#this took forever to write out yall

[cloudyskiiees]

with the rest of wrong try again plotted out in full, i’ve started plotting out an idea for my next possible long fic. and it’s not a mystery so i can post about it now in case i don’t end up writing it in full!!! yippie!! so here’s my alenoah based superhero au :)

(under the cut cuz it’s a massive post)

i’ve been working on this idea slowly over the last threeish months!!! im happy with the ideas so far and wanna share what’s up to see if ppl are interested :)

the fic would be called “The Masked Mentalist,” in reference to our protag, Noah! he’s considered a villain in this au by society. alejandro is considered a hero.

here’s the characters and their powers i’ve got so far! still subject to change if needed :)

Noah: Villain. “The Masked Mentalist” is his given name by the city, although he doesn’t actually wear a mask. Noah has the powers of “mental manipulation,” stretching to about four different tiers that take more energy depending on how much effort it takes to manipulate the brain.

1: Audio hallucinations. He has a “trademark” of making the world go completely silent for his victim before he attacks. He frequently drops random noises or screams into his opponent’s head to throw them off. It harder to mimic specific voices, which is why he opts to throw ppl off rather than emotionally attack them. Easiest of his powers.

2: Visual hallucinations are harder, but it’s the one noah is the best at. He’s great as messing with people’s appearances, making them see him and other people who may be around as others or sometimes just in horrifying situations. It’s also very simple for him to make someone think they’re trapped in walls or things like that, easy to create objects. He still struggles to completely change the look of an entire location however, which is why he opts to fight in open areas where fake visuals are easier to conjure.

3: Emotions are harder as well, and it can be tricky. he’s very good at pulling emotions from others such as rage or grief, as they’re very easily overpowering emotions. It’s simpler when his opponent is a more emotional/vulnerable person, so he shys away from emotional manipulation in fights usually, especially when he doesn’t know an opponent very well.

4: Memories are hardest, especially if they’re more recent. It’s fairly easy for noah to go and change someone perception on a childhood memory, as it was likely distorted already anyways. The clearer the memory the harder it is to manipulate.

As you can see, all four of these powers have to do with the mind. The way people see or hear things, as well as feel and remember. Noah’s powers allow him to attack any of those in a person.

There’s also technically a fifth one, which Noah figured out to do by himself.

5: The way he figures out how to hypnotize people is through memory AND emotional manipulation. Altering memories and then yanking on certain emotions to pull through, can help him get people to think and even partially act the way he desires. It’s exhausting, and incredibly rare for him to use.

Noah is able to keep his identity hidden by simply altering his appearance to whoever he is fighting. He usually seeks out people when alone, and does his best to not hurt innocents, despite what the public thinks. Everyone who’s fought him/seen him in action describes him differently. Most people aren’t even sure if he even is a “he,” because he makes himself look so drastic sometimes.

He occasionally works with a partner, although they don’t consider themselves to be aligned in general when it comes to crime.

Kaleidoscope is notoriously known for her random crimes and activities. No one can quite figure out her goal or intentions, and so she’s dubbed a vigilante by most.

This of course, being Izzy! When Noah fights with her, he occasionally helps mask her identity from others. She’s a bit reckless, but the two have a history together. A traumatic one at that!

Izzy’s powers are deterioration. She’s able to break/take things apart/crumble things with her mind. Her powers can be as simple or as drastic as she desires.

(She met Noah by saving him from someone attempting to hurt him. By completely destroying their bones from inside their body. Noah was both horrified and grateful.)

Moving on! Alejandro, a “superhero” in our story.

Alejandro doenst have superpowers. At least not in the way our other characters do! Everyone simply assumes he does.

Alejandro is clairvoyant, which is considered a gift, rather than a superpower. His family exploited his talents as a child, so when he was old enough, he fled to be on his own. Nowadays he uses his predictions to help others, being able to foresee certain disasters and small issues. His powers waver depending on their severity, and he has a habit of undoing a certain villains work without even knowing.

He’s dubbed “The Good Samaritan,” when first seen saving people. Over time, the city began to think he had superpowers, and his name changed to “The Physic Samaritan.” Alejandro avoids media and press as much as possible, seeing as it was all he was used to as a child, so no one knows any different. This does not serve him well when real super-powered folk begin to see him as a threat.

Onto our two real superheroes! (so far!!)

Lashawna is the cities main superhero. She’s been protecting citizens for about two years before Noah makes his debut as a villain. She has very standard telekinesis, and is about the most hero looking and sounding hero out there. Her name is “The Golden Hero,” later changed to “The Golden Woman” when she gains a sidekick. Everyone adores her!

Courtney is Lashawna’s sidekick, appearing with her mentor only a few months before Noah shows up. “The Golden Girl,” her powers being one of information absorbing. She’s able to quickly learn anything she needs, simply by skimming words or touching an object… or person.

There’s a bit of a roadrunner scenario for a while between her and Noah, where she’s simply trying to grab him in someway or another, as the action would reveal his real identity to her. Of course, Noah is able to easily evade her, as her powers have little to do with physical superiority. (She’s still incredibly strong and fast. It’s Courtney we’re talking about here.)

Before I talk about our real villain of the story, I’m gonna discuss some plot points!

-Courtney feels incredibly undervalued and overlooked. She thinks if she can manage to reveal the Masked Mentalist’s identity, people would finally start to give her more credit. Lashawna tries to help her calm down, but she’s very fixated on her mission.

-Noah wants control. Deep down he has good intentions, as he’s attempting to dismantle the upcoming “Heroes Program,” starting up in his city, but he loses sight of it for a while. Alejandro becomes a bit of an obsession for him, as he somehow has the entire cities trust while barely being in the public’s eye. It drives him crazy.

-Izzy has so much depth, but acts insane as a defense. She and Noah had very similar upbringings due to their powers, and a fuckton of issues that now stem from it. She hides her pain by acting as though she’s invincible.

-Noah and Izzy have a very deep bond. They truly trust each other more than anyone else, even their civilian friends.

-Team e-scope is very much present! Owen and Eva are humans, and are still best friends with Noah and Izzy. Neither have any clue their two best friends are well known criminals.

Alright actual plot time. And backstory for our super-powered characters!

As usual when it comes to superhuman realities, the powers come from genetic mutations. No one is too sure how it started, but superpowered people have been showing up around the world for the last twenty-ish years.

Children found out to have powers were, of course, taken by the government. At first it was out of fear, but after a few years, the public began retaliating. “Programs,” were then opened, and while it was presented as a choice for parents, it simply was not. If your child had powers and was found out, they would be forced into a program.

Lashawna and Courtney were both placed into a program as young children. Both were released after a number of years to become superheroes. Most children taken are not released.

Both Lashawna and Courtney lack memories from their time in the program. They are conditioned to be perfect superheroes, deemed “safe” for society, due to their powers.

Again, as expected, these “programs” are just ways for scientists to study the mutations in the children. At first there was an attempt to stop it, but nowadays, there’s more of a goal to simply replicate it. Children are treated like animals.

Based on your power, and your behavior, there’s a chance to be released as a hero, such as Lashawna and Courtney, as an example that these programs are a good thing. It’s a way to keep people happy, and keep the more dangerous powers under wraps, at least until they can find a “cure,” or a way to create the gene themselves.

Because each person is different, each mutation acts differently in a person, explaining all the different powers seen. Super powers are still incredibly rare, although they’re widely accepted as a truth nowadays. Two powers acting exactly the same has never been recorded.

Noah and Izzy were never put in a program.

They were smart kids. Noah realized his powers early on in his childhood, and was terrified. Stories of powers had been shown in the news by now, and he wanted nothing to do with it.

His mother discovers it on accident after a year or two of Noah being aware. He panics and attempts to erase her memories of it, failing miserably and only hurting himself in the process.

She promises to keep him safe, just as horrified as he is at the idea of losing her only son. It’s a terrifying childhood for Noah, constantly having to be on the lookout, never being able to openly use his powers, something that so quickly became such a huge part of his identity. He turns to subtly using his powers in public, able to help bring more money and such home for his family. He becomes incredibly talented with his powers as just a teenager.

Izzy never told a soul. She’s had more accidents with her powers than she cares to speak about. She learns of her powers a bit later in childhood, but still before becoming a teenager.

A ten year old accidentally dissolving someone’s skin from their hand when being picked on is a traumatic experience for anyone, but even more so when she kills the other child out of fear. She flees the scene, and loses her shit. She quickly figures out she has a dangerous power, and being just as smart as Noah at such a young age, hides it completely.

She had much less control over her powers for a number of years, being scared of herself.

It isn’t until she sees a man pressing someone clearly struggling to a wall in a dark alley she truly uses her powers for the first time, and makes her first friend. (This friend being Noah, of course.)

Yes very dark backstories for the sillies! They have an insane trauma bond.

With their backstories, you can kinda gather why Noah wants to take down the programs starting up again. They’re much more public this time, and that worries him. He knows nothing good can come from children being forced into such a program, even if he was never in one himself. Izzy is more than willing to help him out for the most part.

The actual plot of the story, of course, is alenoah. This being said, let’s talk about that!

Noah wants Alejandro’s influence on others. Wants the social power the “superhero” holds.

He and Izzy devise a plan to get that influence on their side.

To keep things relatively brief, they corner him, and Noah is able to successfully uses his created hypnosis power on Alejandro, simply getting him to trust Noah, as a civilian.

As soon as the deed is done, he and Izzy pose as his worried friends, claiming he’d fallen and hit his head. When Alejandro questions who they are, Izzy immediately pipes up with “He’s your boyfriend silly!” and Noah. Just. Has to roll with it. He can’t risk changing the narrative so quickly for the boy with the currently muddled memories, and he also can’t berate Izzy right in front of Alejandro. So he agrees.

The two discover after a little bit that he actually is not a superhero, and lacks powers in general. This pisses Noah off greatly, thinking his work was all for nothing. He continues with his plan nonetheless, seeing as no one else knew Alejandro didn’t have powers. That could be an advantage.

Alejandro gradually puts the pieces together over time, never fully recovering his memories, but being able to see through the fog Noah placed over them.

Everything is going pretty well, even with the residual feelings both boy are gaining as they pose as a couple. That is until the real villain of the story shows up.

Duncan! His powers are the ability to create weapons out of thin air, his trademark one being flying knives. The weapons disappear as soon as they hit a target, only being created by his mind, and usually shown as a faint green color. (this is a working idea! still not 100% on it, but i definitely want him to have a weapon related power.)

He was in a program as well, ironically, the same one as Courtney. He was not released, he escaped.

Being dubbed a “dangerous power,” Duncan was set to live the rest of his life out as a lab rat. Of course, being Duncan, he did not like this fate! He’s one of the few children to ever escape, and the only one know to come back as a supervillain.

He’s angry. He’s angry about everything, and with everyone. He’s especially pissed off with Courtney, who he believes simply abandoned him. Courtney doesn’t remember who he is.

No more details for now! (Both because I haven’t planned out enough 100% to post about, and some of it is just for the story!) But I hoped you guys like my silly AU ramblings! I’m having a good time with this idea, so lmk if it’s something you’d like to see more of in the future :)

[luminique]

Hello, I'm the translator Anon. I know we don't have much information about the outside world, but I would like to know if you have any possible ideas for a Reader who is part of the Sons of Calydon and what role this Reader could play.

We see in the story that each one plays a role within the group, such as Lighter being a bodyguard and Burnice selling drinks. I tried to think of something for a Reader from the Sons of Calydon, but I couldn't think of anything, do you have any ideas?

HI TRANSLATOR ANON !! i remember someone else came up with reader who’s a mechanic and i LOVE that idea.

especially after what happened before the tour de inferno, you made a deal with the Sons of Calydon to not only supply them with top quality parts, but also repair and upgrade their bikes. all this outside of the hollow? that’s too good of a deal to pass up on.

in the beginning, they were a little suspicious. you didn’t seem to have any ties to bad biker gangs and your bike that you showed them used parts that could never be gotten so easily in the hollow. caesar decided to take your bike out for a spin (lighter watching like a hawk to make sure she doesn’t get hurt), and she was laughing and screaming. once she was back, she gave your hand a firm shake and immediately went on about what sort of upgrades she wanted with her bike.

from that day on, you became the official mechanic for the Sons of Calydon. your work was clean and your service was fast. other mechanics and repairmen would take a few days, you only needed 2 days. even if you took a bit of time on their bikes, you would give them the keys to your bike so that they could still ride around the outer ring if they needed to.

if anyone wants a longer post (mechanic reader x lighter perhaps?), i will be more than happy to write it out ! it might take some time because i know NOTHING about motor parts but i will try to write something good.

[venusheartsyou2]

me and my husband | bucky barnes

summary: bucky asks a lot of you. like that time he asked you to marry him, no-strings-attached, of course.

pairing: congressman!bucky x fem!reader.

warnings: explicit. 18+ only, MDNI. afab!reader. marriage of convenience. many mentions of alcohol and drinking! yearn city over here, reader is a chronic people pleaser, hurt/comfort, domestic fluff, tad bit of angst. flashbacks to endgame, mention of steve and nat death & grieving. mention of benjamin poindexter. vague timeline. oral (female receiving), piv sex, unsafe sex, no use of y/n.

wc: 10.6K (FUUUCK)

a/n: oh my holy guaca-freaking-mole. this. took. fucking FOREVER to write. i hope yall like it, i really do. anyways.. self-indulgent! yippee!!

EDIT: i forgot bucky cant get drunk. please pretend he can for my sake.

heavily inspired by love me more by byexbyez (aka the better written version of this trope, lol)

The soup you made earlier in the day had gone cold. Chicken noodle. It wasn’t your favorite, but your husband usually asks for it when you offer to cook. Your husband’s late again, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. He was busy. He always is. Life as a congressman isn’t easy. It’s monotonous, boring, and soul-sucking. As much as the empty yet somewhat grand house bothered you, you learned to get over its suffocating hallways. 

The sound of keys jingling in the door knob breaks you out of your little trance. The key sounds act as a little warning that someone’s coming in. Bucky enters quietly and he knocks off his shoes and removes his worn out tuxedo jacket and leaves on the coat hanger next to the door.

“Long day?” You ask. Bucky didn’t expect you to be up still, proven by the little jump he does when he hears your voice. He sighs, it’s just you.

“Yeah, when isn’t it?” He responds. You let out a light breath disguised as a laugh.

“Made soup. It’s a bit cold now, but I can go warm it up if you’d like.” You say as you start heading to the kitchen.

“I’m not that hungry.” Bucky replies. Bucky’s reluctance to eat made you bitter, however there was no use. Behind closed doors, there was no need for pretending. Bucky had asked you to sign that marriage license, however long ago, but there was no sentiment tied to it. It was simply a means to an end.

“You should eat Bucky. I’ll leave it out.” You respond, trying not to push too much. Bucky simply nods, a sign he’s not too interested in continuing chatting. At least when the topic is about him. Stage fright, maybe.

Bucky nervously fidgets with the cuff of his shirt. After a moment, Bucky lets out a deep breath and breaks his silence. “You’re gonna hate me.”

Your immediate reaction is anxiety. “What did you do?” You say, cocking your head slightly.

“There’s a charity event tomorrow.. ”

“Yeah, and?”

“I made a promise I would come.” Bucky says. What Bucky means to say is, ‘we would come’, but he thinks laying you into the news slowly will make your reaction easier to handle.

You would be fine with it, usually. You knew that these superficial galas and events came with Bucky’s profession. The only problem was that your mother was visiting the city for the day, and you had full-day plans for dinner and catching up. Bucky knew about them, as you told him the moment it was planned.

Your lack of a response was enough for Bucky. “I’m sorry. I know you have plans with your mother.” He says, apologetic enough to seem genuine.

“And I have to go?” You ask.

“It would look weird if you didn’t.” He responds. It’s always about looks, isn’t it?

“Right.” You reply, already planning out a long apology text to your mother, who would definitely understand. Can’t help but feel bad. You whip out your phone to start texting your mother.

“I’m buying a dress for you to wear tomorrow.” Bucky says, hoping that works as an incentive.

“Did you choose the dress, or did your secretary? You know I like her taste in fashion better.” You grin at Bucky for a second, then you look back down at your phone to begin typing your large paragraph of an apology.

“She helped.” Bucky laughs weakly. He can’t help but look at you frantically typing.

“Well, I’ll leave the soup out if you want it. You should eat something. ‘Gonna be a long day tomorrow too.” You say, finally, after you send your apology.

Bucky purses his lips and nods. “Okay. Thanks.” He says, so casually.

If anyone had seen how the two of you talk, they would assume you were roommates. Which you essentially were. The two of you weren’t very romantic, at least when the both of you were sober, or while you weren’t in the public eye, of course. Any non-public romantic passes were swiftly ignored the next day. It’s not that you didn’t find Bucky attractive, because you most certainly did, it was mainly the fact that Bucky made it clear from the beginning this relationship was strictly for political gain. Nothing really so hot and heavy about that.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning then, Bucky.” You yawn as you head to your bedroom, which was a guest bedroom that Bucky randomly assigned you.

“See you. Be ready by 6PM.” Bucky tells you off-handedly. You give him a thumbs up as you walk to your room.

It’s hard for you to go to sleep, usually. It’s partially your fault. You know that being on your phone before bed isn’t best for getting the optimum amount of sleep. However, you find yourself researching your husband’s political moves every night. Bucky hasn't been able to pass a single bill since he joined Congress, so you note to yourself to avoid talking about that while at the event tomorrow. You hated studying in school, but yet you find yourself studying every night. You have to present yourself as a good wife, or at least a believable one.

You sigh, shutting off your phone after reading a large amount of hate comments on Bucky’s surprising political career. People don’t like change, or at least the fact that an ex-assassin somehow got into office. You shrug it off. Weirder stuff has happened, anyway.

You groan as you get out of bed. You accepted the fact you just weren’t going to get your desired hours of sleep tonight. Maybe it’ll be easier to go to bed after a glass of water?

You walk downstairs into the kitchen to get your glass of water. You enter to see Bucky, sitting with his laptop, with a bunch of paperwork splayed all over the kitchen island. Bucky hears the sounds of your footsteps, and he smiles at you weakly when he sees you. He’s tired, it’s clear by the look on his face. 

You walk over next to Bucky, looking at all of his work. Just a bunch of political mumbo-jumbo; nothing of interest to you. You rub Bucky’s shoulder and neck, trying to massage what you can without seeming too touchy. Bucky groans a little, and he’s broken out of his little trance. He realizes just how tired he really is.

Bucky pats your hand on his shoulder and gently takes your hand off him. You’re not sure if that gesture was too affectionate. It shouldn’t be, but you can’t risk making anything awkward. “Thanks.” Bucky mumbles, his voice almost at a whisper. He rubs his eyes and yawns.

“You should go to sleep. You’ll work better after sleeping.” You tell Bucky, as you always do. You see an empty, used bowl. Bucky ate your food. You find yourself smiling.

“You like it?” You ask, heading towards the pot of soup that was sitting on the stove. You mix the soup around.

“It was perfect, thank you.” Bucky grins.

You grab a spoon and taste the soup you had made.

What the hell was Bucky talking about? It was the most watery, unflavorful soup you had made yet. And the soup you usually make is nowhere near gourmet. “What the hell are you talking about? This is ass.” You grimace at the taste.

Bucky grins and shrugs. “Tasted good to me.”

“HYDRA must’ve fucked you up bad.” You joke. Were HYDRA jokes too far? You were about to find out.

To your relief, Bucky let out a light laugh. “Guess they did. I’m just lucky that someone is willing to cook for me at all.”

You smile at Bucky, while continuing to stir the pot of soup. “It’s not a big deal. I’m glad you’re willing to eat it.” You say, while adding copious amounts of salt and herbs to make up for the lackluster taste.

After a moment, Bucky reveals, “I called your mom.”

You turn around. “You did?” You ask, looking a little concerned. Your mother didn’t know the true nature of you and Bucky’s real relationship. When you had told her the news, she was excited that her only daughter was getting married, but she was furious about the fact that she had never known about him before. Which is understandable. However, it wasn’t like you had much time before the fake marriage ceremony to introduce him.

You had asked for a wedding. With a nice dress. As a kid, you had always dreamed of having a perfect wedding, where most of the focus was just on you and your future partner. Bucky tried to deliver, but the wedding just didn’t feel complete. Probably from the lack of true feelings on either party, or the fact that you had to prepare for a new life under spotlight and public scrutiny soon.

The wedding you had was small, mainly just family and select friends. The only proof of the wedding’s existence was a photo you had taken with Bucky at the altar, along with the grotesque amount of photos your mother insisted on taking. You told her to keep the photos private, to which she begrudgingly agreed. All that, and yet the wedding also didn’t feel complete without Natasha there, as she was the woman who had introduced the two of you to one another many years ago.

It’s still weird Nat’s gone. You thank her for a lot of things. She provided you with your first job in the city. She convinced Tony that the Avengers needed a manager to handle all of their public appearances. She then convinced Tony that it should be you, and even with Tony’s unbearable stubbornness, she got you that job. It was there when you met Bucky, or the Winter Soldier, as he was named at the time.

“She wasn’t too mad about you canceling.” Bucky says about your mother, which knocks you out of your trance.

“She wasn’t? That’s a relief.” You respond.

“I’m still sorry that you had to cancel. I’ll make it up to you one day.” Bucky promises. While you’re sure Bucky means to keep the promise, he’s always so busy with work, so you wonder how long you’ll have to wait for Bucky to make it up to you — with whatever he plans to do.

“It’s fine, Bucky.” You shrug off as an instinct. 

Bucky looks remorseful, but he doesn’t say anything more about it. “Good night then.”

“Night.”

In the morning, you wake up to an empty house. Bucky leaves for work early in the morning. You work from home – something you had wished for a while – but you have to admit, it gets pretty lonely. After a long day of pointless powerpoints and spreadsheets, you get a text from Bucky’s secretary.

“Mr. Barnes will be bringing your dress for tonight in 30 minutes.” She texts you, overly formal. You’ve told her that there’s no need to be formal, but she insists as she’s on the clock.

Bucky gently knocks on your door. You turn to see him with a box in his hands. “Surprise.”

You grin. “Wow, a present for me?” You say as you open the box. It’s a gorgeous white dress with gold accents. What a surprise – there’s no way Bucky picked this out himself.

“Mia.” Bucky mentions his secretary, notioning that it was her idea. You look up at him and nod. “Makes sense.”

You check your watch. 4:30PM. “I should start getting ready soon.”

“You’ll look good either way.” Bucky compliments, seeming more affectionate than it should. You clear your throat. “That’s kind of you, Bucky.”

“I’ll leave you to it.” Bucky says, leaving the box on your bed. 

You say bye, as you start unfolding the dress. How the hell do you put this thing on? The dress had two strips of loose fabric, which were meant to be tied together in the back, similar to that of a halter top. At least you think they’re meant to be tied. You brace yourself to fit into this dress. You squeeze in a little, as the dress is a little tight in the back.

The dress was cute, from what you could see. The dress still needed to be tied, and there wasn’t a way for you to reach the back of the dress. You sigh a little as you try your best to make a knot. “Bucky?” You shout out.

“Yeah?” He calls out from downstairs. 

“Can you come up?” You ask.

You can hear Bucky’s footsteps slowly come closer to your room. You turn around. The top of the dress folds over the waist of the dress. You turn around, your back facing the door, as your chest is exposed, and you’re not so keen on giving Bucky an unwanted surprise when he enters your room.

Bucky enters your room, surprised to see your torso exposed. He clears his throat and asks you what you need. You tell him to tie the back, instructing him on how to assemble the knot.

“Tie it tight.”

Bucky hums a little ‘mm-hm’. As he finishes the knot, you turn back around to show off the dress. “How does it look?”

Bucky grins a little. “Perfect.”

–

Later, you and Bucky enter the fancy ballroom. Charity events were a bore to you, as bad as that sounds. It always surprised you how much money people had to just give so freely, as you had grown up with so little. Perhaps it was best not to focus on that. It’s good that these people are donating so much for good causes.

Bucky had cleaned up, his hair was slicked back and he was in his best suit. Your hair was tied up and curled neatly. It had taken forever to do, so at least it turned out nicely. You accessorized with gold jewelry, to match with the gold accents of the dress, of course.

Bucky’s arm lays on the small of your back. Servers pass by with champagne and hors d'oeuvres, to which you pick up naturally.

Small talk between politicians killed you. You could not think of a bigger waste of time. You could feel the venom in each of the politicians' voices, but it’s hidden by smiles and charming personalities. You know what you have to do. Smile big, and only speak when spoken to. Best to avoid any slip-ups.

“You’re doing great, just focus on me.” Bucky whispers into your ear. You cough off the warm feeling in your chest.

“Congratulations on the wedding. Still in the honeymoon phase, are you?” A wife of a congressman asked. 

“Very much so.” Bucky responded, looking at you with love in his eyes. He’s a good actor. You smile back as you place a hand on his chest.

“She gets me through my day.” Bucky adds, and a flurry of ‘aww’s’ follow suit. You swiftly push down the growing lump in your throat. Gotta act natural.

As you and Bucky break away from the group of people, you find yourself by the sidelines, people-watching. Bucky had left to go network, or whatever it is that he does. You had him in your line of sight, which comforted you in this large crowd.

You drink your champagne, unassuming.

“Mrs. Barnes?” A man asks out to you, seemingly out of nowhere. You jump a little at the surprise.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” The man laughs as he slowly inches up to you. Your neck cranes upward to look at the man’s face, as he’s much taller than you.

“Of course not,” You grin, “You just caught me off guard.”

The man rubs the back of his neck. “My apologies.” You shrug it off.

“I was trying to reach Mr. Barnes, but he seems to be occupied.” The man sighs as he shoots a glance at Bucky.

“Am I just your next best option, then?” You ask, smiling.

The man turns back to you. “Of course not.” He insists with a charming smile. You’re quick to brush it off and assure him it’s alright.

“Benjamin Poindexter. Most people call me Dex.” He reaches his hand out with a grin. You tell him your name and shake his hand, his grip steady and firm.

“Am I allowed to call you Dex?”

“Call me whatever you like.” He says with a wink. You laugh. As your eyes wander back into the crowd, you see Bucky stare from across the ballroom. You notice that he isn’t paying full attention to the man he’s talking to. You pay no mind and go back to your conversation with Dex.

You invite Dex to people-watch with you, and it’s easy to convince him.

“These events are such a drag.” He mentions off-handedly. You let out a sigh of relief. “Aren’t they?” You respond, more enthusiastically than you have been this entire time at this gala.

“Just a huge flaunt of money.” Dex notes.

“It is. At least it’s for a good cause.” You try to reason.

“I’m sure they could do that without all the pointless attractions.” Dex sighs. You laugh as you stare at all the grand decor, live music, and grand meals. It’s true, this entire thing was just so obnoxious to you. “You get me.” You say.

Dex grins at you as he lightly places his hand on your shoulder. “At least you look lovely tonight.”

“Are you flirting with me, Dex? You know I’m a married woman.” You roll your eyes and grin, your eyes pointed towards the ground.

“Of course not,” Dex responds, “Unless you’d like me to.”

Your eyes widen at his boldness and laugh Dex’s advances off. “You’re funny.”

Dex doesn’t respond, his only response being the faint upward curling of his lips. Before you get to speak again, Bucky appears by your side.

“I’m sorry, could I steal my wife from you for a second?” Bucky says with a tight-lipped grin.

“Oh, of course-” Dex starts to say, only to be cut off by Bucky swiftly grabbing your hand and dragging you out of there.

“Oh, Bucky, Dex — or Benjamin — wanted to speak with you-” You try to say to your husband.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get to that later.” Bucky says, not paying attention.

“Are you okay? What are you doing?” You whisper to Bucky once he fully removes you from Dex’s presence.

“How do you think I look when my wife’s too busy giggling with another man?” Bucky mutters into your ear. You pull back.

“It wasn’t like that-” You say, naively.

“Course it wasn’t,” He spits out, and a brief silence follows.

After taking a deep breath, Bucky says, “Just stick by me for the rest of the night, okay?”

You frown slightly, your face turning sour. “Right, okay.”

The rest of the night killed you. Every boring conversation felt even longer than it had before. It wasn’t helping that Bucky kept his grip on your waist tighter than usual. You counted down the seconds until this stupid gala was over, all with a big smile on your face.

You couldn’t ignore the looks Dex would shoot at you occasionally, but you didn’t let your gaze linger.

The car ride back home was quiet. You couldn’t tell if Bucky was still angry, his face was unreadable.

You two finally get back home, and the door shuts with a click. Bucky immediately lets out a deep sigh. You take that as a sign to initiate your go-to unwind routine, which usually consists of ordering Chinese and drinking. Hopefully Bucky will warm up to you again with some food in his stomach.

“Chinese?” You ask, waiting for Bucky’s go-ahead.

“Yeah. Sounds good.” Bucky says, his voice void of any emotion.

You fight the urge to ask Bucky if he’s still mad at you, best not to disturb the lion. 

The ring of the doorbell notifies you that the takeout was finally here.

“So, talk to anyone interesting tonight?” You ask as you and Bucky sit down next to each other at your small dinner table.

“Never.” Bucky lets out a light breath of amusement. He watches you as you crack open wooden chopsticks for the both of you. You frown slightly at the uneven crack of the chopsticks.

As you hand over better separated chopsticks to Bucky, you stand up to grab drinks from the kitchen. “Beer?” You ask.

“Always.” He says as he chews on his noodles.

You grab a beer from the fridge, opening it up for Bucky. You grab a wine glass for yourself, pouring your favorite red wine into it.

As you hand over the beer to Bucky, he nods his head as a way of thanking you.

The dinner between the two of you is silent. Not that that’s necessarily weird, as you and Bucky have grown accustomed to uncomfortable silences.

“I’m sorry.” You apologize mindlessly. “For Dex.”

Bucky sighs as he finishes chewing his greasy noodles. “It’s fine. Just.. I don’t want anyone to suspect anything.” Bucky admits.

“Right.” You say, not putting up a fight. The idea of making Bucky angry makes your stomach bubble up in anxiety. You don’t want Bucky to smell your worry, so you bite your cheek to stifle it down.

— 13 YEARS EARLIER (POST CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLDIER)

“He doesn’t talk a lot, but I think he just needs some time to readjust.” Natasha says as the both of you walk past the room of the new addition to the Avengers Tower. HYDRA had called him the Winter Soldier, but Steve calls him Bucky. Steve’s very adamant the rest of the Avengers (and also you) call him Bucky too.

It was your first week at your new job of being the Avenger’s manager. You’re still not sure how Natasha managed to snag this job for you, but it was better to not to question anything. You just couldn’t believe your luck.

Tony seemed apprehensive towards letting you in, but whether he liked it or not, the Avengers were becoming public figures, and they needed someone to manage their schedules. The rest of the Avengers didn’t seem to mind your presence; you were sure they had bigger things to worry about — like the state of the universe, for example.

Natasha had known you for at least a year prior to you moving to New York. She had saved you in an attack in your small hometown. You had no idea what she was doing in a small town like yours, but she had many secrets. You were just thankful she was in the right place and the right time.

As you and Natasha mindlessly tour the tower, you bump into a man much taller than you. It was Bucky.

“Oh— sorry about that.” You apologize instinctively.

Bucky looks at you bewildered. Well, you note that he kind of just always looks that way. It must be hard for him. You knew he was still fighting off the last bits of HYDRA’s brainwashing. It was best to just let him do his own thing, even if his hard stares felt like they were burning holes into your skin.

— PRESENT

You and Bucky finish eating the take-out noodles. They never get any less greasier. There’s spots of grease along Bucky’s mouth. You laugh and gesture to his mouth. “Got something on your face, Bucky.”

“Ah, shit—” Bucky groans as he tries to wipe it off with his hand. It’s unsuccessful, he’s just spread it around instead of getting rid of it.

“Here.” You say as you grab a napkin and start wiping his mouth for him. Bucky tilts his head up towards you as you hold his face. You wipe his lips, cheeks, and chin. You’re too focused on cleaning Bucky’s face that you don’t realize how flustered Bucky looks. “Done.”

You go to wash the oil off your hands in the kitchen sink. Bucky clears his throat to regain composure.

Little moments of soft domesticity like this make this makeshift marriage feel more real. Sometimes, it’s hard reminding yourself that it’s not.

“I should go to bed soon.” You note. You don’t want to end the night early, but you don’t want to seem too desperate for Bucky’s presence.

“Course. Right.” Bucky says. His lack of willingness to keep you around makes you frown. But you know there wasn’t anything to expect. At least it’s a guarantee that you’ll keep seeing him around.

The next morning, you wake up earlier than Bucky. It’s quite rare, knowing your sleep schedule. There’s sounds coming from Bucky’s bedroom. Muttered curses and frantic scribbling. You knock on his door. “Can I come in?”

Bucky looks at the door, his eyes tired. “Oh, yes, come in.”

He looked like a mess. He had fallen asleep at his desk. He was still wearing his suit from last night. That must’ve been uncomfortable, not to mention dirty. “Bucky— are you okay?” You ask, your eyebrows furrowing.

“Mmm, yeah. Perfect.” Bucky says as he stares at his endless pile of paperwork. You sigh as you turn Bucky towards you in his spinny-chair. “I have to go to work soon.” He yawns.

“Yeah, you do.” You respond. He wasn’t close to ready. “Come on, get up.”

Bucky doesn’t protest. He lets you drag him into his walk-in closet. There were a plethora of suits that all looked the same. You pick the first one you see, and shove it into Bucky’s hands. “Put those on.” You tell him as you turn around, to give him privacy.

Bucky does as you say, yawning as he does it. He would usually resist your attempts to help him, especially with tasks so mundane as this, but he was too tired to think. You grab a random necktie and wrap it around Bucky’s neck. Luckily for you, you had spent many hours studying on how to tie a necktie for the day of your wedding. You tie the necktie with swiftness. It’s a little lopsided, but it’ll do. You adjust his tie one last time, patting your hand on his chest as you finish. “Good.”

Bucky smiles weakly. “Thank you, I don’t think I could get anything done without you.”

You let out an amused breath. “I’m barely any help.” You say, as you pick up from stray clothes from off the floor.

Bucky softly smiles and shakes his head, while looking at the large mirror. “I’ll take all the help I can get.”

“When’s your next day off?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Good. You need the rest, Bucky.” You say. Bucky grins weakly, looking at the ground. 

A pause.

“You know, I’m not sure what the hell I’m even doing.” He admits.

It sure was weird seeing Bucky open up. In the grander scheme of things, Bucky wasn’t being vulnerable at all. However, Bucky isn’t one to talk about himself — at all, really. Emotions made him feel antsy. Especially his own.

“Politics isn’t easy, Bucky. I’m sure you’ll grow into it.” You attempt to say some comforting words. You rub one of his shoulders to ground him, or something.

“No.” Bucky laughs lightly as he shakes his head. “I don’t know the first thing about this shit.” Bucky couldn’t admit that his whole sham of a political career was just a ploy to ethically inch himself towards Valentina Allegra de Fontaine. Val was hiding something, and Bucky was going to figure it out. That didn’t mean his wife had to be dragged into this. 

You purse your lips, unsure of what to say. 

“Steve would know what to do.” Bucky sighs. Nowadays, Bucky hasn’t mentioned Steve as much as he used to, but that didn’t mean he never stopped thinking about him.

— 4 YEARS AGO (POST ENDGAME)

There wasn’t much noise from the Avengers anymore. Everyone had gone their own way, feeling lost after the loss of Tony, Natasha, and Steve. You feel sick to your stomach whenever you think about Natasha. Your friend, gone just like that — all for some stupid orange stone. You couldn’t bear to see Clint, his grief clouded him and invaded the space to those around him. You wish you could help him, but you couldn’t even help yourself. You're just grateful Clint at least has his loving family around him.

As you walk around Central Park, you see a familiar face. Bucky. His metal arm stuck out like a sore thumb. The two of you had become acquaintances, and maybe even friends? You could never read him. You also hadn’t talked to him in a while, as he was too busy helping save the fate of the universe. You know, the usual. As you walk up to him, you tap his shoulder and ask, “This spot open?”

Bucky looks up at you and grins weakly. He says your name and scoots on the bench to invite you in. 

“How are you holding up?” You ask a dumb question. Everyone was grieving.

“Fine.” Bucky lies. You lean back on the bench.

“Wish I could say the same. I don’t really know what to do with myself.” You laugh, awkwardly.

“Yeah. Same.” Bucky says, seemingly distant. 

You and Bucky sit in the silence for a second. “Talked to anyone recently?” You ask.

“Saw Sam a couple of days ago. He’s really busy right now.” Bucky sighs.

“How’s he?”

“Stressed. Steve giving him the shield really put a lot of pressure on him.”

“Can’t imagine what he’s feeling right now.”

There’s another awkward silence as your topic of discussion runs its course.

That’s when you had an idea. You two shouldn’t have to continue living in limbo. You were gonna ask Bucky to hang out, so the both of you guys could be less alone together. Innocent and easy, yeah?

“Let’s get drinks, Bucky.” You ask. He seems confused, but anything sounds better than rocking himself to sleep.

“Really?”

“Why not? I’ve been sitting around for weeks. Steve and Nat would want us to keep living, don’t you think?” You reason.

“I think you’re right. That sounds good.” He says as he gives a small grin.

You get up from the bench and give a hand to Bucky, “C’mon, I know a place.”

Hours passed by, and the night didn’t go quite as well as you planned. You heavily underestimated how much alcohol you could tolerate, as you hadn’t drank in quite some time, and Bucky got carried away trying to drown out his sorrows. Luckily, you could still control yourself, at least when you really focus.

You managed to call an Uber to your apartment. Bucky wraps his arm around you as the two of you stumble into your house. Bucky was sure to regret everything tomorrow morning. But for now, he took his chance to let down his inhibitions and connect with someone else. Bucky hadn’t stopped talking about Steve, which was fine, since you just replied with your own grief about Natasha. The two of you flop on your couch.

“Can’t believe he’s really gone.” He hiccups. “Me neither.”

“He was the greatest.” Bucky mumbles as he lays his head on your couch.

“Natasha was so kind.” You mumble.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Bucky says.

You look at Bucky, his eyes low and fluttery. His lashes look beautiful as Bucky blinks. You sigh as you continue to peer into Bucky’s soul. Bucky would normally feel exposed, but he feels a sense of company he hasn’t felt in a long time. “Me neither.” You say.

There’s a lingering silence. Steve and Nat wouldn’t want the both of you guys drinking yourselves to death over them. The two of you knew that, but it was easier said than done.

“I just feel so alone.” Bucky says as he looks at you. You grab Bucky’s hand, squeezing it tight. You’re unsure of what to say. You should say something comforting, but you feel the same. You feel the same agonizing isolation he feels. You muster up something somewhat comforting to say. “I’m here, you’re not alone.” You say. You wish emotional maturity didn’t feel and sound as corny as it did.

Bucky looks at you. It’s softer than the gaze he would look at you with when the two of you met first at the Avengers Tower. He breathes slowly before he says, “I’m sorry.”

Bucky cups your jaw, and inches himself closer to you. He places a kiss on your mouth. You back away from him a second. He curses to himself, did he mess it up? Maybe he misread the bonding experience the two of you both shared. Maybe you didn’t feel as alone as him, or maybe you didn’t need this as much as he did.

You lean back in, kissing Bucky roughly. Your mouths morphed into one. Quick breaths are taken in between kisses. It was as if kissing was your life-line, and if either one of you were to break it, you would die. Your nose was pressed so hard against Bucky’s face, it felt as though it could break. Your hands were clasped around Bucky’s jaw, your fingers spilling onto his neck. You could feel his heartbeat thunder against his throat. His face was scruffy from his stubble. He felt rough in your hands.

As you break away from the kiss, the both of you take deep gasps of air. Bucky doesn’t seem to mind, as he pins his focus on your cheek and jaw. He peppers kisses all along your cheekbones, nose, jaw, and neck.

“Jesus, Bucky..” You whisper out.

The night continues, and you wake up the next morning with you and Bucky’s clothes scattered all over your bedroom floor. Your head felt like it could pop. You felt nauseous as you propped yourself up in your bed. Your twin XL bed wasn’t enough space for you and Bucky. He was nearly falling off the side. You still had enough memories from last night, thankfully. You weren’t sure how Bucky was going to react to it. Shit, maybe this was a bad idea.

— PRESENT

You and your mother had re-planned your previous plans. Your mother was a kind break from the rest of the things on your mind. As you and your mother sat at an outside table outside a quaint little cafe, she let out a little sigh as she looked at you.

“You know, the rest of the family still wants to meet him.” She mentions Bucky.

You loved your mother, but you didn’t love her nagging. “Yeah. Yeah. They’ll meet him soon.”

“You always say that.” Your mother says, as she takes a sip of her coffee. You sigh as you ignore your mother.

After a moment, you finally respond. “I sent them our wedding photos. Surely that’ll hold them over for now.”

“They’re all so nosy. They want to meet him in person.”

You frown. “Bucky’s shy. It’ll happen eventually, mom — trust me.”

“Whatever you say.”

Your apprehension for having Bucky meet your family was understandable. Your family was a lot to deal with, as with every family, you assume. You were scared that Bucky would get scared. You’re not worried about Bucky leaving you over anything, as you were safe as long as Bucky was still a congressman with a ‘family-man’ reputation to uphold. The possibility of Bucky leaving after his term ended made you feel uneasy. Hopefully he likes you enough to keep you around.

— A YEAR AGO (PRE THUNDERBOLTS*)

Bucky had called you to meet him at a nearby bar where he was at the moment. Bucky and you had become proper friends. Friends who don’t really talk about that time they hooked up approximately 3 years ago. You had heard whispers from people of Bucky’s potential political career. Of course, it didn’t make sense to you. But you weren’t one to discourage one from their goals.

You walk into the dingy bar, and wave to Bucky. “How are you, Bucky?” You say as you sit in the seat next to him, making small talk.

“Fine. As good as I can be.” Bucky shrugs, his beer hanging loosely in his hands. You order your usual drink, and Bucky tells the bartender to put it on his tab. Always the gentleman.

“So, what’d you call me for?” You ask.

“Good company. I don’t need an excuse to see you, do I?”

“Course not, Buck — Just didn’t expect it.” You say. You’re always the one who asks Bucky to hangout. The bartender hands you your drink. You thank them swiftly and look back to Bucky.

“It’s good seeing you, really.” Bucky says.

“Is it?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Bucky laughs lightly. “You’re a good break from politics.”

“What are you even doing in politics, anyway?”

Bucky groans. “It’s all for public image, really,” He admits. “Wanna do some good out there, you know. It’ll help the public like me after my whole ‘Winter Soldier’ thing. You know.”

“I think you helping to save the universe did enough for your public perception.”

“People don’t like to forget the past.”

“Fair.”

Of course, Bucky didn’t mention Val. No reason to drag his friend into his ploy. The night went on, and you and Bucky continued catching up. You made sure not to overdrink, only feeling a little looser now than when you walked through the bar doors.

“People don’t really believe my whole campaign. My manager has been saying I need to make my reputation look better.” Bucky mumbles to you.

“How?”

“Well, he suggested I make myself look more family-oriented. Married with kids, and all that.”

You smile as you laugh into your drink. “Good luck with that.” You turn to Bucky silently observing you. His gaze makes you feel exposed. “Something on my face?”

“No, sorry. Just thinking.”

“Whatever you say, Bucky.”

You and Bucky walk out the bar; quite put together, thankfully. You tighten your grip around the handle of your shoulder purse. “Well, it was nice seeing you.”

“Course, you too.” Bucky says as you tap your phone, trying to find yourself an Uber.

“Wait.”

“Hm?”

Bucky cleared his throat, looking nervous and antsy. “You can say no. This is going to sound crazy.”

You furrowed your brows and smiled, timid. “What? Just say it, Bucky, you’re making me nervous.”

“You can say no.”

“Just fucking say it, Bucky.”

“Fine.” Bucky says. He still takes a moment to collect himself, his heartbeat beating out of his chest.

“Would you consider marrying me?” Bucky finally musters the courage to ask.

You stared at Bucky, your anxious grin still not leaving your face. He’s right, he does sound crazy. 

“What are you talking about, Bucky?” You laugh as you shake your head.

“If I asked you, would you marry me?” Bucky repeats himself.

“You’re drunk.” You laugh off his question, awkwardly.

“You know how I am when I’m drunk.”

“You being sober doesn’t normally include you proposing.”

“You can say no.”

“Why are you even asking me that?”

Bucky flicks his fingers in anxiety. He asked out of desperation, the pressures of appearing family-oriented to the public weighed on him. Also, the fact you were previously the manager for the Avengers could also help with his public perception bullshit. You being attractive also helped. He wouldn’t say that out loud though, he had class.

“Doesn’t have to be real. Just has to look it.” Bucky says. “You can do your own thing, I can do mine.”

“This for your politics?” You guess correctly, rubbing your forehead.

Bucky sighs. “Yeah.”

“I’m not sure, Bucky.. This is a lot to ask—” You say, before getting cut off by Bucky.

“Just think about it. You can say no.“

You bite your bottom lip. “I’ll think about it.”

It’s been a few days since Bucky asked you to marry him. You hadn’t texted him since, being too scared to do so. Bucky beats himself over it. He was sure he messed up a good friendship for something so stupid; of course you’d say no. What was he thinking?

You walk back into your dark, empty apartment. The dishes you had refused to wash piled in your sink. It’s eerily silent. And cold. Your landlord was neglectful, proven by your heater that had been broken for weeks. You made up for the cold by buying more blankets. You couldn’t buy another portable heater just yet, you were late on last month’s rent. You were trying to find work after being blipped and after the Avenger’s disbanded.

You groan, your head laying back on the edge of the couch. Bucky’s offer didn’t sound so crazy. You’ve been to Bucky’s house a couple of times. A proper heater and A/C sounded more and more appealing. Not worrying about how you’re going to pay rent sounded more and more appealing. Not being so alone sounded appealing as well.

In your moment of desperation, you text Bucky back. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

— A WEEK AGO FROM PRESENT DAY

You were busy wiping the countertops as Bucky came back home. Bucky didn’t drink as much as he used to. You were surprised to smell alcohol off of Bucky’s clothes.

“I’m home.” Bucky calls out as he drops his bag down on the floor.

“Bucky.” You grin. You were happy that the house wasn’t going to feel as daunting as it did when you were alone. Bucky’s good company, whether or not you liked to admit it.

Bucky smiles at you. The smell of alcohol invaded your nostrils. “You drank?”

“Only a few drinks. One or two. Maybe three.” Bucky says. You roll your eyes, smiling softly.

“Jesus, Buck.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Sure you aren’t.”

“Not.” Bucky says as he sits on the couch.

“Need anything? We got some leftovers, if you’d like.” You offer. Bucky looks back at you, tempted. You heat up food for him, and hand it to him carefully. “It’s hot, be careful.”

“What would I do without you?” Bucky says with his mouth stuffed with food.

“Probably die.” You say, as you pick off food from his face. Bucky giggles. “Yeah. Probably.”

Bucky brings his plate to the sink and starts to wash it. You attempted to do it for him, but Bucky insisted. He wanted to prove he didn’t need your help with everything — not that he really minded the help.

Bucky comes back to the couch. Later, he’s mindlessly watching TV as you’re attempting to read the book you promised to finish about 3 months earlier. His hot body lays on top of you. Like a custom heated, weighted blanket. Bucky’s hot body clashes with his abnormally cold metal arm. You’ve usually found yourself placing your hands on top of Bucky’s arm, as to cool your hands that are always hot. You and Bucky have formed your own mutualistic relationship. In terms of body heat. 

The walls Bucky usually has up are lowered, thanks to the alcohol. He gently inches closer to you, resting his head on you. You smile softly. He’s usually like this when he’s a little tipsy. You can’t blame him, you know a lot of touchy drunks. You gently play with the ends of his long hair. Bucky nearly purrs from the soft sensation. He’s like a cat in your touch.

You lay on the couch, to which Bucky adapts and lays on your stomach, his arms wrapped around you. How silly. You continue brushing your hands through his scalp. The soft companionship makes you feel warm inside.

You had finished about 30 pages of your book when you realized that Bucky hadn’t spoken or moved much in a while. He had fallen asleep on you. You laugh as you look at the large man on you. It was a funny sight, for sure. You go back to reading your book. Reading usually makes you sleepy, though. It’s not a surprise that you fall asleep not too soon after.

— PRESENT

You fidget with the ring on your finger. It was a plain, gold band. You didn’t want to run through Bucky’s pockets when trying to pick out a ring. It would be nice to have a pretty ring, though. Bucky was going to come back home anytime now. He texted you that he was going to pick up food on the way back. You had nothing to do, no more work for the day and no food to cook for someone. It felt weird, but you tuned out the little itch in your head to be useful by mindlessly doom scrolling.

Bucky opens the door with his keys. He groans as he knocks off his shoes and takes off his jacket.

“What’d you get us?” You ask, from the couch.

“Thai.” Bucky mumbles as he lifts up the large bag to show you. He sounds tired.

“Oh, my favorite.” You say as you grab the large takeout bag from Bucky’s hands. You place the bag on the dinner table, and rush to grab cutlery for the two of you.

“Actually.. I think I’m gonna eat alone.” Bucky says as he grabs his food and laptop to bring to his room.

“Oh. Okay.” You say, disappointed. You don’t want to shove your company onto Bucky, so you just agree. Compliant wife, or whatever. Bucky didn’t stay long, he immediately headed towards his room. Did you do something wrong? Why was being like this?

After Bucky had got up and left for his room, you grabbed your portion of the food and brought it towards the coffee table in front of the TV. Eating alone while watching TV reminded you too much of your life before you decided to “marry” Bucky. 

After approximately 30 minutes, Bucky walks out his bedroom, with his takeout trash in his hands. You get up, walking towards Bucky. “I can get that!” You say, desperately trying to help out.

“Oh—” Bucky says, surprised.

“You need anything, Buck? I can go fill up the tub, or clean your room. Ugh, I’m sorry I didn’t clean before, I really should’ve, that’s on me—” You ramble. Bucky cuts you off by saying your name.

“Stop. It’s.. it’s fine.” Bucky says, looking overwhelmed and overstimulated. You bite back a whimper as you nod your head. You so desperately want to be a helping hand, and yet now, you just feel like an overwhelming burden. “Sorry.”

Bucky purses his lips. “I’m just going to go to bed.” He says, as he throws his trash away by himself.

“Right. Okay. Goodnight.”

The next day, you stay at your friend’s place. You had the day off, and you thought it was best to spend the day with someone that wasn’t Bucky. Or your mom. During the day, you think back to how Bucky was last night. He has a lot on his plate. Maybe you really were being too much. As much as you didn’t wish for it to happen, you couldn’t stop thinking about Bucky.

The idea that you had planted into your own brain, the idea that Bucky might leave you after his term ends, haunted you. It seemed silly. He wouldn’t just leave, right? Well... there’s been no signs that Bucky would necessarily stay. He wasn’t obligated to, and neither were you. You wouldn’t leave, though. You’ve grown accustomed to your new life with Bucky. Bucky on the other hand, might want to return to his life of peace and quiet he had before he married you. God, this whole thing made you feel sick.

Your friend had seemed worried about you, but you were adamant you were fine. You didn’t allow her to worry about you. Nothing for her to worry about, after all.

It was late at night when you returned home. Using the keys Bucky gave you, you tried to enter as quietly as you could.

Bucky’s at the dinner table, looking concerned. He eases once he sees you.

“Where have you been?” He asks, standing from his chair.

“At a friend’s place.” You tell him. The conversation sends you flashbacks to your teenage years; when your parents would be worried sick about your whereabouts. Is this what your relationship with Bucky has amounted to? Some kind of parental relationship?

“You should’ve texted me.”

“Right.”

“I’m being serious.”

You feel uneasy, and also annoyed. Why the hell did Bucky care? You two weren’t actually together. Roommates don’t have to always know where the other one is. That doesn’t change with Bucky — who’s basically your glorified roommate.

“Sure.” You mumble.

Bucky glares at you. “What the hell’s your problem?” He asks. You don’t get into fights with Bucky often. Fighting also makes you anxious. Perfect combo for you.

“Nothing, Bucky.” You say, as you hang your bag and outdoor clothes on the nearby hangers.

“Obviously there’s something bothering you. Just spit it out.”

You roll your eyes, which makes Bucky’s jaw clench. Bucky doesn’t need to pretend he cares. “Let’s just leave this alone.” You say, as you try to head to the bathroom, to freshen up before going to bed.

“No. What’s going on with you?” Bucky says, as he grabs your arm, holding you back.

You stare at Bucky, taken back by his audacity. “Fine.”

Bucky drags you to the couch. The place where a week ago, you were sure Bucky and you had a proper, domestic moment. Maybe he didn’t think much of it. He was tipsy, after all. Would Bucky still want to be tender with you if he didn’t have a couple drinks in him? Did you sicken him that much?

“Why have you been avoiding me? Did I do something? Please— just tell me.” Bucky pleads, hints of worry speckled in his soft, blue eyes.

Being vulnerable never came easy to you. The feeling of burdening others with your mundane emotions made you feel sick. Feelings of anxiety bubbled from your stomach to your chest.

“I.. haven’t been avoiding you—” You say, before you’re swiftly cut off.

“You have been. I’ve texted you multiple times today.” Bucky says, matter-of-factly. You clear your throat, feeling too exposed.

“Okay, well..” You find yourself trailing off again.

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky says, while also saying your name, distressed. “Just fucking say it.”

Bucky’s attitude was out of control. You scoff with your eyebrows furrowed, staring holes into Bucky.

“Stop fucking doing that.” You say, biting your bottom lip in uneasiness.

“I will if you just fucking let me know what’s been up with you.”

“Fine! Fine.” You say, trying to sort your thoughts. How much are you willing to expose to Bucky? Are you really willing to spill to him that you actually do like him? Well, not that you’re like, in love with him or anything, but the idea you’ve planted in your head that Bucky might choose to leave you after he leaves his failing career in politics lingered in your brain. Shit, who were you kidding. You were in love with Bucky. You were in love with Bucky and it was eating you up alive. You’re not used to being so open. It feels so invasive.

“You can tell me anything.” Bucky attempts to be comforting, but he’s unsure of its effectiveness. He grabs your hands, and rubs loving circles with his thumbs. How unfair.

“You know, it’s stupid..” You say.

“Not stupid.” Bucky responds.

“I was just mad.. That you seemed distant. Last night.” You let out.

Bucky lets out a deep breath. “Right.”

“It’s stupid. It’s not like you always have to be around me.” You try to explain, but Bucky cuts you off short.

“No. It makes sense. I’ve been really stressed out recently.”

“No, no, right, right. That makes sense. I told you, it’s stupid.” You find yourself rambling over Bucky again. Bucky cuts you off by saying your name yet again.

“Stop. Breathe. It’s fine, really.” 

You take a deep breath in. It makes you feel less like you’re about to pass out, but the antsiness never leaves your chest. Bucky places a hand on your knee that had been bouncing like crazy. You didn’t even realize it was shaking.

“Well, that can’t be it, right?” Bucky urges you to continue. You pick at your ring, a tic you’ve picked up on during the last couple of months.

“I just.. feel-like-a-burden-to-you.” You say quickly, hoping the faster you say it, the faster this whole conversation will end.

Bucky furrows his eyebrows. He looks almost.. hurt? “Why would you think that?” He says, almost too lovingly. What a considerate asshole.

“I just.. I know I overwhelm you. I just want to feel useful. Make you feel like you didn’t make a mistake in choosing me as your fake wife.”

“I fully knew what I was doing when I asked you.”

“I can’t help it.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me.” Bucky says, quietly.

You fight back the urge to say, ‘You’re just saying that.’ He was just being nice. God, you hate that he managed to fish all this out of you. You felt so bare. Bucky knocks you out of your trance by saying your name.

“Look at me, okay? You don’t have to prove anything to me.” He says, with a face too genuine it makes your stomach churn. You spin your ring around your finger. How easy would it be to just give it back to him? He’s just gonna leave you anyway when he decides to leave politics.

“You should have this back.” You say, gesturing to the ring. You didn’t mean to be so dramatic in the way you decided to hand back Bucky his ring. Just fell out that way.

“What are you doing?” Bucky asks, looking bewildered.

“You shouldn’t feel obligated to keep being with me even after your term ends. This whole thing was to appear family-oriented to the public, right? So, when you’re done, you should be able to do your own thing. I don’t want to hold you back.” You let the words flow out your mouth. While it did make you feel like a burden had been lifted off your shoulders, with the way Bucky looked at you, it didn’t do much for making you feel any better.

“What?”

You sigh, biting your lip. Little droplets of blood bead at your lip from where you bit. You wipe it away, hoping Bucky doesn’t overanalyze how you’re acting.

“You should be able to meet someone else, you know. Someone you actually want to spend the rest of your life with. You don’t have to do this whole charity thing, you know.”

“Charity?” Bucky repeats, baffled. “Is that what you think?”

“You know, I’m surprised you hadn’t seen anyone during the time we were together. Missed opportunity, I think.”

“Jesus,” Bucky says, his words tinged with a slight tone of disappointment. You hate the way it makes you feel.

Bucky’s quiet for a moment, but you could tell small bits of anger was boiling inside him.

“That why you were so close and personal with that fucking guy— what was his name.. Dex? You thought I was out here, doing the same shit?” Bucky says, his jealousy reaching his throat, choking on his own words.

“I..” You struggle to find the words. “I wasn’t doing anything with that guy.”

“You know, the way you looked at him made me feel fucking sick. Jesus, I’d never want anyone to feel the way I felt then.”

“Jesus— Bucky, you’re making me sound like some kind of monster.” You scoff.

“And you’re making me sound any better?” Bucky retorts. Bucky’s words make you choke up on your own. “You make it seem I was just trying to use you.. Like I don’t appreciate you, at all.”

“Which isn’t true.” Bucky adds, at the last second.

You groan, sinking into the couch. It would be convenient if the couch swallowed you whole, right about now. It would save you the trouble.

“Talk to me.” Bucky pleaded, again. His eyes were glued onto you. His fleshy hand felt clammy.

“You’re going to hate me.” You mumble. “I could never.”

You take a deep breath in, trying to compose yourself the best you can. You’re so anxious, you can barely find the words you want to use.

“God.” You say.

“I fucking love you, okay? As if it’s not glaringly obvious. Fuck.” You say, to Bucky’s surprise. “I want to feel helpful, I want you to want me around you, and I want you to want me the way I want you.” You say, truthful, for once.

Bucky doesn’t know what to say. Well, he’s happy, of course. Thrilled, one could say. He didn’t want to jump at his chance to be with you so fast, out of fear of looking starved and desperate. But life was too short to worry about how he was perceived. His grin spread from cheek to cheek. You didn’t know if that was necessarily a good thing or a bad thing. His stupid, beautiful fucking face shone at you.

“Say something. I feel like I’m gonna vomit.” You say quietly.

“Jesus Christ. You know how long I’ve been waiting to hear that shit?” Bucky says before he clasps your face, bringing you towards his face with a clash. Bucky kisses you like he did that one night many years ago. But yet, now, it’s more caring. More careful. You melt like a puddle in his hands. This is everything you wanted, but your fear of underperforming haunts you.

“Just let me guide you.” Bucky breathes out, saying the perfect thing. It’s like he could read you. He knew you through and through. Bucky’s tongue slips into your mouth with ease. He lovingly kisses your top and bottom lip. He did exactly what you needed. He guided you through it.

Bucky grabs you by your thighs, lifting you up and taking you to his bedroom. He mindlessly opens the door. He’s too busy being engrossed by your presence. It’s intoxicating. Bucky feels his way through his room. He lays you gently on the side of his bed.

“Fuck.” He whispers out, as he grabs the side of your face, lifting your gaze up to reach his. You looked so beautiful under his touch, and he was dedicated to making you never doubt how much you mean to him again.

Bucky sits beside you, shoving his mouth on yours again. His tongue follows down the path of your throat. His hands slowly graze the sides of your thighs. You felt soft in his hands. It made him feel insane. Bucky let out small praises, whispers of ‘So gorgeous’ and, ‘I needed this’ exit his mouth. You took your hand, the hand that wasn’t clasped around Bucky’s face, and palmed at Bucky’s unmistakable boner. Bucky lets out a deep groan. “Jesus.”

Bucky reacts by swiftly removing your top, still kissing you. He was desperate to see you. You unbuckled Bucky’s belt, and unbuttoned his pants. “Tell me what you need.” Bucky says.

You laughed into the kiss. You felt the growing knot in your stomach expand. You needed Bucky as much as he wanted you. “I want to sit on your face, Bucky.”

“Course you do.” Bucky responds, as he pulls off your clothes. Bucky lifts you over him, so you’re straddling his chest. It was embarrassing, having Bucky feel the growing wet spot from your core on his skin. You couldn’t really think much of it though, you had bigger things to think about right now.

Bucky adjusts himself just perfectly under you, his eyes looking at you, filled with lust and care. You fall forward on the headboard of the bed; the first touch from Bucky’s tongue on your pussy making you reel forward.

Bucky was an animal. His tongue drove into you like a machine. He would spend time easing you into it, but he was selfish. He needed you, and guessing from the sounds you’re making, you needed him too.

“Fuck— Oh my god!” You moan out.

You rest your arms over top of the headboard for support. You leaned your head on top of your arms, only making the bottom of your face visible to Bucky. He reaches his hand towards your chest and pushes you back, notioning that he wants the full view.

“Fuck. Fuck, Bucky— I…” You whisper out as you lean your arms back to support yourself on Bucky’s torso. Your boobs jiggle over Bucky’s face in a mesmerizing way. Bucky wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking on it. You’re so wet already, it’s proven by the ridiculous sounds Bucky’s mouth is making while eating you up.

As you inch closer and closer to your high, you’re cut off by Bucky’s frantic slapping on your thigh. You get up from off of him immediately, to which he gasps in a big breath of air. He was nearly drowning in your pussy. Which, honestly, Bucky wouldn’t mind it if that’s how he was going to go. His mouth is filled with remnants of your arousal, to which he swallows easily. There’s even some in his nostrils. Jesus. How fucking grotesque.

“You’re gonna kill me, darling.” Bucky laughs out. “You’re gonna kill me first.” You breathe out.

Bucky grins as he grabs you and flips you on your stomach with ease. He takes off his boxers as quickly as he can, eager to feel you. The cold feel of the blankets and pillows is a nice contrast to how hot your body feels against Bucky. Bucky grabs your ass, lifting it up as his erection springs out his boxers.

The first thrust into you feels like heaven. Bucky fills you up, and your pussy stretches around him. Bucky swears this is heaven. Bucky pounds into you with ease, the bed shakes under the two of you.

“So good. Oh my god—” You manage to say out loud. Bucky leans over you, reaching his fingers to your sensitive clit. The sensation is nearly too much. Your eyes roll back into your head, and you’re only a little glad that Bucky can’t see just how much of a mess he’s making you.

“Jesus, baby. You’re being so good for me.” Bucky mumbles lazily. He’s becoming nearly undone. He feels as though he could cum any moment now. “Taking it so well, yeah?” Bucky asks. 

The only answer you could give him was a nearly inaudible, “Mm-hm.”

Bucky laughs. He slowly envelops his hands with fistfuls of your hair. He pulls your head back to look at him. You have one hand on the bed, one hand on the headboard. Your eyes peered all the way back at Bucky. “Tell me, tell me how good you’re being for me.”

“I’m.. fuck, I’m being good for you, Bucky.” You mumble out, mindlessly. Bucky loved seeing you come undone by him. Made him feel good. You feel tears prick up in your eyes from the overwhelming sensation. You can’t keep holding on for much longer, your high was near. Pathetic moans exit your mouth repeatedly. You were gasping for air, and you bit on your bottom lip to help you deal with the pleasure consuming you. Bucky thrusts get sloppier and more inconsistent, the closer he gets to his own release.

Bucky continued pounding into you. “Do you even remember that fucking loser’s name?” He groans out, mentioning Dex. To be fair, you weren’t far from forgetting your own name. You shake your head no rapidly. “I don’t— I don’t remember his name.” You babble out.

“Good. God, you’re so good under me.”

“Oh my— gonna, gonna cum, Bucky.”

“Cum, please— oh my god.” Bucky begs you, his mind getting too clouded by his own pleasure.

You do what he asks of you. You cum around his cock, and he revels in the sensation. He fucks you through the high, which nearly makes you scream out. Bucky had already planned on leaving this stupid politician shit behind him. But seeing you like this, all fucked out for him, was the icing on the cake. He could have you like this all the time, with no shitty and pointless job to hold him back.

“Cum inside of me.” You beg, desperate. Bucky bites back a guttural moan from that. His thrusts are becoming incredibly sloppy. He does as you ask of him, and cums inside of you. The feeling drives you insane. Bucky falls on top of you, the weight of him crushing you. Bucky rolls off of you, his breath shaky and uneven. Bucky presses hot kisses on your back and neck.

After a moment of recovery, you turn to Bucky, giggling. You felt safe with Bucky. Bucky wrapped his arms around you, kissing your head softly.

“Still think I’m gonna leave you?” Bucky asks, his tone light.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Bucky— Shut the fuck up.”

[cyberhughes]

TOO YOUNG, TOO DUMB #𝒒.𝒉𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒆𝒔

𝜗𝜚˖ ࣪ ִ 𐙚 summary you never believed in love, not until he showed you the care that you needed. but love doesn’t bloom on bad timing, and your heart was never his to hold.

warnings age gap? (reader is the same age as luke), drunken confessions, rejection wc 1.5k

note requested for my 500 celly! lowkey lost the plot w the platonic bit? idk it’s like platonic on quinns side😭i rlly took the unrequited love + age gap and RAN...also this is kind of giving aurora and quinn?? sorry. i miss them (i stg im gonna rewrite that series) i promise i’ll give yall a break and write a fluff req next time holy I’ve been spamming the angst mb

highschool sweethearts weren't real, that's what you told yourself when you graduated with a spotless, unchecked checklist—no kisses underneath the bleachers, no love letters left in your locker, and no whispered confessions said underneath friday night lights.

"they'll come in college," is what they said. "that's when you'll meet your sweetheart.”

but you knew that was a lie. because if they were real, he would've been yours.

sweethearts weren’t real.

that’s what you had told yourself when you saw your friends entwining their trembling fingers underneath the desks with fluttering hearts during lecture. when you spotted them tangled on the quad, laughing into each others necks while their boyfriends whispered empty promises that they'd be together forever. when you'd stand in the corner of some too loud party, envy burning in your chest as you watched them dance like it was their last night.

they could have been real, if he was in highschool when you were.

quinn hughes was your neighbour, though it was more than that.

you met him through luke, halfway through the ninth grade. it was innocent, to start. your eyes lingering on him too long when you'd wait for luke on the stairs. the way your cheeks would burn when quinn would spot you, asking how your day was. but it grew— into something softer, something aching.

it wasn't just a crush.

it was the way he'd find you sat on your porch swing while luke was out with his other guy friends. listening to the wind as you read a book, quinn would find you, taking a seat and offer whatever snack he was eating as you swung in a comfortable silence.

he’d drive you and his brothers to school, making sure to play music that you loved, never putting his foot on the gas until he heard the click of your seatbelt.

at the lake, he’d sit with you on the edge of the boat while while you nervously watched the other girls in their bikinis, your insecurities clear on your face yet he never pushed. watching the light bounce off the water with him was enough.

and the summer before he had left for michigan, he had found you with your knees to your chest as you sat on your porch swing, tears staining the soft cotton of your shirt.

quinn wasn’t the type to ask questions or offer meaningless comfort. he just pulled you gently into his side, grounding you with his presence until your breathing slowed.

when you finally looked up at him—eyes red and lip trembling—he almost looked startled. he had never seen you cry, not like that. you were always smiling, always taking care of others. sure, you had your off days, but never like this.

softly, he’d ask; “what’s wrong?”

but you couldn’t tell him, not when he was the reason for your aching heart.

he was leaving, you were losing your constant. the only person who ever saw all of you—even the parts you hid.

you looked at him with the weakest smile and lied; “just some guy at school.”

that was one of your last moments with quinn before he left, waving a goodbye from your living room window as you watched him pack his bags into the trunk.

that summer luke had noticed you lost your spark, your eyes didn’t twinkle the way they used to, and your giggles were never the first to fill the room.

you’d sit on your porch swing alone, comforted by nothing but the silence of the squeaking chain. your stomach growling, but your heart heavier.

jack took over driving you and luke everywhere, the car too loud with his music and the engine roaring before anyone could buckle up.

when summer rolled around again, you’d dangle your feet over the edge of the dock at the lake, looking over the cloudy skies in a silence that held anything but comfort.

the memories of your childhood with and without him crossed your mind as you pulled into the driveway of your childhood home. a sheen of sweat covered your body. maybe from the fact that your cars ac was broken, or maybe it was nerves.

because this would be the first time you saw quinn in years.

you had just finished your freshman year of college. he’d been in the nhl for a few seasons. time and distance hadn’t just passed; it built walls.

but jack was throwing a summer kick off party, and luke begged you to come.

you owed it to him after a year filled with dodged facetime calls and dry responses.

you had spent the day blowing out your hair, frustration growing with each outfit change. you wanted to look polished, mature; the kind of girl he could spot in the stands like she had a spotlight on her.

when you walked over the few steps it took to get to their house and knocked on the door, your stomach twisted in nervousness, but it was luke who opened the door.

his soft smile told you that he wasn't mad, just relieved.

“i’m glad you came.” he said, letting you walk inside, following behind as the two of you went to grab drinks.

you had never touched alcohol before—especially not underage—but you downed a few shots with jack’s friends anyway, their cheers masking your unease.

hours passed, and still you hadn't seen quinn.

the air was getting thick, your head was light and your chest was fluttering with nerves, so you stumbled to the backyard, sliding open the patio door and taking in a breath that was long overdue.

that’s when you saw him, sitting on a chair silently scrolling on his phone.

without thinking, you walked over and dropped into the chair beside him. he looked up, eyes wide, surprised—but didn’t speak.

you didn’t either. just stared at the ground like nothing needed to be said.

“hey,” he said finally, unsure.

he never said much anyways, that’s why the two of you worked before. you’d babble, he'd listen.

“how was the season?” you asked, picking the at the red you had painted your nails last night.

“good.” he said with a nod, his eyes never leaving you. he noticed the pink hue on your cheeks. "did you...drink?” he asked with concern.

you could only laugh and shake your head in disbelief. “yeah. first time.” you never gave into the peer pressure of drinking at school, but you needed to calm your nerves.

“you okay?” he wasn't pulling you in, and he wasn't offering you that quiet comfort like he used to. just asking.

you hated the way his voice still made your chest ache. but this time, his tone was formal, distant, like he had to, like he was only checking in out of obligation.

“i don’t know.” your voice comes out wobbly when you answer “i think i’m just drunk. and stupid.” you let out a half broken laugh.

he doesn’t say anything in response, but watches you with his brows drawn slightly together and his lips pressed into a thin line. looking at you like he’s walking on thin ice that’s ready to crack.

“i missed you.” you say suddenly, a bit too fast. “i thought about you all the time, but…i couldn’t- god i sound pathetic.” you wipe your face, not even realizing you were crying until your sleeve stained with your tears.

“y/n…”

“no, just let me say it. you were always a good listener so can you just listen now?”

your throat tightens, “i liked you, quinn. not in a stupid highschool crush way. i think i loved you.”

you pause, and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“you’re not pathetic.” he reassures you, trying to choose his words carefully. “you’re a great girl but…”

but.

god that word felt like a knife.

“you’re younger. you’re still figuring things out, we’re in different stages in life, y/n.”

you let out a sharp breath, like he had just knocked out all the air from your lungs.

“so what? it’s my age? you think i’m just some kid?” you say defensively.

“i didn’t say that.”

“you didn’t have to.” you stand up, swaying slightly, still drunk. “i wore this stupid top, drank for the first time, tried to be like those girls you’d see at michigan or those models on instagram, but now you’re just—“

“y/n.”

“—all i get is…’you’re too young?’” your voice breaks and your hands shake. you hate that you’re crying in front of him.

like a child.

he doesn’t want to hurt you, but he had to be honest.

he wasn’t even sure if you knew what love was, maybe you just liked the idea of it, afraid that you were missing out on something you didn't quite understand.

“i don’t love you like that.” he says carefully, like he’s afraid the words might break you.

and they do.

you nodded with a tight lipped smile as he stares at you with pity.

“okay. thanks.”

you walked away, pushing through the door back into the heat and noise of the house.

the music was too loud, the lights too bright, and the laughter too fake.

maybe he was right, maybe you were too young.

you thought you knew what love looked like.

but maybe all you saw was kindness, and you were so desperate to be chosen, you convinced yourself that was enough.

highschool sweethearts weren’t real.

but they were, and they belonged to everyone else.

©cyberhughes; do not copy, translate or repost my work without permission.

[leafostuff]

Practice routine [Ft. Jo Yuri]

Author Notes: BOOM SURPRISE SMUT, SO SURPRISING EVEN I DIDNT KNOW I WAS GONNA UPLOAD IT TODAY, i had a blast writing this and Jo Yuri did get on my radar lately so i did want to give her a smut of appreciation.

Hope yall will have a Great read and a great day

Ps. No beta readers because :p

=================================

It's a practice routine what you two have.

There is nothing better to build a strong friendship than a vow to help each other build strength and have a healthier lifestyle, especially when your friend is an idol, practicing hard for her next comeback.

Two light knocks on the glass door and it quickly opens, you are greeted by Yuri standing in front of you, wearing a white button shirt and long, black pants paired with an warm, sweet smile as soon as she looks at your eyes. 

“Finally! It took you forever to get here Oppa~” then she grabs your hand, pulling you inside the practice room, wooden floor surrounded by mirrors from almost all sides.

“Yeah, you forgot your company halls are a maze to walk around in,” you say, your hands work on taking your sweater off, leaving you with a basic tee and a pair of sweatpants 

“Well maybe if you came here more often then you wouldn't be so lost” she retorts in a playful manner. “Okay you already got here, lets get started with the session”. She announces before immediately taking her shirt off revealing no bra, giving you a free view of her mounds, her nipples already hard as she asks you. 

“Pants off, Please~”

Well, i never said what type of workout you two enjoyed doing.

“How many reps do you want to do again? 15? 20?” You ask, meanwhile your hands quickly lower the pants and boxers, throwing them off somewhere in the room.

“Hmm, lets do 30, im feeling spicy today” she comments however It's her eyes that tell you her needs before her words. She's looking at you, her smile beaming in excitement with every step you take toward her with your length proud and ready to work.

Yuri now kneels in front of you, face level with your cock as she takes one of her hands, attempting to wrap her fingers around it, her face leaning in close enough to have her lips part wide enough to have your tip rest inside, letting you feel the first tingles of pleasure.

“Readeh?” She mumbles a question while your tip is resting on her plump lips, eyes meeting yours with an ever-so innocent smile, funny given the fact she has you dick ready to be devoured.

You can only respond with a sly grin before saying, “One…” this word is so engraved inside Yuri’s brain that as soon as she hears it she starts letting her mouth take in your cock, getting close to your balls before eventually going back to your tip, and then doing it again, and again, and again.

Right now, the only sounds present in the room are your steady counting, the faint slurping sound of her mouth in the goal of getting you worked up faster and the playful, sweet and muffled moans coming from Yuri. And how does this look? Well you can't say you are less than aroused seeing how the mirrors around the room portray her taking care of your cock so well, it's filthy yet at the same time, it's the purest form of art you ever witnessed.

It's around the 12th rep that she lets out your cock, lips coated with your seed forming a sultry smile. “Wow, I can feel myself getting better at t-mph” you don't give her the chance to continue the sentence, bucking your hips into her mouth, getting her to gasp in surprise, or pleasure, it might as well be the same for her.

“The set Yuri, your pace is great” She smiles at your compliment, turning all of her focus back again to your cock as she continues to bob her mouth back and forth, eventually the pleasure Yuri showers your member with slowly start to take control of your body, enough that your hands have to gripe the back of head for stability, 

Enough that every time Yuri lets your length deep inside her mouth you move your hips forward, letting your tip graze the back of her throat.

Eventually you count the 30th rep, getting one more moan from her and then she lets her mouth of your cock with an audible pop sound. “Mmm, that exercise is always a good warmup for me~” she says, letting out an adorable chuckle while she licks her lips from any leftover cum.

“That's good to hear, let's start the next exercise?” 

“Ooo, yes yes yes, you know I like it when we do that exercise” she happily agrees, grinning like a child as you now sit down on the floor, watching as Yuri begins to lower her own pants, revealing to you, surprise surprise: no panties as well and her lower lips are already glistening with her own fluids

“Wow, were you this needy for a workout Yuri?” You ask as the two of you begin to shift your position: now you are sitting on the wooden floor while Yuri is straddling your lap, feeling how your cock is inches apart from her lower entrance.

“You know what they say…” she says, her hands making quick of your shirt, throwing it somewhere in the room. a good workout always helps when you need a little boost” you can feel her want, you can tell how much she needs you right now so why delay the inevitable.

“20 reps?”

“30” Yuri answers as she now puts her hands on your abs, feeling the texture of your 6 pack on her fingers. then without any foreword she lowers herself into your length, making you feel her pussy tightly wrap around you

The first round of friction makes you sound a heavy groan of pleasure, your hands go to each side of her hips, gripping for control while you move her up and dowm on your body, making light clapping noises from both of your bodies.

Yuri looks like she enjoys it, replacing her sharp movements to literally bouncing on your dick around the 8th rep, her tongue lolls out of her mouth making her unable to sound anything but a sultry, needy moan.

Eventually through the pleasure you are experiencing, you find the strength to lean your head close to Yuri's ears. “God, you love it when i fuck you like that, right?”.

She can only moan in response while moving her head in a way that can resemble a sign of agreement. “Yeah, you fucking love it when I pretend that I am your private coach to your company, to your manager just so you can have some cock to relieve you? To fuck your entire body silly?” You say in between your grunts, it's not like she could actually answer since she is busy being impaled by your length so you settle with a loud gasp caused by your hand giving a loud smack to her right buttcock and groping it tightly.

The last couple reps are slower, replacing the consistent pace with raw strength every time you thrust yourself into her tight cavern. Yuri attempts to cry out a scream of pleasure but not before you seal her mouth with your own, muffling her moans enough so that only your ears are blessed with hearing the unholy symphony that comes from her mouth.

She can feel how close you are to unloading for the second time today so just as the last rep of the set comes, she sinks her hips to engulf your length entirely inside her, getting both of you to mutually release your orgasm at the same time,and the cum goes everywhere.

On the floor.

On Yuri's Thighs.

On the upper half of your chest.

But most of it goes inside her, rope after rope after rope of cum fills the insides of Yuri making her brain unable to process the pleasure taking over her body. Eventually she finally manages to detach herself from your body, letting the both of you fall onto the floor, a mixture of you two fluids leaks out of her Cunt.

“That. Was. Awesome!!” She tiredly exclaims, panting heavily after each word, her eyes looking at the ceiling light. “I swear, this was like, The best training session we had in a long time” she adds, even when its obvious she was talking about sex, for her its just an intensive workout.

you only have enough energy to sit up without saying a, you see Yuri still laying on her back, her body full of sweat and cum while her face just like at the start shows a happy, satisfied smile. You can't explain why, but seeing her like this suddenly gives you an idea.

“Do you know how to do a sit-up?”

She scoffs, looking at you as if you just asked her whats 2+2. “Without any problem, its not some rocket science”

“Can you do 30 reps?”

“Sure, watch me” she responds, laying on her back once again and getting into position of the exercise. “On-ngh” Just as Yuri was about to start she could feel a weird sensation running over pussy however as she looks down, its just your head in between her legs, your tounge is giving slow licks to her hole, “what are you-hahh…doing?” She asks in between a small jolt of pleasure.

“Just an after practice treat for me, each rep you do before cumming is one second of me eating you out, win-win from how i see it” you look up her with a bratty grin, however its impossible to beat Jo Yuri in being a brat so in response she just smiles and says.

“Better hope i taste good then” she now looks at the ceiling again, continuing her reps thus giving you the signal to continue your deserved meal, and how sweet does she taste for you after a good workout.

Unlike your previous excerices today, this one had given you the opportunity to hear Yuri moan, but instead of the usual needy noises and the constant need for your white fluid, this time they are moans of music and each one is a note creating this passionate sonate of sex, for example:

“Haaaa, so good”

“Can you go slowe-nghh…please?”

“Oh yes, thats the spot”

“Fuck, You're gonna make me cum again with that tounge…”.

And meanwhile the workout goes on, you can feel small beads of sweat flowing from her thighs onto your hair, her thighs wrapped around your head depriving you from air, and her fluids flow inside mouth little by little, tasting like an unforbidden nectar you couldn't stop yourself from it's addicting flavour, something so sinful feeling oh so right with Yuri.

But sadly you can only experience the pleasure for so long, since fairly quickly you can feel the last round of cum coming from Yuri nto your mouth as she detaches herself from your tounge, gathering some strength to sit down and say in a breathy tone, “Fuck, this was amazing”

You eventually have to bid your goodbye to Yuri, after all your practice session with her was over according to your managers, but not before you help each other find your clothes, clean up any cum stains on the floor and depart with a small hug added with firm grope of her left buttcock.

Its now evening, already at home, getting yourself prepared for the Gym, even a coach needs some practice of its own, out of nowhere your phone sounds its mario coin notification, taking it out of your pocket you see it's a message from Yuri.

On it there is a picture: Yuri, fully naked, her Feet and hands sticking to the ground but her ass? Standing up and proud into the air with the hole almost directly in front of the camera lens, and the text below?.

“Good evening Oppa, can we do this workout tommorow?? I really think it can help my flexibility 😉😉😏”

Good to see your favourite client enjoying your service, already asking for more.

[piastri-fvx]

My Forever Valentine. Ollie Bearman.

Pairing: Ollie Bearman x girlfriend!reader, smau

Summary: When Ollie Bearman and a girl with a private account have matching bios and fans find out. (lowkey inspired by an instagram reel i saw w an idea for matching bios!! the song the lyrics are from is Stephanie by Nafeesisboujee)

Face Claim: Sabrina Carpenter & girls from pinterest!! (currently waiting for Short 'n Sweet Deluxe to drop 😫)

Disclaimer/s: none!!!

A/N: VALENTINES SPECIALLLLLL sad and depressed because my valentine isn't with me right now, but i'm writing this on the day before valentines day and i'll see him tomorrow sooooo 😚

✭ Masterlist. ✭

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

@f1gossip

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4, user5 and 104.384 others

f1gossip f1 rookie ollie bearman allegedly has matching bios with a mystery girl. the girl has a private account but her bio lets us know that she seems to go to Harvard

tagged: @yourusername, @olliebearman

| view all comments...

user1 HARVARD???

-> user2 he got himself a smart one

-> user3 well, he did if all of this is true

user4 OH SHE'S GORGEOUS

user5 i hope this is true

-> user6 same i'd be so happy for him

user7 she looks like a 12/10 bro

-> user8 a 12/10 dating ollie, aka another 12/10?

-> user9 it'd be perfect tbh

user10 NOOOOOO HE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE MINEEEE

user11 alright she's gorgeous but like what about me? 😣

user12 that's adorable though 😭

-> user13 i love when people have matching biossss

-> user14 sameee

-> user15 i wish i had someone to do that with 😩

@olliebearman

liked by yourusername, haasf1team, estebanocon, f1gossip, flavy.barla and 1.394.383 others

olliebearman ❤️🖤🤍

| view all comments...

yourusername no photo credits? 😣 liked by author

-> olliebearman my bad ☺️ photo was taken by y/n

-> user1 is anyone else seeing this?

-> user2 am i hallucinating?

-> user3 if you are, we all are

user4 why is he glowing 😩

user5 the LOVE?

-> user6 the eyes, chico 😜 they never lie

user7 okay so if y/n took the photo, i'm pretty sure he's in love with her

-> user8 no doubt

user9 cutieeeee 🥰

user10 so pookie

-> user11 wish he was mine

user12 OLLIE. do you have a valentine? (asking for a friend) 😁😁😁

-> olliebearman i do, actually ☺️

-> user13 wait who's your valentine?

-> olliebearman that's a secret 😚

-> user14 i'm telling yall right now, it's y/n

user15 Y/N IS HIS VALENTINE.

user16 ollie your valentine is so pretty

-> user17 real

user18 ollie can i pls have your valentine?

-> olliebearman respectfully, hell no

-> user19 okay you go ig?

user20 ❤️❤️❤️

@f1gossip

liked by olliebearman, yourusername, user1, user2, user3 and 593.937 others

f1gossip y/n has made her account public!!

tagged: @yourusername

| view all comments...

yourusername chat... why am i on an f1 gossip page? liked by author

-> user1 why hello ☺️

-> user2 because of ollie

-> user3 yeah because of your boyfriend 🥰

olliebearman lol

-> user4 not both of them commenting-

user5 OLLIE AND Y/N LIKED

user6 guys check out her account

-> user7 YES!! your eyes will get blessed

user8 her aesthetic is literally to die for

user9 guys she has some pics with ollie

-> user10 and the first one with him was literally her first ever post from a few years ago

user11 i feel so betrayed

user12 how long have they been dating wth???

-> user13 lmao

-> user14 not you thinking they have to tell you

@yourusername

liked by olliebearman, user1, flavy.barla, alexandrasaintmleux, user2 and 583.846 others

yourusername my forever valentine (by default 👹)

| view all comments...

user1 might as well have just tagged ollie

user2 ollie and multiple f1 wags in the likes?

-> user3 isn't that kinda suspicious...

olliebearman he looks soooo hot

-> yourusername yeah..

-> user4 okay that is 100% ollie

-> user5 yeah makes sense

user6 how ollie felt after calling himself hot: 😝😝😝

-> user7 he though he ate

-> user7 but he actually devoured

-> user8 SLAYYYYY

user9 mollie follie skibidi ollie

-> user10 poetry at its finest

-> user11 masterpiece

-> user12 literally changed my life for the better

user13 the flowers are so pretty bro 😍

user14 depressed

-> user15 even more so now

user16 the aesthetic ughhhhh

-> user17 frrrr

-> user18 TYSM for making your account public y/n

user19 y/n is actually my new favorite person lmao

@olliebearman

liked by yourusername, user1, user2, user3, niallhoran and 948.393 others

olliebearman my kind of valentines day ❤️

| view all comments...

yourusername happy 6th valentines day together 💕 liked by author

-> olliebearman happy valentines day, my loveeee ☺️

-> user1 i- wha-

user2 so they went from 'secret' to 'my love'????

user3 no valentine this year and then this, 2026 about to be my year

-> user4 i relate

user5 now i want a boyfriend 😭

user6 this i better than any romcom netflix has ever made

-> user7 they can't compete with olliey/n 😚

user8 girl, we don't care if you're dragging us. just marry him already, like please 🙏

-> user9 i will if she doesn't

-> yourusername no you won't 😍

-> user10 oopsie daisy

user11 ollie casually dropping the biggest bombshell of 2025 like it's no big deal

user12 can we talk about how he just fucking hard launched this goddess of a woman???

-> user13 my heart is beating so fast even though i'm not her

user14 my endgame

user15 😍😍😍

niallhoran big fan of whatever this is liked by author

-> user16 same

-> user17 OMG HI NIALL

user18 this shit so major that even niall is commenting???

-> user19 crazy

@yourusername

liked by olliebearman, flavy.barla, alexandrasaintmleux, estebanocon, user1 and 1.386.956 others

yourusername saturday nights 💗

tagged: @olliebearman

| view all comments...

olliebearman YOU LOOK STUNNING MY LOVE 🥰🥰🥰 liked by author

-> yourusername MY BIGGEST HYPE MAN ❤️❤️❤️

-> user1 may this kind of love find me one day

user2 manifesting what they have for 2026

user3 y/n, baby, are you coming to australia???

-> yourusername yup!! are you?

-> user3 yes omg!!

-> yourusername well, see you there, then ;)

-> user4 @user3 got lucky ughhh

user5 they are literally the cutest duo i can imagine

-> user6 real fight me on it

user7 we love y/n

user8 olliey/n fan for life

-> user9 biggest ship

user10 GUYS THE SHIP HAS SAILED

-> user11 lol i think they were already dating when we even found out that they know each other

user12 how long have you been dating?

-> yourusername 6 & 1/2 years ☺️

user13 bro ollie hid this from us for 6 YEARS???

user14 AHHHH THEY ARE SO CUTE

-> user15 I'M SCREAMING

user16 GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET

user17 the cat is so cuteeee liked by author

-> user18 yesssss

user19 wdym they're this perfect??

-> user20 and they LIVE TOGETHER???

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A/N: yayyy!! i enjoyed writing this soooooo much!! alsooo, feel free to comment! let me know if you have requests or want to be added to my permanent tag list <333 hope u enjoyed and had or have a great valentines day, my loves :)))))

tags!

@freyathehuntress

[gabriellessworldd]

Never get yo bitch back!

plug!connie x black fem reader 😛😛

wc- 1.7k!

☆ warnings ☆: mdni! mentions of weed nd alcohol, smut 18+, cheating (established relationship w eren), public-ish sex (bathroom unlocked door), pnv, oral (f receive), Connie and reader have wanted each other for a min, first time writing ever don't drag me y'all pls!! 😓 I kinda want to make this have multiple parts but idk yet. I'm very open to criticism nd I hope y'all enjoy!

"Y/nnnnn, cmon you can come outside for one night!" Your best friend Sasha whined through the screen. As much as you protested, deep down you really did want to go out. Especially because Eren wasn't at home, you really wanted to talk to him since y'all haven't been doing so well recently. Petty arguments, sleepless nights, ig posts, and to top it all off he hasn't been to your house in weeks, not giving y'all anytime to have a conversation.

You check the time and see it's 6:00pm that means you got at least 2-3 hours before you would have to leave. "Girl you right, send me the lo. What you wearin?" Sasha set her phone up to show you the outfit she picked out, "Girl that's cute asf!! Ima match you." Sasha helped you pick out an outfit (1 or 2) that resembled hers. "Okay Sash ima finish my hair nd makeup, lmk when yall otw there." "Bye N/n, i gotchu." Sasha hung up and you continued finishing your hair and makeup.

Once you were in your car you looked at the location, realizing that it was at Jean's house, meaning Connie would be there. There was something so attractive about Connie that you didn't know how to explain, he was just, mesmerizing. You knew you would never be able to approach him tho, him nd Eren had been friends forever, and that was a boundary you wouldn't cross. Nothing being crossfaded couldn't fix..

You pull in front of Jean's house and it's packed, you can hear the music from the street. You text Sasha that you pulled up and fix yourself in the car mirror. "We're waiting for you at the front N/n." You read Sasha's text and get out of your car. When you open the door Mikasa, Annie, Sasha, and some other girls greet you. You scan the crowd feeling a familiar stare, you turn to your right and see a crossfaded Connie Springer and his homeboys sitting on some sofas in the corner. Connie feels you stare back and smirks. 'This finna be interesting.' You think to yourself.

You make your way to the kitchen to take a couple shots, Sasha gets a blunt from Ony, and y'all head upstairs to light up. When the sesh is over you feel amazing, the music is blasting, you're having a great night, and you're a 10, what could be better? You and the girls head downstairs to go dance and enjoy your night. You and Sasha throw ass like there's no tomorrow and Mikasa is right there to catch it. You laugh and stand up straight when you feel the stare of those familiar hazel eyes. "Ima go grab another drink" you tell Sasha and she drukenly nods.

You walk up to the counter where all of the drinks are, "hey connie" you look at him, and smile. He leans in closer to you "wassup mami, you look good. shit, you smell good too." he smiles at you with all of his pearly white teeth and you notice his silver grillz.(#1, #2, #3) God he's so fine. The way his red eyes are hanging low, the smell of his cologne, and his pretty ass accent, triple homicide.

"Where yo man at tho? Thought he was gon come tonight." Connie's confused as to why Eren isn't at this party trailing you like a lost puppy, unless, y'all wasn't on speaking terms right now. He grinned at the thought "Oh um Ion really-" You stuttered out wondering why he would ruin a good conversation. "Nah you ain gotta answer mami, follow me." He held his hand out with a 'hm' and you quickly took it, needing to feel his touch. He lead you upstairs to the first bathroom he saw, he opened the door, "Tu vas primero hermosa" you go first beautiful. You smiled at the sentence and walked in front of him. His eyes naturally trailed down to the best view there was 'Damn.' was all he thought as he watched you walk and felt himself get harder in his sweats.

"So wassup?" You questioned him, almost like a challenge. You leaned your back against the counter and looked into his eyes. "To be honest ion wanna play no games ma, you know what I want." He leaned towards you, muscular and veiny arms on both sides of you, caging you in.

You could feel the tension grow as both of you realized just how badly you needed the other. "Can I?" Connie asks to kiss you 'and he's respectful omg add that to the list' you think, "Yes, you can." As soon as those three words came out of your mouth, Connie grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you to him, his other hand quickly found your ass and squeezed, while your hands slid their way into his scruffy buzzcut. The kiss was passionate but it also had a hint of hunger, longing almost, like both of you waited your whole lives for this. Both of your tongues fighting for dominance, and both of you wanted, no, craved more from each other. Connie's large hand found it's way to your throat and he squeezed softly earning a light moan from you, Connie pulled away, a string of saliva connecting you two.

"Ay dios mio mami" oh my god Connie whispered. Connie littered bites and hickeys down your neck and exposed cleavage, not caring who would see. He tapped on your thigh, a signal for you to stand so he could remove your pants. He then picked you up and set you back down on the counter, he kissed the insides of your thighs and left a trail of bites. He looked up at you for confirmation, and you nodded your head, he pulled your panties to the side. Connie was in a trance, the way your folds were so puffy, the way they were covered in wetness, connie almost came in his pants at the sight. "Fuck." was all he said before he began kissing and sucking on your lips. He spread them open with his middle and index finger, and could've sworn he saw heaven.

He plunged his fingers inside your wet hole, sucking on your clit while he pumped his fingers in you nice and slow. "Fuck con" you let out a soft moan, it was like music to his ears. He worked his fingers a little faster and curled them up grazing over your spot. "o-oh fuck connie mmhm, right there" He came up, bottom half of his face covered in your sweet juices "You taste so sweet, princesa" and with that he went back down and devoured you like you were his last meal. "a-ah mm con. That feels soo good" you whispered, feather light moans. You could feel the knot in your stomach tightening as he pushed his tongue in and out of your hole. "Cmon mami let me hear you." he felt you squeeze his tongue and pull his hair, that was enough to let him know. He pushed his fingers back in and started pumping at an insane speed.

"Go ahead ma, let me taste all of you" Your thighs tightened around his head as you felt your high coming. "ah connie 'm gonna cum, fuck!" you moaned out louder than before, he curled his fingers again, making you throw your head back and squeeze your eyes closed. "Joder, eres tan deliciosa." damn, you're so delicious.

Connie stood up and your hands immediately found the band of his sweats and boxers, in one tug you pulled them both down. "Eager much huh mami? Well I expect you to take it all then." Your eyes widened at the statement but your thoughts were cut short when you heard him speak again. "Turn around for me mami, and don't take your eyes off the mirror." The dominance in his voice made you even wetter. You turned around towards the mirror and he slid off your panties.

He smeared his tip on your folds, collecting your wetness. Without warning he pushed his full length in, starting off with slow strokes. "Fuck mami, you're squeezing me so tight" You arched your back a little more and relaxed. He starts moving quicker and palms the fat of your ass.

Connie props one of your legs on the counter and smacks your ass. "f-fuck connie oh!" hearing you get louder, not caring if anyone could hear you, only riled him up more. He snaked his hand around your throat pulling your head up more so you could see what a mess he made of you. Your lip liner gone, mascara smeared on your damp bottom eyelashes, and a fucked out expression. Connie thought you looked perfect.

"Y-yes mami, take all t-this dick" you hear him stutter his calm demeanor fading away as he fucks into you at an unruly pace. "Ah! Con so good. i-it's so big" He smacks your ass again and continues fucking you.

He pulls out and you pout feeling empty "Calmate princesa." calm down princess He chuckles and flips you on your back then he pulls your hips closer to him. He pushes back into you, not wasting any time. Connie pushes your legs back a little more "Keep 'em right there ma." You hold the back of your knees with your hands, feeling connie's tip hit all the right places, Connie places a heavy hand on your lower stomach and he presses down. "a-ah con please! it feels soo good." You and Connie both feel yourselves about to cum.

"Con 'm about to cum! ah please Connie!" You can feel your thighs starting to shake, "g-go ahead mami, fuck you're so perfect. m-make a mess all over me." Connie rubs on your sensitive bud and keeps fucking you deep. You can feel a wave of pleasure wash over you and your vision turns white. "Ah! Connie fuck 'm cumming!" You yell, "f-fuck me too ma." You notice his voice falter and crack at the end, he sounds so angelic. He pulls out and hot, white, ropes coat your tummy.

Connie begins wiping off your stomach and he leans in to kiss you, but he sees something in the corner of his eye, almost like a, figure. "Shit" Connie says blankly, putting his pants back on. You scramble to put your clothes back on and turn to see Eren standing there looking pissed.

"what.. what the fuck is wrong with y'all?"

Whew chileeeee. y'all did I at least nibble or what 👀 but lmk if I should make this multiple parts, also give me title ideas!! lmk if y'all want to be tagged in the next parts! love u all nd I hope y'all had as much fun reading as I had writing this! (watch nb read ts #embarrasing 😰)

- with lots of love, gabrielle <3

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Young and Beautiful"

Prologue

ya'll, I cannot sleep with my arm in this stupid cast, so i started rereading "the great Gatsby" (my comfort book) and i got this idea. i know, i know, i have 3 unfinished fics buttttttt i'm injured and this is my blog and i have free will so i'm writing this. This is yandere romantic batboys and bruce x reader. BUT set in the roaring 20's. Send in asks, requests, ideas, and just what you think about this! Likes, comments, reblogs and asks are encouraged and keep me going! Love yall <333. This is written in 1st person, reader is recalling events in her journal. This is a rough draft for the prologue! Sorry if it doesnt make sense, i'm high off pain meds writing this bc i'm BORED.

The first time I saw Jason Todd, he was nothing to me Just another boy in my father’s estate, covered in dirt, hands rough from labor, his bruised knuckles proof of a fight he hadn’t won. His blue eyes were sharp, full of something wild, something untamed, something that made you bristle, the kind of fire you knew to stay away from, even at 12 years old.

The first time I spoke to Jason Todd, two years after I saw him, I thought he was filth.

He was a boy covered in dirt, his hands stained with mud and the smell of horses, his knuckles raw from a fight he clearly hadn’t won. His face was sharp, bruised, skinny and too wild for someone who worked under my father’s name. He was nothing, just another street rat lucky enough to be given work in my father’s stables, another nameless stray that old Mr. Wilkes had dragged in from the gutters of Gotham. He smelled like sweat, hay, and something sharp, something angry.

I was fourteen years old and wore pearls around my throat, a silk dress with delicate lace at the sleeves. My father’s estate stretched over rolling green fields, our mansion standing tall like something out of a dream. My mother’s hands were soft, her perfume sweet, and I had never known hunger or want. My world was a world of glittering lights and expensive champagne, of high society and grand parties, of people who smiled with their teeth but whispered behind painted fans.

Jason Todd did not belong in my world.

Yet, somehow, he slipped in like a stain on silk.

We met on the back steps of the estate, where the stable boys cut through to the gardens. I was waiting for my automobile when he nearly ran into me, boots dragging dust over my polished shoes.

Jason Todd? He was filth beneath my shoes.

Or at least, that’s what I told myself.

Because the first time I met him, he nearly ran into me.

He didn’t bow like other servants did, he didn’t apologize profusely and beg for forgiveness.

He barely even looked at me before muttering, “Watch it,” like I was in his way.

I had never been spoken to like that in my life.

I hated him immediately.

I took a startled step back, wrinkling my nose at the smell of sweat, hay, and horse.

The nerve.

I straightened my back like Daddy told me to when I wanted to look serious and I tilted my chin up as I stared down at him. "Excuse me?"

Jason smirked, slow and lazy, eyes glinting with amusement. "Did I stutter?"

I had never wanted to slap someone so badly.

Instead, I remember turning and walked away, forgetting my plans of going into town, heels clicking sharply against the stone, vowing to never look at him again and to hate him forever, no matter how handsome he was,.

That vow didn’t last long, especially when he took off his shirt.

Jason was everywhere.

I saw him at the stables, his shirtless back slick with sweat, muscles shifting under tanned skin as he worked. I saw him sneaking apples from the kitchen, disappearing into the trees, laughter on his lips. I saw him in the streets, fists flying, always coming back with fresh bruises, always alive in a way no one else was.

And then, you heard about him.

"That stable boy got into another fight," the maids whispered. "Damn near killed the other boy, apparently the other kid got smart about his lady."

At the time, I thought the strange burning feeling in my gut was disgust at even hearing Jason's name. Now I know, what I felt was pure jealousy, not knowing the 'lady' Jason nearly killed a boy over was me.

"He’s trouble," my mother warned when I asked about him at dinner. "Keep away from him, sweetheart."

"He won’t last long here," my mother sighed. "That kind of boy never does, no matter how much of a soft spot your father has for him."

My father pitied Jason, told me I oughta be nicer to him like I am to the other workers (he would regret that statement soon.)

He had no one. No mother, no father, no family, nothing but the clothes on his back and determination. He had what my father called "the look of a man who'd rather die than fail" and my father respected that.

But Jason did last.

I hated him.

Hated the way he smirked at me from across the gardens, like he knew something I didn’t.

I hated the way he never bowed, never apologized, never treated me like the others did.

I hated that when I was alone, when my father’s friends spoke about marrying me off to the sons of their business partners, I thought of Jason Todd instead.

The first conversation I had with Jason Todd was after I had fought with my father.

It was about marriage. About duty. About a boy I didn’t love.

I ran into the garden dramatically ignoring my father's desperate calls, pearls at my throat, tears in my eyes.

And Jason was already there.

Sprawled under an oak tree, cigarette between his lips, watching me like he’d been waiting for this moment all his life.

"You rich girls cry over the dumbest shit," he muttered.

I whipped around. "What did you just say to me?" How dare he speak to me like I was any other girl, like this wasn't my home, like he didn't work for my father.

Jason pushed himself up, boots kicking up dirt as he smirked. "You ever go to bed hungry?"

My breath caught. He had a point, you were privileged.

"Ever steal to survive?" His voice was low, teasing, sharp. "Ever wake up in the morning and wonder if you’ll still have a roof over your head by sundown?"

I didn’t answer, for the first time in years I felt something close to shame.

Jason tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with resentment. "Didn’t think so, princess."

I hated him. He made me feel childish. He humbled me. He burst my perfect bubble.

And I loved him for it.

I loved him for making you feel something real.

And that was the beginning of everything.

I loved Jason Todd.

I loved him when he me you out of the house at midnight and made me ride my horse bareback through the fields.

I loved him when he knocked the rich boy who called me a tease's teeth out.

I loved him when he threw pebbles at my window on the third floor and scaled the walls to my balcony.

I loved him when he kissed me for the first time at 14 under the summer stars, hands gripping my waist, mouth desperate against mine.

"You’re my Jason, my Jaybird," I whispered against his lips. Corny, but nothing felt better to say, especially when I saw his face.

Jason smiled like I had given him the whole damn world.

And he? He was my whole world.

When Jason was seventeen and I was fifteen, he walked into my father’s grand house, dressed in his best suit, nervous but determined and proud, his hands clean for once, his boots polished.

He asked my father for my hand in marriage. He asked my father for my hand and I thought he would say yes. Daddy always thought he was a hard worker, called him a real good sport.

He stood before my father and said, “I love her, sir. I’ll make her happy. Give me a chance. I ain't got much now, but one day I will. I'll give her what she's got and more.”

My father just laughed.

“Boy,” he said, shaking his head, “she’s not meant for men like you.”

Jason left that night, whispering a promise against my skin.

"I’ll come back for you, I'll be great. Be a man like how your daddy wants, rich and proper, he'll have to say yes."

I waited, god knows I did.

I wrote letters to the last address he gave me every single day.

For five years. Till I turned twenty. I never looked at another man, I had my Jason.

I waited for him to reply, fought off suitors and pressure from my mother. I waited for a reply, that he was coming soon, that he missed me.

I waited.

And my Jaybird never came back.

My father loved me.

He regretted turning Jason away five years later, when I still refused to marry. He never forced me to marry, not even when the years passed and my suitors grew frustrated with my refusals.

He saw my misery, my longing and admitted, “I should’ve said yes. I should’ve let you have him.”

He thought my Jason was a passing infatuation, he wondered what people would say about his daughter marrying the stable boy.

He wished he saw my love for Jason sooner.

But love wasn’t enough to keep the debt collectors away.

I knew something was wrong when my father began to look stressed, when my parents began to argue, and when I heard my mother cry herself to sleep after selling her favorite pearls.

My father was going to loose everything all at once.

The steel business wasn't what it used to be.

And then suddenly, Bruce Wayne arrived like a knight in shining armor.

He was older than me, 18 years my senior. Refined, powerful, and dangerously charming.

And most importantly, rich. He was exactly what I needed to stop my family's fall from grace.

Bruce courted me like a gentleman.

He sent roses every morning, took me to the finest restaurants, whispered in my ear about a future where I would never want for anything again.

He was patient.

He never forced me to love him.

He only asked for one thing.

"Let me take care of you."

I kept Bruce waiting for three months. All I could do was think of Jason. I knew he was not returning, that he either was dead or found some other pretty girl to make promises to.

I told myself love was not enough to fill an empty stomach and keep my parents happy like they did for me.

I told myself that Jason Todd was not coming back to save me, yet each morning I woke up waiting for a letter or pebbles thrown at my window.

After four months of courting, I decided.

And at twenty, I became Mrs. Bruce Wayne.

Jason Todd never sent me a single letter, but I still dreamed of my Jaybird even as I looked at the massive ring on my finger.

OKKKKK SO WHAT YA'LL THINK??? CONTINUE OR DELETE??? FLOP OR BOP? SEND IN ASKS!!!! I MISS YALL! THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING ROMANCE W JASON AND BRUCE. I REALLY LIKE THIS AU!!!! WHAT DO YALL THINK IS GONNA HAPPEN? SORRU IF IT SUCKS OR DOESNT MAKE SENSE, I'M SO HIGH BRO.

BE NICE PLEASE, I'M IN PAIN! THIS IS NOT EDITED OR PROOF READ.

[deanscherrypie69]

Girl dad Logan🩷

Pairings; Logan Howlett x F!malereader Warnings; fluff, just logan and his girls!

A/n, I’m gonna try to turn this into a series. So lmk if yall enjoy this ! Cause I loved writing it!!!

🩷🩷🩷

You don’t t know what time you’d woken up, but you reach out to feel the side of the bed where your husband had laid. But it was cold.

Opening your eyes, you see that the covers had been thrown back. Huffing you throw the blankets off your body. You sit at the side of the bed and run a hand down your face. To wake yourself up.

“Logan?” You say with a raspy voice.

When he doesn’t answer back you manage to get up from the bed.

“Okay come on girl.” You say rubbing your swollen belly. You’d been pregnant for almost seven months. It was your second baby. A girl.

Logan was over the moon. He couldn’t wait to have another girl.

Your first daughter ivy was attached to Logan’s hip since the day she was born.

They did everything together.

It was adorable. It was Logan who insisted on having another baby. You couldnt say no. You were right there with him. You wanted to expand the family.

“Lo?” You hum as you reach the living room. There was no one in there.

Your head whips over to the sound of a shrieking laugh.

Furrowing your eyebrows you make your way over to ivy’s room.

The door had been open a crack. Through the crack you see Logan sitting as ivy’s tea table. With a tiara on.

“Here you go daddy.” Ivy says giving Logan a plastic tea cup.

“Thanks bub.” Logan took the plastic cup. You watched as he bought it up to his mouth and took a sip.

You couldn’t help but awe at the moment that was unfolding right in front of you.

Without saying a word you fully open the door.

Logan lifted his head up and smiled when he saw you.

His smile was big. He was glad to see you.

“Mommy!” Ivy shrieks and grabs your leg.

“Good morning!” You say ruffling her long brown hair.

Logan clears his throat. Causing your gaze to be on him.

“It’s actually the afternoon.”

You gasp and look at ivy’s clock that had been sitting. On her dresser. “Why didn’t you wake me? Did she eat did you give her a bat-“

“She’s fine-“ Logan cuts you off with a chuckle. “I figured I just let me two girls sleep. How is she doing today anyways.”

Ivy gives your leg one more squeeze, then goes back to her tea set.

“Come here.” Logan reaches out his hands of you to take.

You stand in front of him. He’d still been sitting down. He puts his hands into your belly.

“How’s my beautiful girl.” He kisses your belly. It’d been covered by his t-shirt. You’d used them as nightgowns.

Logan looks up at you.

“How are you?” He hums rubbing a hand over your belly.

“M’kay just tired.” You say with a big yawn.

“That’s why I let you sleep, I figured you needed it. And plus she woke me up at 9:30 this morning wanting to play princess tea party.”

He motions to ivy, who was feeling her stuffed bear a cookie.

You chuckle. You bring your hand down tj his hair and run your fingers through it. “You’re a great dad Logan.”

You hum. You feel tears begin to spill from your eyes.

When Logan notices he quickly gets up. “Hey, hey don’t cry.” He hums flicking the tears away.

“She’s lucky to have you.”

Logan pulls you into a hug, his chin resting on your head. "And she's lucky to have you, you're a great mom." Logan places a kiss onto your forehead.

He wipes the tears off your face. "I love you."

"I love you more." You hum.

"Mommy!" Ivy squeaks, "Play princess tea party with me and daddy!" She was jumping up and down with excitement.

"Okay okay." You giggle pulling away from logan.

Logan couldn't help but take in the sight that unfolded in front of him, he was happy. And he wanted it to stay like this forever.

Just Logan and his girls.

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt.14

Word Count: 27.1k

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were forgetting his voice.

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

What did Xavier sound like?

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

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

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

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

The before was fading.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe he was just good at pretending.

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

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

What are you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were definitely going crazy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was actually nice to be delusional for a bit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if it was all a lie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I feel like having cake today"

"What flavor, honey?"

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

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

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

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

"...."

"Alright, here you go."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the least he could do after everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe it was survival. Or maybe it was exhaustion.

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

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

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

So, what more could you do?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Shut up..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was it possible to be tired of being tired?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then his lips found your skin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Better than him.

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

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

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

An innocent life. Trapped with you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just had to make it count.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn't want to think about it anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All you cared about was Linkon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first thing you felt was the sun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. You can’t give up that easily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don’t lose focus. Not yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The worker beamed. “Great choice!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Go. Go. Faster. Don’t look back.

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

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

And then you saw it—him.

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

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

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

Love.

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

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

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

You had gotten one of your birthday wishes after all.

[purinfelix]

wasting time, stuck here like me - p. sunghoon ⋆˚࿔

summary: it's been about a month since that strange, handsome man started showing up at the local ice rink you work at, and you don't know why, but something about the unreadably sad expression he has when he watches draws you in ────── ex-skater (idol) sunghoon x ice-rink worker reader || angst, sorta fluff, very slow idk it's emotional i was feeling deep || w/c: 3.1k (holy shit this is a long one - idk if the enha survival show has a word limit but now im scared this is too long woops)

a/n: OK WHEW i've had this idea literally as long as ive been writing for enha but i never knew how to write it in a way that captured how much i think about hoon and iceskating ... i just love him yall ..... ok enough rambling hope y'all enjoy this cus i actually am quite proud of it and it took me forever !!! <333

You’ve noticed him, it’s hard not to. After all, it’s not every day a skating rink like yours gets a visitor who looks like they’ve walked straight off a runway. 

He caught your attention immediately from the first time he came in, with his long black coat and neatly trimmed hair. Everything about him seemed to indicate precision, a calm sort of control that intrigued you. You watched, fascinated, assuming he was probably the father or older brother of one of the little kids you took for skating lessons. But he always seemed to disappear right before class ended, never sticking around to pick up a child - only to reappear the next week to do the same thing.

Normally, someone who visited a local ice rink just to watch the lessons there would quickly be considered a weirdo, but there was something about his expression when he did that stopped you from immediately calling him out as a creep. There was something in his eyes that you could see even from where he sat in the bleachers, whenever he’d watch the children glide across the ice or giggle with joy when they fell over. Even if he offered a soft, endeared smile, there was an undeniable lingering sadness behind it, maybe even a little jealousy. 

Up until that point, whenever you’d glanced up and caught him watching, he’d quickly turn away, clearing his throat or pretending to check something on his phone - so you assumed he was more than aware of how odd this seemed. But something in you yearned to know more, to understand just why on earth someone like him - with his polished filmstar look and unreadable expression - would spend his free time watching weekly ice-skating lessons at a run-down rink like yours. 

You saw your chance to find out one slow afternoon when you were almost finished with your lesson for the night and, like clockwork, you spotted his tall figure waiting in his usual spot, watching. Swiftly, you skated over, leaning over the edge of the rink. 

“You know, most people who spend this long staring at the ice normally just give in and skate,” you call out to him matter-of-factly. 

His eyes widen for just a second, as if embarrassed at being caught, but his expression soon melts into a calm chuckle. “I’m not most people,” he smiles politely. 

“Well, I could’ve guessed that,” you scoff, eyeing the way his designer coat contrasts sorely to the rink and the scuffed skates gliding around it. “If you’re trying to be subtle, you’re not doing a very good job.” 

It’s his turn to laugh, cocking up an eyebrow as he leans forward towards you as if to get a better look, elbows resting on his knees. You can’t deny that the almost playful expression on his face makes your stomach twist. Suddenly, though, he stands up, and your heart drops at the thought that he might be leaving, watching as he smoothly pushes his hands into his pockets. 

But smoothly, he makes his way over to the side of the rink you’re standing at, confidently leaning his elbows against it. There’s a pause, slightly awkward on your behalf since you’re unsure of what to do, and so for a moment, you’re both silent as you turn to join him in watching the kids glide across the ice in front of you. 

“I used to skate,” he says, voice softer, more earnest now as if he’s admitting some kind of secret to you. “A long time ago.” Your surprise comes in two waves - the first because his voice makes you realise just how close he’s standing, and the second at what he’s just said. 

“Figure skating?” You turn just enough to glance at him from the corner of your eye, studying his expression. 

"Yeah," he smiles faintly to himself, eyes still on the rink, and you can tell it's been a while since he's spoken about it to anyone. "Before..." he pauses, hand coming up to wave in the air as if to symbolise something insignificant, "everything else."

You don't entirely get what he's alluding to, but you don't push, given how this already seems to be a sensitive topic for him to be opening up about, especially to a total stranger.

"It never really leaves you, you know, if you loved it a lot," you say, "I mean, that's what I've heard."

He meets your eyes for just a second, and the noise of the rink slowly falls away, leaving just the two of you suspended in this small yet unexpected moment of connection. But you look away quickly, feeling a strange heat creeping up the back of your neck from looking at him too long.

"It's been ages, I don't think I even remember any of the moves," he says dismissively, pushing away from the rink to stand up straight, and for the second time, you think he's going to leave - with the rest of the people slowly trickling out after the night’s last session. Only this time, what you feel isn't a resigned disappointment but a sudden urge to keep him here.

"I bet you still remember the basics," you challenge, skating backwards, your hands on your hips and a mischievous glint in your eye. "C'mon, I'll hold your hand if you're scared," you coo teasingly.

He scoffs under his breath, but his smile gives him away - he's not one to take to teasing lightly. "I don't even have skates," he sighs, though it's clear he's searching for an excuse.

“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, this is a skating rink,” you say, gesturing to the skate hiring booth dramatically as if to poke fun at how poor his excuse is. His eyes flicker to yours, hesitant, but just for a second. 

“C’mon, if you fall, I’ll catch you.” You add, and at that, you finally get a glimpse of a smile. 

You can’t remember the last time you watched someone lace up their own skates so quickly. Sure, maybe after years of students who are yet to learn their times tables, your perception of efficiency is sort of warped, but something about the way his swift fingers move to tie intricate knots impresses you. The way it seems so effortless, too, like something he’s committed to memory and refused to forget even after all this time, seems like a sign of something else, though you’re not entirely sure what yet. 

He stands up, tall, and doesn’t falter at all as he walks over to the door in the rink. Instinctively, you skate over to him quickly and hold out your hands - a habit you’ve developed after watching far too many of your students underestimate just how slippery the ice can be. He notices this, letting out a scoff that edges on both amusement and offence. 

“You weren’t being serious about catching me if I fall, were you?” he sighs through a smile. 

You’re a little embarrassed when you realise, but refuse to let him get the better of you. “Well, I’m sorry, Mr Ex-Figure Skater.” 

“Sunghoon.” 

“Sorry, huh?” is all you can muster out, having been too busy coming up with your next snarky comeback. 

“My name,” he says, a little quieter but not any less firm, “it’s Sunghoon.” 

You give it a little time to sink in, this suddenly vulnerable moment before breaking into a soft smile. “Well, Sunghoon,” you say, drawing out his name like it’s a secret between you two, “just go ahead, and I’m here if you need me, though I don’t think you will.” 

He nods in response with an entertained smirk, but there’s a ghost of nerves behind it as he takes a couple of steps, shoulders back, movements rigid. His thick brows furrow, and you watch his lips purse into a thin line of concentration as if he’s trying to remember something, uncover a memory he’s buried deep within him.

“Still think you’ve forgotten the moves?” You ask, and even though it sounds like you’re teasing him, part of you really is curious. 

He glances at you, eyes unreadable again. “No,” he says, just above a whisper, “I didn’t forget, but that might be the problem.” 

Then, just like that, it happens. 

It’s so subtle at first you barely notice it, just a shift in his posture, the tension easing from his shoulders as he remembers. He closes his eyes, takes a gentle breath and lets it out, a little shaky - then silently, he pushes off. 

He starts so suddenly, you don’t have time to prepare yourself for how seamlessly he seems to fall back into it. You blink, and he’s on the other side of the rink already, merely a blur in your line of vision as he glides past you again. He raises his arms, shifts his weight, turns his head - though there’s no effort behind it, and even as you watch him, unable to figure out what he might be thinking, you can tell there’s something about this that just feels so right. 

You want to say something, make a teasing comment, call out an impressed compliment, but you can’t. The only thing you can do is stand there, the only noises filling the rink being the precise scraping of his skates against the ice and your own stunned breath as you watch him. 

The longer you do, the more it feels like you’re watching a memory come alive in front of you - and the more you find yourself noticing the tiny details. The way his left foot tucks behind his right, the way his limbs move with a fluidity that’s so quietly beautiful. That’s when you realise that he isn’t just skating, he’s rehearsing. 

Rehearsing a routine he must’ve learnt years ago at this point, and the fact that he doesn’t seem to be rethinking a single move, just executing them with soft precision, impresses you even more. 

And then, just as you’re reeling in from this realisation - he jumps. 

Not high, not showy or flashy. Just a small half turn before landing effortlessly, without a single sign of struggle, like he weighs nothing. He’s already doing the next move, but you could’ve sworn that, just for a moment there, he was flying.

It’s beautiful. 

And a little devastating. 

Because when you look closer, the next time he sails past you, the look on his face isn’t joy, not really. It’s something deeper, something tinged with melancholy - like he’s letting himself indulge in a version of himself that he lost a long time ago, but just for a moment. 

And just like that, the moment’s over. 

He coasts to a slow stop near the middle of the rink, shoulders rising and falling with his breath - but other than that, completely still. He hangs his head, silently, staring at the ice.

The silence that follows feels so fragile, so delicate - that you don’t dare to speak, since it feels like even a single word might shatter it. 

But your body makes the decision for you, and before you realise it your hands are already coming up, numb from the cold since you’ve forgotten your gloves somewhere, and are clapping together slowly, softly - but loud enough for him to hear.

His head whips up at the noise, but you don’t stop. It’s the only thing that feels right for you to do at that point so you keep going, getting faster until you feel the warmth return to your hands and at the same time, a slow, bashful smile spreads across his face. 

He skates over to where you’re leaning against the rink’s edge, resting his elbows against them with a sigh as he lowers his head again. 

“I haven’t done that in years,” he breathes out, finally breaking the silence.

“I wouldn’t have been able to tell,” you reply in awe, “that was incredible.” 

There’s a pause as your praise sinks in, and you’re about to speak again just to fill the silence. 

“I think I forgot how much I enjoyed skating.” His voice is so soft now, only adding to the vulnerability of his words. “I mean, it was kind of difficult to see it back then, I used to do it every day, morning, night. Over and over until I couldn’t feel my legs - it was my whole life.” 

He lets out a soft, sardonic laugh, almost like he’s pitying his past self and wanting to save him all at the same time. 

“I used to get so stressed out about it as well, even a tiny mistake felt like the end of the world.” He exhales heavily, like this is physically exhausting for him to confess. You want to say something, but you don’t know what, so you let him keep going. 

“But I mean now, I kind of wish I could go back to when landing my jumps was my biggest problem. 

You glance over at him, tentatively, and notice his distant gaze, focused on some invisible point out in front of him, before he slowly makes his way over to the rink gate, pushing it open and stepping off. He holds it out for you, eyes flickering to yours, and as you take it, you feel the need to break the silence. 

“What happened?” you ask, voice soft, like you’re aware that you’re pushing. 

He’s quiet again, walking over to the nearest bench and propping himself up to slide off his skates, and instinctively you sit beside him and do the same. You’re about to backpedal, to apologise for asking such a personal question, given that, to him, you’re just another stranger. But soon enough, he speaks again. 

“I cracked,” he whispers, hanging his head, staring at the skates once he’s taken them off, “the pressure, it was too much. Everyone seemed to always want something from me, something more, and I just got tired of giving it to them.” 

“And you know, what the funniest thing is?” He says, looking up at you again, “I started skating when I was young to try and socialise, because I was one of the shyest kids ever.” 

You watch, chest tight. 

“But, after all, it’s a sport you do by yourself, and whenever I was out here on the rink, competing, practising, I felt so alone, like it was just me against the world.” 

“You must’ve been good, though,” you say softly. 

“I was good,” he laughs softly, nodding, “I was really good.” 

It doesn’t sound like pride, it sounds like mourning. His words hang in the air heavily between you two, the only people left at the rink now. 

“You still are,” you say, just above a whisper, and he turns to you at this and nods again - only this time it feels more earnest, like he’s silently thanking you for whatever this is. 

You stay like that for just another second, before you look up at the nearest clock and realise you’re about five minutes overtime for closing. Springing up, you grab both of your skates, throwing them over the skate-hire counter for whichever one of your coworkers is rostered in tomorrow morning to handle. 

“Come on, I’ll lock up and walk with you to your car.” 

He does as you say without protest, following after you as you move through the motions of closing for the night. You’ve always loved how quiet the rink felt at this time, the almost sacred peace that doused it whenever all of its attendants had gone home. 

You flick off the main lights, and as you both step outside, the winter air hits you harder than you were expecting. You hug both your arms around yourself, the cold biting at your exposed skin. 

“I should’ve brought a jacket,” you hiss, mostly to yourself, but he catches it. And without saying anything, he shrugs off his coat and holds it out. 

You blink, partially at how cliche this is, but also at how unreal it feels. “You’ll freeze.” 

“I’ll be fine,” he insists quietly, “take it.” 

Reluctantly, you reach for it and your fingers brush under the fabric for just a second, and you feel the faintest jolt of heat when they do. When you drape the heavy coat over you, you’re almost overwhelmed by the scent it holds - something clean, a little musky, but with something delicately sweet mixed in. It suits him. 

You walk side by side towards his car, holding either side of his coat closed around yourself. There’s silence again, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable at all, there’s a shared sense of understanding lingering in it. 

“Thank you for tonight,” he finally breathes out, and your heart twists at just how earnest he sounds. “Really.” 

You laugh, trying to lighten the sudden intensity of the tension between you two. “It’s fine, really, we are a rink after all.” 

“No, I mean like, for listening to me, for watching me and everything,” he says softly, “most people would just brush off something as silly as this.” 

“It’s not silly,” you say so quickly that it surprises even you, “not when it means so much to you.” 

His expression falters at that, like he’s not used to being taken so seriously, not when it comes to this part of himself. His gaze lingers on yours as you both reach his car, and you feel your chest tighten as he unlocks it. 

“So what do you do now?” you ask, voice low, “for work I mean.” 

“Haven’t I given you enough personal information for the night?” he laughs, somewhat impressed with how bold your question is. You feel a little embarrassed by his response. 

“Didn’t think there was a limit on it,” you scoff as you look the other way, but there’s no real bite behind your words. 

He sighs, watching you. “I’ll save that story for next week.” 

You whip your head back around, “so, you’ll be back next week then?” You’re unable to hide how hopeful your tone sounds.

He hesitates like he’s given himself away, hand tapping at the wheel before he nods. “Yeah, I think I might.” 

And just before he drives off, he glances back at you, meeting your eyes with a soft smile, and you’re unable to believe it’s the same unreadable expression you’d been studying every week for the past month.  

“But only if you clap for me again,” he adds finally, mouth stretching into a knowing smirk before he waves you goodnight and drives off. 

You’re still smiling by the time his car disappears, hands shoved deep into the pockets of your coat still draped around your shoulders, heart suddenly louder in your chest. You weren’t entirely sure what had changed tonight, but something definitely had. 

In him, in you, maybe in both - but whatever it was made you look forward to next week more than you ever had.

[airybcby]

જ⁀✦ cause what if i never love again?

( reo mikage x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — yall rock w the new pic set up? ^^

♡ word count — 2.8k

♡ content — reo mikage x fem! reader, set in a kind of salem time, the 1920s, a war-time, and "modern times" (reo and reader are 19 and he plays pro soccer), right person wrong time, right person not enough time, mentions of witchcraft, mentions of car accidents, mentions of war (and all things affliated), mentions of illness, royal! reader, heiress! reader, nurse! reader, ill! reader, soulmates, meeting in every lifetime, 4 different lifetimes, angst, not proofread!

♡ synopsis — Reo Mikage will go through as many lives as he has to. Because in every life, Reo Mikage finds you. And in every life, you leave him far too early.

── .✦ give me a memory i can use

The first time you met Reo Mikage, you were both small and sharp-eyed, children dressed in velvet and constraint. 

Your families were tangled in money and politics—landowners of different provinces, but allies in name and interest.

You were five when he pulled your hair in the middle of a tea party. 

He was six when you shoved him into a pond for saying your voice was too loud.

By ten, you were inseparable.

They let you roam because your names had already been written beside each other in social contracts and whispered agreements. 

If it was known that one day you’d marry, what was the harm in letting you grow close? A scandal between children of dynasties only became a storybook legend.

He snuck into your father’s library to draw figures on old books while you read them aloud. 

He taught you how to climb the castle wall in secret, and you taught him to hold his tongue when the lords came to visit. 

You knew how to bite with a smile, how to laugh with your teeth showing.

Reo saw it first.

That fire in you. 

You were always too wild for the world they tried to fit you into. Not unruly, no—never sloppy, never loud when you weren’t meant to be—but there was something about the way you looked out the window when no one else was watching. 

Something about how you wrote poems in the backs of your ledgers and crushed rose petals into ink to write your letters. Something about how you said no.

And something about how he kept falling in love with it.

It wasn’t dramatic, how it started. 

It wasn’t some grand confession or secret kiss stolen in a garden. 

It was just... one day, Reo looked at you reading in the sun, your slippers dangling off one foot and your hair wind-tangled, and he thought, I want to know her forever. And then another day passed, and he still did. And then more.

You loved him, too, in your own way. Softly. Deeply. As if your lives had always been meant to run parallel.

You held hands under the table. He kissed the corner of your wrist one night when he thought you were asleep. You laughed into his shoulder after you tripped on your gown. He looked at you like he’d never seen anything as real in a world built on porcelain.

You told him once, “If I wasn’t born into this family, I’d be free.”

He looked at you, his own robe stitched with his family’s crest in gold thread, and said, “Then I’d give up everything and be free with you.”

You were seventeen.

You never got to turn eighteen.

They accused you of witchcraft.

It started with a dying boy claiming you’d looked at him wrong. 

A servant finding dried herbs in your satchel. 

A maid whispering about how she saw you dance barefoot in the rain last spring. 

Enough breadcrumbs to ignite fear in people who’d rather burn a girl than question their own sins.

No trial. No appeal.

You didn’t scream when they took you. You didn’t beg. 

But Reo did.

He fought everyone—his father, the guards, the church. “She’s not a witch,” he screamed. “She’s not anything but good.”

But the world didn’t want good. It wanted obedient. And you’d never been that.

They tied your hands behind your back. They bound you in white and dragged you through the courtyard, and Reo stood in the front row because he refused to let the last thing you see be anyone but him.

Your eyes met.

The smoke rose around you.

Your last words were not curses.

They were, “Don’t forget me.”

And he never did.

Even as the flames swallowed you. Even as your skin turned to ash and your hair burned away, Reo saw only the girl who once told him she’d be free one day. 

The girl he loved in a world that wasn’t kind enough to keep her.

That was your first death.

The first lifetime where he couldn’t save you.

And far above the smoke, something—fate, time, maybe love—took your soul in its hands and whispered:

Not yet. Try again.

You were never supposed to be seen at the club.

Not you—darling of your family, heiress to a chain of railroads, pearls around your neck, and an engagement to a Duke’s son inked before you could spell his name. 

Your mother taught you manners with the edge of a knife. 

Your father raised you like an investment.

But then there was Club Ambrosia—all smoke and saxophones, women in dresses too short and heels too high, and music that wrapped around your ribs like sin. 

That was where you went when you couldn’t breathe. 

That’s where you were when Reo Mikage found you again.

He was already seated in the corner when your shadow slipped through the curtain. Champagne in hand. Gold cufflinks glinting under low lights. 

Everyone knew the Mikages—owners of steel lines and half of Wall Street. 

Their son? He was supposed to be on his way to becoming the next great American tycoon.

But there he was.

Watching you like he’d been waiting years.

His voice cut through the jazz. “Didn’t think you were the kind of girl who ran from parties thrown in her honor.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And I didn’t think you were the kind of boy who followed girls out of them.”

“I don’t follow girls,” he said, standing to offer you his hand. “Just you.”

And like smoke rising from a candle, it all came back.

Not in full—not yet. But in fragments.

The shape of his mouth when he smiled. The way your heart quieted when his hand touched yours.

A memory of fire.

You danced that night. Barely spoke. 

His hand on your waist, yours on his chest. 

When the music swelled, you let your head fall against his shoulder and whispered, “Do you ever feel like you’ve done all this before?”

Reo didn’t answer. But he held you closer.

You and Reo became a story whispered behind champagne glasses.

The reformed golden boy of Fifth Avenue, now regularly seen at downtown jazz clubs, slipping into limousines with that Belmont girl. The one who used to recite poems in Latin and walked barefoot in her father’s garden.

They called it a phase.

You knew better.

It wasn’t perfect. You argued, often.

Your families met in secret to “discuss your recklessness.”

You wrote letters to each other in invisible ink.

He sent you flowers for every day he couldn’t see you.

You’d crush them between books, every one.

One night, you curled against his chest in his hotel suite, the city glittering outside, and you whispered, “They’ll never let us be free.”

Reo kissed your temple. “Then we’ll stop asking.”

You made a plan.

Two train tickets. A borrowed name. 

You’d run to Paris, where no one cared about your families, where he could disappear and you could breathe.

But the night before your escape, your father caught wind. 

Whether it was a servant or a slip of the tongue, you never knew. 

Reo came to get you.

But you never opened the door.

They said the brakes gave out.

That your driver was drunk.

That the corner was slick from rain.

But Reo Mikage—standing in the rain, his fists bloodied from pounding the wreckage, your perfume still on his collar—knew better.

You died with your engagement ring still on, the wrong man’s name etched into your obituary.

And Reo never forgave himself for being one night too late.

He lived until he was eighty-seven. Never married.

Some say he bought every apartment overlooking the bridge where your car went over.

Some say every year on the anniversary, he sat on the ledge and whispered to the wind:

“Next time, I’ll come sooner.”

The third time you meet him again, it’s through blood and smoke.

You’re a nurse stationed at a temporary field hospital, the kind where floors are dirt and the walls are canvas. 

The kind where no one remembers names—just numbers and wounds and how long someone has left.

Reo Mikage is wheeled in unconscious.

He’s covered in grime, his uniform soaked with someone else’s blood. 

The tag pinned to his chest bears his surname, and something in your chest stirs. 

Mikage. 

You whisper it under your breath. It sounds... familiar. 

Like a place you once lived. A name you once spoke like a secret.

He doesn’t wake for three days.

You sit beside his cot every shift.

The other nurses tease you for it. 

They call him handsome, say you’ve got a crush. But it’s not that. Not really. 

It’s something heavier. Something in the curl of his fingers. The furrow in his brow. Like you already know the way he’ll look at you when he opens his eyes.

And then he does.

And you do.

He blinks once. Twice. Focuses on your face.

He says your name. Not the one on your uniform. The one no one here calls you. The one you’ve only ever heard in dreams.

He says it like he��s been looking for you in every burning city.

You drop the tray in your hands.

Reo isn’t like the other soldiers.

He’s quieter. Sharper. Always watching the sky like it’s trying to tell him something. 

He tells you, once, after his fever breaks, that he didn’t want to fight. That his father made him.

He tells you, “War makes men into monsters. I’m just trying not to lose myself.”

You tend to his wounds in silence. And when you can’t take the silence anymore, you read to him. You braid the fringe of your apron. 

He watches you like you’re the last beautiful thing left in the world.

You start to write letters.

Not to send. Just to keep. 

Letters about the dream you had last night—about fire and water and lace. 

About names that don’t make sense. 

About waking up and looking at him like you’d done it a hundred times before.

He writes too. He tucks them under his pillow.

One night, you trade letters without reading them.

You hold onto his like a prayer.

The bombing starts in the middle of winter.

You’re stationed at a different camp by then. A converted boarding school turned hospital. 

You spend your days wrapping wounds and your nights writing to him by candlelight. 

You’re engaged now. 

It’s not official—there’s no ring, no announcement—but the way he said “Marry me when this ends” felt more real than anything your father’s ever given you.

He signs every letter:

I will find you, in every life.

But then—radio silence.

Weeks pass.

Then months.

The air raids begin again.

You think maybe he’s dead.

You press your fingers to your stomach one morning and whisper, that you’ll be okay. He’d want you to be okay.

The night it happens, you can feel it.

A cold sweat. A ringing in your ears. The candle goes out with no warning.

You step outside into the snow. The first star has just appeared.

You want to send him one last letter.

But you never get to write it.

The bomb hits the edge of the hospital.

The world turns white.

Reo finds the ruins three days later.

He shouldn’t even be there. He’s already on his way back to the front. But something pulls him off the train. Something he can’t name.

He digs through the wreckage until his knuckles bleed.

He finds your locket in the ashes.

And a letter—his, unopened.

Your name written in the corner.

The paper is stained and singed, but his words are still there.

I remember you now. From every life before.

This time, I swear, I won’t lose you.

But he did.

Again.

He keeps the locket around his neck until the war ends.

He never takes it off.

Not even when they offer him medals, promotions, his father’s business back home.

He turns it all down.

He buys a farm on the outskirts of town. Quiet. Away from the noise.

Sometimes the villagers say they hear him talking to the wind.

Sometimes he walks to the river and stands there until morning.

When asked why he never married, he says:

“I already had her. Once. Twice. Maybe three times. But I’m still waiting for the time I get to keep her.”

You and Reo Mikage grew up next door.

Same gated community, same prep school, same security guards posted outside the wrought iron fences. 

You were the daughter of luxury hotel owners. He, the heir to Mikage Corporation. 

You were born in cashmere blankets. Raised on promises you never asked for.

Everyone said you'd end up together.

They said it at galas, while sipping imported champagne. 

They said it like a joke at school when he shared his umbrella with you in the rain. 

And when you turned sixteen and collapsed in your own hallway, too weak to stand, they still said it.

But softer.

“Poor thing,” they whispered. “She probably won’t live long. At least she has him.”

You hated those words.

Because they made you feel like your love for Reo was a consolation prize.

But Reo never looked at you like that.

Never once.

You were seventeen when he kissed you for the first time.

Ten hospitalizations in one year.

Tubes in your arms. Doctors poking and prodding.

He still kissed you like you were summer.

Not sick. Not fragile. Just you.

You were nineteen when he married you.

The media lost its mind.

Mikage Reo Marries Mystery Girl at 19!

Golden Boy Tied Down So Soon?

Is Love Worth This Much Risk?

Every interview asked the same question.

“Why so young?”

And Reo would just smile, golden and warm, eyes quiet, and say:

“When you know, you know.”

But that wasn’t the truth.

The truth was: your lungs were giving out.

Your immune system couldn’t keep up.

And some days, you couldn’t even walk down the stairs.

The truth was: Reo had one chance to be yours in every way.

And he took it. No hesitation.

He plays with a pro team now.

Top-tier team. International attention. Commercials.

And every time he scores, he kisses his ring finger and looks to the sky.

You’re never in the stands.

You always ask.

“Can I come tonight? I’ll wear a mask, I won’t touch anyone, I promise.”

But he won’t let you.

You’re too delicate. Too precious.

“Please,” you said once, half-laughing, half-crying. “I just want to see you out there. Just once.”

He shook his head, jaw clenched.

“I don’t want to carry the weight of losing you in the middle of a game.”

You promised him then. 

“Fine. I’ll see you when you get home.”

The night you don’t wake up, he had a game in another city.

A late one. Sold out.

Reporters screamed questions at him about his strategy, his youth, his marriage.

He gave a polite smile. Always poised.

He scored twice.

But didn’t celebrate.

He got home close to midnight.

The house was quiet. Dark. 

No light spilling from the bedroom door like usual. 

No movie humming in the background. 

No warm blanket lump with your eyes peeking out when he walked in.

“Baby?” he called, loosening his tie.

No answer.

He walked into the room. You were curled up in bed like always. Still wearing that oversized hoodie he bought you last winter. One arm draped over the pillow.

He exhaled a soft laugh. “Did you really fall asleep without texting me?”

He walked closer. Leaned down.

Touched your cheek.

You were cold.

Colder than you’d ever been.

Not just chilled. Empty.

“No, no,” he murmured. “Hey. Baby. Wake up.”

You didn’t move.

He shook you lightly. “C’mon, don’t do this. I’m home now.”

Silence.

He collapsed beside you, hands cupping your face.

“Hey,” his voice cracked. “Open your eyes. You said—you said you’d wait for me.”

But you couldn’t.

You kept your promise the best you could.

They say Reo didn’t speak for days.

Didn’t cry in public. Didn’t cancel a single match.

But on the field, he stopped smiling.

He scored goals like a machine. Cold. Calculated.

And every time, he still kissed his ring finger.

But he never looked up anymore.

He kept everything the same in your shared house.

Your side of the bed still untouched.

Your last note—"Come home safe. I love you."—framed by the door.

Sometimes, he talks to the photo of you by the window.

Not like someone grieving.

But like someone waiting.

He dreams of you often now.

And sometimes, when he wakes, breathless and aching, he whispers,

“Please. Just one more life. Let it be the one we finish.”

Because in every life, Reo Mikage finds you.

And in every life, you leave him far too early.

so this is actually the first fic i've written where I'VE cried :)

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!!

✦ tags ✦ @irethepotato ✦ @kiyy0mei ✦ @x3nafix ✦ @sugacor3 ✦ @ohagiyoo ✦ @nevvynevnev ✦ @virgothesimp ✦ @werfiedeii ✦ @chiieni ✦ @syleepy ✦ @academiq ✦ @peachysaki116 ✦ @manjirosanosgirlfriend ✦ @anqelkoz ✦ @silverwings920 ✦ @nishinoyaismycutie ✦ @sunathetuna ✦ @alexiaray ✦ @megumismyhusband ✦ @yutamy1beloved ✦ @luvlynabi ✦ join the taglist here !

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[leannswritings]

Photobooth

Syn - request !

Word count - 1.4k

Warnings - NO PROOFREADING ! Smut ofc… public, riding, humiliation maybe?

A/N - AS PROMISED ! (if it’s been a day in ur time zone if not srry) this was fun to write lwk. Hope yall enjoy !

It had been a while since you and your boyfriend had gone out together. The schedules you each had were too different so the only time y’all seen each other was at your shared apartment for a short amount of time. Today there was finally time to have an actual date instead of hanging out around the house. As agreed, you were going clubbing, you couldn’t lie and say you didn’t like partying, so it was easy to pick a spot to meet up at.

“Seongjeee !”

You called out to the man standing in the club line.

He looked up from his phone and smiled. As you walked over to him, he looked you up and down, analyzing the outfit you had on, a black tube dress. It wasn’t over the top but it was perfect.

“You look good.”

He said wrapping his hand around your waist, pulling you into a kiss.

“I know, I always do.”

You said before laughing.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

After a couple of minutes of waiting in line you finally go into the club. It didn’t take long for you and seongje to get drinks. You had to drink before you danced, downing drinks like it was nothing. You knew you were gonna feel it later but who cares at the moment, you quickly did a love shot with seongje before grabbing him and leading him away from the bar and towards the dance floor. It was easy for you to adjust into the crowd, finding a few girls to dance with while Seongje stood close by. Seongje didn’t care if you didn’t dance with him, if he was being honest he liked watching you dance against other girls, the way y’all would hold onto each others waist while dancing, or the way they would catch what you would throw, one of his secret fantasies he would never actually ask you to do because he might get jealous later on.

After dancing for what felt like forever you made your way towards Seongje, your favorite song was playing and you weren’t gonna miss dancing to it with the one you cherished. You pressed your body against his, wrapping your arms around him, dragging your hands from the top of his back to his lower back before turning around, your back now pressed against him. As you put your hand around his neck his hand slid down to your hip, making sure to close the gap between you two, if there even was one at this point. You danced and grind against him as he closely tried to follow your rhythm. Between the alcohol and seongje’s bulge against you, you were getting hot, you were burning up.

“Wanna go?”

Seongje whispered in your ear, you could hear the smile in his voice.

You soon left the club, heading home for who knows what.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

While y’all were walking you could see how impatient he was getting, stopping and asking you multiple times if you just wanted to go in a bathroom,alley, or whatever crazy things he was saying. Not to mention how close he held you, his hands around your waist, that sometimes went down to your butt to get a feel before you moved his hand back to your hip. The walk for him felt 10x longer than it actually was, it was only a 20 minute walk home, yet he couldn’t wait that much longer.

“Let’s go in there.”

You pointed to a photo-booth that was by a store, slightly in the alley.

It took nothing to convince him, he didn’t know if you were talking about taking pictures or fucking in the photobooth but he was down anyways, he wanted to do what you said so he would get what he wanted later on. When you both sat down in the booth you took about two photos, before you kissed him. Kissing for a picture was normal, but at that moment you knew what you were doing, you weren’t there for those photos, you were there for him. You ended up saddling him, which turned into dry riding. The make-out was messy and loud, with the amount of salvia you’ve traded in that moment if you would have taken a mouth swab the system would think you were him. When you pulled away from his face his lips were swollen and your lipstick was smeared all over his lips and chin. He wasn’t even trying to do anything prep you, he was way to excited in the moment to even think to play with you even a little. The fact yall could easily be caught behind this little curtain turned him on even more, he took no time to pull out his dick, slightly pull up your dress and move your underwear to the side and force himself into you. Causing you to yelp out, from the sudden penetration. It’s not something he usually did, but it was built up to the point he couldn’t wait anymore, and you could tell that from the grip he had on your hips as he moved you at the pace he wanted. There was no remorse on his face from what he just did, only pleasure, he watches how he bounces you onto him, liking the sight of him appearing and disappearing inside of you. He leans in to kiss you once again, this being a way to muffle your voice in the busy crowded air. Not that it helped that much anyways, your whimpers echoed against the small 4 walls of the booth. The grip on his shoulders tightened, your nails practically digging into him through his shirt. You pulled back to get a gasp of air and to speak.

“Right there..harder.”

You gasped out.

His grip will different leave a mark, but it looks like that’s not the only marks that will be left, as his hands soon went to grip your ass. You forced your face against his, probably clashing teeth from the roughness, everything was starting to blur, it was like heaven on earth. Being as impatient as he was, he came first, coating your insides. The sight of his liquid slowly seeped out of you turned him on once again, you could feel him getting hard again inside of you, the feeling was odd but not in a way you disliked. You continued to ride him, giving your all to chase that feeling of closeness. It didn’t take long for you to hit that peak, your liquid and his mixing in a disgustingly great mess. The sounds of you moving with the liquid were disgusting, but it sounded like heaven to seongje’s ears. He abused the extra liquid and your high’s sensitivity to help himself cum for the second time. He thought that shit was so funny to do, the way you couldn’t speak and the only thing you could do is squirm and whimper against him as he used you just to get off, which of course he eventually did adding on to the already huge sticky messy.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Leaving the photobooth had to be the most humiliating thing ever, esp for the people that saw you exit. Watching you basically tumble out while trying to wake up your legs that had went numb. Thankfully there wasn’t a mess on the seat, but that was only because all the mess was on seongje’s pants making obvious of what took place. At least from a far people wouldn’t catch on and maybe would’ve thought it was apart of the pants pattern or maybe he was just another drunk guy that spilled a drink or pissed himself. You were too into what had just happened to think about the random people would’ve saw or thought about you two, of course it’s not like seongje would care anyways. Just another way of the “I’m getting laid anytime, anywhere, and you’re not” bragging. Thank god you weren’t embarrassed when you were in public because that would’ve been horrible.

When you woke up the next morning you wanted to jump out of your bedroom window from the thought and embarrassment of what you had did last night, it was fun sure but walking with the signs of sex on you was insane. Seongje who laid next to you playing phone games thought it was funny.

“Last night you didn’t care.”

He let out a sigh to hide his laugh.

“Who would care after they got drinks, got fucked, and then got drinks again after? Oh my god I think I need to die.”

You said sarcastically while holding your head in your hands.

[unhakies]

little idea but what if woonhak and reader have a lot in common and yk theyve been together for a while and suddenly they both finally are comfortable with each others bareface yk like no makeup and he realizes that reader has EXTREMELY thin eyebrows like him?? and then hes even clingier than usual and just keeps on telling reader how beautiful they are and its so cute and lovely THANK YEEEWW😛😛😛

browmates. k. woonhak

pairing: idol!woonhak x gn!reader

genre: oneshot, fluff, crack

wordcount: 795

notes — yall are tewww silly😭 i was cheesing the whole time writing this🥹🤭💗 not proofread!

you and woonhak had been dating for eight months now.

which technically meant like 8 years, but who was really counting?

you've cried in front if eachother after watching gut-wrenching dramas, he’s facetimed you from the bathroom while brushing his teeth.

you've had a full argument over the ethics of pineapple on pizza. (which ended in a draw and a half-and-half order.)

but today?

today was a new level of intimacy.

today was the day you both went fully barefaced for the first time. and not like, “i just took my eyeliner off but I’m still wearing tinted lip balm and concealer” barefaced.

not even that

eyebrows wiped. skin glowing.

you had gone over to woonhaks after swearing his members werent there.

you loved them! but sometimes they were a bit much.

plus, woonhak got jealous everytime you hung out with them more

you thought, 'hey, if he’s doing it, should too.'

so you washed off your face. every last speck of product. and you walked out of the bathroom.

woonhak laid comfortable on his bed, legs sprawled everywhere, he looked up at tou and stopped mid chew.

a pause.

a blink.

then came the noise

“WAIT A DAMN MINUTE—” woonhak shrieked, nearly dropping the can of pringles he was holding like it had burned him.

you screamed as he frightened you. "what? what happened?!" you looked around, but he never answered.

"ugh, do i have toothpaste on my shirt again?" “no.” he pointed a dramatic, trembling finger. “your eyebrows.”

you frowned. "what about them?"

“they’re..” he gasped, looking genuinely shaken, “they’re so THIN.”

"hey- so are yours!" you pointed an accusing finger at his face. "exactly!" he snapped, startling you.

“we’re brow twins. browmates!”

you blinked at him. “you’re being weird." you pouted, walking towards the bed, but he stopped you.

“no. no, i'm being right. look at this!” he dragged you to the bathroom mirror, the two of you standing side by side under the harsh light.

and sure enough.

your eyebrows. his eyebrows.

two barely visible, innocent little commas.

like twin baby slugs. delicate. soft. faint.

woonhak turned to you with wide eyes and a dopey smile. “wah- i can’t believe this. all this time.. i thought i was the only one.”

“you’re acting like this is some kind of secret cult,” you said, deadpan.

“it is. and you’re my co-leader now,” he sniffled. “you understand me on a deeper level than anyone else ever could.”

you let your forehead thunk gently against his chest. “woonhak…”

but he was already on one knee.

“please,” he said, clasping your hands, “say you’ll do couples eyebrow tinting with me. we could be… visible. together.”

you laughed so hard you snorted. “you’re ridiculous.”

he tugged you down onto the bathroom floor, hugging you tight around the waist like a koala.

“i’m serious,” he mumbled against your shirt. “you’re so beautiful. even more beautiful now. i love you.”

“you love my eyebrows.”

“i love all of you,” he said, eyes twinkling. “even the microscopic parts.”

you squished his cheeks. “you’re clingier than usual today.”

“because now i know your deepest secret,” he said solemnly. “now i must protect you. and our microscopic brows. forever.”

you rolled your eyes, but smiled, threading your fingers through his damp hair.

“you’re lucky i love you,” you whispered.

he beamed. “lucky? babe, i'm blessed.”

and then he kissed you on the forehead right between the brows like it was the holiest of rituals.

the two of you walked back to his room, just as the front door opened. jaehyun walked in wide-dyed and frantic. "i heard screaming from the lower dorm, is everything okay?"

there was a moment of silence. a long, heavy pause. as he started at the two of you

then jaehyun squinted.

“why do you both look like boiled eggs?”

you groaned. woonhak immediately covered your face with his hands like a scandalized victorian wife. “don't look! names shy.”

"hey! thats all you, mr.thin brow worshiper!"

jaehyun raised an eyebrow. a very thick one. “did y’all just wax or…”

“IT’S GENETIC,” Woonhak wailed.

“we just have delicate brows, leave us alone,” you muttered, snuggling into woonhak’s side.

jaehyun stifled a grin. “no, no, this is cute. very wholesome. two little eyebrow noodles in love.”

“i’m telling the boys” he laughrd, and vanished into the kitchen, probably grabbing some snacks since he was already upstairs.

you sighed, your face burning. “we’re never living this down.”

woonhak turned to you, eyes full of stars. “he can laugh all he wants. no one will understand our love. our struggle. our lack of visible facial expression.”

you snorted again.

“and besides,” he added, leaning in to kiss the center of your forehead, “you’re the most beautiful boiled egg I’ve ever seen.”

regular customers; @sh0dor1 @c1eod1n3

bonedo regulars; @beomev @8makes1atom @prodkwh @woonhakntaesansgf @raccooninii @woonbabie @lvlyhiyyih

[randomxreaders]

‘Paige bueckers wsp w you? Pt.4’

A/n: this took me so long to write and I didn’t proofread it because I cringe reading back my own writing tbh BUT I hope you guys like it and I’ll keep it up for yall:)

—————————————————————————

You wake up the next morning Paige still on FaceTime and you see her standing in her bathroom getting dressed. You peak open an eye and see a glimpse of her abs when you hear Paige speak “I can see you ya know?” You sit up stretching “I’m just admiring the very beautiful view” you hear Paige let out a laugh and smile picking up the phone. “Soo what are you doing today” you ask Paige. “I just have a practice from 10 to 2 and then I’m free, what about you pretty girl?” “Well I have a meeting at 12 and then I need to go to the store Juney and I need some food, but um I was wondering if maybe you’d wanna come over” You weren’t usually this bold but with the sleepiness still present you felt a little bolder. Paige paused and looked up at the screen “ I was gonna ask you if you’d wanna go out to dinner” Paige laughed. “What if you come over after your practice we’ll go to the store, cook together, and then see what happens from there?” “What happens from there huh?” “It is too early for you to have your mind in the gutter Ms.Bueckers” “Whatever you say, okay it’s time for me to go to practice but I’ll call you after?” “That sounds perfect I’ll see you later P” “See you later Mrs.Bueckers.”

You hear the call end and feel the blush creep up your face. Getting out of bed you decide to get ready for the day and clean up the nooks and cranny’s in your apartment before Paige is there later.

3 hours later

Now that your meeting was over and Paige’s practice almost was you decided it was time to vacuum and wash some dishes waiting for Paige to call. You never expected to feel so connected to someone over such a short time let alone your crush. While it thrilled you it was also frightening. Trying to push all of your thoughts down you pull out your computer and start listening to some of the beats that your producer sent over and you tried to brain storm some lyrics. You had to have them sent in by the end of the week since this song was a collaboration with your good friend Victoria Monét, You decided to give her a call and see what she thought about your verses. After a few rings the phone answered, “Heyyyy Y/n what’s up girl I haven’t seen you in forever, well actually I’d just seen pictures of you with a basketball player? I see you girl.” “ Okayyyy V we don’t gotta go there how’s my niecey I can’t believe that she’s four now” “ I know she’s getting so big.” You guys ended talking about everything but the verses til you started getting another call. “Oh V I gotta go I have a call on the other line” “Oooo is it the basketball player? I wanna meet her Y/n/n” “I’m sure we can work that out, bye V.” You hang up the call and answer Paige’s. “Hey P I was just on the phone with Victoria she said she wants to meet you by the way.” “I’d love to meet any of your friends.” “ Well you kinda know her you do listen to her music” “Wait Victoria? As in Monét?” “Yea who else?” “Babe you know I love her music.” You blush at her calling you babe it was her first time actually using a pet name. The conversation was short as you sent Paige your address and she was on her way so you decided to get ready. You take a quick shower and picked out your outfit, some lacy white lingerie for just in case with some low rise baggy jeans, a baggy cropped white shirt and the new Abundance Jordan 4s. You still had a little time til Paige showed up so you decided to watch a little bit of tv putting on Dynasty and waiting for Paige. About 25 minutes later there’s a knock on the door. You pick up Juney knowing she’ll try to run out the door. “Hey P” You say opening the door. She reached down to hug you and says Hey back. You guys decide to run to the store about a block away so you guys could start dinner. You grab your purse then you both head out the door.

Once you guys get into the store you start talking about dinner. As you guys walk down the aisle you admire Paige and her outfit, she had on baggy pants with a white tube top and an oversized vest. As you guys top in front of the deli you lean over and ask Paige “Isn’t it bulking season?” You say squeezing her bicep. She looked over at you and smiled “it is why? You wanna cop another feel?” “No” you say rolling your eyes “I just wanna know if you want steak, and we could do some truffle fries and a salad?” “Mmm that sounds good, let’s do it.”

You guys grabbed all of the things you needed for dinner and grabbed some cat food and a nice red wine. As you roll the cart out to your car Paige tells you she forgot something and that she’d be right back. Before you could say okay she was already taking off back in the store. As you go to grab the last bag Paige pops back up “what’d you forget?” “It’s a surprise I can’t tell you just yet” “mmm okay” you say putting the last bag in the car and Paige walked to put the cart away.

After the two of you made it back to your apartment Paige insisted on carrying all the bags and the surprise she got. So you both stood there in the elevator Paige with 6 bags on each arm and trying to hide one arm behind her back. You pull out your phone and take a picture of her looking absolutely ridiculous. You get to the door and hold it open for Paige as she tries to awkwardly make it through the door without you seeing her back. She sets all the bags down on the table and then asks you to close your eyes. You stand in the middle of your entryway and hear Paige shuffling around for about a minute then she tells you to open your eyes. As you open your eyes and they adjust back to the light you see rose petals on the ground leading to your small dining table where Paige stood with a bouquet of red roses. “Oh Paige, you didn’t have to do this” you said covering your mouth. “I figured it was the least I could do since we’re staying in for our first official date” Paige smiled at you as you walked closer to her staring into her eyes. Reaching up on your tip toes you put your hands onto her cheeks and slowly caress the side of her face as your eyes flicker between her eyes and lips, you pull her down into a kiss. Your breath caught as your lips finally connected, hesitant at first, testing the space between the both of you. Paige pulled you into her deepening the kiss as the flowers fell to the floor and Paige stumbled back towards the table. She kissed you fully her hands slipping to the sides of your neck until you both pull away out of breath foreheads pressed against each other. You pull back looking at her “I like you a lot Paige” you whisper to her. “I like you a lot too Y/n” Paige grinned softly at you. “Okay we need to cook this food.” You pull apart and decide that Paige is going to cook the steaks while you made the salad and prepped the fries. While cooking you and Paige listened to music and sharing short kisses.

Over dinner you and Paige decided that with how late it was Paige should stay over, even though you’d have to be up early because Paige had a game the next day. While you rinsed off the dishes and put them into the dishwasher Paige went to get her spend the night bag out of her car.

The both of you make your way to the bedroom and lay against the pillows scrolling on your phones in the comfortable silence. Minutes later you roll over to look at Paige, admiring the way her hair looked in a messy bun and with her glasses on. Her gaze met yours “you know you’re staring?” “I’m admiring,” Paige smiled down at you and rolled her eyes. “When do you need to leave tomorrow,” you ask “ Uhmm probably around noon cause I gotta be there at one” “can I come?” “Yea I’d really like that, maybe you could come out with the team after the game, if we win you know,” “You know you’re gonna win, and I’d love to come out with guys.”

You and Paige slide under the covers you finding peace in Paige’s arms as you drift off to sleep. You wake up to Paige’s alarm blaring but somehow only waking you up. Your eyes slowly flutter open and you feel Paige’s arm wrapped around your waist pulling you in close as you moved. Slowly picking up her arm you slide out of bed turning off her alarm and seeing it was only 9. You decide to let Paige sleep a little longer since she didn’t have to be up for a few more hours, meanwhile you took a quick shower and then put on your robe to make breakfast for you and Paige. You decide on avocado toast with scrambled eggs and bacon. As your finishing the eggs you feel hands snake around your waist hugging you from behind, “good morning sleepyhead” you said to Paige as she laid her head on your shoulder. “What are you makin,” she mumbles from your neck “just some breakfast before we leave, if you wanna take a shower you can.” Paige took you up on your offer and took a quick shower coming out in her warm up tracksuit. The both of you sit at the counter and eat as Paige talks about her game, it was UConn against Iowa State and Paige was talking about the plays she knew Geno was going to have the team play. Once it hit 11 you went to get dressed wearing low rise jeans and a UConn shirt that Paige had brought with her with a pair of red and white Nike low dunks, and a black purse. You and Paige walk out to her car and start the drive, Paige’s game was starting at 2 but she had to be there at 12 for practice, luckily the stadium would be open so you could wait inside for the game to start with the ticket Paige had gotten you.

The hour had gone by faster than both of you expected as you pulled up outside of the stadium as Paige had decided to drop you off so you would have to find your way around the campus. Paige pulls up outside of the building and leans towards you “okay you should be able to just go in and tell them you’re with me and then I’ll see you after,” he you nodded at Paige and leaned forward cupping her face kissing her deeply “I’ll see you after you win.”

[theking-mustdie]

if there’s one aspect i could criticize about the writing of teen wolf it’s the in depth backstories of each character only to never talk about it again or develop it any further.

liam’s ied and past school? only used as a prop to further the plot and create conflict (angry man go punch!)

isaac’s abuse and claustrophobia? only mentioned/showed how it effects him one time outside flashbacks (motel california)

theo’s growing up and manipulation with the dread doctors? never mentioned, only lightly brushed over in incoherent flashbacks (yes it shows him being guilty for taking tara’s heart, but not the dread doctors effect on him and torture for him to get where he was)

stiles’ nogitsune trauma? only brought up as a joke after the fact (“i once had a demon living in my head LOL”)

derek hale’s past with grooming by kate? only used to show they know each other, not why what she did was wrong or harmful (doesn’t show the harmful nature of grooming and how derek’s trust would be forever altered because of kate’s abuse of his)

malia living like a coyote for the first ?17? years of her life because she “killed” her own family? “omg you can’t take her anywhere! she likes to eat deer🤣🤣”

allison’s mom killing herself cause she’d rather be anything but a werewolf? mentioned maybe a couple times afterwords

it seems as though they attempt to make the characters deep and thought-out but toss aside the trauma they have given them in order to further the new villian of the week and constant conflict. sometimes i wish that the characters made decisions in conjunction with their prior trauma or showed symptoms of how these events effected them because it’s no secret that they would. i understand that it’s a lot to ask for a super precise and detailed description of how every character is feeling, but with 24 episodes a season, tossing in a couple reflective scenes couldn’t have hurt. i fear that their constant need to one-up their villains took away from the personality and characterization of the show as it kept running.

(this is why i love this fandom so much, because yall do! thank you to the writers who write realistic ptsd or lingering effects of major events)

ok i’m done now thank you @thiamsxbitch for inspiring this rant