#tw: forced miscarriage

[imtryingbuck]

Timeless Love.

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky might have met the love of his life in the middle of a war, he just wished he was able to live a life with her.

Word count: 6,598

Warnings: angst. kidnapping. fluff. Hydra. forced breeding. forced miscarriage.

A/N: enjoyed writing this!! Thank you for the request. Also thank you to @buckys-wintersoldier for helping me when I needed it!🤍

Part 2

Masterlist

“Y/n L/n. 107th.”

She nodded smiling at her friend who had also been given the same unit. All the nurses - professional and volunteers alike were waiting for their names to be called to hear what unit they would be stationed with.

Then she was given the news that she was going to be the matron. And at twenty four years old that was a massive accomplishment, herself and her parents were beyond proud.

“Hey doc” she couldn’t help but roll her eyes at hearing the familiar voice that she began hearing everyday. “I’m injured doll, need your help to patch me back up”

Looking up for the clipboard she carried around she saw the Sergeant who had captured all the attention from all the nurses. Though he never paid any mind to them, just her.

James Buchanan Barnes.

“Firstly I’m not a doctor, just a nurse and secondly this is your seventh time coming here this week”

“Firstly you should be a doctor, better than the one we’ve got and secondly I keep getting hurt”

“Bucky… it’s only Wednesday.”

“You love me. Aren’t you going to ask me what my very serious injury is?”

“I don’t love you. Okay, what seems to be the problem Sergeant?”

“Y-you don’t love me? I’m going to cry myself to sleep tonight thanks to you!”

“What’s your injury Sergeant?”

“My heart” he places his hand on his chest and looks up at her sympathetically. “My heart hurts doll”

“James… you do realise that your heart is on the left side not the right…”

Moving his hand to the left side “Oh… are you sure?”

“Yes I’m sure” chuckling at his facial expression, he winks causing her to laugh.

“The truth is that I just wanted to see you, I like you even though you’re being mean to me” he pouts and bats his eyelashes as he kicked his legs back and forth.

“How am I being mean to you?” She asks whilst counting stock, trying her hardest to ignore the intense gaze of his ocean blue eyes on her back.

“Because you won’t let me take you dancing”

“You should go with one of the other nurses James”

“I don’t want any of the other nurses, just you”

“You-“

“Y/n! Y/n quick we need you!” Mary’s panic scream interrupted her. Jumping up and rushing out of the tent with Bucky right behind her, a group of men carrying a stretcher with a man lying on it. His right leg gone as well as his left arm.

“Get him in here” Bucky opens the flaps of the tent, his eyes trained on the young soldier as they passed him. “Help me transfer him on to the bed, carefully.”

Bucky watched on as Y/n took control, ordering the nurses around and trying to get the soldiers to move away so she could work. When one of the men wouldn’t move Bucky stepped in.

It wasn’t long before Y/n made everyone get out except for the nurses.

“Go” Bucky’s head snapped from the medical tent to Dum Dum sitting next to him, giving the man a questioning look, Dum Dum laughed. “The doc”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about” he mumbled before downing the rest of his drink.

“You’ve been turning down women all night and I’m honestly surprised that you haven’t burnt a hole into the tent with how intense you’ve been looking at it. Oh and let’s not forget that you’ve been obsessed from the second you laid eyes on her”

“I-no I haven’t.”

“You have, and don’t bother trying to argue with me. Go and talk to her”

“And say what?”

“That’s on you” Bucky contemplated on whether or not to take his friend’s advice, it didn’t take too long before he was getting up and heading over to the medical tent. “Shes in her own tent” he heard from behind him so he changed course.

Standing outside the small tent he fixed his hair before pushing the flap aside, he found her sitting hunched over the small table one hand in her hair and the other scribbling away as she filled in paperwork.

“I can feel your eyes on me” her whispered voice snapped him out of his head.

“Are you alright doll?”

“I’m fine don’t worry, go and enjoy your night”

Moving closer to her he saw the tears falling freely down her cheeks. “Hey, hey why are you crying doll?”

“He… he didn’t make it. I tried everything bu-but it wasn’t enough, he was only seventeen Bucky.”

“Oh doll. You did everything you could-“

“But it wasn’t enough! And within the week his parents are going to know I failed, I failed to save their son”

Bucky pulled her into his arms, holding her close to his chest ignoring the feeling of her tears wetting his shirt. “It’s not your fault” he whispered over and over again as she fell apart in his arms.

“I failed”

“No you didn’t! Nobody would have been able to have saved him Y/n and you know that.”

“He was only seventeen Bucky. A child!”

“I know sweetheart, I know.”

As the laughing and music continued outside Bucky kept Y/n close to his chest, rocking them both from side to side slowly. Sleep began to overtake them, being the gentleman that he was he turned his back on her waiting for her to change into her nightwear.

“Goodnight doll”

“Stay… please”

“Of course” he was slightly shocked by seeing her shifting over in the small cot then patting the space she had created.

Climbing in next to her, wrapping her up and pulling her into his chest. Pressing his lips to her forehead “goodnight my love”

It became an unspoken routine between the two of them that Bucky would sleep in her bed, they ignored the teasing from all those around them - as if the nurses weren’t warming the soldiers beds themselves. There was nothing sexual about what they were doing, it was just two lost souls finding themselves seeking shelter within one another.

That however changed one night when Bucky went into their now shared tent finding her once again hunched over the table. “Hi doll”

“Hi Sergeant”

“Me and the guys move out tomorrow”

“I heard. How are you feeling?” She asked looking up from the papers in front of her.

“Nervous I won’t lie, but I’m going to miss you”

“I’m going to miss you too but you shouldn’t be gone long, right?”

“Two weeks, three at the most” he shrugged. “Doll, come and dance with me”

“There’s no music…”

“So? Come on” he held his hand out for her to take, his heart fluttering with the look she gave him as she puts her hand in his. “You are so pretty” he whispers as they swayed together.

“‘M not.”

“Yes you are. From the second I laid eyes on you I thought you were the most prettiest dame I had ever laid eyes on.”

“You’re lying!” She chuckled.

“I am not!”

“If you say so”

Bucky gently raises her head up by her chin, “I have never lied to you.”

“Bucky… kiss me please” she asked softly. Their lips met slowly at first before growing heatedly and passionately.

The next morning with only a thick blanket covering their naked bodies they basked in the silence of the camp, Bucky running his fingers through her hair and Y/n drawing invisible circles on his chest.

“When this war comes to an end me and you are going to get married” Bucky declared as he broke the silence.

“Don’t I get a say in this?”

“Nope” he chuckled. “Why, don’t you want to marry me?”

“And put up with you for the rest of my life?”

“Yeah, why what’s wrong with that?”

“You’re annoying”.

“And?” He drawls with a cheeky grin on his face.

“I’ll probably smoother you in your sleep?”

“And? Doll you aren’t giving me a good reason for why we shouldn’t get married”

“You honestly want to marry me?”

“More than anything, and I promise I’ll be an amazing husband and we’ll have so much fun together an-“

“Yes”

“-d we’ll make so many memories-“

“Yes”

“-and we’ll grow old toge-wait… yes?”

“Yes Bucky, I’ll marry you when the war is ov-“ her words get cut off from him pressing his lips to hers.

“I can’t wait to annoy you for the rest of our lives together”

Later that morning, before Dum Dum led his unit out of the camp heading to only where they knew they were going Bucky ran over to Y/n giving her a kiss and promised her that he would come back to her.

Since the only people left there was the nurses, injured men and some of the officials the camp was excruciatingly quiet. And since it was only just them… well the camp had become very boring.

Two weeks passed quicker than she thought, waiting to hear the loud chatter from the men to fill in the silence yet it never came. Another week went by and again there was no sight of them. Y/n was helping Private Smith sit up in more of a comfortable position when Mary came rushing in, slightly out of breath.

“Th-they’ve been captured!”

“What? How do you know?”

“Word just come in, I overheard it but apparently Captain America is going to rescue them because he knows someone in the unit”

“I-okay. Okay erm… we’ll need to get things set up for when they come back just incase they are hurt” Y/n rambled off, unaware that she was squeezing Smiths hand - not like he minded.

“He’ll be fine darling” Smith squeezed her hand back.

“I-I know. You need to eat-“

“I will don’t worry but you need to eat too darling as well”

Sitting down next to him they enjoyed a nice meal together, Smith doing everything to help get her mind off of Bucky and the others by talking to her about his life before the war, his wife and children, telling her all the plans he had planned when he got home. It worked. Until it was time to go to bed, being alone with her thoughts made her mind come up with all kinds of scenarios and most of them weren’t good.

It was another two weeks before word got to them that they were coming back. Captain America had saved them.

Y/n was in the medical tent filling out paperwork when applause erupted in the air as Captain America approached with the 107th behind him, hearing the cheers she jumped up and began getting things ready, as the first person was brought in her sole attention was on the solider and not the other one she had been worrying about in the five weeks since she had seen him.

“Hey! Let’s hear it for Captain America!” She smiled at hearing his voice as she concentrated on the patient in front of her.

“He’s already asked about you” Ann says as she put pressure on the solider’s wound.

“Ah, your the famous doc that he wouldn’t shut up talking about”

“Excuse me?”

“Barnes? Yeah he wouldn’t stop talking about you, if you ask me he’s in love with you” the guy winked.

It wasn’t until everything in the medical tent had calmed down that she had heard his voice again. “I’m injured doll”

Spinning around she sees him standing there with a grin on his dirt covered face. “Who are you?”

“Your future husband, silly. Missed you doll”

“I missed you too” hearing her words he crossed over to where she stood and placed his hands on her face, cupping her face before placing his lips against hers. Both sighing in content at the feeling they had both been missing for weeks.

“Are you hurt? Where?”

“‘M not hurt my love, just messing with you”

“Are you not going to introduce me Buck?” A new voice cut through making them take a step apart from each other.

“Y/n this is Steve, Steve this is my doll” Y/n smiled at the blond who happily returned the expression.

“It’s nice to meet the woman who this one wouldn’t stop talking about”

“I didn’t talk about her once” Bucky rushed out. “I didn’t doll” shaking his head whilst looking at her.

“He’s actually not the first person to tell me that” Y/n winked at Steve making the man laugh.

“I hate the both of you.”

A celebration was held that night when they came back, the men sharing the tale of how they were captured - all teasing each other when they said they weren’t scared. Telling the women how Captain America had told them to leave but they refused, Dum Dum said that they arrived together and were going to be leaving together. Everyone including Y/n hanging on to every word that was spoken of their rescue and how they defeated the enemy.

Bucky never spoke a word, no, he was too lost in watching the flames of the fire-pit flickering off Y/n’s face. Mesmerised by the way her eyes shined so brightly in the darkness, audibly groaning as he watched her bite her lip - his mind going straight to the gutters.

Much later that night Bucky took his time in making love to her.

The 107th Infantry Regiment had been teamed up with Steve to take down an organisation, Bucky promised her that he would contact her whenever they set up camp for the night. Every night they spoke even if it was just for a few minutes, he told her where they were and asked how everything back at camp was going, before ending their call he would tell her that he was coming back to her.

The last time she spoke to him he informed her that they were in Austria, he made her giggle when he complained that they had to go up the alps, telling her how cold it was. He then shocked her by telling her that he was in love with her. Before she could even respond the connection cut off.

She knew there was something wrong when she never received another call from him, Mary and Ann told her that he was just busy and that he would come back and everything was going to be fine. Every time she tried to speak with the General about the update of where they were he just walked away from her.

For two months she didn’t hear anything from him or from anyone, for two months she spent her time trying to take her mind off of the brunette who had wormed himself into her heart.

Mary came running over to the river where Y/n was sitting watching as the ducks swam past her. “Y/n… they’re back.”

Jumping up and running to where the men were, she looked around for the man who she had been missing more than anything, her eyes moved frantically from man to man who all seemed to have a problem with making eye contact with her. Her heart settled when a hand rested itself on her shoulder.

“Darlin’ I-I need to talk to you” it was Dum Dum.

“W-where is he? Dum…”

“Come with me love” he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and moved them to her tent. “I’m sorry darling, he… he didn’t make it”

“W-where is he though?”

“He fell off the train in the alps, we couldn’t find his body”

“No… no we need to fi-find him so his family can bury him… Dum please” his heart ached for the woman in front of him, all he could do was hold her in his arms as she broke down crying. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that Bucky’s last words to Steve was him begging the blond to make sure he looked after Y/n.

After crying for a good solid ten minutes she removed herself from his arms, wiped her tears before nodding and walking out - leaving Dum Dum standing there dumbfounded.

She knew herself that she wasn’t going to be able to be allowed time away to mourn, they weren’t dating or married, while they had feelings for each other and they spent every waking moment together it didn’t mean anything to the higher ups. Walking into the medical tent everyone went quiet at seeing her, Mary tried telling her that she could go and rest but Y/n just shook her head and got to work. She needed the distraction to take her mind away from the pain in her chest.

For months after she became a shell of herself, no longer laughing or smiling, no longer holding conversations with anyone, always working and taking little care for herself. And finally that day came when the war ended, everyone around her celebrated whilst she was packing up her things ready to head back home.

It had been two years since the war ended and people were still picking up their lives. Y/n was on her way to home after finishing her shift at the local hospital when a black car pulled up alongside her.

“Excuse me Miss, are you Y/n L/n?” A man asked as he got out of the car.

“I am, who are you?”

“Ah, we have a friend in common”

“We do? Wait what are you do-“

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be Miss L/n, wouldn’t want to hurt you.” Her eyes were wide as his hand tightened around her neck, her whole body trembling with fear. “Nighty night” he smirks as he presses a needle into her left arm.

Y/n woke up disoriented and dazed with her hands and ankles tied painfully tight, trying to speak but her words came out as slurred. “Ah little lambs awake. Go back to sleep little lamb” the same guy from side of the road spoke, but instead of a needle being pushed into her arm he raised his leg and kicked her straight in the face. Knocking her out instantly.

The second time she awoke was when a bucket of stale water was thrown into her face, both arms tied to arms of the chair she was uncomfortably sat in. A man infront of her smiled as she was trying to blink away the water droplets off her eyelashes.

“So you’re the precious little one that our Soldat keeps muttering about, no matter how many times we wipe his memories he always mutters your name”

“I-I don’t know who you are talking about”

“Soldat! You know him” the unnamed man shouts as if it was the most obvious thing. “Get her ready. Miss… I won’t lie to you, what’s going to happen next is going to hurt… well have fun” the man sighs dramatically and then chuckles making his way to the door, leaving her alone with four men holding guns.

Everything that happened next happened in a blur from two of the men grabbing her roughly and dragging her down the corridor, to being strapped down on a cold metal table - a meek looking man muttering something to her that she couldn’t quite understand before a large needle was injected into her arm. 

When she woke the next time she was in a small room - on the floor, that only had a chipped white framed bed with a thin mattress on top of it, she grimaced at seeing the blotches of stains. Her nose crunched upward at the nasty aroma lingering the room. Y/n flinched at hearing noises just outside, she could hear clearly that a man was laughing which caused her to back away and put her hands over her ears trying desperately to block out the sound. Not understanding why everything was amplified.

“Ah, little lamb you’re awake. I’m pleased to tell you that it’s worked, your going to be our new little asset-“

“W-what have you done to me?”

“We’ve made you stronger than any man could wish to be! We’ve made you fast-“

“What have you done!”

“Right, we’ve injected you with a special serum that’s enhanced you. Your lucky little lamb, those before you never made it past the thirty minute mark after injection. Now you’re ready for your second phase of becoming our little asset, boys… be careful with her.” The second he finished his sentence the same four men from before came in and grabbed her roughly once again.

Being dragged down a corridor and into a room she tried to beg the men to let her go, pleading with them that she had a family and they’d be looking for her, she even tried bribing them. Her begs and cries fell on deaf ears.

“Now little lamb, from what I can gather is that this chair here, a beauty in her own right isn’t actually nice to those that sit in her. She’s not exactly been kind to your little boyfriend but that’s because he tries to fight it, I’m going to be kind to you and suggest that you don’t do the same as him otherwise it will hurt more.” He waved his hand in the air lazily and the two agents that had ahold of her shoved her towards the chair, once sat they strapped her legs down and placed a strap across her chest.

“P-please stop ple-“

“None of that little lamb, it’s not going to hurt… much” he chuckles. “Try not to scream, it’ll will only annoy me”

She goes to reply when a loud buzzing sound came from both sides to her, frozen and strapped into place as two metal plates places themselves onto her face. Y/n could hear the man in a white coat start to count down from five, squeezing her eyes shut tightly she saw a blinding white light as her whole body spasmed and withered in pain. The agents all flinched as the glass behind them started to crack. Once it finished and the plates were moved away from her head, her head started to roll to the side as drool began seeping from her mouth.

“Little lamb, do you remember me?”

“W-w-where am I?” Her mouth felt like it was full of cotton wool, and her tongue felt heavy.

“What’s your name?”

“Y-Y/n”

“Do it again”

By the eighth time of having her mind wiped the window was gone, she had blood seeping from her ears and nose, her bottom half was wet. After they were done with her she was dragged back to her cell and tossed on the ground as if she was nothing.

Y/n had forgotten everything. She didn’t know who she was or where she was. They kept calling her little lamb. Crawling into the corner of the room she pulled her knees up to her chest and began mumbling incoherently to herself.

Every time she closed her eyes all she saw was a blacked out face with the brightest blue eyes.

For years she moved and breathed when they told her too, she spoke when they said, she ate when they told her to eat - not like it was much mind you.

Throughout those years she didn’t understand her purpose of why she was there, she never got to leave the place she was kept at, all she did was train and fight with those who were a lot bigger then her in height and weight.

What she didn’t realise is that she did have a purpose for those she worked for, and that she was leaving the base to do their bidding. Completely unaware that she had taken so many lives.

She didn’t know what they were injecting into her every few months was the sperm belonging to the Winter Soldier in hopes that they could create an army of pure bred super soldiers that they could use to fight and take down their enemies without themselves having to do anything. Or that the nurse who seemed to take pity on her would give her a tablet to force the innocent little foetus to never grow up in a world that it would only be used for pain and suffering.

She didn’t understand what she had done wrong, one minute she was training with the other super soldiers and then she was being hit and shocked by the batons and then dragged to the room that kept the cryostasis chambers, she pleaded with the agents that she would be good, begging them not to put her in there again but they didn’t listen. Her whole body stiffened when they gave her the option - chamber or chair.

She hated the chamber.

But she hated the chair even more.

“See you in a little while little lamb.”

Fury had told them that SHIELD had discovered a new Hydra base and that they needed to go and take it down, not even an hour later they were fifteen minutes away from touching down at the location of the base.

“Cap, it looks deserted…” Natasha said as she slid her gun into her holster.

“We still need to be cautious” Steve told them. He tapped his foot against Bucky’s to gain his attention. “You okay?”

“Don’t worry about me. Seriously punk I’m fine”

“Alright. Everyone be careful.”

They moved quietly and slowly towards the base - that had seen better days - without any trouble, getting inside they all stole quick glances at Bucky making him sigh. “No I’ve never been here before”

“Didn’t say anything Barnes”

“You didn’t need too”

As they moved further inside it became obvious that they were the only ones there, apart from a few rats running around. Steve gave the orders out, him and Wanda going together down one hallway, Bucky and Sam - which he did mainly to annoy his best friend, Natasha and Tony going off to find the computers to see if they can get anything off them.

“How long do you think this place has been empty for?” Wanda asked.

“Not sure… it looks like awhile.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are they all open?” Wanda points at cryo chambers, looking at Steve with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t know? But let’s keep looking there has to be something here for us to ta-“ Wanda cuts him off with a gasp. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s a woman, she’s pretty…”

“What are you- Y/n?” Wanda’s head snapped from the woman in the chamber to the blond standing next to her.

“Do-do you know her? Wait… Y/n?”

Pressing his comms button Steve tells Bucky to come to where he was, told him to hurry up, hearing the distress tone of their captain Nat and Tony also went along too.

“Steve is this the same Y/n that Bucky calls out for in his sleep?” Wanda asked, watching him nodding slowly she looked down sadly.

The team had slowly grown use to Bucky screaming and hearing him thrash around in his sleep and had even witnessed him trashing him room trying to escape, thinking and believing he was still at the Hydra base he was kept at. One night it had actually taken all of them to try and pin him down on the ground after a horrific nightmare, it took Thor to grab Mjölnir to place it on Bucky’s naked chest to pin him down and for Wanda to use her magic to clear his mind just so they could get him to calm down. She apologised profusely for it the next day but he just smiled, placed his hand on hers gently and thanked her. But every night without fail they all heard him mumbling or crying out for Y/n and none of them wanted to overstep that boundary by asking him directly so they asked Steve who this person was and all he told them was that it wasn’t his place to say anything but that she meant the world to Bucky. And after that they let it be though they were all curious.

And now Wanda was staring up at the woman who had been on her friends mind for so long, she didn’t know how Bucky was going to react to seeing her here.

“Steve?” Bucky stood at the doorway with Sam, Natasha and Tony behind him. “What’s up?”

“Buck… she-she’s here”

“Who?”

Steve watched as Bucky paled and his eyes got shinier with tears filling them. “Y/n.”

“N-no no you’re lying Steve.” His eyes moved to Wanda when he noticed her shifting from foot to foot. He knew by the look on her face that what Steve was saying wasn’t a lie.

He moved slowly to where Wanda stood, never taking his eyes off her until he stood in front of her, it wasn’t until she gave him a sad smile that he finally looked to his right. A choked sob was the only sound in the whole building. Wanda tried to grab him before he fell but it was no use, Bucky landed with a loud thud on his knees as he looked up at the woman he had fallen madly in love with in the forties. The woman he had made a promise too. A promise he couldn’t keep.

“St-Steve we need-I need to get her out of here”

“I know Buck, I know but we need to be careful, we don’t know how long she’s been in there for”

“We can’t leave her!”

“We aren’t going to leave her Barnes, just give me a few minutes to try and figure out how we’re going to get sleeping beauty out of here, okay?” Tony says before looking around the room to find a way to get her out.

As everyone moved around the room trying to find a way to get her out of the chamber Bucky stayed on his knees looking helplessly up at her. “That’s why you couldn’t find her, she’s been here”

“I tried Buck-“

“No, I know you did. H-how long do you think she’s been here for?”

“I… I don’t know”

Not long after, Tony managed to find a way to open up the door to the chamber without causing any damage to Y/n. They all shivered as the cold air hits them, Bucky took the straps off her and took her gently into his arms. His body tensed when Tony injected something into her arm. “It’s just to keep her asleep until we get back to the tower”.

Steve told him to take Y/n onto the jet so they could finish off clearing the base, they all watched as he carried her as if she was the most delicate thing in the world.

“Steve, she’s a super solider” Nat looked over at him from the computer.

“Have you found anything else about her?”

“She’s got way more kills under her belt than I do, they call her little lamb” saying that nickname made her nose scrunch up. “And… oh Steve, they’ve been injecting her with Bucky’s sperm, it never worked” Steve’s eyes burned a hole into the computer screen angry at everything that he was hearing.

“Sh-she was a nurse you know? A great one, all the men said they loved going to her because she was just the kindest of them all. She deserved so much better than this.”

“Steve she’s been in cryo for twelve years… they wrote down when they were put in and taken out, she was never taken out twelve years ago”

“Jesus. Right, gather everything you can on Y/n and I’ll meet you on the jet”

Leaving Natasha to do what she did best he went to the jet, he stood there watching as Bucky stroke his fingers through the top of her head, not taking his eyes off her face.

“I-I’ve put blankets on her from the back, she’s still freezing Stevie.”

“Buck, there’s something I need to tell you about her.”

“What is it?”

“She’s like us, she’s got the serum too. T-they were trying to impregnate her with-with your… you know, and Nat found out that she’s been in cryo for twelve years”

“T-they don’t care do they? They don’t care who they hurt or the pain they inflict, they-they’ve hurt the sweetest, big hearted person and for what? Just to leave her in there for all those years? It’s my fault isn’t it?”

“No Buck, it’s not your fault-“

“It has to be, I kept saying her name when they first got me. I didn’t want to forget her so I kept saying her name and look what happened!”

“Bucky it’s not- don’t try and interrupt me- it’s not your fault. But we’ve found her and she’s going to come home with us and we can help her”

“Did she do bad things too?” His voice was so small and quiet that it was lucky that Steve had enhanced hearing otherwise he wouldn’t have heard what his friend said.

“Yes but Buck we know her, we know she’s a good person just like you she’s been made to do bad but we can help her, I promise you”

“We’ll all defend her tin-man” Tony says, when both men look over they see the four of them nodding in agreement.

Two weeks after finding his only love and brining her back to the compound Bucky refused to move away from her hospital bed, on the fourth day Steve had to beg him to come with him to get some food - it wasn’t until his stomach growled in hunger that he finally accepted Steve’s offer, he left her with a kiss on her forehead and made Natasha and Wanda watch over her, made them both promise to ring him the second Y/n started to stir awake.

Steve then tried to get him to leave just so he could get a good night sleep or to have a shower but the brunette shrugged him off - it wasn’t until Dr Cho came in and told him to get a shower, told him that he should be clean and smell nice for when Y/n woke up. That had him running to his room and showering quickly before running back down to her.

It was better than nothing.

“Steve?”

“Mhm”

“What’s Fury going to do when Y/n wakes up?”

“Nothing, him and Tony have already pleaded her case and all she’s got to do when she wakes is give all the information she can remember. Fury is positive that she’ll be be fully pardoned and he thinks that she could be an asset to the team, that is if she wants to stay”

“W-why-do you think she’ll want to leave?”

“I don’t know Bucky”

“Would you be mad at me if I left with her?”

“No. I would be mad though if you didn’t invite me over for dinner” Bucky let out a laugh whilst he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles.

Steve and Wanda had left after spending a couple of hours keeping Bucky company as he watched over Y/n, he was just starting to drift off to sleep when he felt her hand twitch.

“Y/n? Doll?” Another twitch. “Doll, come on wake up”

Bucky shot straight up knocking the chair backwards when Y/n jumped up out of the bed, falling down instantly, he watched as she pulled herself to the wall bringing her knees to her chest, her eyes moving around the room frantically. Her voice hoarse as she mumbles softly to herself, Bucky slowly moved around the bed.

“Doll? Y/n it-its me Bucky”

“Bucky?”

“Yes, yes it’s me” she says his name again, her teared filled eyes looking straight at him. “You’re safe.”

“W-where are we?”

“Somewhere safe, I promise.”

“They will be here for me” slowly standing up, ignoring the blood seeping down her arm she moved over to Bucky. “I-I need to leave, I need to go back home, they-they’ll be mad at me”

“Y/n hey, hey stop, doll look at me, they aren’t looking for you okay? You’re safe here, I’m not letting anyone hurt you again. I promise”

“You promise?”

“I promise” Bucky moved closer as soon as she was in reach he pulled her in his chest, squeezing her tightly, repeatedly pressing his lips to her hair.

Helen came in a little later to run some checks, talking to Y/n like she was an actual person and not like she was a nobody like she was use to, when she said thank you it meant more than just a simple gesture. The next day Steve, Sam and Wanda walked into the hospital room shocked to seeing Y/n sitting up and talking to Bucky, though they had slowly gotten use to seeing Bucky coming out of his shell even after all these years of knowing him Sam and Wanda stood there watching Bucky be a whole new person, the only person that didn’t find it weird was Steve who had a huge smile on his face, happy to see his best friend finally happy and at peace now that he had Y/n with him.

When Fury got word that she was awake he came down to see her, she answered all of the questions he had as best as she could. Fury reassured both her and Bucky that nothing would happen to her.

A month after waking up Y/n hand in hand with Bucky sat in a room with the team standing behind them, Fury at the end of the table and members of the government in front of them. She was nervous to hear what punishment she was going to receive, yes Fury promised that she wouldn’t be but when Bucky finally caved and told her all of the crimes she was connected to - not only did her heart break at hearing the things that she did but she feared what kind of punishment she was going to receive, she felt like she needed to be.

“Y/n L/n you are granted a full pardon, but you will need to be a part of the Avengers-“

“That’s not what we agreed on!” Fury interrupted the man.

“It’s the best thing-“

“I’ll do it. I-I need to do it” Y/n nodded.

Bucky and Steve had to beg Tony not to throw a party to celebrate Y/n’s freedom and her new role in the team of superheroes, he reluctantly agreed but told them they needed to do something as a team for her. Bucky told him a nice meal would do, it wouldn’t push her out of the comfort zone she had created for herself, so that’s what they did. Their laughter throughout the meal bounced off the walls as Y/n was retelling her memories of the antics Bucky would get up to during camp, told them how she managed to push Steve in to the river when he refused to go into the water.

In that month Bucky had been sleeping in bed with Y/n after she begged him to stay with her, and that night was no different. The team no longer heard Bucky’s screams because he no longer had nightmares.

“Y/n”

“Yeah?”

“I never stopped loving you, you know?”

“I’ve never stopped loving you either.” She smiled up at him. Slowly their lips met, both sighing at the familiar feeling that they had been deprived of feeling for nearly eighty years.

Just as Bucky closed his eyes to get some sleep he began chuckling when he heard Y/n’s question.

“Are you still going to marry me so I can put up with you for the rest of my life?”

“I made a promise didn’t I?”

Tags: @imcinnamoons | @pigeonmama

[omgitskangel]

almost all of the people theorizing on how Anya’s pregnancy would go don’t know anything about pregnancy besides egg and sprem make fetus omg

*happy ending au where Anya keeps the baby* and she was in constant stress and only had mouthwash full of sugar and alcohol to drink

“uummmm some people would want to keep the baby in that situation!” we are aware… we’ve been aware “survivor keeps the baby” trope is literally everywhere and the whole “keep it! Keep it no matter what!” thing is constantly shoved down our throats irl. It would actually be refreshing to see more characters choose abortions

also the people acting like her having a miscarriage in space wouldn’t also be extremely painful, physically and emotionally…

[ryanthedemiboy]

Reminder that pregnancy tests do not have false positives.

If you get a positive, and then a week later get a negative, you had an early miscarriage.

That's the downside to being able to test for pregnancy accurately so early. In the past, you'd have miscarried before you knew you were pregnant, but now you can know.

[lifeafterpsychiatry]

Oh, I didn't know about the force abortion, that's horrible. It gives a new perspective to that music box/lullaby melody. She really went all out with this song and no one even knew.

Yeah literally nobody knew about it before she released her memoir "The Woman In Me" in 2023. And that isn't the only reproductive trauma she has been through, unfortunately. There was the threat of losing access to her existing two children that made her stop fighting the abusive conservatorship in the first place, and then during that 13 year conservatorship, she was forced to be on birth control despite wanting more children because she didn't have the right to make that decision herself. And then after she finally escaped, she actually got pregnant but then had a miscarriage

[heirbane]

i am in a love/hate relationship with gaius after the sorrow of werlyt, in his ship with alta. because they do get pregnant. because he has buried four of his children and is being forced into fathering another from the moment they take their first breath.

gaius has only ever known three babes in his life. He had known of Cid, as Midas' marriage began to unravel, their son but a stream of piss on a pyre. He had known Varis' firstborn, the daughter that never woke. and he had known Zenos, the son that killed his own mother.

he had known of them. he had not raised them, despite his closeness to both midas (as his young side piece as his marriage dissolved) and varis, both men had done what rich garleans were wont to do: they entrusted their sons to wetnurses and tutors. even then, gaius had been but a fun, occasional visitor, the uncle that taught zenos how to wield a gun, the elder brother figure that cid's parents often squabbled over.

and then the woman he swore to kill brought life to him, and in his fear - in his anxious, traumatized, horrifically regretful wisdom - he tried to shun them, too.

he had been there for his children, and they had all perished. at least, he thought, cid and zenos had lived - and they had lived because he was not involved at all. because he had not touched them. because he had not wrapped them up in his arms and promised them succor.

or so he believed.

gaius danced around holding his firstborn for days. he had excuses. he had ways out. he had dread, because he had tried to win against the warrior of light before and failed, and she was not someone who would simply allow him this weakness.

at the end of it all, it wasn't even alta that forced his hand: it was allie, his one remaining daughter, the last one who remembered what it was like to have a home and an education and a family name but not a father.

[fighterpilotdragon02]

Spoilers for Midnight Mass (2021)

Right, so I'm super tired and I'll probably add on to this later but here's something I thought of that I haven't heard anyone else talk about.

TW: (Forced) miscarriage, abortion, implications of forced sterilization, religious abuse

A disclaimer before I write anything: I grew up fundamentalist/evangelical Protestant Christian (actually I grew up in a cult but that's another story). I am a queer agnostic and I DO NOT AGREE with the pro-life movement and honestly most stuff major churches do. This is just my observation in the framework of the faith.

It is so telling that the being which Monsignor Pruitt called an angel and promoted to his church causes a miscarriage. Most Christianity I've been exposed to is against abortion (some is even against birth control) and at least pays lip service to celebrating life. So when Pruitt betrays the trust of his congregation and alters their bodies without consent, when Erin's baby disappeared, that should have been a glowing neon sign for him and Bev that Shit Was Not Right.

I don't recall any indication that people aside from Erin, Riley, and Dr. Gunning knew about the lost baby, but my point is this:

The "angel" and Pruitt's dishonesty ("Forgive me, Father, for I am going to sin") are both perversions of what Christianity is theoretically about. Christianity, as I learned it, is about love and community and celebrating life as a gift from God. The angel directly forced a miscarriage upon an unknowing and unconsenting Erin (and how interesting, that pregnancy would be impossible under these conditions, that the population would eventually die out no matter the outcome of the show). Pruitt, while likely unaware of this outcome, was a direct arbitrator of this. His twisted love and fear, his obsession with staying young--something which is directly addressed as happening in the good afterlife (as I learned it)--took everything from him and his innocent congregation.

Anyway, feel free to add any insight; I'll probably reblog this with non-midnight (hah!) additions later. Let me know, also, if there are any tw tags I should add.

[drivemysoul]

.

[positivelybeastly]

Lugent: weeping; mourning [LET HER COMFORT HANK]

They’re together.

Hank doesn’t stop touching her, doesn’t stop hugging her, doesn’t stop just - grabbing her and making sure that she’s real all over again. He’s had it happen before. Hope snatched away in the cruelest of punchlines, friends he’d thought found lost again, new lows unearthed beneath older, traumatising ones. He has to make sure this one is real.

He keeps looking at her like she’s the sun. She can’t bear it.

He’s a good man. She feels this in her soul. Others would disagree, of course - they’ll call him an idiot, a fool, a traitor to his race, an apologist, an overbearing genius with more intellect than sense - but Abigail Brand has never lived her life thinking what other people have thought. Convention escapes her. She cares what she thinks, and she thinks that he’s a good man. Some days, when he’s been particularly brilliant or loving, she even knows it.

Which is why it hurts so much to feel that emptiness and cold in her, and see that fullness and warmth in him.

Good people, they can’t take it. Good people exist in their little sphere where they think that everyone else has some fundamental goodness in them that if only they’d reach it, the world would all just sit down and love each other. Abigail knows that’s not how it works, but she lets Hank believe it because if he believes it, maybe for a moment, she too can entertain the thought. But eventually, it escapes her, and she’s left with the fact that the world is so unkind and cruel in thoughtless ways. That defeat can be snatched from the jaws of victory if you look too closely at the details.

If she tells him, the warmth and fullness will drain from him. He’ll be empty inside, like her. This will be the final straw.

She knows she’s not good. She knows she never has been. Her mother had taught her that. Her superiors had taught her that. Life had taught her that. She’s kept herself sane mostly by reminding herself that while she certainly isn’t good, maybe it’s enough that she’s not bad, either. Not all the way through. Not truly. Not in the ways that matter. She believes in freedom, and life, and liberty, and all that hippie libertine bullshit Hank waxes philosophical about when he’s feeling fresh.

If she tells him, that will be the final proof. That will be the end of it. That will be the end of them.

She’s no professor, but she knows chemistry. She knows that you put certain things together, you get other things - the how’s, the why’s, the exactly how muchs, they don’t really matter to her, but the what, that does. That’s what they’ve always had, is chemistry. Angry. Explosive. Confused. Thrashing. Animalistic. It became something more, of course, but as Hank would tell you, all everything is, is just chemistry. When you boil it all down to chemistry, the reactants mix, the reaction happens, and you’re left with energy and your products.

She’s fought for so long to keep that reaction going. She doesn’t want them to end.

He makes her feel so good. On particularly wonderful days, he even makes her feel like she might be good, too. There’s a warmth and a softness and a delicateness to him that turns to heat and hardness and animal passion when ignited, and it’s only for her. It’s her special thing. Only she gets to enjoy it. Only she sees him in his every way, his every manifestation, his every weakness and strength and foible and kink. She really, really doesn’t want it to end. Not the nakedness, not the tenderness, not the morning coffees and the smiles and the thoughts of a future. None of it.

She died. Something cosmic. Something divine. Something cruel. Of course it was.

But there’s so much more that they could do together! S.W.O.R.D is work, sure, but it’s also play for them both - scientific majesty for him, action and duty and pleasure for her. They were both born for this kind of life, for on the fly decision making, for ridiculous improvisation, for fighting, for saving, for all of it. They could do this together forever. She leans back in her chair and she really does think that this is the best job in the universe.

She died pregnant.

She had to go to someone other than her usual doctor, of course. When she first began to suspect. It wasn’t something they’d ever considered being a possibility, given the alien DNA in play and Hank’s embarrassed mumbles about what his genetic code looked like. They’d - talked, about IVF, various other treatments, regimens, experimental techniques, but never seriously. Never seriously. Never with a thought that it could just happen. They’d been very stupid about that, she supposed, in retrospect. Like a bunch of dumb, lovestruck teenagers who thought you couldn’t get pregnant the first time or in a pool or stupid shit like that.

She came back.

She’d picked Richards, in the end. They had worked together. She respected his intelligence, knew he had children who didn’t hate him. He had been a little baffled, a little cold. Then he’d realised. Hank was a friend, and he was happy for him. Happy for them both. Happy for Abigail, and not just for her, but as a surrogate for her, because she hadn’t allowed herself to be happy about it, had just scowled or sat there with an implacable expression on her face. How inconvenient. How typical. This was going to get in the way of work.

She came back not pregnant.

As time went on, it became more apparent. It was quickly going to become harder to hide. Harder to justify going out on missions. Harder to justify not telling Hank. Harder to justify not telling the father of her child that the impossible had happened. That the inconvenient had happened. That something unexpected, and that something she had never thought she really wanted until it was right there in front of her, had happened.

It wasn’t David’s fault. He didn’t know. How could he have known? The power of a god has its limits. She doesn’t blame him.

She doesn’t do inarticulate screaming. She takes weeks of leave and no-one sees her, is what she does. Sydren is baffled. She doesn’t take leave. No-one, not even Hank, can convince her to take leave. She has so much of it accrued that she could be gone for a year and still be owed time. She gave so much of her life to work and duty and being a good defender of the Earth that when it came time to mourn how little of her life she could spend loving, she had plenty of it. Nothing but time. Nothing but time to contemplate the nothing she’s dying over. There’s nothing to bury. Just an idea. Just thoughts. Just a lifetime.

All right, that’s a fucking lie, she blames him and would kill him if she could. How fucking dare he. She thinks she might rather be dead still than deal with this.

“Hank, I have to tell you something.”

She savours these last few moments of warmth. She savours Hank McCoy as she’s known him.

Because it kills him.

The colour drains from his face.

The light fades out of his eyes.

The strength in his grip on her loosens.

The faith dies.

They don’t break up. Why would they? They still love each other. But to look at each other is to be reminded. To look at each other is to find that what each loved about the other has died. Hank’s warmth. Abigail’s certainty. The cold seeps in. They touch, but. They fuck, but. They hold each other, but.

They’re apart.

*~*

There's a chance meeting, between Hank and an old friend. A best friend, really - it's not as if he has many of those left by this point in his life, after the choices he's made. He's left the X-Men, left the Avengers, left his research behind. He's a soft, quiet little man living in Harvard, now. He likes it. Tess, privately, probably thinks it's a little beneath him, knows he can do better, but there's a brittle quality to him now that doesn't feel like it would stand up to pressure.

It takes a long time to get him to open up about what happened. Oh, the intervention, the Illuminati, the Inhuman conflict, whatever, that's all - that's all macro level shit, that can wait. She can tell there's something wrong in there, in his heart, but Hank is soft, and she doesn't like to think about hurting him. Not really.

It takes months to get him to tell her, and he doesn't really sound like Hank when he does. He talks about it like it happened to someone else - maybe he feels like it did, because it's not like there's anyone who he can talk to about this. Who can empathise? Who would care to? A life not lived, well, that happens all the time, Hank, but this isn't that. Not to him.

She hugs him. Gently. Again, she - really does feel like he's so much weaker now than he was, like a little too much pressure and he'll snap. He laughs and he jokes, but it's not the same. Everyone on campus keeps signing up for his classes, hoping they'll get Hank McCoy, but they just get Professor McCoy. Quietly funny, quietly good at teaching, quietly insightful. Just. Quiet.

He just.

Doesn't feel like there's much to talk about now.

Doesn't feel like he has much to offer anyone anymore. Maybe someone will come along and give him a purpose again. He'd like that.

*~*

“Yes, I said I won’t just join Krakoa … but a seat could convince me. You know who I am and what I can do. You’re working on a galactic scale now. This is a game I’ve been playing all my life. You play my way, you can actually win.”

Abigail Brand.

“I’ve been heading X-Force and doing the work the council needed done. You’ve lost Magneto. Magneto. You don’t need a soft hand. You need someone with that precision and intellect. And bonus, bountiful, blue fur. Now, in this powerpoint, I will …”

Dr. Hank McCoy, A.K.A. Beast.

“Hank used to be fun. Remember that? Before all the black ops. Before he dated Brand. I can barely tell him and her apart. I can’t help but think if we selected either, the one we didn’t pick would assassinate the other. Was that a bad breakup? Does anyone know?”

Kate Pryde, the Red Queen.

“They’re both completely unethical. I don’t trust either of them on the Council.”

Kurt Wagner, Nightcrawler.

*~*

They’re together again, for a moment.

She waits for him outside the meeting chamber.

He’s so cold now. A shell. The light has faded so completely from his eyes that one has been plucked out of its socket and even though it would be simplicity itself for him to replace it, to resurrect himself whole again, he chooses not to. He doesn’t care. What does it matter? There is only the mission now.

“Hank.”

“Abigail.”

They touch.

We could -

We could try again. It’s not too late. It’s never too late.

Sinister knows, somehow. Of course he does. He sent them both the same package, the same cruel joke. Would it delight him to know that neither of them so much as reacted to it? Or would it merely make him petulant? He thought it was funny. He thought it was the height of sadism. An oldie, but a goodie.

Neither of them so much as blinked when they saw the punchline.

What else was it going to be?

Baby shoes.

Never worn.

[snail-day]

Haze

Sum: Epilogue to Hysteria

Yan!SatoSugu x Reader

WC: 13k (I deeply apologize)

TW: Yandere Behaviors, Reader Dies, Suicide, Improper use of medication, Medical AU, Noncon, Infantalization, Miscarriage, Narcotics, Captivity, Forced Relationship, Reader is going through it, MDNI, ANGST. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

A/n: thank you @pink-cakes-and-treats for listening to me ramble about my thoughts about this so much, also for the rest of you that asked for a good ending...here it is.

The world felt too big. The lights, too bright. The bed beneath you, too vast, swallowing you whole. Falling down a well—like Alice tumbling into the unknown—yet instead of cold air slicing past, warmth enveloped every inch, layers of soft blankets cocooned you in a thick comfort that verged on suffocation. Yet, beneath it all, something in your mind felt irrevocably wrong.

As if your mind was drowning in an ocean of disorientated static. 

The kind that crinkles and crackles like an old television screen, sizzling along the edges of your skull, humming against your bones in waves of distant white noise. Thoughts tried to rise, tried to form, but they slipped too easily through the curves of your mind - dripping down, vanishing into the untethered abyss of memories that refused to take shape.

Nothing was sticking. It hadn’t for the past few days. Nothing made sense. Blinking felt laborious, each movement sluggish, your lashes weighed down as sterile overhead lights glared harshly, searing your retinas with their artificial glow. You tried to focus, but the world refused to stay still—softening, sharpening, then blurring again—flickering in and out like the remnants of a half-forgotten dream.

Something was wrong.

Your limbs refused to obey, heavy and unresponsive, as if they no longer belonged to you. A dull, insistent pressure pressed into your temples, pulsing in time with the faint, rhythmic beep... beep... beep of a nearby monitor.

Where… are you?

Your mind scrambled, clawing through the fog, reaching for something—anything—solid. But all it found was emptiness. A hollow absence where something important should be.

A scream echoed in the distance.

No, not a sound. Not a noise.

A feeling.

A desperate, clawing, silent terror digging its fingers into your ribs, shaking you, demanding that you - 

Wake up.

Nothing answered.

The panic, slow and insidious, seeped in, curling its fingers around your throat. Your pulse quickened, your breath hitched - your body recognized the fear before your mind could. You knew something was wrong. Something inside you knew.

You tried to shift, but your muscles refused to cooperate. A dull ripple of discomfort ran through you, a sluggish protest of aching limbs and numb skin - Fingers tightened around your hand.

The sensation shot through you like an electric shock, sharp and immediate. Heat pressed against your palm, the unmistakable warmth of lips brushing over your skin in something gentle - something aching.

You forced your head to turn, each movement sluggish, uncoordinated - like swimming through molasses. The world lagged behind, colors smearing at the edges of your vision until, finally, your gaze settled on— White hair. Snow-bright. Almost glowing beneath the sterile fluorescent lights, like some ethereal specter - an angel poised between salvation and sorrow.

Were you dead?

For a moment, the thought lingered. A part of you almost wished it were true. Anything to quiet the thing inside you - the thing that clawed at your ribs, wove its fingers through your veins, coiling tighter with every shallow breath. A restless, insatiable presence, scratching against your heartstrings, whispering in a voice you couldn’t quite decipher.

Anxious. Begging.

Something was trying to break free.

And then - blue. Eyes like a summer sky far too brilliant, too sharp, slicing through the haze searching your face for answers, longing. 

Satoru.

Your best friend.

But something was wrong.

His eyes, why were they red? Had he been crying?

A flicker of confusion stirred in your chest, Satoru didn’t cry. Satoru would grin, laugh, and tease. Satoru was the playful, loveable one, yet he was watching you, unmoving, the grip on your hand tight. His long, pale fingers trembled. Soft pink lips moved, forming words too soft to reach you, soundless incantations spilling from his mouth - A prayer or perhaps even a curse. Just barely, like a breath stolen by the wind, a name fell from his lips.

"Suguru."

The name slipped through the air, familiar yet somehow distant.

Suguru?

Ah, your husband. Warmth unfurled in your chest, small and fragile, like the dying embers of a long-burning fire. Satoru and Suguru - best friends since forever. If Satoru was here, then Suguru must be too. Right?

Suguru. Your Suguru. Sweet, kindhearted, safe.

But something inside you—that thing, that restless, clawing monster curled deep beneath your ribs—shrieked. A wrongness slithered through your thoughts. A dissonance, like a note played off-key, as if looking at a picture you knew should be whole but seeing only fractures. Your mind reached for him, for the feeling of him, the strength in those steady hands of his. A memory struggled to surface, rising through the fog breaching the suffice as the drowning thing it was grasping for air.

Documents. A trembling hand. Ink smudged against paper. Fingers curled too tightly around a pen.

The monster inside you thrashed.

Then…softness.

A smile, small and instinctual, formed before you even understood why.

Oh. Right.

Your marriage license.

So why did something in you still scream?

You had been so nervous that day. Your hands had trembled so badly that Suguru had to cover them with his own, guiding your fingers across the paper. Helping you sign because you couldn’t stop shaking. So why did the memory feel like it was slipping through your grasp like something was missing or wrong?

"Hey, princess"

Satoru’s voice rang as it pulled you back to the present, light and teasing, laced with an unsteady waver in each trembling word. His grin—boyish, familiar—was wobbly at the edges as he pressed the back of his hand to your forehead.

Why wouldn’t this feeling go away?

This dread. This creature inside you burning so brightly. 

"Sa-toru," your voice rasped. The syllables felt wrong in your mouth, tongue sluggish as it rolled through the vowels, throat too dry choking on every sound. Words weren’t coming out the way they should.

Why weren’t things working?

Why did everything feel wrong?

Satoru clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he rested his chin in his palm.

"Y’know, princess, you had me worried there. I was this close to calling it - figured you were done for, gonna leave me stuck with him for the rest of my life."

An exaggerated pout lined his lips that did little to mask the way his fingers twitched. You blinked at him, the words slow to process. The fog in your mind hadn’t lifted, not really, but something about his presence felt safe, reliable, a lighthouse in this haze.

"Sa-toru," you rasped again, the name tasting foreign in your mouth. His teasing grin twitched, faltered for just a second before he leaned in closer, his bright blue eyes flickering over your face like he was mapping out every change, every shift in your expression.

"That’s me, sweetheart," he said smoothly, flashing you a grin as if he wasn’t completely unraveling inside. "Figured you’d miss me first - ‘course you would, I’m your favorite, right?"

Something about that didn’t feel right. Not wrong, exactly, but something tugged at you, something missing, something empty.

Wake up. That voice, those claws continued deep inside you. Scratching, crawling to the surface just to plummet back down to the abyss.  You frowned, trying to focus, the ache in your skull pulsed harder, pushing your thoughts back down before you could grasp them. Satoru exhaled, watching you struggle, and his smile softened just slightly.

"Okay, let’s run some tests, yeah?" he murmured, voice dropping into something more careful, more measured. But then, like a switch, his teasing lilt returned, masking that fear rescinding inside himself. "Don’t worry, princess, this is just to make sure your brain didn’t completely short-circuit. Wouldn’t want you drooling on yourself just yet."

You scowled, the reaction automatic, and Satoru’s grin widened like he’d just won something.

"Oh? Look at that! Someone’s still got some bite in ‘em," he mused, his thumb lazily stroking the back of your hand. "Maybe you didn’t fry up there after all."

Your scowl deepened, and the corners of his mouth twitched. His bedside manners truly needed some work. 

"Alright, first test, nice and easy," he said, holding up two fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

You stared. It should’ve been simple. Easy. 

But the answer didn’t come.

Your head throbbed, thoughts slipping like water through your fingers, the shape of numbers nothing but static in your mind. The more you tried to force the answer, the further it slipped, like trying to remember a dream the second you wake up.

Your breathing hitched. Your stomach turned.

"I—" The syllable barely escaped, weak, unsure.

Satoru didn’t move, didn’t rush you, just hummed under his breath, as if he had already expected this.

"No biggie, don’t stress it," he said, waving his fingers dismissively. "It’s not like I needed you to count anyway. I can do that all by myself."

The teasing should’ve been annoying. Instead, it kept the panic from swallowing you whole. Kept that beast inside you from crawling through your throat. Kept the tears at bay. 

"Let’s try something else," he continued smoothly. He tapped a finger against his chin, pretending to think, then pointed at you with a smirk. "What’s your name?"

A simple question. The simplest of all.

But nothing came.

The realization hit you like ice water, a slow, creeping horror climbing up your spine.

Your mouth parted, but no words formed.

You knew you had a name—you should know it—but it was like trying to grasp smoke. It slipped through your fingers and refused to stick. Your lips trembled, breath catching in your throat.

Satoru saw it.

And for the first time, his expression truly faltered.

The smirk faded.

The playful gleam in his eyes dulled, just slightly. His long, pale fingers tightened ever so slightly around yours before he clicked his tongue, releasing your hand, and leaned back, stretching his arms over his head as none of this bothered him in the slightest.

"Wow. You really did a number on yourself, huh? Forgetting your name? Tsk, tsk, princess." He let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. "Guess I’ll have to give you a new one."

You stared at him, heart still hammering, but his words pulled you just enough from the sinking pit of panic.

"Ooooh, how about ‘Dumpling’? No, wait—Sunshine—nah, too generic." He tapped his chin in mock thought. "Oh! I know - ‘Satoru’s Favorite Person in the Whole Wide World.’ Bit of a mouthful, but you’ll get used to it."

Despite the terror twisting in your chest, something about his voice -ridiculous, insufferable voice - kept you from spiraling completely.

"What about Suguru?"

The question was quieter. Measured. Satoru’s teasing lilt softened, but his gaze didn’t leave your face. The name struck something inside you, something distant, something deep. Suguru. Your husband. Your sweet, kindhearted husband. And like a memory from another lifetime, you saw him—Suguru’s hands over yours. Suguru whispering against your temple. Suguru’s voice, warm and fond, calling you—

"Of course," you murmured, a small smile ghosting your lips. "Suguru… he’s my husband."

For a second, the room felt too still.

Satoru didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Then, with a slow exhale, he slumped forward, forehead pressing against the blankets beside your hand.

"Shit," he whispered, voice muffled.

You blinked at him, confused.

"What’s wrong?"

He shook his head against the various plush blankets, a groan escaping his lips as he burrowed his face deeper into the sheets. 

"Nothing," he muttered. "You remembered Suguru. That’s… good."

His fingers curled into the sheets, gripping them tightly, his shoulders stiff. Then, just as quickly, he snapped back up, plastering a lopsided grin on his face like he wasn’t just falling apart a second ago.

"Well, that settles it. You’re half-broken, but we’ll work with what we’ve got." He reached over and flicked your forehead - lightly, but enough to make your brow furrow. "I’ll go get Suguru. Pretty sure he’ll be happy you didn’t wake up hating his guts."

Something about the way he said it felt wrong.

But you didn’t get the chance to ask, because Satoru was already standing, stretching dramatically before turning toward the door. Before he stepped out, his voice dropped to something almost too soft to hear.

"Suguru better be right about this."

And then he was gone. The room felt different without him. Too still, too empty. The kind of silence that settled under your skin, stretched itself thin over your ribs, pressing into your lungs. Satoru was gone for what felt like forever. Time moved strangely, warping at the edges as you lay there, staring at the IV in your arm, the slow drip of liquid pooling into your veins. The steady tick of the clock anchored you, but barely. Each second bled into the next, a sluggish, drawn-out eternity. You tried closing your eyes, hoping that would at least calm the unease curling in your chest. Instead, the moment your lids shut, scorches of bright light flashed behind them, too sharp, too sudden, forcing you to snap them open again.

A headache threatened to bloom, but something else lingered beneath it.

A feeling.

The faintest echo of something soft - a kiss pressed to your forehead, warm, familiar. Muscle memory, perhaps. A habit long-engrained, something your body recognized even when your mind couldn’t.

You turned your head slightly, catching sight of the mirror on the far side of the room.

That was… you.

Your reflection blinked back at you, dazed and uncertain. Recognition flickered, though it felt distant, like staring at a childhood home you hadn't visited in years.

At least you knew yourself. That had to mean something.

A soft exhale escaped your lips, burrowing deeper into the blankets, allowing the warmth to cocoon you. Suguru would be here soon. He would make everything better. He always did. And Satoru…

Satoru was a good friend.

You let your gaze drift to the ceiling, counting the tiny, glowing stars plastered there. Numbers didn’t come easily, slipping from your grasp the same way your name had earlier, but you kept looking anyway, following each little dot of light like it might steady the tremor beneath your ribs.

Outside, voices broke the stillness.

Muffled, tense.

The walls weren’t thick enough to block them out completely, though the words slipped in and out, only fragments reaching you.

"You said - "

"—not how it was supposed to go—"

"Things aren’t okay - "

Something about the tone sent a shiver crawling up your spine. That monster deep inside you sank into the abyss once more. As if the conversation, it recognized, recognized more things than you did. 

The door creaked open, and there stood Suguru.

Another wave of warmth spread through your chest, comforting and safe, even as something deep inside you—a creature you couldn't name—trembled in fear. You could almost hear it, a faint, howling whisper buried beneath the haze of your thoughts, clawing at your ribs as if warning you of something you couldn’t remember.

But Suguru’s presence made you feel safe.

Suguru had always been your safe place. 

Hadn’t he? Still, something was… off. Not because of the quiet, caged thing inside you, not because of some nameless fear pressing against the back of your mind.

No—Suguru.

He stood there, unmoving, his violet eyes flickering between something unreadable and something that looked dangerously close to relief. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, like he had been holding it in for years.

Like he hadn’t seen you in years.

But… you had seen him.

Hadn’t you?

When was the last time?

The question fluttered through your thoughts, weightless and empty, and yet, before you could grasp it, it was gone, slipping through your fingers like water.

After what felt like an eternity—though time had started to feel strange, stretched and warped—his shoulders dropped. The tension in his frame melted away, his entire body sagging, the rigid set of his jaw loosening just slightly.

And then he moved.

Slow steps carried him to your bedside, where you lay wrapped in layers of soft, warm blankets.

"Angel," he breathed.

His voice cracked.

Something in your chest lurched at the sound.

You shifted, instinctively trying to sit up, but the IV in your arm tugged, the discomfort sharp enough to make your breath stutter.

And suddenly—he was there.

Fast. Too fast. One hand curled around your arm, firm but careful, the other settling on your back, steadying you before you could even sway. His grip was secure, protective, possessive a cocktail of something you couldn’t place in that haze of your mind as the abyss swirled with his touch-  his touch that sent something warm and sweet through you, like a childhood memory of being tucked into bed on a stormy night, soft whispers and gentle reassurances lulling you to sleep.

"Take it easy," he soothed, his voice dipped in honey, smooth and low. Suguru’s hands adjusted, shifting just slightly but never letting go, steadying you in a way that felt like he would never let you fall. He was close now, too close, his body angled toward yours in a way that blocked out the rest of the room. Like nothing beyond this—beyond you—mattered.

Had it ever? Your eyes flickered up, searching his face, your gaze tracing over the deep bags beneath his eyes, the tight line of his jaw, the way his knuckles were white where he gripped the sheets.

How long had he been here?

"How are you feeling?" His voice— gentle, tender—but there was something in it, something that made your heart stumble. You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to sort through your scattered thoughts, sluggish and slow-moving.

"Weird."

Suguru let out a soft exhale—something dangerously close to a laugh—but it was shaky, unsteady, as if the sound was unraveling at the edges. Like he was barely keeping himself together. His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, slow and rhythmic, back and forth, back and forth, as if memorizing the shape of it.

"That’s okay," he murmured, voice like silk, voice like love. His eyes, impossibly soft, and devoted, never once strayed from yours.

"You’re still waking up. Just take your time, angel. I’m right here."

His patience felt endless.

Hadn’t he always been like this?

Always patient, always yours?

Suguru's hand tightened around your wrist, his grip not bruising, but firm, like he needed the contact like he needed to feel you to believe you were still here. His voice was barely more than a whisper, trembling at the edges.

"I was so scared," he breathed.

You blinked up at him, caught in the sheer weight of his words.

"Scared?"

Suguru exhaled slowly, shakily. His fingers loosened just enough to lift your hand to his lips. The kiss he pressed there was soft, lingering, his breath ghosting over your skin like a prayer, like he was worshipping you like he was pleading.

"God, angel," he murmured, his eyes fluttering shut, "you don’t know how close I was to losing you."

Your heart stumbled.

"Losing me?" The words felt foreign on your tongue, heavy with confusion.

Suguru nodded, his grip tightening again as his violet eyes flickered open, searching yours, as if he was willing you to remember, to understand.

"You don’t remember, do you?"

Your breath caught in your throat. You did your best to remember - tried to grasp at the scattered pieces in your mind, but they slipped away, crumbling to dust before you could hold onto anything solid. There was something there, something lingering at the edges of your consciousness, but no matter how hard you reached, it refused to take shape.

Suguru saw it—the way you struggled, the way you faltered—and something in his face broke. His lips parted, his expression shattering into something raw and aching.

"You tried to leave me."

A chill slithered down your spine.

"W-what?"

Suguru swallowed hard. His hands trembled. "The pills," he whispered, voice thick, pained. Those thick large fingers of his curled around yours, holding tighter, like if he let go, you’d slip away again. "You, angel, you tried to overdose. We almost lost you."

Your body went still.

The words didn’t fit.

They didn’t belong.

Would you…?

Could you…?

Suguru let out another slow, shaky exhale, his forehead dipping forward until it rested against your temple. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into him, his warmth engulfing you completely.

"Why didn’t you tell me you were hurting so much?" he whispered, voice cracking under the weight of it.

He sounded wrecked.

Like you had broken him.

His breath was warm against your skin, his arms unmovable, his body curled around yours as if he could shield you from something neither of you could name. Your lips parted, but no words came.

Nothing.

Just blank spaces where memories should be. You felt empty, a hollow shell carved out by something you didn’t remember.

"I—" You tried, but the words dissolved before they could form.

Suguru didn’t let go.

For what felt like an eternity, he just held you, his breath slow, measured, as if forcing himself to stay calm. As if keeping himself from falling apart completely. When he finally pulled back, his hands cradled your face, thumbs stroking over your cheekbones in slow, gentle motions. His violet eyes burned with something deep, something fierce, something terrifyingly devoted. "But it’s okay now," he whispered, "because I’m here. I’m always going to be here." His voice was steady, "You’re safe, angel. I won’t let anything happen to you ever again."

His gaze bore into you, worshipped you.

"You don’t have to be afraid anymore. I’ll take care of everything, just like I always have."

And hadn’t he?

Hadn’t Suguru always taken care of you?

Hadn’t he always put you first?

Hadn’t he always loved you more than anything?

an ache in your chest arose as your mind filled with a foggy, static mess, but Suguru’s hands were warm, his lips soft as he pressed another kiss to your forehead, lingering there, breathing you in.

"I love you so much," he whispered, the words breaking against your skin.

A few weeks passed before your release. There had been a lot of physical therapy, a lot of sessions where doctors asked you questions that felt like puzzles you couldn’t quite piece together. A lot of memories blurred at the edges, details slipping into the haze that seemed to return at odd moments, as if your mind was deliberately keeping things just out of reach.

But you weren’t worried.

Because you had Suguru.

And Suguru always took care of you.

It helped that the hospital belonged to him—or at least, that’s what you gathered. Suguru worked here, of course he did, and with Satoru’s family organization owning and operating the place, it meant you were given special treatment.

For being his favorite girl.

For being their favorite girl.

You spent most of your days with Satoru. He liked to keep you company in the common room, always finding ways to make you laugh, always draping himself over you as if the weight of his presence alone could keep you somewhat sane.

It was never crowded here.

In fact…

There weren’t any other patients. It was something you had noticed a while ago but had never questioned.

Maybe you should have.

But why would you?

Suguru said the quiet was good for your recovery - Suguru always knew best.

So, instead, you sat cross-legged at the small table in the sunlit common room, a coloring book open in front of you, half-finished pages of soft, delicate flowers filling the space. Satoru sat beside you, elbow resting on the table as he lazily twirled a crayon between his fingers, the light from the window casting a golden hue over his white hair. You looked up at him, a bright smile tugging at your lips. The words came out soft, still feeling a little foreign on your tongue.

"I drew purple flowers. What color did you do?"

Satoru’s grin faltered for a fraction of a second. It was quick, so quick you almost didn’t notice.  A small inhale, barely audible, his fingers tightening slightly around the half-yellow crayon in his hand.

"Mmm," he hummed after a pause, looking down at his page, "I was gonna make you daisies." His voice was light, casual, that boyish grin sliding back into place, but something about it felt off.

His eyes - that same sparkling blue that had always been so bright, so mischievous, looked just a little duller than before. And then, before you could dwell on it, Satoru shifted, draping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close like he always did, like it was easy.

"I was thinking about making some stars or cranes for Suguru," you mused, flipping the crayon between your fingers. "He’s been asking for stuff! You know, when we were together, I used to handmake him things. Guess he misses it!"

You laughed, soft, cheerful, letting the warmth of nostalgia curl around your words like a fond memory.

Satoru didn’t laugh.

You caught the way his expression twitched. His bright eyes dimmed again, the usual teasing remark he would have had on his tongue never coming. Instead, his grip around you tightened just slightly, fingers curling where they rested on your arm.

That quiet thing inside you—the one that had been utterly still these past few weeks—shifted.

Like déjà vu.

Like something on the edge of remembrance.

Like something that wasn’t right.

Satoru was too quiet.

And deep inside you—somewhere distant, somewhere buried—the monster inside you howled.

At first, you had been confused.

You don’t remember falling asleep. One moment, you were coloring—soft petals filling the page, Satoru’s voice teasing at your ear. Then, darkness. Not sleep, not quite, but a gap, a missing frame between memories. And now - movement. The slow, rolling sensation beneath you. The low hum of tires against pavement. The world around you felt wrong, stretched and distorted at the edges, like waking

You weren’t sure if you were moving or if the world itself was folding around you.

No, think.

You had to think - you can’t lose your marbles yet. Something felt off, but your thoughts were molasses-thick, sluggish, slipping away before you could catch them. You forced your eyes open. The brightness stung. The world blurred and wavered, swimming between sharpness and distortion, colors smearing together like wet paint. Everything felt slow, too slow, like time itself was stretched thin. Shapes surrounded you, unfamiliar, shifting. Your mind reached for something familiar, something solid, but the haze wrapped around you like a noose, muffling every sensation. Choking out every sensation. 

Something pressed against your cheek—warmth. A body beside you.

It was familiar.

Reassuring, perhaps. A slow, curling unease rippled through you, too faint to grasp, too distant to matter. You blinked, the action feeling thick and heavy, like your eyelids had been weighted down. A figure hovered above you—dark hair, neatly tied. Lips moving, speaking, but the words were empty, soundless, lost in the static humming at the edges of your consciousness.

You could hear them.

But you couldn’t understand them.

The words dissolved before they could take shape, vanishing into the white noise fizzing along the surface of your thoughts.

Something was wrong.

The realization wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t a sudden spike of awareness, but a dull, sinking weight settling in your stomach, curling through your limbs. Like a shadow stretching across the floor, creeping slowly, methodically, until it swallowed everything. Your gaze drifted sideways, slow, disconnected. There was another presence beside you, a hand resting on your thigh. Your vision wavered, struggling to focus. White hair. A shape, a figure—Satoru?

That wasn’t right.

His touch felt off.

It didn’t belong there. It wasn’t familiar.

If it were Suguru’s, that would be familiar. Suguru is your—

Your what? The word was there, just for a second. Bright and fleeting, flickering at the edges of your mind, a puzzle piece slipping into place—and then it was gone. A void swallowed it whole. Your mind reached for it, frantic and desperate, but it was missing, ripped away, replaced with nothing but static.

The car rumbled on, steady, unwavering.

Right.

You were in a car.

Going… where?

You tried to part your lips, force the sound from your throat, but nothing came. Not silence—something worse—deep, dragging inability, like your voice had been stolen, like your body was no longer yours to command.

You felt wrong.

Heavy. Detached. Like your limbs weren’t really connected to you, as the space between thought and action had stretched too far. Every movement, even the simple act of breathing, felt slow, distant, and delayed. Something sharp flashed behind your eyes—white light, searing, electric. A crackling hum, a sharp sting like a wire had been pressed too deep beneath your skin. The darkness inside you curled inward, folding in on itself. It whimpered now, weak, small, drowning beneath the weight of something you didn’t understand.

Something was wrong.

You felt it pressing at the back of your skull, something deep and instinctive, something your body recognized even if your mind couldn’t. The fabric against your skin was soft. Loose. Suguru’s sweatpants. That much, at least, felt real. Your eyes dragged toward Satoru again. It took forever, like pushing through water, like forcing yourself to move through a world that didn’t want to stay still.

He was angled toward the window, head tilted white hair in his eyes, chin propped against his palm. The dim glow of passing streetlights flickered over his features, illuminating sharp edges, smooth planes. His mouth was pressed into a thin line. The slight downturn at the corners. The tension in his jaw.

A part of you recognized that expression.

Satoru didn’t look like that.

Satoru never looked like that.

You tried again—tried to speak, tried to force sound past the heavy, sluggish frog clogging your throat. But it was like pushing through a swamp, murky, like something thick and invisible was holding you down, keeping you tethered to this slow, sinking feeling.

A shallow breath. A shudder. Nothing else.

Satoru shifted beside you.

The warmth that had been resting on your thigh vanished, leaving behind a stark absence that made your skin prickle. Then, a new sensation—a whisper of contact against your wrist. Soft at first, an idle graze, barely there. Then firmer, more pressing, the measuring. Counting the beats beneath his fingertips.

Checking your pulse.

Your gaze dragged to his, sluggish but instinctual. Bright against the fog in your head, slicing through the murk with a clarity that made you recoil. Those eyes—striking, endless, impossibly blue—brought something with them, a pull deep in your brain, in your bones. Flashes of something disjointed. Overhead lighting, stark and sterile. A buzz—constant, droning, mechanical. His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture did. A flicker in his gaze, a fraction of a second where his mask slipped—searching, analyzing, calculating. A slow inhale. A barely-there pause.

The realization sank, you weren’t supposed to be awake. Satoru exhaled, his fingers tapped against your wrist, a rhythm so light, so absentminded, it felt like an old habit. The soft tap, tap, tap sent a ripple through your thoughts, a whisper of familiarity threading through the fog. Then—static. A flare, sharp and electric, ripping through the void inside you. White light. A hum, low and droning. Something pressing into your skull, sinking too deep.

Your breath hitched.

Satoru’s lips parted. A breath of sound escaped, “…Shit.”

Suguru heard it. “Oh, angel.” a voice that had wrapped around you like silk, warm and syrup-sweet, sinking into your skin. A hand, cupped your cheek, his thumb gliding over your skin in slow, coaxing strokes. Guiding. Directing. You barely registered the way he tilted your face up, drawing your gaze away from Satoru, steering you toward him with gentle reverence. Like something fragile. Something breakable. Something his or perhaps theirs. 

“You should be asleep,” he murmured, “We gave you some pain meds. You’ve been having a lot of nightmares lately.”

We. The word landed strangely in your mind. Heavy. Foreign. Wrong. Something about it didn’t fit. But your thoughts—sluggish, slippery—melted away before you could pin them down. Questions clawed at your throat, stacking one on top of the other, pressing against the hollowness where memories should be. But when you tried to speak, when you forced your lips to move—nothing.

No sound. No words.

Just a thin, reedy whisper of breath.

Your tongue felt thick, your mouth unfamiliar—like the very mechanics of speech had become foreign to you. You tried again—lips parting, searching for something solid, something tangible, something that made sense. You weren’t losing your mind. You weren’t insane.

You were just lost. It’s key to remind yourself of that. 

“…House?” A whisper. Soft and unfamiliar, a voice that slipped past your lips, fragile and meek, and yet—not yours. You weren’t this. No, you weren’t small, you weren’t delicate, you weren’t some flower that needed to be tended. 

So how dare this weak, trembling voice speak for you? That wasn’t right. That wasn’t you.

The abyss inside you shuddered—howled—and then, it shrunk.

You wished you understood it. Wished you could unravel the creature clawing inside you, tearing at your ribs, gnawing at your insides. What did it want? What did it fear?

And why—why did it shrink before the two most familiar men in your life? It curled in on itself, retreating like a wounded animal. Pulling away, pressing deep into the spaces between your ribs, folding into the fog thickening in your mind.

Suguru’s thumb swept over your cheek again. Pulling you away from the insanity that was unraveling in your mind, What happened to you? Yet his calloused thumb pulled you away from that question as it swept against your bottom lip, those adoring violet eyes of his gazed down on you with so much devotion.  The motion melted into your skin, seeping through the haze in your head, sinking deep, spreading warmth like honey through your veins.

You knew these hands.

You trusted them.

You had always trusted them.

Had always belonged to them.

“There’s nothing to worry about, angel,” Suguru murmured, his voice velvet-lined and laced with something deeper—something patient, something final. It settled over you like a lullaby, thick and saccharine, wrapping around your ribs, lulling the resistance in your chest to stillness.

He sounded like home.

“Just relax.”

A pause.

“You’re safe now.”

His fingers curled just slightly against your cheek, “We’re almost home.” There it was again. That word.

We. His voice curled around it so easily, so naturally, as if it had always belonged. But it hadn’t, had it? Your thoughts tripped over themselves, scattered, slipping before they could form something solid. You felt like you had forgotten something crucial. Your head swayed slightly under his touch, too heavy, too slow. The warmth of his palm pressed into your cheek, spreading down your neck, keeping you there, still, held in place by nothing but gentle weight.

Suguru’s presence filled the space beside you. Even in the dim lighting of the car, even with the blur distorting your vision, you could still make out his dark, wavy hair, loosely tied at the nape of his neck, some strands falling over his face. Sharp features softened in shadow. Long lashes, lowered as he looked at you, the faint crease between his brows, the slow parting of his lips, his violet eyes—not as sharp as Satoru’s, but deep, unreadable.

His gaze held you.

His touch kept you from drifting too far.

However your brain had other ideas, other ideas of unraveling your mind, from stopping the buzzing of nerves, a name filtered into your mind. 

Satoru.

Satoru had his own apartment.

Didn’t he?

Yes. He did. He had his own space. He didn’t live with you. So why did the word we feel so wrong? Your breath came uneven, something shallow curling at the edges of your ribs.

A flicker of something.

Pills.

A hand.

Scattered.

The haze thickened. Your stomach twisted. A cold knowing pried its way through the murk.

You tried to kill yourself. Suguru’s voice echoed through the thick fog of your thoughts, from before. His words, his tone, the steady warmth of his arms around you. That conversation happened. You spoke fine before.

Why couldn’t you now?

Why did your voice feel different—smaller, softer? Why did you find yourself leaning into Suguru’s touch, chasing the warmth, seeking comfort in something you didn’t understand?

Because he was familiar.

Because in this fog, in this shapeless world where everything felt wrong, Suguru felt right.

No. Back on track.

Would you?

Could you?

Would you really—kill yourself?

That didn’t feel right.

That wasn’t you.

Was it?

Is that why Satoru…

You tried to speak. It took effort. A deep pull, like dredging words from the bottom of a thick, dark sea. Your lips trembled as they formed something weak, breathless.

“S-toru…”

Your mind lagged, struggling to find the words, the question tangling itself up inside you.

“…why?”

Suguru stilled for a moment. You felt the hesitation in him—the smallest shift in the way his thumb stopped moving, the subtle inhale, the pause in the space between you. His expression flickered—something uncertain ghosting across his face, but it was gone just as quickly as it appeared. Suguru was never uncertain. His violet eyes softened, the storm behind them calming, gentling, then, a slow, patient smile. His thumb resumed its path, tracing slow circles over your cheek, then down, grazing your bottom lip. A touch so tender it felt practiced.

“You gave him a fright,” Suguru murmured, his voice deep, warm, careful. A deliberate gentleness, like he was tending to a delicate flower—cultivating it, shaping it, waiting for the perfect moment to pluck it. To prepare it for the right occasion. Somehow, you knew that flower was you.

Except—you weren’t something sweet.

That wasn’t who you were.

Your voice, soft and honeyed, might have painted that illusion, but inside—inside, you were full of thorns. Sharp, unruly, aching to tear free, to dig into flesh, to remind the world that you were not meant to be handled.

Every slow stroke of his thumb against your skin unraveled them. One by one, the thorns dulled, softened, melted into something pliant. “He hasn’t been able to sleep in his apartment since you tried to…” A pause. His voice dipped lower, quieter as if saying the words aloud might wound him. You barely heard him anymore. Your thoughts had grown too loud.

Screaming.

Clawing against the buzz of burnt nerves—burnt? Why were they burnt?

Would you?

Would you kill yourself?

No.

That wasn’t you.

…Was it?

Suguru’s hand cradled your face, the pad of his thumb brushing over your temple.. His warmth sank into your skin, deeper than it should have—branding itself into you. Pressing. Holding. Binding. Safe.

Safe, safe, safe.

That’s what his touch said— what it promised.

And you let yourself sink.

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep.

Was it the warmth of Suguru’s hands, the soothing rhythm of his thumb against your cheek? Or was it the slight prick in your arm, so small, so fleeting, you barely noticed?

A needle.

That was… strange. What a weird thing to feel in a car. The thought barely had time to take shape before it melted away, lost to the pull of sleep—no, not sleep, something deeper, something heavier. Just before the darkness swallowed you whole, your gaze caught on a faint glimmer—a vial. The name surfaced immediately — a sedative. How would someone who could barely think straight know that?

But the thought was fleeting, slipping between your fingers as the world around you dissolved, your body weightless, your mind drifting— another memory.

Or perhaps a fraction of one.

A pink room. Soft pastels, warm light filtering through gauzy curtains. A large white box against the wall, waiting—empty. Something should be inside it, however the poor lonely white box was empty. On the floor, Suguru. A flashlight between his teeth, hands assembling something small, something delicate. Cubes of softwood, pastel-painted pieces are arranged in careful, meticulous stacks. His smile was easy, boyish, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he looked up at you.

Love. Devotion. Excitement.

"You think she’ll like it?" his voice was muffled around the flashlight, words laced with tender amusement. You stood in the doorway, watching him. Something inside you felt full, heavy.

You glanced at the mirror beside you—rounder. Softer.

Heavier.

Ah… what’s the word?

The thought came slow, sluggish, dragging its way up from the depths of your mind, a word, you were ████████. The word couldn't come. It slipped just as the memory was. The warmth of the memory curled around you, a bittersweet thing, familiar but distant as if seen through the wrong end of a telescope.

The image shattered.

Pale blue tiles, slick beneath your feet. The air was cold, curling against your bare skin like a whisper, like breath on the back of your neck, haunting. The bathroom felt vast and empty, yet suffocating all at once, a space that stretched and closed in at the same time. The walls pulsed, the floor swayed. Something dripped.

Red flowers.

They bloomed in the cracks, unfurling across the tile, soaking into the grout, staining your fingers, smeared against your thighs. A deep ache coiled in your stomach, right where the flowers grew, sharp and pulling and wrong. You pressed your hand there, fingers slick, warm- your heartbeat pounded against your ribs, a frantic, uneven staccato as if your body was trying to tell you something your mind refused to grasp.

Oh.

Not flowers.

Your breath hitched, sharp and jagged, the sound barely registering over the heavy buzzing in your skull. Your chest ached, pulled tight like something was being wound inside you, twisting until it was about to snap. Your hands trembled, grasping at fabric—your dress, the sink, the air itself—nothing felt solid. Nothing felt real.

Light flickered. A glow in the corner of your eye.

Your phone - the screen pulsed, humming with an unfamiliar urgency, illuminating the dark edges of the room. A name. Suguru. It pulsed with every ring, like a heartbeat, like something alive, something waiting.

You needed to answer it.

You tried—your fingers barely moved, sluggish and detached, like they weren’t yours, like your body had forgotten how to listen. The world shifted. The tiles rippled. The walls breathed.

You didn’t like this.

You didn’t like this at all.

But the dream had other plans.

It dragged you deeper, a hand at your back, pushing you forward, forcing you to see, forcing you to remember. The bathroom dissolved, bled into something else, colors warping, space stretching, folding, cracking apart.

The red flowers—gone.

In their place, stacks of paper.

Crisp, white sheets, stretching endlessly before you, swallowing the room whole, consuming every surface. The ink bled through, black lines shifting, warping as you tried to read them, twisting into something unreadable, something suffocating.

Not just any paper.

Divorce papers.

Your name.

Suguru’s name.

Your signature, ink smudged, edges curling, the weight of the moment pressing down on you like a vice. A pen—shaking between your fingers, clutched so tightly it might snap in half. 

You wanted to—

Didn’t you?

You wanted to leave.

Didn’t you?

The ink ran. The pages blurred, the edges curling inward, folding like wilting petals, like burning paper, like something being erased. Water dripped down the sheets, or was it blood? A soft rustle—pages turning on their own, shifting, morphing, dissolving into something else entirely.

The crib.

The bathroom.

The blood.

The papers.

Everything tangled together, warped, spliced, replaying in fragments, flickering like an old film reel skipping frames. The images overlapped, twisting and unraveling before you could grab hold, slipping through your fingers like silk soaked in something dark.

Your body burned. Boiled. Feverish heat rolled through your veins, spreading, thick and searing, like something was crawling beneath your skin, like you were being rewritten from the inside out.

You tried to wake up.

You needed to wake up.

Your mind screamed against the weight pressing down on it, against the lie suffocating it, against the warmth wrapped around you, the warmth you didn’t trust, the warmth you had once loved.

You gasped.

The darkness shattered—splintering into a million aching shards as your body jolted, wrenching itself toward consciousness.

A voice.

Soft, distant, pulling at the edges of wakefulness.

It wasn’t unusual for Suguru to curl up beside you at night, his arms, his body warm and familiar. That was normal. That made sense. But Satoru? Satoru had never slept beside you before, had he? At least, you didn’t think so.

Then again, you didn’t trust your memories these days.

The first night he slipped beneath the covers with you and Suguru, you blinked up at him, confusion knitting your brows together. "Satoru?" His name had left your lips softly, almost hesitant. You remembered Suguru pulling you closer before Satoru could even answer, his grip tightening as if the question itself was something you shouldn’t be asking.

"Mmm?" Satoru’s grin had been lazy, his eyes tired, but there was something about the way he spoke, something forced, light. He ruffled your hair like he always did, fingers lingering against your scalp before he sighed. "Just keeping an eye on you, princess. You know I can’t let you out of my sight for too long—what if you run off on us again?"

Something in your chest twisted at his words, a faint unease curling around your ribs, but before you could ask what he meant, Suguru had hushed you with a slow, tender stroke of his fingers down your arm. His voice had been soft. "Shhh, angel. Just rest. You need sleep."

You hadn’t fought it, though you weren’t sure why. Maybe it was because Suguru’s voice had always been something that soothed you, something that made you feel safe even when you weren’t sure why you needed to feel safe. Or maybe it was because Satoru had sighed dramatically, pressed a lazy kiss to the top of your head, and settled himself on the other side of you, like it was all so casual.

"Guess I’ll have to hold you extra close, then," he had teased, slinging an arm over both you and Suguru, his grip loose. "Can’t have you slipping through my fingers again, huh?"

You had felt the slow, easy circles of his fingers tracing along your arm, the weight of Suguru’s breath against your hair, the warmth of their bodies on either side of you. Something had whispered in the back of your mind that this was wrong, that this wasn’t how things were supposed to be. But Suguru had kissed your temple, whispered a quiet "Sleep, angel," and Satoru had only chuckled, pressing his face into your shoulder with a sigh, and soon the heaviness had settled into your limbs, pulling you under before you could think too hard about it.

And that had been the routine, night after night, until it became something normal, something expected. Until it stopped feeling strange. Until you stopped questioning it altogether. Some nights however, when they had opposite shifts, when the nightmares of yours persisted, perhaps from all the medication you were taking much to your demise: 

Satoru’s voice.

Faint, familiar, a low murmur in your ears, wrapping around your disoriented mind like a lulling tide. Sheets. Soft beneath you, cradling you in their embrace. The scent of home.

Something was wrong.

You forced your eyelids open, sluggish and heavy, the weight of sleep, drugs, memories dragging you back down. Satoru’s body against yours, too solid, too warm. He was pressed into you, caging you against him, his bare chest rising and falling, his breath heavy as he buried his face into your hair.

Fevered kisses—

One. Two. Three.

Tears. Your tears. You hadn’t realized you were crying or perhaps weren’t sure that was something you could do anymore. A lot of things left you uneasy these days, especially as Satoru’s lips trailed across your damp skin, pressing against your temple, your cheek, your eyelids. Something frantic in the way he held you.

What a desperate man he was, those soft pink lips seemed to continue on their conquest for the salt of your tears, as his arms curled tighter, embrace crushing, as if he was ensuring you could never slip away from him, not like you had the strength to do such a thing. 

However you didn’t like the way his lips trailed to your pulse, causing a panic inside you to rise, to claw at your ribs, to force yourself to speak, to ask, to plead - nothing but a meek, broken whimper escaped. Your voice was gone, hidden away as Satoru’s hands traveled to your nightgown hitching the lace lining upwards. The only sound was the slow, shaky breath Satoru let out against your skin.

“Oh, princess,” he murmured, his voice rough, thick with something heavy, something raw. “You scared the hell out of me.”

You tried again, and again, and - 

Because something inside you was screaming, clawing at the back of your mind, a voice—not yours, yet somehow still yours—wailing in recognition, shrieking a warning, weaving a song of something terrible, something unspeakable.

Oh, what did they do to you? The abyss curled around your thoughts, purring, seething.

That’s a new thought.

Not one you liked.

Not one you asked for.

But you couldn’t choose your thoughts, could you?

Satoru’s breath was warm against your cheek, his lips brushing against your damp skin, murmuring something—a confession, an apology, a plea. “I’m sorry.”  The warmth of his bare chest pressed against you, the firm, steady weight of him sinking into you, grounding you, keeping you trapped.

Satoru wasn’t your husband.

So why was he acting like one?

“I’m so fucking sorry.” You heard a crack. The sound of something breaking. Not glass. Something inside him. Your thoughts moved sluggishly, bouncing like light trapped in mirrors, scattering, refracting, unable to land. Satoru wasn’t emotional. Satoru would laugh things off, he would tease, he would never cry.

Satoru would understand the word no.

Wouldn’t he?

Satoru—who teased you for being a crybaby, who ruffled your hair, who leaned too close just to watch you roll your eyes.

That Satoru.

But this one—

This one held you like you were something fragile, something broken, something that had already slipped through his fingers once before. Something beloved, something like a lover. This one pressed desperate kisses to your face, each one filled with words you couldn’t quite grasp.

"I love you."

A whisper.

"Suguru had to go back for his shift."

A ghost of sound against your skin. The sound of clothing being removed. 

"I love you."

Again. Over and over and over.

"I’m sorry." 

"I didn’t know—"

Didn’t know what?

Your body shuddered. Something coiled at the edges of your mind—the abyss, the thing inside you, the part of you that knew more than you did. It wrapped itself around your thoughts, dragging them down, down, down, pushing you beneath the water, forcing you to see—

A hospital.

The mental hospital.

Not white, not sterile, but painted in colors that didn’t belong.

Satoru.

He was there.

You could see him.

Why could you see him? Your vision flickered, disjointed, showing you glimpses of something you didn’t want to remember—

No, no, no—

A field of flowers.

Purple.

Vivid and endless, blooming in the quiet of your mind.

You focused on that.

You latched onto it. Ignoring the fingers that had trailed to your heat, the broke whimpers escaping your throat, the sound of I love yous being called out. 

Purple was better. Purple was better than the flowers from your dream. Better than the ones that filled the bathroom. Better than the ones that bloomed too red, too much, too violently.

No.

No, you had to focus. You had to free yourself from this danger, from this man who claimed he loved you, yet he was claiming your body as if it were already his. Your nerves buzzed, crackled, burned inside you, bouncing like photons, shooting in all directions, searching for something solid, something real.

But nothing would land.

Nothing would stick.

Not the words slipping from Satoru’s lips, not the weight of his body pressing into yours, not the dull ache threading through your bones. Not the pressure building up inside your core, not the sickening sounds of wet flesh bouncing in the room. Not the defilement of your marriage bed. 

Everything felt like it was happening somewhere else.

But Satoru was still holding you.

His voice wove into your skin, breath hot, shaky, frantic, lips moving over your cheeks, your forehead, your eyelids—kissing away your tears, swallowing them like they were his own.

He wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He was supposed to tease you, laugh things off, flick your forehead when you pouted, ruffle your hair like you were something small and irritating yet adored.

But this wasn’t playful. This wasn’t harmless.

"I’m sorry," Satoru mumbled into your skin, voice breaking at the edges, dragging you closer, pulling you deeper into the heat of his bare chest, caging you in his arms. His heartbeat was uneven, erratic, pounding too hard beneath his ribs, pressed up against you like he needed you to feel it, like he needed to prove it to you.

"I’m so fucking sorry."

There was something wrong.

Something breaking.

Not just inside you.

Inside him.

His grip was too tight, too possessive, fingers digging into your hips, holding you still, locked against him.

Satoru doesn’t get emotional.

Satoru is loud, carefree, reckless.

Satoru is supposed to understand boundaries.

Satoru is supposed to stop.

Then why wasn’t he stopping?

Why was his breath coming in fevered gasps, why were his lips tracing the trembling curve of your jaw, pressing kisses along the pulse point at your throat, why was his voice pleading, broken, desperate?

Why did he sound like he was losing you?

"You don’t get it," he whispered between each kiss, mumbling, unraveling, his voice trembling against your skin. "You don’t—you don’t get it, princess. You almost left us. I—I didn’t want to hold you down that night."

The realization slithered through your mind, slow and suffocating. The abyss stirred, uncoiling inside you, thrashing against the haze, against the warmth of Satoru’s hands, against the way his fingers trailed against your soft skin, leaving marks in their wake, gripping the soft flesh of your thighs like he had every right to touch you.

His lips trembled against yours—fevered, insatiable.

"I love you," he whispered, the words dissolving into the heat of his mouth against yours. "I love you. I love you. I love you."

The words felt frantic, possessive, more an oath than a confession.

Your wrists—pinned above your head, trapped in his grasp.

His fingers curled around them, pressing them into the mattress, his body flush against yours, holding you in place.

The weight of him was suffocating.

This was Satoru.

This was your best friend.

You weren’t supposed to react.

Your body betrayed you. The sharp, shallow rise and fall of your chest, the heat prickling beneath your skin, the helpless, breathless little sounds slipping past your lips—all of it responding to his touch.

Even though you knew this wasn’t right.

Even though you knew this wasn’t love.

Ache.

His hips rolled against yours, slow, drawing a gasp from your throat—not a protest, not a plea, just a sound. That was all the permission he needed. His hand slid up your thigh, pushing your nightgown higher, exposing more of you to him, letting his fingers map out your skin, burning the shape of you into his memory.

"You were gonna leave us," he murmured against your lips, breathless, aching, his voice raw with something you couldn’t name. "You don’t get to do that. Not when we love you so much."

We?

The word barely registered, barely even formed in your head before his lips claimed yours again, hungry, desperate, overwhelming.

Satoru devoured you like you belonged to him.

Like this was his right.

Like he could love you enough to erase everything that came before this.

Like he could rewrite everything.

Like he could keep you.

The abyss inside you howled.

But Satoru didn’t stop. His weight pressed into you, his touch fevered, his lips brushing against your skin between each ragged breath, between each mumbled I love you.

You found it easier to look up.

Easier to focus on the ceiling than on the way his body moved against yours.

Easier to count the little glowing stars above you, the ones you begged Suguru for one night, one, two, three…Easier to slip into numbers than acknowledge the heat sinking deep inside you, curling through your veins, stealing what little control you had left.

Your lashes fluttered. Tears pooled, slipped down your temples, soaked into the pillow.

Satoru felt them.

His lips followed them, kissed them away, his voice breaking between each trembling press of his mouth against your cheek, against your jaw. "You don’t know," he whispered, a soft, pleading murmur. "You don’t know how much we love you."

We.

The word stung, but you didn’t know why. You felt it, somewhere in the thick, dizzying fog of your mind, a wrongness, a fracture.

Not just Satoru. Suguru.

A memory curled at the edges of your mind—not one you wanted, but one that came anyway. Another horror in this dreadful night, you wished for those purple flowers not the red flowers that haunted you. Blooming against the pale blue tile, staining your palms, seeping between your fingers. Their warmth, how they stick to your skin in the unforgiving wake. That warmth inside you twisted and pulled, it wasn’t Satoru’s hands anymore, wasn’t the heat of his body, the stretch and ache of him deep inside you as he whispered I love you against your skin like worship.

Instead, it was Suguru’s hands, hands that had touched you thousands of times before. Gentle hands, hands that treated you like you were meant for devotion, for you were his purity.  A memory forced itself to the surface, unbidden. Suguru, standing behind you, his arms circling your waist, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck as you got ready for bed. A whisper, low, warm, laced with something soft, "You’re beautiful, angel." A gentle careful kiss but you had uttered the words, pushing him away once more, pushing away those red flowers that haunted you. 

"Not tonight, Suguru."

The way his breath caught.

The way his hands stilled for just a second — his lips lingered against your shoulder before he exhaled, slow, measured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"Okay," he had murmured. Like any devoted husband. Like any man who respected the word no. 

But no devoted husband uses electric shock treatment to keep his wife.

The ceiling blurred. The glowing stars bled into one another, bright spots against the dark haze swallowing your thoughts. Satoru’s touch dragged you back to the present, his lips pressing against your cheek, his body molding into yours, his voice muffled against your skin.

You continued to count the stars, this would all be over soon, wouldn’t it? 

One.

Two.

Three.

And let them swallow you whole

Weeks bled into months. Months of learning to exist beneath them. Months of waking in tangled sheets, caged between their bodies, pressed into the heat of their skin, the weight of them a presence. Months of breathing them in, their scent embedding itself into your very cells, threading through your ribs, settling deep inside you like an infection.

Months of becoming—

Becoming the perfect little thing they wanted.

Because that’s what this was all for, wasn’t it?

A family.

One big, happy family. Satoru whispered it against your skin, his lips trailing slow, lazy paths down your throat, his breath warm, saccharine, curling into your bones. He murmured it between kisses, between soft chuckles, between hands that never strayed far, hands that claimed, that took, that demanded. Suguru was gentler, slower, patient in the way a sculptor was patient when chiseling something out of stone. His voice was warm, his touch deliberate as he pressed you into his chest, his arms curling around you like a cage that pretended to be soft. He spoke of love, of devotion, of how hard it was sometimes, of how you had lost your way, how they had simply helped you find it again.

They loved you.

They loved you so much.

You were theirs.

They were yours.

A perfect trinity.

The family you were always meant to have.

Satoru would hum against your skin, tracing the curve of your hip with absentminded fingers, pressing smug, drowsy kisses to your temple as he whispered about how long they had waited for this, how long they had fought for you, how long they had planned for you to be here, with them, forever. Suguru would sigh against your hair, pressing his lips to your forehead, fingers threading through yours, telling you that love is difficult, that sometimes you break apart, that sometimes you lose yourself, but that they had found you again, that they had brought you home.

You wished you could tell them they were wrong.

You wished you could scream it, shatter the illusion they had so carefully wrapped around you, rip it open at the seams and show them—show them that you had never been theirs, that they had stolen you, reshaped you, carved you into something pliable, breakable, compliant.

Instead, you smiled.

Instead, you nodded.

Instead, you whispered soft thanks, spoke gentle words, let yourself melt into them like a perfect little doll. Because that was the role they had given you.

And if you played it long enough.

Maybe.

Just maybe.

You could be free.

But freedom was slow.

Freedom had conditions.

Gold stickers meant you were good, meant you let Suguru kiss you deeply without hesitation. Meant you didn’t flinch when his calloused, thick fingers gripped your chin, tilting your face up, when his lips claimed yours with slow, deliberate intent, when his tongue pushed past your parted lips, sweeping into your mouth, taking. 

Because breathing was a freedom he granted you.

His kiss was slow, practiced, indulgent, meant to be savored, to be felt. His tongue tangled with yours, rolling, curling, teasing, until it became a battle you were never meant to win. Until all you could do was let him have it, let him claim the heat of your mouth, let him drown you in the wet, insistent slide of saliva and submission.

Gold stickers meant you pressed into Satoru’s touch when he pulled you into his lap, when he grabbed at you, hands too big, too possessive, sliding beneath your sweet frilly dresses like they belonged there. Meant you let his fingers explore, tease, stroke, meant you didn’t tense when they skimmed along your thighs, when they traced the soft curve of your waist, when they inched higher, higher, a slow ascent meant to make you tremble. Meant you didn’t fight when he leaned in, breath warm, voice sticky sweet, whispering how perfect you were.

How much he loved you.

How he wanted all of you, always.

Because Satoru loved you, didn’t he?

Suguru cherished you, didn’t he?

And good girls. Good girls got gold stickers. Gold stickers meant you let them have you.

Together.

Gold stickers meant you didn’t cry, didn’t tremble, didn’t fight when they showed you what it meant to be theirs.

They called it making love. When they claimed you, when they took turns molding you, reshaping you, guiding your body into what they wanted it to be. When Satoru would hum small tuts of don’t bite, don’t cry as you struggled to take him, as his grip tightened just enough to remind you that breath was a privilege he could take away, each time he shoved his length down your throat that refused to take the full length. When Suguru’s voice was patient, coaxing, as he filled you, his thick cock filling your entirety, as he waited for your body to surrender, to accept, to welcome. When they weren’t feeling so generous, when they both took you at once, you found comfort in counting the stars on the ceiling. 

One, two, three, four. 

A methodical ritual, a place to go when there was nowhere else to escape to, a set of bright constellations to disappear into until your body was no longer your own. Until the weight of them left you aching, until Suguru pressed a small, bitter pill to your lips. Not the soft, fuzzy ones. Not the ones that made everything feel distant, hazy, almost bearable.

No.

This one was different - ensured you would always be theirs.

Forever.

You didn’t call it making love. You refused to give it a name. Names have meaning because calling it something makes it real. 

And you had already learned that fighting back only earned red stickers.

Suguru would sigh, take your chin in his hand, tilt your face up, his thumb smoothing over your lips as he murmured, “You’re not trying hard enough, angel.” Sinking himself further into you as you wailed that this was too much, however, words still refused to leave your lips when they gave you the fuzzy pill.  Satoru would smile—too easy, too light—before pressing you down, before kissing you so deeply you couldn’t breathe, before whispering, “We love you, princess. Let us show you.”

Suguru’s hands would hold you still.

Satoru’s lips would silence your words.

And you would let them.

Because fighting meant nothing.

Because the times you fought were worse.

You had already learned that fighting back only earned red stickers.

And red stickers weren’t just reprimands.

They were punishments.

Punishments that stripped you down, peeled you apart layer by layer, until you no longer knew where the pain ended and where you began.

Because love is difficult, isn’t it?

That’s what Suguru always told you. Love took patience, love took sacrifice, love took understanding. You had lost yourself for a little while, but they found you again.

And love was about keeping what belonged to you.

Red stickers meant the dark.

Suguru never yelled. He never needed to. He didn’t believe in harsh words, didn’t believe in cruelty, only correction.

"You just need time to think, angel," he would say, voice so warm, so understanding, as he shut the door. And you would sit in the darkness, alone, the air around you thick, pressing, suffocating, your own heartbeat the only sound in the void. You would listen to it, the heavy thump, thump, thump of it against your ribs, a reminder that you were here, that time still moved, even if you couldn’t see it.

But hours could stretch into eternities in the dark.

Your mind would start playing tricks on you.

You would hear the floor creak even when no one was there.

You would see things—shadows shifting in the corners of your vision, shapes that moved just when you blinked. The wallsm breathing, growing, closing in. You would scratch at your arms just to feel something real, press your nails into your palms, try to hold onto yourself. But eventually, the dark would become your only companion. And when the door finally opened, spilling in the golden glow of the hallway, illuminating Suguru’s familiar, patient face, you would thank him. You would cry into his chest as he murmured soft reassurances, stroked your hair, shushed you like a parent soothing a child, whispering, “It’s okay, angel. You’re home now.”

Red stickers meant silence.

You were allowed to speak—until you weren’t, or at least the words you were able to speak despite all the speech therapy that Satoru engages in with you. Giving you a gold star for every time you mention the words I love you.

Suguru would take away your voice.

Satoru would take away your body.

And both of them, together, would take away your mind.

Suguru believed words had weight. And your words needed to be earned.

"You talk too much sometimes, angel," he would murmur, cupping your cheek, thumb smoothing over your lips in a way that almost felt loving. "I think it’s best if you take some time to listen instead."

And then, the silence would begin.

For hours.

For days.

No one would speak to you. Not when you greeted them in the morning, not when you reached for them in the kitchen, not when you curled into Satoru’s lap at night, searching for warmth, for comfort, for something. You would try to apologize, try to whisper, try to fix whatever you did wrong—but silence was the only thing that answered you.

The absence of their voices would drive you mad.

Because they were the only voices you had left.

And you wouldn’t even realize it until you were begging for them to speak to you. Until you were crying, pleading, promising you’d be better, that you’d be good, that you wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Until Suguru finally sighed, finally smiled, finally opened his arms for you to crawl into.

"See? I knew you’d understand."

And you would nod.

And you would thank him.

Because you had learned.

Because love had to be felt.

Red stickers meant pain.

But not pain in the ways you expected. Not bruises or broken skin. No, that would be too easy. Suguru didn’t believe in hurting you. Satoru didn’t believe in making you suffer.

"We would never, ever hurt you, princess," Satoru would murmur, pressing feather-light kisses to your knuckles.

"We love you too much for that," Suguru would promise, smoothing your hair, lips against your temple.

Instead— they let you hurt yourself.

The isolation and silence. The punishments were made to be felt—so that you would be so grateful when they stopped.

So that when Suguru finally pulled you into his arms, when Satoru finally buried his fingers into your hair, when their voices finally filled the quiet, you would cling to them.

You would melt into them. You would thank them for loving you enough to teach you the right way to love them back.

Because red stickers weren’t punishments.

Not really. They were lessons. They were reconstruction.

They were breaking you down and putting you back together.

Until there was nothing left to fix. Until you weren’t just theirs. Until you were nothing else— nothing but the howling abyss that had consumed you, devoured you, and made a home inside your ribs where love was supposed to be. You had been reshaped, rewritten, reduced to something that fit neatly into their hands. A perfect little thing. A cherished possession. A beloved doll. And yet—beneath it all, beneath the softness, the compliance, the pretty, painted-over ruin.

Something inside you still whispered.

Something inside you still knew.

You were not whole. You were not safe. You were not theirs.

But maybe that was the cruelest part. Maybe you had never been yours, either. Maybe you had always belonged to something else. Something lurking in the shadows of your mind. Something clawing beneath your skin. Maybe it had always been waiting, for the right moment. Waiting for them to break you just enough that you no longer cared about surviving.

Because that’s how madness works, isn’t it? It doesn’t come all at once. It seeps in like a slow drip. It whispers before it howls. It curls around your ribs, waiting, waiting, waiting—until you went insane.

Or maybe you had always been insane.

Maybe it had never been a matter of breaking. Maybe it had only been a matter of time.

It was poetic, really.

The game had always been theirs, Suguru with his patience, Satoru with his affection. Two halves of the same vice, pressing, tightening, shaping you into something that belonged to them.

And yet—they never expected you to playback. Never expected that after all these months, all this time, after all the gold stickers and red stickers and quiet, compliant submission—you would take something from them.

They thought they had won.

They thought you had finally learned to love them.

Because you had let them in.

Because you had stopped fighting.

Because you had smiled.

And maybe that was the cruelest part.

You had smiled.

You had whispered, I love you too.

You had given them everything, just long enough to make them believe it. Because love was trust, wasn’t it? And they trusted you. They trusted you enough to leave you alone. To step out into the world believing you would wait for them, believing you would always be right where they left you, believing that you had finally accepted what they had been trying to give you all along.

That you had accepted them.

Accepted their love.

Their home.

Their family.

But love had never been a choice for you.

And now, it wasn’t a choice for them either.

When the door creaked open, when Suguru stepped inside first, smiling, slipping off his coat, Satoru trailing behind him, laughing at some joke that no longer mattered, It took only seconds for them to see it. The pill cabinet was half-open. The empty bottles were carelessly discarded. And then - you. Sitting there, waiting, smiling. Like you always did. Like a perfect little doll. But your skin was too pale, your eyes, too bright, too fevered, too glassy.

The first stumble. Your body swayed, the room tilting on an unseen axis, the distant, detached feeling of your limbs no longer being yours, your stomach turning inside out, nausea curling in waves.

Suguru’s smile faltered.

Satoru’s laughter died.

And when Suguru’s sharp eyes narrowed, when he took one step forward—you laughed. High. Light. Almost musical.

Suguru froze.

Satoru stilled.

Like a moment caught in time, stretched too thin, seconds passing that felt like centuries. Then, realization. The widening of Suguru’s pupils, the way his breath hitched, the way his hand shot out to steady you, to touch you, as if that could stop what was happening.

As if he could still save you.

As if he had ever saved you.

And Satoru—well. Satoru looked like he had been shot. His lips parted, no breath, no sound, body locked into place, unblinking, unbreathing, his hands twitching, fingers flexing like he didn’t know what to do with them. As if his mind was refusing to understand what his eyes were seeing, because this wasn’t supposed to happen.

You were theirs.

You were supposed to be safe.

"No," Suguru murmured, and for the first time in your life, his voice was something other than that calm vice.

And for the first time since you have been met with Suguru—you felt powerful. A tilt of your head, lips stretching wider into something not quite a smile, not quite anything at all.

"I hope in another timeline, I never meet either of you." The words tumbled out easy like they had been waiting to escape for months since they did this to you. Words you had to practice in a mirror. Words that shouldn't have taken so much effort but all the drugs and treatments they put you on...had ruined who you really are.

Suguru’s grip tightened around your arms, his nails digging in too hard as if he could keep you here, keep you alive, keep you his. Satoru still hadn’t moved. His breath was shallow, his eyes darting everywhere—the empty bottles, the pale of your skin, the sweat glistening along your forehead.

The first cough.

And with it, the first bloom of red, something your mind changed to flowers but you knew what this truly was. The way the petals splattered against your palm, hot and thick, dripping between your fingers, staining your lips. Satoru jerked forward, his hands shaking as he reached for you, so, so gently, like he was afraid to break you even more.

But you were already breaking.

You had already broken.

The second cough came harder.

Then the third.

And suddenly, the room was shaking, or maybe it was you that was shaking, or maybe it was them, or maybe it was everything falling apart all at once.

Suguru was begging now. "No, no, no, angel, look at me - don’t do this, don’t fucking do this." Those large warm hands you once loved were cradling your face, cupping your cheeks, trying to hold you together even as more red spilled from your lips, and dripped onto his fingers, onto his wrists.

And Satoru was fumbling through his phone for 911, an ambulance, two doctors who were beyond saving their beloved patient now. However, you had never seen him quite like this, never seen his chest rise and fall in uneven, erratic bursts, never seen his fingers tremble, never seen his lips shake around a choked, gasping “Princess, please.”

Please?

Like you owed him something.

Like you owed them anything.

"This isn’t love." The words gurgled up past the wet heat in your throat, burning, raw, torn from somewhere deep inside you that they had never been able to touch. "You never loved me."

Maybe that was what broke them.

Not the blood.

Not the pale blue of your skin.

Not the way your body sagged against Suguru’s chest as you slipped further, further away.

But that.

That you had never believed them.

That even in their twisted devotion, their patience, their desperate, all-consuming love—you had never truly been theirs.

Even after everything.

Even now.

Suguru let out a sound, something strangled, something inhuman, as he pressed his forehead against yours, as he rocked you, shook you, pleaded with you, his words breaking apart before they could even form.

Satoru just kept whispering your name as he waited for the ambulance to arrive. Over and over and over. Like if he said it enough, maybe you would answer him. Like if he said it enough, maybe you would stay.

Like if he said it enough, maybe this wouldn’t be real. It was though, this was a fact. The same fact that they did this to you, drove you this far into the abyss letting that monster finally be released to pay them the dues they so much deserved. And as the darkness finally took you, as your body finally gave in, as the last shreds of yourself finally slipped through their fingers—you smiled. For the first time in this life, you had finally broken through the haze.

You had won.

[bumblesimagines]

Burning Love

Request: Yes or No

Summary: As the eldest son and heir to the Iron Throne, Prince (Y/N) Targaryen has many responsibilities; most of which his darling sister hopes to share with him one day.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

TW/CW: Targcest/Incest (Full-blooded Brother-Sister), Aemma lives!! and Alicent is not a childbride, mentions of stillbirths and miscarriages (Aemma's pregnancies)

Collecting HOTD oneshots like pokemon cards at this point

~~~

It was known that Targaryens had... questionable traditions. Traditions those with outsider perspective could only force themself to understand.

There was the act of putting a dragon egg in the cradle of a babe and hoping the egg would hatch sometime soon after to ensure the babe was bonded to a loyal protector they'd grow up alongside of; a tradition started by Rhaena Targaryen, eldest daughter of King Aenys I and Queen Alyssa Velaryon. Targaryens were Dragonriders, bonded with the very beasts they used to conquer the lands and pull them all into one kingdom (with the exception of Dorne, of course). They cremated their dead, a custom from Old Valyria, often with the help of a dragon belonging to their closest kin. 

And of course, the most infamous and often looked down upon custom, wedding kin to kin. Another custom from Old Valyria that many followers of the Seven turned their cheek upon, for they found the act of wedding siblings to siblings and so forth (apart from cousin to cousin) a sin. Faithful followers could voice their complaints as much as they wished, but Targaryens were kings, queens, princes, and princesses. Nobody could or would stop them from keeping their bloodline pure if they so wished. 

Descending from a long, historic, and proud family, Rhaenyra grew up listening and learning the tales of those who'd come before her. Aegon the Conquer and his faithful sister-wives, Rhaenys and Visenya; the many rebellions and fighting brought on during the lives of King Aenys I and King Maegor the Cruel; The Old King Jaehaerys who'd chosen her father, Viserys, as heir over his own late heir's daughter, Rhaenys; and of course, the histories written during the early stages of her father's reign. 

Her beloved older brother had been two when King Jaehaerys named their father heir and three when their father ascended the throne whilst their beautiful mother, Aemma Arryn, carried her in the womb. The fourth person to ever hold little Rhaenyra in their arms had been her brother, closely supervised by their parents and the maester attending the birth, of course. With a healthy son and daughter, Viserys and Aemma hardly needed for more children, but they tried anyway. Their attempts never carried to term, however, and any little ones that did were either stillborn or died mere hours or days after birth. 

Still, Rhaenyra never needed for any more siblings. Her brother was enough, in her humble opinion. He cared for her diligently, especially during their younger years when he eagerly wished to play with her, even if it meant the two of them being gently scolded at the end of the day for dirting Rhaenyra's dresses with mud and dirt. (Y/N) treated her as his equal, even showing her how to use a wooden sword when he began his training and helping prepare her for dragon-riding on Syrax. His own mount hardly needed much training in the Dragonpit, for the mighty Vermithor's first rider had been the Old King.

As time passed, the siblings were forced apart more often than Rhaenyra enjoyed. She'd made up her mind long ago that she and (Y/N) would one day be wed, and she'd be his formidable sister-wife. Their parents merely chuckled about it when she'd first told them at the age of seven, her squeaky voice and flushed cheeks only drawing cooing from Aemma and sweet smiles from Viserys. The absence of her brother had been stark, his time taken up by training, studying, and spending time with the Small Council, but Alicent Hightower had quickly taken his spot as Rhaenyra's companion. 

However, in due time, (Y/N) became man-grown, and while Rhaenyra quickly followed with her flowering, as heir and prince, (Y/N) became the most eligible bachelor in all of Westeros. It took time for it to become apparent to Rhaenyra but her eyes and ears opened when she heard their parents speaking of it. Many families, highborn and lowborn, offered their daughters through letters or visits to Kings Landing. Lannisters, Baratheons, Starks, Brackens, Blackwoods, Tullys, and plenty more came forth. Even Otto Hightower made a passing comment about wedding Alicent to him. It was infuriating.

"In truth, I do not understand your irritation, Rhaenyra," Alicent spoke gently, her slender fingers working on embroidery. A flower she'd seen in the gardens, or something along those lines. Rhaenyra hadn't truly been paying attention to her dear friend. She'd been too focused on silently fuming at the sight of her brother showing one of the highborn ladies around the Red Keep. Every giggle, every blush, every bat of her eyelashes made Rhaenyra tick. "It's wonderful to watch one's brother fall in love."

"You wouldn't understand, Alicent." Rhaenyra sighed. "It is like the love King Jaeherys and the Good Queen Alysanne had."

Alicent faltered at her words, her head lifting to eye her friend with a small grimace. "You do remember our lessons, correct? King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne had to wed in secret, for they knew that not even their mother approved in fear of another uprising from the Faith. Nobody has made a fuss over your parents since they are cousins, but who knows what may happen if you wed (Y/N)."

"(Y/N) is everything King Jaehaerys was, Alicent. He is beloved by the Realm." Rhaenyra reminded her friend with a small smile, pushing herself off the cushioned seats and smoothing her hands over the front of her dress. Her earrings swung slightly when she tilted her head slightly to the side, the ends of them brushing against her shoulders. Her eyes tracked (Y/N) as he lifted the lady's hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles before departing. "He will be a good king, and if I could prove it, I would be a good queen. His queen." Her feet began moving automatically. 

"Rhaenyra," The name tumbled out of Alicent's mouth, her hands fumbling with the items in hand. "Where are you going?"

Bunching up the skirt of her dress in her hands, Rhaenyra grinned over her shoulder and chuckled at the concerned look on Alicent's features that only grew at the sight of her mischievous glint. "To speak with my brother!" 

With a goal in mind, Rhaenyra entered the castle and followed the distant figure of her brother as he cut down hallways with long strides until he reached his bedchambers. Rhaenyra took a moment to herself to catch her breath and rake her fingers through her long silver locks before she approached the doors and nodded for the guards to open them. She stepped inside, a smile appearing across her lips when (Y/N) turned to look at her. 

"My favorite sister," (Y/N) cooed, taking a seat at his desk and unrolling a letter. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes in return, clasping her hands together behind her back and taking small steps toward him. He skimmed the contents of the letter, his face giving away nothing of what it spoke of. "Is there something you require, Nyra, or are you suffering from boredom? I have plenty of lords and ladies who'd be happy to keep you busy." 

Rhaenyra scoffed quietly and (Y/N) gave a small grin. "I hear Father is urging you to find a wife."

"The Small Council is urging him to urge me, more like. They believe it is time to begin having children. Seeing as Father and Mother had great difficulty, they wish for me to have an heir by the time I ascend the throne to ensure there won't be issues later on." (Y/N) explained, coiling the letter back up and pulling out a blank paper. He dipped his quill in ink and began writing. "Otto has been... more friendly as of recently. He speaks incredibly highly of Lady Alicent." 

"You'd tell me if you were interested in someone, wouldn't you?" Rhaenyra reached over the desk to pluck the quill from his fingers, setting it aside and raising her brows at him. (Y/N) slumped back in his seat and laced his fingers over his midsection, a hint of amusement twinkling in his eyes. Rhaenyra rounded the table and without thinking twice, she plopped down on his thigh. 

"Nyra,"

"You know as well as I do who you should wed, (Y/N). I know what a good queen should be, and I do not care about status or riches like the families of those ladies do. We have the blood of the dragon in our veins. Nobody would truly understand us." Rhaenyra spoke softly, her bottom lip slightly jutting out as she placed her palm over his cheek. His own hands unlaced, one moving to press against her back. 

"The Small Council-"

"Fuck the Small Council." Rhaenyra huffed, earning a quiet chuckle from her brother. "You are the prince, the heir. Whatever it is you choose, they must deal with it. It is their job to counsel, to offer their advice and opinions, not to dictate what you do. We could mount Syrax and Vermithor and fly elsewhere to wed in the customs of Old Valyria." 

A gentle sigh escaped (Y/N), and he leaned forward to press a delicate kiss to Rhaenyra's shoulder. The princess relaxed at the action, her hand moving past his cheek to the back of his head. (Y/N)'s lips curled up. "You are insufferable." He told her with a gentle laugh before leaning in to press their mouths together. He drew back too quickly for Rhaenyra's liking. "But a good ruler is a patient one, Nyra. If you wish for us to wed, or to lay together-" He brushed their lips together teasingly. "-you must wait. Father and Mother will be easy to convince." 

"Does it matter if we wait?" Rhaenyra tilted her head and batted her lashes coyly, the feigned innocence prompting (Y/N) to roll his eyes. She rose from his lap and dropped her hands to his, tugging on them until he stood up from the chair. She smiled widely, devilishly even, and slung her arms around his shoulders. "We will be wed, regardless. It will not matter." 

"I have things I must do, Nyra." (Y/N) gave a heavy sigh and shrugged his shoulders, his hands coming to rest on her waist. "As I said, you must be patient. If you wish to speed things along, you should speak with Mother. She'll always be the key to winning Father over." He told her and planted a kiss on her temple before settling back down on the chair. 

"Will we be like that someday?" Rhaenyra asked softly, stepping out of the way so he could resume his letter. She toyed with the rings along her fingers, the thought of becoming one of those couples who genuinely cared for each other bringing a smile to herself. It was a desire all ladies had. While sons could marry whichever woman of age they desired, ladies had to hope the husbands their fathers or elder brothers chose were good men. She'd seen far too many times the faces of girls her age married and chained to men old enough to be their grandfathers. 

(Y/N) paused his writing and lifted his head to look at her, offering a reassuring smile. "Someday." He nodded. 

"I look forward to it, then."

[lyjen]

I'm Sorry | Eddie Diaz

Summary: Eddie and (Y/n) are bringing one of the hurt prisoners to the hospital, but end up being held hostage. After a stupid move from (Y/n), she get’s hurt, revealing something she didn’t know she had, until it’s too late.

Feel free to send in a request in my “Ask me a question 👀” section!

TW: Miscarriage & hostage situation

9-1-1 Masterlist

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

A groan left (Y/n)’s lips as Eddie ripped open the curtains that were hiding the sunlight just a second ago. But the sunlight hit (Y/n)’s face as soon as they opened, making her groan at the painful feeling of the light on the inside of the room suddenly going from dark to light again.

(Y/n) grabbed the sheet with both her hands and threw it over her head, blocking the light with it. Eddie grabbed his watch from the nightstand and put it around his wrist. He had been here for a solid two minutes, hoping she’d sense his presence and at least grunt in acknowledgment.Then he let out a small laugh at the sight of (Y/n) covering her entire body underneath the sheet. “Alright, Sleeping Beauty, time to get up.”

“Leave me be, I’m so tired” she mumbled from underneath. Eddie rubbed a hand over his chin, at times like these, it was a reminder that she really was a Buckley. And she was definitely Buck’s twin sister. They had the same traits. But looking at her in this exact moment, felt like he was in Buck's loft again, telling him to get out of bed and out of the house after that fire truck incident.

Except, this time it was (Y/n), Eddie’s girlfriend, who didn’t have her leg crushed by a firetruck and was still recovering. This was just another day.

He had been here for a solid two minutes now, hoping she’d at least grunt in annoyance and realize that she had to get out of the bed. He paused for a moment and let out a sigh. Then he yanked the sheets off in one smooth motion, revealing (Y/n) sprawled out like a starfish, her face half-buried in the pillow.

(Y/n) made a sound that could only be described as a dying walrus. Without missing a beat, she reached out blindly, grabbed the edge of the blanket, and yanked it back over herself.

Another sigh left Eddie’s mouth. “You’re really gonna make me do this?” Eddie asked, his voice full of amused disbelief. She gave him a thumbs-up from beneath the covers. She had slept for thirty minutes this entire night, while her boyfriend got a full nightrest.

Eddie sighed. Then, without warning, he grabbed the blanket again, pulling it off with more force. (Y/n) curled up in a ball, trying to save some of the heat she had earned from the sheets and let out a dramatic groan. “Eddie, no.”

“Yes,” he countered. “We have a shift today, remember?” he said, letting the sheets fall down onto the ground.

“No.”

“Yes.”

(Y/n) peeked out from under her arm, her face half-squished against the pillow. “Tell Bobby I died in my sleep. I can’t come in today. It’s tragic.” she tried to convince him as she pressed her arm tighter before her eyes so it would keep the sunlight from hitting her eyes.

Eddie snorted as he walked towards his night stand and took his phone off the charger. “Pretty sure if you died, Buck would’ve called me first to make sure I didn’t have anything to do with it.” he answered, as he pushed the phone into his pocket.

She groaned louder and flopped onto her back, eyes barely open. “I only slept for thirty minutes.” she claimed, as she slowly tried to let her eyes adjust to the sunlight.

“And whose fault is that?” Eddie asked, hands on his hips.

“I don’t know, the moon? Society? The cruel hand of fate?” she answered, while she tried to open her eyes now.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I don’t care. What I do care about is the fact that we have to leave in…” He glanced at his watch. “Twenty minutes.”

She let out another exhausted groan, making his expression soften just a little as he leaned over and gave her ankle a squeeze. “C’mon, babe. I know you’re exhausted, but we have to go.”

(Y/n) let out a long-suffering sigh but finally swung her legs off the bed and sat up. Her entire body protested the movement. It felt like she had been hit by a truck, maybe twice, then thrown in reverse for good measure.

Eddie, who was watching her struggle, smirked. “There we go. That wasn’t so hard.” he said, as he leaned against the doorframe with his right side.

She sent him a halfhearted glare. “I hope your pillow is cold on both sides forever.”

He just chuckled, pushed himself off the doorframe and turned on his heels to make his way towards the kitchen. “We’re leaving in nineteen minutes. Don’t fall back asleep in the bathroom.” he called out as he walked out of the bedroom.

She might’ve cursed him under her breath as he left, but she was too tired to follow through.

Dragging herself to the bathroom, she barely mustered the energy to look in the mirror. The moment she did, she groaned.

“Oh, great. I’m looking like a total corpse,” she muttered, inspecting the dark circles under her eyes. She turned on the sink, splashing cold water on her face in a weak attempt to look less like a reanimated zombie.

The next fifteen minutes were kind of a blur of getting dressed, brushing her teeth, and making herself somewhat presentable. She was still dead inside, but at least she wasn’t wearing pajamas anymore.

By the time she trudged into the kitchen, Eddie was already there, sipping his coffee. Without a word, he slid a to go cup filled with coffee across the counter toward her.

(Y/N) blinked at it. Then at him. Then back at the cup.

“This is a trap,” she mumbled and pointed at it. Eddie smirked. “Just drink it.”

Too tired to argue, she picked it up and took a sip, letting the warmth momentarily revive her soul. She was mid-sip when Eddie stepped closer and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

She sighed, leaning into him for a second. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” she told Eddie.

“I know.”

Before she could respond, a voice called out from the hallway.

“Dad, (Y/n)! We need to go!” Christopher’s voice rang through the house, full of the energy that (Y/n) deeply craved.

Eddie glanced toward the hall, then back at her. “That’s our cue.”

(Y/N) groaned one last time but let him guide her toward the door, coffee in hand.

It was way too early for this.

______

“You got him?” (Y/n) asked as she slowly handed the wounded prisoner over to Eddie while she opened the back doors of the ambulance. (Y/n) got the gurney out and the both of them helped the unconscious man onto the gurney. 

Eddie was putting on gloves, ready to access the man as (Y/n) placed the gurney into the railing and in the lock so it wouldn’t move as they’d drive. “You guys our escort?” Eddie asked as two men were standing at the back of the ambulance.

“Yes, sir. Let’s get moving” he said. (Y/n) hopped out the back and let one of the guards get in the vehicle as she closed the back doors and got behind the wheel. 

Eddie was the paramedic of the two of them, sure (Y/n) knew some basics, but the victim needed someone who was more advanced. 

The silence in the entire ambulance was interrupted by the radio as (Y/n) made a turn on the road ahead of her. “Ambulance one eighteen come in” the sound of their captain filled the space. “(Y/n), Eddie, come in” Bobby’s voice spoke again, why did he need an immediate answer? 

(Y/n) reached her hand out for the radio, but as soon as she made that motion, the guard next to her moved. She glanced to her right, only to see the guard pointing the gun at her as he shook his head. 

“(Y/n), Eddie if you can hear me return to the prison. Come-” A click sounded. The guard turned off the radio.

(Y/n)’s eyes wandered back to the road, as she tightened her fingers around the steering wheel, making her knuckles turn white. “Kill the lights and sirens” the guard in the passenger seat commanded. 

With her eyes glued down to the road, she did what he asked. Making Eddie flinch at the suddenly turned off sirens. He was holding a small light in his right hand as he tried to see the pupil's response to the light. But the sirens getting turned off caught him off guard. What the hell was happening? 

“What the hell?” he mumbled under his breath. He could feel eyes burning onto his skin, when he looked at the guard again: he was at gunpoint. 

He clenches his jaw, his eyes narrowing as he let sink in what was happening. Was (Y/n) also being held at gunpoint as she was driving the ambulance? Was that the reason the sirens and lights were turned off? 

“Pull over.” The guard in the passenger seat commanded as he pointed to a space big enough to stop on the side of the road. (Y/n) did what he asked, putting the vehicle in park as the guard told her to get out of the ambulance. 

She could feel her heart beating in her throat as she watched Eddie, also being at gunpoint, walking to the back of the ambulance, waiting for what was next. (Y/n) slowly made her way towards her boyfriend, making sure she wasn’t making any sudden movements. 

His eyes were locked onto (Y/n), making sure she was also being led the same direction. His eyes met hers, filled with anxiety. 

(Y/n) felt a hand roughly pushing her in her back towards Eddie, “Hey!-” Eddie moved slightly, but the second he made the small move towards (Y/n), the other guard told him to get back as he threatened him with his gun. She received another push in her back, purely to mess with Eddie’s mind. 

When she was finally standing next to Eddie, the guard who was in the back earlier with Eddie shrugged off his jacket. “Check ‘em” he commanded his partner, who nodded at his words. 

Eddie could sense the anxiety this moment was giving (Y/n). He hated that he couldn’t reach out to her, give her any sign of comfort, it would only give the two prisoners more stuff to work with if they knew whatever was going on between the two of them. 

As Eddie and (Y/n) stand in line, waiting their turn to be checked, Eddie keeps his expression neutral, though his fists clench slightly at his sides. (Y/n) stands still, keeping her expression unreadable as the so-called "guard" steps in front of her. Eddie watches from just a few feet away, his fists clenched so tightly his nails dig into his palms. He can't do anything, that would only bring the two of them more problems.

The guard's eyes drag over (Y/n), slow and deliberate. A smirk tugs at his lips. He was clearly enjoying this.

"Well, what do we have here?" he mutters, stepping closer. His hands pat her down, lingering longer than necessary. He checks her pockets, brushing against her unnecessarily as he does. "Didn’t expect to find someone like you in all this mess. You scared, sweetheart?"

(Y/n) doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react. Al though she could feel her heart beating faster by every finger he laid on her body. She refuses to give him the satisfaction. Instead, she meets his gaze with cool indifference, as if he’s nothing.

Her silence seems to annoy him. He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. "Nothing to say? Playing tough, huh? I like that." he said as he grabbed her radio and tossed it to the side of the road.

Eddie’s jaw tightens. His entire body is rigid, his heart pounding. He forces himself to stay still, but every muscle screams at him to step in, to stop this.

The guard huffs when (Y/n) doesn’t respond and finally moves away, rolling his eyes. "No fun," he mutters, stepping toward Eddie.

Eddie barely holds himself back as the guy pats him down, but his focus stays on (Y/n). When their eyes meet, she gives him the smallest nod. I’m fine.

For now.

Eddie exhales slowly, forcing himself to stay calm. But deep down, his anger is simmering. If they make it out of this, he’s not forgetting what just happened. And if he gets the chance? That guard is going to regret ever laying a hand on her. 

“Okay, so you broke out. What now?” he asked, as he looked at the other guard who was still pointing the gun towards the two of them. He just looked at Eddie like he was a ghost. “Patient in there is currently fighting for every breath. That your handiwork?” he continued as he motioned his head towards him, as the other guy tossed Eddie's radio to the side of the road and fished out his wallet and phone from his pocket. 

Then he went back to (Y/n) to get out her phone and wallet too. But this time without any comments or looks. When he got both of their personal stuff, he waved them around as if it was a prize he had just won at a funfair, and he walked back to the ambulance.

No comment, the both of them weren’t planning on telling them what they were about to do. (Y/n) leaned a little closer to Eddie, “So, what do we do?” she asked him softly as the both of them watched the “guards” going through their personal items, they were watching them like a hawk. “Don’t know yet.” Eddie answered. Eddie and (Y/n) exchange a tense look, their voices hushed.

“Maybe they just want the ambulance?” (Y/n) mumbled. Eddie shakes his head. “Why would they search us if they’re just gonna leave us behind? There’s two of us, there’s two of them. There’s two-” Eddie frowned as his mind was working. 

“Cute kid,” the guard interrupts, holding up a picture of Christopher from Eddie’s wallet. The guard smirks. “Yours?”

Eddie’s jaw tightens, his entire body stiffening. The guard flips through Eddie’s ID, his smirk deepening. “I’m guessing he lives with you at 4995 South Bedford Street?”

A cold dread settles in Eddie’s chest. They know where Christopher is. His mind races, calculating, planning. He needs to get out of here. Fast. But before he can react, (Y/n) moves.

“Don’t you dare-” she snaps, taking a step forward, her protective instincts overriding all logic. She doesn’t even realize how close she’s gotten until it’s too late.

The guard reacts instantly, his face twisting in amusement as he swings his gun hard. The butt of the weapon slams into her stomach, knocking the air from her lungs.

(Y/n) gasps, a sharp, choked sound of pain ripping from her throat. Her hands fly to her abdomen as she doubles over, her knees nearly buckling beneath her.

“(Y/n)!” Eddie called out her name, trying to step forward, but the second guard shoves him back, raising his gun in warning.

(Y/n) struggles to straighten, her breath shaky, pain radiating deep in her stomach. Something about it feels wrong, but she pushes it aside, swallowing hard. Now is not the time.

The guard who hit her chuckles. “Damn, you’re a feisty one,” he mutters, shaking his head as if she amuses him.

Eddie’s hands clenched into fists, his entire body trembling with rage. His first instinct is to fight, but he knows he can’t at least not yet. Not while they’re still outnumbered, still vulnerable and at gunpoint.

His eyes flick to (Y/n), and she meets his gaze. There’s pain there, something unreadable behind it, but she doesn’t say a word.

“Okay, so now that we’re all on the same page, here’s what’s gonna happen next.” the other guard said. 

Eddie and (Y/n) stay silent, but tension crackles in the air. (Y/n) is still gripping her stomach, the dull ache spreading, but she forces herself to stay upright, to not show weakness. Eddie’s eyes flick to her, concern flashing in them for half a second before he masks it.

The guard gestures toward the ambulance. “One of us is gonna drive. The other is gonna keep you two company in the back. And before either of you get any bright ideas…” he lifts his gun, aiming it right at Eddie’s chest, “Just remember what I’ve got right here. And that I won’t hesitate to use it.”

Eddie grits his teeth, but he doesn’t react otherwise. 

The second guard, the one who hit (Y/n), chuckles and slaps a hand against the side of the ambulance. “Let’s go. We’re wasting time.”

The first guard motioned with his head and gun toward the vehicle, silently ordering them inside. Eddie and (Y/n) exchange a quick glance before reluctantly climbing into the back of the ambulance. The interior smells like disinfectant and rubber, the usual controlled chaos of a paramedic rig. But right now, it feels like a cage.

The engine rumbles to life, the ambulance lurching forward as the guard takes the wheel. Eddie and (Y/n) are stuck in the back with the other one, still being held at gunpoint.

The guard smirks, tapping his gun against Eddie’s thigh as he watches the both of them. “Alright, firefighter. You’re gonna cuff your girl to something. Can’t have both of you moving around, now can we?” He tosses a zip tie towards Eddie.

Eddie catches it but doesn’t move right away. His mind is working, calculating. Just then, a gurgling sound fills the space, followed by a choking, wet cough. The patient strapped to the gurney, the one they had been transporting before all this started, starts choking on his own blood.

Eddie’s attention snaps to him instantly. Damn it. “We need to suction him, now,” Eddie says urgently, turning to the guard. “I need her to assist me, to hand me the tools, and hold things in place. I can’t do it alone.”

The guard tilts his head, considering for a moment before shrugging. “She can do it with one hand.” Eddie clenches his jaw, as he looks at the guard.  “That’s not-” 

When Eddie looks back at his girl, (Y/n) subtly shakes her head, a silent warning. Just do it.

Eddie hesitates, his frustration clear, but he finally nods and fastens the zip tie around (Y/n)’s wrist, securing her to the rail beside her. His grip lingers for a second, his fingers brushing against hers. Sending her a silent message. I’m sorry.

She gives him a small nod, biting down the pain still radiating in her stomach. She could pull through. 

Eddie wastes no more time, immediately reaching for the suction equipment. “(Y/n), hand me the tubing,” he instructs.

Despite only having one free hand, (Y/n) moves fast, grabbing the tubing and passing it to Eddie while he preps the machine. The patient’s breathing is ragged, and time is running out.

Eddie works quickly, carefully suctioning the blood from the man’s airway. (Y/n) assists however she can, steadying things despite the restriction.

The guard watches with amusement. “Look at that,” he muses. “You two make a great team.”

Neither of them responds.

(Y/n) focuses on the task at hand, ignoring the persistent ache in her stomach. But something feels off, the pain is getting sharper, deeper. She pushes through it, keeping her face neutral.

Eddie glances at her briefly, noticing the way she stiffens every so often. He doesn’t have time to ask, he can’t risk drawing attention to it, but worry lingers in the back of his mind.

“Just make sure he doesn’t die in here.” the guard said. 

“Suddenly you care about the guy you almost beat to death?” (Y/n) practically shot back at him, while Eddie put the suction away and used the laryngoscope. 

“Hey, if I wanted this guy dead, he’d be dead. I kept him alive. Now you do the same.” he answered as he switched pointing the gun at (Y/n) and back at Eddie. (Y/n) just stared into the space, trying to focus on something else but the pain in her stomach and the fact that they were still being held at gunpoint, while she waited for instructions from Eddie. 

“(Y/n) hand me the bougie, long blue tube in the cabinet.” 

“Almost there, Mitch.” The guy behind the wheel said as (Y/n) handed Eddie the bougie. Eddie bent over as he tubed the victim, giving (Y/n) a clear view of the front. She read the sign. Emergency. 

What the hell were they planning on doing? 

The ambulance screeches to a stop outside the hospital, the red and white lights flashing against the darkened sky.

Mitchell shifts in his seat, tapping the barrel of his gun against his knee as he looks toward Dom who opens the backdoors of the ambulance. “Alright,” he says casually, as if they weren’t in the middle of a hostage situation. “You take the victim inside… and take pretty boy with you.” He jerks his chin toward Eddie.

Eddie barely reacts to the nickname, his focus sharp as Mitchell continues. “I’ll stay here with tough girl.” His eyes flick to (Y/n), amusement dancing behind them.

Eddie immediately stiffens. (Y/n) staying in the ambulance with Mitchell? That shit was not happening.

“No,” Eddie speaks up before he can think better of it. “She should go instead. She’s already helping with the patient, she should be the one to roll him inside.” His voice is firm, pushing just enough logic into his argument to make it sound reasonable. “I’ll stay.”

Eddie needed (Y/n) out of the ambulance, never in a million years that he’d leave her behind with this psycho, freak, killer. Not that the other guy was much better, but Eddie just knew from the minute the two of them didn’t respond to Bobby’s messages, some alarm bells went off. 

Mitchell raises a brow, smirking like he’s just heard the most interesting thing all day. “Look at that,” he remarks. “You’re worried about her.”

Neither Eddie nor (Y/n) says anything, but their silence speaks volumes.

Mitchell chuckles darkly, shaking his head. “See, I knew you two weren’t just co-workers.” He leans forward slightly, his tone turning venomous. “You go,” he tells (Y/n), voice low and sharp. “Or I’ll shoot you.” he threatens her.

He lets the words sink in for a second before adding, “Or better—I’ll shoot him.” His gun tilts toward Eddie. “And then I’ll go find his kid and put a bullet in him too.” 

(Y/n)’s body locks up, her breath catching. Eddie’s entire body tenses, but his expression stays controlled. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react. Except for the subtle way his eyes meet (Y/n)’s. A silent message.

It’s okay.

She doesn’t want to leave him. Every part of her is screaming to stay. But Eddie gives her the slightest nod, telling her to leave. Go. I can take care of it.

Finally, (Y/n) exhales shakily, forcing herself to move. Mitchell smirks. “Good girl.”

(Y/n) clenches her jaw as Dom steps forward, ready to guide her and the victim inside. But there’s still one problem, she’s still tied up.

“Zip tie,” she says flatly, holding up her bound wrist.

Dom rolls his eyes but pulls out a knife, slicing through the plastic material. The second her hand is free, she flexes her fingers, rubbing the sore skin with her other hand, where the zip tie had been too tight.

Eddie watches as she takes over the breathing bag from him, and helps get the gurney out of the ambulance. The second she steps out of the ambulance with her hand squeezing the breathing bag, when her feet connect with the asphalt, it feels wrong.

Like she’s walking away from something she shouldn’t. But she doesn’t look back. Because if she does, she’s afraid she won’t be able to leave him behind. 

With the pain still rushing in her stomach, she guided the gurney towards the entrance with her left hand. “Nice and steady. Just like you’ve done it a thousand times before.” Dom said as (Y/n) keeps squeezing the yellow breathing balloon with her right hand. 

The walk down towards the emergency entrance felt like minutes, even though it’s just a few feet. 

“Okay, where do we go?” Dom asked as the sliding doors opened and they walked through the emergency entrance of first presbyterian hospital. “Right this way.” she said as she motioned her head towards the other set of doors. 

(Y/n) pushes the stretcher forward, her feet moving on autopilot as she and Dom enter the next set of doors. The room is terrifyingly silent. (Y/n)’s eyes were scanning the area. No nurses rushing around, no patients waiting. It’s empty. “Where the hell is everyone?” Dom asked. 

Something isn’t right.

Before she can react, there’s a sudden burst of movement shadows coming from the corners, hands grabbing at her and Dom.

“Hey!-” (Y/n) barely gets the word out before she’s shoved to the ground. The impact sends a shock wave of pain through her abdomen. She grits her teeth, but the sharp pain in her stomach makes her gasp as she squeezed her eyes closed at the pain. 

Dom is tackled beside her, cursing as he struggles.

“Wait, stop!” (Y/n) tries to speak, but a strong arm presses her down. She’s choking on her words “I’m a firefighter- (Y/n) Buckley one eighteen-” She fights against the grip, her breathing uneven, panic creeping in as her face was pressed against the floor and she felt someone’s knee pushing against her spine. 

“Shut up,” an unknown voice said, but then, a familiar voice cut through the chaos, but the pain in her abdomen made it hard to think. Her focus was constantly being drawn to her back, arms and stomach. “Hold on.”

Athena.

(Y/n) hears the click of boots, then the tension in the room shifts. Athena her eyes were scanning the scene until they landed on (Y/n). Her brows shoot up in surprise. “(Y/n)?”

The hands who were holding (Y/n) down hesitated, she felt the grip loosen, but not enough for her to be free. Athena narrows her eyes at the officers pinning her. “This one is okay. She’s good. Let her up.” 

The weight lifts off her, and (Y/n) gasps in relief. She pushes herself up slowly as the hands who were holding her into place help her up and let her go. Her hands were instantly grabbing her stomach as she struggled to catch her breath.

“Sorry about that.” one of the officers mutters. “Didn’t know.” (Y/n) shakes her head, brushing it off, but the moment she shifts, a wave of dizziness washes over her, trying to find her balance again and steady herself.

Athena notices immediately. “Hey, are you okay?” she asks, placing her hand onto her shoulder. (Y/n) blinks, as she tries to get rid of the sudden wave of dizziness “Yeah, I just-” she stops mid-sentence. 

Her stomach twists, a deep, aching pain roaring through her lower abdomen. It was worse than before, and it was getting worse with every stab of pain. Something’s wrong.

She sways slightly, her face paling. Her breaths grow shallow, and a cold sweat breaks out on her skin. A deep cramp wracks through her, almost making her knees buckle. 

Athena takes a step closer, concern written on her face, as she lets go of her shoulder. “(Y/n)?” she called out her name, but she kept on looking towards the floor beneath her. 

(Y/n) swallows hard, her hands pressing against her stomach. “I don’t… I don’t feel right.” she stumbled. 

Athena catches the movement, her sharp eyes narrowing. She steps forward, her voice urgent now. “(Y/n), talk to me.” 

(Y/n) swallows hard. The discomfort is worsening, and something feels off. She shifts her stance and that’s when she notices it. A strange, damp sensation.

Her gear is heavy, layered, built to withstand the worst conditions so at first, she doesn’t process it. But as she moves again, she feels it more clearly now. Wetness. Spreading.

Her breath hitches. She glances down at herself, but with her turnout pants on, there’s nothing visible. Her mind races. It can’t be sweat. It’s too low on her body.

Not water. They hadn’t been near any. And she definitely couldn’t be on her period. 

Another wave of pain hit her stomach. She shifts again, subtly pressing her legs together, and that’s when she knows. Her throat tightens. “Athena,” she says quietly, almost uncertain.

Athena hears the change in her voice immediately. “What is it?” she asks. “Something’s wrong…” (Y/n) hesitates, swallowing against the growing lump in her throat. “I  think- no, I know I’m bleeding. It’s not normal, it’s—it's bad.”

Athena’s expression shifts in an instant. She doesn’t waste a second, her voice sharp as she calls out into the ER. “I need a doctor, now!”

The urgency in her tone sends a jolt of fear through (Y/n). She’s been injured on the job before, but this—this is different. This isn’t a cut or a broken bone.

Something is happening inside her. Something she can’t control. And as the pain shoots through her body again, her knees nearly buckle, her breath coming faster. But as the room starts spinning, one terrifying thought grips her.

She barely notices the sound of rushed footsteps before hands are on her. A firm grip steadies her just as her knees threaten to give out.

“Got you. Easy now,” a voice says.

She blinks sluggishly, catching glimpses of blue scrubs, a nurse, maybe two. A doctor rushes in behind them, urgency in his steps.

“Let’s get her on a gurney,” someone says.

(Y/n) shakes her head weakly. “No, no, I’m fine,” she insists. She was not fine. But even through the haze clouding her mind, one thought cuts through everything else.

Eddie.

He’s still out there with that psycho. She tries to push herself upright. “Wait, Eddie- ”she gasps.  A hand presses against her shoulder, gently but firmly stopping her. “You need to lie down.” another female voice said, probably a nurse.

But she shakes her head again, but the movement makes the nausea worse. “Eddie’s still- he’s still in the ambulance-” she cried as tears were breaking through the barriers. “Right now, we need to take care of you.” the doctor said.

(Y/n) doesn’t want to listen. Doesn’t want to stop fighting. But her body betrays her. The pain was there again, sharper this time, enough to make her suck in a breath. Her fingers clutch weakly at the front of her turnout coat, her knuckles turning white.

“(Y/n),” Athena’s voice is there again, steady but firm. “Let them help you.” she told her. (Y/n) exhales shakily. Her body feels heavy, the exhaustion creeping into her limbs. This time, she doesn’t fight when they ease her onto the gurney.

She doesn’t fight when her vision goes blurry again, darkness creeping at the edges.

-

Eddie strides through the hospital lobby, his eyes scanning the area, his heart racing. Nolan has been arrested. The situation was still a mess, but for the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t looking over his shoulder. He was looking for her.

He sees Athena a few paces away, talking with one of the officers that were on scene and his breath catches. “Athena!” He called out her name as he jogs up to her.  “Have you seen (Y/n)? I- I need to see her. Is she okay?” he started rambling. 

Athena doesn’t respond right away. Instead, she gives him a look, one that Eddie can’t read. She takes a deep breath. “Let’s go for a little walk,” she says, motioning at him to follow her.

Confusion was written all over Eddie’s face. Why wouldn’t she just tell him? Why the mysterious response? He followed Athena as she walked down the hall of the ER, deeper into the hospital. “Athena, what’s going on? Where is she? Just tell me what happened.” he said as he tried to get her attention, but she was focussed on the route they were going.

Athena paused in her tracks, her gaze softening as she looked at him for a moment, as if she was searching for the right words. Eddie stands there, his anxiety climbing higher.

Finally, Athena speaks, her voice quiet but serious. “One second, she was standing, just like any other person. The next thing I know, she almost collapsed right in front of me.” she told him. 

His breath stalls, caught somewhere deep inside. “What? What happened?”

Athena hesitates, her eyes filled with concern. “She was bleeding, Eddie. It wasn’t just a little. She’s already out of surgery.” she updates him. Eddie’s mind is racing, doing the math in his head. The words don’t seem to register at first. “What? Surgery? How long was I in that ambulance? How long did it take me to get out?”

“Long enough,” Athena says, her voice thick with emotion. “She didn’t know she was pregnant, Eddie.” she continued. Eddie’s world starts to spin again. He blinks hard, his chest tightening. Surgery? Bleeding? Pregnant? He was still processing, still trying to piece it all together, when Athena leads him down a hallway, his pace quickening with every step.

And then he sees her.

She’s lying in a hospital bed, pale, her eyes locked on the white ceiling, still hooked up to an IV. Her face is lined with exhaustion and pain, but she’s breathing. She’s alive.

But the sight of her was so fragile, so still, nearly brings Eddie to his knees.

He steps into the room, his heart pounding, but it feels like everything has gone quiet. He approaches her slowly, unsure, his feet heavy with each step. Without thinking, takes her hand in his. It’s warm, but there’s a slight tremble in her fingers. (Y/n) twitch at the touch, her eyelids fluttering open. Her voice is barely a whisper. “Eddie...?”

His heart breaks hearing the way she says his name, weak and fragile.

“I’m here,” Eddie says, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m here, cariña.” He squeezes her hand, trying to steady himself, his eyes blurring with tears. (Y/n) blinks up at him, and the pain in her eyes is like a punch to his chest. She looks so fragile, so vulnerable.

“I... I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice trembling at the words. “I should’ve known I was pregnant. I shouldn’t have reacted to those two psycho’s, holding that picture of Chris. If I hadn’t- maybe none of this would’ve happened.”

Eddie leans forward, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face, his expression softening. “Hey, don’t say that. There’s no way you could’ve known.” he said. It broke him that she said those words. 

She swallows, her face was filled with guilt, her hand clutching his hand even tighter. “I shouldn’t have been so... so careless. Now—now look at me. Look what happened.”

Eddie shakes his head determined. “No, (Y/n). This is not your fault. You were just trying to protect Chris. None of this is on you.” He leans closer, his forehead resting against hers for a moment. “I’m just glad you’re here. That you’re alive. That’s all that matters to me.” he tries to talk her out of it.

(Y/n) blinks, the tears welling up in her eyes. “I just keep on thinking.. What if they shot me instead of hit me?”

Eddie's eyes widen, the air feeling suddenly heavy between them. He looks at her, his expression flooded with pain and disbelief. “No, no,” he says, his voice firm but filled with vulnerability. “Please. Don’t do that. You can’t think like that, (Y/n). Don’t—” He pauses, trying to find the right words, the ones that can make her feel safe again, even if his own heart is splintering. 

“You’re gonna be okay, alright? And I’m gonna be here with you. Every step of the way.” He said as he silenced her gently, by pressing a finger to her lips.

Her lips tremble as a tear slips down her cheek, and Eddie wipes it away, his own emotions coming forward now. “I’m sorry, Eddie...” she cried.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Eddie murmurs, his voice breaking slightly. “I’m just... so relieved you’re here. We’ll figure this out together, okay?”

She nods weakly, the exhaustion in her eyes still visible, but there’s a sense of comfort in the way Eddie holds her hand. “I love you,” she whispers softly, almost as if she’s afraid to say it out loud.

Eddie placed his other free hand onto her cheek, cupping it as he let his thumb brush the tears that had fallen, away. He let his forehead press against hers, “I love you, too. Always.”

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

9-1-1 Masterlist

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Twenty-Seven: to you, Aelin

tw: minor violence and gore, miscarriage, abortion mention, infidelity

“You see that girl right there? You stay away from her. She’s nothing but trouble.”

It’s the first thing John’s father says about Aelin Gilroy. Using one long, crooked finger, he points her out in the thick crowd of parents and students attending their Year 8 science fair. Projects and standing boards obscure her as they tower overhead on rickety folding tables, but that blinding smile and incandescent teal eyes shine through the crowd like a lighthouse leading a ship safe to shore. 

Trouble. He often disagrees with his father, and this instance is no different. He does not think Aelin Gilroy is trouble. She’s never disruptive in class, and he once saw her give another student her cardigan two years ago when she couldn’t stop shivering in class. It isn’t until her father steps into view that he realizes the meaning of this warning—crisp police uniform, hat held in front of his stomach, giving a firm handshake to the science teacher. An officer. An inspector. An adversary to his father in the most wretched of ways. 

Police officers always make the family business difficult. 

For many years, John heeds his father’s warning—if not for his own sake, then at least for hers—until Year 11. By some terrible twist of fate, his maths teacher sat Aelin Gilroy next to him in that small, two seater desk. She smells like roses freshly woken by morning dew after a spring shower. He learns she likes to doodle in the corner of her notebook during lectures, and she can’t stop tapping her foot against the floor while taking an exam. John finds that he likes the way her pale brows knit together in concentration, scrunching her forehead, and how soft her voice is when whispering answers to the table on her left. 

But he doesn’t have time to think about her. Not that he should. John Price is unfortunate enough to come from a long line of brutal patriarchs who often condition equally as cruel heirs. Once he turns sixteen, his father’s petulance only grows as he forces him to join him on escapades in the night after lectures have concluded. Bodies crumble. His fists split on begging faces pleading for the mercy that has long been snuffed out of his father’s chest. Each night his cheek grows tender with the force of his father’s hand, and his eyes droop with the weight of the secret life of a killer—of a true son born into the family business. 

“Red color corrector will hide the bruise on your eye.” 

It takes John several moments to realise Aelin Gilroy is talking to him, but even then he doesn’t fully believe it until he turns to see her already staring at him. She’s lazily leaning forward on the desk, hand propping her head up beneath her chin as her tongue darts out to wet her rosy lips. John’s pencil ceases its dance across his worksheet. 

“Color corrector?” he repeats. 

“Yeah, you know. Makeup. Green hides red marks from acne, orange hides dark circles, red for… very dark circles.” Her brows raise as she silently motions to his eye, bringing his own hand to touch the tender spot on his face. “I’ve got some in my bag, if you’d like. Though, you’ll have to find your own shade of foundation. I think you’re a bit too warm toned compared to me.” 

Her bluntness and unabashed reference to the shiner on his eye leaves him chuckling, transforming her coy smile into a small smirk. “You sound like an expert.” 

“I am,” she quips before grinning. After a quick glance around the room, Aelin carefully pulls the collar of her shirt to the side, exposing the side of her neck. At first, John finds nothing of any importance until she points out a line of covered hickies just above her collar bone, fingers tracing it as if lovingly. They grey beneath the concealer and foundation, blurring them to the point they’ve almost vanished. “A girl’s gotta have her fun.” 

John likes her humor. Appreciates it, anyway. Maybe there’s something comforting about knowing a girl like her gets in trouble; albeit, much less violent trouble than himself. A small flicker of hope ignites in his chest at the idea that perhaps there’s something in common between him and Aelin—that he has the possibility of even resembling something that’s normal. Something not drenched in blood.

It’s a short lived fantasy. When the end of term comes around, and they no longer share classes together, they drift. Aelin keeps her smiles polished while John continues to do the only thing his father ever bothered to teach him. By the end, Aelin’s A-Levels are enough to earn her a trip to anywhere in the country. Opportunities are thrown at her feet and offered up on dainty silver platters that glisten bright enough to reflect the future ahead of her. As for him, his father dies when he’s twenty. Murdered, and in a way that’s eerily similar to the way his mother had been. Cold, calculated, ruthless—his father’s existence is snuffed out by a single bullet, leaving behind nothing but a bloodstain coating the pillow that covers his face. 

The torch is passed down—the handle is still bloody. 

Over the years, he grows rigid and battle-hardened thanks to the business of violence that was bequeathed to him by his late father. He builds upon a decrepit empire until it’s thriving with sharp teeth and hired guns. It’s the only thing his father taught him; how to be dangerous. How to collect teeth and grind them to dust beneath the sole of his shoes. The Price family rises to power. The name forces people to tremble. John Price has nothing to lose but his own life, and even that pathetic amount he can scarcely get himself to care about. 

The only thing he holds close to him is the ghosts of his past. They always lurk in uncomfortable places, whispering into the shell of his ear, biting at the nape of his neck. It finds him at all hours of the day—it torments him. Slithers beneath his skin. Even now as he stands in line at the florist’s shop his skin itches, eyes flickering to the exit, fingers twitching for the knife stowed in his pocket. 

The only emollient he can find in this place is the voice of the woman in line before him. Demulcent and fleeting, he notes the way his heart slows. How the pathetic muscle quivers in his chest as she sweetly thanks the shopkeeper. When the redolence of roses reaches him, he tells himself he’s hallucinating, but when she turns to leave—small bouquet of flowers in her hand—he realizes who it is. 

Aelin Gilroy. 

Even after all these years he can still recognize her. The soft slope of her nose, the faint, bouncing curls in her flaxen hair, and her grace. How her chin is held high. How confidence exudes from every pore in her body as she floats toward the exit. Somehow, she’s even more perfect now than she was when they were children. He steps out of line, forcing the shopkeeper to stare at him with narrowed brows as he follows after her on uncertain feet. 

“Aelin?” 

All the air leaves his lungs when she turns to face him. She’s grown into her features now. Rosy cheeks and full lips, but her eyes are still the same. Crystalline like a low tide, filtering golden sunlight into fractals. Those eyes stare at him blankly, hands uncomfortably adjusting the bouquet as she traces him without a shred of familiarity. 

“Yes?” she asks tensely. 

Chuckling, he slaps his hand on the nape of his neck, rubbing out the tension there. “It’s John. John Price.” 

There’s something about the light igniting in her eyes that has him feeling warmer than he has in a long while. A precious grin breaks out on her lips as she steps closer, now comfortable with his presence. “Oh my god, I didn’t recognize you! It’s been years… staying out of trouble, I hope?”

“Getting in just enough to keep things interesting,” John counters. 

It’s as if no time has passed at all. She’s still that star pupil. Still that girl that had every boy tripping over their own two feet. Even now he can still hear her feet tapping against the floor as her pencil fills in test answers. 

“What’s the occasion?” he then asks, gesturing to her bouquet. 

“Oh,” she says. Her voice trips. Fractures. “Well, it’s—erm—the anniversary of my dad’s passing.” 

John blinks. He can vaguely recall the news. Rolling clips of the police station and the accident that stole his life away. Somehow he never put two and two together. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, I hadn’t heard,” he quickly apologizes. 

Despite the terrible awkwardness of the conversation, she still smiles. Always graceful. Always poised. “It’s alright. I’m… making my peace with it.” She pauses, throat clearing with a tense cough. “What about you?”

“Oh, just some flowers for mum.”

His response makes Aelin smile something small and bittersweet. “How lovely. I bet she’ll love them.” 

“They’ll make for good decoration.”

Something settles between the two of them—something that had never been there before. Not while they were children, growing up with one another in different corners of the world. It’s unfamiliar. Suffocating. It leaves John floundering, but the warmth it brings is intoxicating. 

“Well, I ought to get going,” Aelin excuses politely. “Got a few more errands to run. But really, it was good seeing you again, John.” 

This is the part where he should say goodbye. Wish her farewell just for her to vanish into a life of fortune where he’d never see her again. If he was a smart man, John would have done just that, but instead he finds his hand diving into his pocket where he retrieves a pen before quickly stealing one of the shop’s business cards to scribble down his number in the negative space. 

“Here,” he says, holding it out for Aelin to take. “I’m certain you get this a lot, but if you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be there.” 

To his surprise, she takes the card without hesitation, aqua eyes scanning his rushed handwriting while quietly thanking him. As she holds the card in front of her, something catches John’s attention. There’s a glint on her finger, one that reflects the light so brightly it nearly blinds him. Upon closer inspection, he realizes it’s a large, gaudy ring. Something given in poor taste. Something that attempts to steal the spotlight of Aelin’s beauty rather than compliment it. 

“Did you get married?” John asks in what he tells himself is mere curiosity. 

“Oh. No, not yet. Just engaged,” she says with an odd tone. Aelin glances at the ring—at the small band and large diamond that looks heavy enough to weigh her down. As if she can’t stand to look at it any longer, she shoves the card into her pocket before smiling at him. “Thank you again, John.” 

As Aelin exits the store, she tries not to think about how this interaction with a long lost classmate of hers has her feeling lighter than she has in years. That’s all she feels these days. Heavy. Weighed down by a stony gaze that used to look at her with adoration as the looming nature of her own failure hangs over her head as if each step she takes brings her closer to the gallows. 

There is little reprieve to be found in the cemetery where her father lays. Knees digging into the fresh grass, trembling fingers propping the flowers against his headstone, she does not pay attention to the tears streaming down her face. She’s learned to ignore them, if not welcome them. The wind picks up, cooling her feverish face as she traces the engraving of her father’s name letter by letter with her index finger. 

“I miss you so much,” she whispers. “Everything’s gone to shit since you left. I dunno what to do without you.” 

Her days have been foggy. Each waking moment leaves her stumbling through the dark all while she pretends she’s still the radiant girl she’s always been. It’s difficult to keep up the facade when her bed is cold in the mornings, and her fingers itch for the card John Price gave her. Ghosts follow behind her in the bedroom, her rearview mirror—the toilet. 

So then, it should not come as a surprise when she returns home from her mother’s to see the lamp on in the living room. The television drones but no one is listening. A hand on a thigh. Unfamiliar lips pressed against ones she should have memorized but hasn’t felt the touch of in months. The woman looks nothing like Aelin. Inky locks cut into a short bob that her fiance weaves his fingers through as his nose kisses her cheek. 

“Adam?”

Aelin’s stomach drops when they jump, heavy eyes now on her as she stands in the entryway. When Adam’s chest heaves with a sigh, she’s suddenly in the bathroom again. Hands clutching her stomach as she waddles out. Eyes full with tears as she sees him sitting on the couch, focused on the football match. It’s the same thing all over again.

She doesn’t wait around long enough to hear his excuses. The front door slams shut behind her but the sound is muffled on her ears as she slips into her car and speeds away. 

Night has long since fallen by the time she reaches the park. When she was a child, her parents used to own a home in this neighborhood and she often came here with her dad. The swingset is painted blue now instead of red, but she makes no effort to approach it as she seats herself on an algid, metal bench. 

During times like these, Aelin would often go to her dad for comfort. His office smelled like leather and Earl Grey, and he always kept a recliner in the corner of the room for her to curl up in to do homework, or cry about boys at school. He always knew what to say. What to do. Guiding her with a soft hand and sweet heart—she always wished she was more like him. 

Now—without the luxury of paternal comfort—she does something stupid. 

Fingers haphazardly digging through her bag, clutching the florist’s card, shakily punching in the numbers into her phone; Aelin knows she’s insane. Insane for thinking John Price is the person to call for something like this. Insane for thinking he’d even do anything at this time of night. Still, he answers. His voice bleeds through the speaker next to her ear like lukewarm wine. Intoxicating. Comforting. 

The only greeting she can choke out is a sob. 

By the time John finds Aelin, all of her tears have run dry, having been replaced with a brutal fury instead. A thick numbra clouds the park as the halogen lights hardly hold a torch bright enough to fight off the darkness. Still, he approaches her, noting how her knees bounce just like they used to all those years ago during exam season. Her bottom lip is bright red—irritated and cracked, abused by her teeth. 

For as much effort as he puts into looking calm on the outside, there is nothing in the world that can settle the nerves fraying within him. Hearing her cry, hearing her beg for him to come and get her scared him more than he cares to admit. The tear stains on her cheeks make his fists curl. If only she knew the dangerous power she holds. The power to say bite and for John Price to respond where. 

It doesn’t take long for him to coax out the truth. The rage swirling within Aelin nearly erupts as she spews every brutal detail. How Adam had been acting strange the last few months, how he used to show her off but has been keeping her locked away like a dirty secret, or something he’s ashamed of. 

“Two fucking years, John,” Aelin seethes, teeth gritting so hard that they nearly crack. “Two years of being with him just for him to do… to do that? He moved me into his home, wanted me to quit my job because he said he wanted to take care of me, to take care of… of…”

Terrified that you’ll disintegrate before him, John reaches a careful hand out and brushes it against her shoulder. The tension melts beneath his touch, and if he wasn’t so concerned, pride would swell in his chest. “Easy, love.” 

“I could’ve been great,” she continues, voice cracking as she leans into him. “I was able to go to any school in this country. I got my degree. I could’ve kept at work and been… something. And I didn’t need to. Not really. There was never anything I was trying to prove to anyone. I could’ve had a few kids with that white picket fence and stayed home to care for them, and I would’ve been completely happy living that trophy wife life if it meant I was loved. But I’m not, and it fucking hurts because I know I’m worth so much more than this.”

She crumbles like dust. The kind that’s so thin and fine you can only see it in the air when sunlight hits it. John’s arms wrap around her, pulling her close, palm cradling her head as she shakes in his grasp. 

“Fuck, I’m so stupid,” she babbles. 

“You’re not stupid,” he attempts to persuade. 

“Adam only proposed when we found out I was pregnant,” she says. Her voice shatters. Fractures. Each syllable catches in her throat, slices the tender flesh. “T-Then my dad died and… It was stupid to think he’d want to stay after I lost it.” 

John’s blood runs cold. His vision clouds with ichor—vermillion and thick. It’s so close he can nearly taste it. A violent man to a violent end, he craves it now more than ever. Instead, he holds her closer and gathers enough bravery to kiss the top of her head. 

“None of that was your fault, love,” he assures. “You’re brilliant. Downright brilliant, and he’s a sorry sod for not seeing it.” 

It takes a little convincing to get her to agree to stay at his place for the night. Really, there’s something comforting about being somewhere else. Away from her mother and that house that’s still haunted with her father’s ghost. John gives her an old t-shirt and a pair of joggers he’s been meaning to throw out for some time before ensuring she’s comfortable enough in his guest bedroom. 

When he’s certain Aelin’s asleep, John sits in his office, hand over his mouth, teeth grinding as he stares at his phone. It takes only five minutes of deliberation before he’s dialing up the only man he knows he can trust. 

“Yeah?” Simon Riley. His blunt greeting cuts over the line over the sound of thrumming club music and a cacophony of chatter. 

“Riley, I need a favor. I’m sending you an address and I need you there as soon as possible,” John says, voice rumbling low and dark as he taps his desk with the tips of his fingers. 

“What for?” 

“A friend,” John excuses. “I need any items that seem like they belong to a girl. Clothes, toiletries, things of that sort.” 

There’s a pause, and John can already see the expression on Riley’s face. A raised brow, tight lips, and a small huff. “Somethin’ ya can’t get yourself?” 

“If I go myself, I’m breaking the jaw of the bastard who lives there,” he growls. 

Inhale. Exhale. “This have somthin’ to do with the girl earlier? The one cryin’ on the phone?” 

“Yeah.” 

A hum. “I’ll be there in an hour.” 

Much to John’s surprise, Aelin doesn’t ask too many questions when morning comes. She doesn’t push when he gives a vague answer about how he got her items, and she doesn’t question where her engagement ring vanished to, or why Adam hasn’t bothered to call or text her since she stormed out of the house. He tells her to stay as long as she likes—as long as she needs.

But she doesn’t leave. 

Aelin Gilroy lingers in his home—not as a ghost, but as a dream. Something drifting between his fingers, just out of reach, that he wants so desperately to hold. He finds residuals of her in the shower with her golden hair stuck to the wall and the silage of rose toying with his nose. She’s there in the kitchen when he comes home, cooking up a late dinner, asking him to join her for a movie. 

There is no effort on her end in leaving, just as there is no effort from him in getting her to leave. He would keep her forever if he could. Hold her in his arms like he did that night in the park, cradling her head against his chest. All she would have to do is ask him. 

But as the weeks meander on, John finds himself sitting next to her on the couch. There’s too much wine in their bodies, ichor red and brimming full in his stomach, diffusing the light of the television as it illuminates her skin, her smile, everything. He decides that he likes this. Her. Enjoys the warmth of another human in this too-large house, always a void greeting him when he gets home, a black hole waiting to crush him. He doesn’t know how his father could have ever treated his mother so cold when the touch of a woman seems to make this home flourish. 

She feels his gaze. Heavy lidded and murky with alcohol. She stares back, aqua hue bleeding into something darker, like the depths of the ocean instead of the mere tide lapping at the shore—unknowingly profound. He has yet to scratch the surface of Aelin Gilroy. 

Yet he gets close to it when she places her glass on the coffee table and swings her leg over his lap. Bum resting on his knees, her hands steady her swaying body as she grips his shoulders, curls cascading down her back like a waterfall of sunlight. John stares up at her with awe blurring his vision. She smiles like she knows the mess she’s making of him. 

“Kiss me.” She does not ask. She demands it. Requires it. 

He leans back until his skull hits the cushion, then shakes his head. “You don’t want me to do that.” 

Her eyebrow quirks. “Why not?” 

“I’m not a good man.” 

“I know.” 

Those words are a baton to his diaphragm, forcefully expelling a chuckle from his throat before he can stop it. She tilts her head and he nearly grabs the nape of her neck to devour her whole. “How do you know?”

“I’ve always known,” Aelin insists. “I’ve always been a daddy’s girl. Besides, if you were a good man, you’d be dead by now. The good ones are always quick to go in your line of work, aren’t they?” 

John wants to pretend that he’s surprised she knows, but of course she knows. Aelin Gilroy, daughter of Sean Gilroy, Chief Inspector, top of her class, the looks to kill and a brain to go with it. It does not take a genius to sniff out the blood that stains his hands. Dirty hands. Soiled hands. Ones he can’t help but place on her waist. 

“If you know that much, then you know that you don’t want me to kiss you,” he insists. 

���Why?” Her turn with the questions. 

“Becuase I’m not dragging you into a life like this. I’m not letting you get hurt because of me.” His admission comes with plaguing visions that are so noisome they sting his eyes. Rose pink brains soaking into a mattress. Fingers plucked free of the palms they used to call home. His mother, dead and left to rot like a warning. “You don’t want this.” 

“No. I just want you,” she hums. Aelin’s hands begin to wander, fingertips brushing against his hairline as she tilts her head, curiously inspecting him, spinning eyes hardly able to focus on one part of him before moving to the next. “You’re not your father, John. You share his name but not his mistakes. You are not a bad man.” Palm to cheek, warmth swelling together against his feverish skin—she presses her thumb to his lips. Drags down over them until they’re parted. “You might not be a good man, but you’re too kind to be a bad man.” 

It isn’t until her lips meet his that John Price realizes that he’s been caught in Aelin’s trap for quite some time—she’s just now decided to rein him in. It’s the closest to heaven he’s ever been. Even as her teeth sink into his flesh, even as her nails rake across his back, even as she drowns him—nothing but a corse floating among stilly water—he knows he cannot starve himself of this one desire. 

After so many years, he finally has something to live for besides the circle of life and death. Besides being a slave to his family name simply because paternal law decrees it. Now, he has something to build. Someone to love. A future that holds more than decrepit bones. A ring covers the old scar on Aelin’s finger. His bed is always warm in the night when he returns home and in the morning when he can’t bring himself to wake with the rest of the world. 

The room she slept in during her first night with him now holds a crib. 

It’s made of wood and engraved with pumpkins and rabbits, a project Aelin took upon herself and has been whittling away at with a small carving tool. Hunched over, stomach swelling quietly but still enough to be noticeable in her sundress. The image has been burned into his mind all night while he’s been away at work, hunched over his desk, listening to pathetic excuse after excuse. 

He leaves early tonight, hands buzzing too much to quiet, fingers screaming for his wife. To hold her face and smooth over her stomach. She’s gotten more emotional these days; crying at any kind gesture, or any time she looks at the crib for too long. John hates to see the tears that stream down her cheeks but doesn’t mind the excuse to hold her close, to chuckle into her ear, to toy with the ends of her hair. 

When John steps inside, there’s nothing but blood to greet him. 

Watery. Bright red. It stains the couch in the very spot Aelin curls up in at the end of the day with a warm cup of tea and something quiet to put on the television. John stares at it. It spreads, ichor floating through the veins of the couch similar to the way it spreads on a mattress, soaking deep—too deep to get out. Deep enough to scar. 

He panics. Her name rings through the house as he trips down the hallway, following the sparse trickle of blood like breadcrumbs. There is no answer, but he hears her quiet, muffled sobs. Hand clasped over her mouth, eyes squeezed shut as if that could ever stop the tears; she’s on the toilet. He doesn’t even knock before entering, but she doesn’t have the energy to chastise him for it as she sits curled over herself, sundress bunched around her waist, arms cradling herself as if she can hold the remaining bits of her child within her shattering womb. 

“Love,” John breathes. Within an instant he’s on his knees before her, but she won’t look at him. He reaches forward, cups her face in his palms, wipes his thumb at the never-ending flood of tears. She’s feverish to the touch. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Aelin sobs. Her arms press further into her stomach as she leans forward, head attempting to bow, but John keeps her head above water—keeps her from drowning. “I really thought it would be different this time, I just… ah… John, it hurts so bad.” 

Her sobs come unheeded now, and each rattling reverberation that cuts through her shatters his newly mended heart. John holds her with trembling hands. His own eyes squeeze shut, faint tears wetting his eyelashes as he rests his chin on her head. Even against his neck he can feel how warm her forehead is—how it nearly blisters his skin. 

After fifteen minutes of his world ending, he takes her to the hospital. Ultrasound visits turn sour now that there is no baby to look at. The bleeding stops. Their child is gone. When they arrive home, all they do is lay in bed with nothing but the sound of their hearts shattering to break the silence. 

It is the first time, but it is not the last. 

It happens again. 

And again. 

Eventually, after the years, they give up. Their hope flickers and wanes, but the desire still lurks in their eyes every time they pass a stroller during date night or they look at that empty nursery-converted-to-guest-room. John puts that love into the men who work for him instead, and Aelin gives it to her adopted sister. But at the end of the night, no matter how long they were out laughing or chuckling, they come home to a warm bed, desperately searching for the grubby hands of what could have been. 

But it comes back. It barrels like a bullet into their lives, embedding into deep tissue, nestling too far to rip it out without doing more damage. It arrives as a phone call. A sob. A begging to be free of this torture. John finds it in the bathroom with Aelin, curled forward, ripped boxes strewn across the floor, along with three positive pregnancy tests. 

She looks up at him as he enters the bathroom, eyes red and irritated, her usually neat hair now frizzy. “John, I can’t do this again,” she chokes. 

Wordlessly, he joins her on the floor with an arm snaking around her back. Aelin collapses into his chest, legs slung over his lap, head resting against his collarbone as he cradles her. For a long time, he is silent. Neither of them speak as the weight of the situation begins to crush them under impending pressure. It squishes the blood clean from their bodies, suffocating their brains of all helpful thought. 

The world is ending all over again. 

“I’ll support whatever you want to do, love,” John murmurs against the crown of her head. 

Brows furrowing, she stiffens. “What do you mean?” 

His words get caught in his throat for a long, aching moment before he’s able to choke them out. “If you… want to terminate, then we can do that. Or if you want to keep it then we’ll do that, too.” 

Aelin is quiet for a long time. There is nothing but soft sniffles and the occasional pule that slips from her lips, but John doesn’t rush her. Instead, he holds her until her muscles relax, and she’s nothing but a limp mess against him. 

“One more time,” she decides, malice slipping into her tone as she wipes her nose on the back of her hand. “One more time, and if it doesn’t work, I’m getting a hysterectomy. I can’t keep doing this b-but… I just… want to pretend to hope for a little while.” 

Nodding, John places one more kiss on her head. “Okay, love.” 

For the first few weeks, Aelin is near unconsolable. Nesting on the couch, blankets obscuring her body, hugging a pillow to her chest as her glassy eyes watch flashing images on the television. She attempts to distract herself with the company of her adopted sister, but the connection feels severed. Smiling and pretending to be happy when she’s harboring a secret that will surely demand blood before she has the chance to sing its praise. 

But that secret keeps growing. And growing. 

Each passing day that Aelin wakes and there’s no blood to follow her throughout the day, a glimmer of hope roots in her chest. It burrows and whispers. It promises love and fulfillment. It promises something she’s never been fortunate enough to achieve previously. It’s enough to make her skin glow, rosy and golden like the sun kissing the horizon before bed. It’s enough to make her cheeks swell as shiny, opalesque teeth peek between glistening lips. It’s enough for now, and then—

“Oh my god.” Hands on her stomach, smiling through the tears, bottom lip trembling. “John, it’s twenty-four weeks. It’s viability week.”

—and then it’s everything. 

Time rolls backwards as the guest room is once more turned into a nursery. Bunnies and pumpkins, soft oranges and fluffy whites, and a perfect hint of peach. A changing table with ribbons along the side. A rocking chair for the long nights when none of them will get rest, and it will be worth it to have a sleepless night due to love rather than turmoil. 

But joy is a meal that tastes better when it’s shared. 

So, Aelin stands in the kitchen. Film refracts the light above her through the sonogram in her hand, thumb holding the picture so firmly as if she’s afraid it will slip through her fingers. Heavy feet rattle the floor behind her before she feels warm palms smooth over her stomach and a chin on top of her head. 

“She’s beautiful,” he murmurs.

Smiling in agreement, Aelin scans every little feature. The curve of the baby’s nose, how her lips part as if already babbling, hands squished up to her face like she’s trying to chew on her fingers. “Just over halfway there.” 

Just as she lowers the sonogram, the baby kicks against John’s palms. His chuckle hits her, warm and dripping with adoration. He squeezes back, pulling Aelin against him. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” he questions. 

“Yeah, I think it would be better this way,” Aelin nods. “I feel… a little bad. Having been sort of ignoring her these last few weeks. I know Simon is taking good care of her but… well, it’ll be nice to have dinner with just the two of us.” 

She turns her attention to the card before her. The outside is plain. A simple white background with frilly lettering asking Guess what? On the inside, there’s that same lettering with the triumphant announcement of It’s a girl! followed by enough space to put a sonogram. Then, there’s a mini calendar of August, with a circled due date. She shoves everything inside of a light peach envelope before sealing it shut with the tip of her tongue, but as she stares at it, she feels it doesn’t quite look right. 

Inspiration strikes her, and she quickly retrieves a pen from the junk drawer before scrawling Auntie Chip on the envelope. Smiling, she sticks it in her purse. 

And with that, she is ready for dinner.

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[yourtypicalhuman09]

Imagine how fucked up the situation would get if crowmom y/n got pregnant and due to the stress of being clipped and forced to stay in the manor causes her to have a miscarriage

(For more spice, they only found out she was pregnant after the miscarriage)

Sorry this took so long to upload, I've been so busy and my motivation has been in the pits but lately I've been feeling better so I hope to post more often!

Birds of a Feather

Pt.2

(Yandere Batfam x Meta Crowmom Reader)

!!TW!! Implied SA!! Cursing!! Mentions of Cheating!! Gore!! Death!! This is an AU!!

The Manor was more oppressive than ever, your freedom was selfishly stripped away from you the day your supposed "family" made the irreversible decision to clip your wings. A normal bird's flight feathers would grow back, but yours were special... they were yours and they took that away from you. You often fantasized about flying freely in the wind once more, but every time you awoke in the same stuffy room loosing more feathers from stress by the day.

Bruce and the children noticed how haggard you had become, your once joyful chaotic energy had dimmed down into something solemn and resigned. Bruce had become increasingly more worried for your wellbeing, what could he do to make his precious wife back to normal? He recalled how everything fell apart upon Damien's arrival, maybe you were simply distraught how he let another unworthy woman carry his child. No worries, it was an easy fix, he'd just give you a child. You were always so good with children and having a child with him was your most wished for dream. He was too busy and ignorant before but now he sees the stupidity in his past actions, he really took you for granted, but it's no problem now since he'll fix everything.

Bruce forcing intimacy was a nightmare, what you would've happily accepted in the past now felt like a violation. Every time he held you down whilst forcing his unwanted touch upon you felt like some cruel unrelenting punishment. He was so achingly sweet afterwards, cuddling and kissing you so lovingly, as if he hadn't just ripped your soul into shreds.

Finding out what you were pregnant was a nightmare, you wanted to rip your skin from your flesh from how dirty you felt. Your "family" on the other hand were over the moon. Bruce hosted a massive party celebrating the pregnancy and all of the children were on their best behavior catering to your every need, even Jason and Damien who were usually more fiery made sure not to stress you with their usual antics. You felt like a joke sitting on Bruce's lap all dressed up like some porcelain doll. In a way you were like a doll, you had your freedom stripped from you, leaving you at the whims of your delusional husband and children.

Despite all of this, you wouldn't dare blame the innocent child growing in your stomach. This sweet baby was everything you had ever wanted, someone to care for and raise as your own. You spent all of your married life caring for other people's children and now you could finally care for your own. This bond you had with this small being is already stronger than you could ever imagine, you often fantasized about raising the small child. Your baby would be like you... you could teach them how to fly although you could no longer fly yourself and be there for their first molt, the thought alone excited you to no end.

The family noticed how lively you've now become with you scrambling about to create a comfortable nest, but you had also become more territorial.

When Dick tried joining you to build your new nest, even bringing some trinkets he knew you'd like, you squawked angrily at him, puffing out your feathers and flapping your wings to shoo him away. Dick ran and cried in his room after that, how could his own mother throw him out like that! Not like he threw her out of his room when she tried confiding in him about some of her worries.

Next when Jason tried visiting you, you only ignored him, preferring to focus on making everything perfect for your future child. Jason left the room dejected and spent the rest of the day sulking in his apartment. Not like he ignored you when you were clearly stressed and distraught after Damien came and Bruce's affairs were revealed.

Tim was a bit smarter with his approach, making a little perch for his future sibling. He smugly bragged to the rest of his siblings about how his spent quality time with you building the perch into the room, even though the entire time you didn't speak to him once. Much like the silence he showed when you were looking for any support when everything began going south.

When Damien came to spend some time with you, arrogantly spouting about how he deserved to help out because he was your child's only true blood sibling, you actually spoke to him. He felt joy rush through his veins until he actually processed your words.

"Could you please tell your mother to stop trying to assassinate me, once my child is born I don't want them in any sort of danger."

Damien felt like his heart was ripped out of his chest, wasn't he your child too? Even though he was the very same child who constantly spat viciously on how a monster like you would never be his mother. Not to mention how Talia dare try to kill his precious mother, oh now he was livid, you were a better mother than she could ever hope to be.

Bruce was the most confused, you would think as your husband and the father of your child that he'd be right there with you every step of the way, but you wouldn't give him the light of day. Every time he'd try to get close you'd scratch and bite at him, cawing defensively as you reared your talons, ready to attack. Eventually he had to take action, you were his precious wife and that was his child you were carrying, he had a right to be right by your side. He made the mistake of pushing you away once and that was a mistake he is not willing to make ever again.

You felt like a filthy animal, Bruce had you muzzled and your talons clipped as if you were some dangerous unpredictable dog. What was worse was that now Bruce and the others could smother you with their unwanted affections without you being able to do a thing about it. Alfred wasn't much help either since the man constantly supported Bruce's overbearing actions. The stress from constantly being put in awkward and unwanted situations was piling up and you no longer had the ability to soar through the breathtaking skies that always took your worries away.

Tensions were building up and it was only a matter of time till the explosive climax will come to smash everything into pieces once more. That day came soon... unfortunately too soon...

Your due date was coming soon but your excitement was overshadowed by the discomfort your overbearing family constantly brought, and that particular day Talia had partnered with Selina to take you down. The possibility of another blood child of Bruce threatened Damien's position as heir and Selina was just bitter about how Bruce threw her and their thrilling affair away for some ugly crow woman, you were never a problem before so why only now is Bruce so worried about y'all's relationship...

You were not prepared for what they had planned. They gathered all of the manor's crows to lure you, they knew that those crows and your child were the only things that now held your heart. It was the dead of night, the batfam were out on patrol and Alfred was out visiting his daughter, and you were drawn to the fearful cawing of your closest friends. You followed the sounds, desperate to save your loyal friends, when you were trapped into the garden shed. You were horrified to see your long time friends mutilated and torn, their wings ripped to shred, their legs twisted and broken, some weren't even breathing. You fell to your knees in despair, you were so distraught you didn't even notice your assailants slowly creeping out of the shadows, their weapons poised and ready to attack. The next moments were a blur of screams and agony, each swing of swords and each shot of bullets piercing your skin left you writhing on the ground in pain. the last thing you remember before passing out was the furious look on Cat Woman's face as she spat at you,

"You fucking bitch, did you really think some boring tramp like you deserves to carry Bruce's child, to be his wife?! There's a reason why he was unfaithful and there's a reason why none of your 'children' never cared. You're a nobody and yet you act like you deserve a thing! I saw those claw marks you left on Bruce's arm, how fucking dare you! You don't deserve him and even now you don't appreciate the god of a man you have! In a way I'm doing Bruce a favor by getting rid of you."

She laughed cruelly before one single powerful kick to your stomach sealed your fate and the unfortunate fate of your unborn child.

Bruce and the kids came home to an empty manor and immediately they sensed something was wrong. They split up to search for you, the unnerving feeling that something was horribly wrong becoming undeniable. Dick was the first one to stumble across the shed, the twisted corpses of crows surrounding your mutilated body left him speechless.

"I... I found her..."

His voice was shaky and weak as it played through the earpieces of the others. Soon everyone arrived to the shed and their eyes laid upon the horrifying sight. Bruce wasted no time in rushing to side of his bloodied wife. Relief shot through his body as he felt your faint breathing, but he knew he didn't have much time. He sped through the city to the closest hospital he could find, he didn't care if the kids were following or that the fact that his wife was a meta would be revealed, the only thing in his mind was to make sure you'd survive.

The next few hours were terrible, no one knew if you were even still alive and the doctors wouldn't let them in the room with you since you were immediately rushed into emergency surgery. while most of the family were pacing the room with worry, Damien sat in the waiting room seat horrified. Is this what you were worried about when you asked him to tell Talia to stop trying to kill you... He watched the security tape Tim had recovered from the camera in the shed. Those men... they were clearly under the Al Ghuls... not to mention Selina was there too. It's obvious why this had happened, he should've listened to your request instead of sulking about how the child in your belly seemed to be getting more attention than him. He knows his input wouldn't have convinced someone as stubborn and cruel as Talia, but he should've seen this coming... he should've tried to prevent this...

their worries were finally put to rest once a doctor emerged from the room to tell them the news, you had survived but unfortunately the child in your stomach died due to blunt force trauma. The family were horrified and Bruce was distraught, they rushed into your room, they needed to see you. Bruce never experienced this pain before, he never once had to worry about the birthing process since all of his children were adopted and Damien was born without his knowledge, but with you it was different... you were his wife and this child was the product of your shared love even if you were forced so losing this child struck him like nothing else had. His poor innocent child lost and your pure soul forever shattered because of the petty jealousy of his past affairs. He had a moral code when dealing with criminals, but when you mess with his wife and child... some things can be overlooked... and seeing the grim expressions of the others he knew they were thinking the same thing...

"Don't worry my love... we'll make sure this will never happen again..."

Divider credits: popmilky and k1ssyoursister and thecutestgrotto

Author's Note: Again so sorry for the random absence I hope this somewhat makes up for it.😅😅😅 Anyways sorry for not including any of the girls or Duke, I still don't know how exactly to write their personalities just yet but if I do a part 3 I'll try to include them. Well, like always thank you all for reading and I hope y'all have a good day/night!🫶🫶🫶

[2-dsimp]

Snippets on more cuckoo bird egg trauma but darling literally never leaves it unattended

And boom plot twist it's not from the cuckoo avians

Yandere Harpy x harpy darling

Tw: fem reader, heavy angst, gaslighting, manipulation, coercion, betrayal, emotional abuse, sabotage, mentions of miscarriage

◣────•~❉᯽❉~•────◢

“Sweetheart? What is that doing in our nest?” Lynx asked, neck craning seeing you huddled over an egg. You perked up hearing your mates voice, then both of you had been trying for a clutch. But there was no luck so you happened to be acting as a foster mother for an hatchling that was recently abandoned.

“Ah the parents seemed to have left this poor baby behind. So I decided to raise it as one of our own.” You cooed, nuzzling at the little fuzzy avian babe. You were proud to showcase the baby to your mate.

“We can finally have that family we’ve always wanted, aren’t you happy?” You chirred, Hopes high in believing that the both of you would go on to raise the abandoned avian together.

“As our own…? Huh. Yeah I’m totally stoked love. This little one’s gonna be a hoot to raise ahahah.” Though his voice was humorous, you missed the dark expression on your mates face. His feathers bristled as he looked down at the hatchling with silent scorn. He couldn’t let his animosity show, not yet. The harpy knew you needed a bit of healing from failed baby making attempts. So he bid his time letting you live out your fantasy.

For a short while it was smooth sailing, from your perspective Lynx seemed happy to interact with the hatchling. Taking on the role of it’s father, the sight of them bonding gave you joy. Filling the emptiness in your heart of not being able to bare y’all’s own clutch.

But alas this temporary happiness wasn’t meant to last. One night you were awoken by the beating of wings and the shaking of your shoulders. The hatchling in your arms was squirming letting out soft chirps of protest as if its peace was being threatened. Your eyes snapped open in alarm.

“Muse~ guess what? I found the little ones parents~!” Your heart dropped, feathers ruffling as you let out a small caw of disbelief. “What? What are you talking about?” Not trusting your own hearing. It couldn’t be true, it’d make no sense.

“Baby It took a couple days but I’ve managed to track em down. Being a celebrity does come with good connections am I right?” Lynx chimed cheekily, his wings happily fluttering directing your face to look at your baby. Fraternizing with their biological parents. The parents you had believed, no desperately wished were out of the picture.

“Lynx this is some cruel joke! Why have you gone out of your way to do something so, so unnecessary!” You cried, he knew, he knew how much you needed this. The peace only a family could bring. After mourning the loss of your former chicks that never came to be. That child you took underneath your wing was to be your pride and joy. “You didn’t see what I saw! They were abandoned! Unwanted! We—”

“You thought they were abandoned, but we both know that’s just not true baby.” He cut you off with a sickeningly sweet coo. His talons tethered you down in place. His clawed hands squishing your cheeks forcing you to watch the tear jerking reunion. “See? The little one was separated from its parents not abandoned!”

“No, no Lynx that’s our baby, I found em, we were happy raising them together. You made a mistake. It can’t be their real parents—“ You uttered, eyes welling up with tears not wishing to see anymore. Your mate’s wings enshrouded you both in a tight hug. His voice ringing in your ears, entirely dismissive. “Listen, honey you made an honest mistake. But it’s okay!”

“It’s not okay—“ Lynx shushed you, with a finger to your lips. As he continued to prattle off, in an upbeat chirp ignoring your weak protest. “Yknow, after I reached out to them, they thanked us both nonstop for temporarily taking care of their hatchling” He emphasized the word temporary, wanting you to understand that lil ball of fluff didn’t belong to you. That it never did have a place within y’all’s nest. As he’d never accept any hatchling that didn’t come from y’all’s sacred union.

“The mister and missus gave us some nesting gifts! Some freshly gathered fertility herbs to get our own clutch going. Aren’t they so nice?” His words amplified by the happy trilling of the chick’s parents becoming reacquainted with their long lost hatchling. It was a genuine show of belonging which shattered your delusions.

“Oh darling, don’t be sad, soon enough we’ll have our own clutch. Tonight I’ve got a good feeling you’re gonna take. Now cmon let’s show our guests out. We’ll put those fertility herbs to use once they’re gone mkay?”

————

Little did you know those harpies were paid actors, right after they left from y’all’s nested home. Lynx, sneakily wired cash into the “parents” bank accounts as they flew away with the confused avian chick in their arms. Where it was dropped off at an orphanage, forever lost to the system. You couldn’t hear its cries for you, the sad chirps yearning for you to come back. To embrace them within your warmth. The baby was always calling out for you, their mama.

[iamnot-crazy]

A Pirates choice Full Post

Summary: Shortly after leaving Wano the heart pirates run into a easy group of pirates but Law notices you falling behind. You now have to face your captain with the truth of what happened in Wano. After your confession Law and the crew becoming more protective over you and when black beard attacks this protectiveness is on full display.

Trafalgar Law x f!reader

Word count: 12,365

TW: This story contains mentions of sexual assault, unwanted pregnancy, abortion, miscarriage, and torture.

A/N: Here is the full post for my pirates choice series. if you enjoy post like this check out my Masterlist and let me know what you think. If you want to read this in the original posts as I do adjust to story slightly to fit this format find here: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

The clash of steel echoed across the sunbaked beach as the battle between the Heart Pirates and a smaller, aspiring pirate crew. The Heart Pirates were dancing through the battle while you fell behind. Your mind was clouded, and your usual attacks missed their marks. Law’s sharp observation cut through your sluggishness. “Y/N! Either find your rhythm or get back to the Tang!” His voice, amplified by the salty air, held a familiar edge of impatience.

A flare of stubbornness, hot in your chest, banished the mental fog. You pushed off the sand, forcing your body back into the familiar dance of battle. The chaotic thoughts that had clouded your mind receded, replaced by the ingrained patterns of parry and riposte. Law’s lips quirked in a brief smirk as he watched you seamlessly rejoin the fray, your movements once again a fluid blend of defense and attack. A dull throb in your right side, a subtle discord in your otherwise harmonious movements, went almost unnoticed.

The clash of steel gradually faded, leaving the cries of gulls overhead and the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. Law’s gaze swept the littered beach, his brow furrowed until he spotted your hunched figure near a cluster of dark rocks, your arm pressed tightly against your side. He approached as the sound of your ragged breaths, hitched in the salty air.

“Are you injured?” Law asked, trying to scan your form. You nodded, lifting your hand to reveal the thin gash barely needing stitches. A deep frown creased Law’s forehead. He’d witnessed you fight through broken bones and shrugged off cuts that would incapacitate lesser pirates. The tremor in your hand, the wide, almost panicked look in your eyes – it was an anomaly, a stark deviation from the fierce resilience he’d come to expect. Tears welled in your gaze as you stared at the insignificant wound.

"Y/N," he murmured, the single word carrying a weight of unspoken questions.

You drew in a ragged breath, the air catching in your throat before the unexpected words tumbled out. "I'm pregnant."

Law froze, the casual question dying on his lips. His gaze flickered from the insignificant gash on your abdomen to the sudden vulnerability in your eyes, a dawning horror creeping into his features. Pregnant? How? When? His mind reeled. Law jumped to his feet, looking over at his first mate, “Bepo!” The mink peeked up, “I’m taking Y/N back to the Tang. I need you to take point.”

The polar bear nodded, and Law scooped you into his arms. A moment later, you found yourself in the submarine's infirmary, gently deposited on the examination table. Law turned and scrubbed his hands before facing you again. “So why do you think you’re pregnant?”

“My period was supposed to start a week and a half ago,” you spoke, staring at the wall blankly. Law silently performs a scan, confirming your condition.

"So, who’s the father?" His voice was gruff, laced with a hint of concern. “Is it Shachi’s?” You shook your head sharply, heightening Law’s concern as you refused his gaze.

“Can you at least tell me when you suspect conception occurred?” he asked, taking on a calmer, but no less serious tone.

“Twenty-eight days ago,” you mumbled, a tear traced a salty path down your cheek.

A horrifying stillness descended upon Law. His head snapped up, his eyes widening as he comprehend the timeline. He stared at you, a storm of anger and a terrible understanding warring within him. “In the Wano prison?” The question was barely a breath, a horrified confirmation of his unspoken fear. Your small nod was a crushing weight.

His posture stiffened, a visible fury radiating off him as he began to move, a caged energy threatening to erupt. When you instinctively flinched at the sudden movement, his expression softened, and he lowered himself, meeting your gaze once more. “Tell me,” he commanded, his voice low and urgent. “Everything.”

You shook your head, the memory a painful knot in your throat, constricting your airway. “It… it was one of the guards.”

“Why didn’t Shachi or Penguin do anything about it?”

“Ikkaku and I were separated from them. The women were placed in another cell,” Your voice hitched, a shiver running down your spine as the memory of the cold, damp stone and the leering faces of the guards flashed behind your eyelids. “I saw some of the guards being aggressive towards some of the women… I shouted at them to stop… The guards just turned their aggression to me…” Tears now flooded down your face.

“Ikkaku…?”

“She’s fine. She couldn’t do anything; there were too many of them, but they never touched her. I wouldn’t allow it,” you defended.

“Why didn’t either of you tell me sooner?” His hand cupped your tear-stained cheek, his thumb gently traced away the tears flowing down your face.

“It didn’t matter,” you tried to smile but failed as your lips pulled down into a deep frown.

Law placed his hand on your shoulder, “Everything that happens to my crew matters.”

You nod as Law pushed off you, stepping back with his sword in hand. He pulls it out and lifted the metal tip pointing right at your abdomen. A strangled gasp escaped your lips. You scrambled backward, your hands flailing for purchase on the slick metal of the examination table, your eyes wide with terror. “What the hell are you doing?!” you shrieked.

“Removing the blastocyst,” he explained, his voice devoid of emotion.

Your hands flew to your abdomen, a desperate, instinctive shield against the gleaming threat.

"The what?" you choked out, your voice thick with disbelief and rising panic.

"The developing fetus," Law clarified, the clinical term stripping away any semblance of comfort. He lowered the sword by a fraction, "The procedure is swift. You will feel nothing." He watch you expecting to see you to calm down and agree to the procedure, but instead, you remained in a protective state.

A sharp disbelief edged Law's tone, a subtle judgment in his gaze. "You're not seriously contemplating… keeping it, are you?"

Shame burned on your cheeks. You averted your eyes, the weight of his disapproval pressing down on you. "I... I don't know," you whispered, the uncertainty a painful admission. Law released a slow, frustrated breath.

He took a step closer, "Y/N," he said, his voice softer but firm. "A child has no place on a pirate ship, especially one navigating the Grand Line with a target on its back."

You knew his logic was sound, the harsh realities of pirate life unforgiving. Yet, a fierce, primal instinct stirred within you, a fragile bud of hope clinging to life. A part of me… wants this. “But…” your voice was barely a whisper, a plea against the cold logic.

Law’s jaw tightened. He turned away sharply, running a frustrated hand through his already disheveled hair. He turned back, his voice softer, but edged with a desperate practicality. “That would be your maternal instinct kicking in, Y/N. But you know you can’t have a child. You’re a wanted pirate; the world government won’t care if you had a kid. Besides, we are deep in the Grand Line; we can’t just take a detour to the North Blue, and I am not leaving you at some random island.”

You felt a cold dread pool into your stomach. “Fine!” you blurted out, “Just do it, then!”

Law pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “No,” Law said, the firmness in his voice laced with a weariness that hadn't been there before.

“No?” you echoed, pushing yourself to a shaky stand. “Just moments ago, you were ready to excise it like a disease, and now… you’re hesitating?”

“I won’t ‘just do it’,” Law clarified, his voice softening, “Not like this. You need to be certain, Y/N. This has to be your decision.”

“Two seconds ago,” you spat, your voice trembling, “my permission didn’t seem to matter!”

“That was before I saw the uncertainty in your eyes,” Law countered, taking a step closer, his voice low and earnest. “I won’t have you blaming me later, haunted by regret. I need to know, truly, what do you want.”

You looked up at your captain, your voice cracking with unshed tears. “What… what I want?”

Law nodded, his thumb gently tracing the wetness on your cheek. “I promise,” he said, his voice a low murmur, “we’ll figure this out. Together. Whatever you choose.”

A small, shaky nod was your only reply. In that moment, the raw vulnerability in your eyes spoke volumes, and Law understood. He pulled you close, enfolding you in a tight embrace, a silent promise of support and shared burden.

Law kept his promise, and when you finally calmed down, the two of you went over options. You decided that you were going to find your new home in Dressrosa. You both figured that it would be far enough removed from the government without the dangers of a lawless island, and you could help the country regrow itself. Law informed Hakugan that they would be temporarily changing course. It would take a bit longer than expected, but Law assured him that seeing your safe landing on Dressrosa was worth pausing his expedition to the One Piece.

However, your trip was cut short.

The Polar Tang bucked and groaned beneath you as Explosions rained from outside. Chaos reigned on the bridge. Crew members scrambled, faces etched with fear, while Law's voice, sharp and commanding, cut through the din. "Make for the nearest island!"

You stumbled your way onto the bridge. “What is going on?” you shouted over the ruckus.

Law’s eyes darted up to meet yours, a storm of worry and determination reflected in their depths. “Blackbeard,” he gritted out, bracing himself against the lurching vessel.

Adrenaline surged through you as the sub tilted dangerously. Water began seeping in through cracks in the hull. You joined the frantic struggle to cover the cracks. The sub swiftly steered towards the nearest island, and the water pouring in slowed as the sub surfaced.

The crew rushed towards the exit and onto the island, eager to confront Blackbeard's forces. You followed close behind, your heart pounding, but in a swift, almost instinctual movement, Law reached out, his hand clamping onto your wrist, pulling you back sharply. "You're staying by me," he declared, his voice firm and unwavering, his body positioned protectively between you and the exit.

Surprise and a surge of defiance rippled through you. "What?!" you exclaimed, tugging at your arm. "It's Blackbeard! You need to have your full attention and I wouldn't want to miss out on the fun." But held captive by Law's strong grip, the urgency of the situation, and your own underlying fear, became undeniable.

You yanked your arm free. “Y/N…” Law began, but his words were cut short by the massive shadow of Blackbeard falling over the island. He looked up to see Blackbeard, a monstrous silhouette, soared above on a grotesque, winged beast.

Law turned to you but you were gone, running across the beach. Law looked back up to the sky before hitting Blackbeard with a barrage of room-based attacks.

Your attention was on Jesus, the user of the Strong Strong Fruit who was yanking mountains from the ground and hurtling towards your allies. A raw cry tore from your throat as you channeled your Haki into your sword. You launched yourself into the air, the wind whipping past your face. The crack as your Haki-infused steel split the mountain in two resonated in your chest. A fierce satisfaction bloomed as you landed, the dust settling around you, and you caught the brief, almost imperceptible nod of approval in Law's gaze – Pregnancy hadn't dulled your edge, it seemed.

Law's orders echoed through the chaos as he dispatched Penguin and Shachi to the sea, and Hakugan to the Polar Tang. Then, the earth convulsed beneath you. Blackbeard's Tremor Tremor Fruit was unleashing its fury. You were pinned to the ground, the world a jarring, chaotic blur. Fear gnawed at you as you struggled to breathe, the full extent of Blackbeard's power a terrifying reality.

Desperation fueled your attempt to rise, your instincts to protect your stomach and child from damage distracted you from the monstrous boulder hurtling towards you. Law's anguished cry was a distant echo as your world shattered. The impact was a cataclysmic force, ripping you from the earth. Your body was a helpless puppet, tossed and turned by an unseen hand. The ground itself seemed to revolt, rising in jagged walls that met you with unforgiving brutality.

Your body finally came to a jarring halt, and the extent of your injuries became painfully clear. The worst was concentrated on your abdomen. The fabric of your shirt was shredded, revealing a gaping wound that stretched across your slightly risen belly. Law’s face contorted in horror as he took in the sight. He knew, with a cold dread, that your child’s fate was grim. You weren't wearing the protective gear the crew usually donned, but one of Law's oversized hoodies. Now, the once comfortable fabric was tattered and useless, fluttering in the wind.

****

Law’s mind drifted back to the day you’d claimed that hoodie. Exhausted from a day at the helm, he’d retreated to his quarters, only to find you rummaging through his closet. A smirk tugged at his lips as he approached, amused by the sight. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice laced with playful curiosity.

You jumped, startled by his presence. Your face flushed as you stammered out an explanation, a nervous smile playing on your lips. “Ah! Uh, Captain... I thought you’d be out a little longer.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Law replied, a playful smirk gracing his lips as he perched on the edge of his bed.

You groaned, turning back to his closet and rummaging through the clothes. "My suits are getting harder to hide this bump, and Shachi's starting to catch on to my suit-borrowing habit," you explained, pulling out the hoodie. You slipped it over your undershirt and turned to your captain for approval.

Law chuckled, “You know if you go out wearing my hoodie, everyone is just going to think that we are in a relationship,” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

You rolled your eyes and scrunched your nose at the comment, slipping the hoodie off and throwing it into a pile on his bed before turning back to the closet. “As awful as that sounds, it's better than them finding out I’m pregnant.”

Law sighed, grabbed the hoodie, and began folding it neatly. “Why are you so concerned about them finding out?” he asked with a gentle tone.

You paused your search, a thoughtful expression crossing your face. “Because then they will see me as weak,” you replied, your voice soft. Resuming your search, you pulled out one of his long coats. A playful smirk spread across your lips as you turned to face him. The coat nearly touched the floor, engulfing you.

Law shook his head in amusement. You removed the coat and playfully tossed it at him. He pulled the coat off his face with a smirk, “You are one of the strongest fighters of the crew; no one is going to think you are weak, not even for a second.”

“They will when they find out how it happened,” you spoke coldly, gripping the next item tightly.

Law noticed the action and stood up to grab your arm. “Y/N, what happened does not make you weak,” he spoke softly in your ear as your back pressed against his chest.

You frowned gently, releasing the fabric and placing your hand over his. A sigh escaped your lips as you relaxed into his touch. “The only two people who know about the… event… are you and Ikkaku. And both of you already look at me differently. I don’t think I can handle it when the rest of the crew starts looking at me like that,” you admitted, avoiding his gaze.

Law looked down at you in surprise, “I don’t look at you differently,” he defended. You shook your head, and his frown deepened. He grabbed your shoulders, gently spinning you to face him. “Okay, maybe I do look at you differently, but it’s not because I think you’re weak.”

Your gaze met his, and you absorbed his words. “I know that what happened was awful, but it showed that you are much braver than I could ever imagine. You saved those other women, and you protected Ikkaku. I think it shows how much you care about everyone around you.” Law paused as he looked into your eyes. “If I am looking at you differently, it’s not because you’re weak, but because you’ve been amazing me.” A blush crept on his face as he watched your eyes search his face.

Law’s eyes widened in horror as he watched your body lay on the ground. A low groan escaped your lips as your hand instinctively moved towards your stomach, a look of pure terror etched on your face. His heart pounded in his chest as he lunged towards you, the desperate need to protect both you and your child consuming him.

His path was disrupted when Blackbeard landed on the island, his arrival a jarring interruption. Law's attention was torn between your desperate state and the looming threat. A growl erupted from his throat as he glared at the pirate, his mind racing with a thousand different plans. Blackbeard, sensing an opportunity, swung at him, forcing Law to defend himself. The pirate’s blow sent him crashing across the beach, his body slamming into the unforgiving sand.

A blood-curdling scream tore from your throat as you collapsed to the ground, your focus solely on your injured abdomen. Then, with a feral snarl, your head snapped up, and your eyes locked on the monstrous pirate. Adrenaline coursed through your veins as you launched yourself at Blackbeard, your Haki-coated sword a blur. You connected with his chest, the impact sending a thrill of satisfaction through you.

Blackbeard’s vein throbbed in his forehead as he looked down at you with surprise and irritation as you seemingly disappeared into the next attack. He swung his arm toward you, but you easily dodged his attack and appeared beside him, slashing at his open side. He hissed as his hand instinctively reached for his injured side, granting you a guttural growl from the pirate.

You took no moment to relish in his anger but allowed another feral scream to roar out of your chest as you dove into another attack. This time, the pirate captain stopped you in your tracks by grabbing your throat and lifting you to his eye level. You dropped your sword as you clawed at his massive arm, terror and desperation warring within you as you gasped for air.

A twisted smile crept across Blackbeard’s face as he looked down at you, your face soaked in tears and contorted in fear. “Wow, you are a spiteful one!” He sneered, but his mockery was cut short by the blue-coated end of Law’s sword piercing through his chest. A look of shock and disbelief flashed across his face as he dropped you to the ground.

Law’s voice echoed through the air as he unleashed his attack, his blade now crackling with yellow electricity.

Blackbeard faltered to the ground, his gaze now fixed on the enraged, bloodied doctor. With a swift motion, Law pulled up the ground beneath him, transforming it into a deadly threat that spun around him as he launched himself at his opponent.

You groaned in agony, clutching your injured abdomen. You tried to look up towards the fight but were only met with the pitch darkness of Blackbeard's black vortex. When the darkness that enveloped the battlefield dissipated, your eyes quickly searched for your captain.

Law was on the ground, covered in blood. His usual snarky demeanor was replaced with one of raw fear as Blackbeard hovered above him tauntingly.

Ignoring the pain, you pushed yourself off the ground. Your vision blurred, and your legs trembled, but you refused to give in. You raised your sword and shouted for the pirate, gaining his attention. He turned to look over at you but laughed, seeing your state. “Do you really want to keep fighting me? When you look like that!”

You straightened yourself as you held your sword up confidently. “For my captain. I will do anything. Even die,” you declared, your voice filled with a fierce resolve.

Blackbeard's expression shifted, a flicker of surprise and perhaps even respect crossing his face as his eyes drifted down toward your slightly raised belly.

"Y/N... don't," Law coughed, his voice weak but filled with a desperate plea for you to stay out of the fight. Blackbeard smirked, relishing in Law's vulnerability.

But before either of you could react, a shockwave erupted from the Heart Pirates' side. The ground trembled as a monstrous figure emerged - Bepo transformed into a colossal, enraged beast. Twice his normal size, his fur was pure white, and his eyes glowed an ominous red. With a thunderous roar, he charged towards Blackbeard's crew, his voice echoing across the island.

"Don't touch my captain!”

"Y/N," Law coughed, his voice barely a whisper. You fell to your knees beside him, taking his hand in yours. "Get out of here," he begged, “please, save yourself.” his eyes filled with a desperation you'd never seen before.

You shook your head, bringing his hand to your lips and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

"Thank you, Law," you whispered, tears streaming down your face. "For everything." A bitter smile tugged at your lips. "I'm sorry," you managed to say before pushing yourself to your feet. Bepo was already returning to his normal size, his exhausted breaths a stark contrast to his previous ferocity.

Bepo collapsed to the ground, his knees buckling beneath him. Tears streamed down his face as he looked at his brother. You rushed to his side, helping him to his feet. "You need to get him away from here," you urged, your voice trembling. Bepo nodded, his determination unwavering.

You turned to face Blackbeard as he pushed himself up from the ground Bepo pounded him into, your heart pounding in your chest as you swallowed a painful lump in your throat. "And don't let him see what happens next," you whispered, a single tear escaping your eye as you came to terms with your fate.

Bepo's breath hitched in his chest as he realized the gravity of your words. Fear gripped him, but he couldn't find his voice. "GO NOW!" you screamed, your voice filled with desperation. Bepo nodded, tears streaming down his face. Scooping Law into his arms, he turned and ran towards the sea. You took one last look at the two before shifting your attention back to the pirate crew and jumping into your attack.

"Bepo, please!" Law cried out, his voice filled with anguish as they fled. "I can't leave them! I can't let Y/N!" His sobs echoed in the air. Blackbeard's cruel laughter filled the silence as he held your lifeless body aloft. Bepo's heart shattered as he dove into the water, blocking the horrifying sight from Law's view.

Law finally was consumed by the darkness, allowing Bepo to take him far away from the island and out of Blackbeard's clutches.

Law sat at the edge of a cliff, looking off at the sea and its taunting waves. The wind whipped his coat around him as his fingers rubbed the worn rope of Kikoku’s hilt. The bags beneath his eyes were deep, the faint spark of hope that was growing since Dressrosa had extinguished, replaced by a hollow void.

From the small hut behind him, Bepo watched, his large paws wringing together. This was the third island they had traveled to while in hiding. Bepo had to take the lead role in their planning while Law retreated into his grief.

“Captain?” Bepo called, his voice a hesitant rumble.

Law's head shifted, a brief, sharp glare, before returning to the restless waves. "What, Bepo?”

The bear rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he approached. “I brought food.”

“I’m not hungry,” Law grumbled.

Bepo placed the plate on the ground beside him. "Captain, you've barely eaten. Please." His large, pleading eyes, usually an irresistible force, met with Law's vacant stare.

Law scoffed, his gaze fixed on the turbulent sea. "Why bother?”

Bepo's brow furrowed, his voice laced with a frustrated sadness. "They could have survived," he mumbled, the words a raw, painful truth.

Law's head snapped around, his eyes blazing. "Excuse me?"

Bepo met his gaze, his own eyes filled with a determined anger. "You are disrespecting their strength by thinking they all died. Especially Y/N!"

Law's eyes squeezed shut, a flinch at the sound of her name. He looked away, the pain a physical ache.

Bepo leaned closer in anger. "Y/N is the strongest woman I know; she could have survived, but you are disrespecting her by thinking she didn’t!"

"You don't think I know that!" Law shouted, rising to his feet, his voice raw. "Of course she could have survived.” Bepo looked up in confusion. Law sighed as he sank back down, his body heavy with grief. "But her daughter didn’t," he whispered, tears welling in his eyes.

Bepo's eyes widened. "Daughter?" His mind raced, piecing together the past month. "Y/N was pregnant?" Law nodded, his head bowed in sorrow.

"Was it yours?" Bepo questioned in shock.

Law shook his head, his grip tightening on Kikoku. "It was a guard from Wano," he growled, the words thick with a bitter edge.

"What?" Bepo's voice was a hushed whisper.

"In the Wano prison. The guard, he..." Law trailed off, the memory a sharp, agonizing sting.

"I... I didn't know," Bepo stammered, his mind reeling.

"She didn't want anyone to know. She was afraid the crew would see her as weak."

"We would never!" Bepo protested, his voice filled with hurt. "How could I let that happen?" He grabbed his head in frustration.

"It wasn't your fault," Law said, his voice low. "You can't blame yourself. It won't help anything, and it just takes away from what happened to her."

Law’s breath hitched. He looked away. "She didn't know it was a girl." His eyes began to water. "I was going to tell her when we made it to Dressrosa." Bepo reached over to hug his brother in comfort. "She was afraid if it was a boy, it would look like that guard."

Bepo’s eyebrows pinched in thought. "Is that why we were on track for Dressrosa?"

Law nodded, pushing out of the hug. "She thought it would be the best place to raise her child away from the pirate life. And I figured she would do good for the kingdom. I had a lot of hope for her."

Bepo looked down in thought. "You were going to join her?" he stated in realization.

Law’s eyes widened. He had not admitted his desire to join you to anyone. "Not right away. I’d still wanted to find out more about the Will of D, but I think after that, a part of me wanted to settle down with her."

A few days later, Bepo’s hands trembled as he stared at the photos delivered by an unknown bird. Law emerged from the hut, his eyes drawn to Bepo’s distress.

"Bepo, what do you have there?" Law asked, his voice sharp.

Bepo instinctively hid the photos, his eyes wide with fear. Law’s frown deepened. "Give it to me," he ordered, his voice laced with ice.

Bepo reluctantly handed over the photos. Law’s heart sank as the color drained from his face.

The photos showed you, chained and bloodied, your eyes vacant, your body bearing the marks of brutal treatment. The hoodie he last saw you in was torn, revealing the lower curve of your stomach, confirming the loss of your child.

Law’s emotions twisted into a spiral. A part of him was relieved to see you clearly alive. Another part of him was furious to see you in such a state, and the last part of him was furious that he had put you in such a situation again.

A letter, stained with a dark, viscous substance, lay beneath the photos. He unfolded it, recognizing your handwriting, the ink clearly blood.

‘Law, I am writing this under the distress of Blackbeard. However, I am convinced he cannot read or write. He is currently telling me to write my pleas for rescue, but I insist you don’t. The crew is here as well. We can survive together. Unfortunately, Hakugan, Clione, and Jean Bart did not survive the Polar Tang explosion. But the rest of the crew is alive and well. Blackbeard has included a eternal post that will bring you to the island we are heading to, but I insist that you don’t. He may include photos that will scare you, but I’m fine. Your survival and the preservation of your Devil Fruit are of utmost importance. Do not come. Y/N.’

Law crumpled up the letter in his hand and held it close to his face in thought. "Captain?" Bepo asked, his voice trembling. "What are we going to do?"

Law’s jaw twitched, his gaze fixed on Bepo’s worried face. The air crackled with the lingering energy of his brief clash with Blackbeard. “We will get Y/N and the rest of our crew back, Bepo,” he stated, his voice low and laced with a grim determination that held no argument. “I swear it.”

Your eyelids fluttered open, the harsh glare of a single, flickering lantern stabbing into your eyes. You flinched, a wave of nausea washing over you, and raised a trembling hand to shield your face. A chorus of voices, distorted and echoing, announced, "She's up!" The sound vibrated through your skull, a painful thrumming that made you groan.

You struggled to sit up, your body protesting with every movement. Your head swam, and a dull ache pulsed behind your eyes. Hands, warm and reassuring, steadied you. You looked up, your vision blurry, to see Shachi's worried face hovering above you. You were lying on the cold, damp stone floor, your head resting in his lap. Ikkaku and Penguin held your shoulders, their expressions a mix of relief and concern.

"Shachi? Ikkaku? Penguin? Where are we? What happened?" You pressed a hand to your throbbing temple, trying to piece together the shattered fragments of your memory. "LAW!" You shouted, the name tearing from your throat, a raw, desperate plea. You tried to rise, but your legs buckled, and Ikkaku and Penguin gently lowered you back down.

Your gaze fell to your abdomen, the torn fabric of Law’s hoodie revealing the brutal truth. You raised a shaky hand, the phantom weight of your lost child. Your fingers traced the jagged cuts, the skin cold and scarred. Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision. You winced, pulling your hand away, the metallic tang of blood filling your mouth.

“Gone…” The word was a ragged tear in the silence, your voice barely audible. Your hand instinctively drifted to your ravaged abdomen, the phantom weight of life now a hollow ache. “My baby is Gone.” A strangled sob escaped your lips. “I let it happen… I failed him… failed everyone…” A hiccuping cough tore through you, each spasm a fresh wave of grief. You leaned heavily into Ikkaku, the dam finally breaking, hot tears streaming down your face, mingling with the grime of the cell.

Ikkaku's own tears threatened to spill as she held you close, her hand stroking your hair. "Shhh," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, unable to find the words to comfort you.

Exhaustion finally claimed you, and you slipped into unconsciousness, leaving Ikkaku to face the bewildered stares of the crew. She sighed, gently lowering your head back into her lap, and continued to stroke your hair.

"Did she say 'baby?" Penguin asked, his voice barely a whisper. All eyes turned to Shachi.

Shachi's eyes widened. Ikkaku shook her head. "You haven't hooked up in a year." Shachi sighed in relief, earning an eye roll from Ikkaku.

"If it wasn't Shachi, was it… the captain's?" Penguin questioned, and a murmur rippled through the crew.

"They have been spending a lot of time together," Shachi commented, his brow furrowed in thought. The crew erupted in a flurry of questions and theories.

"Stop it!" Ikkaku snapped, her voice sharp. "It wasn't Law's or anyone you know!"

The crew fell silent, their eyes fixed on Ikkaku.

She sighed, her gaze softening as she looked down at your tear-streaked face. "It was a guard at the Wano prison."

The crew exchanged shocked glances, waiting for her to continue.

"She was protecting the other women… and…" Ikkaku swallowed a sob unable to repeat the event that she was forced to witness a month ago. "She didn't want to get rid of it, and the captain was going to take her to Dressrosa."

A wave of sorrow washed over the crew. They looked around the cold, damp cell, their hearts aching for you. A silent pact formed: Never again.

When you finally awoke, Ikkaku's arms were wrapped tightly around you, her breathing deep and even. You carefully detangled yourself and found half the crew asleep, the others standing guard. Penguin shuffled over, helping you gently lay Ikkaku down.

"What happened?" you asked, your voice hoarse.

Penguin lowered his head. "Blackbeard…. The Polar Tang was destroyed, killing those aboard.” He swallowed hard at the memory, and you looked around, noting the missing crew members. “The rest of us woke up in here.”

"Law?" you questioned, your heart pounding.

"We think he and Bepo escaped. That’s why Blackbeard brought us here, to lure him back."

You nodded, taking in the battered forms of your crew. You licked your dry, cracked lips and walked to the cell bars. The air hung heavy, a cloying mix of damp mildew that clung to the stone walls and the sharp, metallic tang of that seemed to emanate from every shadowed corner. Across the way, a figure stirred in another cell.

The woman seemed to be asleep, and you looked over at Penguin for answers as he approached. "Pudding, One of Big Mom's daughters. That blond Straw Hat was supposed to marry her.”

You nodded. “Has she been any help?”

Penguin shook his head. “She just taunts us.”

You turned around, looking to find only 16 of the 19 crew members of the Heart Pirates remained, excluding Law and Bepo. You took a deep breath to avoid crying again and turned to Penguin. “What is the status of everyone?”

"Minor injuries, cuts. We bandaged everyone. You were the only one that… your injuries were grim. You were in a coma for three days. Blackbeard was insistent we stabilize you."

"He was?"

"We thinks you're the reason he didn't leave us on the island. To lure captain back.”

You sighed, looking over your crew. "Then we'll prove him wrong."

Penguin frowned but nodded. "With you here, I think he will be proven right," he mumbled to himself.

The next morning, Blackbeard's booming laughter echoed through the hold as he banged a metal cup against the cell bars. Shachi and Penguin immediately stepped in front of you, the rest of the crew forming a protective wall.

Ikkaku grabbed your shoulder to ensure you would stay behind the wall and close to her.

Blackbeard laughed, a guttural sound that echoed through the cold, damp cell. "I see you are finally awake." His eyes, dark and predatory, scanned the crew, then locked onto yours. "Good."

"Her condition is not your concern!" Shachi shouted, crossing his arms and shifting himself defiantly in front of Blackbeard's gaze.

Blackbeard scoffed. "I am just glad to see her awake." He pressed his face closer to the bars, his gaze pierced through the crew, locking onto yours. "I'll need you awake for what I have planned." Your eyes glared at the man, a mask of defiance hiding the flicker of fear within. The man laughed at your expression before turning to leave.

Your glare stood strong, not letting any fears through, which could not be said the same for Ikkaku, who gripped your arm tighter, her knuckles white. You patted her arm in assurance. "Thank you all," you spoke, looking up at your crew members, their faces a wall of determination.

"We promise we won't let anyone touch you here," Shachi stated, his voice ringing with conviction.

A laugh, sharp and mocking, cut through the air. "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep." You looked over to see Pudding, her three eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. Shachi rolled his eyes, ignoring her along with the rest of the crew. "You can't think your small action will actually keep him away from her." She laughed again, a high-pitched, unsettling sound.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Shachi finally snapped, turning towards her.

She laughed, "We are all here for a reason, and hers is that she will lure your captain. And from what I've heard from your quite loud group, I'll say he is right."

You scowled and opened your mouth to retort, but Shachi spoke first, "Good! When the captain comes, he'll defeat Blackbeard just like she defeated your mom!"

Pudding flinched, a flicker of anger crossing her face, but she quickly regained her composure. "Just don't make promises you can't keep. Blackbeard found a weakness for your captain, and he will use it. Your little protective wall just proved him right."

Shachi scowled, but this time you silenced him, grabbing his arm. "Our captain is not foolish. Even if you are right, our captain will come in with a level head because he knows this crew is strong. And I promise that," you spat, before turning back to the crew, walking away from Pudding.

"Believe what you want," she scoffed, turning her head away.

****

Blackbeard returned the next day, a predatory smirk twisting his lips as he saw you sitting proudly in the center of the cell, surrounded by your crew. The moment the door creaked open, the crew jumped to their feet, forming their protective wall.

Blackbeard laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. "This again? Do you really think a wall will keep me from her?" The crew stood straighter, their faces grim, but remained silent.

"The child was not Law's," you stated coldly, your voice echoing in the cell. Blackbeard was taken aback, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, as if he had hoped the child was Law's. But he quickly shook his head. "That doesn't matter. I saw his desperation for you. His child or not, you will still make him weak."

Your glare intensified. "My captain will not make that mistake again and will destroy you."

"But he will when he sees what I have done to you while he was away again." Black shadows writhed, tendrils of darkness reaching out like grasping hands, their coldness seeping into the stone floor, creeping from beneath him and into the cell. "I heard about what happened in Wano… the way they…" he trailed off with a dark chuckle, "Let's see how desperate he would be to prevent that from happening again." Fear, cold and sharp, pierced you as the void stretched up your legs, the feeling of its coldness like a hand grabbing your soul.

Ikkaku and Shachi grabbed onto you, pulling you away from the encroaching darkness, but it was too strong, pulling you inexorably closer to the cell bars. You fought to stay in their arms, your nails scraping against their rough skin, leaving shallow, useless marks, but Blackbeard's Devil Fruit was too powerful. You were yanked through the group, your throat suddenly gripped in his hand.

The crew broke into a chaotic panic, shouting and lunging at the bars, their faces contorted with horror and rage, but Blackbeard pushed them back, slamming the heavy door shut with a deafening clang. He dangled you by his side, your feet kicking uselessly, your fingers clawing at his hand, as he left the prison. The last thing you saw was Ikkaku's face, a mask of pure, unadulterated terror.

Pudding sighed, "I warned you."

Days had passed since the Blackbeard pirates returned to their base island. You and your crew had been moved from their ship into a crude prison. Your crew was locked behind rusty bars, their faces grim with worry, while you were chained to the back wall of the main holding cell, just agonizingly out of their reach.

After the first brutal day of this arrangement, you had pleaded with your crew, to let you do all the talking, to not provoke your captors or try to defend you.

Now, you hung limply against the heavy chains biting cruelly into your wrists, the sticky warmth of old and fresh blood a constant reminder of your captivity. Your left eye throbbed with a dull, insistent ache, nearly swollen shut, and a sharp, stabbing pain radiated from what you suspected were several cracked or broken ribs.

The clang of metal against stone echoes in the suffocating darkness of your cell, the heavy door swinging inward with a violent force that makes you flinch. Blackbeard stands silhouetted against the dim light of the corridor, his massive frame radiating a palpable fury.

“WHERE IS HE!” he bellows, his voice a guttural roar that vibrates through your battered body.

“Why hasn’t your captain come crawling for you yet!” Blackbeard storms towards you, his heavy boots thudding on the stone floor. His greasy hand shoots out, gripping around your throat, cutting off your already shallow breaths. You meet his furious gaze with a defiant silence.

With a frustrated snarl, he flings you sideways against the cold stone wall. A fresh wave of agony washes over you, and you gasp, the rough stone scraping against your raw skin.

“Maybe just you isn’t enough,” he growls, his eyes gleaming with a cruel amusement. His eyes shift behind you to the cells that hold your crew. “Maybe I should start… encouraging him by torturing the rest of your precious little crew. Then he’ll come running faster, won’t he?”

A dry, humorless sound escapes your lips, a weak tisk. All eyes of your imprisoned nakama turn towards you. “He won’t,” you manage, your voice raspy. “You were right before. Torture me, and Law becomes desperate, reckless. Torture the crew…” You cough, spitting blood onto the ground. “Torture the crew, and he becomes angry. And an angry Law… is a methodical Law. You said so yourself you,” you rasp, meeting his furious gaze, “do not want to fight a methodical Law.”

Blackbeard’s glare intensifies, the air thick with his simmering rage. “And if I kill you or one of them…”

“It will snap him back,” you finish, the words a painful exhale. “Back into that cold, calculating mind of his.”

A grudging respect flickered in his dark eyes. “You make a good point. And I can appreciate you trying to protect your pathetic crew.” He lunges, his massive hand tangling in your matted hair, yanking your head upwards, the pain searing through your scalp. “But if your precious captain doesn’t arrive in the next two days… I’ll start taking their lives. And I’ll force you to watch.”

You look up at him, your eyes filled with a stark, undeniable fear.

The next day, the Blackbeard pirates dragged your crew out of the cells, leaving you alone in the cold chamber.

The salt-laced wind whipped at Law’s coat as his solitary figure stepped onto the crude dock of the island. His gaze, sharp and unwavering, cut through the scattered Blackbeard pirates who barely glanced his way, too drunk or too arrogant to recognize the storm brewing in his eyes. He knew Blackbeard would be expecting him, would relish this twisted game.

And there he was. Blackbeard, a hulking shadow against the dilapidated buildings, a grin splitting his greasy beard as his dark, beady eyes locked onto Law. A crude cage sat beside him, the familiar forms of his crew their faces grim. But you weren’t among them. A cold dread, sharper than any blade, twisted in Law’s gut.

“Trafalgar Law!” Blackbeard’s booming laugh echoed across the small port. “Come to surrender, have you? Smart move, Shishishi!” He gestured a thick arm towards the cage. “Your little crew here is in a delicate position. A word from me…” He mimed snapping his fingers, the implication chilling the air. “Unless, of course, you’d like to offer your own life in exchange for theirs?”

Law’s hand instinctively tightened around the hilt of Kikoku. “And Y/N?” His voice was low, a barely contained growl.

Blackbeard’s grin widened, a cruel glint in his eyes. “Ah, Y/N. A… special case. You see, Trafalgar, I know you have some tricks up your sleeve, so I have her safely locked away,” he chuckled darkly. “But you know how accidents happen in prison, don’t you?”

Rage, cold and sharp, pierced through Law’s carefully constructed composure. “You disgusting—”Before Law could finish, he lunged, Kikoku flashing silver in the dim light. Blackbeard roared, his own massive fists swinging. The clash of their power shook the ground.

Then, a monstrous roar ripped through the air from Law’s flank. Bepo, impossibly large and wreathed in the electric aura of his Sulong form, slammed into the ground beside Law, a furry white whirlwind of fury. His massive paw swiped at the cage, tearing through the flimsy bars as if they were paper.

Blackbeard roared in surprise, his eyes wide. “What?! That overgrown polar bear!” He glanced back at Law, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. “So, that was your little trick, Shishishi! Honestly, Law, I expected more from you.”

Law glared, his grip tightening on Kikoku before he lunged into his next attack. “So what if you got your crew free?” he snarled, their blades clashing. “I have Y/N! And right now, I have a crew of men who are torturing her as we speak. The longer you draw out this fight, the longer she will be tortured.”

Law hesitated, his sword wavering slightly, a flicker of pain crossing his features at the thought of your suffering. Blackbeard’s booming laughter echoed in the sudden lull, and Law flinched at the sound, his momentary lapse costing him as Blackbeard landed a heavy blow to his chest. With a renewed fury born of guilt and desperation, Law roared and lunged back into the fray.

Meanwhile, Bepo stood protectively in front of the freed Heart Pirates, who were now surrounded by a surging wave of low-ranking Blackbeard pirates – those without Devil Fruit powers, relying on sheer numbers. The Heart Pirates, weaponless and exhausted from their imprisonment, were struggling to defend themselves against the overwhelming tide. Law’s jaw twitched as his gaze flickered across the chaotic battlefield, a knot of anxiety tightening in his chest.

The island shuddered as Law’s Shambles lifted chunks of shattered earth into the air. They spun around Blackbeard like deadly orbits, a silent threat hanging in the dusty haze. Blackbeard roared, unleashing a blast of his dark energy, but Law deftly shifted the debris, intercepting the attack.

Then, as if the very earth had decided to join the fray, one of the massive boulders hurtled directly towards Blackbeard. But it wasn’t just a random rock. A blur of green, materialized in it's place, “Santoryu… Onigiri!” Two blades slammed into Blackbeard’s back, a deep gash tearing through his thick flesh. Blackbeard roared in pain and surprise, stumbling forward. Before he could react, the blur vanished in a swirl of Law’s power.

Blackbeard spun around, his eyes wide with disbelief. “What the hell—?!"

He didn’t have time to process it. Another figure blurred into existence behind him, this time replaced by the metallic gleam of out stretched arm. “Franky… Radical Beam!” A devastating laser blast erupted from his palm, slamming directly into Blackbeard’s face. The force of the attack sent the Yonko sprawling backward, smoke billowing from his scorched features.

And then, as Blackbeard flew through the air, a familiar rubbery form appeared in the space where a chunk of debris had been moments before. Luffy, his arm stretched taut like a slingshot, grinned widely. “Gomu Gomu no… Jet Gatling!” He launched himself forward, a flurry of rubbery fists slamming into Blackbeard’s chest, propelling him back towards Law with incredible force.

Law’s hand shot out, Shambles engulfing the space. As Blackbeard hurtled towards him, Sanji, a blur of black suit and fiery leg, slammed into the Yonko with a devastating kick, sending him careening into the ground.

Across the chaotic battlefield, Nami unleashed crackling thunderclouds, Usopp rained down explosive projectiles, Brook’s chilling Soul Solid sliced through the air, and Jinbe’s fish-man karate sent waves of water crashing against the encroaching Blackbeard pirates.

Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, and Law stood in a loose triangle above the cratered earth where Blackbeard lay groaning. A collective breath hung in the air.

****

[Three days earlier]

****

Bepo wrung his large, furry hands together, his usual cheerful demeanor replaced by a palpable anxiety. “Captain… we can’t fight Blackbeard alone. Not like this.”

Law spun around, his cape flaring, his gaze sharp and fractured with a raw desperation. “Then what other choice do we have, Bepo?! Y/N is in a prison, being tortured again! Because of me!” Tears welled in his grey eyes, a stark contrast to his usual controlled intensity.

Bepo inhaled sharply, his breath catching in his throat. “Going in alone… he’ll kill you, Captain. And like Y/N said in her note… your Devil Fruit power is too important. If Blackbeard gets his hands on the Op-Op no Mi… it could be the end of everything.”

“Then what in the damn world do you want me to do, Bepo!” Law’s voice cracked, the shout laced with a desperate frustration.

Bepo hesitated, his brow furrowed in thought, his large frame trembling slightly. “We… we ask the Straw Hats for help.” He flinched visibly after uttering the words, bracing himself for Law’s inevitable fury at the mere suggestion.

Law froze, the anger draining away, replaced by a weary disbelief. “No,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “No, we can’t…” He took a ragged breath, dragging a hand across his damp eyes. “For one, we have no idea where they even are. Secondly… even if we did find them… I told Luffy we were no longer allies. They have no reason… no reason at all to help us.”

Bepo fidgeted, his ears drooping, before his paw fumbled inside his pocket, retrieving a small, rectangular piece of paper – a Vivre Card. “Nami… Nami gave this to me. In case of emergencies.” He avoided Law’s gaze. “I promised her… I promised her I wouldn’t tell you about it if you were planning on using it to fight Luffy. We don’t need to be allies to ask for their help, Captain. They… they’re our friends.”

Law stared at the Vivre Card in Bepo’s paw, a flicker of hope igniting in his weary eyes.

The next day, a small, battered rowboat scraped against the hull of the magnificent Thousand Sunny. Luffy’s face broke into a wide, joyful grin at the sight of Law, but the cheerfulness vanished instantly, replaced by a deep concern as he took in their disheveled state. He was instantly helping Law onto the deck, his usual boisterous energy replaced by a quiet urgency as Law, his voice strained, explained their desperate situation. Luffy listened intently, his expression hardening with each word. When Law finished, the Straw Hat captain’s answer was immediate and resolute. “Blackbeard hurt my friends? Then he’s gonna pay. Nobody hurts my friends and gets away with it!”

The interior of the Thousand Sunny’s lounge was dimly lit, the only sound the rustling of maps and the occasional sip of coffee. Law leaned over a crudely drawn map of the island, pointing to a specific location with a long, pale finger. Luffy sat across from him, legs kicked up on the table, a piece of meat halfway to his mouth. Zoro leaned against a bookshelf, arms crossed, his single eye narrowed in contemplation. Sanji and Robin stood nearby, their expressions serious. The rest of the Straw Hats sat on the couches, watching Law’s map closely.

“The initial confrontation is crucial,” Law’s voice was low, his gaze intense. “I go in alone. Blackbeard’s ego is as large as his stomach. He’ll want the satisfaction of me facing him directly. He’ll use my crew as leverage, I’m certain of it. Especially Y/N.”

Luffy swallowed his meat. “So you’re just gonna walk into a trap?”

“It’s a calculated risk,” Law corrected, his tone sharp. “Bepo’s Sulong form will create the initial disruption, drawing attention and hopefully giving Chopper and Robin the window they need.”

“To find Y/N, right?” Chopper squeaked, his small form sitting next to Robin.

Law nodded, his gaze softening slightly at the sight of the anxious doctor. “Precisely. Robin’s knowledge of infiltration and Chopper’s medical expertise… you two are the best suited for a swift and discreet rescue.” He held up the small, crimson-stained piece of paper. “I was able to make a Vivre Card from the letter they sent with Y/N’s blood. This will lead you to her.”

“Once Y/N is free and armed,” Law continued, his eyes meeting Robin’s, “her priority will be to secure the rest of our crew and get them back to the Sunny.” He slid Y/N’s familiar katana across the map towards Robin. The worn leather of the hilt seemed to hum with a silent familiarity.

Sanji’s brow furrowed, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “You expect Y/N to fight in her condition, Law?”

Law’s gaze hardened, a fierce protectiveness flickering within them. “Y/N can fight. I’ve seen her fight through injuries that would cripple even the toughest people. Nothing will stop her. Even if they cut off her arms,” his voice was low and unwavering, “she would still find a way to tear them apart with her teeth. Never underestimate her.”

Zoro grinned, a rare flash of camaraderie in his single eye. “Sounds like my kind of woman!”

Law ignored him, his attention returning to the map. “While Bepo engages and I clash with Blackbeard, the rest of you will infiltrate from the rear. The element of surprise is our greatest weapon.”

****

[Present]

****

You raise your head, the brewing ruckus outside filtering into your dark cell. The sounds of battle – shouts, clashing steel, and the unmistakable bellow of Law’s voice – send a jolt of conflicting emotions through your battered body. Relief washes over you that he has arrived, but it’s quickly followed by a sharp wave of anger and a gnawing fear. Anger that he didn’t heed your warning, that his desperation has led him straight into Blackbeard’s trap. Fear that he might die here, and with him, perhaps, any hope for the future.

You hear heavy footsteps and hushed voices approaching your chamber. The heavy door swings inward with a groan, revealing the nasty, expectant smiles of several Blackbeard pirates. “Looks like your captain finally arrived,” one of them sneers, their eyes raking over your chained and bloodied form.

“Blackbeard told us to keep you… busy while he deals with the main event,” another chuckles, their eyes filled with a malicious anticipation as they crowd into the cell.

A surge of defiance, courses through your battered body. You straighten against the chains, the metal biting deeper into your raw skin, and glare at them, ready to unleash any ounce of strength you have left.

One of them reaches for your shoulder, and you twist your head, sinking your teeth into his hand. He shrieks, recoiling in pain, and you follow through with a brutal kick to his groin, sending him doubling over.

“Why you vicious little—!” he roars, raising a fist to strike you. But before his knuckles can connect, two delicate hands bloom from his back, their grip swift and deadly. They twist his head with a sickening crack, and he crumples to the ground. Surprise flickers across your face as three more pirates follow suit, collapsing silently.

Standing in the doorway is Robin holding her arms in a cross infront of her. Chopper peeks out nervously from behind her legs, his small form clutching a medical kit. A weak smile touches your lips. Law had found help from friends and is here under a level head.

After Chopper had cleaned and bandaged your most grievous wounds, Robin gently guides you out of the cell. Your legs are unsteady, each step sending jolts of pain through your ribs, and you lean heavily on her for support.

“Law said you would want to fight,” Robin says softly, her voice laced with concern. “But in your condition…”

Your gaze hardens. The pain is a roaring beast, but the thought of Law facing Blackbeard alone, of your crew still in danger… it eclipses everything else. You look up at Robin, “I will not let my captain or my crew die today.”

Robin’s lips curve into a small, understanding smile. “Very well then.”

The sounds of battle grow louder as you emerge into the open air. The sight that greets you is chaotic. Your crew, freed but unarmed, are surrounded by a snarling mob of Blackbeard pirates, Bepo a massive, furry bulwark against them, but clearly overwhelmed. Here and there, a glint of stolen steel flashes as Shachi, Penguin, and a few others fight with desperate ferocity.

Before you can fully assess the situation, Robin’s arms cross, and a silent wave of her power sweeps through the press of pirates surrounding your crew. They crumple to the ground like puppets with their strings cut. Your nakama look up, their eyes widening as they see you, Chopper, and Robin.

A collective cheer erupts, and they surge towards you, a wave of relief and fierce affection washing over you as you collide in a chaotic group hug. “Y/N!” “We were so worried!” “Forgive us for not protecting you better!”

You push away, wiping the tears from your eyes. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”

Ikkaku holds you at arm’s length, her gaze sweeping over your injuries, her own eyes brimming with tears. Shachi and Penguin stand close behind, their hands hovering protectively on your shoulders. “We’re so sorry, Y/N,” Ikkaku chokes out.

You place your hand over hers, a small, reassuring gesture. “Don’t be. I would endure it all again a thousand times over if it meant keeping you all alive.”

Shachi clears his throat, his voice thick with emotion. “We promise, Y/N. From this day forward… we will protect you. We won’t let anyone take you prisoner again.”

A genuine smile touches your lips. “Thank you, Shachi. Thank you all.” A chorus of determined nods answers you. “But first,” you say, your gaze hardening, “let’s focus on getting out of here.” Robin steps forward. “The Thousand Sunny is docked on the western side of the island. Your captain wants you to retreat there.”

“Bullshit!” Penguin roars, hefting a crudely fashioned club he’d taken from a fallen pirate. “We can fight! We will fight!” The rest of the crew echo his sentiment, brandishing stolen weapons, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten in their fierce loyalty.

Robin’s lips curve into a knowing smile. “Very well then.” She turns towards the main battlefield, where the familiar forms of the Straw Hats are a whirlwind of motion. Your crew, a determined wave of red and white, charges after her.

Your gaze snaps towards the center of the fray. Law, Luffy, Sanji, and Zoro stand in a tense standoff against Blackbeard, who is raising his hand, a swirling vortex of the same terrifying darkness that had overwhelmed Law on the beach during your last battle beginning to form. A cold dread grips your heart. “Bepo!” you yell, your voice hoarse. The massive bear turns his furry head towards you. “Throw me over there! Now!”

Law braced himself as Blackbeard pushed his massive form out of the crater, a manic grin stretching across his scarred face. “Shihihi! This is better than I could have imagined! You brought me Straw Hat! I can kill the both of you at once now!” He leaped, landing with a thunderous thud in the center of Luffy, Law, Sanji, and Zoro.

Luffy cracked his knuckles, his eyes blazing with anger. “In your dreams! No one hurts my friends and gets away with it!” He launched a swift punch at Blackbeard, who easily dodged, followed by a swing from Zoro’s blades and a precise cut from Law’s Kikoku, both of which the Yonko evaded with disturbing ease.

“Shihihi! Is this the combined might that took down Kaido?” Blackbeard taunted, his eyes gleaming with amusement. He raised his hand, and Law’s blood ran cold as he watched the familiar, swirling vortex of darkness begin to coalesce.

“Luffy! Don’t let that vortex touch you! It absorbs Devil Fruit powers!” Law yelled a warning, and Luffy, his eyes widening in understanding, leaped backward, putting distance between himself and the growing void. “Zoro, Sanji, you need to…” Law began to strategize, but a blur of motion caught his eye.

You.

Propelled by Bepo’s massive throw, you flew across the battlefield, your sword a black streak against the smoky air. The haki-coated blade slammed into Blackbeard’s outstretched arm, halting the growth of the dark vortex with a sickening crunch. Blackbeard roared in pain, clutching his injured limb as blood blossomed between his fingers.

You land nimbly on the other side of him, your chest heaving with ragged breaths, your haki-covered sword still aimed at the stunned Yonko. “Don’t slow down! Keep fighting!” you gasped, and Zoro, Sanji, and Luffy instantly surged back into the attack, a renewed ferocity in their movements.

But Law’s gaze was fixed on you. He saw the tremor in your stance, the almost imperceptible sway. He moved without conscious thought, running to your side just as your legs threatened to buckle.

“Law…” you panted, leaning heavily against him. “You came.”

“Luffy!” Law’s voice boomed across the battlefield, his concern for you overriding the immediate fight. “Next phase! Now!”

Luffy grinned, slamming a fist against his chest, steam erupting around him. “Gear… Fiiiifth!” His form began to shift, becoming cartoonishly elastic.

“Shambles!” In a blink, Law and you were gone, reappearing on the other side of the island, the familiar wooden planks of the Thousand Sunny solid beneath your feet. Your legs gave out completely, and Law caught you, holding you tightly against him.

“Law…” your voice was weak, but the fire in your eyes still burned.

He held you close, the scent of blood and salt stinging his nose. “Y/N… gods, Y/N…” His voice was thick with emotion, a torrent of guilt and relief washing over him. “I am so sorry. For leaving you on that battlefield… for everything that happened… because I wasn’t strong enough… because I didn’t protect you like I should have.” His grip tightened, a desperate plea for forgiveness. “I’m sorry you lost your child…” The unspoken grief hung heavy between you.

Your hand, trembling slightly, reached up to cup his cheek. Your eyes filled with a fierce, unwavering love. “Law… don’t. I would gladly lose everything, every single thing, to protect you. You are my everything, Law. Without you…” Your voice caught, a raw vulnerability in your tone. “Without you, I have nothing.”

He leaned down, his lips finding yours in a deep, desperate kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of pain and longing, of survival and an unbreakable bond. A silent promise of enduring love amidst the chaos of war.

Finally, you broke apart, both breathing heavily. “We have to go back,” Law said, his voice hoarse but firm.

“To our crew,” you stated, a newfound resolve hardening your gaze despite the pain.

You returned to the edge of the island just as Luffy, now a bouncing, laughing figure of rubbery chaos, began to unleash a relentless assault on a bewildered Blackbeard.

“Go,” Law said, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder. “Get to our crew.”

He Shambled himself towards the cluster of Straw Hats battling the larger Blackbeard pirates. Your resolve hardening, you moved towards the sound of your crew’s voices.

Exhaustion clawed at you, but you fought through it. Each swing of your sword was a desperate act, yet your movements remained brutally efficient, a testament to years of honed skill. Then, the edges of your vision began to blur. A wave of dizziness washed over you. The world tilted. And you fell

“Y/N!” Ikkaku’s voice, thick with worry, as she ran to reached you first. Before you could fully register the wave of relief washing over you, Shachi’s hand was on your back, steadying you, while Penguin positioned himself slightly in front, his makeshift club held ready. Ikkaku gently lifted you, supporting your weight.

“I think now is the time to retreat.” Shachi said, “for y/n.”

Eventually, battered but unbroken, the entire Heart Pirate crew made their way back to the relative safety of the Thousand Sunny. Across the ravaged island, Luffy, a giant rubber fist cocked back, slammed into Blackbeard with the force of a small meteor, sending the Yonko hurtling through the air, a distant, fading roar swallowed by the wind.

After everyone had returned to the Thousand Sunny and was patched up, a boisterous celebration lit up the ship until a quiet exhaustion claimed the crews, who now sprawled across the deck, a tapestry of bandages and weary smiles. Sleep, however, eluded you and Law.

You stood at the front of the Sunny, leaning on the railing as the morning breeze gently caressed your hair. The salty air filled your lungs, a stark contrast to the stale confinement of your recent prison. A familiar presence approached, his footsteps soft on the wooden deck.

“Can’t sleep?” Law’s voice was a low murmur beside you before he leaned on the railing next to you.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, the familiar comfort a balm to your frayed nerves. “Not really,” you admitted.

Law hummed, looking off into the ocean. “How are you faring?”

You closed your eyes, taking in his peaceful presence. “Not well, to be honest, but I’m doing better now that you’re here. How are you?”

“upset honestly,” Law murmured, his gaze fixed on the horizon, “Seeing you… like that…” He trailed off, unable to voice the full extent of his anguish as flashing of the images of you he received entered his mind. “It won’t happen again.” He vowed his hand gently stroked your hair. “But I am proud of you, though. Your strength… the way you kept the rest of the crew… mostly out of harm’s way.”

You sighed softly, leaning further into his touch. “It wasn’t easy, Law. The first few days… all I wanted to do was grieve. The loss of my child… the loss of Hakugan, Clione, and Jean Bart… the Polar Tang…” A tremor ran through you. “But I knew I had to be strong. For them but I was so scared not for myself but for them if they kept defending me they would be harmed or killed.”

Law tilted his head placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “You don't have to be strong with me. Your safe. Their safe thanks to you.”

You turn into his shoulder sucking in a ragged breath and let the tears flow soaking his shoulder. You felt his hand tighten on your shoulder. “I'm sorry y/n but I have to know did Blackbeard… did he…” His thought wandered, searching for the right words, but you knew what he was asking: if he had done the same thing the guards in Wano had done to you.

You shook your head. “No, and when the others tried, they didn’t get the chance,” you cut in, a small, grateful smile touching your lips. “Robin and Chopper… they arrived right on time.” A wave of relief washed over Law at your words.

A heavier silence fell between you. “And… the baby?” Law asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “How are you… dealing with that?”

You took a deep breath, the salty air stinging your eyes. “Devastated. There’s no other word for it. But… strangely… there’s also a sense of relief. No more constant worry about its safety in this life. You were right, Law. It’s too dangerous for a child right now. Maybe… maybe one day, when things are different… But not yet. Not when there’s still so much to do to make this world better.”

Law was silent for a moment, absorbing your words. “What do you want to do next, then?”

You admitted, a touch of uncertainty in your voice, “I don’t know. Without the Polar Tang… our old path feels… different. But after facing Blackbeard… and seeing Luffy fight… I know we have to keep going. We have to see him become the Pirate King, Law. Bring that new era into the world.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Law’s features. For so long, your conviction had been that he would be the one to change the world, perhaps even become King. Now, your gaze held a newfound respect as it drifted towards Luffy, who was snoring softly amidst a pile of discarded bandages. The way you looked at him was as if he was always meant to be king, the same way he had watched the people of Dressrosa and Wano look at him.

Law nodded slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face. “He… he is capable of more than I ever could. And… I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. I’ve seen it myself… the kind of freedom he brings wherever he goes.”

You turned to Law, a small, playful smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “So, Captain… what do you say? Are you going to don a straw hat?”

Law chuckled softly, the sound a welcome lightness in the dawn air. “Maybe. But what about our crew? We can’t expect the Straw Hats to allow all seventeen of us on his ship.”

“Maybe we find a new ship,” you suggested, your gaze drifting towards your sleeping nakama, “and sail as close allies with them? Or we could travel to Zou and Dressrosa… even Wano. All of them need help rebuilding. Maybe… maybe we split up for now.”

Law glances over at the deck at his crew. Before you walk up here the crew was sticking close to your side and when you walked way shachi and penguin took guard at the bottom of the stairs before falling asleep. Law laughed, a genuine, heartfelt sound. “Seeing how protective the crew has become over you, Y/N… I don’t think we’ll be able to convince them to leave your side anytime soon. If anything… I almost want to say you’re more their captain now than I am.”

You threw a soft punch to his side, a playful jab. “Don’t say that! We’re all here to follow you, Law.”

He shook his head. “And look what following me has done. When I lead, I lead them to trouble, to disaster, but when you lead, they are protected, they are hopeful. And I have been separated from them too many times now. It doesn’t even feel like I am even a part of the crew sometimes,” he admitted, lowering his head. He had been keeping his distance ever since Wano but so have you.

“Law,” you said softly, your hand finding his, “they’re more than just a crew. They’re your family. No separation will ever break that. And we follow you not because you will protect us or keep us safe; we follow you because we believe in you and want you to achieve your dreams.”

Law’s gaze softened, his eyes meeting yours with a newfound tenderness. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Then… let’s take care of them together. As… co-captains.”

Your breath hitched, surprise coloring your features. You looked from Law’s loving gaze to your crew, still sleeping peacefully on the deck, and back again. A warmth spread through your chest, a sense of shared purpose and unwavering love.

“Deal,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “Whatever comes next… we do it together.”

You leaned in, your lips finding his in a tender kiss, a silent promise of a shared future, whatever uncertain horizons lay ahead.

A/N: Thank you for reading 😊. I know I say this about every new thing I write but I think this story hit the closest to home for me. I started writing this after taking a pregnancy test and becoming extremely upset to find it was negative even though I know I am not ready for a child or even want one at the moment but the feminine urge was deep inside me. So I wrote this. I also am a SA victim so I added a bit of my own emotional support for it in this.

Anyways hope you enjoyed and if you like this give my other stuff a read or give me suggestions of what to write next.

[timdrakesbussy]

Some of my™ Stardew Valley HCs

TW: mention of miscarriages

Emily listens to all kinds of music but despite not looking like it, she mainly listens to heavy metal. It's one of the thing that brought her and Shane's early friendship together. And because of that, Haley shares a bit of fondness to the genre that she enjoys Sam's band (but don't tell him. this will mess with her rep).

Sam is pretty educated when it comes to literature, and English was always his favorite subject when he was in school. He's the main songwriter of his band and while Sebastian could also write, Sam manages to be witty and clever with his lyrics. Other than storytelling through song, he loves his double and triple entendres. Suffice to say, he could get along pretty well with Elliott and it's one of the reason why Penny loves hanging out with him.

Ever since she was a child, Maru thinks that Sebastian is really cool and she wants to be like him one way or another. Of course, she still wants to be herself but Sebastian is just so damn cool. During her time at school, she made herself learn how to ride a motorcycle using a friend's bike because she knew Sebastian would never lend her his.

Elliott was from an esteemed family from a foreign land (just Stardew's equivalent of Europe tbh) and was a licensed lawyer until he stopped to be a writer. Needless to say, his family are not happy by this sudden decision. Not that he needs their opinion on the matter, he was pushing thirty when he made this decision.

Harvey was an ER doctor in Zuzu City until the incident™. He knew that with his line of job, he can't save everyone. However, he can't help but feel guilty and terrible afterwards. Which is why he has routine check-ups for the villagers, and if they can't visit him, then he will visit them. You cannot escape him because he will find you (affectionate).

Both Haley and Alex believed that at one point, they actually liked each other romantically. But when they had their first kiss together, they realized that they weren't meant to be. They have this deep platonic connection that even Emily doesn't really understand, but she's happy that her baby sister have someone she can rely on and trust for all her life.

Robin takes pride in her name even if her parents weren't supportive over her work at first. She have Sebastian share her last name, and when she married Demetrius, she hyphenated their surnames instead of just taking his.

Demetrius and Sebastian were close when he was a child. Sebastian was an overly curious and precocious boy and Demetrius was happy that he could share something with his stepson, their interest in biology. Although Sebastian was squeamish and even almost cried when he dissected a frog, he managed to calm him down. And even after their mutual parting as Sebastian grew older, he's the only one who knows what Demetrius' favorite animal is: moonlight jellies.

Jodi and Kent were teenagers when they had Sam. Jodi came from a highly conservative and religious family so they forced them to marry after Jodi gave them the news that she was pregnant. As they were teens, Kent took any odd jobs he could get in the city, from a corner-store clerk to a garbage man. Until he got offered into joining the military.

Pam was a trucker before she became a bus driver. In fact, she met Penny's dad in the business. But in her childhood, she was in multiple beauty pageants and even into her adulthood, she knows how to hairdo. She helped Penny with her hair since she was a child and hope that she could still do Penny's hair in her future wedding, whenever that is.

Alex's mom had multiple miscarriages before she have him, and that was into her ten years of marriage. She was beyond ecstatic with his birth that she immediately called her aging parents who also shared her happiness, they then invited her to the Valley a few days after Alex was born so they could celebrate in the Mullners' house. Lewis heard about the news and asked if they wanted to celebrate in the Saloon in which Evelyn denied because Clara wanted a small celebration with just her family.

Abigail is the only marriageable candidate to be born in the Valley. Sebastian moved in not long after Maru was born so he was close to her as he was the only child her age at that time. Penny moved in when she was seven with her parents until her dad left when she was ten. Haley moved in when she was ten years old while Sam moved in a year after. Alex often visited his grandparents but he officially moved in after Clara's death in his pre-teens. The rest moved in as adults.

Similarly to Alex, Shane only ever visited and stayed for a while in the Valley until he needed to take care of Jas. He wasn't close with his parents and they never tried to be anyways, Marnie is always the mother figure he has. So other than Marnie and Jas, the only people he considered as his family was Jas' parents. Her father, whom he met and befriended in college (as he was his roommate, before they mutually dropped out) and her mother whom he wasn't very close to at first until they both find comradery in bullying (affectionate) Jas' father.