he can't even get hard if he doesn't look at that picture, and you can't stop your curiosity, when you friend mentions he's doing a live stream. Since Satoru can hardly perform, he's decided to masturbate on live cam, in minutes making more than he'd make in a shoot, all while having your picture propped up. People are chatting, watching, dollars by the hundreds being tipped every moment, fuck he's making way more than he usually would, and he can think of you. He laughs softly, abs flexing as he hits the right angle, reading the comments, making you dripping wet, this isn't what you do!?

Pornstar Satoru is stroking his wet, slick cock that's glistening, up and down with his huge hand, and you feel your pussy clench, breath coming faster, unsure whether to look away or keep staring, meanwhile he's picturing you in all sorts of positions, on your knees, a fucking mating press. He's shutting his eyes for a moment, grinning as the viewers go crazy. 'I know, it's pretty, huh?' he spits right on that long, veiny cock of his, pinching his pink tip and whining, white lashes fluttering open right when he sees a familiar name enter the chat.

Your name.

hehe it'll be a FULL FIC not a drabble/oneshot - if you're interested in getting tagged drop a comment <3

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[ellieputellas]

guilty as charged | a.putellas

— Alexia was the perfect roommate. Well, except for one fatal flaw: she always lost your chargers. Fed up, you searched her room, only to find something you definitely weren’t supposed to see.

Tags: 18+, mdni, roommate!Alexia, dom!Alexia (kinda), strap r!receiving, fingering r!receiving, biting, impliedfuckboy!Alexia, slightly long build up before the smut content, tldr: finding Alexia’s strap and not being able to get it out of your mind, not proofread | wc: 6k+

masterlist | do not repost or plagiarize!

"Alexia!" You shouted at your roommate who was taking too long in the bathroom. "Where's my charger? I thought I told you to buy your own already."

"Espera!" The Catalan called back out to your frustration, still taking her sweet time in the showers.

"Rich as fuck but can't afford to buy her own charger," you muttered under your breath.

Alexia had developed a habit of leaving her chargers in the locker room or lending them out to her teammates, forgetting to get them back. And, instead of buying her own replacement, she had been relying on your generosity and kindness.

At first, you were cool with it. After all, Alexia has always been a generous roommate — buying you new shampoo whenever you were running low, ordering dinner for your weekly movie nights, and always buying wine for you two to share. So, naturally, you had no problem sharing your charger once in a while. You even decided to buy Alexia her own charger — the fancy kind that charged ultra fast. It cost you a bit more than the average phone charger would but you figured it was just your way of saying thanks for her generosity.

She lost that too. Within just a few days.

So, she resorted back to borrowing yours. And while it was just mildly irritating at first, it only got fully annoying when she started walking into your room while you weren't there, taking your charger and even bringing it with her to training. Without even asking. She just assumed you’d be fine with her borrowing it.

It was always a different excuse every time she lost it. 

"Oh sorry, I left it at my locker."

"It's somewhere in the car… I think."

"I think I already returned it."

You tried not to let it get to you, thinking that getting pissed over something so shallow was too petty and childish.  But you needed your iPad to do your work, and for that iPad to function, it needed to be charged… which was impossible to do if Alexia kept treating your chargers like they were disposable. 

"God," you groaned as you stared at the wall clock, feeling antsy about a deadline. "Alexia! Can't you just tell me where it is?"

"Espera! I'm still washing my hair." She said with an annoyed tone which just annoyed you even more. How is she the one getting annoyed? She’s the one who lost it again.

"Fuck it, I'll get it myself." You groaned under your breath before rifling through her stuff with zero patience. “Where the fuck did she put it?”  

Annoyed, you yanked open the drawer built into the side of her bed frame. Unlike the other drawers with things haphazardly thrown in, this one had its contents neatly folded beneath a thin blanket. Without thinking about why the blanket was there in the first place, you pulled it back and froze.  

That’s when you saw it right in front of you: a massive, light pink dildo strapped to a harness Your brain short-circuited. You weren’t exactly prudish or conservative; you had your own vibrator tucked away in your panty drawer. But this? This was… a lot.  

Your eyes darted over the rest of the drawer. Bottles of flavored lube. Handcuffs. A ball gag. A various selection of dildos and vibrators. On top of it rested the huge pink strap-on you first saw, the cherry on top to this kinky mix. Who knew your polite, friendly roommate was this —

“What are you doing?”  

Your soul left your body as soon as you heard Alexia calmly inquire behind you. You spun around, heart hammering. Alexia stood in the doorway, fresh from the shower. She was clad in nothing but a sports bra and a towel slung low on her hips. Her hair was damp from the shower, hanging by the side of her face, dropping beads of water down her wide shoulders and further down her glistening abdomen.

“I—I was looking for my charger,” you stammered nervously, standing up from your crouched-over position. You straightened yourself, wiping the beads of sweat on your forehead and straightening your shirt. “I couldn’t find it and I’ve got a deadline today and... and you know how much I need it.”

You stumbled upon your words, causing Alexia to raise an eyebrow in amusement. You cleared your throat, trying to seem unbothered by what you just saw. “This is just like… the sixth or seventh charger that you haven’t returned.” You said, trying to steady your voice.

Alexia’s lips curled into a knowing smirk as her gaze flicked to the cabinet you’d so carelessly left open. She didn’t look embarrassed or pissed. Not even remotely phased. Just… amused. “Right,” she said, crossing her arms. “It’s literally right there.”  

She nodded toward the direction of the chair in front of her work desk placed at the corner of the room. Sitting on top of her iPad, plain as day, was your charger.  Heat rushed to your face. How had you missed something so obvious? You could have just swept the room first. Instead, you’d snooped immediately through her drawer and discovered she was some kind of sexual deviant. 

“Oh,” you squeaked.  Without another word, you lunged for the charger, swiftly grabbing it. You gave a tight-lipped smile to Alexia before holding it up just to show her you got it.  It took everything in you to only look at your roommate from the head up, not allowing your gaze to lower down to her bare torso. You were never flustered like this around Alexia. She was often sauntering around the house in just a sports bra and workout shorts; it never bothered you… until now. “I guess I just missed it.”

You spun on your heel and bolted for your room, shutting the door behind you. Pressing your back against it, you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.  “What the fuck did I just see?”  

Alexia found it cute how flustered you acted after the incident.

She had always been careful about her intimate life. When living with roommates, she never brought girls home, never let her personal indulgences spill beyond the walls of her bedroom. It was a part of her life she preferred to keep discreet and private. Though, at times, it wasn’t easy.

She briefly recalled the short period when she roomed with Marta during the pre-CGH days, when her co-captain was still single. Keeping that side of herself hidden had been a challenge, especially when they were sleeping just a few feet apart, separated by non-soundproof walls. Bringing girls home had become a strategic endeavor, timed around Marta’s schedule, because Alexia was very aware that her extracurricular activities weren’t exactly… quiet.

After years of having roommates, Alexia thought maybe it was time she stopped sharing her space. She was earning enough to live alone, and most of her teammates no longer needed to split rent either. It had seemed like a natural step forward.

Then you came along.

You were the team’s new graphic designer, originally working for the men’s team until the club restructured and brought in a new agency to replace your old role. That shift had introduced you to the women’s squad, and Alexia had taken an interest in your work almost immediately. At first, you chalked up her attentiveness to her captain’s duties; it was something you presumed was to be expected of Alexia. 

But then she did something you never saw coming.  

When the team heard you might have to quit — your apartment was full of black mold, and finding an affordable place nearby on short notice was impossible — Alexia made you an unexpected offer. She had a spacious place with two bedrooms and didn’t mind charging you below market value, making it the perfect solution.

You had understood what a big gesture that was for her. What you hadn’t known was just how much she had given up by letting you move in.

Her newfound freedom was gone. She could no longer bring girls home on a whim, given your unpredictable work modality schedule. Late-night hookups were practically impossible when you were always up until ungodly hours, hunched over your iPad in the living room, working on some random side gig. 

Alexia knew that you two were old enough to understand that sex was a part of life and that bringing home girls shouldn’t be a thing to be ashamed of. But she knew that her situation was different. It wasn’t that simple

Still, she didn’t mind. She liked having you around far more than she missed fucking around.

Though you having found her stash did have her thinking that probably she treated it far more taboo than what it was. So what if she liked loud, unrestrained sex that could last for hours? It wasn’t like it happened every night. And surely, you had a few toys of your own tucked away in your room.

Maybe this could be an opportunity — a way for you to start accepting that your roommate simply… enjoyed being active.

So, she tried opening up the subject. While you two were cooking your respective dinners, Alexia tried casually asking you if you remembered what you had seen in her cabinet. You were so startled you nearly cut your finger instead of a potato.

While you two were on the drive back from work, Alexia tried to engage you in a conversation about sex but you pretended to have a bad stomach, making fake groaning sounds to pretend you couldn’t hear what you were saying.

Honestly, Alexia should have been frustrated by your immaturity, by your outright refusal to discuss something so simple like an adult. But she couldn't fully get annoyed with you ever... and it was because of the massive crush she had on you.

Alexia always found you cute. She liked your quirky mannerisms and the way you made her laugh even if you didn’t intend to. She liked your work ethic; she always valued people who took their job seriously. It didn’t help that you were always walking around the house in very tiny shorts with silly cartoon designs that always caught her eye. 

Her attraction to you had only grown the closer you became. You were naturally affectionate with her, always touching her in small ways — a hand on her arm, leaning against her shoulder, sitting on her lap whenever the squad was around and there weren’t any seats. You never seemed to mind being touchy with her.

A part of her knew that maybe she didn’t mind not bringing girls home because… well, she had you. Your company and presence meant more to her than casual sex ever could. That didn’t mean, of course, that she wouldn’t have you if you let her.

There were nights when she had to physically stop herself from suggesting a friends-with-benefits arrangement. She valued your friendship too much to risk it over something so fleeting; she wasn’t about to fumble a great friendship just because she couldn’t keep her hands to herself. Besides, after seeing how you squirmed at the mere mention of sex, she knew you'd never go for something like that.

…Or would you?

You were hunched over your iPad, rushing to finalize a mock-up for new merch designs. The design head thought that since you managed social media, you might as well help out with merch design too. It made no sense to you but she had drilled into you that it was crucial you got it done by today. You wouldn't have been so annoyed by a task outside your job description, if only the assignment wasn't given a day before the deadline.

Hence, why you were stressed-out and aggressively illustrative design mock-ups on your iPad. It was already midnight and you were expected to report to work at 9 in the morning. It was just too little time.

And then, just as you were adding the final details, your iPad screen went black. The device shut off.  When you tried pressing the power button, hoping it was just an accidental press that put the device to sleep, it displayed the dreaded low battery logo. 

“Fuck!” you cursed, slamming your Apple Pencil onto the desk. You let a frustrated groan rip through your chest. You knew the battery had been low, but you had been so deep in the work that you ignored all the low battery notifications. 

Great, now the momentum is gone, you thought. 

Fine, whatever, you said to yourself. You just needed your charger. You pushed back from your desk and marched to your room, heading straight for the spot where you knew you had left it, which was right on top of your makeup bag.  

Except… it wasn’t there.  

Frowning, you checked your drawers. Nothing. Your bag? Not there. You even looked under your bed, as if it had somehow magically fallen and rolled into hiding.  And then it hit you. Alexia had borrowed it again earlier this morning with the promise that she'd return it instantly.

You grew frustrated. In the past days, you haven’t really been angry or emotional around Alexia and it was mostly because you felt awkward about the drawer incident. But now, all you could think of was how fucking annoying it was that this happened again. 

She knew how important your charger was, how often you needed it for work. And yet, she had forgotten to return it again on deadline night of all nights. Adrenaline pumping, you stormed toward her room, fists clenched. Without hesitation, you pushed the door open.  

“Alexia, where the hell—”  

Your words caught in your throat.  

Alexia stood in the middle of her room, dressed in nothing but a sports bra and a pair of loose shorts that showed off the top of her Calvin Klein underwear, mid-stretch, her toned stomach and arms on full display.  

You blinked, caught completely off guard.  

For a moment, you forgot why you were even there. Then, you shook your head, snapping yourself out of it. “Alexia, give me back my charger.”  

She didn’t even flinch at your tone. Instead, she raised an eyebrow, a smirk growing on her face. “Oh? Someone seems mad.”  

You groaned. "I'm not just mad, okay?" You corrected. "I'm fucking stressed. I have a deadline for a task that isn't even part of my job's jurisdiction and I've been working all night on Blender and Procreate and —"

You paused to take a breath. "I just had enough, okay?" You said more calmly. “I just need to finish this right now but I can't cause you took—"

Alexia tilted her head. “I took your charger?”  

“Yes?" You said incredulously. 

Her brow lifted slightly. “I returned it earlier today.”  She said. "Remember? At breakfast? I even fixed you a bowl of chocolate oatmeal as a thank you?"

You frowned, momentarily thrown off. “What?”  

“I borrowed it this morning, but I gave it back before you left to work at that café.”  

And just like that, it clicked.  

Fuck. 

You probably didn't notice Alexia returning it cause you were too busy working. Suddenly, you remember you had taken it with you. You had plugged it in at the café, worked there for hours, and then… left without it.  

Your anger deflated instantly, replaced by embarrassment. You opened your mouth, then closed it again, feeling your face heat up.  

“Oh.”  

Alexia let the silence stretch just long enough to watch you squirm, then let out a soft chuckle. “I’ll let that one slide.”  

You sighed, rubbing your face. “Sorry, Alexia. I’m just—”  

“Stressed,” she finished for you. Then, her voice softened. “Cariño, don’t be. I’ll talk to your boss tomorrow and make sure you get another day. I’ll just put the blame on me.”

She smiled, stepping forward. "They can't say no to me."

Before you could react, Alexia stepped forward and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you closer to her by the waist, offering a small hug to comfort you. You exhaled, tension still buzzing in your body.  

“Okay,” you mumbled, leaning into her. “I'm sorry for storming all mad and accusatory like that.”  

“I know,” she murmured. “Why don’t I give you a back rub?”  

You hesitated, but your muscles did ache from hours of work, hunched over a table and stressed beyond belief. Your shoulders were practically begging to be rubbed. “…Fine.”  

Alexia guided you toward the bed, settling herself against the headboard while she sat you in between her legs with your back resting against her. The second her hands found your shoulders, thumbs pressing firmly into the knots of tension, you exhaled a slow breath.  

“Oh,” you muttered, eyes fluttering shut. “Alexia, yeah, that feels good.”  

She hummed in response, continuing to knead the stiffness from your shoulders. Her hands were firm yet gentle, and before you knew it, your body melted into her touch.  She rubbed into your shoulders at the perfect firmness, finding where the knots were on your upper back and shoulders before massaging them away. 

“Mmm,” you murmured. "Fuck, that's so good."

Alexia’s hands moved lower, moving from your upper back and shoulders area to something more in the middle of your back. Alexia's hands kneaded the tension from your back, her fingers expertly working under the shoulder blades. You let out a slow exhale, sinking into the warmth of her body behind you.  

“Let’s take off your cardigan,” she murmured, her voice smooth, low. “It's getting in the way.”  

You nodded absentmindedly, already half-lost in the sensation of her touch. You were practically floating in the sensation, only to be snapped out by the sensation of her arms grazing your chest as she unbuttoned your cardigan. You bit your lip as her fingertips grazed against your nipples as she helped you shrug off the cardigan. The contact was fleeting— perhaps, accidental — but it was enough to send a sharp jolt through you. 

Your breath hitched, and you hummed, trying to brush off the growing heat in your core. 

Alexia continued the massage, but this time, as one hand stayed firm on your shoulder, the other drifted lower, her fingers ghosting over your left nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt. The touch was light, almost imperceptible, but your body reacted instantly. You jumped slightly at the sensation.

Alexia leaned in, her lips grazing your ear. “Relax,” she whispered in a low voice, her breath warm against your skin. "This is gonna help you release all tension. Trust me."

You hesitated, pulse quickening, but you didn’t stop her. You let yourself sink back against her, allowing it to happen. Her touch grew bolder. Soon, both hands were on your chest, the pads of her fingertips rubbing slow, teasing circles over your hardened nipples, the friction from the fabric of your shirt only heightening the sensation. A quiet moan slipped past your lips before you could stop it.  

Alexia smirked at your reaction. "Yeah, just relax and let go." She cooed in an innocent tone as if she was still massaging your back. Now, Alexia's fingers moved deliberately, alternating between rolling your nipples between her fingertips and slightly pinching at them, coaxing more breathy sounds from you. Your head soon rested back against her shoulder, and she took the opportunity to press a slow, lingering kiss to the side of your neck.  

A soft hum vibrated against your skin. “That feels good, doesn’t it?”  

You swallowed hard, your body answering for you as you let out another shaky moan. Alexia's mouth was on you again, gently kissing and nipping at the delicate skin of your neck as you felt her hands slowly move under your shirt. 

You whimpered her name as you felt her fingers against your bare skin, running against them. Alexia smirked at the way you were reacting and quickly agreed to letting her touch you like this.

Before you could even realize, Alexia was reaching under a nearby pillow. Under it, she had a toy she left from her own masturbation session last night. If your eyes were opened, you would have probably chickened out at the sight of the neon pink massage wand but you were too busy enjoying Alexia's playful, little massages. 

Soon, Alexia had slotted in the head of the toy in between your legs, pressed against your soaked pajama shorts. She clicked the on button and you practically moaned out instantly. Your eyes opened but before you could say anything in protest, Alexia shushed you. "It's just a massage wand. It'll help you loosen up."

You were a smart girl. You knew what Alexia was doing and normally, you would have called her out but tonight… Tonight, you were exhausted. You were tense. And with the way her hands had been working over your body, the way the vibrations of the wand had begun to hum softly against your core, the fact that you've spent the past few days fantasizing about what it would be like to experience the Alexia Putellas…

You found no reason to stop her.

“…Okay.”

Your voice was soft, almost breathy, and it sent a visible shiver through Alexia. She loved hearing you like this: so obedient and pliant, so willing, so cute when you agreed to let her touch you.

She pressed a slow, lingering kiss just below your ear before murmuring, “Now, be a good girl and take off your bottoms for me, okay?”

You didn't hesitate, swiftly lifting your hips to push your bottoms off of you, kicking them off with your legs. Alexia put a hand firmly under your left thigh, pulling you closer to her. With her right hand, she put the toy back against your core, sending a wave of vibrations that had your legs trembling.

Alexia's left hand was back in your left breast, pinching at them to elicit tiny and cute moans that she loved so much. You unconsciously rocked your hips against the toy, seeking to chase out the pleasure, praying Alexia would turn up the speed so you could arrive at your orgasm sooner.

As you whimpered, gripping the sheets beneath you, Alexia carefully removed the toy from between you. “W-what?” you stammered, your mind foggy from the pleasure coursing through your body.

Alexia’s hand on your waist tightened slightly. “Last night… when you fell asleep on the couch…" she paused, teasingly. "You were whimpering.”

Your eyes snapped open, embarrassment crashing over you like cold water.

Shit. You had dreamed about her again.

Before you could even attempt to defend yourself, Alexia chuckled, her breath warm against your skin. “That’s not even the best part.” She leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss just beneath your jaw. “You dropped your phone on the floor — probably right before you dozed off." She murmured. “So, naturally… I picked it up.”

Your stomach twisted in mortification, and you didn’t even have to ask to know where this was going. Alexia hummed, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Imagine my surprise when I saw what you were searching for.” Another soft kiss, this time against your shoulder. “How to ride a strap.”

A whimper escaped your throat as she increased the speed suddenly. At this point, your legs were shaking.

Alexia let out a quiet laugh. “I thought it was cute.” Her fingers were now teasing circles against your inner thigh, making you twitch. “And I know you’ve been stressed. High-strung. So instead of just teasing you…”

She suddenly pressed the vibrator against you again with more pressure, turning up the speed without warning. A loud, broken moan spilt from your lips as pleasure began to build inside you. Your head tilted back, resting your weight onto the Catalan, body arching into the sensation as Alexia guided the toy against you.

“There you go,” she murmured, watching in amusement as you squirmed, your thighs trembling against hers. She subconsciously licked her lips as she saw your wetness completely cover your core and inner thighs. “You’re making such a mess, cariño.”

You barely heard her, too lost in the overwhelming pleasure. It was too much, too good. It felt like at any moment, you were going to explode with pleasure. 

And then, just as you were about to orgasm, Alexia pulled the wand away again.

Your eyes flew open, a frustrated whine escaping your lips. “Alexia, what the fuck.”

“Shh,” she interrupted smoothly, putting aside the toy. “We’re just getting started.”

The next moments went by so quickly that you could not process how you managed to end up completely naked on top of Alexia who was now wearing the pink strap you saw from the other day around her waist, on top of her Calvin Klein underwear. You bit your lip as you straddled her upper thighs. It seemed like you were gaining consciousness now as you stared at the silicone member. It was long and girthy, shining slightly with the lube Alexia poured on it.

Alexia’s hands traced lazily on your legs and thighs. “Come on, show me what google told you to do,” she teased.

You bit your lip as you stared at the obscene size of the silicone, hesitating. “Alexia, I don’t think…”

Alexia sat up, grabbing your waist as she pressed a kiss on your mouth. “Shh, of course you can,” she reassured in between kisses. Her mouth felt so soft and warm against yours. The sensation of her mouth on yours was hypnotizing you again, making you feel soft and needy. It’s like her lips make me dumber, you thought to yourself.

Alexia shifted the position so you’d be laying on your back and she’d be slotted in between your spread legs, she continued to kiss you, knowing it was what you needed to not feel intimidated and hesitant. Soon, you could feel her hands stroke your inner thighs. “Why don’t I help you out,” she whispered. “Just so you wouldn’t be so shy, hmm?”

You nodded, obedient and docile under your roommate. Alexia locked eyes with you, breaking the kiss. A sigh escaped your lips as her warm hazel eyes met yours. It felt like you could melt into those beautiful, honey-colored pools.

You were so captivated by Alexia’s eyes that you didn’t notice that she had two fingers playing around your entrance, desperate to enter you.

You opened your mouth and let out a gasp as soon as two of her fingers thrust into you, deliberately with a careful firmness to them. Alexia smiled, eyes still fixed on yours, as she carefully curled them into you. The Catalan practically moaned at the feeling of you tightly clenched around her long and thick fingers.

“Fuck,” your voice came out softly as you felt yourself clench around her, soaking her fingers with your slick arousal. “I want more… please.”

That was all Alexia needed to hear. It was enough to send her over the edge. She started thrusting in and out of you with a faster, harder pace to it. You moaned out loud as you felt her fingers slam into you, curling every time into your sweet spot, causing you to arch your hips and grip onto her shoulders.

“Just like that,” Alexia muttered against your ear, her breath hot and uneven. “Let me hear you, cariño.”

Any sort of restraint you had left was gone. Your moans spilled freely as her fingers drove into you mercilessly, stretching you open, coaxing you toward the edge. You felt delirious, drowning in sensation, the heat between your legs unbearable.

Alexia couldn’t count the number of times she had touched herself to the thought of you like this — writhing, moaning, begging for her. But even her filthiest fantasies paled in comparison to the reality of you falling apart in her hands. You were so much more unbelievably stunning, intoxicating, and wrecked beneath her. No girl she's ever fucked before has gotten her this worked up. It was taking everything in her not to ruin you completely. She didn't want your first time to be too intense.

Her fingers worked you open with ease, curling inside you as her mouth traced a path of heat across your skin. She kissed and sucked at your neck, her tongue dragging along your collarbones before moving up to your jaw, nipping just enough to make you whimper.

But her favourite spot was the crook of your neck, right above your right collarbone, where she latched on and sucked hard, marking you. The second she did, you dug your nails into her back, moaning her name so loudly she knew the whole floor would hear but you were completely fucked out of your brains to even care.

You could feel Alexia’s smirk against your skin as she heard you moan out loud. She positioned her hand differently now so not only was she thrusting into you with two fingers, she was also rubbing your clit with her thumb. It was driving you insane.

Your thighs instinctively clenched around her hand, trying to slow her down as the pleasure was getting intense and you were growing sensitive. But Alexia wouldn’t let you control the pace or her movement. She pinned your hips down, forcing you to take everything exactly how she wanted.

“Take it,” she gritted, lips brushing against your ear. “If you try to press your legs together again. I swear to god I’ll stop right now.”

You acquiesced, trying to not fight the urge to clamp around her, desperate to get that orgasm. Alexia smiled as she pumped her fingers faster, readjusting her position and pressing her palm flush against your clit. Each thrust of her hand sent waves of pleasure crashing all throughout your body. The knot in your stomach coiled tighter, unbearable now, your entire body tensing.

Your roommate knew you were close, judging by your stuttered breathing and the way you were clenching tightly around her, but she knew she couldn’t let you cum yet. Not while she’s had the pleasure of letting you live out your fantasy.

Alexia pulled her fingers out of you, leaving you throbbing and empty and before you could even think to complain, she hooked her arms around your back and lifted you effortlessly. A small gasp escaped your lips as she shifted you back onto her lap, holding you steady against her hips, exactly where she wanted you.

“Ride me,” she said, her voice low and commanding. Her hands settled on your hips, thumbs pressing into your skin, grounding you. “Show me what you want to do to me.”

With your desperation to cum, there was no hesitation left in you. You nodded eagerly, obediently, as you squatted above the strap, your thighs trembling with anticipation. You hovered just above it, adjusting your position, but even as you took control of the movement, Alexia never relinquished her dominance. Her fingers tightened around you, her presence overpowering, making it clear that even though you were on top, she was still in charge.

You bit your lip, carefully making sure that you were lined up, but Alexia was growing impatient. With a strong grip, she held you steady and thrust upward, burying herself inside you with one smooth motion. The sudden intrusion knocked the breath from your lungs, your balance wavering as you instinctively grabbed onto the headboard for support. The head of the dildo pressed deep, almost kissing your cervix, causing you to curse and shut your eyes at the sensation.

You took a deep breath before lifting yourself slowly, feeling every inch of her slide against your walls, then sinking back down, your movements cautious at first.

Alexia watched you, her eyes dark and hooded, her grip possessive as she guided your pace. But it wasn’t long before her restraint wavered. As soon as she saw you settle into a rhythm, she met you halfway, thrusting up in perfect sync, pushing deeper, filling you more completely.

Your moans spilled freely from your lips as your body surrendered to her, the stretch overwhelming but intoxicating. “Fuck,” you gasped between gritted teeth, your nails digging into her skin as you kept balance. “You’re so big.”

Alexia smirked, dragging her hands up your sides before pulling you down harder onto her length. “Yeah?” she taunted, her voice thick with amusement and desire. “Too big for you?”

You could only nod, barely able to think, barely able to breathe, as she took back every ounce of control you thought you had. “Yeah, but it feels so good.” You said breathily. Even if you were already getting a bit winded, you knew you couldn’t stop now. Not while your orgasm was slowly building up inside you again.

Alexia moved one of her hands from your waist up to your breast, squeezing your plump breast firmly. She squeezed again at the sensitive bud of your nipple causing you to moan out again. She moved her hands back to settle behind you before she quickly sat up so that she could suck on your breasts while you continued to ride her.

The shift in her position caused the silicone member to curve into you, now pressing and grazing your sensitive spot with every bounce and thrust. Paired with the sensation of Alexia’s tongue skillfully playing and flicking against your nipples, it was surely sending you closer and closer over the edge.

You moved your hands to Alexia’s shoulders, giving you better mobility to ride her, breasts practically bouncing in front of Alexia’s face. She chuckled, sensing your desperation. She sat back up again, holding you upwards to keep your balance.

“Fuck, Ale,” you said, voice whimpery and erotic. You sounded almost obscene. “I’m so fucking close.”

Alexia moaned at the sound of your broken plea, her own arousal spiking as she felt the way you moved against her, grinding down harder, chasing your release with reckless abandon. “I know, baby,” she husked, her voice thick, hands tightening on your hips. “Just a bit more. Be good for me.”

You obeyed, but it was barely conscious — your body was on autopilot, instinct taking over as you rode her with increasing urgency. You felt yourself clench around her, your hips stuttering as the orgasm was slowly building up, causing you to clench. Thankfully, Alexia never loosened her grip. Even as your strength wavered, she held you firm, guiding you through it, her own body rising to meet yours. The shift in control was subtle but absolute; your arms wrapped around her tightly, your forehead pressing against her shoulder as you let her take the lead, her strong hands dictating your pace, her hips rolling upward, filling you over and over until you were unravelling completely in her hold.

Your moans grew louder, almost obscene and pornographic, echoing off the walls in a way that made Alexia smirk. If you kept this up, you’d both be getting a formal complaint from the condo association by morning. Alexia shushed you. “Cariño, I know it feels good but you need to quiet down.”

“Can’t–” you muster to say out, still moaning. Alexia groaned, torn between wanting to hear every filthy sound you made and knowing she had to shut you up before the neighbors got an earful. Thankfully, she got an idea.

“Baby,” she murmured between gritted teeth, punctuating her words with a sharp thrust that made you jolt. “Why don’t you bite my shoulder?”

You shivered at the suggestion, barely processing her words but nodding anyway, too far gone to argue.

“So no one gets mad at you for being such a good girl and riding me, yeah?”

That was all it took. You latched onto her shoulder, hesitant at first, lips parting against her sweat-slicked skin. But then she snapped her hips up harder, gripping your waist and bouncing you with ease, using her strength to fuck you onto her strap. The sudden onslaught made you lose control. Your teeth sank into her skin, muffling your moans into the muscle of her shoulder.

Alexia groaned out but the sting of your teeth pressing against her skin didn’t stop her or slowed down her pace. The pain felt like a motivation to get you where you needed to be. It didn’t take long. Alexia could feel by your shaking legs and the tightness of your grasp and the breathy moans you were exhaling into her skin.

“Come on, baby,” she rasped, voice strained as she pushed you closer and closer to the edge. “Give it to me.��

With only a couple more deliberate thrusts that pressed against your sensitive spot, you came undone, practically melting into Alexia’s arms.

It was a great idea for you to be biting against her or else your moan would have been heard throughout the whole building. Alexia held you through it, her hands steady, her grip firm, prolonging your pleasure as she slowed her thrusts, letting you ride it out. When your body finally sagged against her, she stopped the slow thrusting and wrapped her hands around you to form a hug, rubbing your back as she allowed you to breathe heavily against her skin.

You unlatched your mouth, a string of saliva forming from her shoulder to your mouth. You wiped at it sluggishly, still breathless, still full of her as she had not pulled out of you. Your forehead pressed against hers, the intimacy of the moment settling between you both.

“I forgive you,” you murmured, your voice hoarse, breath still uneven.

Alexia blinked, still coming down from the high. “Huh?”

“For stealing my charger.”

There was a beat of silence before Alexia burst into laughter, her breath mingling with yours as she shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

You hushed her, planting your lips on hers. "You still gotta make up for the seven or eight more you lost." You teased.

"I'll make it up a hundred times over if I have to." Alexia responded, a smirk toying on her face. "Just make sure you can take it."

It was gonna be a long night.

a/n: i feel like this is identical to all the other strap fics i've written but idgaf at least im writing again!!! anyway, still working on the longer fic and working on other ideas for shorter Alexia fics. i hope you guys still liked this AAAAAAA pls be nice

masterlist

[smutoperator]

Dress Code

Nicha Yontararak (Minnie) x Male Reader

Tags: (lots of) anal, ass-licking, car sex, daddy kink, degradation, domination, facefucking, facial, gape, man on top, public sex, punishment, rimming, (very) rough sex, shit-talking, skimpy outfit

Word count: 4536

You were working as a security guard at a party, checking the guests invitation tickets; everything seemed to be going smoothly until you saw a girl wearing an outfit so small it barely covered her buttcheeks.

"May I check your ticket?" you asked the girl. "Sure," she answered. "Minnie, nice name, you tell her. "It seems fine, but I can't let you in," you then continue. "Why?" she asks.

"You are not fitting the party's dress code," you tell Minnie. "Dress code?" she asks, very confused. "Yes, dress code. You are not going to get inside with an outrageous outfit like this," you tell her.

"What? That's so unfair," Minnie tells you, very upset. "I'm sorry, but a code is a code, and it must be obeyed," you answer her. "Nobody told me anything about a dress code," she says to you.

"Look at the way you're dressed; I can see your whole ass and your bare legs. You're the only person with that outfit that came to the party," you tell Minnie. "Well, that's just my regular outfit; I was performing with it just a while ago," she answers you.

"Sorry, but a no is a no," you tell her. "What can I do to get in?" Minnie asks," "Get a new outfit," you answer. "What if I don't want to?" she asks. "Then you won't be allowed," you continue.

But Minnie had one last trick up her sleeve.

"Would you let me in if I sucked your cock?" Minnie asks you," "Whoa, girl, slow down," you say to her. "But let me think about your offer for a bit," you continue.

You call another security guard. "I need to handle this situation; can you cover for me?" you ask him. As he covers your spot, you take Minnie outside the building towards a distant spot in the parking lot, carrying her on your shoulder.

"Whoa, what are you doing?" Minnie asks," "Well, you said you wanted to suck my cock, but I need to find a better place for it. "How about you handle me a VIP ticket after not only do I suck your cock but also let you fuck my holes?" Minnie asks you, briefly pulling the small outfit she's wearing at the bottom and showing you her pussy and ass before putting it back on.

Her boldness has impressed you as you feel you truly need to tame this Thai slut. You bring Minnie towards the car from your security company. You start touching her, reaching under her outfit to finger her pussy. "Whoa, baby, slow down," Minnie says. "I'm not slowing down; you asked for it," you tell her.

You bend Minnie against the car, unbuttoning her blouse just enough to unveil her perky tits as you start sucking them. "Oh yes," Minnie moans as your mouth runs all over her boobs, the cold weather of the night also giving her shivers. You quickly take the bottom of her outfit, eating her pussy out. "I'm taking this as a trophy tonight," you tell her.

Minnie spreads her legs as you eat her pussy on the hood of the car. "AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH," she moans as your tongue runs all over her cunt. "Fucking beautiful, so meaty," you tell her. Minnie moans really loudly, making you glad that you went to a more distant spot. "Push it deep, push it deep," she begs for you as you eat her out, now moving towards her asshole.

"YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, OH SHIT," Minnis moans as she moves her hips to meet your moves. "Does it taste good? Oh fuck, AHHhh," she asks you, but you don't answer, kissing her one more time to give her a taste of her holes.

"Please, baby, I want to see how it tastes," Minnie says as she's hungrier than ever for your cock. "Then bend over again, you fucking slut," answer her as you dive your face between her asscheeks. "Ohhh baby, your tongue is so good in my ass," she tells you. "Oh fuck, ahhhh, hmmmmm," she then moans as you put a pair of fingers in her pussy. "Do you like how it gapes for you?" she tells you as she spreads it up to her rosebud for you to lick.

"OHHH SHIT," Minnie moans as you speed up the intensity of your rimming. "AH, AH, AH, AH," she lets out small moans. "You want to suck my cock, you fucking bitch?" you ask her. "Yes, please," she answers. "Then do it like this," you tell her.

You carry Minnie up one more time, putting her face upside down perfectly lined up to your crotch as you unzipe your pants. "Yeah, yeah," she celebrates, pulling your underwear down despite being upside down and taking your huge cock straight into her mouth. "Oh fuck, oh yeah," you groan as you and Minnie perform an upside-down 69, her choking on your cock, bobbing her head on it hard using no hands while you eat her cunt.

"You really know how to suck cock," you tell her as things get very acrobatic, your mouth running all over her cunt while hers runs all over your cock. You put Minnie back on her feet. "On your knees, slut," you tell her. Minnie sniffs your shaft before she starts licking it and taking it deep in her throat, very hungry for that monster meat.

"You're so beautiful, ahhhh," you tell Minnie as you groan with the work she gives your shaft, taking special attention to your balls. "Nasty little girl, I'm gonna give you more," you tell her. "More?" she asks. "Yes, more," you answer.

You grab Minnie's hair and start fucking her face hard. "Take it, slut," you tell her as Minnie gags all over your cock, you filling her mouth to the fullest. You shove her face against your balls and slap her ass, slowly but surely getting rougher. "Yes, that's what I like to see, you fucking slut," you approve of her.

"You look so beautiful all over my balls," you tell Minnie. "I need more," she tells you. "I knew you wanted more; the moment I saw you dressed like that, I knew the only thing you were worth was to please my big fucking cock," you tell her. "Keep sucking that dick, you nasty slut," you tell her, giving her an even rougher facefuck this time, making Minnie gag hard as you spank her ass.

Minnie chokes on your cock, losing her breath. "Who told you to stop, bitch?" you ask her, punishing her with another rough pounding, holding your monster cock down her throat. "Your punishment is just beginning," you tell her as Minnie's face starts to turn red and she gets cock drunk.

"Does it feel good when I suck your cock?" Minnie asks you," "You really like that cock, don't you?" you tell her, spanking her ass. "Yes, baby, I love it," she tells you.

"Then come here," you tell Minnie as you lift her up and shove your cock down her cunt, carry-fucking her. "YEAH, YEAH, YEAH," she moans as you spread her cheeks and attack her pussy. "OHHHH SHIT," she screams as you put her back on the ground.

You pin Minnie against the car's hood, spreading her legs as you thrust into her pussy. "Ahhh, ahhhh, fuck me," she moans, out of breath as you attack her cunt at full speed. "Give it to me, oh fuck me, harder, harder," she begs as you start spanking her face.

"You wanted that pussy so bad, didn't you?" Minnie asks you as her body shakes against the car. "Fuck, you're such a tight bitch," you tell her, letting her get on her knees to taste her cunt from your cock. Minnie sucks it like a maniac. "You're so nasty," you tell her, fucking her face one more time as you tie her arms behind her back.

"I'm gonna use you like the fucking whore you are," you tell Minnie, fucking her face as you also bang her head against the front of the car. The more you fuck her, the crazy she drives you, her face getting plowed like a fleshlight. "Useless bitch, this is how I'm gonna punish you youfor violating the dress code," you tell her.

You slam Minnie into the hood of the car, taking her pussy in a missionary position next. "Oh shit," Minnie moans. "Oh yes, pinch my pussy," she tells you as she also spreads her ass for you. "Oh my god, you're so fucking big," she tells you.

"You like that big fucking cock, don't you?" you ask Minnie. "Yes, baby, make me taste it," she answers. You flip her around in the hood of the car, popping your cock in and out of her face to tease her. "If you want it, you'll have to clean my ass first," you tell her.

You sit your ass on Minnie's doll face as she reaches to lick your dirty butthole. "Good girl, that's what I want; clean that dirty fucking ass," you tell her while Minnie rims it.

"Get back down and bend over again," you tell Minnie. "Are you gonna give it to me? Are you gonna fucking give it to me?" she begs. "Of course," you answer her. "Oh, please, baby," she continues to beg.

Minnie gets pinned hard against the hood of the car. "Oh shit," she moans. "Don't regret it now; you asked for it," you tell her as you attack her pussy from behind like crazy. "YES, YES, YES, AHHH, AHHH, OH SHIT," she screams as you plow her like a raging bull. "OH SHIT, OH SHIT, OH SHIT, FUCKKK," she keeps screaming, you grabbing her hair and stretching her mouth, treating her like nothing but a useless fuck toy.

"OH FUCK ME, OH FUCK ME, OH FUCK ME," Minnie continues to scream. "Get down, you nasty bitch," you tell her as you slam her head against the hood of the car. "AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH," Minnie can't stop screaming, her pussy burning hard as your cock shows no mercy for it, her body getting completely pinned against the car. "You're so fucking beautiful being a submissive slut like that," you tell her, picking up the pace even further. "OH SHIT, OH SHIT, OH SHIT" is all Minnie can say, your thrusts flying much faster than her thinking speed.

You penetrate Minnie balls deep, her moaning and groaning as you totally dominate her. "YES, YES, YES, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, AH, AH, AH," she screams. "HOLY SHIT, HOLY SHIT, OH MY GOD," she continues to beg, experiencing an animalistic fuck like never before, barking like a dog in heat. "Shut up, cunt," you tell her. "Now you understand why you should have respected the dress code," you continue.

"Yes, baby, I understand, FUCKKKK," Minnie says, barely able to finish her sentence as your cock keeps shaping the walls of her needy cunt. "AH, AH, AH, AH, AH," she continues to scream, her body completely smashed against the hood of the car. "You thought your actions weren't gonna have any consequences, you fucking slut, but now you've learned the lesson," you told her.

"Oh my God," Minnie begs as you pull out of her pussy and lick both her fuckhole like an animal, spanking the ass she showed you at the front door. "Don't move; this was just the first round," you tell her. "What are you gonna do to me next?" she asks.

"I'm gonna fuck this ass, of course," you tell her. "Yes, baby, fuck my little shithole," Minnie tells you as you soon tongue her backdoor. "Oh, I love a nasty girl that calls her ass a shithole, just like it should be," you tell her.

"Get my shithole nice and wet, spit all over that fucking dirty hole, yeahh." Minnie says it again as you sweep your tongue all over it. "Tongue fuck my ass, baby," she begs as you go mad crazy over it, getting very noisy.

"You like that pretty ass?" Minnie asks you as the tonguing continues, and you put a pair of fingers up her anus too. "OH MY GOOD," she moans. "Open your ass for me," you tell her as she spreads her cheeks. "Of course, baby, I'll open it all for you," she answers.

You penetrate Minnie's ass with violence, sticking your full length in one go inside it. "HOLY SHIT, IT'S SO BIG," she screams. "You like that cock all the way up your nasty ass, don't you?" you ask her. "Yes, I do," she answers.

"OH YEAH, YEAH, AHHHH, SHITT," Minnie screams as your cock seems too big for her ass. "Slow down, baby, your cock is so huge," she tells you. "Spread that beautiful ass," you tell her as you attack it balls deep. "OH FUCK, YEAH, YEAH," she screams.

"I CAN'T FUCKING MOVE; JUST FUCK MY ASS, OH MY GOD," Minnie screams hard as you open a massive crater in her asshole. "PLEASE, TAKE IT SLOW," she continues to beg, but you ignore her pleading, Minnie spreading her ass even further to deal with the heat you deliver in it.

"Look at this beautiful gape," you tell Minnie as you pull out a bit before going back and mounting on top of her even harder. "LIKE THAT, LIKE THAT, OH MY FUCKING GOD, OH SHIT," Minnie screams as you only make her gape go harder, your cock making her scream nonstop as you make her ass get sore. "You like getting fucked in the ass like that, you fucking slut?" you ask her. "YES, BABY," she screams.

"Taste it, baby, taste it," you tell Minnie as you stop fucking her ass a bit and shove your dirty cock down her nasty mouth. "You like to taste your ass, you nasty bitch?" you ask her, slapping your cock in her face before going back inside. "AH, AH, AH, FUCK ME, FUCK MY ASS, HOLY SHIT, HOLY SHIT, OH MY GOD, OH FUCK," she screams nonstop. "Yes Minnie, that's how you punish a fucking slut," you tell her, spanking her face as you deeply penetrate her in the butt.

"Beg for it; tell me what you want me to do to you," you tell Minnie. "I WANT YOU TO FUCKING FUCK MY ASS," she screams. "That's exactly what I'm gonna do, fucking slut," you tell her, getting even rougher up her butthole. "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD," Minnie pleads in vain as her asshole turns into your personal playground.

You shove your cock in Minnie's face after a good anal round. "Open your eyes," you tell her as you fuck her face against the hood of the car, turning it into a mess. "Please, baby, fuck my ass a little more," she begs you as soon as you pull your cock out of her mouth.

You flip Minnie around, putting her on top of the hood of the car and inserting your cock back in her butt. "Yes, baby, fuck that dirty shithole," she tells you. "Hmm, dirty shithole, how about we turn that cunt into a shitpussy?" you tell her, switching to her pussy. "Yes baby, that's what I fucking want, Daddy, get all that dirty ass in my fucking pussy, AHHHH," she begs as you destroy her cunt.

You choke Minnie. "You're so nasty, you make my dick so hard," you tell her, sucking her tits. "I want more, please," she begs as you turn her around and shove it back in her ass. "YES, SHOVE IT IN THERE AND FUCK IT, FUCK IT, FUCK IT," she commands. "Open that ass for me," you tell her.

"It feels so good when you fuck my prolapsed ass, OH MY GOD, HOLY FUCK," Minnie screams as you keep giving her the anal pounding she deserves. "Look how much you stretched out, daddy," Minnie says as she shoves her fist inside her butthole. "That's what I want to see—shove that hand inside that shithole," you tell her.

You eat Minnie's pussy as she shoves her arm deeper in her anus, before letting you suck it. "Fuck me hard, Daddy, make your cock dirty," Minnie begs as you destroy her ass. "Choke me, daddy, I want more," she begs as you start spitting in her face, Minnie losing her sight as you can't seem to stop degrading her.

"FUCK YES, DADDY, GIVE IT ALL TO ME," Minnie keeps begging as the anal session continues. "Which one is better, Daddy, my ass or my pussy?" Minnie asks as she kisses you. "Both," you tell her.

"I love how nasty you are to me, daddy," Minnie says as you keep spreading her ass out and pinching her pussy from behind. "Shove that dirty ass in my fucking pussy," she begs as you switch from one hole to another.

"Let's get inside the car," you tell Minnie, closing the door and slapping your cock in her face as you two get in the backseat. "Nasty cock-drunk slut," you tell her, letting Minnie bob her head on your shaft while you spank her ass. "Clean my dick, you dirty slut," you tell her, holding Minnie's nose while she chokes on your dick until she gags, punishing her with a spit on her face for gagging.

Minnie chokes on your cock multiple times, you rewarding her with spanks on her ass multiple times. "Come here, ride that cock," you command to Minnie, who impales her ass on your cock and starts bouncing. "You're so sexy riding it," you tell her as you two share kisses. "Look at that ass working on my big cock," you tell her as Minnie squats on your cock. "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, YEAH," she screams.

"GIVE ME MORE, GIVE ME MORE, RIGHT IN MY ASSHOLE," Minnie begs as you pound her ass from down low, her whole makeup completely ruined at this point as you destroy her asshole balls deep. "I LOVE IT, I LOVE IT, FUCK, OH YES," she screams as she tries to bounce on your cock.

"Wanna see how stretched out my asshole is, Daddy?" Minnie asks you as you let her spread her legs in the backseat. "Look what you did to me, Minnie says as she opens up her asshole with both hands. "I'm not done yet, you fucking slut," you tell her, sitting on Minnie's face and ordering her to clean your ass.

"AHHHHHHH, AHHHHHHH, AHHHHHH, OH MY GOD," Minnie moans as you massage her pussy, her moans getting muffled as the rims your asshole. You put her in a pile driver on the seat, fucking her without even looking in her face, Minnine fingering your butthole from behind while hers gets destroyed. "OH FUCK, YOU'RE SO FUCKING DEEP INSIDE ME," she screams, you destroying her pussy and asshole like they are nothing.

"Feed me, please," Minnie begs as you stick your dirty cock back in her mouth, spitting in her throat every time you pull her out. "You love the taste of my dirty ass," you tell her, fucking her face a couple more times.

"Fuck my ass some more, please; open my ass, just like that," Minnie begs as you go back in her butt, pinning her against the backseat. "SUCH A BIG FUCKING DICK, I LIKE THAT FUCKING DICK SO MUCH, OH MY GOD," Minnie screams.

You alternate between Minnie's slutty face and her prolapsed asshole, looking at her pitiful ruined face. "Do you like to be nasty for Daddy? You know Daddy likes nasty girls," you ask her as Minnie nods positively.

"Tell me, Minnie, what Daddy likes," you ask her. "Nasty girls like me," she answers in the rare times your cock isn't in her mouth. "AHHH FUCKKK, SHIT," Minnie screams as you get back in her ass. "Take it, baby, take that nasty cock up your dirty ass," you tell her.

Minnie gets pounded hard on an anal mating press as you can't get enough of her ass. "YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, OH MY GOD," she screams as you choke her, then feed your cock right in her mouth one more time, shaking it inside it. At this point, Minnie can't even think straight. "You like that cock deep in your throat, whore?" you ask her as you suck Minnie's cute tits, even biting her nipples like a hungry animal. "Oh yeah," she moans as you kiss her.

"Let me lick that dirty stretched-out asshole," you tell Minnie, letting her sit on your face. "Yes, Daddy, lick it like crazy," she asks you as you bury your face in it. "Is that what you want, Daddy, your face all over my ass?" she asks you. "Oh shit, oh shit, ahhhh," Minnie moans as you get her closer to an anal orgasm, her grinding her ass on your face, answering as you tongue her butthole and spank her ass.

Minnie ducks down in the backseat and gives you a boss chair blowjob with her ass up, deepthroating your cock and massaging it like crazy. "Fuck, that's incredible," you tell her, kissing Minnie after she's done. She then sits on your cock, bouncing like crazy. "AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHHH," she moans like a dog in heat. "OH MY GOD, MY FUCKING ASS," she says as she grinds her hips on your shaft, her butthole already sore after so much fucking.

"PLEASE, PLEASE, DEEP IN MY FUCKING ASS," Minnie begs as she spreads her cheeks while bouncing on your dick. "OH SHIT, OH MY GOD," she screams as you grope her tits. "YOU'RE RIPPING MY FUCKING ASS," she screams, you pumping upwards and making her lose her mind, Minnie getting pounded so hard. "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH SHIT, OH FUCK," she screams as you give her an anal orgasm.

Minnie goes back to deepthroating you, tasting all of her ass in your cock. "Nasty whore, that's what I want to see," you tell her. "My ass is fucking good, isn't it?" she asks you.

"I'm your fucking toy, your fucking little toy," Minnie says. "Then show me," you tell her, getting fully on top of Minnie. "OHHHHHH," she says as you start attacking her pussy, licking her feet while she sucks yours trying to cope with the heat.

"I love this position," you say as your body completely tops Minnie on the backseat. "Me too, I've never been fucked like this before," Minnie says as you rest in her face, fingering her squirting cunt while she rims your asshole and strokes your cock. "OH MY FUCKING GOD," Minnie moans.

"Alright, time to fuck your ass like that too," you tell Minnie. "YES, PLEASE, DEEPER," she begs as you put her ass up and slide your cock while on top of her. "OH MY GOD," Minnie screams as she's completely immobilized by your tall body, your raging meat sliding in and out of her butthole at a blistering speed.

"FUCK, AHHH," Minnie screams as you turn her body into your pillow, pressing her against the backseat. "OH MY GOD, DON'T STOP, FUCK THAT ASS," she begs, barking like a puppy as she can barely see it straight. "DAMN IT, YOU FEEL SO FUCKING GOOD IN MY ASS," she says.

"Let's get back outside," you tell Minnie, opening the car's door and making her hang onto it as you fuck her ass. "Ahhh, ahhh, ahhh, ahhh," Minnie is without energy to even moan, your cock just relentlessly attacking her ass and clapping her cheeks nonstop. "AHHHHHHH," she screams as she gets pounded, barely able to stand on her feet as her ass gets utterly obliterated, you taking your cock balls deep in it.

"OH MY GOD, YOU FUCK MY ASS SO GOOD," Minnie tells you. "I love to fuck that slutty ass," you tell her, Minnie smiling as her hair is all over her face. "AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH," she screams as you take your cock all the way deep in her ass.

"TAKE IT, TAKE IT, TAKE IT; I LOVE THAT COCK IN MY ASS," Minnie says as she spreads her ass. "YOU POUND ME SO HARD, DADDY," she tells you as you go for another round of ass-fucking. "Such a nasty anal whore," you tell her. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," Minnie screams, you spitting in her face as her asshole is completely red after so much pounding. "AHHHH, AHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH, I'M SO FUCKING NASTY FOR DADDY," she screams, you grabbing her hair, tears flowing down her eyes as you choke her and show no regard towards Minnie's feelings, just using her like a fucktoy.

"That's what you get for violating the dress code," you tell her, Minnie rolling her eyes as your anal drilling doesn't seem to stop. You tie her arms behind her back, grabbing her head and punishing her like the good slut she is. "YES, YES, YES, FUCKKK, AHHHH," Minnie screams as the pounding keeps going.

"Mercy, please," Minnie asks. You destroyed her so well she can barely walk anymore. "You're fantastic, Minnie," you praise her. "The best whore I've ever fucked," you tell her.

"One more round and I'm done," you tell Minnie, bringing her back to where everything started, bending her against the hood of the car and fucking her ass one last time. "FUCK, FUCK, YES, PLEASE," she begs. "You make me so fucking nasty," she tells you.

"Tell me what you are," you say to Minnie as you spank her ass. "I'M YOUR FUCKING TOY DADDY; I'M YOUR FUCKING TOY," she tells you. "Open your ass," you tell her. "Keep saying it," you tell her, pinning Minnie against the hood of the car. "I'M YOUR LITTLE FUCKING TOY, DADDY, AHHH, AHHHH," she moans, her head smashed on the hood while you pound her ass like an animal. "AHHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHH," she moans.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you groan. "Give it to me, cum all over my face," Minnie begs as she senses you close to cumming. Soon, you ejaculate all over her beautiful face, ruining it even further as you slap your cock all over it afterward. "Take it in your throat, you nasty toy," you say to her, showing your cock one more time down it. Minnie gasps as she gags on your cock, her face turned into an utter mess.

"That was incredible," you tell Minnie, rewarding her with your cock until she gags, shoving your balls down her mouth as her face is now covered in cum and spit. "That's the best cock I've ever taken," she says.

"You can go inside now," you tell Minnie, handing her your jacket and giving the rest of the security the commands to let her through, keeping her panties as a trophy just like you intended to.

As Minnie arrives at the party, she meets her groupmates.

"You're quite late," Miyeon tells her. "I had some issues," Minnie answers before both of them head to the bathroom and Minnie wipes her face full of cum.

"Miyeon, can I ask you for a favor?" Minnie tells her.

"Sure," the older girl answers.

"Can you please give me your panties? I lost mine on the way to the party."

[godbirdart]

so Canada's federal election just got bumped up to April 28th, 2025, and you all know what that means. it means yall have to see me make another long-winded post about it.

let's recap: WHY THE ELECTION DATE: APRIL 28, 2025?

Typically, Canada's federal election is hosted on the third Monday of October once every four years. The reason Canada is hosting it in April is because Carney, the new Prime Minister, requested a Dissolution of Parliament. This action can be requested at any point by request of the sitting Prime Minister or by the King of Canada, but cannot go forward without the approval of the sitting Governor General. The Governor General serves as the King's representative within Canada, among a variety of other constitutional duties, and thus oversees the procedure.

WHO ARE THE POLITICAL PARTIES?

Canada's parliament is currently [as of March 2025] occupied by five political parties. There are more than just these five, but these ones are considered the main players in Canadian Politics. ◦ New Democratic Party / Policies & Publications ◦ Bloc Québécois / Policies & Publications [French] ◦ Green Party / Policies & Publications ◦ Liberal Party of Canada / Policies & Publications ◦ Conservative Party of Canada / Policies & Publications

HOW DOES ALL THIS WORK?

I've seen a few comments floating around treating former Prime Minister Trudeau's tag-out with replacement Prime Minister Carney like it was a federal election [it was not] and that it was somehow illegal [it was perfectly legal]. Being America's neighbor has even Canadians confused as to how our own election system operates, so here are the cliff notes: ◦ You are eligible to vote in Canada if you are a Canadian citizen, are 18 years or older, and can prove your identity and address. ◦ Eligible voters can still register to vote at the polling station if they forgot to register in advance. ◦ Eligible voters can vote early on specific days, register for mail-in voting, vote at an Elections Canada office, or vote on election day itself before polling stations close in their respective time zone. ◦ Eligible voters can still vote while incarcerated, homeless, live abroad, or are outside of Canada during the election. ◦ Employers are obligated to give employees three hours off from work to vote. ◦ Federal elections do not utilize automatic ballot-counting machines. If someone's going off about ballot-hacking or interference, they likely haven't voted in a Canadian federal election. From casting ballots to counting, Canadian voting is largely analog. All golf pencils and paper. ◦ Canada does not vote to elect the Prime Minister specifically. There are 343 Ridings [Electoral Districts] across Canada. These correspond with the 343 seats in the House of Commons:

Each riding elects a member of Parliament to represent them in the House of Commons. Each member of Parliament is typically affiliated with a political party, but they can be independent. The party that wins the most seats in the House becomes the prevailing government and that party's leader becomes Prime Minister. ◦ This is not a celebrity contest. Election ballots vary from riding to riding and list the names of the candidates running for Parliament within each individual district. Party leader names only appear if they happen to be the representative for your particular riding. Voters can find out their riding's candidates using the Elections Canada website.

While Canadian elections don't have nearly the same sensationalism as the States, these basics should still give you the knowledge to recognize when someone [or a bot] is trying to manufacture social media outrage or otherwise spew some bullshit. So I'm going to close this all off with this:

Elections are not Team Sports

In the social media era, it can be alarmingly easy to get swept up in hype and spectacle. Canada operates on a multi-party system, sure, but you still need to pay attention and read into to the policies and guarantees each party is dangling in front of you. Don't just leave it to election day vibes. You need to think critically about who you want writing the legislation, and that also means equipping yourself with the awareness to vote strategically. If you live in a riding that's detrimentally attached to a party whose policies conflict with human rights and values, you may need to place your vote in the candidate whose party has the best chance to oust them - even if that party isn't the one you'd personally prefer to vote for.

Be critical, don't get swept away, and please spare a thought for Canada's House Hippo. They've been trending increasingly endangered since the 90's, but thanks to conservation efforts in the late 2010's they've a fighting chance to make a comeback.

[kiwriteswords]

She Gets the Job Done [Aaron Hotchner x Bratty!Reader]

Masterlist|| Ao3||Word Count: >2k|| AN: IF YALL KNOW ME YOU KNOW I DONT LOVE WRITING SMUT. BUT I'M OVULATING AND BEEN THINKING A LITTLE TOO HARD ABOUT HOTCH. Tags/Warnings: SMUT! MDNI! NSFW!! 18+, female reader, established relationship, bau!reader, pwp, p in v smut, no protection, no talk about protecting (just assume they've got this established!), fingering, brat tamer!Hotch, possessive!hotch, brat!reader, like no "after" scene really because I did not feel like it--lol. office sex!!, seducing an unsub in an interrogation, reader has hair Summary: When you decide to use an Unsub's weakness of being seduced by women to your advantage, it really pisses your boyfriend off.

Hotch’s jaw was tight, muscles strained beneath clenched teeth as he stood rigidly behind the one-way glass. The low hum of the fluorescent lights overhead seemed overly loud in the silent observation room, amplifying the palpable tension that had settled thickly in the air. 

Aaron Hotchner was rarely a man to lose his cool, but right now, he felt like a tightly coiled spring on the verge of snapping.

Through the glass, he watched you closely, noticing the slight, intentional sway of your hips as you circled the interrogation table. 

The unsub's eyes were fixated on you, tracking your every movement hungrily, the intensity in his gaze revolting yet exactly what you intended. 

You had unbuttoned your blouse just enough to draw attention, something that had not gone unnoticed by anyone on the team. 

Certainly not by Hotch.

The way your skirt rose up just a little too high. Or how you pressed your arms closer together, so your breasts stood right in the line of sight for the unsub. Your hair touseled in a way that only Hotch had seen--

In a way where you looked fulled fucked. 

You leaned forward slowly, palms flat against the cool metal surface, eyes locked onto the unsubs with a sultry, playful challenge. 

"Come on," you murmured, voice dripping honey, the seductive undertone unmistakable. "Don't you want to impress me? It'd be our little secret."

Hotch felt his chest tighten, his knuckles white as he squeezed his hands into fists. Rossi glanced sideways, clearing his throat uncomfortably, sensing the impending eruption.

"Hotch," Rossi began cautiously, "maybe we should—"

"No," Hotch cut him off sharply, eyes never leaving your form. He felt a fierce surge of possessiveness clawing at his throat, anger burning hot in his veins. He had agreed reluctantly to your tactic, trusting you implicitly, but this—

This was beyond the pale.

You laughed softly, a delicate sound that danced dangerously around the unsub. The man visibly shivered, eyes wide with anticipation, lips parted in silent surrender. "I'll tell you," the unsub breathed shakily, eyes greedily drinking in your appearance. "But what do I get in return?"

You tilted your head, gaze smoldering beneath lowered lashes. "You tell me first," you purred, leaning closer, deliberately letting your hair brush across his trembling fingers. 

Hotch’s heart hammered violently in his chest, his blood roaring in his ears as the unsub hungrily eyed you.

"He's going to break," Reid muttered quietly, visibly uneasy as he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

Hotch didn't respond. 

He couldn’t. 

His entire being was transfixed, paralyzed between the overwhelming urge to storm into the interrogation room and drag you away, and the knowledge that your tactics were working.

The unsub exhaled roughly, eyes glazed with desperation. "Fine," he gasped, chest heaving. "The body's behind the old warehouse on Elm—buried shallow."

A cruel smirk curled at the corners of your lips, eyes suddenly cold as you pulled away, straightening your posture and buttoning your blouse calmly as if nothing had transpired. 

"Thanks for the cooperation," you said coolly, every trace of seduction vanishing instantly.

Hotch felt a wave of relief, immediately drowned by a surge of anger-- 

Raw and primal. 

He turned sharply, stalking out of the observation room without a word. 

The sound of his shoes pounding harshly against the linoleum matched the racing of his heart.

Moments later, you stepped confidently from the interrogation room, smug satisfaction evident on your face until you caught sight of Hotch’s furious gaze pinned firmly upon you from down the hall. The arrogant smirk faltered briefly, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty as you squared your shoulders and approached him.

"My office. Now." His voice was dangerously soft, controlled with a rigid effort that barely concealed his simmering rage.

You lifted your chin defiantly, a hint of mischief playing in your eyes even now. "Is there a problem, Agent Hotchner?"

Hotch moved closer, invading your space, his presence dominating and overwhelming. His voice dropped lower, vibrating with intensity. "You know exactly what the problem is."

He turned sharply, leaving you standing in the hall, the air between you charged and crackling dangerously as he stalked toward his office, knowing you’d follow, knowing the line had just been irrevocably crossed.

Hotch’s jaw remained tightly set, his anger simmering beneath a mask of forced calm as he stalked into his office, the door closing behind him with a sharp click. 

He turned, arms crossed rigidly over his chest, watching you enter a moment later, defiance radiating from your posture. You stood before him, eyes flashing with an audacious mix of arrogance and curiosity, clearly unfazed by his obvious displeasure.

He moved forward deliberately, narrowing the distance until you were forced to tilt your chin upward to maintain eye contact. 

The air around you both crackled with charged intensity, tension thick enough to choke on. "Do you have any idea how reckless that was?" His voice was low, edged with barely restrained fury.

You tilted your head slightly, eyes dancing mischievously as you shrugged casually, playing off his anger. "I got results, didn't I? Isn’t that what matters most?"

Hotch leaned closer, his eyes dark and stormy. "What matters most is that you stay safe and professional. You compromised yourself—and us."

"I handled it," you replied boldly, leaning into him ever so slightly, the provocative gleam in your eyes unmistakable. "Maybe you're just jealous."

Hotch inhaled sharply, the vein in his neck visibly pulsing as he fought for control. His voice dropped lower, becoming dangerously quiet. "Jealouus? You deliberately let that monster think he had a chance with you."

You laughed softly, a wicked, bratty sound that tugged at something primal deep within him. Your voice dripped honeyed sarcasm, pushing every button he had. "Maybe you're just upset because he liked what he saw. Jealous someone else enjoyed the show?"

Hotch snapped, his large hand darting out swiftly to grip your waist, pulling you flush against his body with a force that drew a startled gasp from your lips. He bent down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered harshly, voice trembling with intensity, "Say that again. I dare you."

You smirked, eyes blazing defiantly as you pressed closer, your voice dropping into a taunting whisper that brushed his skin like a forbidden caress. "Why don't you bend me over your desk and show me who I belong to?

He felt something snap inside him at your words, a powerful surge of possessiveness and raw desire flooding through his veins. He spun you around abruptly, pinning you against the edge of his desk, chest pressing firmly against your back, one strong arm holding your hips firmly in place. He leaned over you, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his voice ragged and rough. "You think you can provoke me without consequences?"

Your breath hitched audibly, the arrogance melting into something softer, breathless anticipation trembling in your voice. "Maybe I like seeing how far I can push you."

Hotch's grip tightened possessively, voice thick with barely contained passion. "Then prepare yourself," he growled lowly, his control unraveling as he gave in to the powerful tension that had ignited between you both, fully intent on reminding you exactly who you belonged to.

His hands quickly found the edge of your skirt, pulling it up roughly to your waist. He felt your body shiver beneath his touch, your breathing quickening as he leaned closer, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss against your neck. 

His voice was a husky murmur, every word laced with possessive intensity. "You're mine. Never forget that."

You whimpered softly, leaning back into his touch, all traces of defiance giving way to desperate need. His hand slipped down your hips, fingers teasingly brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. 

You arched against him instinctively, desperate for more--

The tension between you reaching an explosive peak.

Hotch groaned lowly against your skin, guiding you firmly into position against his desk, one hand gripping your hip possessively while the other reached to loosen his belt impatiently. 

Your breath came in ragged gasps--

Anticipation nearly unbearable as he pressed himself against you, his voice commanding and darkly seductive as he whispered roughly, "I'll make sure you never doubt again who you belong to."

Had he locked the door? He wasn’t sure. But one moment he was pulling you into his office--

Filled with rage. Anger. Honestly, jealousy--

And now, he was stroking himself, pulling your lace panties to the side, finding you wet and ready after this little episode. 

He knew you liked to poke his buttons--

He knew this. 

He knew being a brat--

Being his brat…turned you on.

But what turned you on more was his visual reaction. And your actions sure as hell lead to a reaction from him.

He never thought of himself as a reactive man. His proud ability to remain stoic within even some of the most trying situations was a strength of his. But you? You with your whits and your body and your pure…pure seduction without even so much trying--

It had him whipped. Whipped in a way he couldn’t explain. 

Whipped in a way that has him fisting his cock with one hand and parting your wet, ready folds with the other. He slid his index finger in you--

Stretching you for him. The tight, wet, warm heat closed around the length of his finger. Practically sucking him in. 

He felt your hips stutter against his wrist.

Needy, needy girl, he thought. 

You mumbled something--

He thought it might be his name, but his heartbeat thud so heavily within his ears, he’s not sure what you said, if anything at all. 

It could have just been a whimper--

A sound he’d come to love so much.

Sure, he’d love you not always having to be such a defiant brat to get here. Yet, here you were. And as he stroked himself. Once. Twice. Three times more, he wasn’t complaining.

Not really. 

Removing his finger from you, he reached around to where your face layed pressed against the cool wooden desk. Papers sprawled out. Case files and budget reports mixed around. 

A clerical mess.

A human resource disaster. 

But pure nirvana to him as you knew to open your lips and taste yourself off his finger. 

Watching that, he bit back a groan as he teased your entrance with the tip of his cock. Up and down, teasing you. He planned to tease and use you. 

Just in the way you did with him today.

He entered you with a deep, assertive thrust, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. Hotch’s movements were powerful and controlled, every stroke filled with possessive intent. 

His hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back gently to expose your neck fully to his hot, demanding mouth. 

Every touch, every thrust, reinforced the undeniable truth of his words—

You belonged to him.

"Say it," he demanded roughly, breath warm against your skin, his pace relentless and passionate. "Tell me who you belong to."

"You," you breathed out shakily, your voice breaking under the weight of overwhelming pleasure. "Only you, Aaron."

"Good girl," he growled approvingly, his grip tightening as his movements quickened, driving you both toward a powerful climax, sealing his claim unmistakably and completely.

As the intensity peaked, your body trembled against his, both of you gasping as waves of pleasure crashedover you. Hotch held you tightly as you both gradually came down from the euphoric high, pressing gentle kisses against your shoulder, murmuring soothing words against your skin.

Slowly, he withdrew, carefully adjusting, reaching for a tissue--

Cleaning you with reverence and respect, then fixing your clothes with unexpected tenderness. 

He turned you gently, cupping your face in his hands, eyes filled with warmth and a fierce protectiveness. "Never again," he whispered softly, a plea and promise intertwined. "You mean too much to me."

You met his gaze, your defiance fully melted into sincerity and affection, nodding softly as you leaned into his gentle kiss, knowing you'd finally found your boundaries—

And exactly where you belonged.

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt.18

Word Count: 28.4k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, forced pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, tw for postpartum depression, suicidal ideations, manipulation, coercion, slight verbal abuse, stalking, murder, gore, pet names like kitten, honey

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh @eliasxchocolate @nozomiaj @yuuchanie @sylus-kitten @its-regretti @starkeysslvt @yarafic @prince-nikko @iluvmewwwww75 @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 @lilyadora @nyumin @kiwookse @anisha24-blog1 @weepingluminarytale @riamir @definitionistato @xxhayashixx @adraxsteia @hargun-s @cayraeley @palomanh @spaceace111 @euridan @malleus-draconias-rose @athoieee @shddyboo @lavcia

AN: Hiii guys! Long time no see! Or should I say long time no read? Hehe. I am genuinely so sorry tho about how long this took! Had some things going on in my personal life, and everything just seemed to be falling apart. So I took a long hiatus, but I'm doing much better these days! I promise I wont disappear again without communication! I don't plan on going on another hiatus anytime soon though! Thank you all for your continued patience and interest in HWE, I genuinely have the best readers! A little tw if you have kids, this chapter gets a little intense with themes of postpartum depression. Reminder, Sylvia has no specific skintone, I just use images I think best represent the chapter in general. Imagine her and MC as you like! As I always say, enjoy lovelies!

He sighed, tilting his head slightly as if he were observing something fragile, something just about to break. “You’re tired, aren’t you?” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “At your breaking point?” His hand slid from your wrist up to your forearm, his grip tightening just enough to keep you close. “There must be a reason your subconscious reached out to mine.” Your heart stuttered in your chest. “I didn’t—” “You did,” he interrupted smoothly, his thumb brushing against the inside of your arm in slow, absentminded circles. “I’m not mad. I’m worried.” His eyes softened, and that terrified you more than anything. “I just want you to realize that I’m here. I wasn’t lying when I said I would change.” His free hand came up, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “But you’re mine. You can’t run forever. It’s not good for you or her.”

Check my masterlist for the other parts!

Your eyelids felt like lead, every blink a battle against the overwhelming weight of exhaustion. The stretch of road ahead was endless, swallowed by darkness, the headlights carving out a lonely path through the thick emptiness of the night. It had been hours since you’d last stopped, hours since you’d even allowed yourself to consider resting. The fear in your chest had outweighed the exhaustion gnawing at your bones, keeping you upright, keeping you moving.

But now…now, it was getting harder.

Your body screamed for rest, your fingers stiff and aching against the wheel, your spine curled in discomfort from sitting so long. The hum of the tires on the cracked asphalt had begun to lull you, hypnotic in its monotony, and your head bobbed once, twice, before Sylvia’s sharp, desperate wail from the backseat jolted you violently awake.

You sucked in a breath, your heart pounding, fingers gripping the steering wheel so tight they ached. Your first instinct was panic—something was wrong, something had happened—before you registered the sound for what it was. Hunger. Frustration.

Just your baby girl crying for you.

"Sylvia, please, sweetheart, I know..." your voice wavered, raw from exhaustion, throat tight as you fought against the thick fog of fatigue clouding your brain. You risked a quick glance over your shoulder, your gut twisting at the sight of her tiny face contorted in distress, her fists clenched tight as she wailed.

Her tiny body trembled with the force of her cries, her little chest rising and falling in quick, panicked breaths. She didn’t understand why she was strapped down, why you weren’t holding her, why everything in her tiny world felt so loud and unfamiliar.

The sound of her suffering felt like a dagger lodged deep in your chest.

"Shhh, baby...Mommy’s here... I know, I know, I know," you whispered, reaching back blindly to shake the car seat just a little, as if the movement would somehow bring her comfort. It didn’t. Her cries only grew louder, more desperate, more insistent.

A fresh wave of guilt crashed over you, stronger than before.

You hated this. You hated hearing her cry and not being able to fix it. You hated that she was suffering because of you. Because you had been reckless. Because you had been selfish.

The thought came unbidden, intrusive and cruel, and you bit down hard on the inside of your cheek until you tasted blood. No. No, you couldn’t think like that.

But what if he was closing in?

The paranoia that had driven you to keep moving, to push past every ache and pain and ounce of exhaustion, crept up your spine again. Sylus was smart. Too smart. You had made it this far, but how much longer before he caught up?

Would he be merciful?

No. Of course not. He had ruined your life, taken your mind, body, and soul. Changed you in irreparable ways. That nice guy act over the phone was bullshit. It had to be.

He had told you—over and over—that you were his. That you belonged to him. That no matter where you ran, no matter how far you went, he would always come for you.

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling against the wheel as you pressed just a little harder on the gas.

You needed to keep going. You couldn’t stop.

But Sylvia’s cries weren’t letting up. They were clawing at your resolve, chipping away at it piece by piece, until it was nothing more than a fragile, fraying thread threatening to snap.

How much longer? How much longer before you completely fell apart?

Your vision blurred as tears pricked the edges of your eyes, the weight of it all—of everything—crushing you.

"I’m so sorry," you choked out, barely able to hear yourself over her wails. "I’m so, so sorry."

It wasn’t fair. She didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve any of this.

Your body ached with the need to pull over, to take her in your arms and comfort her the way you were supposed to. To stop, even just for a moment, to breathe, to think.

But if you stopped now…

If you stopped now, you weren’t sure you’d have the strength to start again.

You took a deep, shaky breath, forcing yourself to push back the primal, aching urge to pull over and scoop Sylvia into your arms. Your instincts screamed at you to comfort her, but fear screamed louder. Stopping meant wasting time. Stopping meant giving Sylus a chance to close in. So instead, you reached for the radio, fumbling with the old-fashioned knobs, hoping—praying—that some music might drown out her cries.

Your fingers twisted the dial, static hissing angrily in response.

Come on, come on…

You struggled to keep your eyes on the road, the lines blurring from exhaustion. Radios this old were practically relics in Linkon, outdated and replaced by sleek, voice-command technology. Were there even working radio stations outside the city? Had the rest of the world moved on, or had Linkon just left them behind?

Another turn of the knob. More static.

And then, sound.

Soft strings. A slow, haunting melody. Classical.

Your stomach dropped.

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened as unwelcome memories flooded your mind, unspooling like a film reel you couldn’t turn off.

Sylus, lounging on the edge of his massive bed, swirling a glass of whiskey in one hand while the other rested lazily against your waist. The dim glow of his bedroom, the scent of sandalwood and aged liquor clinging to the sheets. The way his crimson eyes would drift closed, his head tilting slightly as he listened, completely lost in the music.

"Relax, kitten," his voice, low and smooth, echoed through your thoughts, his lips brushing the crown of your head. "This should help you sleep".

You twisted the knob violently, heart hammering.

The radio shrieked with static again, Sylvia’s wails filling the gaps between the noise, clawing at your nerves.

“Come on, come on—”

The static flickered. A different station crackled through.

The familiar twang of an old country song filtered in, the singer’s voice rough yet warm. Not your usual taste. Not your preference. But it wasn’t classical. That was enough.

You exhaled slowly, your shoulders slumping as the melody filled the car.

Sylvia’s cries didn’t stop, but they softened just enough to dull the sharp edges of your panic. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“I know,” you murmured, risking another glance at her in the rearview mirror. Her tiny fists flailed, her red, tear-streaked face scrunched in distress. “Just a little longer. We’ll stop soon, I promise.”

You pressed a hand to your temple, exhaustion pressing down on you like a weight.

You just had to keep moving.

Thirty more minutes crawled by, and the suffocating isolation of the road was beginning to gnaw at your nerves. Nothing but dirt and desolate fields stretched endlessly on either side of you. The trees had thinned out long ago, replaced by flatlands that made you feel uncomfortably exposed. You kept checking the rearview mirror, expecting to see headlights cresting the horizon at any moment—Sylus's car, or worse, one of his men.

Your fingers drummed against the wheel. The only sound in the car was the soft hum of the radio and the occasional sniffle from Sylvia in the backseat. She had finally exhausted herself from crying, but you knew it was temporary. You’d have to stop soon.

Your eyes flickered to the gas meter.

Your stomach dropped.

Shit.

The needle was hovering dangerously close to empty.

You clenched your jaw, gripping the wheel tighter as you exhaled slowly through your nose. You should’ve stopped earlier. Should’ve filled up before you even left the outskirts of Brunswick. But in your haste—your desperation to put as much distance between you and Sylus as possible—you hadn’t even thought about it.

Now, you didn’t have a choice. You had to find a gas station.

And soon.

Your mind raced through the options. There had to be something out here, even if it was just a tiny, rundown station in the middle of nowhere. You scanned the road ahead, searching for any sign, any flicker of neon in the distance, but all you were met with was an endless stretch of dirt and open sky.

Another whimper from the backseat drew your attention. You glanced in the mirror.

Sylvia was stirring again, her tiny face scrunching up, little hands flailing weakly. She was getting hungrier by the second.

Your chest tightened.

You had nothing prepared. The bottles Clara had packed were in the passenger seat, but they were still cold. You needed to heat them up somehow. You needed a rest stop, a gas station, anything. The you realized enough time had passed that the formula likely wasn't safe to give her anyways.

The pressure in your skull built. Every mile that passed felt like another nail being hammered into your nerves.

The gas light flickered on.

Shit.

Your heart slammed against your ribs, fingers clenching so hard against the steering wheel that your knuckles went white. You couldn’t break down out here. Not in the middle of nowhere. Not when Sylus was still out there, searching.

Not when you had Sylvia.

She let out a soft cry.

You inhaled sharply through your nose.

Keep it together. Keep driving. Find a station. Fast.

As if the universe had finally decided to grant you some mercy, a gas station came into view in the distance, its sign flickering weakly against the inky black sky. You nearly sighed in relief, your grip on the steering wheel tightening as you forced yourself to maintain a steady speed. The last thing you needed was to burn out the last drops of gas before you even reached the pump.

The place was rundown—long abandoned cars left at odd angles in the parking lot, their paint peeling under the weight of time. The single convenience store sat behind the pumps, its windows coated in layers of grime. The fluorescent lights above the entrance buzzed loudly, some flickering in and out like they were clinging to life. It looked like something out of an old horror movie, the kind of place you’d never stop at willingly. But right now, you didn’t have a choice.

You turned off the engine and slumped back against the seat, exhaling slowly. The sudden silence inside the car felt almost deafening after hours of listening to Sylvia’s cries. You hesitated before glancing back at her. She had finally fallen asleep, her tiny chest rising and falling in soft, rhythmic motions. The tear stains on her chubby cheeks twisted something deep inside of you, a gnawing guilt that wouldn’t let go.

She had cried herself to sleep.

The thought made your throat tighten, but you swallowed it down. Right now, you needed to focus. Get gas. Find something to eat. Then feed her before she woke up screaming again. Simple steps. One thing at a time. You could do this.

You reached under the seat, rummaging around until your fingers brushed against the cool metal of Luke’s gun—except…it wasn’t there.

Your stomach twisted as you patted around the floor, the glove compartment, the passenger seat, even checking beside Sylvia’s car seat just in case it had slid over. But nothing.

Shit.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a brief moment, pressing your fingers to your temples. You had sworn you packed it. Had you left it at the farmhouse? Maybe in your rush, you had forgotten. Either way, it wasn’t here, and that meant you were completely defenseless.

A slow breath left your lips, your heartbeat picking up slightly. It’s fine. It has to be fine. You weren’t some helpless civilian—your training as a Deepspace Hunter wasn’t something you could just forget overnight. You had survived worse at this point. Besides, this place looked empty. Just a quick stop and then you’d be back on the road before anyone even noticed you were here.

But still…the absence of the gun made your nerves hum with unease.

You reached over and gently adjusted Sylvia’s blanket, making sure she was snug and comfortable before you grabbed the thick envelope with money and slowly opened the car door. The night air was crisp, cool against your flushed skin. A shiver ran down your spine, and you weren’t sure if it was from the cold or the strange stillness of the place.

The wind howled softly through the empty lot, rustling stray scraps of paper and dried leaves. Other than that, it was quiet. Too quiet.

You glanced over your shoulder once more, reassuring yourself that Sylvia was still fast asleep before heading toward the pump.

Stay alert. Stay ready.

You had to be quick. Sylus could be closing in.

The lower half of your body aches as you finally swing your legs out of the car, wincing at the deep, unrelenting soreness that radiates through your hips and thighs. Three weeks postpartum, and your body is still punishing you for what it went through. Every movement feels stiff, your joints weak, your core unstable. You shouldn’t even be walking like this, let alone driving for hours on end.

Under normal circumstances, you should be at home, curled up in bed with your baby, resting and recovering in a soft nest of blankets. That’s what all the pregnancy books Sylus had given you had insisted upon—proper rest, gentle healing, quiet moments bonding with your newborn. Of course, resting anywhere near Sylus wasn't exactly ideal...

You exhale sharply, forcing his image out of your head. Why are you even thinking about him right now? Why was he always an unrelenting thought in your head?

Focus.

Your hands tighten into fists as you pull yourself upright, steeling your nerves. You had to keep pushing. The pain? You could handle it. The exhaustion? You’d dealt with worse. But Sylvia needed you to stay strong. Squaring your shoulders, you push forward, limping slightly as you march toward the gas station doors. Your body protests with every step, your muscles screaming for rest, but you ignore them. Pain is nothing. Adrenaline is your crutch now, keeping you upright, pushing you through the haze of exhaustion.

The rusty bell above the gas station door chimes as you shove it open, the heavy scent of stale food and dust hitting you immediately. The air is thick with the kind of stillness that only places long-forgotten seem to carry, as if time itself had abandoned this rundown stop in the middle of nowhere.

Your eyes sweep over the dimly lit aisles, scanning for any signs of danger. Old shelves sag beneath expired snack foods and faded bags of chips. Refrigerators hum in the back, their glass doors fogged with condensation. It’s eerily quiet.

Then your gaze lands on the guy behind the counter.

A young man—early twenties, maybe—slouches lazily against the register, scrolling mindlessly through his phone. His shaggy hair falls over his eyes, and a bored expression sits on his face. He doesn’t even glance up when you enter.

Your stomach churns.

You’ve been in places like this before. Sketchy, isolated stops. The last time you found yourself in a run-down gas station like this, you met Reese. And soon after? Your entire world turned to hell.

Your hands instinctively twitch, as if reaching for a weapon that isn’t there. Your posture straightens, eyes sharp, spine stiff. Don’t show weakness. Don’t trust him, even if he seems friendly.

Be assertive. Be smart. Your a woman all alone with a man at a deserted gas station.

And above all else— don’t let him see your fear.

You approach the counter slowly, clutching the thick envelope of cash tightly against your chest. Every step feels measured, deliberate. You’re hyperaware of your surroundings, the dim lighting, the faint hum of the refrigerators, the flickering fluorescent light above that casts harsh shadows along the stained tile floor.

The man behind the counter finally senses your presence, glancing up from his phone. He jumps slightly, clearly not expecting anyone at this hour. His surprise quickly fades into a small, easy smile.

"Ah…sorry. You caught me off guard," he says, setting his phone down. "I don’t get too many customers, to be honest."

You force a polite smile, trying to appear composed, though your insides are twisting with unease. Sylvia is still out there, alone in the car, vulnerable. Every second wasted inside this dusty old gas station feels like an eternity.

You clear your throat, straightening your posture, forcing steel into your voice. Don’t appear weak.

“I need enough gas to make it to the next town…city—whatever,” you say, already thumbing through the envelope, your fingers brushing against crisp bills. “How much for a full tank? Eighty should cover it, right?”

The man’s eyes flicker down toward the envelope in your hands. His gaze lingers a second too long.

You feel your stomach clench.

Something shifts in the air—not immediately threatening, but… interested. Curious. Too curious.

“Um…yeah,” he says finally, nodding as he straightens up. “That should do it. I’ll get you settled right now.”

His hand extends toward you, waiting for the money.

You exhale through your nose and nod, quickly counting out the cash. You don’t want to take too long, don’t want to give him a chance to ask questions or make small talk. You briskly press the bills into his open palm. Your fingertips graze against his.

You flinch.

It’s barely noticeable, but the movement is there, and you immediately look away, pulse kicking up a notch.

“Ah—sorry,” he mutters, fumbling the cash slightly as if he noticed the tension in you.

You don’t respond. You mumble a quick, “Thanks,” and turn on your heel, briskly walking toward the exit.

Get back to the car. Get back to Sylvia.

The bell above the door chimes as you step back outside, the night air cold against your skin once more. You don’t look back.

Relieved to finally be out of that suffocating, dust-filled gas station, you rush back to the car, your steps quick and purposeful. The air is sharp against your overheated skin, but you barely notice it—your only concern is Sylvia.

As you reach the car, your breath hitches slightly as you peer through the window, searching for her tiny form in the dim interior.

Still asleep. Thank god.

A wave of relief crashes over you, momentarily easing the knots in your stomach. She’s curled in her car seat, her little face barely visible in the darkness, the faint rise and fall of her chest the only thing keeping you from spiraling into panic.

Just pump the gas. Eat something. Wake her up to feed. Then go.

You quickly double-check the pump, making sure that sketchy attendant actually followed through. Your fingers hesitate over the button for a second before pressing it. The numbers flash correctly on the screen.

Good. One less thing to worry about.

You exhale slowly, shoving the nozzle into the gas tank, your hands trembling slightly as the tension in your body refuses to fully dissipate. You lean against the rickety old car, closing your eyes for a brief second.

Just breathe. One step at a time.

“Hey, um—”

A voice cuts through the night, sudden and far too close.

Your heart lurches into your throat. You spin violently, a panicked scream ripping from your chest as you stumble backward, hands flying up defensively.

"What the—!" Your voice comes out sharp, shaky.

The gas station attendant.

He throws his hands up instantly, eyes widening in alarm. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you—I swear!” His voice wobbles slightly, like he’s startled by your reaction.

Your breath is ragged, your pulse hammering painfully in your ears.

He shifts uncomfortably under your gaze, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just…thought you might wanna know your tail light is, um… broken.”

You don’t answer immediately. You’re too busy reining in the storm inside you, the suffocating mix of paranoia, exhaustion, and adrenaline. Your hands are still trembling slightly, though you clench them into fists to hide it.

A broken tail light. That’s what this was about?

For a moment, you just stare at him, trying to determine whether or not he’s lying. Whether he’s stalling you for something worse.

Or someone worse.

Sylus.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to breathe through the paranoia.

“…Right.” Your voice is flat, carefully guarded. “Thanks.”

Your fingers itch to grab the gas nozzle and get the hell out of here.

“I could…take a look at it if you’d like. Sometimes it’s just a weird wire. Easy fix,” the attendant says, offering you an earnest smile.

You feel the sweat forming at the back of your neck, an uneasy warmth that creeps down your spine. Something about his persistence sets you on edge. You glance at the pump’s screen, watching the numbers climb. Almost full.

Not much longer now. Just stay calm.

“Um, no thank you,” you mumble, forcing yourself to keep your tone neutral. “It’s an old car. Things break, it’s fine. I’ll get it looked at in the next city.”

You don’t make eye contact. You don’t want to engage.

Just let this conversation die.

But he doesn’t leave.

He lingers, hovering like a storm cloud, hands stuffed awkwardly in his pockets as if he’s trying to seem harmless. You keep your posture rigid, your body instinctively shifting closer to the driver's side door.

He finally speaks again, his voice oddly casual. "I see...um. Your daughter is…very cute. What’s her name?"

A shiver of ice rushes through your veins. Your grip tightens on the gas nozzle.

The mention of your daughter.

Coming out of a strange man's mouth.

Your pulse spikes, adrenaline replacing exhaustion in an instant. Every nerve in your body screams at you to protect her. Your hand twitches toward the car door handle, ready to grab her and bolt, ready to—

No. Stay still. Don’t escalate.

Your stomach twists, nausea creeping in. He leans over slightly, peering into the car.

Too close.

Too close.

"Leave me alone," you say, your voice low, warning. Your jaw clenches so tightly it aches.

His head snaps back up, eyes flicking to yours in something like surprise. Then, to your growing disgust, he gives a sheepish little chuckle.

"I'm sorry…" he says, rubbing his neck, shifting his weight. "I just thought…you're very pretty…and—”

Nope. No. Absolutely not.

Your body reacts before your mind can even catch up. The nozzle slams into the pump with a sharp clang, yanked free from the tank in one swift motion.

And then you take a single step forward, staring him down with everything left inside of you.

"I'm leaving," you say, voice cold. Final. "Get out of my way."

His demeanor shifts instantly. The awkward, sheepish act he had been putting on peels away like dead skin, revealing something far uglier underneath. His lips curl into a sneer, his once-meek expression hardening into something calculating, entitled. He steps forward without hesitation, and before you can react, his hand latches onto your wrist like a vice.

The moment his fingers dig into your skin, a shock of rage erupts through you, an electric, all-consuming fury that you hadn’t felt in ages—not since Reese. Not since Sylus. Not since that man in the basement.

"Fucking women," he spits, yanking you toward him with a force that nearly makes you stumble. "I was just having a conversation! What the fuck are you so uptight for—"

His words are cut short as your body moves before your mind can catch up.

Your free hand snaps up, clamping around his wrist, twisting it outward in a sharp, fluid motion. You step into him, shifting your weight forward, and suddenly, he’s off balance. He staggers, eyes widening in confusion and pain as you torque his arm into an unnatural angle.

With every ounce of muscle memory left in you, you twist, pivot, and use his own momentum against him. The moment his center of gravity tips too far forward, you yank hard, sending him crashing face-first onto the pavement.

The sound is sickening.

His skull meets the ground with a dull, wet crack, and a sharp gasp rips from his throat. His body bounces against the asphalt, his hands scrambling to push himself up, but you’re already on him.

Not this time.

Not ever again.

Your breath heaves, hot and wild in your chest, and a sound tears from your throat—not a scream, not a sob, but something primal, something animalistic. Before you can think, your foot slams into his ribs.

Once.

Hard.

A wheezing grunt escapes him as he jerks onto his side, but you don’t stop.

Another kick—this time to his gut. He gags. A wet, choking noise claws from his throat, and his hands curl toward his stomach on reflex.

But you’re not finished.

You rear back and slam your foot into his shoulder, his collarbone, his chest. Anything, everything.

Sylus.

Reese.

That man in the basement.

Luke.

Kieran.

Their faces blur and meld into the one beneath you, and suddenly, you’re kicking harder.

Harder.

Harder.

Your breath saws in and out of your lungs in sharp, jagged bursts, your heart hammering in your ears like war drums. Every kick feels like retribution. Every stomp, every hit, every impact is a scream your body was never allowed to release.

The man beneath you groans, then whimpers, curling into himself like a dying insect, blood trickling from his nose onto the cracked pavement.

But you don’t feel better.

You feel alive.

You stand over him, chest heaving, a faint tremor in your hands. The adrenaline still pulses through your veins, hot and all-consuming, but deep beneath it, you feel something else creeping in—a chilling sense of realization.

You’re not weak anymore.

You’re not a victim.

Not now.

Not. Ever. Again.

When you finally run out of breath, when the searing heat of rage begins to fizzle into exhaustion, you stagger back, your entire body trembling. Your chest rises and falls in sharp, uneven breaths, your limbs heavy with the weight of what you’ve just done.

Beneath you, the man groans, his body a mess of bruises and split skin. Blood drips from his nose, smearing against the pavement as he twitches in pain. His arms feebly attempt to shield himself, but you can see it—the way his body curls inward, the way his wide, horrified eyes track your every movement.

Good.

He coughs, a wet, gurgling sound, his lips parting to speak—but he says nothing. He doesn’t dare.

You lean down, just enough to cast a looming shadow over his crumpled form. Your voice is low, strained from panting, but the warning in your tone is unmistakable.

“I said…” you breathe, wiping the sweat from your brow. “I’m leaving.”

You straighten, forcing yourself to turn away from the wreck of a man on the pavement. As if the interaction had never happened, you dust off your coat, smooth your trembling hands over your stomach, and take one final look at him.

Your lip curls, not in fear, not in disgust— but in something eerily close to satisfaction.

“Have a good night.”

And with that, you walk away.

Leaving the groaning man behind, you waste no time scrambling into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut with shaking hands. The scent of gasoline still lingers in the air, mixing with the sharp tang of sweat on your skin. Your pulse is hammering, your body still vibrating with adrenaline, but you force yourself to steady your grip on the wheel. Focus. Breathe. Drive.

You jam the keys into the ignition, the engine roaring to life as you yank the car into gear and pull away from the gas station. Your heart is still pounding in your ears, drowning out everything but the shrill wailing from the backseat. Sylvia.

She had been startled awake by the commotion, her cries loud and insistent, cutting through the thick haze of your spiraling thoughts. You glance into the rearview mirror, your daughter’s tiny, writhing form barely visible in the dim light. The sound is piercing, relentless—a desperate, needy scream that tugs at something primal inside you.

She’s hungry.

You know she needs to eat, but the lingering fear in your chest keeps your foot pressed against the gas pedal. You need distance. Security. Clara was one in a million, but you can’t trust anyone else. There are too many dangers, too many unknowns, and the idea of stopping—of exposing yourself and Sylvia to another potential threat—makes your stomach turn.

Just a little longer, baby. Please, just a little longer.

“Waaa! Waaa!”

Sylvia’s cries grow more frantic, her tiny body arching against the car seat. Her fists flail, her face scrunching up in distress. She’s starving. She doesn’t understand why you won’t stop.

“I know, baby. I know. I promise—just hold on. You can eat soon,” you plead, your voice trembling as you grip the wheel tighter. You’re talking more to yourself than her, trying to convince yourself that you’re making the right call, that a few more miles of safety are worth the delay.

But then—it hits.

A dizzying wave of nausea, so intense that your vision tunnels. Your breath catches in your throat, and suddenly, it feels like the air is too thick, your limbs too heavy. Your gut twists violently, an aching emptiness gnawing at you from the inside out.

Milk.

Your mind is suddenly filled with nothing but the overwhelming, singular thought of milk. Your body aches, your breasts throb with the need to feed her, the demand pulsing through you like a siren call. The pain is unlike anything you’ve felt before, a raw, clawing hunger that doesn’t belong to you—or does it?

The car veers sharply as your grip slackens on the wheel, and panic explodes through your chest. You snap back into focus just in time to jerk the wheel, slamming your foot against the brakes. The tires screech against the pavement, the entire car lurching as it skids to a grinding halt on the side of the road.

Sylvia shrieks louder, her cries blending with the ringing in your ears. Your head is spinning, your muscles locked in place as the suffocating hunger surges through your veins. Why do you feel like this? Why does it feel like your body is betraying you?

Then—without thinking, without even realizing you’ve moved—you’re already crawling into the backseat, your movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Almost zombielike. Your fingers fumble with Sylvia’s seatbelt, your breath ragged as you yank her free from the harness, pulling her trembling body into your arms.

She’s so small. So warm. So needy.

Your hands shake as you cradle her against your chest, your own breath coming in short, uneven pants. The world around you is distant now, blurred at the edges, the only thing real being the overwhelming thought screaming at you.

Feed her. Feed her now.

You don’t even feel like yourself anymore. You move like something else—something driven by impulse, by raw, consuming need. Your mind is foggy, your hands trembling as you tug at the collar of your shirt, exposing the swollen, aching skin underneath.

Sylvia’s cries weaken as she senses the proximity of food, her tiny mouth searching blindly. Yes. This is right. This is what she needs.

The second she latches, the tension in your body snaps like a taut wire. Your mind is filled with instant clarity again. Relief washes over you in waves, the pain in your stomach subsiding as she suckles, her frantic whimpers quieting into soft, rhythmic gulps.

You slump back against the seat, your entire body trembling from exhaustion and whatever the hell just overtook you. Your breath shudders, your mind barely able to process what just happened. Was that…normal?

Your body seemingly had acted on its own. It didn’t even feel like you were in control. Your thoughts didn't seem like yours...why the hell would you think of milk?

Something deep inside you stirs, an unsettling thought curling around your already fragile mind. You swallow hard, staring down at Sylvia as she drinks greedily, oblivious to the storm raging inside you.

It couldn't have been...? No. You're being ridiculous. She's a baby. Babies can't...manipulate minds. Right? Sure, you had seen quite your fair share of oddities during your time as a Deepspace Hunter...but babies with mind control abilities was unheard of. Evolvers usually didn't even usually develop their abilities until well into adolescence. You knew that better than anyone. You blink the thoughts away, not wanting to overthink anything else right now. What matters is that she's eating. She's happy and eating.

Whatever that was though…it scared you. Deeply.

Sylus sat in the backseat of the sleek black car, fingers rhythmically tapping against his knee as he watched the grainy feed from Mephisto’s latest scan. The bird had picked up tire tracks leading away from the cabin, carving a clear path down an isolated stretch of road. It was confirmation. You were definitely in a car.

He let out a slow breath, tilting his head slightly as the car sped along the same path. There was no need for panic. No need for impatience. You couldn’t run forever.

Not with his daughter.

Luke and Kieran sat near him, whispering to each other in low voices, though they knew better than to directly disturb him. Tension in the vehicle was thick. Every single one of them knew what was at stake.

Sylus’s eyes flicked to his watch, then back to the feed pinned to the dashboard. You had, at best, a few hours' head start.

That didn’t concern him. What concerned him was what those few hours might do to you.

No hospitals. No medical care. No help.

How much were you struggling? Was your body holding up after birth? Were you getting enough rest? Enough food? Was she crying? Hours nonstop on the road definitely wasn't good for a newborn.

The thought made his jaw tighten. Did you even know how to handle her cries properly? Did you know how to soothe her? Did you even understand what she needed?

He stopped himself. No, you weren't stupid. You had to have some idea to get this far. You’d been running on nothing but adrenaline and fear for weeks though. That couldn’t last.

And he was counting on that.

The corner of his lips twitched upward as Mephisto’s feed flickered, the camera lens catching glimpses of old road signs. The bird circled ahead, scanning the land like a mechanical vulture.

Then, his screen glitched—static flooding the feed for half a second—before stabilizing.

A gas station.

Sylus sat up straighter, rewinding the footage. The timestamp was barely an hour old. His pupils dilated as the distorted image sharpened—a blurry glimpse of you stepping out of a car.

There.

A slow, deep exhale left his chest, his heart hammering against his ribs in quiet victory.

You were still close.

"Boss?" Kieran glanced at him nervously, sensing the shift in his mood.

Sylus barely blinked, his gaze locked onto the monitor. He saw your face. Saw the exhaustion lining your eyes, the way your body moved like every step was a struggle.

You were breaking. You just didn’t know it yet.

"Drive faster," Sylus murmured, slipping his phone back into his coat pocket. "She stopped at a gas station not long ago."

The driver whistled, adjusting his grip on the wheel. Kieran perked up, clearly excited. "Then we're catching up. Wonder how she’s holding up on her own."

Sylus didn’t answer. He already knew.

And it was only a matter of time before you did, too.

Sylus kept watching the video, eyes intent on capturing every single one of your movements. As if blinking meant losing sight of you forever. His grip on the device tightened, thumb hovering near the replay button, though he didn’t need to rewind it—he had already committed every second to memory.

Through Mephisto’s grainy feed, he could see you stepping out of the car, your movements sluggish, deliberate. Tired. His lips pressed into a thin line. Of course you were tired. He could only assume that his daughter remained strapped in the backseat while you made your way inside. He squinted, a flicker of frustration crossing his face.

What were you thinking? Leaving her alone, in the middle of nowhere?

The irritation built inside him like an ember, a slow-burning, undeniable truth: this is why you needed him.

You were making reckless decisions, no doubt running on nothing but fear and exhaustion. And in doing so, you were putting her at risk.

Sylus exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. Perhaps he should’ve expected this. You’d never had time to prepare for motherhood, never been in a stable enough situation to learn the proper way to care for a newborn. And now, without help, without him—you were floundering.

The thought should have pleased him. Should’ve reassured him that you’d come to your senses soon enough.

Instead, it pissed him off. Although he had tried...he had failed on his part of making you feel safe obviously. And despite the promises of change, his birdie had flown out of her cage again.

And it was ultimately his fault. Clara's words back at the farmhouse ringed in his head. As much as it pained him to even think about it. Regardless, it didn't change the fact that he had done everything out of necessity. He couldn't allow himself to feel guilt about it...yet.

His jaw clenched as he refocused on the footage. Mephisto had barely caught you in time. The bird was still sluggish from his last-minute tune-up after being shot—flying lower, slower than Sylus would’ve preferred—but it was enough. By some miracle, he had found you in the vastness of nowhere.

And Sylus refused to let you disappear again.

He watched as you exited the store almost as quickly as you had entered, your head snapping toward the car the moment you stepped outside. Checking on the baby. His baby.

How precious.

But it wasn’t enough. Sylus exhaled slowly through his nose, his fingers tightening around the edge of his seat as he watched you move. He wanted—no, needed—more. The anticipation of finally laying eyes on his daughter, the perfect blend of you and him, had been gnawing at him since the moment he realized she had finally made her entrance into the world.

And yet, you kept her locked away from him. Hidden. Without even realizing it.

It was maddening.

He wished—no, ached—for you to open that car door and lift her into your arms, to grant him just a fleeting glimpse of what he has longed for his entire existence. To see the tiny, delicate baby you had carried for months—his firstborn, his blood, a piece of himself forged inside you.

But you didn’t. You merely glanced inside before refocusing on the gas pump, never once sparing him the satisfaction.

His teeth ground together.

What was it that made you so determined to keep her from him?

Did you think he wouldn’t know how to care for his own child? Did you think running would solve all your problems?

The sheer audacity of it made his stomach coil with frustration. Of course, you were a mother now—his darling little runaway. And while that was an adorable sight to behold in some aspects, it didn’t change the fact that you were his. Both of you.

And yet, here you were, trying so desperately to escape him. As if you could.

He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. Soon.

Soon, he would hold you both in his arms.

He could already picture it—the warmth of your body finally pressed against his once more, your breath unsteady against his neck, your heartbeat syncing with his. You would struggle at first, of course. You always did. But he would calm you, hush your trembling sobs with whispered reassurances and quiet promises. He would remind you, over and over, that he was the only one who could truly keep you safe.

And his daughter…his perfect little girl.

He imagined her small, delicate weight in his hands, her soft cries settling into contented coos as he rocked her for the first time. He would press a kiss to her tiny forehead, trace his fingers over the softness of her hair, memorize the details of the child that you had stolen from him.

But there would be no more hiding.

No more running.

You would see it soon enough—that this was inevitable. That this was fate.

The moment you realized it, he would be there to catch you as you finally surrendered, as your resistance melted into exhausted acceptance. He would soothe the tears from your eyes, his lips brushing against your damp cheeks, and you would know—truly know—that there was no leaving anymore.

There never was.

His fingers tapped impatiently against his knee as he studied the way you moved, the way your eyes flicked back and forth with unease. Always looking over your shoulder, always afraid of who might be watching.

You shouldn't be afraid. Not of him at least. Was he perfect? No. But he was trying. He couldn't change the past, but he can write the future. If only you'd just stop running.

The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. Its fine. Everything will fall into place. Like it did last time.

He leaned forward slightly, watching intently as you moved to pump gas, fiddling with the machine, gaze shifting nervously toward the gas station door every few moments. He could tell by your tense posture that you weren’t at ease—and for good reason.

You knew he was coming.

You just didn’t know when.

Sylus’s eyes widened as he watched a figure emerge from the gas station, his entire body snapping to attention. A young man, no older than his early twenties, walked toward you with an almost casual air. Who the hell was he?

His pulse quickened, his senses immediately sharpening as he observed the interaction unfold through Mephisto’s feed. You didn’t notice the man at first—your awareness was still lacking, too focused on fueling the car and tending to your little escape plan. It infuriated him. You should have sensed the approach of a stranger before he got that close. His fingers drummed against his thigh impatiently, irritation seething under his skin.

The man hesitated before speaking, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot as he tried to peer into the car. What was he looking at? The realization hit Sylus like a strike of lightning. The baby.

His grip on the glass in his hand tightened dangerously. That fucking bastard was trying to get a look at his daughter.

Even though the feed only provided faint audio, he could make out the unease in your voice. You were uncomfortable. Your body stiffened. You turned away. Sylus watched you give clipped, dismissive responses, clear signs that you wanted nothing to do with this man. But the fool didn’t take the hint. You grew increasingly aggressive, slamming the pump back and attempting to get around him.

Then the stranger grabbed your wrist.

Sylus’s entire body went rigid.

Something primal and violent coiled in his gut, his blood running hot with barely contained rage. How dare he? How fucking dare some low-life, gas station nobody put his hands on you? If he had been there, he would have snapped the bastard’s fingers off one by one for even thinking of touching what was his.

But then—oh, kitten.

Sylus watched as, in the span of mere seconds, your body reacted before your mind did. Your instincts—those beautiful, sharpened instincts that he had always admired, always known were there—finally kicked in.

The man barely had time to register what had happened before you twisted his arm and flipped him onto the pavement with an effortless motion. A perfect maneuver. It was fluid, instinctual, deadly. The sound of his body hitting the ground was satisfying enough to make Sylus chuckle under his breath.

And then you stomped on him. Again. And again. And again.

He watched as the man turned into a writhing bloody mess. His amusement morphed into something deeper, something like pride as you leaned over his figure and grinned.

Yes.

There she is.

The fire, the strength, the pure ruthlessness he always knew you had in you—it was all there. And it was magnificent to finally witness.

He smirked, leaning forward slightly, unable to tear his eyes away from the feed. The way you didn’t hesitate, didn’t falter. The way you unleashed every ounce of frustration, fear, and rage into every blow, as if making a statement—not just to this poor fool, but to the world itself.

Sylus exhaled slowly, feeling an overwhelming sense of satisfaction.

"That’s my girl."

"Holy shit. I'm glad the miss didn't do that to me," Kieran muttered, leaning over Sylus's shoulder as he watched the grainy footage unfold on the screen. His voice was a mix of awe and unease, his usual cocky demeanor faltering. "I wouldn’t have defended myself if she did, of course! Or hurt her in any way, boss! I swear, I'd never lay hands on her unless necessary."

Sylus didn't react at first, his crimson eyes still fixed on the footage as he rewinded a bit, watching the way you moved—the sheer force behind each calculated stomp, the way your body tensed with unrelenting fury. He didn't need to look at Kieran to know his men understood where they stood when it came to you.

Finally, with a slow nod, he acknowledged the statement. "Of course, you wouldn’t," he said simply, his tone carrying the weight of an unspoken warning.

His men knew better. All of his staff had been given strict orders from the start: no one was to raise a hand against you. No one was to subdue you, restrain you, or so much as consider fighting back if you ever lashed out at them. Only unless you were an absolute danger to yourself, escaping, and he wasn't around.

He grit his teeth again. The one time they had been allowed to...and they failed. Though he didn't really prepare them for the scenario that you would turn a weapon on yourself, much less have one to begin with.

Luke...

"She was pregnant, dummy. I would've been impressed if she could," Luke snickered beside him, though there was an underlying tension in his voice.

Sylus didn't share their amusement. His eyes flicked toward Luke with quiet scrutiny, his arms crossing over his chest in a slow, deliberate motion. "She shouldn't have even gotten the chance," he said coolly.

Luke stiffened.

"Perhaps if someone paid more attention to what he leaves in his coat," Sylus continued, his voice deceptively calm, "she wouldn't have to stomp strange men into the ground to protect herself and our daughter."

Luke visibly shrank under the weight of Sylus's words, his bravado disappearing in an instant. "Right…sorry, boss," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, remembering that he wasn't quite yet off the hook.

Sylus exhaled through his nose, gaze returning to the flickering feed from Mephisto’s camera. The image of you—furious, breathless, standing over the bloody, groaning man—burned itself into his mind. His little kitten still had sharp claws after all. Good. You weren't weak. You could defend yourself until he found you at least.

Don't break until he's close enough.

Sylus clenched his fist, the leather of his gloves groaning under the pressure. His jaw tightened, muscles twitching as he watched the way you scrambled back into the car. Even through the grainy, flickering screen, he could see the tremble in your hands as they gripped the wheel. His sharp eyes didn’t miss the way your chest heaved, how you fought to steady yourself.

His lips pressed into a thin line, irritation rolling through his veins like molten iron. You shouldn’t have to do this—shouldn’t have to fend off some pathetic bottom-feeder on your own. That was his job. The very thought of anyone else laying their hands on you, invading your space, sent his blood boiling.

And yet…his gaze softened ever so slightly, just for a fraction of a second.

He had always loved your fire, the way you resisted, fought, clawed for every ounce of freedom you could scrape together. It was infuriating and had slowed the progression of things, yes—but it was also mesmerizing. That strength, that will to survive, was exactly what made you his.

Still, it wouldn’t be long now.

All this built-up irritation clawed at his head, pressing against the inside of his skull, demanding release. His patience was a thin thread stretched taut, moments from snapping. He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to focus.

At the very least, there were some fingers to shred to take out his frustrations.

The gas station’s fluorescent lights buzzed weakly, flickering intermittently as the battered young man dragged himself back inside. Every step was a struggle, his legs trembling beneath him as he coughed, a thick glob of blood splattering onto the linoleum floor. His jaw throbbed, and he could already feel his right eye swelling shut.

He staggered forward, gripping the edge of the counter for support, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Fucking whore," he muttered bitterly, wiping at his busted lip with the back of his hand. "She's lucky…bitch should be on her knees begging instead of fighting."

His vision blurred for a moment, his body threatening to collapse. His hands fumbled against the register as he struggled to steady himself. He didn’t know what hurt more—the humiliation or the actual injuries.

The soft chime of the doorbell rang behind him, signaling someone entering. He flinched, his nerves frayed beyond repair. "We're closed," he rasped, his voice hoarse, not even bothering to turn around. "Come back—"

"Ah," came a deep, smooth voice from behind him. "You will be closed after tonight. Indefinitely."

The young man froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. The weight of those words sank into his gut like lead. Slowly, hesitantly, he turned his head toward the door.

There, standing under the dim, flickering light, was a tall figure, clad in black. A pair of piercing red eyes gleamed in the fluorescent lights, predatory and cold.

The young man barely had time to process the looming presence behind him before a gloved hand clamped over his shoulder, squeezing just enough to make his bruised body jolt with pain. His breath hitched, and instinct screamed at him to run—but his legs wouldn’t cooperate.

Sylus leaned in slightly, his voice deceptively smooth, yet laced with something that sent ice straight into the young man's spine. "That was quite the beating you took," he murmured, almost conversational. "And yet, you still had the audacity to spit out insults about her?"

The young man swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "Oh! L-look, I don’t want any trouble, man," he stammered, barely managing to get the words out. "She—she freaked out for no reason! I didn’t even do anything—"

A sharp, pained grunt escaped him as Sylus’s grip tightened, fingers digging into his already bruised shoulder. "No, no," Sylus tsked, shaking his head slightly, eyes burning into him. "You did do something. You put your filthy hands on her. You scared her. That, I can't allow."

Before the young man could beg, Sylus shifted his grip, effortlessly dragging him forward before slamming his face down onto the counter. The glass candy display cracked under the force, loose wrappers and shattered shards tumbling onto the floor. The man let out a garbled cry, blood pooling from his nose onto the register.

Sylus exhaled, slow and measured, as if keeping himself from making more of a mess than necessary. "I should make this a slow lesson," he murmured, his voice dangerously calm. "A reminder to keep your hands to yourself. But I’m on a tight schedule."

His other hand raised lazily, fingers twitching slightly. A faint, red mist coiled from his palm, slithering through the air like phantom tendrils. The young man barely had time to scream before the mist lunged—wrapping around his wrists like invisible shackles. He gasped, eyes going wide as pain flared through his hands.

The sensation started as a slow, burning pressure—then turned razor-sharp.

The man’s scream split through the quiet night as his skin split open, jagged lines forming along his fingers and palms. Blood welled up in uneven, deep cuts that carved into the tendons like hungry fangs. His hands trembled violently, muscles spasming from the unnatural wounds.

Sylus tilted his head, watching the spectacle with the detached curiosity of an artist critiquing his work. The red mist flexed again, tearing deeper.

A gurgled sob tore from the man’s throat as he collapsed to his knees. His fingers curled inward instinctively, but the moment he tried to move them, fresh agony seized him. His hands—his fucking hands—

"Fuck!"

The young man let out a whimper, trembling as Sylus finally released him. He slumped against the counter, gasping, clutching at his face with bloodied hands. He was about to mumble out some weak attempt at an apology—when Sylus turned, walking toward the shelves lined with cheap liquor and dusty energy drinks.

Without hesitation, he reached up, knocking over several bottles, letting their contents splash onto the linoleum floor in a spreading pool of alcohol. The acrid scent filled the air, seeping into the aisles. He moved deliberately, tipping over a shelf of motor oil, letting it mix into the mess. The young man’s dazed expression twisted in confusion, then realization.

"Wait, wait—what are you—?" he stammered, struggling to push himself up.

Sylus simply flicked open a silver lighter from his pocket, the small flame casting an eerie glow against his sharp features. "Consider this severance," he mused, before tossing the lighter onto the floor.

The fire roared to life instantly.

Flames spread like liquid hunger, climbing the shelves, licking up the walls, racing toward the ceiling. Heat exploded outward, consuming everything in its wake. The young man scrambled back, his screams swallowed by the crackling inferno.

Sylus didn’t bother looking back as he stepped out of the gas station, the fire’s glow casting flickering shadows over his form. He adjusted his gloves, slipping into the backseat of the car once more.

Mephisto flapped onto the dashboard, letting out a mechanical caw.

"Yes, yes," Sylus murmured, cracking his knuckles as he set his sights on the road ahead. "I know, I know. We have two little birdies to retrieve."

With one last glance at the burning wreckage in his rearview mirror, the driver pressed his foot to the gas, peeling off into the night. Mephisto took off into the night sky once more.

Behind him, the gas station erupted in a final, deafening explosion. Luke and Kieran ooed and awwed at the sight, cheering at the flames as if it were a fire show. A pillar of fire shot into the sky, a violent exclamation mark on the lesson Sylus had left behind. No one would know for awhile that such an event occurred in the middle of nowhere.

And just like that, he was gone—chasing after the only thing that had ever truly mattered.

After a feeding and a diaper change for Sylvia, you had found yourself quickly getting back on the road. The exhaustion creeping through your bones is nothing compared to the dull, persistent ache that thrums through your lower body. Every movement sends a ripple of discomfort through you, a brutal reminder that your body hasn’t even had the chance to recover properly. The adrenaline from earlier, the sharp, fiery rush that had propelled you into action, is long gone now, leaving nothing but soreness and exhaustion in its wake.

You shift slightly in the driver’s seat, wincing as you adjust your posture. The pain is manageable—you’ve survived worse—but it makes every mile feel longer, every second behind the wheel heavier. The road ahead blurs slightly, the lines on the pavement stretching into the distance, endless and unknown. Still, you push forward. There’s no other choice. Stopping isn’t an option. Not when Sylus could be closing in at any moment.

In the backseat, Sylvia makes soft, sleepy noises around the pacifier you had finally managed to get her to take. It had been a struggle at first—she had resisted every attempt, wailing in frustration—but now, she sucks contentedly, tiny fingers curled against her blanket. You watch her for a brief moment in the rearview mirror, something tight and unfamiliar twisting in your chest. The sight of her peaceful, tiny form should have been comforting, but instead, it only added to the storm inside you. You were all she had. That responsibility was suffocating.

Were you still technically on the run with a newborn, completely unaware of what the next few hours, let alone the next few days, would hold? Yes. But for the first time in a long time, things seemed to be—however temporarily—working out in your favor.

The gas station had been a risk, one you had to take, but you handled it. The bastard had underestimated you, just like so many others before him. And despite the pounding ache in your limbs, the raw sting of exertion in your muscles, you felt something else deep in your gut—pride. It was small, fleeting, but it was there. You had defended yourself, defended your daughter, and sent a clear message. You weren’t weak. You weren’t helpless.

Still, as the high from that moment faded, reality crept in. Your body wasn’t the same as it was before pregnancy. It betrayed you in ways you weren’t used to. The soreness clung to your muscles, and your reflexes—once sharp and instinctual—felt sluggish. You had won this time, but what about the next? What if you hesitated for even a second too long? What if you weren’t fast enough to protect Sylvia?

Your fingers tightened on the steering wheel. You couldn’t let those thoughts fester, not now. You had to keep moving. The darkness outside was thick, swallowing the road beyond your headlights, but there had to be something ahead. You had planned on stopping once you reached the next town, but how long had it been now? Clara had said it was miles away, but had you miscalculated? Was your sense of time completely warped from the exhaustion?

You shake your head, pressing forward. Your eyes burn from the lack of sleep, and your shoulders ache from hours of tension. You flex your fingers against the wheel, trying to force some of the stiffness from them. The last thing you needed was to get sloppy now.

A road sign loomed in the distance, barely illuminated by your headlights. You squinted, your heart leaping slightly in your chest as you read the worn, peeling letters. Five more miles to the next city. Relief surged through you, but it was brief, overshadowed by the ever-present weight in your gut. Five miles could be the difference between safety and disaster. Five miles was nothing.

You steal another glance in the rearview mirror. Sylvia was still fast asleep, her small face relaxed, tiny chest rising and falling in rhythm. The sight both soothed you and sent a wave of fresh guilt rolling through your stomach. How long could you keep this up? How long until she suffered because of your choices?

Your hands tightened on the steering wheel as you exhaled slowly.

One step at a time. One mile at a time.

The next five miles stretched endlessly, the road before you an unforgiving expanse of asphalt cutting through the early morning mist. The bold, weathered letters of a looming sign came into view, its chipped paint barely holding onto the message it carried: "Welcome to Windsor City." The sight should have brought relief, but instead, a sinking feeling clawed at your stomach, twisting into knots as the golden hues of the rising sun bathed the world in a deceptive warmth.

You murmured the city’s name under your breath, testing the words like they were foreign, something belonging to a past life. It had been so long since you’d been surrounded by towering structures, busy streets, and the rhythmic pulse of civilization. The skyline ahead was a vast, glittering beast, its patchwork of glass and steel piercing the heavens, glowing softly in the new light. It looked almost dreamlike, unreal, as though it existed in another dimension entirely. A stark contrast to the endless stretches of backroads and quiet wilderness that had cradled your escape for the past few weeks.

Your hands tightened around the steering wheel as an unexpected wave of grief laced with nostalgia hit you square in the chest. The last city you had truly called home was Linkon, and those memories felt like they belonged to another person. A ghost of yourself who still had a job, a future, friends that laughed with you over coffee and trivial work complaints. A self that had never known what it was like to wake up in a gilded cage. That person had died the moment Sylus entered your life. And now, even with miles between you, you felt the weight of his presence like a chain around your throat.

The road narrowed as you approached a bridge leading into the city, lined with sluggish rows of cars inching forward. Your stomach twisted in recognition of the uniformed figures pacing between vehicles. A checkpoint. You had been expecting something like this eventually, but seeing it in person made your pulse hammer. Security officers, clad in black and blue, moved with precision—checking IDs, inspecting trunks, occasionally directing cars to a secondary inspection zone. You quickly scanned the scene, assessing, calculating.

A toll booth would have been bad enough. But a full security stop? That was disastrous. You had money, but you didn’t have an ID. No passport. No way of identifying yourself or Sylvia. As far as the world knew, your daughter didn’t even exist. No birth certificate. No records. She was a shadow in the system, just like you were trying to become.

Your fingers curled into the steering wheel, knuckles whitening as you forced yourself to breathe through the rising panic. You needed a plan.

The car inched forward, and your mind raced through the possibilities. Could you talk your way through it? A lost ID sob story might work—people misplace things while traveling all the time. But the risk of being turned away or, worse, detained lingered like a warning siren in your head. If they looked too closely—if they saw the sheer amount of cash stashed beneath the passenger seat or noticed the weariness in your face—questions would follow. Questions you couldn’t afford to answer.

The car in front of you rolled forward, and now you were next in line.

A bead of sweat trickled down your temple. You cast a glance into the rearview mirror, your eyes landing on Sylvia’s sleeping form in the backseat. Her tiny chest rose and fell in peaceful rhythm, her little hand curled into a fist beside her head. She was completely unaware of the tension gripping your body, of the invisible clock counting down your every move.

You had to get through this. For her.

As the uniformed officer stepped toward your window, clipboard in hand, you forced yourself to loosen your grip on the wheel, pushing every ounce of exhaustion and fear deep into the pit of your stomach. You had to make this work. There was no other option.

"Alright, baby girl," you whispered, barely audible over the rapid pounding of your heartbeat. "Let’s hope they don’t ask too many questions."

With one last deep breath, you rolled down the window and met the officer’s gaze, masking your nerves with the most convincing smile you could muster.

"Hi, ma’am. You a resident of the city? Got identification?"

The toll officer leaned slightly forward, eyes scanning the car’s interior with a practiced, impassive gaze. His uniform was crisp, badge gleaming under the dull morning light. His stance was relaxed, but there was a sharpness in his eyes, a silent scrutiny that made your palms damp against the steering wheel. He wasn’t hostile, not yet—but he was doing his job, and that was a problem.

You swallowed down the rising panic, forcing your expression to remain calm, pleasant. Confidence. You had to project confidence. Any hesitance, any nervous energy, and he’d sense it like blood in the water.

You let out a small, composed breath and forced an easy, warm smile onto your face. “Actually, yes. I live here with my husband,” you said, voice smooth, practiced. “I was out of town visiting family when—” You let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle, gesturing toward the sleeping infant in the backseat. “Well, when everything happened a little earlier than planned. I wasn't expecting to make a sudden trip, so I left most of our things at home. It all happened in a rush. I'm trying to get back to him so he can meet her.”

You almost grimaced at the lie. The last thing you wanted to do was have Sylvia meet her father.

The officer’s gaze flickered toward Sylvia, and for a moment, you saw it—the softening in his expression. His posture relaxed, his grip on his notepad loosening slightly. You knew the sight of a newborn had a way of disarming people, of making them more sympathetic. You had seen it happen before, how even the coldest people melted in the presence of something so small and vulnerable.

The moment stretched on for what felt like eternity, your heart thrumming violently against your ribs. If this worked, if he let you through without much question—

The officer’s lips twitched into something like a smile. “She’s very cute. Congratulations, ma’am.”

Relief surged in your chest for a brief, fleeting moment. Maybe this would be easy. Maybe—

“But,” the officer continued, and your stomach dropped, “without proper identification, we’re gonna have to ask you to pull into the second lane for a quick search.”

Your entire body went rigid.

A search?

No. No, no, no.

Your pulse roared in your ears, drowning out the hum of the car’s engine. Your fingers curled around the steering wheel, your knuckles aching from the force of your grip. You had no ID. No paperwork. No legal proof that you even existed, let alone that Sylvia was yours. She wasn’t even officially registered as a person yet. And if they searched the car, if they ran anything—

They’d find out.

They’d find out that this vehicle wasn't even registered to a womans name. Sure you could lie and say that was your husband but if they searched more about him and realized it belonged to an elderly man?? Then what??

The officer was still watching you, waiting for you to comply, and the weight of his gaze was suffocating. You could already feel the other officers beyond the toll booths watching too, likely trained to spot hesitation, nervousness—anything that might hint at dishonesty.

This was bad.

“I—I understand,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Your mind raced. Think. Think. You had seconds to come up with something, anything.

The toll officer gestured toward the second lane, where a few other cars were already pulled aside, waiting to be inspected. Two other officers stood near them, one speaking into a radio. Your stomach twisted.

You couldn’t risk it.

If they made you step out of the car, if they asked too many questions, it was over. You had no plan for this. You had no forged documents, no alias, no safety net. You were just a woman with a baby in a "stolen" car, and that wasn’t something you could talk your way out of. They'd make you leave. You needed to get into this city.

Your grip on the wheel tightened, fingernails digging into the leather. Your heartbeat pounded violently in your ears, adrenaline surging like wildfire through your veins.

You had to act—now.

Your eyes flickered to the road ahead, to the space just beyond the checkpoint, where the city stretched open and vast before you. Freedom was right there. It was within reach.

A quick decision.

A reckless decision.

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself.

Then, with a sudden, decisive motion, you began to slowly press your foot onto the accelerator.

Just as your car roared to life and you were about to floor it, a sudden commotion erupted behind you, loud enough to make your heart leap into your throat. Shouting. A struggle. The distinct, frantic shuffle of boots against pavement.

"Stop resisting!" Several male voices barked, their commanding tones cutting through the morning air. The officer attending you snapped his head toward the noise, his hand instinctively reaching for the radio at his hip.

You stiffened, gripping the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white. Shit. What was happening? You didn't have time for this. You needed to go, needed to slip away before anyone had a chance to scrutinize your lack of credentials.

The officer hesitated, his attention divided between you and the escalating situation. In the side mirror, you caught a glimpse of the source of the chaos—a man being yanked from his car, his arms flailing wildly as multiple officers restrained him. He was shouting something, but you couldn't make out what. The surrounding traffic had slowed, drivers craning their necks to watch the unfolding spectacle.

This was it. A distraction. A perfect opportunity handed to you by sheer dumb luck.

The officer looked back at you, his expression tense but expectant. "Go ahead, ma'am, pull forward to the secondary checkpoint—"

"Of course, officer, thank you," you replied smoothly, plastering on the most grateful, sleep-deprived-mother smile you could muster. Your foot hovered over the gas pedal, your heartbeat a frantic drum in your ears. He gave a firm nod and turned, jogging toward the scuffle as the man let out a garbled shout.

The second his back was fully turned, you slammed your foot down.

The car lurched forward, its tires screeching against the asphalt as you veered sharply away from the checkpoint lane, blending into the moving traffic ahead. Your pulse pounded violently against your ribs. You kept your gaze forward, hands locked in a vice grip on the wheel, doing everything in your power not to look back and see if anyone had noticed.

Sylvia stirred in the backseat, letting out a soft whimper.

"Shh, baby, just a little more," you whispered, voice barely steady. You swallowed hard, stomach twisting. You had no idea if they had your plate number, if they were going to radio ahead and set up a blockade further into the city. No idea how long your luck would hold.

You cast a quick glance at the mirror, sweat slicking your palms as the toll station shrank in the distance. No sudden sirens, no pursuing vehicles yet. Yet. You forced yourself to breathe, tried to focus on what came next. You had made it into the city, but you couldn’t afford to let your guard down. If they flagged your car, you needed to ditch it. Fast.

The tall buildings of Windsor loomed ahead, their glass surfaces reflecting the warm glow of morning light. It was strange, being back in a city after so long in hiding. The hum of civilization, the distant honking of impatient drivers, the muffled sound of pedestrians moving along sidewalks—it all felt too normal. Almost surreal, considering the life-or-death game of cat and mouse you were playing.

Sylvia whimpered again, and your heart clenched. She was hungry again. You needed to stop soon. But where? You had to think fast. The city would provide you cover, but only if you kept moving, stayed smart. Gas stations, convenience stores, alleyways—you needed to plan your next step, and you needed to do it now.

But one thing was certain—you couldn't stop now. You had made it past the gate. You were in Windsor City. And now, every second counted.

The city unfolded before you like an intricate tapestry of lights, towering glass structures, and bustling life. It had been so long since you were surrounded by this kind of energy, the organized chaos of people moving, talking, and living in a way that felt almost foreign now. You hadn’t realized how much your world had shrunk in the past year, how the isolation had wrapped around you like a second skin. Now, the sheer volume of movement, the never-ending sounds of horns, laughter, and distant conversations were both mesmerizing and suffocating.

Your grip tightened around the steering wheel as you tried to navigate without the crutch of a GPS. Every street sign was unfamiliar, every turn a risk. You needed a place to stay, somewhere that wouldn’t demand identification or ask too many questions. A motel, preferably one that accepted cash upfront. A safer haven than a backseat. The thought of choosing the wrong place, of ending up in a dangerous situation, gnawed at the edges of your mind. But what choice did you have?

A glance in the rearview mirror showed Sylvia still fast asleep, her tiny chest rising and falling steadily. The sight softened you. You had to be strong, had to figure this out. For her.

After circling aimlessly for what felt like an eternity, you spotted a small park nestled between two larger buildings. It was a quiet slice of nature in the middle of all the steel and stone. The sign near the entrance advertised clean restrooms, benches, and even a designated privacy area for breastfeeding mothers. A small relief. You could use a moment to breathe, stretch, maybe even gather your thoughts before plunging forward into more uncertainty.

You pulled into a nearby parking space, exhaling as you shut off the car. Your entire body ached from the drive, the tension still coiled tight in your shoulders. And yet, as you sat there in the silence of the car, you hesitated. It felt ridiculous, but stepping out felt like another commitment—another moment where you had to face just how alone you were.

Sylvia stirred in her car seat, a small whimper escaping her lips before she settled again. The instinct to comfort her overrode everything else, pushing you into motion. You opened the door, stepping out into the crisp city air. It smelled of rain and pavement, of life moving forward while you were still trying to figure out your place in it again.

You walked around to the backseat, unbuckling Sylvia carefully, her tiny body warm against your chest as you lifted her out. She shifted slightly but didn’t wake, and for that, you were grateful. As much as you loved her, the endless cycle of feedings and exhaustion had left you drained.

The walk to the bench felt longer than it should have, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on you. But as you finally sat, cradling your daughter close, a strange feeling settled over you. The overwhelming loneliness didn’t fade, but for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to just be. The city moved around you, indifferent to your struggles. But in this moment, in this small park, with Sylvia nestled against your heartbeat, you could pretend—just for a little while—that you weren’t running.

For a while, you didn’t move. You just sat there, breathing in the moment, letting the sounds of the city wash over you. The distant hum of traffic, the laughter of children playing nearby, the occasional chirping of birds—it all felt so normal. So ordinary. It was a stark contrast to the chaos of the last few weeks, to the weight of fear and exhaustion that still clung to your body like a second skin.

But for just this moment, you let yourself pretend. Pretend that you weren’t on the run, that you weren’t constantly looking over your shoulder for the shadow of a man who refused to let you go. That you weren’t alone in this city with nothing but an envelope of cash and a fragile, three-week-old baby who depended on you for everything.

Your gaze drifted downward, settling on Sylvia’s sleeping face. Her tiny chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, her lips parted slightly as she made the faintest sucking motions in her sleep. The wind stirred, blowing a few wisps of her soft hair across her forehead, and you instinctively reached out to brush it away. Your fingers lingered longer than necessary, tracing the curve of her cheek, her impossibly small nose.

She looked so much like him.

The realization hit you hard, the breath catching in your throat. The shape of her tiny mouth, the subtle arch of her brow, the barely-there curl to her lashes—all of it was unmistakable. Sylus. His blood ran through her veins, just as much as yours did. You tried not to think about it much, but it was nearly impossible.

Months of pain and suffering laid neatly in your arms right now.

A lump formed in your throat, and you swallowed hard, blinking against the burn in your eyes. She was so innocent, so untouched by the horrors of the world. She had no idea what kind of life she had been born into. No idea that the man who had given her those features was the very reason you had to keep running.

Yet, despite everything, you couldn’t bring yourself to resent her for it. If anything, it made you ache more. Because Sylvia would never know the luxury of a simple, peaceful life. Not with you constantly looking over your shoulder. Not with Sylus hunting you down like an animal.

Your arms instinctively tightened around her, cradling her just a little closer to your chest.

“God…I envy you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the city noise. You wished you could just be an innocent baby again.

Sylvia stirred slightly, her face scrunching up before relaxing again into sleep. She was warm against you, a tiny, fragile piece of yourself that you had sworn to protect. But as you sat there, staring down at her peaceful face, the weight of it all pressed heavier on your chest.

How much longer could you keep this up? How much longer until exhaustion won? Until Sylus finally found you?

Or worse—until you started to wonder if running was even worth it anymore.

After a bit, Sylvia stirred against your chest, her tiny whimpers quickly escalating into fussing. You sighed, adjusting your hold on her as you prepared for yet another feeding. The moment you repositioned her, she latched on, though her suckling was noticeably weaker than usual.

You frowned slightly. Was she not as hungry? Or was your milk supply dipping? You hadn’t eaten properly in hours—maybe even a full day at this point. That had to be it. You needed food, something substantial, to keep yourself going. To keep producing enough to sustain her.

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought. Eating meant stopping somewhere again, being out in the open. Every moment you weren’t moving felt like another opportunity for Sylus to catch up. You couldn’t afford that.

But you couldn’t afford to let Sylvia go hungry either. The formula Clara had packed it was definitely spoiled now. Yes, you had some cans of formula but Sylvia didn't always take it. It would be easier and less stressful to just keep up your supply.

As she nursed, your mind raced through possible solutions. Fast food? A grocery store where you could grab something quick and calorie-dense? You needed to be smart. Find something in a well-populated area where you wouldn’t stand out, but not too crowded where you might be noticed.

Sylvia pulled away with a small grunt, her lips parting as she let out a tiny yawn. You readjusted your shirt and lifted her onto your shoulder, rubbing slow circles on her back as you stood from the bench. She let out a small, sleepy burp, her head resting against your collarbone.

A part of you wanted to sit there just a little longer. Just a few more minutes of stillness. Of pretending things were normal. But you had wasted enough time already.

Break was over.

Shifting Sylvia into the crook of your arm, you moved briskly back toward the car, your paranoia creeping back with every step. The park was peaceful, but something about it felt...off. The quiet hum of distant traffic, the scattered people walking by—it should’ve been reassuring. Instead, it made your skin crawl.

You reached the backseat side, your hand hovering over the door handle before something in your peripheral vision made you freeze.

A shadow in the trees.

Your heartbeat spiked as you slowly turned your head. There, perched on the highest branch of a skeletal tree, sat a single crow.

Your blood turned cold.

Mephisto?

No. No, it couldn’t be. You squinted, heart hammering against your ribs as you studied the bird. It was just a crow. Just a normal, everyday bird. Right? You watched as it began to battle some pigeons on another branch.

But normal birds didn’t send chills down your spine. Normal birds didn’t make you feel watched.

Your grip on Sylvia tightened, your breath shallow. You couldn’t tell for certain from this distance, but you knew better than to ignore your instincts.

So what if you were overthinking it? It was time to go anyways.

Quickly laying her down on the seat and changing her diaper, you quickly discarded the diaper pile that had been building up and got her buckled in again. You'd have to changer her clothes soon but that could wait until you found a place to stay.

It didn’t take long to find a small grocery store tucked into the corner of a quiet street. The "OPEN" sign flickered inconsistently, casting a dim, wavering glow onto the glass doors. You pulled into the lot, parking in a spot that provided an easy escape route—just in case. Your heartbeat, which had finally started to settle, picked up again. Every stop was a risk. Every moment out in the open was an opportunity for Sylus to find you.

Taking only a modest sum from the envelope of cash—just enough to keep things inconspicuous—you adjusted the makeshift baby wrap you’d fashioned from an old shirt. Sylvia was nestled securely against your chest, her small body radiating warmth. She had been quiet for most of the drive, but now, blinking up at you with groggy, crimson-tinged eyes, she fussed under the brightness of the sun. You instinctively rubbed her back, rocking slightly as you pushed open the door.

A bell jingled as you stepped inside, the cool air blasting against your skin. The place smelled like a mix of cleaning supplies, stale produce, and faint traces of something fried. Despite its humble size, the store was decently stocked, shelves lined with dry goods, canned food, and a small selection of fresh fruits and vegetables.

You moved quickly, scanning the shelves with purpose. The act of shopping felt eerily normal—mundane, even—but the weight of reality pressed against your chest. The last time you had been in a store like this…it had to be almost a year ago. Back in captivity, there had been no need. No choice. Sylus had ensured everything was provided for you, all food meticulously delivered to the estate, your meals planned out to the last calorie. You had never even been allowed to leave the room for months, much less pick out what you wanted in a store.

A small, rebellious flicker of satisfaction stirred in your chest. This was freedom, wasn’t it? The ability to decide for yourself, even if it was something as small as which fruit to buy. You clenched the apple in your palm a little tighter, but the feeling was fleeting.

The overstimulation crept in before you could stop it. The chatter of shoppers, the steady beep of registers, the hum of refrigeration units—it was all too much at once. Your vision swam for a moment, breath coming just a little too fast. You forced yourself to focus. In and out. No lingering. No unnecessary risks.

With your small selection of food in hand, you veered toward the baby aisle. Sylvia had grown quickly in just three and a half weeks. While she wasn’t heavy, constantly carrying her had taken a toll on your body, which was still weak from birth. You ignored the twinge of pain as you crouched slightly, scanning the rows of baby gear. A stroller. That was what you needed. Just something cheap and functional.

Your fingers hovered over the cheapest option, lips pressing into a thin line. Every dollar counted. But you needed this. Sylvia needed this. As if sensing your hesitation, she let out a soft whine, her tiny fingers curling against the fabric of your shirt. You exhaled slowly.

"Yeah, I know," you murmured to her. "We need to save money, don’t we?"

With a final glance at the price tag, you grabbed the stroller, tossing in a small pack of diapers and wipes for good measure. As you approached the register, a new thought struck you. You turned on your heel and hurried back down the aisle, grabbing a roll of duct tape before returning to the counter. The clerk barely glanced up, continuing to scan your items with mechanical disinterest.

Minutes later, you were back in the car, the rustling of plastic bags filling the silence as you settled Sylvia into her car seat. The moment you clicked the buckle into place, your stomach clenched. You hadn’t eaten in what felt like forever. Unwrapping the sandwich with trembling hands, you took a ravenous bite, chewing slowly as exhaustion sank into your bones. The ache in your limbs had become a dull, ever-present throb, a reminder that your body was still healing. But there was no time for rest.

You stared at the sandwich in your hands, barely tasting it. Another night. Another stop. But how many more until Sylus caught up? How many more before exhaustion, hunger, or sheer bad luck caught up with you first?

With the last bite of the apple was swallowed, you reached for the duct tape, ripping a strip off with your teeth before getting out and carefully covering the car’s license plate. It wouldn’t be a perfect fix, but it would buy you some time. If anyone tried to run your plates, they'd get nothing. Better yet, Sylus wouldn't realize it was connected to Clara's father if he somehow managed to get a glimpse of the car. You patted it down firmly before glancing at the horizon, the sun already beginning to dip below the skyline.

Time to move again.

You drove around endlessly, weaving through side streets and avoiding main roads as much as possible, your paranoia growing with each passing mile. Every streetlight, every camera mounted on the corner of a building made your stomach twist with anxiety. You couldn't risk being seen—not with Sylvia in tow, not when you knew Sylus could be tracking you even now.

You had passed three motels already, each one striking the wrong chord in your gut. The first had a group of men huddled near a door, their cigarette tips glowing in the dark, but the acrid smell in the air told you they weren’t just smoking tobacco. Their hushed, erratic laughter sent an immediate warning through your nerves. No way in hell.

The second motel was even worse—no proper parking lot, just a patch of dirt riddled with tire tracks and broken glass. The flickering neon VACANCY sign buzzed above, giving the place an eerie, abandoned feel. Something about it sent shivers down your spine, the way the windows were all dark like empty sockets staring right at you.

The third had seemed promising until you stepped inside. The office reeked of old coffee and mildew, and the so-called manager was slumped over at the desk, dead to the world. No matter how loudly you cleared your throat or tapped the desk, the man didn't stir. The idea of staying somewhere run by someone so utterly unaware of their surroundings didn’t sit right with you.

And now, here you were, pulling up to your fourth option of the night.

Cedarwood Motel.

It was small, the kind of place that wouldn’t attract much attention, but modern enough to not look like a complete hellhole. The dull amber glow of the sign illuminated the empty lot, the office window giving you a glimpse of the front desk. No loitering men, no strange smells hitting you from the entrance, no obvious red flags—so far.

You turned in your seat, glancing toward the back where Sylvia was curled in her makeshift blanket nest in the car seat, her chest rising and falling with deep, undisturbed breaths. Your heart clenched a little. She had been doing better than expected, but you knew she needed more than this. A proper bed. A real rest. You needed it, too.

Letting out a deep, steadying breath, you killed the engine and prepared yourself. You were running on fumes at this point, but there was no other option. This would have to do.

The motel bathroom was cramped, the walls lined with outdated floral wallpaper that had started to peel in the corners. The sink faucet dripped every few seconds, and the overhead light flickered intermittently, giving the space a dim, uneven glow. But it would have to do.

Sylvia’s tiny wails echoed in the tiled room as you knelt by the bathtub, her little body trembling despite the water being warm. Her tiny fists flailed as she kicked against the sensation, her sobs hitching in her throat.

“I know, I know…I’m sorry, baby,” you murmured, keeping your voice low and soothing even as your heart ached. You had thought a bath would calm her, like you had seen on tv. But this was anything but calming.

Your hands were careful as you ran the washcloth over her delicate skin, wiping away the remnants of the long, exhausting day. She had been wrapped up in that car seat for too long, and you couldn’t stand the thought of her being uncomfortable a second longer than necessary. You had gotten in the bath with her, attempting to save time and hot water by washing you both. But she clearly didn’t appreciate the gesture, her cries growing louder the moment you started on her hair.

“Shhh, shhh, okay, I just need to wash your hair, alright?” you whispered, voice laced with exhaustion as you dipped your fingers in the water, gently massaging the motel shampoo into her soft scalp.

Her tiny face scrunched in protest, her sobs momentarily breaking into hiccups before she wailed again, her body wriggling against the support of your hand. Your chest tightened.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Almost done, I promise,” you cooed, trying to calm her as you carefully rinsed out the soap, making sure not to get any in her eyes.

Despite your gentle touch, her cries didn’t ease. She was shivering even in the warm bath, her little body reacting to the stress of it all, and a deep guilt settled in your stomach. It wasn’t just the bath—everything had been too much for her. This wasn’t the kind of life a newborn should have, moving from one unknown place to the next, never in one spot long enough to settle. You wished things were different.

You sighed, running a hand down your face before quickly stepping out and wrapping her in the softest towel you could find, pressing her against your chest. The moment she felt your warmth, her cries started to weaken, her tiny body curling into you instinctively.

“There we go,” you whispered, kissing the top of her damp head. “See? Not so bad…”

But as you held her close, feeling her small breaths against your skin, that creeping thought returned. You were failing her. Stressing her out beyond what she should be. Why were you putting a newborn through all this?

You don't deserve her. She's better off without you.

You close your eyes, gently rocking her trying to remove the awful thoughts.

You shook your head, pushing the intrusive thoughts away. There was no use in dwelling on these awful thoughts. You needed to focus on the present, on keeping Sylvia comfortable and safe. That was all that mattered.

With practiced movements, you wrapped her snugly in a clean onesie, taking extra care to dry her soft hair before slipping a tiny cap over her head. You tugged on one of the old, oversized shirts Clara had given you and pulled the motel’s scratchy blanket over your lap. The exhaustion was hitting you full force now, making every movement feel sluggish and heavy, but at least you were both clean and settled.

Then you saw it.

Or rather—what you didn’t see.

Your stomach clenched as your gaze darted around the dimly lit motel room, scanning every corner, every piece of furniture. No crib. No bassinet. No safe place for her to sleep.

Shit.

How had you forgotten something so important? You’d been so focused on getting here, on getting through the night, that you hadn’t even thought about where she’d actually sleep. The realization made you feel like a failure all over again.

You exhaled, rubbing your temples. Okay, okay. It’s fine. It’s just one night.

Your eyes landed on the bed—a stiff, creaky thing with barely enough room for one person, let alone two. You hesitated before gently placing Sylvia down beside you, adjusting her position carefully, making sure she was safe. But the moment you moved your hands away, her face crumpled, and a sharp, heart-wrenching wail filled the room.

“No, no, no, Sylvie, it’s okay,” you whispered, quickly reaching for her. You tried shifting her to her side, patting her back, even tucking the blanket around her more snugly—but nothing worked. She squirmed, arms flailing, her little mouth open in an ear-piercing cry.

Your own chest tightened. What am I doing wrong?

You turned her every which way, tried shushing her gently, rocking her where she lay, but nothing soothed her. She just cried and cried, her tiny fists curling and uncurling in distress. You could feel frustration creeping up your spine, but more than that, the guilt. You were her mother. You were supposed to know what she needed. But right now? Right now, you felt completely useless.

"You slept just fine by yourself before, what's the issue now Sylvie?"

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you gave up and did the only thing that made sense. You scooped her up and laid her directly on your chest, holding her close, one hand splayed protectively over her back.

And just like that, she stopped.

Her sobs melted into little hiccups, and within seconds, she was nothing but a soft, warm weight against you, her tiny breaths puffing rhythmically against your collarbone.

You let out a long, shaky sigh, your entire body going slack with relief.

“Figures,” you murmured tiredly, running a hand down her back. “You just wanted to be close after a long ride in a carseat, huh?”

Sylvia’s fingers twitched against your shirt in response, and you let out a quiet chuckle.

As your head sank back into the pillow, you finally allowed yourself to close your eyes. The tension in your shoulders remained, the ever-present paranoia never fully leaving your system—but at least for now, in this moment, with your daughter curled against you, the world outside felt just a little bit quieter.

You had disappeared again.

For a fleeting moment, he had seen you. A glimpse of you behind the wheel, crossing the bridge into the city, your hair catching in the wind, your hands gripping the steering wheel with a tension he could feel even through Mephisto’s grainy aerial footage. But then—gone.

Mephisto had lost you amidst the maze of cars, and just like that, you had vanished into thin air once more.

He couldn't understand. He had stalked and found countless amount of people with ease and yet...you had slipped through the cracks.

His patience, already worn thin, was unraveling by the day. It wasn’t for a lack of effort; he was hacking into street cameras like no one’s business, combing through footage for any trace of you. Still, there was zero sight of that run-down car. You had gotten smarter—too smart. You avoided main roads, stayed away from major traffic hubs, dodged places you knew could be under surveillance clearly. It was almost impressive. Almost. But it was also infuriating.

He had ordered his men to track hospital and clinic records, knowing you couldn't avoid medical attention forever. Surely, with how weak you had been toward the end of your pregnancy, you would have needed help by now. A check-up. A prescription. Something. But every report they pulled of a postpartum woman with a newborn wasn’t you. No record of you giving birth, no sudden ER visits, no documented cases of a woman fitting your description. Nothing.

It was as if you had simply ceased to exist.

His fingers curled into a fist against his desk, frustration simmering beneath the surface. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the dim glow of the monitors surrounding him. The city was vast, but not endless. You had to be somewhere. And when he found you, he wouldn’t let you slip away again.

His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to what he had already missed. The moment she came into the world—his daughter. Had you screamed for him in those final moments, cursing him even as your body broke itself apart to bring their child into existence? He clenched his jaw at the thought, fingers tightening into his palm. That was supposed to have been a moment you shared together.

His chest ached with something ugly. Regret? Longing? He shook it off. It didn’t matter. None of it did. What mattered was fixing it. What mattered was bringing you both back where you belonged.

But Sylus’s drinking was getting worse. Much worse.

He was no stranger to indulging—alcohol had always been a crutch for him, something to take the edge off when things weren’t going his way. But now? Now it was different. It wasn’t about leisure or numbing minor inconveniences. It was about survival. Because without the burn of whiskey down his throat, without that momentary haze dulling the sharp edges of his mind, he wasn’t sure how long he could keep himself together.

The nights were the worst.

During the day, he could distract himself—he could hunt, strategize, pull every resource he had to try and locate you. He could scan through endless surveillance feeds, hack into security systems, command his men to chase down leads. But at night? At night, he had nothing but silence and the agonizing absence of you.

That was when the images came creeping in.

You, alone. You, scared. You, clutching his daughter to your chest, unsure of how you were going to feed her next. Were you cold? Were you sick? Had you found shelter?

The thoughts made his stomach twist so violently he could barely stand it.

Another glass. Another burn. It barely dulled the aching frustration, the relentless feeling of failure clawing at his mind. He had been so close. So fucking close before. And now he was back to square one.

Sylus exhaled slowly, letting the weight of exhaustion settle over him. His other hand gripped the edge of his chair, knuckles whitening. His patience had never been his strongest suit, but this was different. It had been weeks, and still, you eluded him. You had disappeared into the cracks of the world, slipping through his grasp like smoke.

Never in his life had he had felt so inadequate. He had been routinely outsmarted by you again and again.

The room around him was dimly lit, a near-empty bottle of whiskey standing on the table beside him, its contents dangerously low. He had never been one to let himself spiral, but the weight of everything was pressing down on him, suffocating him.

And then came the worst part.

The moments where the alcohol wasn’t strong enough to drown out the memories.

He never allowed himself to think about his own past—there was no point in dwelling on things that couldn’t be changed. But when it came to you…

He kept thinking back.

To the way you used to look at him when you thought he wasn’t watching. The hesitation in your eyes, the wary curiosity that had been there before you had truly started to hate him. The way you had kissed him that night in front of Xavier, the warmth of your lips against his, the way your hands had trembled against his face. It had been a performance, but god, if it hadn’t felt real.

And then—

You had ran. Even after everything. Just when he thought things were finally calming down.

Sylus clenched his jaw, pressing his fingers against his temples. He digged around in his pocket, feeling around for the engagement ring you had pawned off for cash. He didn't pull it out. It hurt to look at it. He had wanted it to make you as happy as it had made him.

You had made it clear as day that it was never the case.

Would things have been different if he had handled things better? If he had spoken to you more softly? If he hadn’t let his temper get the best of him? Would you have stayed? Would you have trusted him?

Would you have loved him?

He let out a bitter laugh under his breath, shaking his head as he leaned forward again, grabbing the whiskey bottle with an iron grip and pouring himself another glass. It didn’t matter. It was too late for that. He had spent months playing the villain in your story, and now he had no choice but to finish the role.

He lifted the glass to his lips and took a slow sip, the liquid scorching its way down his throat. His free hand curled into a fist, nails pressing into his palm, his frustration mounting with every second you remained hidden.

The silent plea in your eyes as you left the twins, the sheer, raw desperation to escape him. Had you hated him so much? Would you really rather starve, suffer, and wander aimlessly with a newborn than return to him?

A cruel smirk twisted his lips as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass.

No. You didn’t get to decide that. Not anymore. It was for your own good that you and his daughter were found immediately.

He would find you. He would bring you home, and he would hold his daughter in his arms. He would remind you of the life you could have had, the life you would have once he had you back where you belonged. He would spend every waking moment trying to show you the man he could be.

Unfortunately, Sylus couldn’t dedicate every waking second to hunting you down, no matter how much he ached to. The empire of Onychinus still demanded his attention—there were deals to be made, threats to be eliminated, and an endless cycle of business that could never be neglected. Even now, as his men carried out high-stakes negotiations over illegal protocores and weapons, his mind drifted to you. To her. His daughter.

Every moment he wasn’t personally combing the streets of Windsor City, he was ensuring that every single resource at his disposal was being used to track you down. And once his duties were handled, once he was done dealing death and destruction to those who dared to oppose him, he would immediately return to the city where he knew—knew—you still were.

Sylus had spared no expense in setting up a base of operations. He had rented a mansion in Windsor City—something temporary, but lavish, an estate that kept him within reach of the search while affording him every comfort he was accustomed to. The finest liquor was stocked in the cabinets, rare cuts of meat were delivered on a schedule, and the place had enough security to make even the most ambitious assassin rethink their life choices. But none of it mattered. None of it brought him any peace.

He barely even lived there—what was the point of a mansion when the one thing he wanted most was still missing? When he walked its halls at night, every footstep echoed in the empty spaces where he should have heard you.

And still, he knew you hadn’t left Windsor. He could feel it in his bones, in the way his gut twisted whenever he drove through the city, the unshakable sense that you were near. Hiding. Running. Surviving. But still his.

It was this certainty that kept him going. Kept him from completely losing himself.

On one particularly restless evening, he found himself in his study, nursing a glass of Gin Fizz that barely did anything to dull the frustration clawing at his insides.

He had gotten a bit sick of whiskey for the moment.

Mephisto perched on the desk beside him, metal talons clicking lightly against the polished wood. The mansion was quiet save for the faint hum of music playing from the antique record player in the corner, some classical composition that normally would have soothed his nerves. But nothing soothed him anymore.

His eyes drifted to the calendar on his desk.

He hadn’t been keeping track of the days—not in the way he normally would—but something about tonight made him glance at the numbers. A small red mark stood out against the otherwise pristine white square of tomorrow’s date.

Six weeks.

His daughter would be turning six weeks old in the morning.

His breath hitched slightly, and before he realized what he was doing, he had pulled out his phone. His fingers moved on their own, searching.

Six-week-old baby milestones.

The results flooded his screen in an instant. He scrolled through the articles and parenting forums, reading each detail with obsessive focus. At six weeks, she should be making more eye contact. She’d be smiling now—a real smile, not just an instinctual reflex. Her tiny hands would be more coordinated, reaching for things, grasping at whatever was within her reach. She might even be opening her eyes more, making those early attempts at taking in her surroundings.

His chest tightened painfully.

Had you seen her first real smile? Had she reached for you? Did she coo when you spoke to her, when you held her?

Had you...named her?

A sharp pang twisted deep in his stomach. He had already lost so much. He had missed everything.

He clenched his jaw, gripping the glass in his hand until his knuckles turned white.

Where was she sleeping tonight? Was she warm enough? Were you still able to feed her properly? Did she even have a proper crib, or were you forced to make do with whatever the hell you could find?

The thought of his daughter—his perfect daughter—lying in some rundown motel, bundled in whatever cheap blankets you could scavenge, made his blood boil.

This was not the life he had envisioned for her.

This was not the life he had planned.

Sylus took a slow, shuddering breath and forced himself to set the glass down before he shattered it. His hands were trembling. He pressed his fingers to his temples, willing himself to think, to strategize.

He couldn’t let another week pass like this. Another day.

No more waiting.

No more patience.

He would find you.

And when he did—when he finally had you back in his arms—all would be right in the world again.

Sylus blinked as the realization settled over him like a slow-building storm. A motel. It should have been obvious. The answer had been in front of him this entire time, yet he had spent weeks chasing ghosts, circling dead-end theories, his frustration mounting with each passing day. His first assumption had been that you had wormed your way into someone’s home, that you had managed to find another bleeding-heart fool like Clara—someone naive enough to shelter you, to let you hide behind their kindness, thinking they were protecting you from a monster they didn’t understand. He had scoured the city's quieter residential districts, had his men track down every shelter, charity, and underground safehouse, tearing through the city’s underbelly in search of a trace of you. But there was nothing. No one had seen you. No one had taken you in.

For a brief, maddening moment, he had considered the possibility that you had run out of money entirely, that you were sleeping on the streets, desperate and destitute, scraping by on scraps like some pathetic runaway. That thought had nearly driven him to put a bullet in someone’s head. The very idea of you—his woman, the mother of his child—reduced to such a state made his stomach twist with rage. But now, as the pieces finally clicked into place, he realized why you had managed to keep yourself hidden for this long. A motel. Of course. It was the perfect hideout—cheap, discreet, and, most importantly, temporary. Places like that didn’t care about names, didn’t ask questions, didn’t leave behind a paper trail. As long as you had cash, you were just another anonymous traveler passing through. No records. No real trace.

He exhaled sharply, fingers pressing against his temple as his mind recalibrated, the weight of his own oversight gnawing at him. He should have expected this. You weren’t making the same mistakes you had before. You weren’t seeking comfort, safety, or permanence. You were stalling, running on borrowed time, waiting for something—but what? An opening? A chance to disappear entirely? His smirk curled at the edges, though there was no amusement behind it. Clever girl. But he wasn’t entertained. Not anymore.

His gaze flicked toward the clock on the wall, the red digits glaring back at him: 2:46 AM. Another night spent glued to surveillance feeds, combing through street cameras, hacking into data streams, watching for even the smallest flicker of your presence in the city. He had ripped Windsor apart in his search, but it had all led him in circles, like a goddamn hound chasing after scraps. His patience, already hanging by a thread, was beginning to fray beyond repair. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding with the effort to keep his temper in check. You were his. His woman. His kitten. The mother of his child. And yet here you were, hiding from him, forcing yourself to suffer in ways that were beneath you.

The thought of you huddled in some filthy, bedbug-infested shithole made his stomach churn with something dangerously close to guilt. This wasn’t survival. This was suffering. And Sylus refused—absolutely fucking refused—to allow you to waste away in some goddamn motel room, forcing yourself to live in conditions that were so far beneath what he could provide for you. He reached for the bottle beside him, not even bothering with a glass as he took a deep swig, letting the burn sear down his throat. But the fire did nothing to extinguish the inferno raging inside of him. You were better than this. You deserved better than this. And you knew it, too. That’s what infuriated him the most. You already knew. Deep down, you knew that you needed to come home.

His fingers tightened around the bottle, the glass creaking under the pressure of his grip as his eyes flickered toward the ceiling. He wasn’t even angry at you. No, fuck that. He was angry at himself. For not seeing it sooner. For letting you slip past his grasp. For allowing you to believe, even for a second, that there was anywhere in this world you could go where he wouldn’t follow.

But tomorrow, things would change.

His men would tear apart every extended-stay motel, every dingy roadside inn, every nameless building that took cash over questions. They would turn this city upside down if they had to. Burn to the ground if it meant you had nowhere else to hide. And when he found you—oh, when he found you—you would finally understand. Understand that running was pointless. Understand that no matter how far you went, no matter how well you hid, you would never be beyond his reach.

Because you two were meant to be. There was not a second that passed where he didn't feel like his soul was hurting being away from you.

And nothing in this world—not time, not distance, not fate itself—would ever fucking change that.

You weren't okay.

The days blurred together, melting into an endless cycle of exhaustion, uncertainty, and the quiet kind of desperation that settled deep in your bones. The first few days in Windsor City had felt like a small victory—finding shelter, getting supplies, keeping yourself and Sylvia fed. But that small sense of triumph had quickly faded, swallowed by the unrelenting, suffocating weight of reality.

Taking care of a newborn was supposed to be hard, you knew that. The sleepless nights, the round-the-clock feedings, the crying—it was all part of it. But this? This was something else entirely. There was no help this time. No Clara was coming every week. No safety net. No one to share the weight of it all. Just you, your daughter, and the constant fear of being found.

It wasn’t just the physical toll, though that was brutal in itself. Your body had barely recovered from childbirth, aching in ways you couldn’t even begin to describe. Every step sent a dull throb up your spine, your stomach still felt sore and hollow, and the bleeding hadn’t completely stopped. Some nights, after rocking Sylvia for what felt like hours, your legs would give out, sending you crumbling onto the stiff motel mattress, too weak to do anything but sob silently into the pillow.

But worse than the pain was the isolation. The crushing, unshakable loneliness.

You weren’t stupid—you knew something was wrong. There were moments when you would just stare at Sylvia, her tiny body curled against your chest, and feel…nothing. No overwhelming warmth. No sudden wave of love. Just exhaustion. Just numbness. You would hold her close, stroke the wisps of soft hair on her head, whisper promises of protection into her soft skin, and yet a voice in the back of your mind kept whispering, You’re not enough. She deserves better.

The intrusive thoughts crept in slowly, poisoning the already fragile remnants of your sanity. You can’t do this alone. She’d be better off without you. You’re going to fail her just like you’ve failed everything else.

Some nights were worse than others. There were times when Sylvia’s cries rattled something so deep inside you that it felt like your entire body was unraveling. You would pace the motel room in the dead of night, bouncing her in your arms, whispering, please stop, please stop, over and over again until your throat was raw. But she wouldn’t stop. And sometimes, when the exhaustion became too much, you would press the heel of your hand against your temple and just...wish everything would go quiet.

And then the guilt would set in.

It was a vicious, never-ending cycle.

The city outside was loud, alive, pulsing with a world you were no longer a part of. You had spent weeks avoiding eye contact with strangers, ducking into alleys when you saw police officers patrolling too close, keeping Sylvia hidden in the crook of your arm whenever you had to step outside. You barely spoke to anyone. The only real sound in your life was Sylvia’s cries—and even those were starting to sound distant, like they were coming from someone else’s child.

You had thought about leaving. About running again. But where? How much longer could you keep doing this?

And then, the worst thought of all—the one you kept shoving down, burying beneath layers of denial and shame.

Would Sylvia be safer without you?

You had started looking. Not actively, not with real intention, but the thought had taken root. When you walked past playgrounds, when you saw exhausted but stable mothers pushing their babies in strollers, when you saw couples cooing over their newborns, you would wonder—Could she belong to someone else? Someone better? Someone stronger?

You hated yourself for even considering it.

But every day, the idea grew just a little louder.

You were so, so tired.

And a part of you wondered if love was enough.

No one was coming to save you. There was no cavalry, no last-minute rescue, no miracle waiting just around the corner.

No Xavier. No Clara. No Tara. No Captain Jenna. These people were ghosts of your past now.

The harsh reality of it had settled into your bones over the past few weeks, rooting itself so deep that even the idea of hope felt foreign now. You had exhausted every possibility, every desperate fantasy of someone—anyone—helping you escape this nightmare, and yet each passing day only reinforced the truth: you were utterly alone. You had no family left to run to, no friends who wouldn’t immediately be dragged into the mess Sylus had created around you. No safety net. No second chances.

You could barely remember your parents. Grandma had died long ago. Caleb...well. He had gone out in a flame of fire and smoke. Right in front of you. Not that it would matter if either one of them was still alive. They'd also be ghosts of your pasts.

The only one who would come for you was Sylus, and no amount of running could change that. It was a reality you had tried to push down, to smother beneath the weight of exhaustion and survival, but it lingered in the back of your mind like a shadow, poisoning every fleeting thought of relief. It didn’t matter how careful you were. He would find you. He had the resources, the intelligence, the sheer obsessive determination to track you no matter how many cities you passed through, no matter how many times you changed motels or used fake names. And you weren’t stupid enough to believe otherwise.

You had done everything right this time—ditched all forms of technology, paid in cash, avoided cameras and main roads, stayed out of sight. But deep down, you knew it was only a matter of time. Sylus was relentless. If there was one thing you understood about him, it was that he didn’t know how to let go. You could only assume he had gone his entire life getting what he wanted through sheer force if necessary. It came with his job after all.

For the first week, you had clung to the fantasy of returning to Linkon, of somehow reclaiming your old life. The thought had been the only thing keeping you from spiraling completely, the distant possibility of waking up in your old room, of hearing the familiar sounds of Linkon City, of slipping back into the life that had been ripped away from you. But even that fantasy had begun to lose its grip on you. The truth was, it wasn’t real anymore. It never would be. Even if you could step foot in Linkon again, it wouldn’t be the same.

Your old apartment? Gone. Your job? Gone. The few acquaintances you had? They had probably moved on. And you? You weren’t even the same person anymore. That girl,—the one who had walked those streets without fear, who had gone to work and met friends for drinks, who had lived without constantly looking over her shoulder—was dead. She had died the moment Sylus got you pregnant. The moment you realized you weren’t going to be free again. Not truly.

The moment your body had become a vessel for something you hadn’t been ready for.

And yet, despite it all, despite the unbearable weight of that realization pressing down on you, you kept moving. You had to. There was no time to process it, no time to grieve the person you used to be. Sylvia needed you. She needed you to keep going, to keep running, to keep pretending like there was still a way out of this. But it was getting harder. The exhaustion ran so deep now that your body felt foreign, as if you were operating on autopilot, going through the motions without truly existing.

Every sleepless night chipped away at you. Every moment spent rocking her back and forth, desperately trying to soothe her cries while the world outside loomed like a threat, drained something vital from you. There was no one to pass her off to, no one to give you even an hour of reprieve. You hadn’t showered in days. You barely remembered to eat. Your body ached in ways you hadn’t known were possible, your postpartum wounds still healing far too slowly given how much strain you had put on them. But the worst part wasn’t the pain or the exhaustion. It was the creeping emptiness.

You had done everything right. You had carried her, birthed her, kept her safe, fed her, rocked her, cooed at her. You had done everything the books had said you should do. But now, every time you looked at her, there was something missing. You felt like a stranger holding someone else’s baby, like you were caring for something that wasn’t truly yours. It was terrifying, this quiet detachment, this void where love and warmth were supposed to be. You knew you cared for her. You knew you loved her in some way. But it wasn’t the overwhelming, all-consuming connection that the books had promised. It wasn’t the instant flood of emotion that the mothers in those online forums had described. Instead, there was just a dull ache in your chest, an absence of something you couldn’t name. And the guilt of it was suffocating.

You wanted to love her. You wanted to feel something other than this relentless exhaustion and fear. But how could you? How could you bond with her when all you saw when you looked at her was him? When every little feature, every tiny expression, was a reflection of the man you had spent months trying to escape? It was a cruel twist of fate that your daughter—your innocent, undeserving daughter—looked so much like the man who had trapped you in this hell. Her eyes, though still cloudy and unfocused, carried the same crimson shade that haunted your nightmares.

Her tiny hands, always reaching, always grasping, reminded you of his—of the way they had held you down, the way they had claimed you. And the worst part? The realization that followed, creeping into your mind like a venomous whisper: She would never stop looking like him. No matter how much time passed, no matter how much she grew, she would always be half his.

That thought alone was enough to break you.

And so, you did what you had been doing for weeks now. You shoved it down. You silenced the thoughts. You forced yourself to keep going, because what other choice did you have? But the cracks were beginning to show. The exhaustion, the emptiness, the suffocating weight of it all—it was pressing in on you from all sides, threatening to swallow you whole. You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep this up.

What had happened? Where had that determination gone? Just weeks ago, you had convinced yourself that you could do this—that you could survive, that you could be a good mother, that you could keep running and keep Sylvia safe. You had even felt like you were bonding with her, like despite the circumstances, you were beginning to understand what it meant to be her mother. You hadn’t blamed her for any of this. You had sworn you wouldn’t. It wasn’t her fault that she was here.

She had never asked to be born into this nightmare. But now, with each passing sleepless night, with every piercing cry that shredded through your already fragile sanity, that quiet, shameful resentment was growing. You hated yourself for it. Hated that you could even think such things. But the exhaustion was swallowing you whole, and no matter how hard you tried to push it down, to force yourself to feel nothing but love and devotion for her, the truth sat heavy in your gut.

If it weren’t for her, you could’ve fled this city by now. You could be anywhere—miles away, in another state, another country, disappearing into the world as nothing more than another nameless traveler. If it was just you, you could be on a train or a bus, forging documents, blending in, vanishing. But you couldn’t. Not with her. A newborn couldn’t handle constant travel, the lack of stability, the absence of proper care. You knew that. No matter how much you longed for freedom, you couldn’t rip her away from what little security you had managed to piece together. You couldn’t put her at risk. She needed stability. Consistency.

She needed a real life.

But could you give that to her?

That was the thought that lingered now, creeping in at the edges of your mind like an infection, rotting through the last of your resolve. Maybe it had just been adrenaline keeping you in high spirits before. Maybe it had been the initial relief of escaping, the rush of defying Sylus and proving, even for a little while, that he couldn’t control you. But now? Now you were just tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushingly tired. And as you sat there, staring down at your once-again weeping six-week-old daughter, that exhaustion twisted into something ugly. You let out a slow, heavy sigh, one that felt like it had been building inside of you for days.

"Please," you murmured, barely recognizing your own voice—so hoarse, so drained. "Just stop crying for one night. Just one."

But, of course, she didn’t stop. She just wailed louder, her tiny face scrunching up in distress, her little fists trembling as she kicked against the blanket you had swaddled her in. The sight of her should have filled you with warmth, with affection, with that deep, unconditional love that mothers were supposed to feel. Instead, all you felt was guilt. A crushing, unbearable guilt that weighed down on your chest like a boulder. What kind of mother felt this way? What kind of mother sat there, staring at her child, wishing she could just disappear?

A bad mother. A selfish mother.

The kind of mother who didn’t deserve to have a child at all.

Tears burned at the edges of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You were too tired to cry. Too tired to feel anything but this aching, relentless numbness. Maybe this was postpartum depression. Maybe this was just what it meant to break. But whatever it was, it was eating you alive, and you didn’t know how much longer you could endure it.

Instead of crying, instead of breaking down, instead of giving in to the despair clawing at the edges of your mind, you did what you always did. You moved on autopilot, numbly going through the motions, pushing down the exhaustion, the frustration, the resentment, the guilt. Without a word, without even a sigh this time, you leaned over and begrudgingly lifted Sylvia from her crib. She fussed immediately, already rooting against your shoulder, little hands balled into desperate fists. You ignored the familiar sting of irritation that came with it. She always wanted to be close. Always wanted to feel you, to smell you, to know that you were near.

Just like her damn father.

She didn’t care that you were drowning.

She just needed you.

You exhaled through your nose, forcing your muscles to unclench as you laid her down beside you in the bed. The crib had been a necessary purchase—one you had hoped would give you some space, some distance, some semblance of control over your own body again. But, of course, Sylvia hadn’t approved. She had screamed every time you put her down in it, as if separation from you was the worst kind of torture. And right now? Right now you didn’t have it in you to fight her.

Whatever. If sleeping next to her meant she’d actually sleep—and by extension, that you could finally get some rest—then so be it.

Without much thought, you adjusted your shirt, exposing your breast and guiding her to latch. She did so immediately, her frantic crying settling into soft, eager sucking, the tension in her tiny body easing now that she had exactly what she wanted. You could feel the tug, the slight ache of letdown, but at this point, the sensation was so routine it barely registered. You laid your head back against the pillow, staring blankly at the wall. The dim glow of the motel’s neon sign seeped in through the curtains, painting the room in an eerie, flickering light.

The exhaustion weighed heavier and heavier on your limbs, pulling you down, dragging you under. Sylvia’s rhythmic sucking became background noise, lulling you further into that dark, dreamless abyss you had been craving for hours. Finally, finally, you let go.

Sleep claimed you.

But instead of the comforting emptiness of nothingness, you found yourself somewhere else entirely.

You weren’t in the motel anymore.

The cramped room, the peeling wallpaper, the rickety furniture—all of it was gone.

You were in his bedroom.

The massive bed, the silk sheets, the rich and dark furniture, the faint scent of whiskey and cologne that clung to everything—it was unmistakable.

Your blood turned to ice.

No. No.

This wasn’t real.

This couldn’t be real.

Your heart pounded in your chest as panic seized your limbs. You turned sharply, expecting to see him beside you, expecting his arms to be caging you in, but the bed was empty. You were alone. But that didn’t make you feel any safer. If anything, it made it worse. Because if you were here, then that meant he was close.

Your breath came out in short, frantic gasps as you scrambled to sit up, clutching the silk sheets like they were a lifeline. Wake up. Wake up. This is just a dream. But it felt real. The weight of the sheets against your skin, the softness of the mattress beneath you, the cool air against your arms—it all felt too vivid, too tangible.

And then—

The sound of a door creaking open.

A shadow moving in the doorway.

And a voice, deep, familiar, and dripping with warmth that made your stomach churn.

"Kitten?"

There he was, in all his glory. Imposing, tall and staring at you with those deep red eyes of his as he got closer. You didn't answer him, just looked at him with pure disgust.

Sylus chuckled, but there was no mockery in it—just something soft, something almost…fond. "I suppose even in my dreams, you want to get away from me," he murmured, smoothing out the sheets beneath him with absent fingertips. "I can’t say I blame you, kitten. But it does sting a little."

You pressed yourself against the headboard as if the space between you could somehow make this less real. Your mind was racing, trying to make sense of the situation. His presence felt too tangible—too warm, too steady. You could smell the faintest trace of his cologne, the familiar mix of cedar and spice, could see the faint rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

"This…this is my dream though?" you whispered, eyeing him like he might vanish if you blinked.

Sylus tilted his head slightly, as if he was just as perplexed as you were. "Well, this is news to me," he said, exhaling a quiet chuckle. "I was just resting, and then… I ended up here." He glanced toward the door, frowning in thought before turning his gaze back to you. "If this were only your dream, would I really be able to remember how I got here?"

You swallowed hard. The room felt too still, too real. The weight of the blankets, the way the dim lighting flickered ever so slightly—it wasn’t the warped logic of a dream.

"No," you muttered, shaking your head. "No, that’s not possible. You can’t actually be here. You’re not real."

Sylus sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw before his gaze softened. "Kitten…do you really think I’d say something like that if I weren’t experiencing this, too?" He reached forward, as if to prove something, his fingers ghosting toward your wrist—but he stopped himself, letting his hand rest on the space between you instead. "You feel it, don’t you? How real this is?"

Your breath was coming faster now, your mind desperately trying to refute what your body already knew. Theres no way.

"You're lying. This is just a dream after all. I can make you poof," you declared, squeezing your eyes shut, desperation clawing at your throat. If this was your mind's cruel trick, you could take control of it. You had to take control of it. Your breathing hitched as you concentrated, willing the image of him—him—to vanish, to dissolve into nothing but the formless mist of your subconscious. You envisioned him disappearing in a swirl of crimson vapor, fading from existence the way he always should have. This isn’t real. He isn’t real. If you could just wake yourself up, none of this would matter. You could push him away, just like you had in reality.

But then—

A chuckle.

Deep. Familiar. Amused.

Your heart dropped to your stomach.

Your eyes snapped open, dread creeping up your spine as your gaze landed on him once again. He was still there, still seated just across from you on the edge of the bed, watching you with that same exasperating patience, like he had expected you to try something so childish. His was soft, but his lips curved ever so slightly, the ghost of a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth.

"Shit," you exhaled, your throat suddenly dry. Panic curled its cold fingers around your ribs, making it harder to breathe. You licked your lips, trying to steady yourself, but it was no use. "Are we…actually sharing a dream?" Your voice wavered, as if saying it out loud made it even more real, even more impossible to ignore.

Sylus tilted his head slightly, crimson eyes studying you with unnerving intensity. "It's not impossible," he murmured, his tone thoughtful, almost curious. His gaze flicked around the room, taking in the familiar surroundings as if he were assessing them for the first time.

"If I had to guess, probably something to do with our Aethor Cores." His fingers absently traced over the sheets, his movements slow, calculated. You felt breathless as he met your gaze again, his eyes slowly lowering to your lips. The small shift in his demeanor made your stomach churn. He wasn’t gloating. He wasn’t taunting you. He was just there, existing in the same space as you, like this was something natural. Like it wasn’t utterly terrifying.

No. No. You refused to accept this. This wasn’t happening. This was just another trick, another cruel fabrication of your subconscious, it had to be. Your breath quickened as your mind scrambled for a way out. "No…no. This can't be happening," you muttered, pressing your fingers to your temples. A feverish kind of dread settled in your bones, creeping into every inch of your being like a toxin. Your body screamed at you to move, to run, to wake up.

"I need to wake up," you whispered, voice trembling, your limbs sluggish and heavy with panic. You scrambled off the bed, nearly tripping over your own feet in your desperation to reach the door. If you could just get out—if you could just move—maybe this whole twisted nightmare would shatter around you.

But Sylus was faster.

Before you could reach the handle, a warm, firm grip closed around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. Not forceful. Not rough. Just…steady. Unyielding in its purpose. His touch sent a jolt through you, your breath hitching as you froze, your body locking up in alarm.

"Wait…stop, please," he said softly, his voice carrying none of the usual arrogance, none of the smugness you had come to expect from him. It lacked the biting edge, the sharp confidence. Instead, there was something else. Something quieter. Something almost… pleading.

Your stomach twisted violently.

"Let go of me, you—you freak!" you spat, trying to wrench your arm free, but his grip held firm. Not crushing. Not painful. Just anchoring. Keeping you rooted in place as if he was afraid you would vanish the moment he let go. The warmth of his touch seeped into your skin, grounding you in a way that made you feel too much. It was too real. Too solid. Your chest heaved, your pulse racing wildly against your ribs, torn between instinctual fear and something else, something just as dangerous.

Sylus’s gaze was slightly tense, his fingers loosening slightly but not letting go. He exhaled slowly, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. Something that made your heart clench.

"I'm not here to hurt you," he murmured, and it was the way he said it—gentle, earnest—that rattled you the most. "I just…" He hesitated, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your wrist, his jaw tightening before he finally admitted, "If this is real…if this is actually happening…then this is the first time I’ve seen you in weeks."

The air in your lungs stilled.

The weight of his words crashed into you, drowning out the frantic rhythm of your heartbeat. You had expected mockery. Possessiveness. Some kind of smug declaration that you would never escape him. But this? This was something different.

This was longing.

Your breath caught in your throat, an unwelcome lump forming there. You wanted to shove him away, to break free from his grasp and put as much distance between the two of you as possible. But there was a small, terrible part of you—one you refused to acknowledge—that wanted to stay. Just for a moment. Just to pretend, even if it was only in a dream, that things weren’t so irreparably broken.

But pretending was dangerous.

So you did what you always did when confronted with him. You steeled yourself, lifted your chin, and glared at him with all the venom you could muster.

"So what?" you hissed, forcing steel into your voice. "You think this means something?"

Sylus just looked at you, his expression unreadable. "I don’t know," he admitted, voice quiet. "But I do know I don’t want you to run. I've missed you."

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms. You did want to run. More than anything. You wanted to wake up, wanted to pull yourself out of this suffocating moment before it swallowed you whole.

So you swallowed hard, straightened your spine, and forced the words past your lips.

"Then wake up," you spat. "Because I sure as hell don’t want to be here with you."

For a moment, he just stared at you, his eyes searching yours, filled with something deep, something you couldn’t name.

Sylus’s voice was deceptively soft, his tone laced with that maddening warmth that made your skin crawl. “Tell me where you and the baby are, honey.”

Your entire body tensed at the familiar pet name, the endearment rolling off his tongue like honey-coated steel. It made your stomach twist violently, resentment coiling in your chest. He didn’t get to call you that. Not anymore. Not after everything.

You winced, glaring at him. “No. Fuck off. Me and her are doing just fine without you.” You struggled in his grasp, trying to wrench your wrist free, but he didn’t budge—not even an inch. His grip was firm, steady, but not painful. It was possessive in a way that made your breath quicken, but not out of fear—out of something far more infuriating.

He sighed, tilting his head slightly as if he were observing something fragile, something just about to break. “You’re tired, aren’t you?” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “At your breaking point?” His hand slid from your wrist up to your forearm, his grip tightening just enough to keep you close. “There must be a reason your subconscious reached out to mine.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest. “I didn’t—”

“You did,” he interrupted smoothly, his thumb brushing against the inside of your arm in slow, absentminded circles. “I’m not mad at you, kitten. I’m worried.” His eyes softened, and that terrified you more than anything. “Please. I just want you to realize that I’m here. You can run to me anytime. Rely on me. I wasn’t lying when I said I would change.” His free hand came up, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You’re mine. You can’t run forever. And it’s not good for you or her.”

Your stomach dropped.

Not good for Sylvia.

That one sentence lodged itself into your ribs, slicing through your defenses like a blade.

Your exhaustion clawed at you. The sleepless nights, the endless crying, the way you felt like you were barely keeping your head above water—it all came crashing down on you in an instant. And worst of all? He wasn’t wrong. You were at your breaking point. You were exhausted. And running with a newborn was slowly chipping away at you, piece by piece, day by day.

But he didn’t get to say that. He didn’t get to act like he cared. He was the reason for all of this in the first place!

“Shut up!” you snapped, your voice raw and desperate, squeezing your eyes shut as if that alone could block him out.

And then—the room changed.

A flicker. A shift. A violent flash of something new.

Your stomach lurched as the plush surroundings of Sylus’s bedroom distorted, reality flickering between here and somewhere else.

Your motel room.

Your fucking motel room.

“No!”

Your eyes widened in horror as the room twisted again, revealing glimpses of the small kitchenette, the peeling wallpaper, the crib in the corner. He was seeing it. He was seeing everything.

Sylus’s eyes flicked upward, locking onto the vision like a predator catching scent of prey.

You had to go. You had to wake up before he could commit any of it to memory.

You wrenched yourself back, mustering every last ounce of strength you had, your body burning with the effort as you finally tore yourself free from his grasp. The sudden force sent you stumbling backward, tumbling to the floor with a sharp gasp.

The dream shook.

Like the world itself was coming undone, spiraling into chaos.

Sylus stepped forward instinctively, reaching out again—but you didn’t wait. You couldn’t wait.

You bolted.

You scrambled to your feet, racing for the door, your heart hammering against your ribs as the dream warped and twisted around you. The walls cracked, the bed dissolved into nothingness, the air thick with an unseen force pulling you in all directions.

You lunged for the handle, your fingers barely wrapping around it before his voice cut through the chaos behind you—low, steady, unwavering.

“I love you.”

Your breath hitched.

The door wrenched open.

“I will find you.”

And then—

Darkness.

Nothingness.

You gasped awake, your body jerking violently as you bolted upright in bed, sweat clinging to your skin, your heart slamming against your ribs like it was trying to break free.

The motel room was still there. The peeling wallpaper. The crib in the corner. The distant hum of the city outside.

Real. It was all still real.

You turned sharply, your breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps as you scanned the room for him—but there was no one. Just you. Just Sylvia, stirring slightly next to you, not fully awake.

Just a dream.

But your hands trembled.

What the actual fuck was that?

Sylvia’s cries cut through the silence of the dimly lit motel room, sharp and relentless, digging into your already raw nerves like tiny, clawing fingers. You clenched your jaw, inhaling deeply, trying—really trying—to muster the energy to deal with her needs. You had barely moved, just shifted an inch, and yet to her, it was as if you had vanished off the face of the earth.

"Shit..." you whispered, pressing your fingers to your temple, trying to keep your frustration at bay. But it was getting harder. Harder and harder with every night, every hour, every minute of this constant cycle. You had just woken up from that dream, your body still rattled with adrenaline, your skin slick with sweat. You hadn’t even had the chance to process what had just happened, to fully comprehend that Sylus was closer than ever before—and now, now you had to shove that panic down and deal with this. Again.

Sylvia’s whimpers turned into full-blown sobs, her little face scrunching up as if the world itself was betraying her. You sighed heavily, forcing yourself up from the bed, your muscles aching, your head pounding. Fine. Fine. Just get this over with.

You moved with the motions of someone who had long stopped feeling. Your hands automatically unlatched her onesie, pulling off the tiny, soiled diaper, tossing it onto the growing pile of them in the corner. I need to take out the trash, you thought idly, the realization empty and meaningless. Sylvia wailed through the entire process, her tiny fists flailing, her body squirming as if you were torturing her rather than helping her.

“Sylvia, please,” you muttered through clenched teeth, grabbing a fresh diaper and hastily fastening it around her. Your hands were shaking—not from fear, not from exhaustion, but from the sheer weight of it all pressing against you, bearing down on you with no relief in sight. She just wouldn’t stop crying.

You scooped her up again, her little body warm against yours, and just like that—her tears stopped. She nestled against you, her red eyes staring up at you in quiet contentment, a tiny smile curling onto her lips.

That smile should have done something to you. It should have filled you with warmth, should have stirred something deep within you, should have made the agony of all of this worth it.

But it didn’t.

You just stood there, looking down at her, blank and hollow. The weight of her in your arms, the warmth of her body, the fact that you were the only thing in this world that could soothe her—it all just felt like chains. A tether binding you to something you weren’t sure you could handle anymore.

You forced yourself to lay her back down, hoping—praying—she would just go back to sleep. But the moment she left your arms, the moment she no longer felt your warmth, the moment she realized she wasn’t attached to you—she screamed.

Not just cried.

Screamed.

It was as if you had ripped her from the only thing keeping her alive. As if you had abandoned her entirely.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your hands to your temples as frustration boiled over into something darker. “Sylvia. Please. Just. Stop.” Your voice was sharper than you intended, your tone clipped and laced with an exhaustion so deep it scraped against your bones.

But she didn’t stop.

She never stopped.

Your chest tightened, your breathing uneven as you tried—tried—to push down the growing resentment crawling up your throat. Why won’t she just stop? Why won’t she just sleep? Why does she need me all the time? Why do I have to be the only one doing this?

Your vision blurred, the weight of everything crushing you from the inside out.

And for the first time since she was born…

You wanted to run.

Not just from Sylus.

Not just from this motel.

From her.

You elected to just ignore her. You couldn't take it anymore. You picked her up, rougher than you intended, and placed her down in the crib with little care for the way she flailed and twisted, screaming in protest. You had nothing left in you, no patience, no warmth, nothing to offer her. You weren’t even sure if you wanted to comfort her anymore.

Your hands worked mechanically as you grabbed her pacifier and pushed it between her tiny lips, pressing it against her mouth with the hope that maybe—just maybe—this time she would take it, that she would finally let you breathe for five fucking minutes. But of course, she didn’t.

She spat it out almost instantly, her face twisting up as she let out another wail, her cries louder, angrier, demanding. She knew what she wanted, and it wasn’t some useless piece of rubber. She wanted you. She always wanted you. Every second of every minute of every goddamn hour. You, you, you. No one else. Nothing else. And she wouldn’t stop until she got it.

But you didn’t care. You couldn’t.

“Okay, fine. Have it your way. Going to sleep,” you muttered, voice hollow, drained of emotion, of anything that made you feel human.

And then you turned your back on her.

She screamed. Of course, she screamed. You felt her cries drill into your skull as you climbed onto the bed, your body collapsing onto the mattress as if you’d been carrying a thousand pounds of dead weight. You grabbed the nearest pillow and shoved it over your head, pressing it down so hard against your ears that the edges of your vision began to blur. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Maybe if you ignored her long enough, she’d finally tire herself out. She had to. Even she had limits, right? She had to give up eventually.

But she didn’t.

Her cries kept coming, sharp and insistent, her tiny lungs never seeming to run out of air. Minutes passed—five, ten, maybe twenty—you couldn’t even tell anymore. Your grip on reality was slipping, the exhaustion turning everything into a haze, like you were trapped in some endless cycle of sleep deprivation and screaming and frustration and resentment. God, the resentment. You clenched your jaw so hard it hurt, your fingers digging into the mattress, nails pressing against the fabric so harshly they ached. You had to stay put. Had to resist. If you gave in now, you’d just be teaching her that screaming would get her whatever she wanted. You had to hold out.

Then, it happened.

The static in your brain thickened. Your limbs felt heavy, your entire body sinking into the mattress, but at the same time, something pushed against you, something unnatural, something wrong. You felt yourself slipping, felt something creeping into your mind, curling around your thoughts, suffocating them. And before you could stop it, before you could fight—your body started moving.

No, no, no. Not again.

A sickening warmth spread through your chest, a soft pull dragging you upright, making your fingers twitch, making your arms ache for something—for her. Your mind filled with blurry images, flickering like a broken film reel. You, holding Sylvia. You, rocking her. You, soothing her. You, whispering reassurances, pressing kisses against her forehead, letting her curl into your warmth. Your hands moved without your command, your muscles tightening, preparing to reach for her—to pick her up—to do exactly what she wanted.

No. No, I’m not doing this. I refuse.

You gritted your teeth, fighting against the force pulling you forward, your body trembling as you pushed against it with everything you had. But the more you resisted, the stronger it got. The harder it pushed. It wasn’t fair.

You didn’t ask for this.

You didn’t ask for a baby.

Didn’t ask to be ripped away from everything you had known.

Didn’t ask to be hunted down like an animal.

Didn’t ask for this—this thing, this unnatural pull, this invisible force that made you crave to hold her even when all you wanted to do was scream.

And you couldn’t take it anymore.

You ripped yourself from the bed, stomped over to the crib, and without thinking, without stopping, without giving yourself a second to hesitate—

"SHUT UP!"

The words exploded from your mouth before you could stop them, the rage, the exhaustion, the sheer helplessness pouring out of you in one sharp, vicious outburst.

And then—

Silence.

For the first time in weeks, Sylvia stopped crying.

Wide, unblinking red eyes stared up at you, her tiny face frozen in an expression you couldn’t quite place. Surprise? Confusion? Fear? Your breath came in heavy pants, your whole body trembling as you loomed over her crib, hands clenched into tight, shaking fists.

And then, the worst part.

Her little bottom lip wobbled.

And her face crumbled.

The wail that came next was nothing like the others.

It wasn’t needy. It wasn’t demanding.

It was heartbroken.

A sharp, broken cry that cut through you like a blade, raw and devastated, like she wasn’t just upset—she was hurt.

She was afraid.

And just like that, the anger drained out of you, leaving behind something much, much worse.

Guilt.

You stepped back, hands flying up to your mouth in horror, your breath stuttering as you looked down at her tiny, trembling body, her fists clenching and unclenching as if searching for comfort. Searching for you.

What had you just done?

What the fuck had you just done?

You spiraled instantly. The realization of what you had done hit you like a freight train, the weight of it crushing down on you so suddenly, so violently, that your knees nearly buckled beneath you. Oh my god, what did I do? The thought was suffocating, an unbearable pressure in your chest that made it hard to breathe. The moment the first whimper left Sylvia’s mouth, small and pitiful, her face scrunched up in pure devastation, the dam inside you broke completely.

Tears flooded your vision, hot and unrelenting as you instantly reached down, scooping her up with shaking hands. She stiffened at first, her tiny body rigid in your arms, her whimpers turning into sniffles, her breath hitching in that awful, hiccuping way newborns did after crying too hard. It only made you sob harder.

No, no, no, no, no…

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—Mommy didn't mean it, Sylvia, please," you choked out, your voice hoarse and desperate as you pressed her against your chest, rocking her as if movement alone could erase what had just happened. As if the warmth of your body could somehow undo the damage. But the damage was done. You had screamed at her. Yelled at her like she was some disobedient child, not an innocent, helpless baby who had done nothing but exist. She was six weeks old. She didn’t understand. She didn’t deserve this. She had no idea why the one person who was supposed to protect her had just erupted in rage, her tiny world shattering in an instant.

Her cries didn’t stop immediately. They didn’t settle the way they usually did when you picked her up. Instead, she kept trembling against you, her sniffles and whimpers breaking through the silence like little shards of glass stabbing straight into your heart. Her heart was beating a thousand miles per minute. She was scared. Of you. And the realization nearly made you collapse.

Your mind reeled, frantic thoughts spinning so fast you could barely keep up with them. What’s wrong with me? What kind of person screams at their own baby? Have I really lost that much of myself? The self-loathing was instant and all-consuming, seeping into every inch of your being like poison. You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your forehead to the crown of her head, inhaling the faint newborn scent that should have brought you comfort but instead sent another wave of guilt crashing over you.

Sylvia finally began to calm, her body no longer stiff, her breathing growing steadier. But you? You were anything but calm. You held her like she was the only thing tethering you to this world, like if you let go, you would disappear into the dark void that had been slowly swallowing you whole. Your sobs came in waves, silent at first, then broken, raw, shaking your entire body as you curled around her, whispering apologies over and over again.

She deserved better. So much better.

Your hands trembled as you ran them over her back, feeling the tiny ridges of her spine through the fabric of her onesie. She was so small, so fragile, and you had been hurting her. Maybe not physically, but this wasn’t what she deserved. Not a mother who was so exhausted and broken that she couldn’t even summon the strength to feel love anymore. Not a mother who snapped and lost control, who let her own misery bleed into the innocent, untouched existence of her baby.

You had spent all this time running, thinking you were keeping her safe. Thinking you were doing the right thing. But what if—what if—you weren’t protecting her at all? What if you were only delaying the inevitable? What if, no matter how hard you tried, you were the real danger here? Not Sylus. Not anyone else. You.

Your stomach twisted violently at the thought, bile rising in your throat. You shook your head, rocking Sylvia more urgently, as if you could shake the thoughts away. But they only grew stronger. More insistent.

You had tried. You really had. But it wasn’t enough. No matter how much you fought, how much you sacrificed, it wasn’t enough.

She wasn’t safe with you.

Maybe she never had been.

Maybe it was time to stop pretending.

Maybe it was time to put her first.

Maybe…

It was time to give her up.

It didn’t take you too long to pack up a few of her things. Your movements were robotic, mechanical, as if your body was moving on autopilot while your mind refused to fully register what you were about to do. Diapers, onesies, some extra milk. The necessities. You didn’t want to burden whoever found her, but you couldn’t just leave her with nothing. You had to make sure she had enough, at least for the first couple of days.

The sun would be rising soon. The first hints of light were already creeping over the horizon, painting the edges of the sky in soft hues of purple and gold. You need to hurry. People would be waking up soon, moving about, starting their days. You didn’t want anyone to see you. You didn’t want to risk someone trying to stop you.

Your hands trembled as you shoved the last of her things into the bag, your breath uneven. This was the right thing to do. It had to be. Sylvia deserved stability, a real home, someone who could care for her without resentment bubbling under the surface, poisoning every interaction. You weren’t that person. You had tried—god, you had tried—but all you were doing was slowly unraveling.

You gently placed her in the stroller, making sure she was bundled up. The air was cool, a lingering chill from the night before, and you didn’t want her to be cold. She barely stirred as you adjusted the blankets around her tiny body, only letting out the faintest of sighs. She was exhausted from all the crying, her little face relaxed in sleep, peaceful in a way you hadn’t seen in what felt like forever.

Your heart clenched painfully.

Good. This would make things easier.

Easier.

That word felt like a lie.

Your stomach twisted violently as you looked at her, as you took in every tiny detail—the wisps of hair on her head, the little crease in her brow, the slight pout of her lips. Every feature was a perfect blend of you and him. She would never know the man who had given her those crimson eyes. Never know the grip he had on your soul. She would be safe. She would be free.

You turned away sharply, squeezing your eyes shut as if that would somehow make this less unbearable. It didn’t.

You forced yourself to move, rummaging through the motel’s tiny desk drawer until you found an old notepad and a pen with barely any ink left. Your fingers shook as you pressed the pen to the paper, the words coming out in short, shaky scrawls.

Her name is Sylvia. She is breastfed but will take formula. No birth certificate, please get her one and take care of her.

You stared at the words, your breath coming in shallow gasps. Was this enough? Would someone understand? Would they know how much she liked being held, how she hated bright lights, how she always nuzzled against your chest for comfort? Would they love her enough?

Would they love her more than you could?

A choked sob escaped your lips before you could stop it. You bit down on your trembling lip, trying to shove the emotions down, to lock them away. If you thought about this too much, you wouldn’t be able to go through with it. And you had to. You had to.

You folded the note carefully and tucked it into the blanket beside her, making sure it wouldn’t blow away in the breeze. Then, without another glance, you gripped the stroller handle and stepped outside into the quiet, early morning streets.

This was the right thing.

You had to believe that.

Because if you didn’t…

You wouldn’t survive it.

You could've taken the car. It would have been faster, easier. But something in you resisted. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was love. Maybe it was some part of you clinging to the last fleeting moments you’d ever have with her. You just wanted one last walk—one final, quiet moment between mother and daughter before you severed the last fragile tie holding you together.

The world was still. The kind of early morning hush that made everything feel softer, untouched. The crisp air kissed your skin, the streets empty except for the distant sounds of the city beginning to stir. You glanced down at the tiny bundle nestled in the stroller, her little chest rising and falling with each breath, her lips slightly parted in sleep. The sight of her so peaceful, so completely unaware of what was about to happen, made your stomach twist in agony.

Your fingers brushed over her hair, trailing down to those two tiny, hard nubs hidden beneath the strands. You still didn’t know what they were. Maybe whoever found her would. Maybe they would understand her in ways you never could. Maybe they would love her better.

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening painfully as you pushed forward.

You didn't know how long you walked. The city blurred past in a haze of rising sunlight and the rhythmic sound of the stroller wheels rolling over pavement. Your feet moved on their own, one after the other, guided by some force you couldn't name, until eventually, a towering mansion came into view across a bridge.

It was immaculate—pristine marble pillars, massive iron gates that stood open just enough for someone to slip through, a sprawling estate that screamed wealth and power. Whoever lived here was loaded, that much was obvious. And loaded meant resources. Stability. Protection. A child could be safe here, cared for. Given everything you couldn’t provide. The gate was slightly open. Perfect.

Your breath shuddered as you pushed the stroller across the bridge, your hands gripping the handle so tightly your knuckles turned white. Every step felt like dragging yourself through quicksand, like your body was resisting what your mind had already decided.

When you finally reached the grand front steps, you hesitated.

This was it.

The point of no return.

Tears blurred your vision as you carefully maneuvered the stroller up the stone steps, pausing just before the door. A car sat parked nearby, its presence offering a sliver of relief—someone would find her soon. Someone important. Someone who would change her life for the better.

Your fingers trembled as you tucked the blanket around her one last time, ensuring she was warm, protected. You reached into the small bag and pulled out the note, rereading over the words you had written as if hoping, somehow, they could say everything your heart was screaming.

Her name is Sylvia. She is breastfed but will take formula. No birth certificate, please get her one and take care of her.

You gently placed the note on her chest, your fingers lingering just a little too long. Please love her the way I couldn't. You didn’t write it, but you wished—prayed—that whoever found her would understand.

Would love her.

Would give her the life she deserved.

Your legs felt like lead as you stepped back, the weight in your chest growing unbearable. You reached for the stroller handle again—no, don’t do this, you can’t do this—but you forced yourself to let go.

You told yourself you were doing the right thing. You turned around.

You told yourself this was what was best.

Then why did it feel like you were leaving a piece of your soul behind?

Sylvia.

Your breath hitched as you stood at the edge of the steps, frozen in place, unable to take another step forward. Your chest felt too tight, like your ribs were closing in on your lungs, suffocating you. The early morning air was crisp, but you felt unbearably warm—your skin burning, your pulse roaring in your ears. You had to move. Now.

But you couldn’t.

Not yet.

You turned your head just enough to steal one last glance at her. She was still sleeping, blissfully unaware of what was happening. Her tiny hands curled into loose fists against her chest, her little lips twitching in a soft, contented sigh. The note rested against the blanket, its corners barely moving in the breeze.

Your throat closed, and your vision blurred.

You knew you would never see her again.

The thought alone nearly drove you to your knees.

Sylvia...

A shuddering breath escaped you as you closed your eyes, willing yourself to be strong, willing yourself to accept that this was what had to be done.

"Please live."

The words were barely above a whisper, slipping past your lips like a prayer, a desperate plea to the universe to do right by her in ways you never could.

"Grow up happy. Make friends. Finish school, find a good job."

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms, grounding yourself in the pain, reminding yourself to keep going.

"Find true love."

Real love. A love that didn’t consume, didn’t possess, didn’t suffocate. A love that was free and kind and safe. A love that would never trap her in a cage the way you had been trapped.

"Just live."

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, willing the tears away. But they fell anyways.

"And I will try and live too. Despite us being apart from now on, I will always think of you. This moment doesn't define either of us."

It was a lie. You didn’t know how to live anymore. You didn’t know if you even wanted to try.

But if you told yourself enough times, maybe—just maybe—you’d start to believe it.

With a final, agonizing inhale, you turned your back to the mansion, forcing one foot in front of the other. Each step felt like a blade sinking into your heart, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

If you looked back now, you’d never leave. You went into a full sprint, not wanting to change your mind.

You had to leave.

Because Sylvia deserved a future.

Even if you weren’t in it.

[thebestsetter]

Thinking about you and Rin (failing on) hiding your relationship.

You and Rin are two very discreet people. You don't really see the need for the media to meedle about your personal life. That's why you decided - together - that your relationship should not be shown to the public.

Anyway, he figured that, one way or another, people would find out about it. He just didn't think it would have nothing to do with his - growing - fame.

"'Day 14 of filming this cute couple on the train until I get a partner'" you read outloud, while his head was in your lap and your hands caressing his hair "Wait a sec... they kinda looks like us!"

"Impossible" Rin mumbled, burying his head deeper into your thighs

"But it does!" You said, and stopped the movements in his hair - which earned an unsatisfied growl from him - "Look!"

His eyes hurt a little from the shift of light, but he eventually saw the video - and immediately straightened his back and sat on the bed "It's us."

"Told you so!" You also sat straight - after sticking your tongue out at him -, hands on his shoulder while he clicked on the profile that posted it "Wow. There are MANY videos of us."

"I'm gonna sue this bastard for using our image without our knowing consent."

"Rinnie, maybe there's no need to go that far!" You snatched the phone from his hands, to which he reolied 'Hey!' "Listen, you have a lrovate account, right? That basically no one follows but me and your - I don't know - ten friends?"

"Nine, actually" he corrected "But yeah, I do. Why?"

"You should comment on the video using that account, so no one knows it's you and the person filming will leave us alone! Something like: 'Hey, I'm the guy from the video. Please stop using me and my girlfriend's image without permission'. That should work"

"...that's actually smart" Rin deadpanned, staring at you

"Duh, obviously it's smart. I AM smart." You smirked

"'right, I'm gonna do what you said" He said, shoving your smirking face aside

"Thanks, Rinnie! Hopefully they'll understand that we want privacy and just stop"

"Oh, don't worry. I'll make sure they will" he muttered lowly

"What did you say?" (You heard him the first time. You were just surprised.)

"Nothing. Good night, my love."

"...goodnight Rin"

Maybe you should've worried Rin was planning something from the last sentence - and by the strategic use of pet names - because MAYBE then you wouldn't wake up and find out that not only he wrote the comment from his PLAYER ACCOUNT - the one the team tags on posts and sponsorships use to talk about him -, but it was not as (let's say) peaceful as you had planned it to be.

Itoshi_Rin: Leave me and my girlfriend alone, fucker.

Okay. You SERIOUSLY needed to find him before his PR team. They were going to kill him.

The second you stepped out of your house and noticed the stares following you and even a reporter - who appeared out of NOWHERE - stopped to interview you, you realized.

You did want to find him before his PR team. But not because you wanted to save him.

You wanted to kill him first.

So, uhm... I'd like to consider this as a 1.2k commemoration post!!! Thank you all 🫶🫶🫶

[madamechrissy]

Escort! Satoru- part three

Pairings- Escort Satoru Gojo x shy CEO F! reader

Warnings- eventually explicit sex, freaky but fluffy- this part- obsessed ass/whipped ass Gojo, mentions of sex work, oral (f receiving) panty stealing hehe, fingering, reader is HELLA rich and Satoru is almost a sugar baby lmao, fluffy/sweet, tension - lots of it- he becomes lowkey/highkey Yan tbh, pretty woman vibes 🤭

This will be a fun set of drabbles in this style! I hope you all enjoy them lmk if you wanna get tagged in the next parts <3

<<<Part Two

Escort! Satoru 'How much for twenty minutes of your time?' your words halt him now, his hand on the doorknob, cock immediately hard, throbbing at just the sound of your voice, the intent there behind it something he's just been fantasizing about day in and day out since he first met you. 'Twenty minutes?' He puts a smirk on his face, turning to face you now, lowering those black Gucci shades just a bit, as you sit there on that desk like a whole fucking meal, sexy business skirt slipping up your thighs just so. 'Twenty minutes of my company?' he turns the lock with a resounding click, dress shoes clicking on the hardwood floors slowly, as he steps closer, until he's leaning over you. 'And what do you want in this twenty minutes?'

Escort! Satoru watches as your eyes lower, nervously shifting, as his hand slips up a thigh, gently pushing it down, so he can step right between your legs. 'Anything you're comfortable with, Satoru... I'd never ask for anything you don't want to do' why do your sweet words have to make his heart race!? Even faced with finally getting more of your time, he also can't take just how much you mean to him, how deeply he fucking feels for you in this moment already. 'I'm comfortable doing anything to your pretty body' he says then, watching your eyes dilate, your lips part, his hands slipping your skirt up just a bit over your stockings. 'So you just say what you want, sweetheart' your hand trails down his abdomen, as you whisper 'I want you to make me cum, please'

Escort! Satoru has your back pressed right on your desk now, shoving stacks of papers out of the way, you gasp at the quick motion, when he shoves your skirt all the way up, revealing black garters adorning your thighs, and already soaked black panties, which he peels down. 'Your eyes... let me...' you take off his glasses with a shaky hand, setting them next to you, revealing those baby blues with snowy lashes lowered. 'They're so pretty... Satoru, are we...' he chuckles, but inhales when he sees your perfect cunt, the strings of sticky cum attached to the panties, moaning at the sight. 'We're not fucking in just twenty minutes, no sweetheart, even if you beg, I'm not busting that fast' your thighs are shaking then, breaths quicker as he pulls those panties fully off, you don't see that he tucks them in his pocket, all you see is him get on his knees.

Escort! Satoru parts your swollen lips with two long fingers, revealing the wetness just drooling from your little hole, he feels your hands grip his expensive black suit as he breathes on it, then inhales your scent, watching the little clit twitch just from that, hearing your soft little whimper. 'Satoru um... you're... ah!' You have to slam a hand on your mouth, what if someone fucking heard you!? This is insane, you're acting so crazy for this man. You see Satoru's brilliant blue eyes looking up, lidded with desire, when he presses a kiss right over your hood, letting your lips slip back together, his fingers now shoving your thighs farther, pressing into them. 'I'm going to have you cum all over my face, sweets, you can pay my fee after' you're done once he's slipped a tongue up your slit, screaming out into your hand, cunt clenching around nothing.

Escort! Satoru is clearly a fucking expert, you've not been with anyone in so long, that just a flick of his tongue destroys you, blood rushing in your ears while your other hand grips his silky white locks. 'Mmm, taste s'fucking good, fuck...' your hips arch, as he starts lapping up your slit, to your little clit, sucking it into his hot mouth now, you're gasping in pleasure, cunt pulsing and pouring more and more arousal for his hungry mouth. 'Oh my god, Satoru... mnh!' your soft, pleading whisper makes him so hard it hurts, he's rubbing himself over his pants then, leaking precum, while your thighs close in on his head. 'Lemme see how many times I can have you cum, set the timer' he says, grinning when he stands, slipping two fingers in your snug little channel.

Escort! Satoru watches you grab your phone with shaky hands, eyeing the time. 'fifteen left, sweets' he murmurs, leaning over you as he curls his fingers up in gummy walls, slick coating you, and you set it, his lips so close to you, you can damn near taste yourself. 'You don't kiss, but you...' Satoru sighs, breath tickling your lips as you bite your lower lip, hand pulling on his tie now. 'This is five star treatment, reserved for very...' he presses a kiss on you neck, your breasts that are peeking from your blouse, 'very.... very special clients only' his fingers curl just so, you scream out against your palm again, as Satoru's close to busting watching you, tasting your sweetness on his lips. 'there's once' he's sitting you up higher as you're spasming around his fingers, sitting right in your office chair now, burying his face back between your thighs again, yanking you against him.

Escort! Satoru has the next orgasm all over his face, fuck he's drowning in you, lewd, wet squelching sounds echoing in your pretty bright office. 'That's it, cum again, let me drink you up, slutty little cunt loves it, huh?' no one has ever spoke this way, no one has devoured you like this, your hoarse voice cries out when his tongue flicks over and over again. 'Satoru, oh my god, t-too much I...' he laughs a bit, fingers scissoring in and out of your soppy hole, raising a brow. 'C'mon, you can give me one more, can't you baby?' baby, the word echoes as you nod, helpless, trying to remember, this was his job, his career, that it's just that, nothing more. But how can you when he's pulled you by the fat of your ass, and his face is fucking buried against you!? As he's drinking your soaking wetness all up, as you shatter, cumming so hard you almost fucking faint, you can't even see.

Escort! Satoru presses one more kiss, smirking as you twitch, thighs shaking, your breaths coming so quick, your grip so tight on his hair it hurts, but it hurts so good. 'Satoru, fuck you're... some pussy eating prodigy like...' he snorts in laughter now, easing his fingers out, coated and dripping with you, making you heat up, when he places them against your lips. 'Open' you eagerly listen, sucking his long fingers, as the timer sets off, you hastily shut it off, tasting your sweetness on him, as he watches your flushed face, your glittery eyes. 'Look at you, so pretty, so fucked out, already...' you pull back your lips with a pop, running your fingers down his hard abdomen, dying to know what he looks like. 'Let me make you cum' he pauses then, because one fucking flick of your tongue and he'd probably bust all over. 'twenty minutes is over, I'm afraid'

Escort! Satoru earns a cute little pout, as you close your thighs, grabbing the phone, that bracelet glinting. 'How much?' you ask softly, Satoru eyes your bare ears, thinking next he'll buy you pretty earrings to dangle off them. 'Twenty minutes? Four hundred.' His price should freak you out, but you don't bat a pretty eyelash, his phone dings, and you've sent eight hundred instead, making him eye you. 'I said four-' you shake your head. 'Worth it' you hop off your desk, wobbling just a bit, he has to steady you now, pressing kisses against your head, so affectionate you can hardly stand it. 'Why does a girl like you need me, hmm? Have you fucking seen yourself?' He tilts your chin up, some underlying feelings pour through then, you hate how he fucking talks about himself suddenly, like he's nothing. 'Have you seen yourself, Satoru?' he blinks a bit then, lips just a centimeter apart, Satoru doesn't kiss clients, right, Satoru doesn't kiss anyone really, not when he knows that is what really means something, all he can thing of is kissing you.

Escort! Satoru watches you adjust yourself a bit, and you try to gather your papers, your things, putting them back in their rightful places. 'I have an auction I could use a date for, same price as the last charity event okay?' you say softly, Satoru's heart pounds in his chest now. 'Discounted, you're tipping me entirely too much' you giggle a little, brushing your hair back. 'How about I buy you something at the auction you'd like?' Satoru shakes his head. 'shit there is thousands...' you shrug a shoulder. 'And? If you want something I'll buy it, if not I'll just pay the normal. Are you booked Friday though?' Satoru looks at his phone now, you keep repeating to yourself - he's just doing this for his job, his money, that's it- don't get too attached. 'Nope, nothing' Satoru says, as he clears three jobs away, high paying, but he damn sure wouldn't turn down another time with you.

Escort! Satoru takes your hand, kissing the back of it with glossy, plump lips - fuck they're glossy from you - winking and playing it off so cool, like his heart's not pounding in his chest. And he tries to remember- he's just a convenience, right, he's just good at pleasing, good at acting. He can't fall so deep to think he could be more for a girl like you, watching color decorate your precious cheeks as you smile. 'Next time... if you're comfortable after...' your hand brushes against his cock, eliciting a whimper you think you must have mis heard, eyeing him now. 'I'd like to please you back' he clears his throat, precum making him stick to his boxers. 'Oh would you, shouldn't I pay you for that, baby?' you're giggling now. 'What!?' he just shakes his head. 'I don't think I could take pay for you pleasing me, but... we'll see, I'll be there.' You nod a bit. 'It's a date, then.' your casual words make you both pause, but he grins now. 'Mhmm, see ya sweets'

Escort! Satoru doesn't know why but the thought of charging you to suck him, charging you for anything, feels... off. weird. wrong. You're still going over it all in your mind, when suddenly you realize you don't have your panties. You're trying to find them, panicking, what if a client walks in and they're thrown somewhere!? You pause then, surely he... 'Satoru...' he picks up the phone, already in the back of his driver's car, stroking a hard cock. 'What is it, sweetheart? need twenty more minutes?' you laugh a bit. 'It's gonna sound insane, but... where are my panties? did you put them somewhere?' your whisper makes him pause, mid stroke, pulling them out of his pocket now. 'Panties... I think I just... had them on the desk?' you curse a bit, as he grins, putting them against his face and biting back a moan. 'Shit, I don't know! Okay... I'll text you the details from the auction.'

Escort! Satoru considers your panties the real tip, hanging up the phone and lapping that wetness off them, flavor coating his tastebuds with you, the phone blings with a location. But Satoru has trouble focusing, instead whining out at the thought of being inside of you, pretty little CEO, who's paying him far, far too much, so much so he's canceled his appointment that day too, he can't focus on anything but you, anyway. You give up searching for your panties, surely he wouldn't have taken them... but little do you know he's using the silk to stroke himself, busting his hot white load all against the fabric, shaking as he looks at the mess he made. He needs some practice, is all, before he can handle you, that's all it is, practice... right? He can't stop thinking about you, like a madness, until he's ready to see you again, and one thought rushes through his head as he meets you that night in your gorgeous red dress -

He wants to kiss you.

taglist 1 - @shydroid3000 @thisisew @twinkling-moonlilie-reblogs @aducksmokingquack @miya4life @ravenbc @yenayaps @nezukuwu @etsuniiru @ieathairs @kenqki @princess-bblgm @belovedxiao @ninikrumbs @ieathairs @myahfig4 @theelegantpotato @vvaoo @aldebrana @celestep004 @whoisteona @ladyneisa @lililovely78 @gamerhere @wstaley2 @allthesqueaks @slut4donghyuck @maisiefrancesca @yittten @femaholicc @jjknanamin @that-b-word-lol @devastyle @mat-mat-mat @jkslaugh97 @ovela @mxgnolia @rikiswifeyyy @kaayyhunnyy @gojos1wife1 @arabellasolstice @01ve3rz @jud3thedude @firemoonlightfly @vyluvs @artist1936 @kyelikesanime @mistytojigetolover

[johannesviii]

[karen360-x3]

Y'all don't know how real this is:

One time, my friend @inkscarlet wrote a fanfic, and there was a scene where a character got SAed. The fic did a very clear job of depicting the act as horrible, as something that can destroy a life. (and for me, those kind of depictions are very important to see in our media in order to not minimize r*pe)

Fast-forward a month or 2, and she got messages from a 16yo insulting her for writing the scene, saying that she's 16yo and it's a horrible thing to do.

A few things I wanna say to this kid:

1- The fic had multiple trigger warnings for ONE scene (in the tags, and at the beginning of the chapter containing the scene, so people could skip it)

2- Newsflash asshole: the world doesn't revolve around you! There were TW and yet you decided to proceed despite everything

3- WHY DIDN'T YOU SKIP THE DAMN THING???

4- You should learn about SA even before you're 16, so you can, you know, be informed about how it works and why it's horrible (I'm pretty sure the school curriculum have students read some sh*t like Lolita)

5- Again, if you're traumatized by depiction of SA, skip the chapter upon seeing the TW (something I totally understand)

Okay look, I may come as abrasive rn, but you gotta understand that this kid harassed my friend on a public discord server... To me, she wanted to encourage others to harass my friend, otherwise she would've gone to my friend's DMs...

Depiction of SA should NEVER be erased, people have to understand how important those are. Ofc, there's a way to go about it in order to show how horrible SA can be, and if done wrongly/clumsily, I'm sure people will be able to recognize it and point it out without being disrespectful (y'all are way smarter that that)

But I can assure you, the depiction my friend did was accurate to what SA is/can be (keep in mind that there are multiple forms of SA's)

My point is: if you're a minor on AO3/Wattpad, either activate the damn filters and read the tags or get the f*ck off the platform

Anyways, you deserved better @inkscarlet, your fic was great

Ao3 does not need an algorithm, you're just lazy

Ao3 does not need a 1-5 star rating system, you just want to bring down authors writing for FREE

Ao3 does not need automatic censorship, it is an archive, therefore anything can be posted

Writing or reading about something illegal does not mean the author nor the reader condones it, if that were true, you could never read a story involving anything negative

Purity culture is ruining fan culture and you all are fucking annoying

[c0s-lettuce]

my own girlfriend hates me

joaquin torres x reader

synopsis: joaquin loves how clingy you are in the mornings. but he's thrown for a loop when he wakes up to you ignoring him.

word count: 0.8k

warnings/tags: fem!reader, fluff, established relationship

a/n: my very late contribution to the joaquin torres empire! short and sweet! hope you enjoy <3

Everything still feels fuzzy in your half-sleep. Outside, the birds have begun their song as the city wakes. Sunlight streams through the window, but you keep your eyes closed, blocking out the effects of the day.

You're safe and warm in Joaquin's arms. He lies behind you, his chest firm against your back. His hands are slipped under your shirt, pressed against the softness of your skin. You don't need to be anywhere today, so you simply relish in the moment.

But it's not long before a buzzing ringtone disrupts your peace. Behind you, Joaquin stirs, shifting away from you to reach his phone.

"Hello?" he mutters, his voice still a bit rough.

You can barely make out the voice on the other end. But you don't need to hear the words or be fully awake to know what's happening. Joaquin's being called away again.

"Alright, I got it," he affirms on the phone. "See you soon."

He ends the call and lets out a sigh. Placing his phone back down, he cuddles up to you again. He nuzzles his head against the back of your neck, placing a kiss below your ear.

"I have to go now," he murmurs softly.

You let a short hum in response, conveying nothing but a simple acknowledgement of his words. Joaquin doesn't think much of it yet.

He continues. "I'll see you tonight, okay?"

This time, you give no response. He just hugs you tighter, peppering more kisses in the hopes of eliciting a stronger reaction from you.

"Hey," he tries to get your attention. "Aren't you going to try to get me to stay?"

"Mmm, no," you mumble, curling away from Joaquin.

He pauses, sensing something is wrong. Even at your most sleepiest, you'll at least let out a sad noise or try to hold onto him. But now, it's as if you want nothing to do with him.

He props himself up on his elbow. Even with your eyes closed, you can tell he's peering at you. You do your best to hold back a smile. But Joaquin, upon seeing your sleeping face, suddenly feels bad. He doesn't want to disturb your rest, so he leans in to give you a soft kiss on the cheek.

"Alright, bye baby. I love you," he says before quietly slipping out of bed.

Again, you don't respond. You remain still as Joaquin starts getting ready to leave. You hear him move around the bedroom, getting dressed and gathering his things. It's not until you hear the bedroom door close that you finally open your eyes.

You can tell it's still early by the light. But it's suddenly cold and lonely without Joaquin. And as funny as that was, the guilt starts to set in. So, you get out of bed and head to the door.

Carefully, you peek out into the living room and see Joaquin grabbing more of his things. He's got a slight pout on his face, his brow furrowed. It's adorable, but you know you can't let him leave like this.

You step out and cross the room to reach him. He notices you approaching but can't voice his surprise in time as you grab his face and pull him in for a kiss. He relaxes instantly, his hands finding their home around your waist as he kisses you back.

"I love you, too," you say when you pull away.

"Jesus," Joaquin replies. "You scared me. I thought you were mad at me or something."

You smile sweetly. "I'm sorry, I was just messing with you."

He huffs, pulling you into his arms. "I can't believe you. My own girlfriend hates me."

You hug him back, resting your head on his chest. "Oh, come on. It was kinda funny."

He hugs you tighter. "Whatever, smarty pants. Just don't do that again, alright?"

"Alright," you relent. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he replies.

Joaquin lets out a deep breath. He pulls back and cradles your head in his hands. A moment of silence passes as he admires you.

Then, he speaks up again. "You're a dummy, you know that?"

"I'm not a dummy," you feign offence.

"Yeah, you are," he states.

He doesn't give you a chance to respond before he picks you princess-style. You let out a small, surprised yelp, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"What are you doing?" you ask.

"It's still early," he replies. "You should get more sleep."

You don't argue with that. You're more than happy to go back to bed. You let Joaquin carry you back into the bedroom. He tucks you in, and you watch with a smile as he gently lays the covers over you and leans in to kiss your forehead.

But as he's about to pull away, you grab his arm. "Stay with me?"

Joaquin laughs. "Oh, now you want me to stay."

You pout. "Please?"

He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, baby. I'll try to finish early, okay?"

You sigh, letting go of him. "Okay."

"Okay," he repeats. "I'll see you tonight, sleepy."

He smooths out the covers and gives you one last kiss before pulling away. Smiling fondly, he bids you farewell and leaves you to bask in the morning light.

[wandasgirl69]

A simple request—

Paring(s): Wanda Maximoff X female!reader

Summary: After a long, exhausting day, all you want is to unwind in your girlfriend's arms.

word count: 1.9K

tags l content: established relationship, smut, breeding kink, mommy kink, cockwarming, breastfeeding, induced lactation, sub reader, Wanda has a cock, abandoned movie lol.

A/N: I'm excited and nervous to post this lol, it's just a short drabble. I hope you guys enjoy! (and yes, it's about me and my girl— again.)

The day had drained you completely. Endless lectures, overwhelming assignments—your mind felt like it was on the verge of shutting down. As you stepped into your apartment, the familiar scent of home instantly soothed you—a mix of fresh linen, vanilla, and something distinctly Wanda. With a deep sigh, you dropped your backpack by the door, kicking off your shoes without caring where they landed.

All you wanted—no, all you needed—was to unwind. Just you, Wanda, and a movie. That was your simple request.

As you made your way into the bedroom, Wanda lay sprawled on the bed, a steaming cup of tea cradled in her hands, her crimson-painted nails tapping idly against the ceramic. A book rested open in her lap, though she seemed more focused on the warmth seeping through her fingers than on the words before her. The soft glow of the bedside lamp bathed her in warm light, making her look almost ethereal.

"Hi, my love," she murmured, her voice like a gentle caress.

Just hearing those words made something in your chest loosen. The tension that had gripped you all day dissipated, if only for a moment. You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding and walked over to the bed, practically collapsing onto it.

Wanda shut her book, setting it aside as she turned toward you, concern flickering in her eyes.

"Long day?"

You groaned, pressing your face into the pillows. "The longest. I don’t want to think, don’t want to talk about assignments, and definitely don’t want to see another professor’s face for at least a week." You rolled onto your side, gazing up at her.

"I just need to watch a movie. I need to turn my brain off, cuddle under the blankets, and just exist for a while. That’s all I want."

Understanding flashed across her face, and without hesitation, she nodded. "Okay, baby. That sounds perfect."

She reached for the remote, shifting closer to you. "What do you want to watch?"

Your lips curved into a small smile as you answered without hesitation. "Rom-com."

Wanda chuckled, shaking her head fondly. "I should've guessed."

"You should've," you teased, nudging her arm. "They're the best. They’re funny, they’re sweet, and they make everything feel a little bit lighter."

With an amused sigh, Wanda scrolled through Netflix, already knowing you wouldn’t settle for anything else. "Alright, one predictable, overly romantic, cliché-filled movie coming right up."

"Masterpiece," you corrected, grinning as you reached for her.

Before you could say anything else, Wanda set the remote down and gently pulled you into her arms, shifting you so you rested against her front, nestled between her legs. The warmth of her body instantly soothed you as she wrapped her arms around your waist, holding you close.

"Are you comfortable?" she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. You hummed in response, melting further into her embrace. The movie played on and she continued to caress you, her hands slowly making their way under your shirt. 

"Wanda" you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. 

"Yes, baby?" she asked, before  nipping at your neck, her teeth grazing your skin. 

“We’re supposed to be relaxing,” you mumbled. She chuckled softly, her breath warm against your ear.

“This is relaxing, no?” You let out a shaky breath, nodding as you surrendered to her touch, letting the movie fade into the background. She continued to explore your body, her fingers trailing along your stomach and then up your ribs, teasing the underside of your breasts. You let out a quiet whimper, arching into her touch.

"So responsive for me," Wanda whispered, her voice low and husky. her slender fingers eventually made their way into your shorts, slowly dipping into your folds. She let out a groan at the wetness she found there, her fingers parting your folds and sliding into your entrance.

"Fuck, baby," she breathed, her voice thick with arousal. "You’re so wet."

She began pumping her fingers slowly, eliciting a moan from you. Your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more friction. But then suddenly, it stopped, and a whimper escaped your lips. You opened your eyes to see her smirking at you, a playful glint in her eyes.

"What happened to relaxing?" she teased as she removed her hand from your shorts and brought her fingers up to her mouth, sucking them clean. The sight made you shudder, and you could feel the heat building between your legs.

"I- I am relaxed," you managed to stutter out.

"Mmhmm," Wanda hummed, her lips curving into a smirk. "Let's see if we can help you relax a little more, shall we?" her cock pressed against your back and she ground herself into you, making sure that you could feel how hard she was.

"Yes please," you breathed, squirming slightly as she continued to tease you.

"but we need to focus on the movie" she reminded you as she trailed her hands up and down your body.

"It's hard to focus on the movie when you're touching me like that," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Wanda's chuckle was playful, "Maybe we can multitask," she suggested, her breath hot against your ear. "We can watch the movie, and I can... help you relax at the same time."

"I think that can be arranged," you breathed

"Shhh” she murmured as she pulled your shorts down as well as her own. 

"warm up my cock, hm?" A groan escaped your lips as she guided her tip to your cunt, your wet folds allowing her to push right in. The feeling of her stretching you open was almost too much, and you felt yourself trembling against her. She wrapped her arms around you and pulled you flush against her chest as the movie continued to play in the background. 

Wanda made sure to keep a steady pace of small, shallow thrusts, just enough to tease you without being too distracting. Every so often, she would buck her hips, eliciting a soft moan from you as her cock hit that perfect spot inside you.

"You're doing such a good job, keeping mommy's cock nice and warm." Your response was immediate, a whimper escaping your lips as your hips rocked back into hers, driven by a primal need to be closer, to be filled completely. 

"Please, Mommy," you whispered, your voice a faint, desperate plea that lingered in the air as you rested your head back against her shoulder. 

"I want you to breed me." As soon as the words left your lips, Wanda's entire demeanor changed. Her eyes, which had been gleaming with a mixture of desire and playfulness, suddenly burned with an intense urgency. She pulled you closer, her arms wrapping tightly around you as she deepened her thrusts.

Her movements became more frantic, more desperate, as if she was driven by a singular focus to give you what you wanted. The air was filled with the sound of her ragged breathing, her gasps and moans mingling with the creaks and groans of the bed as she pushed up against you with increasing intensity. 

The movie, which had been playing in the background, was forgotten, the sounds and images on the screen fading into insignificance as Wanda's actions became the sole focus of your attention. You felt yourself getting lost in the sensation of her body moving against yours, the friction and heat building as she drove herself deeper and deeper into you. 

Wanda's hands were everywhere, grasping and clutching at your skin as if she was trying to pull you closer, to merge your bodies into one. Her lips were on your neck, your shoulder, your ear, her breath hot and urgent.

As her movements continued, you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps.

"That's it, baby," she whispered. "Take mommy's cock. Take it all." Her hands reached up and cupped your breasts, her thumbs brushing over your nipples. Her fingers lightly pinched, sending a spark of pleasure through your body. You moaned, a soft, breathy sound, as your hips instinctively bucked back into hers.

You were on the verge of losing control, and you knew it. 

"I'm going to—" you whispered, your voice barely audible as the sensations overwhelmed you. The words trailed off, lost in the tidal wave of pleasure that threatened to consume you.

"Cum, baby," Wanda grunted. "Cum all over my cock. I'm going to fill you up." As she spoke, her body tensed, and you felt her release inside you, a warm, gentle flood that seemed to never end. She didn’t stop her movements, instead increasing them to ensure you took every drop of her seed. 

You cried out, your body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. Wanda held you close, her thrusts slowing as you came down from your high and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the two of you panting, struggling to catch your breath. 

"Ohh, my love, you were perfect," she whispered, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck as she pressed soft, gentle kisses. With a gentle movement, she shifted your body, turning you around to face her, her cock still nestled deep within you— exactly where you both loved it to be. As she held you, you whimpered a little, your body squirming subtly to press against hers more intimately. 

Wanda's arms tightened around you, holding you close, the steady rise and fall of her breath soothed you. Your body felt heavy with exhaustion, a weariness settling in as you melted against her.

“Sleepy, baby?” Wanda murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from your damp forehead.

A small hum left your lips as you shifted slightly, seeking more of her comfort.

“Mama…” you breathed, half-asleep but still aware enough to know what you wanted.

“I’m here, my love,” she reassured you, tucking you even closer. “What do you need?”

Your fingers curled against her skin as you whispered, 

“Milky.”

Wanda’s chest rose with a quiet chuckle, her amusement laced with tenderness. 

“Oh, my sweet girl,” she murmured, adjusting her position so she could take off her shirt. She bared the soft curves of her breasts to you, her warmth and scent enveloping you in familiar safety. Her hands guided your head back to her chest, where the sweet aroma of her milk mingled with the lingering notes of vanilla that were uniquely hers.

As you latched on, the steady, pulsing rhythm of her heartbeat filled your ears, lulling you further into the depths of relaxation. Wanda’s fingers twisted through your hair, scratching your head absentmindedly. 

“That’s it, baby,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“Just relax, I’ve got you.”

The gentle pull of warmth, the rhythmic rise and fall of her breath, the way her arms held you so securely—it was all you needed. 

The weight of the day faded, the last remnants of tension melting away as your body sank fully into her embrace. She shifted slightly, her fingers gently brushing against the corner of your mouth to wipe away a stray drop of milk that had lingered there. And with a gentle motion, she wrapped the blankets more securely around you both. Even as she started to drift off, she was aware of your tight walls still wrapped around her cock. 

"Sweet dreams, my love," she whispered, her voice barely a breath, as the warmth of her heartbeat pressed against your cheek. You felt her hold you just a little tighter.

[cas-couture]

cas couture.

cas couture is an upcoming community-based sim magazine focused on fashion. what sets cas couture apart is that we will not allow permanently paywalled cc to be featured in the magazine and aim to highlight the numerous, talented cc creators in the community :)

we are looking for simblrs who would like their stories/cc/creations/sims/pretty-much-anything ADVERTISED (for free, this is not a cash grab) in the APRIL 2025 ISSUE!

as cas couture is community driven, we need YOUR participation!

( more info under the cut !!! )

we want to put the spotlight back on this community and appreciate active simblrs. we want to encourage blog interaction and actually make the community ~feel like a community!

what will advertising look like?

sponsoring might look different across different spreads, it might be an ad for a movie/ tv series (i.e., this would advertise a sim story), an ad for a product/ designer (i.e., this would advertise a CC creator) and so on.

we're pretty much open to advertising anything! :) if you have any ideas for how you would like your creation advertised, let us know!

what are the requirements to sponsor?

you must be 18+ to apply

this is for fun!!!! pls remember that :) and also pls don’t be zionists or trumpies or homophobes or racist or anything else awful because :( and that’ll be another reason why we can’t have nice things :(

submit this sponsorship form (set aside 10 mins to fill this out, if your sponsorship is accepted, have some pictures/content ready that you would like us to use!)

reblog this post so i know ur for real about wanting to advertise!!

you would reblog and boost and interact with the April issue when it releases on April 11 :) (this would run on an honor system because I'm not a weirdo, but........ like if not enough people do it, it probably won't be worth the effort of making all the ads if no one's going to read the first issue/ interact with it? the point of cas couture IS blog interaction!!!!)

deadline to submit a sponsorship form is April 1. if you are making your own advertisement, it is April 10.

faq

i'm an editor for the magazine already, can I apply to sponsor?

yes, you totally can! we would just request you still fill out the form and once we confirm your sponsorship, we would just ask you to make your own advertisement, as it would probably be the quickest method :)

can I make my own advertisement as a sponsor?

yes, you totally can! once you're accepted as a sponsor, we will send you more information on the canvas size and other regulations <3

how many advertisements are you accepting?

there is no set number, it's more like... how many advertisements we can crank out in time for April 11 :) if you are willing to create your own advertisement and submit it by April 10th, the chances are 99.999% that we would accept :)

why is reblogging this post a requirement in order to apply for sponsorship?

because it'll show that you're truly willing to ruin your impeccable feed with simblr community content! if you're not willing to do it now, you probably won't want to later :( cas couture can only fuel itself on my hopes and dreams for so long until it burns out :( the aim is for blog interaction, making (age-appropriate) friends and having a good time!!!!

thank you for supporting cas couture! you're helping fund the nepo babies'-- i mean, interns'-- matcha addictions-- i mean, education!

asking da community for some support <3

as this is totally a community project, i'm going to tag some community members who really helped the last post reach the masses (I'm sorry, I'm annoying for tagging!!!) and current editors (I'm going off the top of my head, I'm sorry if I miss anyone!!!) on the team for the April issue!!!! if you don't like to be tagged, I'm sorry!!!!! <3333

@householdbinary @jokiyo @simafrassx @olivetelfie @my-kwy @southernfriedsims-blog @ratwoman161 @harvestsims @mmonetsims @kdplayssss @liyahssims @fairytailtow @crazy-hazy-sims @aliengirl @strangegrapefruit @thebramblewood @thefoxburyinstitute @missatan

psst, we're still accepting editors for the April issue!!! learn more about the roles available here!

[valar-did-me-wrong]

Coming out of my tags game hibernation to answer this one for you bestie @dragon--ashes .... maybe it'll motivate me to reblog all the other 100 too 😭😭 sorry if I haven't responded to many yet, I'm a horribly lazy person, it says me up everyday trust me 🙈

Cw: Depression & anxiety disorder

So back when I made this Tumblr I was young, depressed, still finding myself and had not figured a way to live with all these changes.. I was very much struggling with the reality of life and would blame everything & everyone but myself for my suffering and often blame the gods for doing me wrong by giving me a life like this.. now this experience made me vibe a lotttt with Feanor & hence I chose this name that I think Feanor would have totally approved xDxD

But now it's been a few years, I've gone through all the stages of grief over the life i can never have & started on a path of healing by accepting myself! So I don't blame the valar too much now but I'm keeping the name to honour Feanor for the icon that he is!

I tag anyone who wanna join, i'd love to know you guy's lore!! 🫶🏽

Tag game🎉

Tag your moots and ask them where they got the idea for their tumblr accounts name!

For my name it was a nickname I was giving back in middleschool! One of our teacher had a system where we worked with 'wifi' eachtime we talked in class we lost a bar of the "wifi" (was a weird joke and we never held count on that) All the kids usually joked if they needed 'wifi' , they would borrow mine if they wanted to talk more. (I was incredibly shy in middle school, I only talked to like 3 people at school;^;)

They called me Ms. Wifi because of that. I just thought it would be funny if I put 'miss' instead of 'ms' because of my terrible actual wifi connection I have at home lol.

That's my story! Now moots, only if you guys want to, tell us your story.

Tags-> @slipping-lately @firequeenofficial @noagskryf @twinklstarrrr @halfbakedspuds @polterwasteist @rokushi-san @mygedagtes +anyone that sees this and wants to do this as well

[ernest-rimmingway]

⭐Soft⭐

Tags: [mlw][mdni][watersports][fingering][overstimulation][edging][dacryphilia][clit play][bladder pressing][mentions of cunnilingus][gentle mdom][slight exhibitionism]

honorary tag: @lucky-beheaded ⭐

You're a pet.

Nothing more than a toy to sate the desire of intimacy of a monster. A beast without a name, only a purpose.

Conquest let's out a soft breath, hands moving towards your hips before he pulls you into his lap, face buried in the curve of your neck, bulging muscles wrapping around your form as he takes a deep breath, inhaling that sweet scent that clung to you.

He's not a patient man.

Not in the slightest.

But he would argue that the shift in your scent, from something bitter, akin to a deer being cornered by a hunter to the saccharine scent of clementines and honey, the smell he's only gotten whiffs of between lovers on the planets he's conquered in the name of Viltrum.

You're soft. Pliable. Weak.

Your hands cradle him affectionately, fingertips tracing the scars that adorn his body, traced the sharp, jagged lines of his bones. And he mimics you.

Hands that have crushed worlds cup your jaw, lips that snarl purse sweetly to press kisses against the fat of your cheeks and fingers that have gouged at eyes until rupture....

...circle your clit with slow intensity that makes your belly dip and your mind hazy.

"My little human." He coos softly, strong nose pressed against where your pulse thrums erratically, hands grasping at his bulky forearms, your lashes flutter and sounds slip from your lips. Perfect, rosy lips that part to let out those delightful little noises, glossy with saliva or whatever little thing he brings back from the ruins of worlds he takes.

Massive, corded muscles keep your thighs parted and you don't know how long he's kept you nestled against him, keeping you on the precipice of a world shattering orgasm.

"So.... Fragile, so... Weak. So very... Soft."

Your mind's blank, eyes bleary as you try to control your bladder because like NLE Choppa said, 'don't cum quick, I control my bladder'.

You're convulsing, clawing at his thighs as he keeps you spread so obscenely wide, glistening cunt facing the ajar door of his quarters. It's nerve-wrecking. The fact that anyone could walk in, and just...

Watch.

"So... Soft..." Conquest's free hand moves to press on your lower belly, gentle pressure from a heavy hand and your back arches, lips parting as you take a shaky breath.

You're so, so very close. Your lungs are burning with sounds you've insisted to swallow down, your skin prickles with sweat and teardrops threaten to spill. You've never been edged this long.

Much to contrary belief, Conquest always gives in. Eager to please, even more eager to allow himself the sight of your cunt pulsing, slick slipping past your holes to pool beneath you.

"Wait-wait-wait," the pleas to make him stop fall on half-deaf ears, his fingers slowing to a gentle stroke between your slippery folds, each stroke causes a squelchy noise to slip past your puffy pussy, alongside trickles of slick that soak into the silken sheets beneath you, "I have to... Pee..."

The admission is sheepish. You have no idea why.

This beast of a man has stood in the doorway of his bathroom, watching you relieve yourself with hearts in his eye, his large form filling the entryway and he's proceeded to lap at your cunt, your legs obscenely wide and your hands weakly pushing at his head.

"Then do it." Conquest whispers, hot breath ghosting over your ear and your heart drops to your spine.

"What— no— you big back- I'm not pissing mysel—llff...."

Your eyes roll back in your head when one of his meaty fingers pushes into your cunt, and he groans.

"So... Tight..." He groans, and you can feel the way his cock pushes against your lower back and you're already sweating bullets, trying to figure out how it'll fit when he eventually decides that he wants to fuck you.

You're surprised that he hasn't.

Surprised that he prefers to watch you being split open on thick fingers, his tongue lapping at your glossy cunt while he ruts against the base of his bed.

Rubbing his cock raw as he pushes you past limits that have you seeing limbo before he yanks you back to where you're meant to be.

Wrapped in strong arms.

"Piss yourself." Conquest whispers. Ticklish kisses pressed to your temples, one hand fucking your cunt with slow, deep thrusts, his rough palm grinding against your clit. While the other remains pushing down... Down... Down...

The embarassment comes second to the relief.

Fluids trickling down your thighs, soaking into the sheets and dripping into a puddle on the marble floor and you bring your hands up to hide your face.

And that coil in your belly snaps and you don't know how to feel.

Cumming around his thick finger, grinding your hips against his palm and you're whining, writhing all while making a mess that you're probably going to be too fucked out to clean. But by God, do you intend to.

Your nails are clawing at his thighs, not even ripping a stitch in his uniform and the longer he keeps stroking that gooey spot just behind your clit, the more your mind turns to a hazy mass of mush.

"Fuck... S'too much— s'too much."

This time... Your pleas do fall on deaf ears. Conquest continues to push you over the edge, your cunt gushing around his fingers and it's only when your eyes well up, fat droplets of salty tears rolling down your flushed cheeks that he pulls his finger out of you.

His tongue drags along your cheek, licking up the rivulets of tears, as well as perspiration before he shifts, setting you down on the edge of the cushioned bed.

Conquest makes slow work of arranging a plethora of pillows around you, surrounding you and keeping you nested in place before he kneels. Knees bitten by the cold of the floor but he nears his face to your pussy.

Flushed, overstimulated and glossy.

Eyes stare up at you from beneath snowy lashes. One, a beautiful and pale shade of brown, pupil large and the other, the palest of blues, nearing white. Blind, without a pupil and bisected by a scar.

Rough features, made for destruction and your hand moves to stroke along his cheek, and he inhales sharply, reveling in the softness of your touch.

Before he leans forward, his tongue lapping at your cunt with slow, unpracticed strokes. Rough and messy, you watch as he keeps his eyes on you.

"Soft..." He coos. "So, so soft. And warm. And wet..."

[winwintea]

hey mr. dj (keep playing this song for me)

PAIRING ↬ secret agent!lee donghyuck x reader

TAGS ↬ action, drama, romance, haechan past revealed he's actually a secret agent omg, mark is in this too, there's a cult that steals bones from people, but still happy ending for hyuck/n i'm not that mean

WARNINGS ↬ bone stealing cult, character death, multiple character death actually, cult does some supernatural stuff idk

SUMMARY ↬ they have his bones.

WORD COUNT ↬ 4.2k+

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ ITS HERE!!!!!! this took me so long to edit and it's still bad i apologize. it's actually a sequel to another fic i wrote called the call. you can read this as a standalone if you want, the plots are wildly different. not sure if i would really call this a sequel bc it's more of a prequel then sequel. i wasn't inspired by +82 pressing lol (i wrote this mostly before it came out) but the mv kinda similar so i'll put it here still. title is from the backstreet boys song!

THE STEADY BEEPING OF MACHINES FILLS THE HOSPITAL ROOM.

“Hey… I’m here. I’ve been waiting for you,” a soft, familiar voice whispers from beside his bed.

Slowly, Haechan’s eyelids flutter open, revealing a world of bright white lights and the persistent hum of medical equipment surrounding him. His body aches and he blinks away the disorientation that clouds his vision.

There you sit, quietly in a worn armchair, your hand gently clasping his. Despite the pain, his heart stutters with relief.

“Y/N… what happened?” he rasps, his voice raw and hoarse.

You squeeze his hand, a small smile of reassurance on your lips, though your eyebags reveal the worry that has shadowed your face. “I was so scared, but I’m glad you’re awake now,” you murmur, brushing a tear from his cheek.

For a moment, the room falls silent except for the persistent beeps of the monitor. Haechan’s gaze drifts upward, the brief flash of regret and unspoken sorrow passes over his face.

You lean in closer, sensing that behind his pain lies a story you have only glimpsed. “You don’t have to tell me everything right now,” you whisper, careful not to press too hard. “Just rest. I’m here for you.”

Haechan’s hand tightens around yours, “I…I wish I could remember,” he admits, his voice barely audible.

Suddenly a memory comes to Haechan in vivid, sunlit hues. A gentle recollection of a day when the world felt delightfully simple.

Inside a quaint, warmly lit café, soft indie tunes play in the background while the aroma of freshly brewed coffee swirls around the cozy space. Haechan remembers how he hesitated at the door, his heart pounding in anticipation as he scanned the room. That’s when he saw you, sitting by the window with a book in hand and a genuine smile that seemed to light up the entire place.

Taking a deep breath, he made his way over, rehearsing a greeting in his head. When he reached your table, he couldn’t help but grin awkwardly. “Hi… I’m Haechan,” he began, his voice laced with a mix of shyness and determination. “This might be weird, but I thought you looked really cute and… ugh do normal guys do this?”

You looked up, your laughter light and genuine as you set your book aside. “Normal? I doubt it,” you teased, your eyes twinkling, “What can I do for you Haechan?”

Haechan chuckled, feeling the warmth of his cheeks wash over him. “I’m just here for the best cup of coffee this place can serve. And maybe, if you’re not too busy, for some company.”

You smiled, sliding your chair a bit closer. “Well, lucky for you, I happen to be an expert in both coffee and conversation. So, what’s your secret? Are you a professional coffee taster by any chance?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “No, nothing like that. I just appreciate a good cup of coffee—and a good laugh. Though, I must admit, I’ve had my share of… adventures.”

Your eyes widened playfully. “Oh? I suspected you were hiding something exciting behind that calm smile. Maybe I’ll hear about your ‘adventures’ some day.”

Haechan’s gaze softened as he appreciated your genuine interest. “Maybe one day,” he whispered, the corners of his mouth tilting up in a secretive smile. Yet in that moment, the only truth he needed was the simple joy of being with you.

For the rest of that afternoon, the two of you talked about everything and nothing—favorite movies, the pros and cons of the city, even the best recipies to try. The conversation flowed effortlessly, all the while, Haechan’s mind danced between the present and the shadows of a past he was desperate to leave behind. 

As the café began to empty and the golden afternoon light slowly faded into the promise of evening, Haechan found himself wishing the day would never end. In your laughter and gentle teasing, he discovered, sometimes life’s simplest moments were the most extraordinary of all.

The fluorescent lights in the safehouse flicker intermittently, casting a stark glow over scattered maps, dossiers, and a well-worn leather jacket draped over a chair. Haechan sits across from Mark at a cluttered table, a steaming cup of coffee between them, the air seems thick with tension.

Mark leans forward, his eyes sharp behind dark glasses even in the dim light. “We’ve got a new target,” he announces, “The Bone Maestros. They’re a cult that takes bones as payment for debts.”

Haechan arches an eyebrow, a dry smile tugging at his lips as he sips his coffee. “A cult is crazy. Bones, huh? At least they’re upfront about their currency,” he quips, though his voice carries the undercurrent of grim determination. “Maybe they wanted someBODY to love.”

“Dude, shut up.” Mark chuckles softly, shaking his head. “You always find a way to use a cringe joke while talking about serious shit.” His smile fades as he slides a dossier toward Haechan. “This isn’t a joke, though. Their methods are ancient, twisted, and ruthless. We need to stop them before they claim any more victims.”

Haechan studies the file, as Mark points out various details on the map.

“They’ve been operating in the shadows for years,” Mark explains. “Every debt, every betrayal—they demand a price in bones. It’s for ritualistic purposes apparently.”

Haechan leans back, his mind racing through past missions and the scars they left. Despite the danger, he can’t help but appreciate the irony. “You know,” he muses, half to himself, “after everything, I never imagined my greatest enemy would be a bunch of bone collectors. Like do we work at the museum or something?”

Mark grins, the tension easing slightly. “We’re targeting two key players tonight—Karina and Giselle. They’re scheduled to appear at that notorious nightclub downtown.”

Haechan nods, the gears in his mind turning as he visualizes the mission. “I guess it’s time to put on our best disguises, huh? No bones about it.”

Mark laughs, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “That was so stupid, please don’t ever say that again. We need to be focused.” His expression turns solemn again as he adds, “Just remember, this isn’t a game. Every decision counts, and we’re in deeper than ever.”

The nightclub feels like a living, breathing beast. In a secluded corner away from the chaotic swirl of bodies on the dance floor, Haechan sits with Mark at a small table. The atmosphere is charged with the thrill of the night, yet a rare moment of calm hovers between them.

Haechan’s gaze drifts across the room, where you stand, bathed in the flickering neon glow. In that fleeting moment, the tumult of his secret life softens into a quiet, desperate hope. I've had enough of the violence. I wish this night would never end… maybe then I could have a normal life with you. 

After you seem to notice him, you beckon him over as he rises and makes his way through the crowd. Mark catches Haechan’s determined look and throws him a teasing glance.

When Haechan reaches you, he leans in with a warm, disarming smile. “Tonight, I just want to forget the chaos… and maybe, for a little while, be just another guy on a date,” he says, his voice low and sincere. 

You chuckle softly, thinking he’s just saying things, meeting his earnest gaze with playful defiance. “And what happens when reality comes crashing back?” you tease.

For a suspended moment, the cacophony of the club seems to fade, replaced by the quiet beat of your shared heartbeat. “I pray it never does”.

From across the table, Mark arches an eyebrow and smirks, his silent encouragement a reminder that while the mission looms in the background, haechan can have his fantasy, if only for a moment.

“Mark, behind you!” Haechan shouted, as he dove for cover behind a stack of crates. In a narrow corridor behind the nightclub, Haechan and Mark moved with calculated precision. They were just steps away from their target when the ambush struck. 

Mark was already reacting. He pulled Haechan up with a firm grip on his arm, their eyes locking for a brief moment. But before either could recover, a hail of bullets erupted from the shadows. 

“Keep moving!” Mark roared above the din, his voice gruff. Haechan scrambled to his feet, mind racing with the only thought of survival. They darted through a maze of narrow alleys and twisted passageways, trying desperately to shake off their unseen assailants. 

Yet, fate had other plans.

In the midst of a particularly sharp turn, a sharp crack echoed, followed by a searing pain in Mark’s side. 

Time seemed to halt as Haechan spun around, eyes wide with horror. Mark staggered, clutching his wound, his face contorted in agony.

“Mark!” Haechan cried, dropping to his knees beside his partner. “Hold on, please… stay with me!” He tore off a strip of cloth from his own shirt, pressing it desperately against the wound. 

Mark’s eyes, usually so full of unyielding confidence, now shimmered with a mix of pain and resignation. “Haechan,” he managed, his voice weak and slurred, “I… I can’t… keep going.” His hand gripped Haechan, “Finish this… for both of us.”

“You promised… we’d do this together.” Haechan’s fingers trembled as he attempted to stem the flow of blood, his vision blurring at the edges with unshed tears.

But the chaos around them wouldn’t let him linger in grief for long. The ambush was relentless, and even as Haechan’s heart shattered, he knew that every second counted. In a final moment, Mark’s grip slackened. His eyes shut, and with a final whisper, “Please… go be with that girl, will you…?”he was gone.

The world around Haechan spun in a maelstrom of noise and fury. Every instinct screamed for revenge, for justice, for closure. He refocuses on the enemy before him. Emerging from the shifting shadows, Karina appears, eyes filled with no regret or remorse.

“Haechan,” she hisses, voice laced with malice as she lunges forward with a serrated blade glinting in the strobe lights. Every instinct in Haechan screams at him to retaliate, and with a ferocity born of grief and determination, he raises his weapon.

In a blur of motion, the world narrows to the sound of rapid gunfire. 

The first bullet finds its mark in Karina’s shoulder, eliciting a grunt. 

The second slams into her chest, the impact rattling the steel of her resolve. 

The final shot, a brutal punctuation, seals her fate.

Karina staggers, a look of shocked disbelief etched on her face as she crumples to the ground, her eyes wide before slowly closing.

For a split second, the chaos pauses. The only sound is the fading echo of gunfire and Haechan’s own ragged breathing. 

At that moment, Giselle, who had been lurking silently in the periphery, watching with a calculating gaze, realizes the tide has turned. Her smirk falters as she watches Karina fall. Without a word, she retreats into the labyrinth of darkened corridors, her footsteps fading into the distance as she vanishes from the scene.

Haechan stands alone amid the shattered remnants of the confrontation. His heart hammers in his chest as he surveys the grim aftermath, the echoes of his shots still reverberating in his ears. The cold reality of what he has just done settles over him—a brutal act carried out in the name of survival and vengeance.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, the memory of Mark’s final words fueling his resolve. “I’m sorry, Mark,” he murmurs, voice cracking under the weight of his grief. “I promise… I’ll make them pay.

After the adrenaline of battle faded, Haechan found himself alone on a rooftop overlooking the city. The cool night air did little to soothe the rage burning in his heart. Every raindrop that fell seemed to echo the memories of Mark’s final moments, each one a reminder of a bond shattered in the chaos from before.

Haechan sat on the edge of the rooftop, knees drawn close as he stared down at the shimmering cityscape below. The neon lights flickered like distant stars. In the solitude of that moment, he allowed himself to remember the life he once dreamed of. Of peace. Of silence. 

I can’t keep living like this, he thought, his heart heavy with regret and exhaustion.

A familiar voice echoed in his memory—the soft, steady reassurance of you.

“Maybe… maybe I deserve more than this,” he whispered to the rain, his voice barely audible over the patter of water on concrete. His mind raced with visions of a future where he wasn’t forced to hide behind layers of secrecy. A future where he could wake up next to you, share coffee in the early morning light, and forget about the chaos that had defined his past.

In that reflective silence, Haechan made a decision. He would resign from the covert world. He longed to trade in the weight of his past for a chance at normalcy, to finally embrace the warmth of a simple, unburdened life with you.

With a slow, deliberate breath, Haechan reached for his phone. His fingers trembled as he opened a secure message thread: a final communication to his superiors, a message that would sever his ties to a world of darkness. An apology for the life he was leaving behind, and a firm statement that he would never return to that endless cycle of violence.

Before sending the message, he paused, his thoughts drifting back to Mark. “I promise I’ll honor your memory by living the life we never had,” he murmured softly. “I’ll find peace—if only for both of us.” The resolve in his voice was resolute, carrying with it both sorrow and the spark of a new beginning.

The message sent, Haechan let the phone fall from his grasp. And as he looked up at the stars, Haechan vowed that no matter how difficult the road ahead might be, he would fight for the future he deserved.

[The Night of the Attack]

The night was thick with neon haze and the steady pulse of electronic beats—a temporary escape from the dark corridors of Haechan’s past. He’d joined his friends at a downtown club, hoping the laughter and the reckless rhythm of the evening might drown out the memories he’d worked so hard to bury. Glasses clinked and bodies swayed on the dance floor, yet every so often, a shadow of Mark’s loss would cross his mind, a reminder that the violence he’d left behind was never truly gone.

Between bursts of forced smiles and half-hearted jokes, Haechan lingered on the fringes of the revelry. He laughed at his friends’ teasing remarks, even when his heart wasn’t fully in it. “Come on, man, loosen up,” one of them urged, clapping him on the back. But Haechan’s thoughts were elsewhere.

Lost in this inner turmoil, he barely registered the vibration of his phone until it jolted him from his reverie. He pulled it from his pocket, expecting a routine message, only to see an unfamiliar number flash on the screen. His stomach knotted as he hesitated, then swiped open the message thread. The screen displayed a cryptic, jumbled text:

“…they have my bones.”

For a heartbeat, the world stilled. Haechan’s pulse pounded so loudly he was sure his friends could hear it. His breath hitched. The number was one he recognized all too well—Mark’s old number. But Mark was gone. The icy realization that the Bone Maestros might have taken something so integral, even symbolic, from his fallen partner sent a shiver down his spine.

His mind raced—was it a warning? A trap? Or a final message from the man he’d lost? The implications were chilling. In the secret, twisted rituals of the Bone Maestros, the bones of their victims weren’t mere remains; they were tokens of debt, relics imbued with a dark power that defied nature itself.

“Hey, you alright?” Jaemin suddenly asked, leaning in as he noticed Haechan’s sudden change in demeanor.

Haechan recollects himself, a forced smile plastered on his face. “Man, I’m good,” he says, leaning into a laugh that sounds more brittle than genuine. “Just needed a minute to catch my breath, you know?” His friends nod and tease him, unaware of the tempest raging beneath his calm facade.

Yet, as the night deepens and the neon haze thickens, a flicker of recognition strikes him like a lightning bolt. He recalls that mysterious woman from earlier at the bar—the sultry flirtation he’d so casually dismissed. It wasn’t random at all. In the shadowed corner of his memory, her eyes had burned with a dangerous intensity, a promise of unfinished business.

Haechan’s inner voice hisses, She wasn’t here for a casual chat... she’s Giselle. Fuck. The realization claws at him. The very woman he’d brushed off earlier. He only assumed she was determined to reclaim what the Bone Maestros believed was owed, and her supernatural grasp over the bones of their victims was just one of her many weapons.

Lost in thought, he nearly misses her arrival until she steps out from behind a pillar, her gaze fixed on him like a predator stalking her prey. Her eyes flash with a cold resolve that sends shivers down his spine. Giselle’s lips curve into a sinister smile as she approaches him through the swirling crowd.

“Hello, Haechan,” she purrs, her voice smooth yet laced with undeniable menace. “I was hoping we’d meet again tonight.”

Haechan’s heart pounds, and for a moment, his carefully maintained facade cracks. Around him, his friends laugh and chatter obliviously, still convinced that he’s merely enjoying the night. But in that instant, the vibrant pulse of the club becomes a stark contrast to the dark undercurrent of fate closing in on him.

“Giselle,” he replies, the name tasting bitter on his tongue. His voice is steady, though his inner turmoil rages like a storm. “What do you want?” His tone is curt, laced with both fear and resignation.

She leans in close, her eyes gleaming with a mix of triumph and wrath. “I’ve come to collect what is mine,” she whispers, “You know the price, Haechan. The Bone Maestros never forget their debts.”

For a fleeting heartbeat, Haechan’s mind floods with the disjointed messages and memories: Mark’s desperate words, the cryptic text about his bones, and the knowledge of supernatural forces beyond his control. The realization is as paralyzing as it is inevitable. Giselle is not merely a random woman, but the harbinger of his past catching up to him.

Around him, his friends remain blissfully unaware, their easy banter a painful reminder of the life he longs to lead. The safe haven he’s built in pretending that everything is fine is crumbling, and the cost of that facade becomes all too clear.

Giselle’s grip tightens on his arm, her touch both seductive and dangerous. “Come with me, Haechan,” she commands softly. “There’s so much we need to settle, and I promise you, it won’t hurt… too much.”

The choice stands before him like a jagged chasm. Every instinct screams to run, to hide from the darkness that has come to claim him. Yet, beneath the terror, a cold, calculated determination begins to take hold. By agreeing to accompany her, he might buy time—time to figure out a way to neutralize this threat and perhaps salvage a fragment of the future he’s dared to imagine with you.

“I… I have to go with you,” Haechan admits, his voice barely above a whisper, heavy with reluctant resignation. “Can I make a quick call? It’s to my girlfriend. I won’t tell her anything. Then I promise I’ll come with no struggle.” His words are laced with sorrow as he steals one last, agonizing glance at his friends before turning back to face her again.

Giselle’s smile widens, predatory and unnerving. “Alright,” she murmurs, almost caressing his words. “Let’s see if you can keep your promise, Haechan.”

“You always thought you could escape your past,” Giselle’s voice rings from his ears, “Now, you are mine to command.”

From her belt, she produces a length of rope-like material that shimmers with an otherworldly glow. Etched along its surface are archaic symbols that seem to writhe and shift in the dim light. As she advances, those symbols pulse like a heartbeat.

Giselle wraps the enchanted restraint around Haechan’s wrists and ankles. The ropes constrict with an almost sentient force, the glowing symbols intensifying their grip. 

Fuck. This isn’t how it should be, he screams internally. I must fight… I must break free. His muscles strain, and he lashes out with a flurry of blows, his fists connecting with the cold, unyielding restraint. But the ropes absorb his anger as if they were made of shadows, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.

The chamber itself seems to close in around him. The walls, illuminated by the feeble glow of arcane symbols, reveal faded murals depicting ancient rituals—a macabre dance of sacrifice and retribution. The floor is littered with fragments of shattered glass and worst of all… bones. Of past victims, he presumed.

Giselle circles him like a predator, her gaze never leaving his face. “You can’t hide behind your strength or your secrets, Haechan,” she hisses, her tone a disconcerting mix of mockery and genuine threat. “I know all that you’ve tried to bury. And now, I’m here to reclaim what is owed.”

In response, Haechan grits his teeth and summons his remaining will. “I’m not yours to command,” he growls, voice raw with defiance despite the searing pain in his arms and legs. He manages to twist his torso, forcing a weak, yet determined punch toward her side. For a split second, hope sparks in his chest as Giselle stumbles, only for her to counter with a swift, brutal kick that slams into his ribcage, drawing a cry of agony.

The clash turns into a frenetic blur of desperate moves. 

Haechan’s strikes are fueled by the twin fires of vengeance and despair, while Giselle’s counters are as graceful as they are lethal. In the brawl, Haechan’s cheek is split open by a sudden swipe, and bruises start to appear across his arms. In return, a vicious blow finds its mark on Giselle��s jaw, causing her to stagger momentarily, a thin line of crimson trailing down her face.

Giselle, her eyes flashing with both fury and a twisted satisfaction, leans close once more. “You can fight, Haechan, but you can’t escape fate,” she murmurs, her lips stained with blood. “I’m here because the Bone Maestros demand it, and I… I must see this through.”

Haehcan refuses to surrender completely. In a desperate, last-ditch effort, he summons the resolve to break free, throwing himself against the nearest wall. 

The steady beep of machines returns, replacing the chaotic echoes of a nightmare with the soft, measured hum of the hospital ward. Haechan’s eyes flutter open to a familiar, gentle face hovering over him. You’re there, sitting by his bed with a mixture of relief and cautious concern. 

“Hey… Haechan,” You murmur, squeezing his hand tenderly. “I need to tell you something.” The words are soft, almost hesitant.

Haechan’s throat feels dry, his memory hazy and fragmented. In a quiet, remorseful tone, he manages, “What… what happened?” He feared for the worst. Were you breaking up with him? Did you know about his secret past, his past identity? Did Giselle tell you everything?

Your gaze drops to his eyes, searching for the familiar light you love, and speaks gently, “That woman you were with… she… she died of her injuries.” 

For a long moment, silence blankets the room. Then, in a voice laden with regret and reluctant confession, Haechan finally speaks. “I—I didn’t have a choice,” he stammers, his eyes darting away as if trying to hide the painful truth. “She… she blackmailed me into going with her. I had no time to think… I had no choice.” 

Your expression softens, though a hint of worry flickers in your eyes. Despite the vagueness of his confession, you clutched his hand tightly. “Haechan,” you whisper, “I’m just glad you’re safe. I don’t need to know every detail—as long as you’re here with me.”

In that quiet hospital room, filled with the steady rhythm of life’s persistence, the two of you share a fragile moment of connection. Your simple reassurance wraps around him like a protective blanket, soothing the tumult of guilt and regret swirling in his mind. Though Haechan’s heart remains heavy with the secrets of a dangerous past, in this moment, the promise of love still persists. 

But Haechan knew this was far from over. Giselle may have been dead but the Bone Maestros were not. The mystery of that text from Mark’s number still perplexed him. Who sent it? Was it Mark? Was it someone else? And if they did have Mark’s bones, what were they going to do with it?

In the final, silent moments before dawn, as the hospital room returns to its hushed stillness, Haechan’s haunted gaze shifts to the darkened hallway beyond. In that fleeting look, a promise of danger yet unresolved burns behind his eyes. The true peril is far from over, and the ghosts of his past are waiting in the shadows to reclaim what was once lost.

hehehehahaa

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