#so basically.. the chapter was getting too long again

[astracora]

The Cat Curse - MC Edition - Chapter 2

Characters: Sylus x gn!mc (poly lads)

Warnings: Some hurt/lots of comfort, semi-canon compliant heart condition, spoilers for current story release (Small mentions of Sylus bond up to 102 and all of Sylus' currently released content), small references to the other boys stories.

Word Count: 4391

Written: 24th December 2024

Notes: New relationship Sylus/MC-centric but poly LADs (this time with group chat), with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me.

Now Playing: Freaking Me Out, By Ava Max

<- Previous

Sylus is nothing if not driven. Once he has a task, he will carry it out, and finish it. Sometimes his drive scares you, because he seems to be unperturbed by everything, no fear and no hesitation. 

So after you've eaten and slept, curled up in the safe cage of his arms, and feel less like the outside world wants to sink its blooded fangs into you... he drags the both of you back to the cafe. 

It's late at night and it shouldn't be open, but rules have never been set with Sylus, and he ignores them at will. Especially, you're learning, when it comes to you. Thankfully an OTTO is still floating about the place, and answers your questions... 

Kind of. 

"I stress THEM out? They cursed ME!" You grind your teeth as the two of you leave the cafe. When the boys had been cursed, they'd had to work their sentence... you had been told, none too kindly, that the cats would be more stressed by your presence. 

More stressed by you. Than Sylus. A man who used to pick them up with his mist and hiss back at them if they annoyed him. 

All you'd done was pet them, maybe... hold on for too long to your chest. For two straight hours... even when it began to wriggle. You glare at the man beside you who is chuckling to himself at your hissing, "All I did was cuddle them!" 

"They're overworked and underpaid, kitten, what do you expect?" 

You hiss again, low at the back of your throat and sniff, turning your head away and walking steps ahead of him. "You're enjoying this." It comes out with more venom than you mean it to, and you halt as he takes your hand, quickly to pull you back, easing the tension out of your spine with a large warm hand. 

"Not when you're in pain, kitten." Your tail droops and you sniff him, slumping against him, "You just have to hold out, you're not going to do it alone." 

You're not one for being affectionate in public, you'll hold hands, but that took a while to get you there, and you'll sometimes lean and cling to arms when you've had a little to drink, but anything more was new... and you were private. Worn out, though, you find comfort from Sylus' presence and fall into his arms easily now. A little safer, a little less on edge, knowing he will not let anything hurt you. 

"Plus," his uneven heart beats against your ear, "I quite like your new attachments. They're honest." 

You blink up at him, just as you feel his fingers rub at the base of your tail. 

It's a jolt of pure hot lightning right up your spine, arching up, butt pushed into his hand chasing it, hand tightening in his shirt, and a moan, more like a purr, escapes you. Embarrassment hits then, and you cover your mouth quickly, fleeing his hands. 

Sylus' eyes are wide as they stare at you. Molten and captivated, and his cheeks have a small tinge of pink. He looks down at his hand for a moment, then back at you, "Like that." He says on an exhale, but his voice is a little shakier than you're used to, and you aren't sure how to respond. 

He takes your hand from your mouth, and entwines your fingers, leading the two of you back to your apartment, but he looks at you with a canine peaking out of his lips and leans in to husk in your head, "Information to be filed away for later." 

---------- 

You're sulking, well. Almost. He was cooking, trying to make something more substantial for you to eat. If you were fed, rested and watered, he knew the overstimulation would be easier to manage. You had asked him if you could help... 

"Are you going to get fur in the food?" 

You'd blinked, looking down at the tail swishing behind you, kicking up long fur wherever it went, and ducked your head, "I... can't promise I won't." 

He'd kissed the top of your head, and sat you down at the counter, away from his food prep, and with your music quietly playing in the background. He's used to you chafing if you can't be useful, worrying at the edges of your heart to earn something. He's tried many things in the past, offering deals in return for things he wishes to give you, bribing you for time spent, trying to make it a transaction you can calculate evenly. 

At the end of the day, he was just putting a plaster on the issue. You just had to accept he loved you, and wanted to do things for you. 

"Just keep me company." 

You'd nervously nodded, and sat watching him for a while, before speaking, "What was having a tail like for you?" 

The knife almost clatters out of his hands, he catches it in mist before it truly leaves it, and rights himself as quickly as he can. A second, but a second too long. He looks over at you, your head titled, ears pointed straight up, flicking towards him to catch anything he might say. 

"My tail?" He clarifies, because he knows memories aren't easily gained back... and truthfully part of him doesn't actually want you to gain them back. He worries about who you are now, and how you'd handle the influx. Betrayal and hurt. Revenge that drove you into the arms of a fiend. There was good in your heart then, but it had been crushed out quickly in favour of a weapon for corrupt zealots. He doesn't want to see the you, while flawed and still hurting, crushed of the good in you now. Yet another little treacherous part of him... it wants you to remember every moment that you spent teaching him love. He wants you to remember the name you gave him. 

It's a small part though, because you're here, now, and you love him still. 

"Yeah, when they cursed you. You seemed to-" you grab your tail and try to shove it under your leg to stop its movement, "control yours better than Raffy or me." 

He relaxes, nods a little to himself and resumes his work, "You and the fish aren't honest enough, the tail's working overtime." He catches you blink, look down at yourself and then frown, before adding, "I just got used to mine because I had to, I suppose." It's not a lie. He had to learn quickly... and alone, and even then it wasn't quick enough. 

He just can't tell you that it was the scaled tail that taught him. You have to get there on your own, if you ever do. 

"So if I'm more honest, it will calm down?" 

He chuckles, "Heart and soul, Kitten." 

You run your fingers through the end of your tail and sink into silence, so he leaves you be. Your mind is a place he wishes he could explore without hurting, he's used his evol on you once, at the very start... he has no intentions of digging anymore. Pain is not something he wants to inflict on you, he wants to offer you every desire and all the world's pleasure. So he waits for you to share insights into the workings of your mind, even if those insights baffle and confuse him... more than they help build the puzzle of you that he keeps in his chest. 

He flicks through the recipe he’s following, to make stew, and sees the notifications on the group chat popup. Then hears soft laughter from you, when he reaches a point where he just has to watch the pot, he opens his phone.

He catches the apple you throw at him with ease, chuckling to himself as he puts his phone back down, stirring the pot. “See, kitten?”

You fidget in your seat, looking up at him with wavering eyes, guilty but there’s a glimmer there. “Yeah. I do.” He watches you, as you stroke your tail with your hand, head tilting, “I hope this doesn’t happen again, but if it does, I’ll tell you.”

Sylus doesn’t respond, he simply nods, and gets back to helping feed your hunger, as well as your heart.

—————

Sylus knows the nature of a tail fairly well, his own before was a great tool and a weapon. In it’s, and his, kinder moments, it was a good way to hold you close to him. Feel your heart beating under scales. An action that seemed possessive by nature, rather than soft, as using his hand might have been. Even with his claws. His rarely betrayed him, except for when it curled around you when he was tired and sought your greedy soul pressed to his, but yours… it betrays your emotions constantly.

It is a constant warmth around his wrist, or his ankle, or his waist. Whichever is closest or easiest to reach. He’s not used to you being so honest with your body, it is your words, forced through a tight throat, that explain your feelings mostly. This is a change. It’s not unwelcome, though you frown everytime you realise what is happening. Grabbing at the betraying limb, and trying to keep it contained.

He’d eased your hand away, rubbed at your knuckles with his thumb, and shook his head. Allowing you to seek out the comfort you needed, though your hand had still twitched to pull it back, eventually you had stopped trying to fight it. Relieved everytime your tail touched his skin and grounded you.

Sylus wants to touch your ears. It seems only fair, after you pet his. Disgruntled and pleased as he was for you to send jolts of lightning down his spine and through his skin. Sylus believes, you owe him one. Just this once. He’s been avoiding them for a while, whenever he touches you, as he soothes your skin with his touch. If he brushes your tail it is light, pressing too heavy results in your back arching and moans out of your mouth that make him feel dry mouthed and starving.

He’s seen many cats, he has lovingly called you kitten for a long time. Curious and chaotic, though prone to scratching and hissing to protect yourself. He’s pet cats in the street, seen them pleased and rubbing themselves against him at the right pressure between the ears.

He wants to see you like that.

You relax, tail flicking, curling and twitching. He lies with you, watching a movie on the too small television in your apartment. The volume is low enough your ears don’t constantly swivel, and he has better hearing than most anyway. You lay on him, as you watch, head pillowed against his chest, and irregular heartbeat under your ear.

As you focus, humming along to one of the songs, he reaches gentle hands to your hair. First soothing strands, and then rubbing at the base of your ears. The keen he gets in response, and the way you bite down on the fabric of his shirt, makes him twitch. Overheated even for him. For a moment, you look like you’re debating running away. Tail upright, ears pinned, eyes spearing him. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He promises into the side of your head, and it’s one of the truest things he’s ever said. Cherish you, and devour you, but he won’t hurt you. You are the one who can hurt him, after all, and how glad he is for that certainty.

Your tail lays back down, and this time you nuzzle into his hand, “I trust you.” A song he never thought he’d hear from your lips when you were reacquainted. It sings into his soul, and he takes his pleasure from yours. Petting his kitten, soothing your ears, scratching along your back and base of your tail. You wriggle atop him, unable to hold yourself back. Purring a storm against his chest, hand clawing at him like you’re trying to knead.

There is also the manner of your fangs. One hand traces the line of your cheek, brushing over your lips, and you bite at his fingers. Chasing them in your bliss. None too gently, but not enough to draw blood.

The shock snaps you back, and you apologise, but he’s staring at the marks on his finger with a thrum in his veins. Sparking in hunger. He tilts your head to look at him, and presses his fingers against your closed lips. “If you want the mark to stay, you have to bite harder.” Your eyes widen, blinking at him, but instead you open your mouth to lick his fingers. Moving to where you bit, and laving over it.

His skin prickles, itches, burns, aches. Pain is familiar, whatever you offer is always new. The movie is truly forgotten, as he returns the favour. His marks, however, will stick around for a few days at least. He notices, later, in his pleased haze… that there are some from you, right over his heart.

—————

You understand now why Sylus was grabbing at seagulls, something in your brain, an instinct you didn’t want, is urging you to watch birds. You want to swat and grab, and barely hold yourself back. The faster they move, the more they flap, the harder it gets to hold yourself back. Your balcony is the perfect place to watch them, warm under the sun, as your traitorous body clicks and hisses when they get too close. Alone in the apartment, while Sylus goes shopping for supplies, you have Mephie for company.

Who frankly… seems wary at best. He has offered you a feather to play with, as though that will appease you and keep you from trying to eat him. “I’m not going to bite you Mephie, I promise…” You can’t promise you wont swat at him though. It’s unnerving, having such little control over your impulses. You are relieved when he finally settles, and even more so when he joins you in your game. Moving your discomfort, and embarrassment into playful glee, as you both click and clack at visiting birds.

Eventually the game grows boring, fickle and done until you find something new to do. Mephie rests on your shoulder, and has taken to helping you groom the fur around your ears that blends into your hair. Soothing the mess and in return, you fuss beneath his wing. It’s hard to imagine the time you had met Mephie, and Sylus by extension, wary and full of hatred. Righteous anger snarling through your chest. Now they bring safety and comfort, and a feeling of coming home to roost. 

Eventually the sun eases the both of you into sleep. You lay down with Mephie resting in the curl of your tail, and are nudged awake very gently. A hand holding your cheek and lips at your forehead. “Sy-” You purr, waking slowly and pleasantly into his arms, “Hey.” Tired, you are always softer, not as aware of the world. Edges rounded. You nuzzle into his warmth, “Missed you.”

“Me too kitten. How are you feeling?” His answer is you forcing him to sit, as you climb into his lap, face in his neck and drifting back into the call of slumber. Big, lazy, feline, on the best bed you’ve ever found. You hear Mephie complain as his warm blanket disappears, and hear a huffed, “They’re mine, Mephisto.” But you’re comfortable, and warm, and sleep pulls you back under too quickly.

—————

There’s cat fur everywhere, and while you would love a pet cat, you didn’t realise just how bad the shedding would be. Admittedly you are a… very large cat. With very long fur. You cannot stop sneezing, you’re not allergic, you think, but the fur truly does get everywhere you look. Sylus chuckles as you rub at your nose, and after you’ve attached your prosthetic, the two of you get to cleaning.

Sylus is one of those people… you expect to have someone for everything. A cleaner, a chef, a personal valet. You’d realised that he was too untrusting, and every new person was a risk, better to minimise anyone who could cause trouble in his day to day. He’d learned languages to keep his deals contained, he had learned to cook, though you weren’t aware he mostly learned to do that for you, and he cleaned without complaint, because any task with you was worth doing.

Well, he mostly helped you. When he wasn’t finding new things around your apartment to look at, nosing his way through your belongings.

“What’s this?”

“A candle lamp.”

“This?”

“An old Christmas ornament.”

You rarely got to see this side of him, curious and poking around. You supposed he’d never really taken the time to look through your things. He’d definitely wanted to, you remember the first time he entered your apartment, nose flaring and eyes darting around. Like it was full of treasures, and he wanted to claim them.

Instead, he’d held himself back, and been careful not to touch anything, as though it was all fragile, and he was a destructive bull.

He soon plucked a photo album out of your book case, and started to flick through as you swept up a mountain of fur, “This is your family?”

You freeze, dropping the broom, clattering it across the floor. He walks over, hand stroking your head, “I-” You look at the album in his hands. It’s the old photo of you, Gran and Caleb. The same one that used to sit on your desk at work, before you hid it in a draw. The same one that sat in pride of place at Gran’s home… your home, before it was devoured by flames too.

You nod at him, unable to force words past your throat, and he looks at your shaking hand. “Show me?”

Part of you wants to say no. You don’t want to talk about them, your tail is bristled, kicking more fur up into the apartment… but you miss them, and you want him to understand. It’s easier if he understands. You can apologise a million times over for shooting him, but he has to understand what drove you wounded and angry and full of hate into his arms the first time.

So you let him lead you to the sofa, and open the album with him. It documents as much of your life as your memories can hold onto, though some photos are hazy, and when he asks about them, you can’t quite recall. Like there’s a fog around it. You remember parts. You remember that one is a birthday, You’re fifteen, but if he asked you for anything else, you’d only be able to tell him your family were there.

You remember more in your twenties, pointing out photos with college friends. Talking about reckless moments where you got into fights. There are photos of you with bruises on your face, arm around Caleb as you flash the camera a thumbs up. He’s rolling his eyes, but his hand is tight on your waist, like he’s scared to let go.

There’s a change at some point, where you decide you want to be a hunter, where the bruises are now focused around where you train. Where there’s more life in your eyes, a drive you never had before.

“I used to skip classes a lot, didn’t really see the point.” You point at one of the photos, grainy and hard to make out. You and friends in a club. You remember it being midday, you remember being told anything too strenuous could hurt your heart. You remember deciding you didn’t care, because everything was too short.

Sylus listens, arm around you, head on your shoulder. Looking down at captured moments of you. He’s steady, he’s familiar, and there’s no sense of fear, or of falling. It’s not biting at your heels to remind you that they’re gone. You know that intimately. Instead, you point out photos, and you tell him everything you remember about your family. The people who cared about you, despite how much work you were. Who pushed you to do something, to be better.

A photo of you post exams, the first time you wore your hunters uniform, photos of Caleb in his own uniform.

Photos of family meals.

It cuts off at some point. Recent, you think, and you stare at the empty pages. Since that day you’d had no interest in keeping recollections. In keeping up the collection of memories. Photos had become a habit to store, since you were a child. Caleb started it, thinking visuals would keep your memory more stable than the written word. Though he’d still helped you keep a diary.

It had stayed that way ever since. If you took photos, you could never truly forget… right?

There were so many things now, though, that you wanted to keep in your grasp. To never forget. As your fingers stroke the empty page, Sylus pulls his phone out and opens his photo albums. Flicking through the many things he’s saved. Almost all of you. A random lamb. The twins. Mephisto posing. Zayne with his cheeks stuffed with macarons. Raffy with paint on his nose. Xavi sleeping in the grass surrounded by flowers.

You hadn’t really noticed, how often the man next to you kept a record of the world around you. He points the screen at you, and tightens his hand on your waist. “We should get some more printed out. Fill all those empty pages. There’s a distinct lack of me in there, kitten.”

The laugh that escapes you is so wet with tears, you feel bad for it, but the heat in your chest is so precious… like a baby flame you have to nurse and protect.

He has a photo of you, Tara and Nero at the karaoke bar, where Skye made an appearance. Pleasantly tipsy, and far too into whatever horrible song you were singing. Probably very out of tune.

He settles, finally, on a photo of the five of you. A bad selfie, taken with a shaky hand, as Sy tried to get everyone’s heads in. Raffy has climbed Zayne’s back to stick his head into shot, Xavier has his chin on your shoulder, and Sylus has his arm outstretched as far as he can get it, and his arm around you. You’re happy.

You’re happy.

“You’ve been taking a lot.” You speak, and its wet and you sound like you’re going to cry… and truthfully you feel very close. It’s embarrassing and your nose feels weird, but you don’t know what else to do.

“Every moment is worth remembering, Kitten. Of course I have.”

Don’t forget me. Is unspoken.

Don’t stop loving me.

Don’t move forwards, and leave me behind.

You think, that even if you forget, even if you wake up one day not remembering his face. You’ll know his heart and his soul more intimately than you know anything.

Strong emotions, after all, are impossible to truly lose.

——————

“I want salmon.”

“Is that the cat speaking, or my kitten?”

You bat at his arm, fangs flashing at him, tail swishing. “Salmon!”

“Alright, alright.” He chuckles, ruffling your ears and your hair with one big hand, “I quite like you like this.”

Relying on him, you assume, or demanding? You’re not sure. He’s asked you to be greedy many times, to boss him around, to make demands of his time and his life. It’s hard to do, if you rely too much, you worry he’ll start to pull away.

You promised though, you promised.

It wasn’t just a promise to be honest and share your pain, it was a promise to really, truly trust him.

So, you hit his arm without force, “Salmon pasta!”

His laugh is delighted and delightful, and you want to hear it forever. Instead, you sit at the counter, pushing your tail under your leg so it can’t kick up a gust of fur. You’d just finished cleaning after all, and the idea of having yet another mountain of fur to get rid of, didn’t appeal.

“I want to help.” Your ears pinned back, and looking at him in frustration.

Sylus spares you a glance as he looks for one of the many recipes you’d sent him, not asking for them to be made, but excited to find time to try them, “When you’re not a furball, you can help.”

You might be offended, if he weren’t right. “Says the man who spits out feathers with his evol…”

“Not into your food though Kitten.”

You snort. No, into your bed, on your floor, in public places… your favourite cafe. All over his base. Sometimes he cleans them up himself.

Sometimes.

Though you have a few of his feathers saved, using them as bookmarks in books you never seem to find enough time to read. Shame the fur is more messy, you’d quite like feathers… or scales. Something that doesn’t leave you sneezing.

“I bought tickets to a botanical garden.” You look over at him, but he’s not looking at you. Moving through the steps he’s following on his phone, half humming to himself to the music playing at a low volume in the background. “If you feel like going?”

You look down at the tail that’s twitching under your leg, and then over at him again. This time he’s watching you, eyes bright. Eerie if you didn’t know him. Instead you think them a flame, a candle in the dark to lead you. Being out in the noise right now, scares you, but he is there. He will always take you somewhere safe if you need it, he would move mountains, and you can rely on him to help you when you need it.

It is not a weakness to need help.

It’s ok to cry, and be scared.

So you close your eyes, take a deep breath, and nod, “Yeah… yeah I’d like to go.”

You want to see roses with him.

You want to see the world with him.

His smile is small, but his eyes speak more than anything. Relief and happiness at your trust. Love shining in garnet. “Tomorrow then.”

Tomorrow.

A future, no matter how close ahead.

[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU Season 2 Chapter 1: ~

The Haunting in the Red Barn:

Merry Christmas, everyone. Here's a little gift for this amazing fandom.

'Okay, are we live?'

'Yeah. Go.'

Jack held up the Muir family camera, balancing it on his shoulder, pointing it in Cait's face. Cait held up a microphone and adjusted a tie she found that hung awkwardly from her polo-jumper.

'We're here at Muir Farm and Land,' Cait began, trying and failing to keep still like many news reporters she was pretending to be. 'Where evidence of a strange creature lives in this barn behind me.' Jack adjusted the camera to bring the barn into focus. 'Locals say a monster lurks inside, and no one is brave enough to go in. Let's see what they have to say.'

Static

Roy leaned on the fence. A piece of cardboard at the bottom of the frame said: Roy McNair. Aka. Best Uncle.

'Oh, I hear it every night,' he said in a dramatic way, as if he was on stage performing Macbeth. 'Scittering across the floor like a giant centipede.'

'Have you seen it?'

'No. No, and I advise you don't either. You might go crazy like him over there.' Roy pointed off frame. Jack turned and saw he was pointing at Caz, trying to hide himself from Suze as he lit up a cigarette. He saw the group out of the corner of his eye and turned, looking like a deer in the headlights.

'Tell your ma Cait, and you're grounded.'

'WHAT-?'

Static

Another cardboard sign. It said Mr. Terry, where it was originally spelt with an I and not a Y, before being scribbled out, Innes. A grump. Loves Muir.

'Looks kids-'

'Please, we're grown adults, Mr. Innes,' Cait corrected off camera.

A heavy sign from Innes, who clearly wasn't used to being around children for so long. He was also heavily hungover with bloodshot eyes, bags under his eyes that could hold a weeks worth of shopping and unkempt hair. 'Okay,' he grumbled. 'My advise,' he said with a terrible Texan accent. 'You go in there, and you'll never come out again.' And back to his usual voice. 'Happy?'

'Delighted.'

Static

Cait and Jack stood in front of the barn. Maidie was now with them, standing in an overcoat that basically drowned her, holding a Sherlock Holmes pipe in her hand. Not lit, of course. 'And now, it's time for us to enter this haunted building and discover the truth. With us is Professor Maidie.' Again, Jack moved the camera to focus on the young girl, who broke character and waved a giant sleeve to the lens. 'Please, professor, what do you think we'll find in there.'

'I bet a biiiiig,' Maidie practically screamed in excitement as she spread her arms wide to express the monster's size. 'Creature that'll try and scare us off.'

'Should we be worried?'

'Yes. But, I think it'll be scared of us not being scared.'

'Only one way to find out.'

The doors creaked open. It was dark inside. The windows had been blocked with towering stacks of hay. It was quiet. Too quiet. Could the witnesses be wrong? The trio quietly stepped in. Jack scanned the interior, trying to capture anything that could resemble this creature. Professor Maidie clicked her fingers and knelt down beside what appeared to be a footprint.

'Over here.' Jack zoomed in. 'Looks new...'

A loud yet slow creaking, again, from the barn doors caught their attention. Jack quickly turned, getting a glimpse on the sunlight vanishing. For a split second, a tendril was spotted before vanishing from view, but it seemed none of them noticed.

'We should go,' Jack shivered.

'Not until we get some actual evidence,' Cait hissed.

'But we have some. Right there.'

'That could be any footprint.' Professor Maidie wandered off and began kicking at the hay, calling for the monster to show itself. 'Just remember, we can't be scared.'

A scittering noise filled their ears and sent a shiver up their spine. They turned, but it could be anywhere as the building echoed.

'Can we be scared now-'

'No. The professor will keep us safe. Right, professor?' No answer. 'Professor?' Nothing. She was gone. 'Okay, we should go.'

Slowly, a figure rose behind Cait, hay falling off its body. Jack slowly backed away. Cait turned and saw the towering figure. It held the Professor in its tendril, roaring and making guttural noises. Drool dripped. It slammed a tendril besides the duo who screamed and scrambled to make a quick getaway.

Professor Maidie screamed not to be left behind, but it fell on deaf ears. Cait and Jack bolted for the doors, opened but didn't have time to slam it shut. Cait tripped and felt herself being pulled back by her leg. Her microphone fell into the knee-deep snow.

'JACK!'

'CAIT!'

'Don't leave me!'

Then, she was gone. Dragged back into the shadows.

Screams became laughs from all parties. Jack stepped back into the barn, picking up the microphone. Gibbo put the sisters down into the hay and, when seeing the camera, made his best attempt at a bow.

'Thank you. Thank you.'

'Was I good, Cait?' Maidie asked as she rolled down the hay, getting briefly caught up in the coat. Either Cait didn't hear or she was too excited. She clambered over the hay and dashed for Jack.

'Did you get it everything?'

'Yep. Thanks, dad.'

'Thanks, Mr. Gibbo.'

'Anytime.'

The children left the barn with their spirits high. Now all they had to do was give it to Simon so they can watch it back later this evening-

'BOO!' Rennick jumped out of hiding. The trio screamed and dashed for the house, leaving the former manager proud of his little prank. 'Scared good,' he giggled.

[kithtaehyung]

upcoming: yoongi’s interlude: fugue pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)  series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball |  stay |  sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted rating/genre: m (18+) ; [redacted] ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: fugue—in music, a compositional procedure characterized by the systematic imitation of a principal theme in simultaneously sounding melodic lines. note: well, the first interlude was a total surprise. but now.. y'all know what this is basically gonna be :')) note 2: interestingly enough.. that sugafree video came at the best possible time for this banner to be done (and you'll also find out why i'm shook when this drops.) like i'm speechless. warnings: posted at drop date  est. drop date: oct. 2023 est. word count: 8k 18+ 3tan taglist: form here

[buttercupshands]

rewatched Kurogiri's holiday story from ultra impact (not related to sketch at all)

(but it did inspire me)

on another note

finally!!

[witchvvolf]

CHAPTER TEN BABEEEE in this chapter we go back in time (hence the title). Timelapse takes place a little after Rosemarie and Simon go missing—the team lead at Good Intentions feels compelled to file a police report and visit Rosemarie’s empty home. (I noticed there's a little mistake in the text... just ignore it shh hush hush) I also wanted to say that I adore the comments you guys put in the tags of the reblogs. I know I'm shit at the tag games, but if anyone has any asks pertaining to this wip I'll do my best to answer! Working on this project has made me both stressed and happy lol I'm glad to be able to share my writing with even just a few people.

text and tags below the cut!

By now the power and water have been turned off. The food in the kitchen is beginning to mold; Sadie notices in particular a chicken pot pie that is a little too green inside. She shuts the stale refrigerator. It’s obvious that one of the last things Rosemarie did was lie in bed. The chairs at her gateleg table are pushed in, crochet placemats she used only when she had company still left on the table, her coke bottle of dried peonies at the center. The blankets were folded over the edge of the raisin-black velvet couch. She doesn’t touch the remote, turns on the TV to see what channel Rosemarie was last watching. She stares at Rosemarie’s unmade bed, tries to put the pieces together. She wondered what would make Rosemarie get up out of bed, it looked like she hadn’t done the dishes, hadn’t ordered takeout. Her room didn’t smell like Rosemarie did. Warmth, something homey. Amber and magnolias, chocolate and orchids. This wasn’t the first time she had been in Rosemarie’s home. She was here when Rosemarie was showing her the portrait Simon had drawn of her. She said that she had to see it in person so she could see every lovely line on the smooth Bristol board paper in a wooden ornate gold picture frame, the shape of it an oval, Simon’s familiar signature tucked beneath Rosemarie’s graphite chin. She looks in the bathroom, next. Rosemarie owned very little skincare and less makeup. She looks at herself in her mirror. There aren’t sticky notes on her bathroom mirror 0r a lipstick stain from her kiss. Everything is like a still life, the sort of still life you saw in your college art class, simple and with a single light source, the shadows and dust telling of time. She wonders what could have happened to her favorite coworker, the sweet-cheeked employee who was bronze incarnate and showed her face like the moon phases. The dark side of her was Sadie’s favorite. Sadie leaves without answers to Rosemarie’s disappearance. Her fingers tighten around the doorknob. She catches a glance of her wedding ring before she leaves the building.  

tags to my forrest fae as usual! @coffeeandcalligraphy and @thewardenofwinter. let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the BFC tag list!

[lecliss]

All joking aside, I for real got teary-eyed. This is making me so fucking emotional. Kadaj means so much to me. He's both just a made up remnant AND a kid. He doesn't know anything other than his mother and his desire to be with her and his jealousy of his "big brother" being the special one to have met her and be her favorite. He just wants to be acknowledged and praised and feel like he has a meaning. And again, at the end of the day it's all just the cells and his existence as an extension of Seph's will. But he wouldn't exist if it weren't for that. He can never truly stand as his own person separate from Seph or Jenova. He can never truly have what he wants the most.

And the reminder from Weiss that he IS a kid. He's like two weeks old from the start of AC. Idk how time passes in OO but he's probably like a month or two old by now. And he's physically 15 and his thoughts are consumed by his mother and his brothers. He may not be human but he sure is the shining example of a "child". He's just babey, really. I feel so horrible for him. This is all he knows with nothing but a child-like mentality about it. Even him saying "I promise" feels so childish. I just want him to be his own person so bad but he can't. I don't think he ever can.

And not to mention Weiss's situation as well!!! It's both adorable and heartbreaking that Kadaj, the perfect example of an "obsessive little brother", is the one constantly reminding Weiss of his own little brother whom he can't remember but still has this lingering feeling of Nero's existence in the back of his mind. The fact that Kadaj is put on the back burner in the mind of his mother for his "superior big brother", and yet is being acknowledged in the mind of Weiss, who would horribly miss his own little brother if only he could actually remember Nero. I can't fucking take this man. I can't do it. I can't.

[sheliesshattered]

the trouble with trying to rewrite this particular episode is that the episode, as aired, is just so bad that it's physically painful to rewatch

[phjlavtia]

update on the fic im reading: the second book is being dragged out Sooo much.

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 24: The Last First Time

Summary: You and Simon both get what you want.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 15,019 words

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, unprotected sex, p in v sex, rough sex (it's like straight animalistic y'all), grinding, mutual masturbation, fingering, slightly violent imagery, scratching, biting, hair pulling, dry humping, blood (only a little), slight BDSM vibes, licking, squirting, praise, fluids (so many fluids), choking (only for a second), Simon's oral fixation, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, slight fluff, language, Simon being Simon, excessive use of the word "fuck", it's basically porn with very little plot.

A/N: This...this thing is a beast. It beat me up and stole my lunch money. I may have been a bit ambitious with it, but I've denied the Ghosties long enough and so I'm making up for that. Anyway...this might be one of the most depraved things I've ever written (not really, but you get the point). He'd the warnings, and I don't recommend reading this in public. Or standing. Or in underwear you care about. It's a good thing today is Sunday because y'all are gonna need Jesus after this.

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*This is the gif*

Your teeth sink into your lip as you slowly draw your gaze back to his face. He’s still looking at the bear, and once again, you wish you could see his face so you could guess what was going through his head. 

“I missed you.” You say quickly, ready to explain away the shirt and why you put it on that bear specifically. “A lot.” 

His eyes turn back to you, the intensity in them almost forcing you to take a step back. Any words trying to explain your actions die on your tongue as you hold his dark gaze, your heart thumping in your chest so loud you’re surprised he can’t hear it. A quiet sound rumbles in his chest as he looks at you, his eyes darkening just slightly. He takes a step closer, your head tilting up so you can hold his gaze. 

“Then I best make up for it.” He says, his hand moving to your side. His fingers bunch the fabric of the dress at your hip, lifting the hem a couple of inches. “Yellow sundress?” He asks. 

“Johnny bought it for me.” You say, your voice wavering from the anticipation of his touch. “I-It was nice out today, so I wanted to wear it.” 

“Fucking hell.” He breathes, releasing the fabric to drag his hand up your side, stopping just under your breast. 

You want him to continue, to push his hand higher, to finally touch you. You feel electric, every nerve fiber in your body alive as you stare up at him. Yet, you can see the hesitation, the conflict in his eyes. 

“We don’t have to.” You say, leaving that option open for him. Sure, it might be a little difficult after being so worked up, but the last thing you want is to push him too far. You can always get one of the other members of your pack to help ease that ache. “You just got back. There’s...there’s no need to rush it.” 

His fingers tighten around your side for a moment before he releases you, turning his back to you. You begin to panic, wondering if you pushed too far, made too many assumptions, made him too uncomfortable as he walks to the door. You’ve done it, you’ve messed things up and now it’s all crumbling down around you. 

His hand wraps around the knob, slowly pushing the door closed until it clicks. He stands there with his back to you for a moment before he turns back around. You let out the breath you had been holding, trying to calm the panic. Of course he’d want the door closed. This is just between you and him right now. 

You hold a hand out to him, trying to fight the tremble of your fingers. Your emotions are swirling and you need his reassurance. You need his grounding presence. 

He approaches you again, each step slow and calculated as he reaches out, his fingers brushing your palm before he wraps them around your hand. You close your hand around his as best you can with how big it is. You lift your gaze to his, the temptation to fold under the intensity strong, but you refuse. You need to be strong for him, for both of you. Your gaze doesn’t leave his as you slowly turn, walking backwards towards your bed, leading him by the hand with you. 

Your gaze finally leaves his as you turn to face your bed, stopping dead in your tracks. Simon’s chest brushes your back, obviously not expecting you to stop so suddenly. Something tickles in the back of your mind as you stare at the mess that’s become of your bed. The blankets and pillows are still a bit rumpled and misplaced from your lounging earlier, but something’s wrong. Something’s off, something’s not right. 

“Wait.” You say, dropping Simon’s hand before taking the two steps to the edge of your mattress. 

You move the giant bear to the floor next to the bed before you fix the blankets, smoothing them out and making sure they’re just right. You rearrange your stuffed animals and pillows, the need for them to be perfect taking over your mind. You can’t control it, can’t stop it until everything is perfect. 

You take a step back, staring at the nest you’ve made. 

Nest. 

You’re nesting again. 

You turn to face Simon, blinking up at him as the haze clears. He’s staring at you intensely, hands curled into fists at his side. “Sorry.” You murmur, hands closing around the fabric of your dress nervously. “I-I don’t know what-” 

“Don’t.” He says, the word sharp and biting. “Stop apologizing for your instincts.” 

“Sorry.” You say again, wincing at the instinct to immediately apologize. 

He rolls his eyes, closing the distance between you. You take half a step back, your legs hitting the mattress and you’re ready to sit on it when he grabs your hand, flipping your positions so fast it nearly makes you dizzy. He seats himself on the mattress instead, staring up at you. The look in his eyes takes your breath away as he tugs you to stand between his parted thighs. 

He tugs the bottom of his mask up and you don’t even have to be told, your head immediately lowering to kiss him. You rest your hands on his broad shoulders, feeling the muscle beneath them. His hands close around the back of your thighs, calloused skin biting at the softness of your own. Goosebumps rise on your skin, covering your body from the sensation. It’s nothing new to you, but he’s new to you. You’ve never been in this position before with him, never under these circumstances. 

His kiss is searing, just as the first one had been. He kisses you like a man starved, like he wants to devour you. It’s sloppy and wet, his hands squeezing around your thighs until your lips part in a gasp, and he takes advantage of it, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You press closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands begin to crawl up the backs of your thighs, warmth blossoming in your stomach again as they slip under the hem of your dress, continuing higher and higher. 

His fingers brush the skin where your thighs and ass meet, before continuing upwards until they brush the fabric underneath your dress. He groans into your mouth, pulling away from your lips. “Turn around and show me.”  

You shiver at the growl in his voice, turning slowly between his knees until your back is to him. You slowly lift the hem of your dress until it’s bunched around your waist, the cool air in the room brushing your exposed skin. You hear the sharp inhale as he stares at you, his fingers twitching against the sides of your thighs. 

“Fucking hell.” He breathes, his hands gripping the sides of your thighs as you bend over just slightly, causing the fabric to ride up slightly higher. 

You sink your teeth into your lip as you stand there under his critical gaze. You had planned this after Johnny’s hint that you should wear the dress since the weather was going to be nice. You knew there was more to it than that, the subtle hint that Simon would enjoy seeing you in it. The panties had been a deliberate choice just on the off chance that something like this would happen. You’re glad you made that decision now, half bent over with your ass in Simon’s face, showing off the black, skull print fabric adorning your skin. 

Simon curses again, his hands gripping your waist to tug you back into his lap. Your back collides with his chest, but he offers no complaint as he wraps his arms tightly around your middle. You can feel him, the bulge in his pants as you press back against him, the knowledge that he’s turned on by just the sight of your ass in skull print panties sending heat rushing between your own thighs. 

You tilt your head to the side, meeting his lips as you press back against him, his hands hot against your stomach. You need him to lower his hand, press it between your thighs, relieve some of the ache. 

His arms release around you and you turn in his lap, straddling his thick thighs. His hands settle on your own thighs, rocking your body against the prominent bulge in his pants. You continue to kiss him, gasping into his mouth as your clothed slit drags against the rough fabric of his jeans. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers brushing the sensitive skin below his mask. You can feel the hair at the nape of his neck, the short strands prickling your fingers. 

Simon pulls away from your lips, releasing his hold on your thighs. You freeze, holding your breath as you wait for what’s going to happen next. You’re worried perhaps you went too far, or perhaps he’s having second thoughts. He drops his head to your chest, pressing his face against your clothed breasts. He holds himself there, taking a shaky breath in. 

“We don’t have to.” The words come spilling out. “We can stop any time.” You rub his upper back, trying to release some of the tension in his shoulders. 

“‘S not fair to you.” He murmurs, his breath hot through the thin fabric of the dress. 

“I’ll be fine.” You say, moving off his lap. 

He lets you, releasing his hold around you. He doesn’t lift his head, still bowed almost in shame. You sit next to him, close enough your arm is pressed against his. 

“Like I said, there’s no rush.” You say, trying to reassure him. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He says, closing his hands into fists. There’s more emotion in his voice than you’ve ever heard before, the sound almost startling compared to the usual gruffness and bite to his words. 

“You won’t.” You shrug. “I can handle Johnny just fine, and John.” You put your hand over one of his. “I would tell you, if you hurt me, or if I got uncomfortable. I’m not as breakable as you think. You’ve thrown me around in training and I’ve been fine.” 

A low sound rumbles in his chest at your words. It sends a shiver down your spine, half of your brain telling you to run, and the other half sending heat between your thighs. He sits up straight, pulling his mask down as he turns to look at you. “Touch yourself.” 

“W-What?” You ask, taken aback.

“Touch yourself for me.” He repeats himself. 

You hesitate for half a second, before you nod. “O-Okay.” You reply, thrilled and nervous at the idea. 

You push yourself up further onto the bed as Simon adjusts himself so he’s against the headboard, lounging in your bed. You ignore the feelings rushing through you at the sight of the big alpha in your nest. It’s almost comical, seeing him in his dark clothes, an imposing figure surrounded by soft blankets and stuffed animals and colorful pillows. You lean against the footboard at the end of your bed, adjusting yourself so your thighs are spread, giving him a perfect view of your fabric covered pussy. You slip your hands under the waistband of your panties, but he stops you. 

“Leave them on.” He growls, eyes glued at the slightly darker patch of fabric between your legs. 

You slowly release your panties, tugging the hem of your dress up higher before you slip your hand into your underwear. You’re soaked, your fingers slipping along the slick skin. You stare at Simon’s face, his eyes glued to the movement of your hand under your panties as you begin to tease your clit. There’s an obvious tent in his pants, a painful looking bulge in his jeans. 

A quiet sigh leaves your lips as you circle your clit slowly, spreading your legs even further, draping one over his. His hands settle on his stomach as he watches, his breathing slow and even. 

Your breathing has picked up as you continue to tease your clit. Between the moment shared with him and the intensity of his gaze on your clothed pussy, it’s almost too much. You could cum just like this, barely touched, shivering under the gaze of your pack’s second alpha. It’s the most intimate you’ve ever been with him, and you’re not even naked. 

You slip your fingers lower, gathering slick on them before pressing two into your throbbing pussy. You moan softly at the slight stretch, your eyes focusing on his hands and where they rest on his stomach. How full you’d be on his fingers. Yours are nothing compared to his. The depths he could reach, the delicious stretch of them. You sink your teeth into your lip, biting back a moan as you begin to thrust your fingers in and out of you. 

His scent is intensifying, growing muskier in his arousal as he watches you. For once he doesn’t complain about the sweetness of your scent, the two mixing in the air, the perfect blend of alpha and omega. 

“A mixture someone could get drunk off of.” 

That’s what John had said. You want to, let it flow straight into your brain and numb your senses until there’s nothing but the two of you. Until you’re full of giddy happiness and warmth as your limbs go lax and all tension and stress leaves your body. Until you forget where you are, lost in some far away land where there’s nothing but you and the overwhelming scent of alpha, of Simon. 

A shudder wracks through your body, your scent intensifying as pleasure begins to sear through your veins. Simon’s nose twitches beneath his mask, his pupils dilating as your scent goes straight to his brain. You wonder what kind of iron grip he’s keeping on himself, how he’s managing to hold himself back. You’d jump his bones right now if he hadn’t set this boundary between you. Perhaps it’s that boundary keeping him still on the bed. There certainly wouldn’t be any complains from you if he crossed that boundary, ripped your hand from your panties and fucked you until you couldn’t move. 

“Fuck.” He growls, almost as if he could read your thoughts, as if there was some sort of telepathic link between the two of you giving him a glimpse into your mind. It would explain how in tune he is with you, how he always seems to know, how easily he can read you. 

Your movements falter as he slides his hand down his stomach, tugging at the button on his jeans. You watch, enraptured as he slips his own hand into his pants, palming at his bulge. Your mouth waters at the thought of finally seeing him, of getting a glimpse of what lies beneath. He’s big, you know he has to be. Alphas generally are, thick and long to match their build.

Your pussy clenches at the thought of the stretch, how he’ll have to open you up with his fingers first so it doesn’t hurt. He’ll take good care of you, making sure you’re nice and slick and ready for him before he sinks into you, still stretching you with his cock. 

A needy moan falls from your lips as slick gushes around your fingers, increasing the wet squelch of them with every thrust. Simon’s hand slips under his briefs, wrapping around his cock. You keep your gaze on the movement of his hand beneath the fabric as he pumps his length in time with the movements of your hand. 

Your free hand grips the sheets under you as you adjust the position of your fingers, pressing your palm against your throbbing clit. The coil in your stomach is tightening, your thighs beginning to shake as you get closer and closer to the edge. 

“Gonna cum?” He rasps, his hand pumping his cock faster as he chases his own high. “Gonna cum for me?” 

“Yes!” You gasp out, curling your fingers against that spongy spot inside you. “Yes!” 

He curses, the word a drawn out rumble in his chest as your thighs close, squeezing around your hand as you cum around your fingers. Your back arches as you nearly spasm from the pleasure, working yourself through the orgasm as he grunts in pleasure from his own approaching orgasm. 

Your body settles, still shaking slightly as you withdraw your fingers from your underwear. They’re shiny with slick and your cum and you lift them to your mouth, letting your tongue dart out to lick at your own juices. 

The sound Simon lets out is nearly animalistic, the pace of his hand frantic as his head tilts back, his hips jerking. You watch him cum, the muscles in his arms flexing as he spills into his underwear. It’s beautiful, the sight of him lost in pleasure. You wish you could see his face, see the way he looks in this moment, but you can’t. Instead you focus on the way his eyes flutter, those long blonde lashes golden in the light from your lamp. 

His breaths are heavy, chest heaving as he comes down from his own high. Your own breathing has settled as you lay there lax at the end of your bed. It’s quiet between you for a moment, his gaze locked on yours. How far things have come just from a couple weeks of distance from each other. It’s impossible not to wonder if something happened, if there was a close call that caused him to think of all the things he’d regret not doing. Or perhaps it was just the distance, the realization that holding himself back was foolish and pointless. You’d welcome him with open arms, just as you had when he walked down the ramp and onto the tarmac. 

He had been the one to make that first move, kissing you when you least expected it. What had gone through his head to cause such a reaction? Had he panicked just as much as you would have, overthinking it until he convinced himself you wouldn't want it? Did the emotions of the moment take over and he couldn’t stop himself from giving in to those desires? Or had he simply faced those fears head on and did it because he wanted to? 

He knows how you feel. The kiss in the car had confirmed that, and you inviting him into your space was the gavel strike that sealed your fates. You don’t want to turn back, you wouldn’t turn back, not after everything. 

Simon moves first, pushing himself up to sit on the edge of your bed. You desperately want to know what he’s thinking, what’s going on in his head. He doesn’t regret this decision, does he? You’ve leaped over the boundaries he’d once set, sharing such an intimate, vulnerable moment with each other. You’d let him go if he wanted to leave, no matter how desperately you’d want to cling to him and beg him to stay. 

He pushes himself up to stand, jeans still unbuttoned as he turns to face you. “Be right back.” He says, leaning down to press a kiss to your head through the mask before he heads into your bathroom, closing the door. 

You let out a quiet breath, sitting there for a moment before you get up, tugging your sundress off. It’s late, the others likely in bed already, or heading that way. You wonder if he’ll be permitted a day off tomorrow, or if he’ll even want to take one. You know how strictly he likes to keep to his schedule, even when he has to be utterly exhausted. 

You’re tempted to pull his shirt off the bear and wear it as you stand there in nothing but your panties, but you’re not sure if that will be pushing too much at once. You decide against it, instead digging out a baggy shirt from your dresser, pulling it over your head. 

You rearrange your nest as water runs in the bathroom, pushing most of the pillows and stuffed animals to the end of the bed before you turn down the blankets, climbing in. Simon’s scent wafts up around you as you lay down, unable to stop yourself as you press your face into your pillow and inhale deeply. Your tongue darts out, pressing against the fabric before you can stop it. It’s musky and slightly tangy, making your mouth water. You want to lick it from the source, wrap your teeth around Simon’s scent gland and devour him. 

Your mind is hazy as you push yourself away from the pillow, blinking away the animalistic thoughts seeping to the front of your brain as the bathroom door opens. Simon steps out, taking a couple slow steps to the middle of your room. He stands there like he’s unsure of what to do next. Should he offer to leave, or ask to join you in bed? You can see the hesitation, the conflict as he tries to decide which is okay, which one might be the best decision. 

“You could join me, if you want.” You say, giving him an offer, a chance at a decision. You wouldn’t be upset if he left, well, not entirely. He’s shown a lot of vulnerability tonight, and you wouldn’t blame him if he wanted space to think over things. You don’t want him to leave, but you’d understand if he did. 

“Is that what you want?” He asks, shifting on his feet. 

“I did offer.” You shrug. “It’s up to you. I can always cuddle the bear.” 

His gaze drops to the bear seated on the floor next to the bed, still wearing his black t-shirt. His hands curl into fists before he looks back up at you. “Move over.” 

You try to hide your grin as you press yourself back against the wall, watching as he unbuttons his jeans again. He pulls them off, folding them in half before draping them over your footboard. This is the most exposed he’s been in front of you, the most skin you’ve seen at one time. You can’t help but stare at his legs, thick thighs dusted with dark blonde hair and covered in scars. They’re not surprising to you, not after seeing the others, though he has the most by far. Small lines, pink and white speckling the skin. There’s a puckered scar on one calf, a bullet wound you now know. There’s a long, thick scar on the other thigh cutting from the side of his knee, up his thigh until it disappears under his briefs. 

You quickly avert your gaze as you realize he’s standing there, watching you. He quickly crawls under the blankets, a nervous sweat starting to form across your back. You don’t mean to make him uncomfortable, but it’s hard not to stare. You want to know, you want every story that explains every scar. You can’t even begin to imagine the horror of the big one on his leg. So far John has been the only one to tell you about all of his scars, as much as he could at least. Johnny had relayed a couple dramatic stories about his, and Kyle has told you about a couple when you’ve asked. You’re not even sure you could ask Simon, much less how you would go about it. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts as you’re suddenly yanked down against Simon’s chest, his arm wrapped around your back. 

“You’re thinking too much.” He says, shifting just slightly to get comfortable on the small bed. It’s a tight squeeze with the two of you, forcing you to nearly lay half on top of him. You’ve never wanted that dream of a bigger bed to be more true than in this moment. 

“Sorry.” You say, wincing at your instinct to apologize again. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” 

“Not uncomfortable.” He says, his voice rumbling in his chest. “Just not used to it yet.” 

“Is that why you keep yourself covered as much as possible? The scars?” You ask, biting your lip as soon as the question comes out. You hadn’t meant to ask it out loud, but you can’t stop your curiosity. 

“Partly.” He says, his thumb stroking your back. “People like to stare, they like to talk.” 

“I don’t care about the scars.” You say quietly. “You all have them. Just...makes me worried thinking about the things that caused them.” 

He hums quietly, the sound vibrating in your ear. “Some scars are symbols of survival. Things that almost killed us, that should have. Some are old wounds the body won’t let go of.” 

“That’s very poetic.” You murmur. 

His hand squeezes your side. “Don’t tell Johnny. He’ll never let me live it down.” 

A sleepy smile tugs at your lips, the exhaustion of the day and the bliss from the events of the last hour begin to drag your mind into the realm of sleep. Simon reaches for your lamp, shutting it off, bathing the room in near darkness.The dark doesn’t scare you anymore, not with Simon here. His violence and brutality should scare you, but instead, it only makes you feel safe. He’d make anyone who dared to try and hurt you pay. 

“Sweet dreams, Simon.” You murmur, a quiet purr rumbling in your chest, content as you drift off to sleep. 

It’s light out, the first rays of sunlight streaming through your window. You rub your eyes from the offending light, reaching for your sheets to tug them over your head but they’re caught around something. Your elbow knocks against something solid as you try and pull them up, a quiet grunt sounding beside you. 

Arms wrap around you, pinning you against a solid warmth. “Stop movin’.” Simon grumbles, tossing a leg over you to keep you still. 

You’ve traded places with him in the night, his back against the wall as you lay stretched out on your back. A quiet purr starts rumbling in your chest as the memories from last night begin to seep through your half-awake brain. He stayed the whole night with you. You had half expected him to get up, to leave, to wake up early, stick to his normal routine. Instead he’d stayed, even far later than he usually would. 

You turn your attention to the arm wrapped around you, your eyes trailing his tattoos. You’ve never seen them this close, able to make out the details of them now. Your fingers begin to trace his tattoos, working your way up his arm until you reach his sleeve, pushing it up as you continue to follow the tattoos all the way up to his shoulder. It’s when you get there you see something familiar. You hold his sleeve out of the way as you trace over the three images. 

“You got a tattoo for each member of the pack.” You say quietly. 

“Almost.” He says, tightening his hold around you. “Missing one.” 

You turn as best you can to look up at him, the meaning of his words not lost on you. His eyes are still closed, and had you not known better, you might have guessed he was still sleeping. His breaths are slow and even, his body still and relaxed. 

“What are you going to get?” You ask. 

“Haven’t decided yet.” He says simply. 

You turn in his grasp, managing to free one of your legs so you can toss it over his hip as you snuggle in close to him. “You could get a kitten, since that’s what Johnny calls me.” 

He snorts. “Absolutely not.” 

“Why not?” You say. “A fluffy little kitten would be cute!” 

“It would throw off the aesthetic.” He says, squishing you up against his chest. 

“Can I go with you when you get it?” You ask. 

“We’ll see.” He sighs, adjusting his leg between yours. 

You bite your lip as it presses against your mound. How easy it would be to press your hips down, grind against him. There’s still a warm electric current thrumming through you from the events of last night. Things have moved fast between you. You’ve gone from thinking he hates you to masturbating in front of each other in a matter of weeks. The leaps you’ve made between the two weeks he was gone almost seem surreal. Does he regret last night? Will he change his mind, retreat back into himself once the reality sets in? You had thought there was no going back once he stepped into your room, but in reality, he could decide to pull back, he could decide this isn’t what he wants after all. 

You’d let him. You’d watch him revert back into himself, face the pain of rejection and acknowledge that what you wanted turned out to be nothing but a dream. His comfort matters more than your needs. You’d fight to cling to the fraying bonds for nothing else besides the sanity and stability of your pack. His rejection would slice clean through those supposedly indestructible bonds, disrupting the dynamic of the pack. It would fracture, crumbling like a building with a structural failure. The bonds that they built with each other, the bonds they’ve built with you will snap leaving decaying waste with you and Johnny caught right in the middle of it all. 

You’ll do everything in your power to cling to those decaying edges, frantically gluing them back together like omegas are supposed to. Fight to hold the pack together while the betas desperately try to resolve the tension and keep everyone sane. It will be the end of the pack, the initiative will be a failure. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have pushed so much. It’s all going to go down in flames because of you. 

“You’re thinking too much again.” 

The quiet rumble of Simon’s voice pulls you from your spiraling thoughts. It drags you back to reality, back into your body from the quickly deepening hole of worry and fear in your mind. Your eyelids flutter as you take a deep breath, the musky scent of alpha clearing away the haze that had come over your mind. You’re still laying in Simon’s arms, pressed up against his chest, his thigh pressed between your legs. 

“How do you always know?” You murmur, snaking your arm around his side. 

“You have tells. You freeze, staying so still even the best snipers in the world would be impressed. You get this glazed over look in your eyes, and your scent changes depending on what you’re thinking about.” He says, tightening his hold around you. 

“You notice all of that?” You ask in amazement and embarrassment that he can read you so easily. You’re still not used to it, his uncanny ability to just know things when it comes to you. 

“‘S part of my job,” He says, shifting slightly closer to you. “What makes me so good at it.” His face presses against the top of your head as his thigh shifts between your legs, putting even more pressure against your clothed pussy. “You’re overthinking this, aren't you.” 

“I just...” You let out a shuddering breath, trying to ignore the throbbing between your legs. “I need to know if you regret last night.” 

A low grumble vibrates through his chest before you find yourself suddenly on your back under him. It happened so fast your brain can’t even register it completely, his hand is gripping your thigh, the one you had thrown over his waist, keeping it hooked over his hip. He’s pressed between your legs, body slotted against yours like he was made to fit there perfectly. Hard edges pressed against your soft curves. 

“Does this feel like regret to you?” He says, voice rumbling deep in his chest as he presses his hips into yours. 

You can feel him...all of him through his briefs as he presses against you, nothing but thin fabric separating you. He’s just as big as you imagined, long and thick and throbbing. He drags his hips along your covered slit, closer than he’s ever been to you. The electrifying moment during training is almost nothing compared to the feeling of him pressed against you. 

“No.” You squeak out, wrapping your arms around his back as he continues to grid against you. You can feel every inch of him against your quickly dampening underwear, the fabric sticking to you and providing delicious friction with every roll of his hips. 

Your hands slip under his shirt, your palms pressing against the warm skin of his lower back. A shudder runs through him, dragging a low growl from his lips. He releases you just long enough to tug his mask up over his mouth before he descends on your neck, your head tilting to the side to give him room. 

The front of his briefs are quickly getting wet from the slick coating your thighs and his precum. Your nails sink into his skin as his teeth scrape across your throat, his tongue following to ease the sensitive, stinging skin. 

“Simon,” You whimper, pressing your hips up against him, desperately seeking relief from the ache building in your core. 

He lifts his face from your throat, your lips clashing against his in a mix of teeth and tongue. His hand slips up to cup the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. He uses his hold on you for leverage as the drag of his hips becomes almost violent. You can imagine it, the feeling of his cock thrusting into you, reaching so deep you can feel him in your stomach, the way you’ll ache for days after he’s done with you. 

“Simon, fuck...” You whine against his lips, your legs shaking as you get closer and closer to the edge. “Please!” 

His grunts and moans have turned into growls, low and deep in his chest. It sends a shiver up your spine, your omega rolling in your mind, scratching to be free. You sink your teeth into his lower lip until you taste blood, the air between you quickly becoming primal. His hand tugs on your hair, pulling your head back until your throat is bared to him. He sinks his teeth into the skin, biting until you yelp. He eases back, dragging his tongue over the sore spot. 

Your moans get louder as you get closer and closer to the edge, every sharp bite of his teeth into your neck sending a shockwave of pleasure straight to where his cock drags against your clit. You feel alive, your vision getting sharper as you get closer and closer to your orgasm. 

“Simon....Simon please.” You whine, clutching him to you so tightly it almost hurts. “I need you. Need you to rearrange my guts, fuck me until I can’t stand. Make me hurt, remind me that I’m yours.” 

A low growl reverberates in his chest, vibrating through your entire body. Your thighs squeeze around his hips, hanging onto him for dear life as he ruts against you like an animal. “Say it again.” He growls, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin of your ear. 

“I’m yours.” You gasp, your back arching. “Have been since the first day.”

“Fucking hell.” He grunts, grinding his hips against yours with so much force the headboard bangs against the wall. 

You cum almost instantly, soaking your underwear and his briefs. He shoves his face into your throat, inhaling deeply against your scent gland. His hand grips the pillow next to your head, his body tensing as his hips jerk against yours. Warmth coats his briefs as he spills into them for a second time in the last day, a deep growl rumbling in his chest as he nearly goes limp on top of you. 

Both of you lay there, shaking and twitching in the aftershocks of your orgasms. It’s hot and stuffy in the room, the heat from Simon’s body not helping any. For a moment you wonder if he’s fallen asleep again from how still and relaxed he is, but the twitch of his body as you soothe your hands over the marks you’ve left on his back says otherwise. 

“Simon?” You speak his name quietly in the sudden stillness of the room. 

“Soon.” He says, slowly beginning to untangle himself from you. “I’ll give you what you need soon.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, shockingly soft compared to what had just transpired. 

He slips a hand around your back, flipping the two of you again as he flops on his back on your bed. You fall against his chest, resting your head over his heart. Despite the exertion, it’s thumping steadily and evenly. Your pussy clenches at the thought of his stamina, how long he’ll be able to go. You’ll tire before him, nothing but a boneless, babbling omega as he fucks you blind and unconscious. 

The moment is ruined by the knock at the door, both of you tensing for a moment. 

“If you don’t hurry, you’ll miss breakfast.” John’s voice sounds from the other side. 

Your cheeks warm at the idea of him hearing what had just transpired. How long has he been standing out there, waiting for you to finish? Does he think Simon was just fucking you, or does he somehow know you had just been rutting away like two eager pups? You can picture the tent in his pants, the way he adjusts the painful bulge at the thought of you being taken by his second alpha. He’s been waiting for this, for the walls to finally come down, for you and Simon to finally release that pent up energy and remove the weight that has been hovering over everyone’s heads. 

“Come on,” Simon says, sitting up with you in his arms. “Need to get some food in you.” He stands, still holding you like it’s nothing to him. It probably isn’t, but the thought has your face nearly bursting into flames. 

He sets you back on your feet, his hands lingering on your sides. You stare up into his eyes, getting lost in the beautiful brown irises. He holds your gaze for a moment before delivering a sharp swat to your ass. 

“Get yourself cleaned up, then we’ll go.” He pulls away from you, grabbing his jeans off the end of your bed. 

You stare at his ass as he bends over to pull them on, an idea popping in your head. “Wait,” You say before he can leave, pulling off your panties. You tuck them into his back pocket, giving it a firm pat. “Keep them.” You stand up on your toes, kissing his cheek before scurrying off to the bathroom before you get distracted again. 

You’re still shaking as you tug your shirt over your head. You look like you’ve been mauled by an animal as you stare at yourself in the mirror. There’s marks across your neck from Simon’s teeth, and your hair is a tangled mess from his hands. Your thighs are trembling a bit as you stand there, your slick drying uncomfortably on your thighs. Your lips feel bruised as you quickly brush your teeth before stepping into the shower. 

The excited tremble of your hands makes holding the body wash a struggle. You still feel electric, your mind rushing from not one but two very intimate moments between you and Simon. If this is how you feel now, you can only imagine how you’ll feel after actually having sex.

You feel a bit sore as you get dressed, doing your best to hide the scattering of marks across your skin. You don’t really have to hide them. Everyone knows you fuck the members of the 141. The images that must flash through their minds when you walk around with them. Do they think you take all of them at once? On your knees as they stand around you, being a good omega for them like in some cheesy porn video? Or bent over, presented for them as they make a mess of your pussy, fucking each other’s cum into you until you can’t hold anymore and it seeps out, leaving you laying in a puddle of it?

Your pussy clenches at the thought, warmth starting to pool in your stomach again. 

“Down girl.” You say, talking to yourself as you slip on your shoes. “We’re not there,” You straighten back up, smoothing your hands over your shirt. “Yet.” 

You take a deep breath, trying to steady the excited thrumming between your legs as you step out into the hallway. Simon is waiting for you, having changed clothes, or at least you think so. He’s in a black t-shirt and jeans still, his most common uniform when he’s not in training. 

“Come on, let’s go.” He says, motioning towards the door with his head. 

He didn’t change his shirt. 

The overwhelming scent of alpha and sex and you is wafting off of him. He might as well be wearing a bright neon sign declaring what you were up to this morning. Your omega purrs at the idea of him being coated in your scent, staking your claim over him. Maybe you shouldn’t have showered after all, wanting to wear a matching scent projecting his own claim over you. 

The mess is sparsely occupied this late in the morning, something you’re silently grateful for. Had you walked in during the peak breakfast time, you might have died on the spot. Most don’t pass a glance your way, only those you pass by directly giving you both a second look. 

Simon yanks your tray from your hands as you grab one, setting it down on the counter next to his. He begins spooning food onto it, adding the things you like. You stare at your tray wide-eyed as he fills it, your omega practically preening. 

He doesn’t even let you carry it to the table, setting it down next to his. You beam up at him as he stares down at you, unable to hide your smile. 

“What?” He asks, his eyes scanning your face. 

Your smile widens. “Thanks for making my tray.” 

He glances down at your full tray before looking back at you. “Sit down and start eating.” 

You can’t stop smiling as you sit on the bench, Simon going to get you something to drink. The activities this morning have left you hungry, hungry enough that the mess food looks appetizing. Simon returns quickly, setting a cup of tea down in front of you. 

“Tea?” You ask, staring at it.

“Yeah. ‘S good for you.” He says, starting in on his own breakfast. “Better than that sugary milk you call coffee.” 

“But you put sugar and milk in your tea.” You say, looking up at him. 

He turns to you, giving you an exasperated look. “Anyone ever tell you you’re annoying?” 

“Yeah. All the time.” You say, taking a bite out of the sausage on your fork. 

“Little shit.” He murmurs under his breath, turning back to his own tray. 

You both eat in comfortable silence, no awkward or tentative energy between you like you had worried there would be after the events that transpired over the last few hours. There’s no dancing around each other anymore, the forced distance dispersed between you. It makes you happy, your omega satisfied as your pack now feels complete. 

You almost feel like skipping as Simon leads you back to the barracks. You slip your hand into his, swinging your arms back and forth. He doesn’t pull away or even complain at your actions, letting you have your moment. Who knew he was such a big softie underneath all that armor? 

Well, you sort of knew the whole time. He could have been mean. He could have been nasty towards you, forcing you into a corner made up of only you, John, and Kyle. He could have kept Johnny from you, drawing that line in the pack and keeping you on one side. He could have let you face the consequences of punching that alpha on your own. So many times he could have left you on your own, been rough with you, let things escalate until he was violent, let his anger win and use it against you as many alphas do. 

But he didn’t. 

Even in his early avoidance of you, he was never a bad alpha towards you. He might not have liked you at first, or approved of your presence, but he never took it out on you. He put up with you because he had to, until his hesitant tolerance grew into more. You had wiggled your way in without even knowing it, long before you started trying, long before you became determined to win his approval for your sake, as well as the rest of the pack’s. 

Look at you now, holding his hand after he made you orgasm an hour ago. You would have never thought you’d get to this place with him back then. You’ve surpassed the point you wanted to get to, but you’re certainly not going to complain. You’ve gotten what you wanted, and from the sounds of it, so has he. 

It’s been two days since Simon’s return, and he has yet to fuck you. The marks on your neck have begun to fade, and you wonder if he’s waiting until they’re gone so he can make new ones. He certainly hasn’t been ignoring you, no he’s been quite clingy. He sits close to you, holds your hand every chance he can. He’s been filling your trays at meals when he takes you to the mess, something John is content to let him do. 

Your omega is satisfied, still preening at the idea of him courting you. You certainly won’t complain, nor will you try to stop him. He could claim you too, if he wanted. He could have claimed you from the start and you would have let him. Back then it would have been because it was your duty to do what your pack wanted. Now it would be because you want him to. You want to be his, just as much as you’re John’s. 

You won’t tell him that, though. Not yet. You don’t want to push him, to seem like you’re trying to move too quickly. You don’t want to scare him off now after making so much progress. That can be a conversation for later, once the two of you have adjusted to this new development in your relationship. 

An excited shiver trails down your spine as you stand outside the door. It’s early, but the world outside is grey with the coming dawn. Your heart jumps as the door in front of you opens, Simon pausing as he exits his room. He blinks down at you as you grin up at him, obviously not expecting you to be up and ready before him. 

“Ready to go?” You say, bouncing excitedly on your toes. 

He rolls his eyes at you, pulling his door closed behind him. “You’re in far too good a mood for 4:30 in the morning.” 

“I’m excited.” You say, taking his arm as you walk down the hallway. 

“And far too happy.” He says as you step out into the cool morning air. 

“I am happy.” You say, leaning your head against his arm. “You make me happy.” 

He lets out a sigh, and you can almost hear him rolling his eyes at you. “Don’t make me regret this.” 

You pause outside the door to the gym, looking up at him. “You don’t, do you?” 

He stares down at you for a long moment, your heart beating in your ears. You don’t want to scare him off with your happiness, the glee you can’t control at the relief of finally being accepted by him, of finally feeling like your pack is complete. 

“No.” He says, opening the door for you. “Now get your ass inside.” 

Relief floods through you, a smile tugging at your lips as you step into the gym. It’s quiet inside, quieter than normal even for 4 AM. 

“Most of them are out running drills today.” Simon says as he leads you down the hallway to the training room. “Base will be quiet.” 

“Won’t catch me complaining.” You say as you step into the training room. 

Simon locks the door behind you, setting his things on the bench and kicking off his shoes. You stare at him shamelessly as you follow him onto the mat, unsure whether you should thank or curse the grey sweatpants hugging his ass. 

He turns to face you and you decide to curse them, warmth flooding through you. Your mind flashes back to the morning after his return, the feeling of his cock grinding against you, his teeth sinking into your skin, leaving marks all over you. 

Fuck this is going to be a long training session. 

You’re half distracted as he runs you through combinations, most of your punches missing, your kicks almost half-hearted as most of your energy is pulsing between your legs. You keep messing up, punching at the wrong time, the order getting messed up in your mind. Agreeing to train today was probably a bad idea, given the uncontrollable lust that’s been plaguing you. Being so close to Simon and his scent isn’t helping either. 

You mess up another combo, half distracted, half dazed as you throw a punch, missing the mitt entirely. Simon lets out a frustrated growl, moving before you can even think to block yourself as he drives his shoulder into the center of your chest. You fall flat on your back, the air leaving your lungs with a sharp gasp. 

You lay there, coughing and gasping as he comes to stand over you, staring down at you disappointedly. “You’re distracted.” 

“Yeah,” You cough out, trying to catch your breath. “You keep fucking with my head.” 

“Half of fighting an alpha is a mind game. They’re going to fuck with you, because it will work.” He says, lowering himself to his knees over you. 

“Yeah, but this is different.” You say, your breathing finally returning back to normal. 

Or it was. Your inhale catches in your throat as he leans over you, his hands settling on either side of your head. “How?” He asks, his voice rougher than it had been. 

You take a deep breath as you stare up at him, feeling very small in this position, but you know he’s doing it on purpose. “I don’t want you to fuck with my head,” You say, trying to gain the upper hand. “I want you to fuck me.” 

Your words stun him for a moment, and you take the opportunity to try and reverse your positions. You swing your fist towards his side, aiming for the spot below his ribs. He recovers faster than you thought he might, catching your hand before you can make contact. He pins it to the mat beside your head, pinning your other hand on the other side. You try to use your knees to hit him, but he settles his weight over you, effectively pinning you to the mat. 

The position is reminiscent of the morning after he returned, his body pressed into yours, clinging to you as you both chased your orgasms. It sends a shiver down your spine, your body shuddering under him. His grip around your wrists shifts, pulling your hands over your head. He holds them with one of his own hands, keeping them pinned to the mat. A thrill shoots through you as you stare up at him, his body shifting to the side. 

“You want me to fuck you?” He growls, lifting his mask up to his nose. “Want me to take you right here where anyone walking by could hear you screaming my name? Where they could stand at the door jerking themselves off like needy pups, hoping to get just a whiff of your scent?” 

You would let him. He could take you right now on this mat and you wouldn’t care. Heat is pulsing between your legs, slick soaking your underwear and quickly beginning to seep through to your leggings. 

“Yes!” You whine, clenching your thighs together, seeking out any kind of friction you can get. “Please!” 

His free hand grips your chin, fingers pressing into your cheeks to force your mouth open. He leans over you, holding your gaze as he spits into your mouth. Your whine is cut off as two of his fingers follow, pressing against your tongue. They taste salty from the sweat on his hands, yet you don’t care, licking the sweat from his skin. The pulsing of your pussy is starting to get to be too much, your thighs rubbing together in a desperate attempt to ease the ache. 

You moan around his fingers, laving your tongue over them as he shifts his gaze to your legs, watching you squirm and writhe. You can hardly stand it, his scent getting thicker and thicker in the air as he begins to get aroused as well. You nip at his fingers, trying to get him to pull them from your mouth. 

“Please!” You gasp as soon as your mouth is free. “Fucking touch me, Simon!” 

It’s like he had been waiting for your permission as his hand slips between your clenched thighs, cupping you over your leggings. You press your hips into his hand, grinding against him in desperate need for release. 

“What, you want this?” He says, rubbing his hand along your clothed slit. 

“Yes!” You almost sob, squeezing your thighs around his hand. “Please, Simon! Please!”

You lift your head as he slides his hand up your pelvis until it’s resting right at the waistband of your leggings. His eyes are on your face as he slowly pushes his fingers under the fabric, trailing lower and lower until he reaches the top of your mound. Your breath hitches in anticipation, lips parted as your chest heaves with every breath. So close. You’re so close to finally being touched by him. So close to getting relief. 

Your head falls back against the mat, a loud moan slipping from your lips as he finally slides his fingers lower, the rough pads brushing over your clit. “Fuck...” You whine, letting your legs fall open as he begins to circle the sensitive bud. 

It’s more than you could have imagined, better than you would have ever thought, and all he’s done is rub a few circles over your clit. His touch is electric, lighting a fire in you again, sending shocks straight through your nervous system and into your brain. You push against the hand holding your wrists but he doesn’t relent, not letting you touch him like you so desperately want to. 

His fingers leave your clit, sliding lower until they’re pressed against your hole. You shift your hips against his hand, trying to get even some relief from the ache that’s been throbbing between your legs for two days. You’ve avoided even touching yourself, wanting to make sure you were still sensitive and ready for when Simon decided he was ready. You’re glad for that now as Simon presses two of his fingers into you, your walls clamping down around them tightly. 

“C’mon,” He groans in your ear, his tongue darting out to lick at the sweat dampening your face. “Relax for me.” 

You breathe deeply, trying to get yourself to relax as he pushes his fingers further into you. His fingers are so long and thick, his knuckles catching at your entrance. 

“This tight around my fingers, how are you gonna take my cock?” He groans, thrusting his fingers gently to try and open you up for him. 

“I can take it.” You pant, bucking your hips against his hand to take his fingers deeper into you. 

“Been a while since someone fucked you, huh?” He says, beginning to thrust his fingers in and out of you. 

“Weeks.” You whine, your pussy fluttering around his fingers in relief. “Not since before you left.” 

“Oh?” His brows raise in surprise. 

“Missed you too much.” You gasp as he speeds up the movements of his fingers. “Didn’t want to.” 

“You were hoping I’d fuck you when I got back, huh.” He says, curling his fingers inside you. “Give this poor neglected cunt some attention.” 

You let out a moan that’s almost a sob as he finds that spongy spot inside you, directing the movements of his fingers directly against it. Your hands close into fists, pushing against his but he doesn’t let you go, starting to nearly pound his fingers against that spot. 

It’s too much and not enough all at once, your body starting to shake almost violently as pressure builds in your stomach. You’re being loud but you don’t care, unable to hold anything back as pleasure ripples through you, nearly blacking out your vision. You writhe on the mat, legs shaking as your feet plant on the floor, lifting your hips up against his hand. 

“That’s it.” He groans, the wet squelch of his fingers obscene in the quiet training room. 

Your body writhes from the intensity of your pleasure, tears leaking from your eyes uncontrollably. You can’t tell if you’re moaning or sobbing or both as pleasure cuts like a knife through you, toes curling and uncurling in your shoes. It’s like you’ve lost all control, your body given over to the pleasure as his fingers are pushed out of you from the force of your orgasm, fluid soaking your underwear.

You’re shuddering and shaking under him as his fingers return to your clit, rubbing it harshly. It’s almost too much, your pussy contracting almost painfully. A second orgasm is forced out of you, your thighs clamping together, your leggings soaked with fluid between your thighs. 

Simon finally relents, pulling his fingers from your pants. They’re soaked, shiny and slick with your release. You’re gasping for air, body still shaking in the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

“Good girl.” Simon praises you, wiping his hand on his sweatpants as he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. It’s strange, the tenderness after what he had just done to your body. 

And that was only with his fingers. 

He eases you up to sit, your legs trembling uncontrollably. You’re not sure how you’re even supposed to stand on them, much less walk. There’s an uncomfortable wetness between your legs, your panties and leggings sticking to your skin. 

“Easy.” He says, supporting your body as you try to rise to your feet. 

There’s a small puddle where you were laying, the outline of your body in sweat on the mat and then more fluid beneath where your ass had been. Simon lifts you into his arms, carrying you over to the bench before sitting you down. He wipes down the mat, cleaning up the mess you left before he approaches you again. 

“What was that?” You ask, shifting uncomfortably in your wet underwear. 

Simon smirks, slipping his phone and keys as well as your phone into his pockets. “Made you squirt, love.” 

Your mouth falls open, your thighs subconsciously clenching together. “You-what?” You blink in surprise. “Didn’t know I could do that.” 

He chuckles, lifting you into his arms again. “Gotta know what you’re doing to make it happen.” 

Warmth floods your cheeks as the double meaning of his words aren’t lost on you. You’re glad for the cool air outside as he carries you back towards the barracks, your legs still trembling a bit from the intense orgasm he had just given you. You’re glad the base is mostly empty, the thought of others knowing what he had just done to you is almost too much. 

“What happened?” Johnny asks as soon as Simon enters the door of the barracks, his eyes flickering back and forth between you. “Didnae hurt her, did ye?” He asks, getting defensive. 

“Quite the opposite.” Simon says, walking past him towards your door. “Taught her a little party trick.” 

Johnny’s nostrils flare as your scent finally hits him, his eyes going wide. “Fucking christ, Simon.” 

He starts towards your door as Simon sets you on your feet, but the alpha pushes him back, keeping him from entering your room. “Easy, mutt. She’s had enough this morning. Let’s get some food and liquids into her first.” 

Your pussy clenches in anticipation at his words and you quickly close the door before you, or they, change their minds. 

You’re not quite sure what to do as you stand in front of the open door, peering into a space you’ve never been in before. It almost feels wrong to take the step, to enter into sacred ground you’ve been kept out of until now. The space is plain and laid out not entirely unlike your own. There’s books lining the back of the desk, a box with what looks like records sitting on the floor next to it, and what looks like a painting hanging on the wall. The wardrobe is exactly where yours is, and you can assume there’s a dresser behind the door. 

“You going to come in or do I have to drag you?” 

You startle at the voice, lifting your gaze to Simon’s. He’s standing in the middle of the room, staring at you as you hesitate in the doorway. You swallow the lump in your throat, taking a step into the room, and then another. 

All feelings of plainness go out the window as you step further in. His bed is the same as yours, sheets blue instead of black like you might have assumed. There’s a nightstand next to the bed with a lamp and his phone, but that’s not what’s surprising to you. 

Across the wall behind his bed is a black and white mural of skulls stretching wall to wall, ceiling to floor. You stare at it in awe, taking in all the details, the shading, the realism. 

“Johnny did it for me.” Simon says, stepping up next to you. “Not long after I claimed him.” 

“It’s incredible.” You say. “Very fitting.” 

“Might need to commission him for another piece, one of the ones he’s done of you.” 

Your cheeks warm at his words, very aware of Johnny’s stash of drawings of you from pictures he’s snapped while you weren’t looking, and some while you were. You’d flipped through his sketchbook, just happening upon a rather detailed drawing of your tits when he’d grabbed it and quickly shoved it on top of his wardrobe. 

It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what filled the rest of the pages in that book. 

“I’m sure he’d be happy to do one for you.” You say, turning to face him. “Maybe if you ask nicely, I could be convinced to do a custom reference for him.” 

His eyes darken as he stares at you, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Your teeth sink into your lip as you stare up at him, refusing to look away despite the strong musky scent rolling off of him. You stand your ground, pushing back against his attempts to make you yield, to make you submit. 

A shiver runs down your spine as he takes a step closer, and then another. You can feel the warmth of his body as he looms over you, his hand lifting to settle on your waist. His thumb brushes your side through your shirt, the heat of his palm radiating through the fabric. 

“You want me to fuck you?” He asks, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. 

“Yes, sir.” You respond. 

His hand tightens around your waist, his scent intensifying at your words. “Fuck,” He hisses, the front of his pants suddenly getting tighter. “Brazen little shit.” 

A smile tugs at your lips. “You love it.” 

“Mmm, you seem so sure of that.” He says, tugging the bottom of his mask up. 

“Because I am.” You say, lifting yourself up onto your toes. 

He bends down, meeting you halfway. Your lips clash in a fiery kiss, your hands lifting to grip his shoulders. His own slide down your sides to grip your thighs, lifting you into his arms. He walks backwards, kicking his door closed before pressing you up against it. 

You moan as your back hits the door, Simon’s tongue sliding into your mouth as soon as your lips part. The kiss is messy and rough, his fingers digging into your thighs as he pins you against his door. It’s finally happening, what you’ve been waiting for. Two long days you’ve been waiting and wishing for this moment. Simon’s bruising grip on your thighs, and the low rumbling growl echoing in his chest speak volumes of his own desire. 

His grip tightens on you, almost becoming painful as his teeth sink into your lip. You let out a surprised yelp as he breaks the skin, the coppery tang of blood filling your mouth. 

You nearly hit the floor as Simon wrenches himself away from you, stumbling back a couple of steps. He wipes the blood from his lip and you quickly purse your own lips to try and hide the blood. He turns his back to you, his shoulders tensed and slightly hunched. 

“Simon?” You take half a step forward, but he lifts his hand, making you pause. 

You stay where you are, staring at his back. You don’t want this to ruin things, to push him away from you. A little blood hasn’t stopped you so far, nor has a little pain. You can tell he’s nervous, though, on edge, and you know exactly why. 

“Simon?” You say quietly, approaching him slowly. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He says, repeating the words he’s said over and over the last few weeks. It’s almost like a mantra now, and you can imagine it echoing over and over in his head. He turns his head to look at you over his shoulder as you reach him. 

“You won’t.” You say, putting your hands on his back, turning him slowly. “You haven’t so far. His eyes flicker between the healing marks on your neck, and your bleeding lip. “I trust you, Simon.” 

“You shouldn’t.” He says, his hands closing into fists. 

“Don’t be stupid.” You say, rolling your eyes. “We both want this. Denying it isn’t going to make anything better. I trust your ability to control yourself, and you have to trust that I’ll tell you if you go too far.” 

“What if I can’t stop?” 

“Johnny’s next door, and John is across the hall.” You say simply. “If nothing else, I’ll scream. They’ll know the difference.” You take his face in your hands, pulling him down slightly so you can look him in the eyes easier. “Let me be in control if you’re so worried.” 

A rumble vibrates deep in his chest at your words, his eyes flashing. Your thumbs stroke his cheeks, ghosting over his five-o’clock shadow. 

“The mask can stay on, hell all of your clothes can stay on.” You shrug. “I’ll take good care of you, I promise.” 

He stares down into your eyes for a moment before leaning forward, pressing a kiss to your lips. It’s softer this time, less heated and animalistic than before. 

Simon releases you, taking a step back. He unbuttons his pants, letting them drop to the floor, leaving him in just his briefs. He picks them up, folding them like he did two nights ago, draping them over the back of his desk chair. He hesitates for a moment so you take the lead, pulling your shirt up over your head. You drop your shorts as well, leaving you in just your bra and underwear. 

Simon’s eyes scan your body and you fight the urge to cover yourself under his intense gaze. He steps forward, his fingers reaching for you. They’re surprisingly soft as they trail up your arm, goosebumps forming on your skin. His eyes follow the path of his fingers before they reach the strap of your bra. He slips his fingers underneath, pulling it up before he releases it, letting it snap against your skin. 

“Take it off.” He says, a subtle growl underneath his voice. 

It sends a shiver down your spine, goosebumps forming all over your skin. “Thought I was in charge, Mr. Big Alpha Man.” 

“Little shit.” He breathes, letting out a long sigh. 

You reach behind you anyway, undoing your bra and letting it fall to the floor. 

“Christ.” He breathes, his eyes glued right on your tits. 

“Understanding all the hype now?” You smirk. “You can touch them if you’d like.” 

He curses under his breath but lifts his hands anyway, cupping your breasts. You bite your lip as he squeezes them gently, his eyes glued to your chest. 

“Didn’t take you for a tits guy.” You say, biting back a moan as his thumb brushes over your nipple. 

“I'm just full of surprises.” He says, earning a surprised yelp as he tugs harshly on your nipple. 

He leans down, dragging his tongue over the sensitive skin to soothe it. You let out a soft moan at the sensation, your hands lifting to grip his biceps. 

“Fuck,” He groans against your skin, straightening back up. “On the bed.” He says, motioning with his head. 

“Thought I was in charge.” You sass. 

“Thought you wanted me to fuck you.” He retorts. 

You open your mouth to argue but you can't. You know he's right, so instead you make your way to the bed, crawling onto the mattress, making sure he can see the damp spot on your underwear as you do. 

You pause when you hear crinkling, running your hand over the sheet. “A heat liner?” 

“Gotta protect the mattress.” He shrugs, approaching the bed. 

Your eyes widen as your face warms, the implications not lost on you. You think back to earlier in the gym, your face only warming even more. “Oh.”

He grips the back of your knees, tugging you to the edge of the bed, pushing your knees up. You're spread open in front of him, the damp spot on your panties only getting bigger as he stares down at the only barrier left between you. 

“You could take a picture.” You say as he stands there, frozen. “Something to remember me by.”

“Little shit.” He says under his breath, his hands sliding up your inner thighs until they reach your hips. 

His fingers curl under the waistband of the lacy black fabric, slowly dragging them down over your ass and then down your legs. He tosses the fabric behind him before parting your legs again. He's shamelessly staring at your glistening pussy, bare and spread open for him. 

A moment passes as he stands there frozen, and for a second you wonder if he's ever seen a pussy before, much less a naked woman. Obviously he has, based on what happened earlier. He’s experienced, and you try not to let the thought bother you, jealousy rising at the thought of his hands on another woman. Did she get to see his face? How vulnerable was he with her. 

You bring your attention back to Simon as he stands there frozen. “You okay?” You ask, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. 

He nods, eyes still glued to your pussy. 

You sink your teeth into your lip as you stare up at his mask-covered face. “Why don't you show me what you did in the gym earlier.” You suggest, finally getting him to react.

His eyes flash up to your face, his grip on your legs loosening. He stares at you for a second before letting them go completely. “Wait here.” He disappears into the bathroom for a moment before he comes out carrying a towel. 

He lays it on the floor beside the bed, looking between you and the towel for a moment before nodding in approval. You watch him as he grabs a pillow, slipping it behind you to prop you up before sinking onto the mattress next to you. He pulls one of your legs over his lap, and you hook an arm around the other one, getting the idea. 

Your eyes are glued to his hand as he drags it across your stomach, letting his blunt nails scrape across your skin. You shiver in response, goosebumps covering your skin again. His hand slips through your folds, gathering some of your slick on his fingers before he returns to your clit, circling it like he had earlier. You let out a sigh, relaxing back against the pillow as he teases the sensitive bud. 

Simon leans closer to you, pressing gentle kisses to your jaw. “Fucking beautiful omega.” He praises you, his teeth scraping your skin gently. “Been working me up for weeks, laying in here listening to you fuck the others, those sweet little sounds coming from you.” He groans into your skin, his fingers applying more pressure to your clit. “Had me in here wanking like some needy teenager, imagining it was me making you scream like that, like it was your hand on my cock.” 

His words make you shiver. You know he’s heard you, it was impossible not to, but you had always pictured him with ear plugs in or headphones on, trying to drown out the noise. Or maybe he always chose those moments to shower, trying to drown you out with the water. 

You hadn't considered that he'd be in here masturbating to the sound of you being fucked by the others. You certainly wouldn’t have guessed it was you he was jerking off to. You would have assumed his focus was on the others and the sounds of their pleasure. Your pussy clenches at the mental image of him in bed, fisting his cock, trying not to cum until you do. He knows what you sound like when you cum, he'd have figured that out quickly. He'd use that knowledge, edging himself until you came so he could cum with you. 

“Fuck...” You moan, slick dribbling out of you at the thoughts flashing through your mind. 

“Nearly blacked out when you let Johnny fuck you from behind the first time.” He groans, circling your clit faster. “Imagining you bent over his bed, split open around his cock,” He shakes his head. “Wanted to be in there, bend him over you and fuck him into you, get both of you desperate and needy, begging me for release.”

Your head tilts back, your legs shaking as his words nearly send you over the edge. The mental images are almost too much, the possibilities now that you've opened this door. 

You whine as his hand leaves your clit, his fingers closing around your jaw and pulling your head back up. “Keep your head up.” He says. “Want you to watch.”

You whimper as he returns to your pussy, dragging his fingers down your slit before pressing two into your slick hole. They slide in easier than they did this morning, your body opening to him in anticipation. He thrusts his fingers slowly, teasing you as he continues to work you up. 

“Wanna fuck you so full of cum you're almost bursting then let Kyle eat it out of you. Might let him fuck you after just to see the two prettiest members of the pack together.” He continues. 

You squeeze around his fingers, a loud moan leaving your lips. You could cum from his words alone and the mental images flashing through your mind. All the possibilities, all the opportunities that are now in front of you. 

He curls his fingers, finding that spongy spot again. You know what's coming, the anticipation building in your stomach as he begins to thrust his fingers against that spot. 

“Want Price to bend you over my desk, watch as he fucks you until you're a crying mess, and then it will be my turn.” He growls, pounding his fingers against that spot. “Make you forget your name, forget how to do anything but whine in pleasure.

You desperately keep your eyes on his hand as that overwhelming pressure begins in your stomach again, your moans getting sharper and sharper the more it builds. Your hips jerk uncontrollably as you nearly black out again, fluid squirting from you and into the air. Simon's fingers are forced out of you from the intensity of the orgasm, but he's not done as he begins frantically rubbing at your clit. Another orgasm is forced out of you from the hypersensitivity as you squirt again, soaking your pussy and the side of the bed. 

You let your head fall back as you gasp for air, your body shuddering uncontrollably in the aftershocks of such an intense orgasm. Simon leans down, kissing you like he wants to devour you as he slips his fingers back inside your spasming pussy. It’s almost painful, the sensations too much as he stretches you open again. 

“One more.” He groans against your lips as he starts bullying that spot inside you with his fingers again. “Give me one more.”

“Simon,” you grip the front of his shirt, the feeling almost too much as it builds faster this time. “Simon!” You let out a high pitched shriek, squirting again all over his hand and the floor. 

“That's it.” He groans, finally relenting as his wet hand comes to rest on your clenching stomach. 

Tears blur your vision as you lay there shaking, nearly having an out of body experience from the pleasure. It's painful, but not in a bad way. 

His hand slides up your body until he's gripping your jaw, turning your face to his. He kisses you roughly, forcing his tongue past your lips as he holds you there, your release dripping from your pussy onto the sheets. His kiss is all tongue and teeth, bordering on the animalistic violence that had almost taken over you both two days ago. It had thrilled and terrified you, how easily both of you got lost in the moment. 

You hadn't even been naked then. 

You don't ponder on it long as he pulls away from you delivering a slap to your pussy before he stands, watching the way you jerk from the sharp sting on the sensitive skin. You nearly cum from it, pussy clenching from how sensitive you are. 

He reaches into the top drawer of his nightstand, pulling out a bottle. He moves to stand between your legs again, letting them fall to the sides for a moment. You're limp as you stare up at him, not sure you could move your body at all if you had to. You're beginning to understand why he was so worried.

He palms at the very prominent bulge in his briefs, an excited thrill running through you as he slips his hands under the waistband, slowly sliding it lower and lower. You lick your lips as more skin is revealed to you, a trail of light hair leading to the thick shaft of his cock. It keeps going and going as he lowers his briefs, thick and long and an angry red color as the fabric finally drops out of sight. 

“Fuck...” You breathe as you stare at it, looking big even in his large hand. 

He moves closer, lifting your legs from where they're hanging over the side of the bed, pushing them up as close to your chest as they can get, essentially folding you in half. His cock drags through your folds, the head catching on your clit. It makes you twitch with every pass of his hips, your lips parting in anticipation. You could cum like this, your pussy still oversensitive from your three orgasms already. Four, if you count the one in the gym earlier. 

“You said you could take it.” He teases, his hands keeping your legs pressed back. 

You nod. “Uh huh.”

“Having second thoughts?” He smirks. 

You're not sure if it's your ego or your pride or just sheer determination that has you shaking your head. “Nope.” 

His smirk widens as he reaches for the bottle, popping the cap before squirting some lube on his cock and onto your hole. He tosses the bottle back onto the bed before rubbing the lube on his cock, dragging the head through your slick folds, spreading the cold lube against the heated skin. “Good girl.”

You shiver from the praise, your breath catching in your throat as he begins to press into you. The burning stretch is almost too much for your oversensitive walls despite the preparation he had given you. His fingers were nothing compared to his cock, and for a moment you regret not fucking one of the others in the two weeks he was gone. 

Your breaths are coming in high pitched gasps, broken by moans as he sinks into you, your legs shaking and he hasn't even fucked you yet. You could cum just like this, just from the stretch. You can feel all of him, every inch of his length, every inch of his circumference as your pussy gapes around him. 

“Wait,” You grip his wrists, his movements pausing. “Fuck, gimme a second.” 

His eyes are on you as you lay there, trying to relax around him, fighting desperately not to cum like this. He might as well be in your guts, and you're beginning to think you had been right in asking him to rearrange them for you. You lift your head, staring down between your legs. A low groan of astonishment leaves your lips. He's only halfway in. 

You let out a keening moan before you nod. “Okay, okay. Keep going.” 

If his cock is this big, you can't even imagine taking his knot. 

He sinks even deeper, moving slowly as he watches your face. Your eyes are on the ceiling, the stretch seeming almost endless as it keeps going and going. 

Finally he's seated inside you, practically snuggled up against your cervix, or at least that's what it feels like. You could cum just like this, laying here with your knees by your ears, stuffed full of Simon's cock. He wouldn’t even have to move, just stand there as you flutter around him, soaking his cock with your release. 

“Fucking hell.” He groans as you squeeze around him, his eyes closing as he takes a deep breath in. 

“Can't help it,” You moan, squeezing around him again. “So big.” 

He lets out a low groan, his hips twitching. “Tell me I can move. Let me fuck you.”

You're half tempted to stay silent, to lay here and see how long he lasts, how long he'll let you hold control before he takes over. A battle of wills, just as everything seems to become between you. Alpha versus omega, instinct versus instinct, willpower versus willpower. Just like every battle, though, you find yourself bowing, giving in, unable to fight the power he holds over you. It’s for a different reason this time, though, your desperation and neediness is just as strong as his. You’ve both been waiting for this, neglecting yourselves for far too long. 

“Fuck me, Simon.” You breathe, fingers gripping the sheets for dear life. “Fuck me till I can't remember anything but your name.” 

He lets out a low growl as he pulls back, drawing his cock out halfway before snapping his hips forward until they slap against yours. You yelp as your body rocks from the force of his thrust, not expecting it. He pulls his hips back slowly again before he repeats the motion, practically slamming into you. It hurts, stealing your breath away, but it leaves you feeling almost electric, pleasure bubbling under your skin.  

Slowly his thrusts get shorter, but they lose none of their force as he fucks into you roughly. You're creating quite the cacophony of sounds from skin slapping skin and the obscene squelch of your pussy to your high pitched keening moans and his deep growls. His eyes are glued to your face, watching the pleasure glaze over your eyes as you stare at the bulge in your stomach from his cock. 

He moves the pillow out from behind you, pushing you flat on your back as he folds his body over yours. He releases your legs, letting them drape over his shoulders as he continues to pound into you. There's a wild look in his eyes, your omega beginning to stir as your brain registers the shifting scents, the heavy musk in the room. 

Sweat has slicked your skin and Simon's, mixing where your skin is pressed together. He turns his head, licking the skin of your thigh, tasting the salty sweat. Your mouth feels dry as you stare up at him, wanting to sink your teeth into him and chew on him. You want to make him bleed, have him howling in pain as he stuffs you so full you'll be leaking for a week. 

You grip his forearms, your nails digging into his skin, making him hiss out a curse. A wild look flashes behind his eyes as he sinks his teeth into your thigh, clamping down as you continue to dig your nails into his arms, neither of you relenting. He shifts his hips just slightly, hitting a different angle that has you releasing his arms as pleasure wracks through you. He releases your thigh with a satisfied grin, fucking into at the new angle like a wild animal. 

Your body shudders, your moans muffling as he presses two of his fingers into your mouth again, pushing on your tongue. You choke around them, fighting every urge to sink your teeth into his skin until he releases you or you taste blood. 

“That’s it.” He grunts as you whimper desperately around his fingers. “You can take it.” 

Drool seeps out from around his fingers as he fucks you until you’re almost cross-eyed, your pussy spasming around him as every thrust brings you closer and closer to the edge. 

You can’t stop it as you sink your teeth into his fingers, your legs squeezing together as your body seizes, your release gushing around his cock as you cum. Your eyes roll back, blood on your tongue as he wrenches his fingers from your mouth. Your head tilts back, back arching as he doesn’t stop, undeterred by your orgasm. 

“Fucking hell.” He grunts, the clenching of your pussy almost painful as he continues to fuck you. “Fucking tight around me.” 

“Please, please, Simon!” You whine, the only two words you can pull from your brain, and even they begin to mesh together into mindless babble as you grip his sheets, nearly pulling them off the edges of the mattress. 

Tears leak from your eyes as he fucks into you so hard the frame shakes, knocking into the wall. He leans his head down, his teeth sinking into the skin over your collarbone until you bleed. Droplets of blood mix with the sweat dripping down your chest, Simon’s eyes following them as they disappear between your breasts. 

“Gonna cum for me again?” He growls, blood staining his lips red. He looks like a ghoul, wild eyed and bloody mouthed, feasting on your flesh. An incubus sucking the life out of you as he brings you endless pleasure. 

“Simon!” You squeal, eyes squeezing closed as you’re thrown into another orgasm, your legs shaking uncontrollably as you clench around him, almost as if your body is trying to suck his cock in deeper. 

He continues to fuck you, every curse word known to man spilling from his lips as you tighten around him, dragging his own orgasm from him. He slams his hips into yours, letting out a feral growl as he spills into you. Warmth fills your belly as he spurts his hot cum into you, filling you up. Your legs are shaking where they’re tossed over his shoulders, clenching around his neck. His skin is flushed red from the bottom of his mask to the collar of his shirt. 

You can’t move as you lay there, shaking in the aftershocks of your orgasm. You want to take a break, tap out, ask for five minutes and a glass of water, but from the look in Simon’s eyes you know it’s not over yet. There’s no taking a break, not that he’s gotten a taste of your pussy. 

He releases your legs, letting them drop off the side of the bed. He pulls away long enough to flip you over, bending you over the side of the bed. You whine as he presses his cock back into you, ignoring the squeeze of your sensitive walls as he splits you open around him again. He bends over you, pressing his chest to your back as his hips press flush to your ass. 

“Simon.” You whine, your hands gripping the sheets as his hand snakes around you, wrapping around your throat.

He growls low and dangerous, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your back. You squeeze around him, a chill running through you, your instincts telling you to run or roll over in submission to him. Your omega claws at your mind, desperate to meet him toe to toe, one for one. You begin to push your hips back into him, fucking yourself on his cock as his teeth sink into the skin on the back of your shoulder. The tables have turned, the control has shifted. 

He’s not Simon anymore. 

Your lips part in a gasp as he thrusts into you, meeting your own movements on his cock, reminding you who’s in charge, who holds the reigns in this position. The word comes tumbling from your lips, brainlessly and unconsciously, no thoughts there to stop it, your hands too busy clinging to the sheets for dear life to even prevent it from slipping out. 

“Alpha!” 

NEXT ->

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[cutebat]

Yandere Batfam x Neglected, but Defiant Reader

The First Page

Warning(s): Neglect, emotional abuse, physical abuse, mind break (There are no yandere themes yet, but will be in another chapter)

(This chapter is basically the first part of the prologue and some things fixed)

~~~~~

10 years old.

You were only 10 years old when the Gotham's billionaire, Bruce Wayne, entered through the doors of the orphanage that you lived under of.

You could remember the owner holding your hand as she lead you to the man who is going to be your father.

You remember when he placed his hand on your head as he introduced himself to you and promised that he'll give you a great life.

You remember when you came to the manor as he introduced you to your new family that consists of four new older brothers, one new older sister, and a butler.

You remember when everyone would talk to you and welcome you with loving embraces.

You also remember a few days foward when Bruce gave you a costume that resembled a white dress with pink details, which earned you the title of Batgirl.

And after all of that, it's like it never happened.

~~~~~

You are now being ignored by everyone.

Nobody gave you a glance, made excuses, and basically beat the shit out of you. Well, not exactly.

For example, there was one day when you came up to Bruce with a flyer in your hand.

"Um, hi, Bruce... I know you're busy right now, but... I'm going to have a school play and I got the main role. So... I hope you can stop by and watch."

You tell him in the nicest way possible.

However, Bruce was so focused on his paperwork that he didn't give you a glance. All he said was...

"Hm? Yeah, I'll go check it out if I finish all of this."

And suprise, suprise, he never showed up.

This resulted in you crying in the girl's restroom all alone in your costume.

~~~~~

There was also a time when you felt like you needed to train more, so you did it by going up to Dick who seems to be training with Damian.

"Um, guys? Can I join you two?"

You ask as you smile awkwardly as your two older brothers turned to you.

Which is why you became surprised when Dick smiles.

"Sure! But, do you mind if you wait until me and Damian are done with this sparring session? It won't take too long."

He said with a chuckle as Damian looked like he was glaring at his little sister.

You didn't want to be rude, which is why you just nodded before you went over to the corner and watched your brothers train.

As an hour passed, Dick and Damian stopped, which made you take the chance to finally train with them.

However, you seemed confused when you saw the two turning around and walking out of the batcave.

"He-Hey, Dick? I thought you and Damian were going to train with me."

You speak up in a timid tone, which the two clearly heard.

"Oh, about that. Sorry, (name), but we were already planning to go to the cafe for a break. Maybe tomorrow, okay?"

Dick said with an 'apologetic' expression before he leaves with Damian.

Because of this, you never asked him to train with you again.

~~~~~

These were all easily common, but there were some moments when it scarred you.

One time, Tim was basically forced to bring you to a mission along with his friends.

As the patrol went on, you seemed to get distracted a bit when you spotted Conner having some trouble.

Because of this, you left the scene and quickly dived in and fought alongside the teenage Kryptonian. Thanks to you, everything was handled.

Conner thanked you before someone yelled out your name. This made you jolt as you turned to see an angry Tim storming over to you.

Before you can say anything, he cuts you in.

"What on earth were you doing?! I told you to stay where you are, and you just had to ignore everything I say, don't you?!"

He yells as if someone murdered his close family member.

This made you so shocked as Conner was stunned. When Cassie and Bart came over to the spot, they were both shocked to see their friend, yelling at his little sister.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Calm down, Tim. (name) didn't do anything wrong. I was the one who called her over to help me."

Conner defends you, but of course, Tim doesn't listen.

"Don't even try to defend her! She knows what she did! Oh, I am SO going to report this to Batman, so don't even try to cover yourself up!"

Tim said in a frustrated and angry tone towards you before he used his grappling hook and swooped down, leaving you behind with his friends.

"Hey, what the hell, asshole!"

Conner shouts out at his friend as he was shocked to him this angry.

He lets out a sigh before he looks over to see Cassie and Bart, comforting you as you are crying in their arms.

~~~~~

Yelling wasn't the only thing that you had to endure.

You even went through moments when things got a little too... physical.

It all happened when you were just trying to help someone in need.

You were walking down the hallway during the night as you just wanted a cup of water. As you were wandering down the hallway, you noticed some voices from someone's bedroom.

Jason's bedroom.

This made you curious as you got close to the door to hear Jason talking amongst himself as he sat on the edge of his bed.

He kept muttering stuff out of his mouth, which made you worried.

That is when you made a mistake by going inside.

"Jason...? Are you okay?"

You ask in a timid voice.

At that moment, Jason snaps his head towards you before everything starts to go blur. All you remember is him grabbing something like a pole type object before it was brought down towards your head.

And then, you woke up in your own bedroom, except you have a bandage wrapped around your head.

When you sat up, all you saw was Alfred, the family's loyal butler. No sign of your other family around, concerning about you.

Luckily, you recovered, and the wound went away after a month.

And, of course, Jason never apologized for what he did to you.

~~~~~

A few months was in, and no improvement has been made. You were always ignored. They made excuses of not wanting to spend time with you, and some of them actually hit you a few times.

All of that happened to your ten year old self.

But, did you give up on that spot? Nope.

You discovered on the internet what you can do to please your family to gain their attention. There were a lot of results, but the one that kept popping up the most was trying to reach your best achievements, which would result in them showing you more support from them.

And that's what you did.

You started to join in many after-school activities and studied all your might. It was tiring, and you almost passed out from exhaustion, but you kept going because you wanted at least your family to notice you.

The problem is that they never did.

They never congratulated you, celebrated on your accomplishment, and most of all, they didn't even give you a glance when you showed off.

All of that for nothing. Damn.

~~~~~

The breaking point wasn't because of all that. It was when someone else entered the family.

Duke Thomas.

A metahuman teenager whose parents died from the Joker Venom.

You thought that they might treat him the same way that they had treated you.

But, nothing.

Duke was showered with love, attention, and even praise.

The things that you never got when you came here.

Whenever you pass by whatever event that they're holding, you will always see them together. Being all happy, chatting, and laughing with one another.

They never do that when they're around you. Even on your birthdays. Actually, when was the last time they all celebrated your birthday?

At that moment, something inside you just snapped. Like, a loud crack echoes through your head that makes a loud ringing sound, kind of like a wake-up call.

Then, it all clicked.

They never cared about you.

They never even liked you.

The only reason why Bruce adopted you is because nobody wanted to.

~~~~~

The thoughts kept running through your head as you walked into an alleyway with a trash bag in hand.

Earlier today at school, you dropped out the clubs that you absolutely hated and pretty much just purposely laid back in your classes.

You feel empty.

When you finally reach the dumpster, you got on top of some stacked boxes because of your height and open the large lid.

You could only stare inside that had a lot of black colored trash bags. Your eyes were blank as you stared down inside.

That's when you muttered out.

"Why even bother...?"

With that, you tossed the trash bag that you were holding on into the dumpster.

After what it felt like hours, you finally got off of the boxes that you were standing on top of before you walked out of the alleyway.

As you walked away, something fell out of the trash bag that you threw out.

It was a white bat eared helmet.

The accessory that once matched with your costume.

That's right.

You were no longer Batgirl.

You never were, anyway.

•

•

•

Taglist: @somebodyrandom-613 @delias-stuff @endism @ragdol-666 @snowy-violet @sleepydhanie @missikkj @k1ttys-w0rld @box-of-kinderjoy @thetreefairypersonalblog @thelibraryofdeez @animegoddess15

(If you want to be on the taglist, let me know!)

[pikahlua]

Oh? Please, Madam

What Izuku rejects is the opportunity to be Katsuki's SIDEKICK. He doesn't reject being a hero or competing with Katsuki. He rejects working FOR/UNDER Katsuki. Which is hilarious because Katsuki accepts (apparently multiple times) showing up as a guest lecturer to help out Izuku's class. Katsuki tells Izuku that "If everyone is special, no one is special," which has the potential for SO MUCH DOUBLE MEANING. But what there is no ambiguity about to me is he's basically telling Izuku "Hey, notice this. I'm treating you special. You're special to me. NOTICE."

It's also implied that Izuku sees Katsuki more regularly than he sees most others from their class, which is emphasized by the previous chapter when Aizawa complains to him about Katsuki's behavior in public affecting his ranking. Katsuki basically tells Izuku he needs to start thinking about himself more, and he also ends their final interaction with a "See ya [later]." Katsuki is NOT talking about Ochako, but Izuku takes some of his advice as the impetus for going to talk to Ochako (specifically they just wanna talk more after the dinner since the dinner is now over and they didn't get to talk). So what was Katsuki thinking of? I personally read his "See ya later" as "You'll figure it out, just go handle what you gotta right now and you can catch up to me later."

Hilariously, Izuku calls Katsuki out for being the one to say "If you don't start thinking a little more highly of yourself, you won't notice the things you should." Izuku's response is basically, "Look who's talking." Again, the potential for double meaning here is painfully obvious. He could be referring to SO MANY THINGS and we're meant to infer what that is. WE GET TO GUESS. Izuku could be saying "You did stuff just as bad as what you're saying," or "You're STILL not noticing something, Kacchan."

And Izuku taking inspiration from Katsuki's words to go talk to Ochako is meaningful in another way--IT MEANS IZUKU LISTENED TO HIM. Katsuki is having an influence on Izuku in a way to improve who he is just like Izuku did for him in high school. Izuku takes Katsuki's advice seriously. NO ONE HAS EVER GOTTEN HIM TO UNDERSTAND THIS LESSON BEFORE NOW. It ends with Izuku and Ochako deciding to talk more, but what it shows us is the beginning of Izuku considering himself more. If Izuku follows Katsuki's advice long enough, he'll end up back in the competition with Katsuki just like Katsuki expects him to. That is just as easy of a conclusion to make from the theme of "inevitability" that Shouto gives us (and that Izuku also takes to heart).

This ending implies that inevitably Izuku's gonna catch up again, basically. Things will continue to change. So yeah, we get a beginning where he and Ochako meet up to talk, but it's just a beginning. It's one night of chatting. They're seeing if something's there now (which kind of implies that there wasn't much there before), but it's left open-ended. And I think it's left open-ended what happens with Ochako on purpose because anyone can read how that ends up however they like. You just have to decide as a reader what's "inevitable" for Izuku Midoriya from this point on. Me? I've decided Izuku is taking Katsuki's advice to treat people who mean more to him better. Ochako is just the beginning. Izuku has other people in his life he needs to show love to as well (because that's what this is, Izuku is learning to show people that they're important to him, that he loves them, because saving people doesn't do that--he saves EVERYONE). And then maybe he'll start to see how the people who love him treat him special too, like guest SPECIAL (same kanji) LECTURER KATSUKI BAKUGOU.

tl;dr there is a lot left open to interpretation and it's probably on purpose, read the chapter however you like, just like we did with the last chapter.

...and my interpretation which is the correct one is that Katsuki tells Izuku, "Here let me show you how to love people, damnit!" to give him the character development everyone has been begging for him to have for years, to realize that saving people doesn't mean they're special to him if he's known for saving everyone ever, so like, maybe go show them you care in OTHER ways, Izuku, and also I'll be waiting right here for you to come show you love me you jackass (and he does, he does come show him that)

[ellieputellas]

the bird | a.putellas x reader

You’re a model student at a religious boarding school, expected to uphold tradition, and never question the path laid out for you. But when Alexia Putellas moves to your boarding school for reasons unknown, you struggle to reconcile your religious devotion with the new, unfamiliar feelings you have for Alexia.

tags: troublestudent!Alexia, modelstudent!reader, angst, fluff, religious guilt, religious trauma, forbidden love, friends-to-lovers, slight slow burn, tension, school setting, eventual smut in preceding parts (will tag those parts) warnings / notes: will contain homophobic sentiments from other characters, religious themes that may be sensitive to some people (including questioning religious beliefs), alexia and reader are both around 19 years old

partially inspired by this request and also beyond salvage by @angelsforthenight (and my own religious experience lol)

‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤchapter one 🕊 other chapters

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤPROLOGUE.  The Bird.

“We have high expectations of you,” Sister Superior Philomena said, her voice measured and steady as she adjusted her glasses. She looked up briefly from the papers she was meticulously arranging. “And time and time again, you have not only met but surpassed those expectations.”

“Yes, sister,” you replied softly, your tone respectful and subdued. The nun offered a small, approving smile before neatly assembling a set of documents. You stood attentively, your posture impeccable—back straight, shoulders poised with quiet confidence. 

Having been a student at Instituto Santa Eulalia Mártir since you were 8 years old, you had long since absorbed the institution's unspoken code of conduct. The perfect student carried themselves with pride but never arrogance. They spoke with clarity and conviction, yet knew the value of restraint. They displayed individuality and a strong sense of self but never had an overpowering, flamboyant personality. In just over a decade, you have become the embodiment of these ideals—a model student who was silent but not shy, strong but humble to a fault. You were practically a nun-in-the-making, as your peers have joked.

“These are the profiles of the new arrivals,” Sister Philomena said, sliding a slim file across the desk with deliberate care. “Five freshmen, a few sophomores, and one senior.”

You paused, eyebrows lifting slightly. “A senior?”

She inclined her head in confirmation. “Alexia Putellas Segura,” she said, tapping the topmost profile with her pen. “We rarely admit students at such a late stage, but this is an exception. She has transferred from one of our sister academies.”

Your gaze dropped to the profile. The photograph was of a brunette girl with striking features and soft hazel eyes, her expression neutral, almost guarded. As you scanned the page, nothing immediately stood out to you. “Sister, if I may ask—why has she transferred?”

Sister Philomena sighed, her hands folding neatly over the desk. “The reason, I’m afraid, is all too familiar. A troubled soul.” Her voice softened with a trace of pity. “As she is in your year, I have decided she will share a dormitory with you. I entrust you with the responsibility of guiding her, molding her into a student who reflects the values of this institution. Can I count on you for this?”

You nodded solemnly. “Yes, Sister.”

Your gaze returned to the photograph attached to the profile. You traced your fingers over the typed name – Alexia Putellas Segura.

You looked through her profile which had not much information about the girl aside from her age, address, and other basic data. Her grades seemed good and she seemed to be active in her extracurriculars. So, why is she here? What trouble did she get into?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤACT I. The Arrow.

Alexia Putellas was more beautiful and captivating than you expected.

She stood taller than most of your peers which was made more intimidating since it was paired with some kind of silent confidence – tall, composed, self-assured. She was quiet but not shy. There was nothing hesitant about her; she was reserved but not shy. Her eyes, sharp and attentive, seemed to notice everything.  And those eyes… you just could not get over how beautiful they were. A stunningly warm hazel with golden specks.

It would be an understatement to say that you were completely captivated by the sight of her.

“Okay, girls, let’s introduce ourselves by saying our names, nicknames, and favorite things to do in your free time.” The overenthusiastic novice Sister Catherine chirped in the new student orientation where you were present together with a couple of other seniors. “Let’s start with our current students!” Sister Catherine nodded at you. You smiled, trying to make eye contact with every new student but your eyes just kept drifting  back to Alexia whose gaze felt too intense for your liking. You kept your hands clasped behind your back. “Good afternoon, new students.” You said before introducing your name. “I’m a senior. I serve as praepostor of the Dorm de Santa Rosa on the first level of this building. In my free time, I enjoy reading the Bible, embroidery, and volunteering in the library.”

Your words were met with polite nods, but as your gaze briefly flicked to Alexia, you noticed a faint smile curve her lips before she glanced down at her shoes. There was an entertained look in her eyes. You bit your lip, feeling suddenly conscious which you never felt before. 

The introductions continued, but your attention was frustratingly divided. You could barely focus, your mind circling back to Alexia. The way she carried herself, the unreadable expressions on her face, even the firm, athletic build she possessed—it was all distracting in a way you didn’t know how to name.

When it was finally her turn, her voice was calm, low, and self-assured. “I’m Alexia Putellas. Senior,” she said, her gaze locking onto yours with unnerving directness. Something about the intensity of her eyes sent a shiver through you. “I, uh… like football.”

You nodded politely, managing a small smile. Football. That explained her build, her quiet confidence… the biceps that showed whenever she crossed her arms. But as your thoughts began to drift into admiration—or something more troubling—you caught yourself. I don’t think I should be looking at her like this. But… she’s just another girl. And I’m a girl too. Is it wrong to notice her this much?

Your internal scolding fizzled the moment she smiled at you again. It wasn’t much, just a fleeting expression, but it left you warm and inexplicably flustered. Whatever it was you were feeling, it unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

The other praepostors of the dorms had come to a unanimous decision: a pajama party would be the perfect way to introduce the new girls to life at Santa Eulalia. The event was meant to be lighthearted, a blend of camaraderie and tradition, designed to ease the newcomers into their new environment while showcasing the values of the institution.

You took the task of preparation seriously. Each welcome basket was carefully assembled with thought and precision, a reflection of the standards you upheld as a praepostor. Inside each basket, you included a neatly folded school shirt embroidered with the Instituto’s emblem, a new rosary with polished beads, a selection of prayer cards featuring saints and scripture verses, and a modest set of toiletries—simple but elegant. You even tied each basket with a satin ribbon in the school colors, a final touch of warmth and care.

The other dorm heads welcomed their respective new students, handing them their baskets and chatting enthusiastically. While you might have been the nun’s favorite student, you didn’t find it easy to relate and interact with fellow students. They all felt you were too cold, too uptight and rigid, even if you didn’t intend to. This just made it difficult for you to seem warm and open to the new student Alexia. 

Usually, you could draw energy from the excitement of a group of new students but now, it was just you and Alexia. And, Alexia was more quiet than you expected. It wasn’t exactly easy to bounce your energy off of someone as guarded and calculated as you were.

You led her to the farthest room at the end of the hallway, where the two of you would be sharing the space. The room was meant to house four students, but over the past year, many had transferred to more secular academies, leaving several beds vacant. Alexia set her bag down with a deliberate air, and you handed her the welcome basket, trying to gauge her reaction.

She sat on the edge of the bed and began sifting through the contents with slow, deliberate movements. Her expression was unreadable as she picked up the prayer cards, flipping through them one by one. You noticed the faintest curve of her lips as she did so—a smile, but one you couldn’t quite decipher. Was she genuinely touched by the gesture? Or was it amusement at the pious simplicity of it all?

“Thanks,” she said at last, her voice low and restrained, yet not unkind.

You nodded, hesitating for a moment before sitting on the edge of your pristinely made bed across from hers “You’re welcome, Alexia.” You replied, carefully. Then, after a brief pause, you ventured.  “So… you like football?”

She glanced up at you then, her hazel eyes momentarily meeting yours before she returned her attention to the basket. Something about the way she looked at you unsettled you, not in a bad way, but in a way that made you feel hyper aware of yourself. Alexia hummed. “Yeah, I do. I used to play as a midfielder in my old academy.”

You nodded, unsure of how to continue the conversation, knowing fully well it was off limits to ask “trouble students” why they ended up in the Institute. Alexia smiled, noticing your hesitation and. “And you? You like football?”

You nodded quickly. “If watching the girls play during sports week counts.”

She chuckled, a warm sound that made you relax slightly. “Of course, it counts.”

Silence followed, and you felt an awkward pressure to keep the conversation going. You’d already shared everything important on the walk to the dorm—school history, the names of the sisters she would encounter, and a rundown of the cafeteria food. What else was there to say? Ask her about her favorite Bible verse? That seemed…awkward.

“So, Alexia,” you said finally, grasping for a neutral topic, “do you like to read?”

 She tilted her head thoughtfully. “I do, but probably not the same things you read.” “How do you know what I read?” You immediately worried it sounded defensive, so you glanced down, hoping it didn’t come across as rude.

She smiled, noticing your reaction. “Hmm, you mentioned you liked reading the Bible just a while ago so I assumed you mostly read that.”

“Oh,” You said softly. “Yes, I do…of course.”

Alexia’s smile lingered, but her gaze grew a touch more curious. “Are you, like, the president of our year level?”

You shook your head, grateful for the change in topic. “Oh no, there aren’t any presidents here. Just dormheads like me. We take care of dorm activities and…” You hesitated. “Yeah.. mostly that.”

Her lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. “And watch over troublemakers like me?”

You felt your cheeks warm. “Well, not exactly. We just remind everyone of the virtues we uphold in this academy.”

Her smile turned into a soft chuckle. “Don’t worry, monjita,” she said, her voice dropping into a playful tone as her lips curved into the faintest smirk. “I wouldn’t dare ruffle your feathers.” (trans. monjita – little nun)

You weren’t particularly close to other students. They always found you too uptight, too rigid, a perception that left you feeling isolated despite your good intentions. However, Ingrid was one of the few exceptions—a rare friend with whom you could talk easily. She was a year younger than you, yet she carried herself with a confidence and ease that often surpassed your own.

Having transferred from a sister school in Norway, Ingrid had quickly adapted to life at Santa Eulalia despite her initial struggles with Spanish and Catalan. Her cheerful demeanor and genuine kindness had endeared her to both students and staff, earning her the role of dorm head almost immediately after her arrival.

“Darling, have you tasted the cookies I baked with Maria?” Ingrid’s voice was as warm as the smile she wore, and she presented you with a basket of sugar cookies. “They’re actually decent, considering we had no idea what we were doing. Sister Cathy had to step in and save us.”

You winced slightly at the use of the nickname for the junior nun, knowing the more senior nuns would never approve of shortening their chosen names—it was far too casual for their liking. But you let it slide, worried that if you corrected her, you might come across as overly strict and risk alienating your one true friend.

“Ingrid, you should meet Alexia.” You said, stepping aside as you introduced the new student who was trailing behind you. Alexia politely smiled at the taller Norwegian, before offering her hand. 

Ingrid’s expression immediately brightened as she extended her hand. “Alexia! You must be the girl from our other sister school. I came from a sister school as well… but from Norway.” She beamed warmly. “You’re lucky to be sharing the same room as the best dorm head this school has to offer.”

Your cheeks warmed at Ingrid’s exaggerated praise, and you offered her a shy, almost embarrassed smile.

Alexia smiled at Ingrid before carefully looking at you. “Seems like it.”

Something about the way Alexia looked at you made you feel exposed, and you quickly tried to shake off the awkwardness her gaze stirred in you. “Uh, Ingrid,” you began, trying to redirect the conversation. “Alexia plays football, too.”

Ingrid’s eyes lit up. “Does she? That’s fantastic! What position?”

You stepped back slightly, letting the two of them ease into the conversation. Alexia answered Ingrid’s questions with quiet confidence, and though her initial replies were short, you could see her slowly starting to open up. As you observed, you began to notice nuances about Alexia that hadn’t been apparent before.

She wasn’t just reserved—she was thoughtful, deliberate in the way she spoke and carried herself. When Ingrid asked a question, Alexia listened intently before replying, her answers polite and measured. Despite her firm demeanor, there was a gentleness in the way she engaged with Ingrid, an unspoken respect that made the interaction feel natural and unforced.

Watching them talk, you realized that Alexia wasn’t difficult to connect with because she was closed off, but because she paid attention—careful, almost wary attention—to the people around her. You couldn’t help but wonder how you exactly felt about being subject to her perception. What does she think when she looks at me?

The pajama party started getting rowdy as the night passed and the nuns retired to their quarters

And by rowdy, that just meant as rowdy as a Catholic, all-girls school sleepover could be. That just meant a bunch of girls laughing, eating sweets, and giggling over magazines or board games. Somewhere amidst the muted chatter, Ingrid, Alexia and you were somehow roped into a circle with the new students.

You noticed that most of the old students sitting with you in a circle were also the ones who transferred due to being “trouble students.” You, on the other hand, were the complete opposite; you were always made to be the example for the troubled students. It made you feel out of place, unsure of what stories you could share that wouldn’t sound out of step.

Anna, a sophomore with braces and a nervous smile, shifted in her seat before speaking. “My mom was done with me after I got caught skipping class to hang out at the arcade. I just… I didn’t want to say no to my friend, you know? But I guess it didn’t matter because we’re not even friends anymore now that I’m here.” Her words slowed as she reached the end, a flicker of sadness crossing her face. But then she perked up slightly, like she was willing herself to be optimistic. “Still, I don’t mind too much. It’s kinda nice, being away and meeting new people.”

The group cooed and broke into a silent chorus of murmured affirmation. As the circle’s de facto senior—and someone the younger students clearly looked up to—you felt compelled to step in.

“Anna,” You chimed in respectfully, your tone firm yet kind.“Just remember that the people you surround yourself with can really shape who you are.” You paused to let the words settle. You weren’t the most social person but you did give good advice. “Just remember Proverbs 13:30 – ‘walk with the wise and become wise, for a companion of fools suffers harms.’”

The group collectively nodded. You continued. “The right friends will lift you up and the wrong ones will pull you down. I know it’s tough starting fresh, but you’re in the right place to find people who will bring out the best in you.” You smiled at Anna whose eyes had softened.

Anna’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the circle felt lighter. The tension had dissipated, and even Ingrid offered a small, approving smile. But as you glanced at Alexia, you caught something else entirely — a faint, knowing smirk.

It was the kind of look that made you second-guess yourself, that made your pulse quicken in a way you couldn’t quite explain. Was she amused? Impressed? Mocking you? Her expressions always left you grasping for answers, and the more you tried to ignore them, the harder it became.

Before you could unravel it, Anna turned to Alexia, her curiosity unguarded. “So, Alexia… why are you here?” The question hung in the air. Alexia’s smirk faded, replaced by a flicker of hesitation.

You jumped in before she could respond. “Anna,” you said, careful to keep your tone even, “the sisters discourage us from asking about someone’s past unless they choose to share it. Alexia’s reasons are her own.”

Anna blinked, realizing her mistake. “Oh… I’m sorry,” she murmured.

You nodded, offering her a reassuring smile. “What’s more important is how we grow and learn from the past, and not fixate on the mistakes themselves.”

The circle seemed to accept this, returning to their quiet hum of chatter. Yet, deep down, you felt a pang of regret. You wanted to know why Alexia was here, too. It was the right thing to do, you told yourself—the sisters had made that clear. Still, the question lingered in your mind, refusing to be silenced.

What had brought her here? And why did it feel like the answer mattered more to you than it should?

As the chatter and laughter continued in the background, you found yourself retreating to the corner of the common room, more concerned with tidying up the scattered plates and cups than joining the conversation. Besides, as soon as the chatter turned into crushes and past boyfriends, you knew your presence was neither wanted nor important to the group. Growing up in the institute, relationships were foreign to you, a concept you understood but never experienced. Even if you were around the age other people got boyfriends or even crushes, you never really had anything remotely close to a relationship. 

Even in the rare interactions with boys from the brother academy, no one had ever sparked that fluttering, heart-racing feeling you’d seen in movies or heard about in whispered gossip. It wasn’t for a lack of trying from the boys’ end. A lot of boys liked you; you’ve always caught the eyes of several peers from the brother academy. However, you were convinced that that was just because you were their mother’s dream daughter-in-law and they’ve hyped you up to their sons. Regardless of all the interest and attempts, no one piqued your interest. No one has even close to making you blush.

Suddenly, you felt a hand on the small of your back. The sensation sent a jolt through your body. “Not interested in girl talk, I see?”

The voice was low, smooth. You turned, and Alexia stood closer than expected. Her hazel eyes locked onto yours, her expression unreadable yet undeniably captivating. You froze for a moment, caught off guard by the nearness of her and the intensity of her gaze.

“Oh—Alexia,” you stammered, fumbling with a stack of plastic cups in your hands. “I didn’t see you there.”

Her lips quirked into a small smile. “You were pretty focused. What are you up to?”

“Just cleaning up,” you replied quickly, avoiding her eyes. “I can’t stand a mess, and I know everyone will be too tired to deal with it later.”

Alexia hummed thoughtfully. “Mind if I help?”

“Oh, no, it’s fine.” You shook your head, feeling your cheeks warm under her steady gaze. “I’m sure the others would appreciate your company more. Talking about crushes has to be more interesting than… this.”

She chuckled softly, her voice like a low ripple of amusement. “Honestly, cleaning up sounds better than hearing another story about some guy from one of the brother schools. It’s all the same anyway.”

You smiled. “Well, we make sure to recycle here. Same rules in our room apply here, which I already told you about.” You nodded. “But if you need assistance, just let me know.”

“Responsible and hands-on,” Alexia observed, picking up a pile of paper plates. Her tone was casual, but her eyes lingered on you, as if she were studying you. “No lucky guy’s noticed that about you yet?”

You sighed. “I’m not interested in relationships.” Your voice was quieter than intended.

“Ah, I see.” Alexia’s smirk turned playful. “So, you’re planning to actually become a nun, Monjita?” She leaned closer, her teasing tone wrapping around the pet name. “I bet you’d look cute in those headscarves, robes, and cross necklaces.”

Suddenly, you were getting flustered, blushing, and out of words. You opened your mouth to correct her — that they were called habits, not headscarves — but nothing coherent came out. You were way too flustered. Alexia’s smirk widened, clearly pleased by your reaction. 

She chuckled. “So, you’ve really never had a crush?”

You paused then shook your head, barely meeting her eyes. “No, I don’t think so.” You peeked a look at the taller girl, seeing her put all the paper plates in the bin. “Probably wouldn’t like the feeling of having a crush, honestly.”

She arched an eyebrow, her gaze still fixed on you. “Interesting.” She continued stacking plates as if the conversation were the most natural thing in the world. “But if you’ve never had a crush, how would you even know what it feels like?”

The question lingered, heavier than you expected. You glanced at her, unsure of how to answer. “I don’t know, blushing and flustered whenever they look at you… intimidated and nervous around them? It just doesn’t seem appealing to me.” you admitted. “Maybe I just… haven’t met the right person.”

Alexia’s lips curved into a knowing smile, her eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe,” she said simply. “Or maybe you’re just not looking.”

Her words settled in the air between you. You gazed again at Alexia whose expression was unreadable. Before you could muster a response, she reached for the cups in your hands, her fingers brushing yours briefly. 

“But enough about that,” she said lightly, breaking the tension. “I’m more interested in recycling than rehashing crushes.”

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and nodded. Together, the two of you worked in silence, the background noise fading as the common room gradually emptied.

When the last of the mess was cleared and the others had gone to bed, you found yourself sitting beside Alexia on the worn-out couch. The quiet felt comfortable, though charged with something you couldn’t quite name.

After a moment, Alexia turned her head to look at you. “So…” She began, her voice softer now. “You didn’t answer my question earlier.”

You frowned, trying to recall. “What question?”

Her smirk returned, subtle and teasing. “Do you want to be a nun?”

You paused, deep in contemplation. You looked around, checking if anyone was within earshot. You hummed. “I used to,” You paused, fiddling with your thumbs. “But now… I don’t know. I’ve always loved God. I love the Church. I have always devoted my life to it…”

Alexia leaned forward, her gaze unwavering. “But…” Alexia asked gently, her tone coaxing yet patient.

You didn’t know why you felt so comfortable with someone you just met but it all felt so natural with Alexia. You’ve always been so guarded with other people, especially when it comes to your faith. But something about her… you just felt at peace. You couldn’t help but open up.

“I feel like there’s something missing in my life.” You said under your breath. “I pray to God, ask Him to tell me what’s missing in my life or why I haven’t felt fulfilled despite devoting and pouring my all to the Church…” 

You trailed off, your voice faltering under the weight of your own vulnerability. When you dared to glance at her, you were met with a concerned expression that made your heart tighten.

“Alexia, I know it’s wrong to feel this way,” you said quickly as if trying to justify yourself. “I know I shouldn’t expect anything in return for my devotion, but sometimes — sometimes I just feel incomplete.”

The silence that followed was deafening, each second stretching longer than the last. You regretted speaking, regretted opening up. Maybe you had said too much. Maybe Alexia would think you were ungrateful, or worse, weak in your faith.

But then she spoke, her voice steady and kind. “Monjita,” she said softly, using the nickname again, but this time without the teasing edge. “You don’t have to defend yourself. I get it.”

Your eyes snapped to hers, and you were struck by the warmth in her gaze. In the dim light of the room, her hazel eyes seemed to glow, and the intensity of her soft expression sent a ripple of heat through you.

You bit your lip, trying to steady yourself. “You do?” you whispered, almost afraid to believe her.

She nodded, her lips curling into a faint, reassuring smile. “Sometimes… even when you give everything to something, it still doesn’t feel like enough. It doesn’t mean you’re doing anything wrong. It just means you’re human.”

Her words settled over you like a blanket, comforting but unfamiliar. You weren’t used to being seen like this, to someone understanding parts of you you hadn’t fully understood yourself.

The way Alexia looked at you then — steady, unblinking, as if you were the only thing that mattered in the room — made your breath hitch. Her gaze was different now, more intense, and it sent a rush of warmth through your chest.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your face was heating up. You tore your eyes away, focusing on the floor to compose yourself, but when you glanced back at her, she was still watching you with that same expression… but somehow, more intense. You swore that, for a moment, her eyes fluttered to her lips.

Your heart raced, and suddenly, you felt flustered all over again, the warmth in her gaze threatening to undo you completely. Uh oh.

As the weeks passed, you and Alexia found yourselves spending more and more time together — breakfasts, walking to class, hanging out between lectures, and even doing homework side by side. Alexia had a habit of accompanying you to the chapel during your daily rosary. She never prayed aloud, but she’d sit quietly beside you, her presence steady and unwavering.

Even if you spent so much time together, you still felt uneasy around Alexia. It wasn’t discomfort with Alexia herself, but with how she made you feel. You didn’t know what to make with the intensity of her gaze or the way she smiled at you. Mostly, you didn’t know what to make of the way she made you feel – heart racing, palms clammy, feeling overwhelmed by her presence. 

You loved being around Alexia. She was kind and attentive in ways you’d never experienced before. She noticed the little things: how you tried to be modest with your breakfast portions and would slyly slide extra pancakes onto your plate when you finished. She’d reach for the high shelves in the library without you even asking, or patiently guide you through Spanish essays, her explanations both thorough and encouraging. You truly loved being with her.

But at the same time, you began to think that perhaps some distance would help. You needed clarity—time to pray, reflect, and ask God for guidance about the novel emotions that had taken root within you.

Luckily, Ingrid came in the clutch and invited Alexia to train with the school’s football team just to see how she would like it. Of course, Alexia agreed under the condition that you would watch her during her first time.

You acquiesced. This was supposed to be our time apart, you thought. But the idea of supporting Alexia made your resolve falter. After all, she had sat through countless rosary sessions just to be near you. Watching her play for a little while wouldn’t hurt, right? What could possibly go wrong?

But you were wrong.

Seeing Alexia on the field was something else entirely. The way she moved, so fluid and confident, was mesmerizing. The ball seemed like an extension of her, every pass, every run executed with effortless grace. Your cheeks warmed, even in the brisk wind, and your heart pounded despite sitting still on the cool grass. The feelings stirring within you didn’t just linger; they intensified.

Things got worse on your walk to the showers. Alexia was still radiating the heat of the match, her hair damp and her skin glowing from exertion. She walked close — too close — and the warmth of her presence made your head spin. You tried to create space, stepping slightly farther away, but Alexia noticed.

Alexia chuckled softly before linking her arms with yours, forcing you to be closer to her. “Why are you so far, monjita? Do I smell?” She teased.

No, you smell too good, actually…

“N-nothing,” You stumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

It was becoming apparent to Alexia just how flustered you got around her. She didn’t want to scare you off but she also found it so cute how you reacted and just how clueless you seemed to be about your own emotions.

It was just so endearing to her. She already thought you were beautiful from the moment she met you but it wasn’t just your appearance. It was your quiet kindness, your humility, and the way you so easily became flustered in her presence. It was utterly charming. And, to her surprise, she was beginning to develop a huge crush on you.

Of course, given the circumstances, she wasn’t entirely sure how to navigate those feelings. So, she figured the best approach was to tease you just enough to see if you’d slip up first. Which is why, as soon as the two of you entered the shower room, she decided to remove her shirt without a second thought.

Your eyes widened at the sight of your roommate’s uncovered torso. You quickly spun around, quietly gasping. Alexia smirked. “Alexia,” You croaked out, unable to keep the nervousness from your voice.

Alexia chuckled as she smirked. “What? You act like you’ve just seen a ghost…”

You stammered, your voice coming out in an embarrassed truth. “Uh, Alexia, you shouldn’t be removing your clothes in front of people like that.”

Alexia smiled, clearly enjoying the fact that you were flustered. “Monjita, I don’t see anything in the Bible that says anything bad about sports bras.” She teased with a light tone. “Though, didn’t Jesus say something about plucking out your eyes if you feel tempted?”

You drew in a shaky breath, desperately trying to compose yourself. “I… I just think it’s better if we keep a little more modesty,” you muttered, still not daring to turn around. You and Alexia often changed in your showers after bathing so this was the first time that you were seeing her so exposed.

Alexia took a step closer, and you could feel her presence behind you, the heat radiating from her still-warm skin. “If I’m making you uncomfortable, all you have to do is say so,” she said, her voice low and playful.

“It’s not that, I just—” you started but trailed off, heart hammering in your chest. Before you could finish, Alexia laughed softly and stepped into her shower stall, leaving you standing there, unsure whether you were relieved or even more nervous.

As the sound of water began to fill the room, she called out casually, “So… how’d I do out there? Be honest.”

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on her words rather than the strange, jittery feeling in your chest. “You did great,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. You cleared your throat to sound less meek.  “You had such great control of the ball. I haven’t seen anyone play that good since Ingrid and Maria.”

She hummed, pleased with your response. “Gracias, monjita. That means a lot coming from you.” She said, her voice echoing.

Your light conversation soon fell silent as Alexia cleaned herself. You awkwardly lingered by the sinks, unable to get over the overwhelming awareness of her just a few feet away. Even if you two had showered at the same time, there were usually a bunch of other girls too. Now, it was silent – just you, Alexia, the sound of rippling water and the loudness of your thoughts. No chitter-chatter to distract you from the thought of Alexia…

You jumped as Alexia’s voice cut through the sound of water. “Uh..I forgot my towel outside,” she called out. “Mind handing it to me?”

You hesitated for a moment, silently willing your pulse to slow down. “Uh, sure,” you finally replied, moving to grab the towel.

When you turned to hand it to her, you kept your gaze averted. Her fingers brushed yours as she took the towel, and you swore your heart skipped a beat.

“Thank you,” Alexia said softly, her voice carrying an almost imperceptible edge of playfulness.

You nodded stiffly, retreating to your side of the room. Your mind was a blur of confusion, and for a brief moment, you thought about praying. But the truth was, you weren’t even sure what you were praying for anymore — clarity, calmness, or for these strange feelings to go away. One thing was certain, though: Alexia quickly became the center of your thoughts, no matter how hard you tried to focus elsewhere.

Even if Alexia loved your presence and loved your companionship, the experience at the boarding school was sometimes too much for her to handle. 

When she first moved in with her grandparents, she never anticipated that her stay would eventually lead to being sent to a boarding school after an unpleasant experience. The thought of living away from her friends, her home, and access to decent football training had been unbearable at first. But then, she met you—a sweet, devout girl whose head seemed so deeply buried in the Bible that you didn’t even realize you were still in the closet.

Despite loving your presence, Alexia still felt like the school could be too much at times – the lackluster football program, the seemingly endless Bible lessons, the preachy talks, the relentless schedule, and the constant pressure to be a proper Catholic girl all the time. It was a big shift from being in a more liberal school. 

In addition to all that, she just couldn’t reconcile the growing feelings she had for you with the way the nuns always seemed to lecture against those very feelings. It got too much.

So, when the weight of it all bore down on her, Alexia would sneak out in the dead of night while you were fast asleep. Wandering aimlessly around the campus grounds, she often ended up at the prayer garden nestled in the small forest near the school.

The quiet solace of the garden, with its canopy of stars and the hum of nature, offered her a much-needed escape from the pious expectations of her daily life. It was the one place where she could breathe without feeling judged, without having to be so guarded.

After a few successful midnight escapes, Alexia had grown more confident in her routine. Perhaps a little too confident. As she carefully climbed out of the window one night, the sound of her movements stirred you from your sleep.

“Alexia?” you murmured groggily, blinking at the shadowy figure moving by the window. You rubbed the sleepiness from your eyes as you saw your roommate with a cardigan thrown over her pajamas, practically half out of the window. “W-what are you doing?”

Alexia froze for a moment before turning to face you. “Monjita… hey,” she said softly, using the nickname that had inexplicably grown on you. “I was just going to the prayer garden…to destress.”

Rubbing your eyes, you sat up, still half-asleep. “The nuns will catch you,” you muttered, voice laced with drowsy concern. A yawn escaped her mouth. “They might punish you if they catch you.”

Alexia hesitated for a moment before offering you a small smile. “Maybe,” she admitted, “but I’m going anyway. And… if you’re worried, you could come with me.”

You blinked at her in confusion. “What?”

“Come with me,” she said, her hazel eyes sparkling “You’re in better standing with the nuns. If we get caught, they’ll go easier on us if you’re there. Besides, I could use the company.”

You bit your lip, torn between your better judgment and the strange pull of Alexia’s request. Alexia hummed before proceeding to step both feet out of the window, baiting you. After a moment of internal debate, you sighed and climbed out of bed. “Fine. But we need to be back before anyone notices, okay?”

Alexia’s grin was radiant as she reached for your hand. “Of course, monjita.” she whispered. “Now, come on.”

Your heart was beating so fast as you slipped out the window and into the dark of the night. If anyone heard your heart now, they would have thought you were robbing a bank by the way it thumped and thrashed in your chest. On the other hand, Alexia moved with confidence and no worries.

“Alexia, aren’t you afraid of night creatures… owls… foxes?” You asked as you and the other girl weaved your way through trees to make it to the prayer garden.

Alexia, who was leading the way, turned her head and flashed you a smile. “All God’s creations, right?” She teased. “Don’t worry, we’re not too far away, angel.”

That was another nickname Alexia liked to call you, which always got you flustered as well. Even now that you were fearing for your safety, you still felt your cheeks warm.

It wasn’t long before you both found yourself in the prayer garden, seated on makeshift benches crafted from large slabs of rocks. You always loved the prayer garden but at night, it transformed into something almost magical. The stars scattered across the sky like shimmering jewels, and the moon bathed everything below in its soft, silver glow.

As you gazed at Alexia, you couldn’t help but feel a little breathless. Under the moonlight, she looked ethereal—her skin glowing like porcelain, her dark eyes shadowed yet undeniably captivating. You quickly turned your gaze upward, trying to ground yourself.

“I come here at night when I feel overwhelmed,” Alexia said, her voice breaking the stillness. Her tone was unusually soft, vulnerable. Despite knowing Alexia for a while, she rarely talked too much about her emotions. She was rarely so open like this, which just made this experience more special. 

“I just need to sit in silence,” she continued, her eyes fixed on the stars. “To look at the sky, the moon, hear the trees rustling. It’s… healing.”

You nodded silently, sensing there was more she wanted to say.

She sighed deeply, her words weighed down by emotion. “When I feel like the guilt is too much... like it’s drowning me, I come here. And for a moment, I can breathe again.”

The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. You looked up at the sky, your shoulder brushing lightly against hers. Normally, being so close to Alexia made you nervous, but tonight, in this shared stillness, you felt oddly at peace. The heart that was previously violently thrashing in your chest was now a consistent, steady beat.

After a moment of silence – just gazing at the stars and listening to the rustle of the trees, you broke the silence. “Can you believe our Creator? He made all of this — so vast, so beautiful. The stars, the trees, the world… it’s like proof of His greatness.” You gushed, feeling yourself grow appreciative of the world around you. You figured sneaking out was just a way for you to appreciate God’s creation in a different light.

Unbeknownst to you, Alexia wasn’t sharing the same train of thought. She sat quietly beside you, her gaze distant as she absorbed your words. After a moment, she spoke, her voice soft yet tinged with sadness. “Yes… but who created all the pain?”

Her question caught you off guard, and you turned to look at her, unsure how to respond. “What do you mean?”

Alexia met your gaze, her eyes glimmering with an unspoken ache. “If there’s a creator who made all this beauty, then who made all the suffering?”

The weight of her words settled heavily between you. You hesitated, your mind racing for an answer. “Maybe… maybe it’s not Him,” you said cautiously. “Maybe it’s humans, not him."

Alexia’s eyes didn’t leave yours, her expression unreadable. “Then why doesn’t he stop it?”

You faltered, unsure how to respond. You looked down, feeling the gravity of her question but unable to offer a clear answer. “Maybe… maybe it’s because we have free will. We have to face the consequences of what we do."

Her voice dropped to almost a whisper, the next words barely audible. “But… what if the way I was born is a sin? Does that mean I’m damned from the start?” she whispered. "What can I do then?"

Your heart stuttered, her words hitting you like a sudden blow. You didn’t fully understand what she meant, but you could feel the weight of her confession. It meant something to her — something big, something raw.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. What did she mean? You searched her expression for clarity, for reassurance, but found only a vulnerability that left you speechless.

The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating. It wasn’t the first time that someone came to you with religious doubts and apprehensions. Typically, you handled it well but now, all you could do was keep your eyes glued on to Alexia’s hazel eyes. 

She smiled weakly, her eyes glazed a bit, before looking up again at the stars. You paused, taking her presence in before mimicking her and looking up at the stars again. 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ACT II. First All at Once, Then All Together.

After that night with Alexia at the prayer garden, you’ve grown more and more comfortable with her, spending practically every single waking moment with the girl. You became even more inseparable.

Sneaking out at night became a ritual, talking about everything and nothing. Sometimes, you’d open up about your religious upbringing. Sometimes, Alexia would share about her life outside the boarding school – telling you about all the shenanigans she got into. Other times, Alexia would be telling you about football rules and gameplay. (She practically spent an entire night explaining to you what offside was and you still were confused, unable to visualize it even after she explained using rocks and twigs.) 

These days, you laughed a lot, more than you ever had in all your years combined inside the institute. It felt so freeing being with Alexia, opening up and just getting to laugh boisterously without being scolded. 

Alexia loved seeing this side of you, growing more and more comfortable with her. She loved making you laugh, loved the way you made her laugh. But it wasn’t just the lighthearted moments she treasured—it was the quiet, vulnerable ones, too. Sometimes, she wanted to tell you everything about how she ended up at the school, but she always hesitated. A part of her wasn’t ready, unsure of how you’d react.

The downside of spending so much time with Alexia was that you were starting to fall behind on your dorm head duties. You managed the basics—leading morning prayers, fairly assigning chores, and organizing Bible study sessions every couple of weeks—but some responsibilities slipped through the cracks.

It wasn’t a big deal until you forgot to monitor the weather, failing to inform the nuns of an incoming storm. So, when a storm hit and the dorm lost power, all the batteries in the lamps and the flashlights had corroded and you were all forced to use candles. 

Alexia, as always, was quick to help. She volunteered to search the storage closets for any working battery-powered lamps. While you rummaged under your bed for spare supplies, Alexia explored the rest of the room.

“Hmm…” Alexia hummed, cutting through the silence as you searched for the lights in your room which you were sure you stored under the bed. You turned around and could barely make out her figure in the dark. 

“What is it?” You asked, still rummaging through the box under your bed. 

“Jewelry and birds?” she said, her tone curious.

Confused, you turned to find Alexia sitting on the floor, flipping through your old sketchbook. Your eyes widened in horror. “Wait – Alexia!” You yelped.

Back when you were a freshman, an alumni visited the school to share her life as a jewelry designer. After which, for a year, you were convinced that jewelry designing was your passion, making several sketches of rings, necklaces, and other pieces. After filling an entire sketchbook of drawings, you figured that it was a ridiculous dream to have and quit your jewelry-making aspirations

The obsession with drawing birds… well, there wasn’t an explanation for that. You just liked birds somehow.

You tried to snatch the sketchbook from Alexia who held it away from you, a teasing grin on her face. “Relax, angel,” she said, thumbing through the pages. “You’re really talented. Did you design all these?”

You bit your lip, cheeks warming. “Well… yeah. But it’s not that creative. It’s just… birds and jewelry.”

Alexia frowned, shaking her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. This is amazing.” She stopped on a page depicting a necklace of a bird inside a cage. “This one especially. It’s beautiful.”

You tried to snatch the book again, but she pulled it away, her expression softening as she flipped through more pages. Her gaze lingered on darker drawings that littered the last few pages — birds with arrows through their hearts, birds lying lifeless, and cages that seemed impossibly small. 

She finally closed the sketchbook, her expression unreadable. Without a word, she reached out and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into her lap. You froze for a moment but eventually relaxed, adjusting yourself to sit more comfortably. Alexia held you like that, her warmth radiating through you. Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, as she spoke into your ear. “You don’t have to stay in the birdcage.”

You didn’t reply, but your arms tightened around her. Somehow, in that quiet moment, the message was clear. Yet, you said nothing.

After that night, Alexia had grown fond of hugging you. 

Well, not just hugging, but holding your hand and brushing your hair with her fingertips. You never talked about what she said even if you felt like you wanted to, but you just knew you had some sort of silent and deeper understanding of each other since then.

The lingering fluttered feeling remained with Alexia but it soon dissipated into comfort. You’d let her hold your hand under the table during lunch. You’d let her hug you from behind and rest her head on your shoulder when you washed the dishes. On your end, you just loved being close to her, often offering to brush her hair and sort it into braids or other silly hairstyles. 

The weather got colder and colder, making your nightly sneaking-out sessions impossible. Unfortunately, this meant that you were suddenly having a hard time sleeping. The walks and nights out talking provided you with a peace of mind that allowed you to sleep soundly after. Now, you felt like life was incomplete without it.

It was past midnight and you still couldn’t sleep, feeling anxious considering that you had to wake up earlier to prepare for First Friday mass. You already tried praying, counting sheep, and reciting Bible verses in your head but to no avail.

You sighed and turned again in your bed. The Catalan took notice of your restlessness and sat up slightly to glance over to your bed. The nightlight barely illuminated the room but it was obvious to her that you were still up.

“Angel,” she whispered, her voice soft but distinct in the quiet dormitory room. You turned around to see Alexia propping herself up in her bed. She smiled warmly at you. “Can’t sleep?”

You shook your head. “I’m having trouble,” you whispered back. “But, I’m sure I’ll drift off sooner or later.”

Alexia hummed and tilted her head thoughtfully, then lifted the edge of her blanket in a silent invitation. “You know,” she said lightly. “Sleeping next to someone is supposed to help. Something about oxytocin or whatever. It’s supposed to calm you down.”

You chuckled. “Suddenly, you’re a biologist?”

“Nah, just a cuddle scientist.” Alexia teased, her grin widening. “Come here. If it doesn’t work out, you can always just go back to your bed.”

You hesitated, your heart skipping for reasons you couldn’t quite place. The idea was harmless — just two friends sharing a bed — but something about the offer felt different, like stepping over an invisible line. Still, the way Alexia looked at you, patient and almost knowing, made it hard to say no.

Biting your lip, you slid out from under your covers. The cold floor sent a shiver up your feet as you tiptoed toward Alexia’s bed. She scooted back slightly to make room, her blanket still held open. You slid in carefully, the scent of her shampoo immediately enveloping you. The bed was as tiny as yours, forcing your bodies closer than you’d planned.

You laid stiffly, your back almost to the edge of the bed, careful not to be too close to her. You were too afraid that moving closer to her might just… be too intimate.  

Just as you started to relax, Alexia’s hand slid over — tentative but deliberate — resting lightly on your waist, before settling flatly on the small of your back.

You jumped slightly at the sensation, but she didn’t let go. Instead, her fingers curled gently, tugging you closer until your body was flush against hers. 

“You were about to fall off,” she murmured, her voice low but teasing. “Relax, Monjita. I won’t bite.”

Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t find the words to protest. Alexia adjusted, slipping an arm under your neck and pulling you into her chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her steady heartbeat thrummed against your ear, and though it should’ve calmed you, it only made your own race faster.

Even if you and Alexia had become close, there was a newness, a different feeling to this interaction. It felt intimate and almost like crossing friendship boundaries. 

“You’re so stiff,” she said after a moment, her tone light but edged with amusement. “What’s the big deal? Haven’t you ever hugged a friend before?”

You swallowed. “Not like this,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Alexia hummed softly in response, her breath warm against your hair. “Well,” she said, her voice dropping just slightly, “there’s a first time for everything.”

You paused, contemplating, before softly whispering again. “Alexia,” You started cautiously. “I never really had a best friend.”

She hummed, her free hand gently brushing through your hair in slow, comforting strokes. “Yeah?” she prompted, her tone curious but tender. “What about Ingrid?”

You shook your head. “I like Ingrid, but she’s not my best friend and I can’t completely open up to her,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever opened up to anyone. I’m always so scared… scared that they’ll hate me or judge me once they really know me. You're the only one I feel like I can open up to.”

Alexia scoffed softly, almost incredulously. “I don’t see how anyone could hate you, monjita,” she said, her voice laced with quiet affection.

You swallowed, your chest tightening. “I think some of them already do,” you murmured, the words tasting bitter as you let them out. 

“I’ve always been so devoted to the Church, and sometimes… I think they see me as too pious, too preachy. I don’t think it’s a bad thing,” you added quickly, almost defensively. “But it’s made me someone they can’t trust. Like I’m just an extension of the nuns — someone they’ll never see as a real friend.”

Alexia chuckled warmly. “An extension of the nuns?”

You nodded. “Even you call me monjita.”

Alexia shook her head. “Well, yes,” she explained. “But not because I see you as an extension of the nuns. I just think you’d look so cute and adorable in those gigantic nun costumes they wear, and well, you’re as nice as a nun.”

You chuckled a bit but shook your head. “Still, people don’t see me beyond being the good girl, the praepostor… the person the nuns send them to whenever they have doubts about their faith.” You whispered. “Sometimes, I even forget who I am beyond that. Sometimes, I just let myself be who they think I am.”

Alexia’s hand didn’t falter as she hummed thoughtfully, her touch steady and grounding. “You shouldn’t do that to yourself,” she said simply, but there was something fierce in her voice, a quiet insistence that you weren’t sure how to process. “They can perceive you and they can judge you from just that but you shouldn’t let their perception define you.”

You hummed in thought, as you rested your hand on her chest, feeling her steady heartbeat. “It’s not just that,” you continued, the words spilling out now as though Alexia’s warmth had unlocked something deep inside you. “Even if they could see past that, I don’t think they’d like me once they really knew me, once they knew who I am beyond being the praepostor or the nun’s favorite.”

Her hand paused briefly, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer, more cautious. “What do you mean?”

You stared blankly at the wall, the weight of her question pressing on you. “I mean that I have my own doubts,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. “That I give advice, telling people to trust God and follow His word, that all your problems will wash away when you believe and pray but deep down, I… I’m not sure I believe it myself. Sometimes, I feel so trapped… like I’m living this life for everyone else, not for me.”

“Hmm?” Alexia said as if to signal for you to continue.

You bit your lip, hesitant to share your own feelings with Alexia. “I’ve lived my whole life here in the Institute. This is all I’ve known and I know a lot of the sisters went through the same thing and learned to love it…” You trailed off.

Alexia prodded. “But?”

You felt tears form in your eyes but you tried to stop yourself from letting yourself get even more emotional. “I want to see what life is like… beyond this.” You shared softly, almost too soft for anyone to hear. “Just see what I’m missing out on.”

You continued, “I want to laugh freely. I want to watch movies that just make me laugh or make me cry — movies not necessarily made to have a moral or a lesson or be about a biblical character. I want to eat junk food and indulge in sweets without feeling like I’ve turned into a massive glutton. I don’t want to feel guilty for wanting a third pancake.”

Alexia chuckled softly at that, her mind flashing back to mornings in the dining hall when she’d see you dutifully pick at bland green beans, leaving the pancakes untouched for the younger girls.

“I want to do things other normal people our age do,” You continued. “I want to go drink recreationally and dance with people I don’t know. I wanna know what I’d look like with lots of makeup and those big lashes. I want to swim in a tiny swimsuit, even if it feels weird riding up your—”

Alexia laughed out loud at that, the sound warm and unguarded, and you couldn’t help but smile. Her amusement encouraged you, made you feel safe enough to keep going.

Taking a deep breath, you continued, “I want to fall in love,” you said, the words trembling on your lips. “Really fall in love. I want to go on a date, get flowers, share drinks. I want to kiss someone… not a polite little peck on the cheek. I mean really kiss, feel something. I want to know what it’s like to be loved and love beyond… beyond religious devotion.”

Suddenly, you fell silent, gulping as you allowed yourself to calm down again. Alexia hummed lowly as she continued to brush your hair. You stayed silent, waiting for Alexia to speak but she didn't, simply continuing to brush the pads of her fingers against you.

When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but steady. “You must think I’m a hypocrite,” you said, preempting her, your voice brittle with doubt.

“No, no, of course not, cariño.” She said immediately with a tender but firm voice. “I think what you’re feeling is natural.”

Another pause. You nuzzled closer to her instinctively, seeking comfort in the steady warmth of her touch. Alexia sighed softly, her breath ruffling your hair. “Having doubts, wanting these things… it doesn’t make you bad,” she murmured. “It makes you human. We all want love. And that’s okay, monjita.”

Her words settled over you, comforting but unfamiliar, as though you weren’t sure you deserved to hear them. You turned your head slightly, meeting her gaze. There was no judgment in her beautiful, hazel eyes — just patience, warmth, and something else you couldn’t quite name.

“But what if it’s more than just doubts?” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of your fear. “What if… what if I can’t actually be what they expect me to be? What if I just break?”

Alexia’s free hand moved to your cheek, her thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Then maybe it’s time to stop living for their expectations,” she said, her voice firm yet impossibly gentle. “You don’t have to be what they want. You only have one life and you deserve to live for yourself, angel.”

Your eyes locked together and you started feeling the weight in your heart be replaced by something new. You felt the energy between you two shift into an unfamiliar feeling you couldn’t put a finger on. There was a warmth between you two — a growing comfort and familiarity — but there was also the feeling of something ominous unraveling. You couldn’t tell what it was; it was something you’ve never known before.

And as soon as you felt your eyes flicker to Alexia’s lips — pink and lush, parted slightly as she stuck her tongue out to wet them, how they were impossibly close — you knew.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ACT III. We Can’t Really Help Who We Are

After that night cuddling with Alexia, you lied and said you preferred sleeping in your own bed, even if truthfully you’ve never slept better than you had wrapped around in her arms.

You’ve also let her hands awkwardly hang between you, brushing against yours to signal for you to take them. Instead of locking hands like you usually did, you’d cross them across your chest and avert your gaze.

When she’d try to wrap you in a back hug from behind, you’d find some excuse to slip away. “I need to re-fold my clothes,” you’d mumble, or, “I should check with Sister Catherine about something in the dormitory,” leaving her standing there, arms left empty.

More recently, you’d taken to pretending to be asleep, tucked into bed as early as nine in the evening, just to avoid those late-night conversations with her — the ones where it felt like the world disappeared and it was just the two of you.

Ever since you realized that you might have a crush on Alexia, you have avoided spending alone time with her. You dodged all her physical affection and even moved seats in class, making an excuse that your eyesight has been faulty lately which made no sense because you simply moved horizontally as you two had already been sitting up front.

To anyone else, your sudden change in behavior would have been confusing, even hurtful. But Alexia wasn’t just anyone. She understood what you were going through, even if you hadn’t said a word. She saw through your avoidance, knew why you flinched away from her touch or made excuses to leave.

So she decided to give you space. She’d let you sort through your feelings, trusting that you’d come to terms with them when you were ready. There was no rush, no pressure — not from her. The least she could do was add to the pressure you were already feeling from everyone and yourself.

But to you, Alexia’s calm and unbothered demeanor meant something entirely different.

You convinced yourself that her behavior wasn’t born from understanding but indifference. You figured she hadn’t noticed your growing feelings at all, or worse, that she had — and didn’t feel the same.

Her casual way of brushing off your sudden distance only solidified the idea in your mind: Alexia only saw you as a friend.

Every hug, every handhold, every quiet moment together — it was nothing more than friendship to her. That realization made everything harder. It made every excuse you gave, every inch of space you put between you, feel more necessary.

Certainly, it wasn’t the truth but to you, it felt like it was and that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Every so often, some of the sisters that oversee dorm functions would gather everyone for some prayer activity, to exercise different manners of prayer. With the older sisters, they usually preferred teaching worship songs or learning prayers in different languages. The younger sisters were often more imaginative and fun. Sometimes, they’d make board games based on Biblical lessons or it would be a rosary-making session.

Today, Sister Catherine decided that a “Stretching with God” exercise would be fun. So, all the girls from your dorm building were gathered in your modest sweatpants and shirts as you attempted to follow Sister Catherine’s instructions. Some of the moves made sense like raising arms to reach towards the heavens or doing child’s pose to symbolize humility. But some of it… were questionable. 

She had everyone rolling their arms back to “emulate angel’s wings.” She had you lifting your legs back and forth in a swinging motion “to kick away all the evil that surrounds you.” After the “punching away demons” move, you looked around and noticed that everyone seemed to be enjoying it — some genuinely enjoying it and others just finding the silliness of it all amusing.

Though, you didn’t bother looking over to Alexia, who was standing beside you. You’ve been avoiding her gaze ever since she found it was so funny for her to lift her shirt up so slightly to wipe the imaginary beads of sweat from her forehead after every stretch.

To you, it seemed like an innocent gesture that your twisted brain was just corrupting but Alexia actually intended to do it ever since she’s caught you frequently glancing at her abdomen, especially after her football training.

“Okay, girls, to close off our Stretching With God session,” Sister Catherine instructed, a little bit winded from leading the session. “We’ll form a circle to have a small prayer.”

Sister Cathy turned off the radio that was playing instrumentals and soon, the dorm fell quiet except for the soft rustling of fabric and the occasional shuffle of feet as everyone gathered into a circle. 

You had carefully chosen your spot, slipping beside Ingrid and moving away from Alexia. It seemed like the safest option at the time — distant enough from Alexia to make avoiding her easier. But now, as you settled in, you realized the mistake.  

From where you stood, you had a clear line of sight to Alexia. You did move far away from her side but that landed you almost directly in front of her in the circle. You clenched your hands, trying to focus on the prayer circle instead of the way her hazel eyes lingered, even when they weren’t looking at you directly.  

The prayer exercise began. “Okay, girls, we’ll be doing the typical ACTS prayer structure.” Sister Catherine started. “Can anyone remind us of what the ACTS prayer is like?”

Instinctively, all eyes darted to you. You nodded and spoke up loud enough for everyone to hear. “A for Adoration — you give worship to God and adore him for who he is. Typically, you can say ‘Almighty God’ or just ‘God the Father’... or whatever you feel is fitting.”

“Next, C stands for asking for confession when you let God know of and apologize for all your sins and misgivings.” Suddenly, your eyes drifted to Alexia who had a small smile on her face. You stumbled with your words. “Uh, uhm…”

“Thanks,” Ingrid whispered surreptitiously to you, thinking you'd forgotten it. 

You nodded. “T for Thanksgiving wherein we thank Him for all He has done. Lastly, S for supplication.”

Sister Catherine nodded at you thankfully. “And supplication is just asking humbly for what you want,” She looked over to you again. “For what you desire in your heart.”

You nodded, trying to keep your eyes on the nun instead of letting it drift towards Alexia. Soon, the nun started instructing the group on the movements that accompanied each part of the prayer.

For the adoration part, you all raised your hands high, the weight of silence heavy as you thought of words to praise Him. "All-knowing and all-seeing God," you whispered suddenly. The phrase came unbidden. You bit your lip, feeling guilt rush over you suddenly as you reached your fingertips to the sky. 

When it was time to give thanks, everyone was instructed to place their right hand over their heart. You murmured a quiet prayer of gratitude, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. "Thank you for self-control," you said softly, though it felt like a lie. Every day you spent avoiding Alexia made you feel like a thread pulled too tight, ready to snap. 

Then came the moment for forgiveness. You were to put both hands over your heart now, one over the other as you closed your eyes and bowed your head to symbolize humility and regret for your actions. You could practically feel your heartbeat inside your hands as you struggled to even formulate a coherent thought.

You knew somehow that your feelings for Alexia were wrong but you couldn’t piece together a statement asking for forgiveness because you couldn’t reconcile with yourself what sin you committed exactly. You clutched your chest as you breathed heavily, settling with a different apology. “I’m sorry I cannot recognize my own sins.” You thought silently.

Finally, it was time to ask for your desires. 

“Everyone, keep your heads low. This is to show humility, that you are a mere human asking God for something. Not demanding or expecting already, but just asking kindly with all the humility in our heart.” The nun instructed as she lowered her own head. You followed suit.

“Next, hold your hands, let it serve as a reminder that you are not alone and that your peers have their own desires and aspirations. As we hold hands, this is our way of praying that they also attain all their aspirations.” You locked hands with Ingrid and Maria who were both beside you.

“Finally, tell God your desire.” Sister Catherine said. “You can whisper it, say it out, or keep it in your heart and heed for Him to hear.”

Heads bowed low, hands clasped tightly, the circle seemed to shrink in on itself as whispers of prayers filled the room. Girls murmured quietly, voices blending into a soft hum of hope and longing. You lowered your head like the rest, but your mind was blank.  

What did you desire most?  

Nothing came to mind at first, only the familiar wave of guilt and confusion. But then, as if pulled by a force you couldn’t resist, you lifted your head. And that’s when you saw her.  

Alexia was already staring at you. Her head was not lowered like everyone else, her hazel eyes locked on yours with an intensity that stole your breath. In the middle of all the whispered prayers, the bowed heads, and the holy reverence, it was just the two of you, caught in a moment that felt impossibly loud in its silence.  

You didn’t look away.  

And in her gaze, you saw it. 

The same thing that burned in your chest — the unspoken desire, the longing you’d tried to bury — reflected back at you. It was an understanding, a silent confession shared without words.  

Your breath hitched, and your hands trembled as you tried to remain composed. Around you, the prayer continued, a soft chorus of whispered hopes filling the air. But at that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the guilt, not the fear — just her.  

Alexia’s lips parted slightly, as though she wanted to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, her eyes softened, her expression shifting into something both tender and devastating.  

The prayer ended, the murmurs quieting as hands released and the circle broke apart. But you remained frozen, still locked in the echo of what had just passed between you.  

You hadn’t spoken a word, but somehow, you knew. You both desired the same thing.

You were violently shaken awake. You blinked your eyes open to see the familiar dark-haired Norwegian sitting on your bed, trying to get you to wake up. 

You blinked your eyes, drowsy and disoriented. Ingrid looked relieved to see you awake. She sighed. “Sister Superior is summoning you to her office. She says there’s a matter of your concern.” She said with a frantic but firm voice.

You sat up and instinctively looked over to Alexia’s bed which was empty. However, this time, it was undone and not fixed which was uncharacteristic of the Catalan who often did her bed as soon as she woke up.

Ingrid noticed. “Alexia’s there too.” She clarified. “You need to get dressed immediately. Sister superior does not seem happy.”

Suddenly, your heart pounded against your chest. No one in the school knows what you were feeling for Alexia and yet, that was the first thing that came into your mind. Could you have been figured out?

No, it couldn’t be. You thought. But… we have been affectionate a lot and have been holding hands prior. Could that be the reason? But girls here often hold hands.

Or… maybe it’s all those nights sneaking out? Were you caught? Did they hear you say all those things about your apprehensions and your conflicted feelings.

You gulped as your hands grew clammy. Ingrid sat back on the bed with you and clasped your hand in hers. “Hey, hey,” Her voice said in a comforting manner but there was a tone of doubt. “I’m sure it’s nothing. It might just be a dormitory concern.”

You nodded, doubting her words. “Yeah… maybe.” You whispered. “Do you know what it’s about?”

Ingrid shook her head. “No, but it seems… urgent.” She answered. “Just get dressed and I’ll take you there immediately to not anger the sister.”

You immediately threw on your clothes and joined Ingrid as you briskly walked to the office at the opposite building. You were both quiet at first, the tension heavy between the two of you until Ingrid spoke up.

“Do you have a clue what this meeting could be about?” She asked cautiously. “Did Alexia do something?”

You bit your lip and looked at your friend’s icy blue eyes, contemplating whether or not you wanted to even answer.  Ingrid lowered her voice to a whisper. “I promise to God I won’t tell if you know anything.”

You looked away briefly, assessing if anyone was within earshot. You linked arms with Ingrid to move closer to her as you walked. “I think… it might be because Alexia and I snuck out once or twice before.”

Ingrid’s eyes widened, shocked not by the act of sneaking out but that it was you who did it. She knew several girls who snuck out before but you were the last person she expected to do so. “W-what? To where? Were you the ones who took the bus?”

You blinked cluelessly. “Bus? No, no, we often went to the prayer garden at night.”

Ingrid let out a sigh of relief, realizing that you two had very different concepts of sneaking out. 

“I… I don’t think that’s a big deal honestly.” She cautiously said, not wanting you to find out some people were actually sneaking out. “I doubt the sisters would be that mad about that. Just say you two wanted to pray. They can’t get mad at that.”

You hesitated. You looked over to your friend who you’ve known all these years. There were times you’d chat about personal things, sad moments, and doubts but you never really discussed anything too personal. But Ingrid… she was the only other person here you could fully trust to open up to — well, aside from Alexia. 

“There’s something else.” You started.

“What is it?” Ingrid looked at you quizzically.

You hesitated. “I… I’m starting to get…” Your voice trailed off.

Ingrid squeezed your hand. “I won’t judge. I promise and I swear to God.”

You sighed deeply before whispering. “I think I have feeli—” 

“Ingrid! There you two are!” You both jumped at the sound of Sister Jude suddenly appearing from the end of the hallway. The plump sister waved her hands to summon you two. “Please make haste, we don’t have all day.” 

You looked at Ingrid who had a curious, wide-eye look on her face but you decided against continuing your statement. Instead, you just gently tugged at her to gesture for her to jog to the sister’s office.

Having not had enough exercise, you were a bit winded by the time you got to the office while Ingrid was breathing normally, the athlete that she was.

As soon as you opened the door, you were met by the sight of Alexia’s familiar back, turned and standing with her hands clasped behind her back to face the Sister Superior who was sitting behind her desk with a sour expression. 

When the heavy wooden door opened further, you saw an unfamiliar person.

A tall, dark-haired girl wearing a black shirt and pants was sitting on the side opposite Alexia. She turned around to look at you as you entered. She had a strained and frustrated expression but it was undeniable that she was pretty.

You looked behind to Ingrid who comfortably nodded at you, gesturing for you to go on as she waited outside the office.

As soon as the door shut behind you, the sister superior began talking again. You moved closer to stand by Alexia, who glanced up at you briefly before looking back down. You stood quietly, trying to figure out what was happening.

Alexia’s demeanor was noticeably different. The confidence and the aura that she typically exuded suddenly gone, replaced by a heavy energy. You turned your attention to the sister who seemed frustrated.

Sister Philomena’s voice broke the silence, her tone sharp. “Alexia was sent here to heal from her past and seek redemption,” she said, pointing a finger at the dark-haired girl. “You cannot just walk into our sacred institution and tempt her back into your sinful lifestyle.”

The unfamiliar girl rolled her eyes. “I don’t see the problem, sister.” She responded, voice dripping with animosity. “Is Alexia a prisoner? Hell, even prisoners have more rights. Why can’t her friends visit her?”

The nun slammed her hand flat on the table. “This is precisely the problem. You think Alexia is a prisoner when she is here to grow and learn.” Her voice rang through the office. “And you did not come here to visit her. You trespass into our premises, asking her to run away and leave. This is not a visitation.”

You flinched at the harshness of the nun’s words. Sister Philomena turned toward you. “Tell this girl how visitation works here, so she understands.”

You blinked, caught off guard, and repeated the rules as best as you could. “When friends or family want to visit, they fill out a visitation form—”

“Precisely,” Sister Philomena interrupted. “But you didn’t come here to visit. You came to seduce Alexia and drag her away from God.”

“Seduced?” you whispered, your mind reeling at the accusation. Alexia must have taken notice because she quickly shook her head. 

“I’m not some demonic temptress like you’re making me out to be,” The girl chided with a mocking laugh. “You are all acting like I’m some evil person for wanting to see Alexia after everyone took her away from me! God forbid I want to see my girlfriend after she’s disappeared for months.”

Your heart stopped beating. Girlfriend?

You glanced over at Alexia then to the girl. Even with the girl being sat down on the chair, you could tell she was perhaps as tall as Alexia. She exuded the same confident aura. Even if Alexia never opened up about crushes, you never would have thought she’d actually be in a relationship, which felt like betrayal. Why wouldn’t she tell me she had a girlfriend? And… why would she act like that with me if she had one?

Your train of thought was suddenly broken when the nun’s voice loudly echoed through the room. Sister Philomena’s voice grew louder, more forceful with every word. “Homosexuality is a sin, plain and simple,” she said, her eyes blazing with what she surely believed was righteous indignation. “It is an abomination in the eyes of the Lord, a corruption of His holy design. And you, girl, are no better than the serpent in the garden, seeking to lead Alexia down a path of damnation.”

You clutched your heart subconsciously, feeling affected and shaken by her words. You could feel your hands quiver as the scene unfolded. Sister Philomena had always been intimidating but you’ve never seen her this frustrated and intense. It was frightening. Not to mention what she was saying was starting to get to you, digging into your own guilt.

The sister stood up from her chair, still standing quite tall despite her seniority. “Her grandparents sent her here, to this sacred institution, to be healed, to be purified. They entrusted us with their beloved granddaughter, hoping that we could erase the darkness that had consumed her heart. This place is meant to protect her from the evil influences of the world, to bring her back to the fold, back to the love and grace of the Lord.”

Suddenly, Sister Philomen’s eyes darted to you. “We surround her with kind people, righteous people like her.” She pointed at you. The dark-haired girl’s glare shifted to you, making you feel even more nervous. “She is the type of company Alexia needs to heal and to repent. Her friends and peers in this institute have been working tirelessly to guide Alexia to the righteous path.”

You looked down on your shoes, unsure of what to feel with the Sister’s words. This wasn’t the first time that you had to stand in a room with the nun and another student being admonished. You quickly learned your role in all of this — the ideal student to be made an example to the wrongdoer. After this session, you were expected to confide in the students, pray with them, and tell them more gently how they can improve.

It was never easy for you, having to assume that role. But now, it felt less like a challenge and more like a heavy cross to bear on your back.

Turning her attention back to the dark-haired girl, Sister Philomena’s expression hardened, her voice dripping with venom. “Your very presence here, your words, your actions, are a poison to her soul. You are the temptation, the forbidden fruit. You are what lures her into the darkness, and she has no hope of finding salvation with you by her side. What kind of life is it that you offer her? A life of sin, of shame, of eternal separation from God. That is the future you are promising her.”

The nun put a hand on her temples, starting to feel nauseous from the anger. The younger nuns in the room urged her to sit back down, patting her back to calm her down. She took a deep breath, looking at some of the documents scattered on her desk, mindlessly organizing them to calm herself down.

Her voice softened only slightly as she looked up again at the girl. “You are not a savior. You are a predator, preying on a fragile soul, and you will not be allowed to continue poisoning Alexia’s spirit. We will not allow it. She will live a better life without you. We will make sure of it.”

The dark-haired, tattooed girl let out a smug chuckle. “What kind of life is it where you’re called a sinner for being who you are?” she spat, her voice not loud but firm. “She’s not living here. She’s suffering here. Clearly.”

Sister Philomena shook her head. “Enough.” She ordered. “If you don’t want us to call the police for trespassing and damaging personal property, you need to leave. Now.”

The girl clenched her jaw before shaking her head. As a last resort, she turned to Alexia who was still unmoving, head held down. “Alexia, please. You don’t belong here. Come with me. We can leave this place together.” She turned to the sisters. “You’re old enough to just leave this place and live your truth. Come on, you can decide for yourself.” 

Alexia stood still, her gaze fixed on the floor. She didn’t move, didn’t react. You watched in silent disbelief as the younger nuns approached the tall girl, putting hands on her shoulders. “Alexia, please.” She said as she tried to reach for Alexia’s hands. This time, the nuns firmly held her so that she couldn’t move towards Alexia. “Do you really want to stay here?”

Alexia stood, unmoving. The girl scoffed and shrugged the hands on her shoulders away. “I can go on my own.” She barked out. “Fine, if you wanna stay here and get converted into some bible thumper then live your life, Alexia.” 

She looked one last time at Alexia, then at you. “These people don’t actually love you, just remember that.”

It felt targeted somehow — the way she looked at you as she spat those words out. You knew she had no idea of what you meant to Alexia and what you felt for her but you still can’t help but feel it was a personal dig at you.

The door slammed behind the girl as she left, The weight of the revelation hit you like a ton of bricks, and you stood frozen, staring at the empty doorway. The silence hung for a moment before Sister Philomena cleared her throat. “Alexia,” She called out in a firm but not angry voice.

Finally, Alexia raised her head. That’s when you noticed that her face was tear-stained and her eyes bloodshot despite the firm, un-emoting look on her face. “Yes, sister?”

“Did you make any contact with Jennifer Hermoso prior to this?” She asked sternly.

“No, sister.” She responded firmly.

“Do you wish to continue your stay in this institute?” The sister asked quizzically. 

Alexia’s eyes flickered to you for a moment before quickly returning to the senior sister. “Y-yes, sister.”

The nun hummed, rubbing her temples. “And do you understand why you’re here? Why it is in your best interest to be her?” 

No hesitation came from Alexia. “Yes, sister.”

The nun seemed satisfied, nodding her head. “Okay, seeing this incident is not your fault,” She started. “Let it serve as a test of your faith and your strength. I will not admonish you but I will simply remind you to pray over your situation diligently.”

Alexia nodded. 

“I will have the junior sisters talk to you later but for now, you two return to your dorm room.” Sister Philomena ordered. She then pointed her pen at you. “I trust you two will have a fruitful conversation together as well. Hence, I’ll have you both excused for morning classes. Understood?”

You nodded at the nun, confirming with her that you got her silent instruction to do what you always did — force the troublemaker back into the rightful path. 

This time, though, you feel like you’ve also been led astray. Blind leading the blind.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ACT IV. Damned to the End From the Start

You and Alexia were joined by Ingrid as you made your way back to the dorm buildings. Ingrid kept glancing at you, her expression a mix of concern and silent questions, as if willing to speak up and explain what had happened. You raised a hand in a subtle gesture, signaling her to wait. The tension hung heavy between the three of you, amplified by Alexia’s silence. She walked alongside you, her arms folded, her gaze fixed ahead. Not once did she look at you or reach for your hand. The distance, both physical and emotional, was unsettling.

Once you got to your dorm, Alexia slipped inside without a word, leaving you in the hallway with Ingrid. Ingrid turned to you, her wide eyes filled with disbelief. “I can’t believe how harsh she was to Alexia,” she whispered, her voice tinged with anger and sadness.

You bit your lip, partially surprised by Ingrid’s sympathy. You had always assumed people defended the sisters’ stances without question — you certainly had in the past. But this time was different. This time, the weight of their words had hit too close to home, and Ingrid’s reaction was a small but meaningful relief.

Before you could think about your actions, you just pulled Ingrid into a hug, startling the taller girl. “Thank you for being with us, Ingrid.” You murmured, voice soft but sincere. “Really. Thank you.”

Ingrid blinked, clearly surprised by your affection. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this, darling,” she said with a gentle laugh, her tone warm despite her confusion. “But I’m glad my presence meant something to you.”

When you pulled back, she rested her hands on your shoulders, her touch steady and reassuring. “If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me.”

You sighed and nodded, thinking about whether or not you should open up to her at that moment. You still weren’t sure what to feel. For now, you just excused yourself. “Thank you,” you said again, offering her a small smile. “But I need to check on Alexia first. She needs me.”

Ingrid nodded, her expression understanding. “Of course,” she said, stepping back to give you space. “Take care of her. And yourself.”

With a final nod, you turned and entered your dorm room, closing the door softly behind you. You could immediately see Alexia curled up on her bed, facing the wall. The sight of an upset Alexia was something new. In the past months, you’ve seen all versions of Alexia – happy after you say something that made her laugh, sad over a movie, pissed off after a bad football training session, teasing almost all the time. But this devastated, silent Alexia… it was not a thing you’ve ever thought you’d encounter.

You stepped cautiously, sitting on the edge of her bed. “Alexia…” Your voice trailed off. “Look, what Sister said… I’m sure she… Well…” You kept losing confidence in what you were saying. Even you felt lost in the situation, deeply conflicted by the situation.

“Not in the mood for a sermon,” Alexia grunted out, burying her head in her pillow.

You felt a pang in your heart. “Alexia…” You started again cautiously. “I-I’m sorry that that happened. None of it was your fault. Sister Philomena just takes student safety seriously and y’know, a trespasser…”

“You know that’s not what I’m upset about,” Alexia interrupted, her voice sharper now, though it trembled with emotion.

You swallowed hard, nodding even though she couldn’t see you. “I know,” you admitted quietly, sighing as the words you wanted to say slipped further away. After a beat of silence, you asked gently, “Do you want to leave?”

At that, Alexia shifted slightly, her hand brushing against her cheek as she wiped her eyes. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, fragile. “I don’t want to leave, monjita.” The words came out in a croak, and she sniffled as though holding back more tears.

Your hands itched to reach for her, to wipe away her tears and pull her into your arms. But something held you back — maybe fear of overstepping, maybe the invisible walls Alexia seemed to have built around herself at that moment. So you stayed where you were, your voice gentle as you replied, “I’m glad you’re staying. I… I like having you here, Alexia.”

A pause. “Even after you learned why I’m here?” 

“Yes, of course, Alexia.” You comforted her immediately. “Nothing changed for me. Your girlfriend… whatever happened between you two is in the past. It’s none of my business.”

“Ex,” She corrected. “Ex-girlfriend.”

You nodded, weirdly comforted by the way she corrected you. Silence befell the dorm room again, disturbed only by the sound of sniffling. You wanted to say so much but there was not a single coherent thought.

“Monjita,” Alexia whispered, her voice trembling and soft, breaking the heavy silence in the room. Your heart warmed at the use of her endearment with a gentle tone. She glanced at you carefully. “Do you think I’m… wrong for who I am? Do you hate me?”

Her words hit you like a blow to the chest. The mere thought that Alexia, who carried so much strength and warmth, could believe you might judge or reject her for something as intrinsic as her identity made your throat tighten. Your eyes began to sting, tears threatening to spill. Without a second thought, you leaned over to Alexia. You got a closer look of her reddened, tear-stained face. 

You used your hand to wipe her tears and the hair that stuck to her face. “Alexia, you’re not wrong for who you are.” You whispered. “And, I could never hate you.”

Her glassy eyes met yours, uncertainty flickering within them. “Yeah?” she asked hesitantly, as though daring to hope you truly meant it. Her hazel eyes flickered as tears threatened to spill again. “Then why haven’t you been talking to me?”

You gulped, looking away for a moment before looking back at her. “Alexia,” you started. “I promise you it was all on me. I was struggling with being close to someone. You know me… I haven’t had a best friend since I was a kid. It’s been hard for me to adjust… to being close to someone.” You paused, struggling to find the words.

Alexia lifted your head up by placing a hand on your chin. “Does it have to do with me being…” She trailed off.

“No, no,” You shook your head and gave her a small, reassuring smile. You hesitated for just a moment before leaning in, pressing a tender kiss to her moist cheek. “I promise, you haven’t done anything to drive me away.” You whispered, your voice filled with conviction.

Something in her expression softened, and then she shifted, turning fully to face you. Without warning, she sat up and pulled you into her arms, wrapping them tightly around you as though she was trying to hold herself together. You returned the hug, feeling the weight of her emotions as her face pressed into your shoulder. The world outside seemed to fade as the two of you sat there, wrapped in a moment that felt achingly fragile and impossibly intimate

When Alexia pulled back, her hands slid up to cradle your face. Her thumbs lightly brushed your cheeks, and you could feel the warmth of her palms against your skin. The intensity in her eyes made your breath hitch. Her gaze flickered between your own, and then down to your lips. She brushed over your cheek again with her thumb, gentle against your own skin. As Alexia moved closer, you felt your own eyes flutter nervously.

Just as Alexia was about to move closer, the door creaked open, the sound cutting through the tension like a blade. Both of you jumped, your hearts racing as though you’d been caught doing something forbidden. 

Ingrid popped in, standing in the doorway, equally surprised to see you both wide-eyed and surprised. “Oh, sorry, was I…” She trailed off.  “Was I… interrupting something?”

You quickly shook your head, your face burning. “No, it’s fine,” you managed, your voice higher than usual.

Ingrid lingered awkwardly for a moment before clearing her throat. “Sister Catherine sent me to call Alexia over,” she said, her tone careful, as if trying not to pry.

Alexia straightened, wiping her face hurriedly with the sleeve of her sweater. “Oh… uh… of course,” she muttered, her voice still thick with emotion. She glanced back at you as she stepped toward the door, her eyes apologetic and heavy with unspoken words. 

As the door clicked shut, the silence filled the room and the only sound you could hear was your heartbeat in your ears. You stared at the space Alexia had just vacated, your thoughts spinning.

Did we almost…

The guilt hit at the thought you were not even able to finish as the horrible feeling drowned you. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d done something wrong. You liked Alexia… you cared for her and not much changed for what you feel for her. But, the guilt you had already took root in your gut. It was something that you’ve lived with all your life. Even if you wanted to shake off the feeling, it felt incredibly difficult.

You laid on Alexia’s bed, staring at the ceiling as all the emotions filled you.

Alexia had to sit through multiple sessions with the sisters, which was tiring, to say the least. She hated being lectured by the older nuns the most; one can only listen to 'being gay is a sin' so many times. The more junior nuns were more tolerable but it still wasn’t any fun. They may not have condemned Alexia for being gay but they did say that she shouldn’t 'act on her homosexuality.'

It was just tiring and by the time they were done with Alexia, it was already dinner time.

She was too nervous to eat around the sisters so she hadn’t eaten all day, leaving her with a rumbling stomach. She trudged along to the cafeteria, heading to her usual table. However, this time, something seemed off.

Alexia set down her plate of potatoes and beef as she looked around. “Where’s monjita?” She asked, using your nickname which she used so often that others have already associated it with you.

“She said she wasn’t hungry,” Ingrid responded as she picked at her potatoes. “She’s skipping dinner.”

Maria chewed on her food, gesturing that she was about to say something. As soon as she swallowed her mouthful of undercooked potatoes, she added, “I think she might be praying though. She said something about it when I saw her in the hallway”

“Oh,” Alexia said before sitting down, wondering why you would skip dinner when you typically were not the type to miss meals. She absentmindedly ate her food, mind still fixated on her.

Ingrid must have noticed the vacant expression in the Catalan’s eyes. “You good?” She asked carefully.

Alexia shook out of her catatonic state. “Yeah, yeah, just tired.” She responded. “Uh… did she explain why she’s missing dinner?”

Ingrid exhaled. “No, but she kinda looked upset when I last saw her.” She said. “She didn’t even want to talk to me.”

Alexia hummed as she nodded in response. After taking a nibble out of her food, she decided that she couldn’t sit there without knowing what was going on with you. She took a big gulp of water before standing up from the table, food barely touched. “Uh, I gotta go.”

“Oh,” Her teammates looked at each other cautiously. Ingrid carefully asked, “Alexia, are you sure you’re okay?”

Alexia gave a tight-lipped smile before nodding. “Yeah, just… not hungry.”

Ingrid, who had heard Alexia’s stomach rumble a while ago, didn’t believe her one bit but figured it would be best for Alexia to go on and find you. “Oh okay,” She said. “If you need anything, you know where to find us.”

Alexia gave a thankful look before leaving the cafeteria. The hallways were quite empty save for a few students returning back to their dorms. Alexia figured the best place to find you was back in your dorm room but as soon as she opened the door to your room, it was dark and empty. 

She sighed, walking aimlessly through the dorm building and the common rooms. She grew even more weary once she got to the library and found no trace of you. 

Fuck, where could she even be?

She paused. Suddenly, a familiar freshman passed by. She knew the girl from all the times she’d knock on your dorm room, asking to talk to you for some spiritual guidance. Alexia briskly walked towards the girl. “Anna.” 

The freshman turned around. She seemed shocked. “Oh, Alexia.” She said. “You scared me.”

Alexia looked at her apologetically. Perhaps, it wasn’t such a good idea to startle the kid in the middle of a dark hallway but she needed to find you as soon as she could. “Uh, have you seen Y/N anywhere? She skipped dinner.”

Anna nodded. “I came over to your room to ask advice about something but she said she had to go pray. Maybe in the chapel?”

Alexia peered out the windows, seeing that it was raining outside. “The chapel? Across the field?” She asked as if there was any other chapel. 

The freshman nodded. “Yeah… or the prayer room?” 

Alexia shook her head. “I was just there and she’s not there.” She bit her lip. “Okay, thank you, Anna.”

Alexia grew increasingly worried as she heard the thunderstorm worsen outside the dorm windows. Her heart started beating harder against her chest when she reached your shared room to find you’ve left behind your umbrella. Oh no, she must be stranded there.

Alexia didn’t hesitate to rush to you, growing increasingly worried about your wellbeing.

Little did she know, Anna’s hunch was right and you were praying at the chapel. However, you weren’t there because you were stranded. You’ve been staying there for hours, trying to avoid everyone and trying to seek for answers.

Answers for what? You didn’t even know. You just knew you were lost and that you needed guidance.

The dim flicker of candles cast long shadows across the chapel walls as you exhaled a deep, shuddering breath, your hands clasped tightly in prayer, your head bowed low. You had been kneeling for so long that your legs had gone numb.

“God…” You prayed out, losing track of things you’ve already prayed for previously. Your voice was soft but it felt amplified by the heavy silence in the dark and empty chapel. “I need you to send me a sign. Anything. I just need you to tell me you don’t hate me for who I am.”

Then, as if on cue, a deafening crack of lightning split the air outside, shaking the stained glass windows. You flinched, your heart racing as you lifted your tear-streaked face to glance toward the altar.

You sighed. “Is that the sign?” The words slipped out, dripping with doubt and hesitation. You felt ridiculous asking for clarification for a sign that might have seemed like an obvious disapproval. 

A lot of the sisters have told you that when you pray enough, God speaks to you with clarity, and at times, it did feel that way. But now, he just seemed… so far away and so silent.

Another thunderous clap echoed through the night, louder this time, shaking you to your core.

“If that is really your sign…” Your voice trailed off, trembling. “Then cleanse all the sin away. Cleanse all wrongful desires and replace it with something more pure.”

You paused as you felt the lump in your throat return for the nth time that night and felt your vision become blurry. “I-if you think what I feel for her is a sin… if I’m beyond saving…” You whispered before wiping your tears away, and speaking more firmly. “Then… the least you can do is take it all away. Wipe her from my mind. Take all of it — every memory, every feeling.”

As you said it, you could feel your heart break at the thought of forgetting Alexia. You could feel the sob you’ve been suppressing bubble up to the surface as you fall to pieces. Your body crumpled, collapsing from a kneeling position to sitting back on your legs. You buried your face in your hands, sobbing quietly, your cries muffled by the storm outside.

You couldn’t speak up anymore, feeling like each thunderclap was God’s way of admonishing you. The still statues of the saints seemed to tower over your crumpled posture, signifying just how low you’ve fallen.

“Please, God,” You cried out one last time. “Just… be here.”

At the moment, you felt so empty and alone in the chapel. However, unbeknownst to you, you haven’t been alone in the past few minutes. You’ve grown consumed by your sobs and your thoughts that you hadn’t noticed that Alexia had been lurking at the back of the chapel, carefully walking towards you.

She hadn’t heard much but she heard enough to conclude that you were here because of her. 

She stepped closer to you, her closed umbrella dripping on to the cold marble. The wind continued to rattle the stained glass windows, making the atmosphere feel even more tense. 

As you let out another sob, Alexia finally spoke up. “Are you praying that God will heal me?” Her voice cracked as she said it.

You nearly jumped at the voice cutting through the silence of the chapel. As you turned, your eyes locked with Alexia, standing a few pews back. It was dim — her face illuminated by the faint light of the lamps and candles — but her expression was clearly pained. Her hazel eyes glistened with unshed tears, her lips parted and quivering as if wanting to stay something but unable to. 

“D-do you think I’m a sin for liking women too?” she asked, her voice faltering. She was trying to sound firm and composed, but the cracks in her tone betrayed her.

You stood up from your kneeling position, walking towards the taller girl. “Alexia,” you said. “No, no — I wasn’t…”

“I thought you—” Alexia’s voice cracked. She looked down, shaking her head, before looking back up at you. “I’m so fucking stupid.”

“Alexia, please.” You reached for her hands, clasping them tightly in your own. “It’s not what you think. I wasn’t praying for that.” Your words tumbled out in a rush, defensive and desperate, as though you could will her to understand.

Alexia took her hand away from you. “Then what was all of that ‘erase all memory of her’ I was hearing?” Her voice quivered, blinking rapidly as a few drops of tears trailed down her face. “I thought… I thought you liked me.”

You reached over to her again, trying to touch her face but she backed away. You bit your lip, pained by the sight of her. She looked hurt. “Alexia, you’re misunderstanding…”

“How else can I interpret that?” Her voice was suddenly sharp, tinged with anger and pain. “What else could you mean? How am I supposed to feel when you’re in here begging God to erase me from your life?”

The emotions that bubbled inside of you made it harder for you to formulate a coherent sentence to explain to her just what you were praying about. “Alexia, I really…” You paused. “I was just asking Him for a sign.”

Alexia released a dry, hollow chuckle, obviously pained. “A sign that what? You should distance yourself from me? Because I’m some filthy homosexual dragging you to hell, isn’t that right?” You winced at Alexia’s tone as it cracked through the heavy air. 

“Alexia, stop—please!”

“No, you stop!” she snapped, her voice shaking with anger and grief. “You’re praying to forget me so you can go back to being perfect little monjita, right? So you can live your pure, saintly life without people like me ruining it?” Her lips curled in a bitter smile, her eyes glassy. “Because your god says I’m disgusting, doesn’t he? That people like me don’t deserve to exist?”

“Go ahead, fuck it,” She cursed, not letting you interject with her voice sharp and pointed. “I’ll stay away from you. I won’t bother you anymore just so you can be the perfect angel everyone thought you were again. I’ll stay away so your life can finally be cleansed from—”

Without even thinking twice, you stepped forward and wrapped both arms around Alexia’s waist, burying your head in her chest as you felt the sobs bubble up again. You clutched her tightly as your body shook. 

Startled, Alexia lost her train of thought and kept her hands to her sides, unmoving. When you looked up, she locked eyes with you and saw so much pain in your face. The tears continued to rush down your face with no sign of stopping. Your eyes were filled with a devastating expression that made her heart pang. 

“Alexia, I’m praying because…” Your voice cracked as you struggled to speak through the tears. “I think I like you… and that terrifies me.”

Alexia’s breath hitched, and her arms moved almost involuntarily, wrapping around you in a hesitant but protective embrace. She held you close, her mind racing as conflicting emotions surged through her. She felt confused as to how to feel because here you were, confessing your feelings just after she heard you pray that you forget about her.

Her hazel eyes searched yours as she pulled back slightly, her hands still resting on your shoulders. You could see the confusion and pain warring within her. “You were asking him to help you forget me,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “How am I supposed to believe you now?”

You stepped back, your hands trembling as you wiped at your tear-stained face. “Alexia, I…” You swallowed hard, trying to steady your voice. “I was saying things out of fear — out of confusion. This… this is all I’ve ever known,” you began, your voice cracking. “The church, my faith, my beliefs… they were my whole world.”

“And it was fine.” You said before looking up to Alexia, meeting her hazel eyes once again. “Until you came along.”

Alexia looked away from the eye contact, feeling it was too much for her to handle with the fear of dissolving into tears. You bit your lip and continued. “Then now, when I look back, everything that was… it felt wrong.” 

“You… you showed me,” You said, stepping again towards Alexia to touch her hand. “You showed me that I could be happy. Truly happy. Not just because I was told to be happy or because I felt like I had to be.”

Alexia looked up to you again, locking eyes with you again. But, this time, all the frustration was replaced with something else — her eyes misty and her expression soft. “Then why are you here?” She asked. “Why do you want to get rid of what we have… if I make you happy?”

You looked down, carefully holding on to Alexia’s hesitant fingertips. “I’m still afraid… what if…” You tried to choose your words carefully. “What if my feelings for you are wrong? What if we make that mistake and… we suffer…”

You couldn’t say it more tactfully or more carefully but Alexia could finally understand your internal conflict better. She puts a careful hand under your chin, lifting your head up to look up at her as she moved closer to you.

“Why would this be wrong?” she asked, her voice low but steady, her eyes burning with emotion. “Why would loving you — purely, wholly, completely — be a sin?”

You looked up at Alexia, feeling your breath hitch. Your eyes flickered from her eyes to her lips and back to her eyes.

God, you said silently in your head. If this is a sin, strike me with lightning now.

The air between you and the Catalan grew heavier as you both breathed. The silence filled the air with only the sound of the wind howling and the rain pouring on the roof.

You took a deep breath, eyes finding their way back to Alexia’s parted and anticipating lips. 

A pause. A breath held.

Then, suddenly, you were kissing her. Your lips crashed into hers with a fervor that felt almost primal, a hunger that had been building for far too long. Your arms wrapped around her tightly, as though letting go would send her slipping through your fingers, like sand in an hourglass.

Hwr hands found their way around your waist, pulling you closer as she deepened the kiss. Her lips pressed against yours, soft and sweet, yet insistent. She parted your lips slightly, her tongue teasing yours with a delicious mix of restraint and desire. The way your body molded against hers left her yearning for more, craving every piece of you. 

She’s kissed other girls before but nothing quite like this. Sure, it had the same passion and intensity. But kissing you went beyond passion. It was transcendence. 

Kissing you felt like kissing heaven.

You shared the same unspoken sentiment but to you, Alexia tasted like freedom. Her lips against yours just managed to melt away all your worries, all your doubts. With every careful yet firm touch on your waist and hips, it felt like your chains were being detached link-by-link and you were finally able to move unconstrained. 

Suddenly, you felt free.

As you became breathless, you pulled away from the taller girl, trying to catch your breath. You looked up at her, searching her own eyes for a response.

Alexia just smiled at you, letting you catch your breath, before taking your face again — her hands gentle but insistent. She leaned in and captured your lips with hers, kissing you in a way that left your face warm and your mind hazy.

It felt right: kissing her, holding her, being hers. Even for a stolen moment. 

There were still a lot of things for you two to worry about. For one, you still resided within the confines of this institution that would condemn you. But you couldn’t think of that at the moment. All you knew was you were kissing Alexia… and that was all that mattered now.

Inside that cold, unyielding chapel, kissing Alexia felt like soaring towards the sun — a forbidden warmth that melted away all the frigid pain inside you. It was a kind of warmth you’ve never felt in your life. It was the kind of warmth you’ve always craved to feel, without even knowing it.

But even Icarus — who sought to feel that same sensation of the satisfying heat — was undone when he flew too close to the sun. Before he could even realize it, his wax had melted and his wings had unraveled.

And came his devastating descent. 

chapter 2 🕊

a/n: let me know your thoughts. comments motivate me a lot <3

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt.13

Word Count: 18.2k

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

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

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

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

Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9 Pt.10 Pt.11 Pt.12 Pt.14

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why did you never look at him like that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was just the two of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he would make sure you believed it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The point was that now it was time to adjust.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was about you too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet…

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

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

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

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

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

Yes. Simple...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Open your legs. Let me help you."

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

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

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

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

"Ah! Mghn..."

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

No. No. No. No.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re scared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing was a secret with him. He always knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The words tumbled out of your mouth almost unconsciously:

"That’s cool."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would he hurt you again? Would he hurt her?

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

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

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

He had to keep reminding himself why.

You.

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

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

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

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

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

He had to handle it. There was no choice.

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

The dreams began soon after.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

By the twelfth day, he felt it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And bring you back where you belonged.

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

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

But this wasn’t just healing.

This was something else.

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

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

“You’re weak. I’m not.”

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

“You can’t win by becoming me.”

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

What even is he?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing more.

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

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

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

"Yes m'aam!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had gotten really used to lying through your teeth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you whisper, your breath hitching.

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

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

But nothing happened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is that how you really feel?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do I hate him? Do I really want this?

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

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

Do I hate him enough for this?

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

“Then prove it. Pull the trigger."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What are you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you feel it.

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

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

She can feel it.

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

She can feel everything.

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

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

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

She deserves that much.

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

What kind of monstrosity is he?

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

“Sylus…what are you?”

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

[yumeka-sxf]

Are we finally heading into the long awaited Desmond arc? 👀 It's hard to say yet, but my first thought upon reading the new chapter was that, like, 9 out of the 23 pages was just awkward silence at the dinner table 😬

Another thing that stood out to me within the first few panels was how different Damian seems at home than at school.

When he's rejected and inconvenienced by Demetrius and Max respectively, he keeps calm and doesn't get mad. On the contrary, he's very understanding and considerate. It's quite different from how he acts in similar situations at school where he's quick to lash out, especially at Anya of course. I'd like to think that what we're seeing in this chapter is more of the "real" Damian; a basically nice kid who longs for a normal childhood with a normal family, but unfortunately was born into the opposite...and because he's not free to openly express his frustration about this due to how uptight and estranged his parents are, he lets out a lot of his negative emotions at school instead. Anya is often the brunt of this due to how often she tries to interact with him in ways that he's not used to.

But anyway, back to the chapter itself, we're also introduced to a new butler at the Desmond house, Mary Jane.

Not sure how prominent of a character she'll be, but the fact that Endo gave her a name (which he doesn't always give to reoccurring characters) makes me think we'll see her again.

We also finally get to see Max and Damian interact. Despite being a German shepherd (I think), I like that Endo made him look distinct from Aaron. Though it seems like he has longish fur...maybe he's a mixed breed? Endo provided this cute illustration along with the chapter release too.

Among all the "Desmond family being awkward at dinner" panels we got, the one that stood out the most to me (and probably others) was this two-page spread.

Showing all of them in separate corners against total darkness, each seemingly in their own little world not looking at any of the others. This is very contrasting to how the Forger family meals are conveyed...

It really makes you wonder - which is the fake family and which is the real family?

A more subtle thing to note about the Desmond dinner is that Melinda never actually eats anything. Throughout all the panels, she's only seen drinking wine and never using her silverware. When she leaves, her plate hasn't been touched.

What I interpret from this based on what we know so far is that she has such an aversion to the Desmond house, and probably Donavan in particular, that she can't even bring herself to eat in his presence.

And lastly, I wanted to touch on the word that Donovan uses when describing the family dinner. In the Japanese version, he uses the word 有意義な which means "significant," "valuable," "useful," "of interest," etc.

I got the impression that Damian doesn't know what that word means, which is why it's written in katakana when he asks Jeeves. He says "Hey Jeeves, what's ユーイギ?"

The English version makes it seem like he knows what the word "worthwhile" means, but not what Donovan meant by it in this situation, so slightly different nuance between the two versions.

That about wraps up my thoughts on the new chapter! Like I said in the beginning, I think it could be leading to a new arc focused on the Desmonds, or it could simply be a standalone chapter, and we'll focus on something else next time. Gotta wait and see~

[katsu28]

summer's golden haze - chapter three

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: bar hopping, damsels in drunken distress, and a late night heart to heart. (5.1k)

warnings: swearing, alcohol, lando talks about the hungarian gp shitshow

a/n: yes this is me maybe slightly projecting my feelings about hungary onto my characters okay! they're my barbie dolls to play with i can do whatever i want 😌↕️ anyways hope u enjoy <3

previous chapter | masterlist

“Hello? Are you even listening?” 

You blink, bringing yourself back to reality and back to the current conversation. Your friends are looking back at you with matching concerned, albeit a little annoyed expressions. “What? Sorry, I was—I’m here, sorry. What’s going on?” 

Samira tuts, but not unkindly. They all know you’ve got a million things running in your mind at the moment. “I was saying our dinner reservations got canceled. Something about the kitchen having to close down for maintenance, I dunno. Anyways, it frees us up tonight and we’re trying to figure out what to do instead.” 

“Oh. We could stay in? Order some food, watch a movie?” 

“I know what we need,” Camille gasps suddenly, eyes lighting up like she’s just had a brilliant idea. “We’re going bar hopping tonight.” 

“Bar hopping? We haven’t done that since—” You pause, taking a moment to think. You haven’t been bar hopping since Samira got dumped by her girlfriend a few months back, the time before that when Maren finally cut ties with her situationship last year. The only time you all go bar hopping is after a breakup. They think what happened with Lando is the same as breaking up with a partner. “Guys, seriously, I’m fine. He was never even my boyfriend anyways!” 

“Say what you want, but you’ve been super out of it these past few days. You need to let loose, do something that makes you stop thinking of Lando and start thinking about yourself again.”  

You scowl, crossing your arms over your chest. “I think about myself plenty.”

Camille rolls her eyes at you. “I mean not in that mopey, sad ‘I say everything is fine even though it’s not’ way. There’s more fish in the sea than Lando. Find one, or don’t, it’s up to you. But you need to forget about him.” 

Your lips press into a thin line as you sink back into your seat.

You don’t want another fish in the sea. You want the weird little crab with the cute accent and the sparkly eyes, the one you’ve already let back into the water.

The one you can’t have. 

Things haven’t been too awkward with Lando yet, but they definitely aren’t the same. Two people who really like each other but have decided to remain friends doesn’t really scream smooth sailing from now on to you. The wound is still fresh, and there are hints of it as you spend more time with the guys. 

Immediately filling the empty seat next to each other like it’s second nature but then having to awkwardly scoot away when your shoulders bump or your hands brush. Lingering glances across tables and rooms until one of you breaks and looks away first. Finding him first in a place full of other people and drifting towards him, only to come to your senses and switch up directions at the last moment. 

You wish you could say forgetting Lando would be easy. It really isn’t—not when your friend groups have basically melded into one big one, and everyone gets along so well. It would’ve been easier if you’d gone your separate ways, but you don’t think your heart would’ve liked that very much. Not that it enjoys skipping a beat every time you catch Lando’s eyes on you a little too long either. 

You wrinkle your nose, brows following. “I’m sad and mopey?” 

“A little bit.” 

“Okay, fine. Fine, let’s go bar hopping,” You concede, letting your shoulders drop. 

If you’re going to get over him, you might as well start right now. 

That’s how you end up in bar number one of the night, four tequila shots on the bar table in front of you. You eye the unassuming little glass warily, even as each of your friends snatch one up eagerly. 

Samira, as if sensing your hesitation, nudges yours toward you. “It’s one shot, babe. It won’t kill you.” 

“I know that,” You insist, throwing your shoulders back. “I just…need a second.” 

“Take all the time you need. We’re going all night.” 

Tonight isn’t about your feelings for Lando. Tonight is about you moving on, moving past what could’ve been with him and looking forward to what might come next. With or without him. 

You hold up your shot towards them, grinning big. “Here’s to moving forward, and making memories that’ll last a lifetime!” 

Clinking your glass against all of theirs, you throw back the clear liquid as smoothly as you can, only wincing a little bit at the burn of it going down your throat. It isn’t your usual drink of choice, but change has to start somewhere, right? 

-------

As far as bars go, this one isn’t the worst one you’ve been to tonight, but the fun has started to wear off for you. You’d stopped drinking around bar number two, the buzz of your much tamer drink choices after those first few shots starting to die down bit by bit. On the other hand, your friends are still going full steam ahead. You’ve honestly lost track of how many drinks they’ve had at the bars you’ve hit tonight, but they’re holding on pretty well. 

“Fuck boys!” Samira exclaims, slamming another shot glass down onto the table with gusto. Maren and Camille agree wholeheartedly with identical slurred ‘yeah, fuck ‘em!’s that make you chuckle into your glass of water. 

You know they’re just trying to make you feel better about your decision, and in a way, it helps. You’d finally been able to talk about what went down that afternoon without feeling an indescribable rush of guilt, and although they were disappointed at first, it became less when you’d told them why. They’re your best friends, and they know you better than anyone, so they know for a fact Lando’s lifestyle was not the one for you. 

Tonight was supposed to be all about forgetting your feelings, but as the night went on longer and your inhibitions became lower, you still couldn’t help but think about Lando. That mental box you’d put him has burst wide open already. 

You’re a little embarrassed to admit it, but you’d done a little research on him after getting home, which turned into a deep dive of his career, his life, anything that piqued your interest in him. You were curious to know what a guy like him saw in someone like you. 

It felt a little weird to see him outside the Lando you’ve gotten to know him as, because he seemed…different. He’s still the same sweet guy you know, but on video he’s a more tame version of himself. 

Carefully chosen words and shy smiles, he wears his confidence like a suit of armor on camera, to protect himself against the world. Here, he’s all bursting grins and loud belly laughs, unfiltered and so, so happy. He seems so normal, it’s hard to remember that he’s not just your everyday guy. Lando is one of the best and well known racing drivers in the whole world.

Making sure to separate the two is important if you want to stay firm in your decision. 

Somehow it hits nearly four in the morning, and it’s about high time you make the executive decision to call it quits and go home. The only problem is, you’re the only semi-sober one out of the four of you. You have the car, but you don’t trust yourself to drive in this state. None of your friends are in any shape to be of any help either, not when Maren is nearly passed out on the tabletop, and Camille and Samira drunkenly swaying with each other right next to you. 

You don’t really trust any rideshares at this time of night in an unfamiliar place, and even then, there’s no way you can get them all home by yourself. There’s only one other thing you can think of, one other person you can call to help you out. The one person you were hoping to not have to call. 

The moment your finger hits Lando’s number, you have half a mind to hang up. You’re about to, but then the line connects. 

“Yeah, what?” Lando’s voice is gravelly, thick with sleep. A little grumpy. Of course he’s grumpy, it’s nearing three in the morning and he was probably asleep. You feel bad that you've woken him up, but you couldn't think of anything else. 

“Lando? I’m so sorry to be calling you this late, I just didn’t know what else to do.”

Immediately, he sounds more alert when your name leaves his lips. “Is everything alright? What’s up?” 

You gnaw on your lip in contemplation until he says your name again, gentler this time. “We’re at a bar in town and the girls are really drunk and we need to get home, but I had a few drinks too so I didn't think I should drive. And I tried to call an Uber but at this time of night I don’t—” 

“Hey, no, it’s okay. I can come pick you up.” He interrupts your rambling and you're grateful for it, because the more you talk the more you think this was a bad idea. You’re asking him for too much, you're stretching the limits of an already awkward friendship too far, you're— “Just tell me where you are, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

“Really?” 

“Of course. Drop me your location and stay there.” You can hear rustling on his end of the line, pounding on a door, someone’s groggy voice saying something you can’t make out. Then Lando’s voice fills your ear again, soft yet firm. “Hang tight, ‘kay? Be there soon.” 

“Thank you so much,” You breath, truly grateful. He hangs up, and you can finally let out a breath of relief. Lando is coming. You won’t be stranded here. 

Lando jumps out of the car as soon as it pulls to a stop in front. He’s got on some nondescript jumper with the hood pulled up over his head and a random pair of joggers, and he definitely doesn’t look like he’d just been roused from his sleep. In fact, seeing him all disheveled with worry like this is kind of doing it for you. 

You’re in the middle of apologizing again when Lando crashes into you, arms wrapping around you tighter than you’re expecting, nearly squeezing the breath out of you. You meet Max’s eyes over his shoulder, who you’d just realized was also here, and he doesn’t look surprised at all. He looks rather smug, actually. 

“Are you okay?” Lando holds you at arms length, worried eyes scanning you for anything out of place, any injury. Other than your pride, you remain unharmed. Though that pesky fluttery feeling in your stomach is back again, as is the warmth in your chest, and it isn’t from the alcohol. 

His hood has fallen off from the force of his hug to reveal the tornado of curls on his head, flat on one side from his pillow most likely, as are the lines on his face from what was probably a good night’s sleep. Until you called, that is. 

You blink at him, caught off guard by the amount of care he still seems to have for you. It feels like an impossible feat to tear your gaze away from his. “Yes? I mean, yeah, I’m fine. You—wow, you got here fast.” 

“I thought maybe something—nevermind.” He cranes his neck around you to glance at your half asleep friends on the bench. “Are…they okay?” 

“Yeah, they’re fine. Tequila, y’know?” You shrug. 

Max lets out a snort of laughter from where he’s wandered over to check on them, waving a hand in front of Samira’s face. She swats at him halfheartedly, mumbling a sleepy, “Fuck off, Fewtrell.” 

“Sorry to wake you too, Max.” 

“Oh no, you didn’t wake me. He did.” He juts his chin over at Lando, who still has a hand around your elbow. You can’t help but let your eyes drop down to it, and Lando does too, inhaling sharply before letting go. Still, the warmth from his grip lingers. “And not very nicely might I add.” 

“I had to get you up quick!”

“You nearly took my head off with a pillow, you dickhead!” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want a kiss on the forehead?” Lando snorts. 

“Not from you!” 

“Come off it already, won’t you?” Lando turns his attention back to you instead, rolling his eyes playfully when he finds you stifling a giggle behind your palm. “You said you had your car?” 

“Um, yeah, it’s around the corner. We can just leave it here, I’ll circle back and pick it up in the morning.” 

Lando clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “It’ll probably be stripped for parts by tomorrow. How bout we split up? Two and two?” 

“Well, we all know who you want,” Max says knowingly. It makes your cheeks flame hot and Lando’s flush pink, but Max doesn’t waver in his shit eating grin. For some reason, you find his candid bluntness refreshing, even if it is poking fun at what’s going on (or not going on) between Lando and yourself. “You guys take Maren in your car, I’ll take these two and meet you at your house.” 

Max manages to coax Camille and Samira to their feet with little trouble, and before you know it they’re off, leaving you alone with Lando and a very sleepy Maren. He rocks back on his heels, biting the inside of his cheek awkwardly, like he’s not sure what to do. 

“Should we—” 

“I think—” Lando bites back a laugh, gesturing for you to speak first. 

“We should probably get going.” 

“Right. Let’s get her in the car then, yeah?” 

You couldn’t be less well versed in cars if you tried, but even you know the one Lando came to your rescue in is expensive. You’re almost too reluctant to even sit in it. But then Lando’s hand touches softly against the small of your back as he pulls open the door without hesitation, and you have no choice but to help Maren in. 

Not like you had much of a choice anyways, what with him being the knight in shining armor to your damsel in distress call. 

“Did you have fun? Before having to play mum to the girls, I mean.” Lando asks a little while later, not taking his eyes off the road. 

You blow out a deep breath, sinking back into the plush leather of the passenger seat. The soft smoothness is heaven on your skin. “Kinda. The first few drinks, at least. Felt a little out of place, honestly.” 

“What, you didn't charm some guy the same way you charmed me?” Silence fills the car like cement as soon as the words leave his mouth. A pang of something sharp shoots through you, something akin to hurt that flashes through your chest but is gone a second later. 

No, you shouldn’t feel hurt. You’re the one who hurt him. Even though he’s told you over and over that it’s okay, it’s fine, he understands your decision, Lando has every right to express his true feelings, no matter how it makes you feel. 

“Sorry, that was—that came out wrong. I just meant—” 

“I know what you meant,” You say quietly. He wants to know if you met someone else, and the answer is no. No, you didn't meet another guy, because all you could think about was him. But you’re just friends. You’d made certain of it. So why did you feel like you’d done something wrong? “I didn’t meet anyone else.” 

“Oh. Cool.” 

“Is it?” 

A muscle in his jaw clenches as he swallows thickly, nodding. “Yeah. I mean, if that’s what you want. What you’re looking for.” 

“I don’t think I’m looking for anything right now,” Your voice is soft, nearly a whisper. 

I’m not looking for something that isn’t you, you could add. You don’t. It wouldn’t do anything other than hurt him, and yourself, even more. 

The rest of the ride home is basically silent, and Max is waiting on the sofa with the other two when you finally get there, entertaining a story that Camille is telling not unlike one would with a child, uh huh-ing and wow, that’s so cool-ing until he realizes you’re finally here. 

You take over from then, thank him profusely yet again when he says he’s going to head home, before corralling all three girls into the bathroom like a zookeeper with their animals. 

One by one, you help each of your friends through an abridged version of their night routines until they’re all ready for bed, and then you tuck them into the same bed as best you can. You’ve relegated yourself to the floor with a littering of pillows for the night. It’ll be easier to get to them if they need anything during the night if you’re all in the same room. 

You’re surprised to see Lando in the doorway once you’ve gotten them all settled in for the night. You thought he'd left with Max, but apparently not.  

He glances up as he hears you approach, frowning. “You’re gonna sleep on the floor?” 

You shrug. “Yeah, it’s fine. I can keep an eye on them that way. You can, erm, you can go home now. Go back to sleep.” 

“No offense, but I’m pretty sure they’ll sleep through the night. Plus, you must be knackered too. You should get some rest, yeah?” You want to say no, but your body’s response betrays you in that moment, because you yawn big, and it makes him chuckle. “Come on. Sleep in your own bed. I’ll watch over them.” 

“No way.” You shake your head insistently, despite the enticing offer. “You’ve already done more than enough, Lando, I can’t ask you to stay up all night. I’ve got them covered.” 

“You shouldn’t either.” He shoots back, chin tilting up in challenge. You match him as best you can with your eyes growing heavier and heavier by the moment, and eventually, he backs down, hands up in mock surrender. “How ‘bout we take shifts? The living room’s right across the hall, if we camp out there and anyone makes a racket, whoever’s up will be able to hear them.” 

You twist your lips to the side in thought. “Deal. I call first watch though.” 

“I can live with that. Why don’t you go freshen up, or something?” 

“Is that your way of telling me I stink?” 

Lando’s eyes glint with mirth, teasing smile curling his lips. “Maybe.” 

“Well, maybe you don’t smell too good either!” That’s a total lie. He actually smells really nice, a mixture of remnants of his heady cologne from the day and something fresher, a little citrusy. His soap, maybe? 

A hot shower certainly does wonders to sober you up the rest of the way, and as you’re toweling your hair dry enough to where it won’t be dripping water down your shirt, you take a good look at yourself in the fogged up mirror. 

This is fine. You can spend a night alone with Lando without feeling anything towards him. You can do this. You’ve done harder things than this. 

Lando’s frowning at something on his phone when you make your way back into the living room, scowling like whatever’s on the screen has personally wronged him. It isn’t the first time you've noticed his demeanor turn sour like this, and your concern is piqued each time. 

You clear your throat as if to announce your presence, offering him a small smile when his head whips up. “Hi. Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine. It’s just work.” He tosses his phone on the coffee table, dragging a hand forward through his curls, mussing up the front before raking them back. It doesn’t seem to do anything but make them messier, but you suspect it’s more of a nervous habit than anything.

He smiles back at you as you sit a respectable distance away from him on the sofa, though even that looks entirely forced. Something is wrong, and it’s eating away at him. 

“Look, I know things aren't how they used to be with us, but I hope you know I’m still here for you. You can always talk to me if you need to.” 

Lando gnaws on his bottom lip, head tilting from side to side like he's unsure. “Really? You’d do that for me?” 

“Friends are there for each other.” 

He blows out a deep sigh, sinking back against the pillows like a deflated balloon. “Yeah? You’re sure?” 

“I’m a good listener, remember?” You nudge his knee with yours gently. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m all ears.” 

He isn’t ready right away. For a little while, you sit in silence. You get the feeling Lando doesn’t have much experience with letting people in very easily, but it's okay. You’ll sit here as long as he needs to get his thoughts together. 

Finally he speaks, but even then, his tone holds hesitance. 

“I feel like everything is going to shit. The car is great this season, it’s better than it's ever been before, so that’s not the problem. It’s me, I’m the problem, I keep fucking everything up," He sighs, shoulders slumping. "And my team work so hard for me to be able to perform and deliver and I feel like I’m just letting everyone down, y’know? They deserve someone who can give them better than the shit stuff I’ve been putting out these past few races.” 

Lando as a person is impossibly hard on himself, you’ve come to learn—always thinks he could’ve done better, even if what he’s already done is enough. The same is true when it comes to his job. 

You’d know—you checked. In your uninformed opinion, the results he’s been achieving in the races are great. To be finishing high in the top five out of twenty of the best drivers in the world in almost every single race recently, it’s enough to make anyone proud.

But when you think about it from a competition perspective, a cutthroat drive with everything you’ve got, put everything on the line perspective, you get a sense of why he’s beating himself up. 

To know he can win and still fall short, race after race…god, you can’t even imagine how he must be feeling. 

You might be clueless still, but at the very basis of it all, you understand. Lando has worked so hard for so many years, put in blood, sweat, and tears, and he feels like he’s not living up to expectations. 

You know what it’s like to have such high expectations placed on your shoulders and nearly be crushed by the weight of everyone counting on you. Surely not on a scale as large as his, but you understand the struggle. 

Then he goes into the race in Hungary a few weeks back, and you can tell there’s some lingering hurt in him about what happened. 

“It’s like they were guilt tripping me or something. Telling me I’ll need the team in the championship fight, that I should do the right thing and give up my position. Call me crazy, but that just didn’t sit right with me at all. They want me to be a team player and that’s fine, I’m happy to, but I dunno…” Lando trails off, nose wrinkling like the words leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

You notice him picking at the skin below his nail and move without thinking, closing the distance between the two of you and redirecting his fiddling fingers by linking them with your own. 

It gets him to stop picking, but it also makes him stop talking. Whatever words are about to come out of his mouth die into a drawn out exhale, eyes drawn to your joined hands like a magnet. 

“Yeah? Keep going, I’m still listening,” You urge gently, nodding. Lando blinks at you, as if he’s lost his train of thought. “Hungary? The team?”

“Uh…yeah. Right. I was—I guess I just didn’t think they’d pull all that crap over the radio. Like, everyone could hear what they were saying—other teams, the commentators. It was on live broadcast too!” His fingers tighten around yours ever so slightly, dark brows knit with frustration. 

Even though you know close to nothing about the sport, what his team pulled seems like a dick move. You understand wanting to put their drivers in the best position possible, but airing things out on a radio where everyone can hear it feels wrong to you. Then again, you have no idea what goes on within a team at this type of performance level. 

“It’s like, they knew I’d do what they wanted me to do and I did, but for a moment, I almost didn’t. I almost went against team orders, and that’s…” He laughs humorlessly, shaking his head. “You don’t do that. You can’t. You listen to what your team says and you do it, and that’s the end. My boss has been calling every now and then, trying to get me to talk and shit, and I just don’t really wanna talk about work right now. I don’t even wanna think about it.” 

“Oh, Lando…” You sigh. Your thumb rubs circles over the prominent ridges of his knuckles, hoping it brings him some sort of comfort.

“I know I probably sound like such a brat right now, but I’ve given everything I have to McLaren and it still doesn't feel like enough. They want more, and right now…I’m not sure how much more I’ve got in me.” 

“Can I be completely and totally honest with you right now?” 

“Yeah, please.” 

You hesitate, taking a beat to reply. You don’t want him to take your response the wrong way. “I’m not gonna sit and pretend like I have any clue what it’s like to be in your situation, because I don’t. But I do think you’re being too hard on yourself. Yeah, sometimes you might not get the results you’d hoped for, but you’re doing the best you can, and that’s all you need to be doing.” 

Lando doesn’t need your advice, and you’re in no place to be giving any in the first place. He just needs someone in his corner, someone who cares about him to tell him that it’s okay to not be perfect. You want to be that person, even though you’re both still trying to settle into this new dynamic with each other. 

Thankfully, your words seem to soak in, easing the tension in his shoulders just a little bit. “Thank you. I think I really needed that.” 

“Glad I could help,” You say warmly, squeezing his hand. 

“Y’know, I just realized that I’ve never said any of that out loud to anyone.”

“Do you feel better?” 

Lando chuckles, and somehow, he even seems better. Like whatever was weighing him down was gone. “Yeah, I do. I feel…lighter, actually? Is that weird?” 

“Not at all. That’s what letting things out will do for you.”

“Maybe. But maybe it’s more than that, maybe it’s…you.” 

Your breath hitches in your chest. “Me?”

“You make me feel like I can be myself around you. Like, the real me, not the me the rest of the world knows me as. I feel genuinely happy around you, and I—I can’t just sit here and ignore it any longer. I still really like you. And I know what you said about us, and I know why, but I can’t help the way I feel around you. The way I feel about you.” 

“Lando, I—” 

“I swear I’m not trying to change your mind or make you feel guilty, or anything like that! I just had to say it before it made me explode,” He adds, exhaling shakily. “In the spirit of letting things out.” 

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you hadn’t been starting to question whether or not you’d made the right choice by deciding to walk away from Lando, because the more you get to know him, the more it chips away at your resolve. He’s kind and sweet and funny, and he gets you like nobody else has before. It’s been hell these past few days, tiptoeing around each other when all you want to do is kiss him senseless.

Right now, you want to kiss him senseless. He’s right here in front of you, holding your hand, looking at you with those stupid sparkly eyes. You want to say it’s the leftover alcohol buzzing in your veins making you feel this way, but that would be a lie too. 

Fuck it. 

You cross the already dwindling space between the two of you, sliding a hand around the back of his neck, and kissing him softly. Lando freezes for a split second, but before you know it, he’s kissing you back, guiding you closer until you’re nearly on his lap. His hands roam your back, curling into the material of your shirt, thumbing under it just a tiny bit to stroke at the warm skin there. 

It isn’t at all like the first time you kissed. He lets you set the tone, following your slow lead without question. 

You’re not sure how long you keep at it—lazy, gentle kisses punctuated with hushed giggles and tiny satisfied noises from the both of you.

Lando takes a pause every so often, pulling back just enough to look at you, take in the sight of you breathless from his doing, and every time, his mouth curls into a squinty, close mouthed smile. You can only bear the fondness in his expression for a few seconds before growing too aware of the way he looks at you and kissing him again. 

Your brain doesn’t want to stop, but apparently your body decides you’ve had enough action for a day, because at some point you feel your eyes start to droop, chin following.

As if sensing your exhaustion, Lando pulls away, chest rising and falling heavily. He’s breathless, lips kiss-swollen as they curve into a soft smile. “We should stop. You need to get some sleep.” 

“No! We should talk about this. Us.” 

“I agree, but I don’t think you’re really in the right headspace to do it right now.”

“I’m fine! I’m okay, I swear.” 

“You just nearly fell asleep whilst we were making out.”

“For a second!” You whine, letting your head thunk against his chest. A chuckle vibrates through him. “Don’t laugh at me, I’m tired.” 

“Then go to sleep. We’ll talk about it in the morning,” He insists, lips pressed to the crown of your head. You sigh through your nose. You’d argue a little more, but Lando is right again. All you want to do is go to sleep. “I’m not going anywhere, alright? I’ll be here when you wake up, we can figure it out then.” 

“Promise?” 

“I promise.”

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🗣️Eddie Munson Fic Recs

This is gonna have a sappy start before I get into the fic rec portion: but I just wanted to say that at the end of May 2022, I was finishing up my first year of law school. It was rough, challenging, lonely, and basically everything you’d expect and I was in a bad place and the fandom I’d been in was slowing down just naturally. I truly wish I could remember how I even became aware of Eddie Munson because stranger things wasn’t really on my radar anymore and whoever I followed at the time that started to veer off into Eddie-mania, thank you. In the two years since then, I’ve graduated and become the worlds babiest lawyer and I genuinely owe a lot to this fandom and community on here for giving me a fun, usually safe, creative place to escape to when it got rough.

I’m just hoping to maybe remind people that there are already an incredible, incredible amount of existing stories to read and talk about that deserve your attention and love if you’re looking to read some Eddie stories. Some of these will be fics I’ve recommended before but I’m going to try my best to pull together writers and fics that I love and think everyone should read in the hopes that someone like me who still scrolls through eddie tags looking for my nightly bedtime story can find something new to them to read! ✨

Previous Fic Rec list here!! some overlap but there’s no such thing as too much hype for these writers

@munson-blurbs I hope it’s ok but I’m linking Bug’s full masterlist here because I have genuinely loved everything she has written. There are blurbs, series, and special events which are all incredible and worth a read! Bug is currently still writing the “Living after Midnight” series which is my current obsession and features rockstar!eddie x motelheiress!reader and it’s angst and lust galore

@corroded-hellfire also sharing the Eddie Masterlist here because there’s so many fics to read!! As You Wish, Big Brown Eyes, Where the Heart Is are all incredible but truly there’s so much here to enjoy

@upsidedownwithsteve SIMMER!! jk I’m actually linking the Eddie Masterlist here too because I love them all but “I Want You To Want Me” and “Simmer” are out of this world

@pinkrelish The Yes Policy I love it, you love it, we all love it and if you haven’t caught up yet oh my god I wish I was you and could read these chapters for the first time again

@ghost-proofbaby I’ve previously told people to go read 24 Hours, and you should, that’s an order; but Maroon is ongoing! and it’s actually infiltrating my every thought so go on over and get caught up bc I think it’s safe to say things are getting amped up

@trashmouth-richie I have also previously recommended Honey, I’m Home because it’s a work of art but Ziggy has a new mini series “Crash + Fall” that I’m completely obsessed with the concept for and I’ve loved every piece so far!

@tiannasfanfic I just reblogged Conviction again but I genuinely am not exaggerating when I say I think about this story and these two monthly and try and find this story all the time to re-read it endlessly. It’s a really lovely story of unplanned pregnancy and two characters not realizing they’ve been smitten for each other the whole time and I love it

@carolmunson I’m sharing another Eddie Masterlist here because I’d be making this post far too long but Carol’s stories are all incredible, complex, and honest. “Let’s go, don’t wait” just got updated and I had to read it like 3 times last night because it was too good to just read one and done

@rebelfell I just discovered Sarah’s blog after reading the most recent “Frenemy” fic and idk what I was doing wrong to not already follow her and not have already read her whole Masterlist but I’m linking the whole thing bc she’s so good!!

@the-au-thor I also only just discovered Elle’s blog and that’s criminal but thank god I found Babysitting Mun because I am a sucker for rockstar!eddie and this series has me on the edge of my seat rn

@storiesbyrhi I’m sharing the Masterlist folks because I have genuinely loved every single story and series and I have read them all now (some several times). So many of Rhi’s stories have a wonderful warm witchy vibe that I crave and I’ve read Siouxsie and the Soulmates, The Cabin in the Woods, Our Patron Saint of the Arts, Vintage Reeboks, and Burning Yarrow (insert screaming fan gif) multiple times now

@heart-eyed-love this fic is the epitome of a soft, cozy, domestic night with Eddie and if you need a hug read this 🥹

@eddieandbird I JUST got caught up on Eddie/Tour Manager series and I’m fully obsessed and desperate to know how they’re gonna navigate this - for folks new to the story, Eddie and his tour manager accidentally drunkenly get married- what could go wrong??

@eiightysixbaby the scream I scrumped when I finished reading Princess Leia, and Other Wishes - look bffs to lovers is already my absolute weakness on this earth but then you had to make it witty and funny and FLUFFY I just can do nothing but re-read and pine

@superblysubpar I’m still obsessed with this addition to The Boy is Mine writing challenge and oh god it’s so good 😩

…and while we’re talking about it - here’s the entire The Boy is Mine masterlist with an INSANE amount of incredible stories to read

@the-unforgivenn !!! tumblr hates me and deleted this bullet (so if you already saw this post, no you didn’t) but And I Need You to Know is a proper novel! I can’t imagine how much time, love, effort, planning, and work went into creating this insane and absolutely incredible world but everyone needs to read this!! and then follow up with She’s So Cold bc I love it and I am so reader

~~ this is not the end nor an exhaustive list! I just wanted to put something out there now that I plan to build on because I know I’m always scrolling and searching for new things to read or old things to revisit ♥️ ~~