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dollgxtz · 3 days ago

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His Watchful Eye Pt.12

Word Count: 18.5k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, forced pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, tw if u have tokophobia, some smut, masturbation, mentions of breeding, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, pet names like kitten, sweetie, honey, xavier appears

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti , @m0onlustre , @ve1vet-cake, @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglmela @connorsui, @iluvmewwwww75, @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer, @mysssticc, @babygirl-panda19, @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1, @honnylemontea, @altariasu, @the-slytherin-poet, @sorryimakira, @pearlymel, @emidpsandia , @angel-jupiter, @hwangintakswifey, @webmvie, @housesortinghat, @fading-twinkle, @shoruio, @gojos1ut, @solomonlover, @cheesenjam, @elegantnightblaze, @mavphorias, @babylavendersblog, @burntoutfrogacademic, @sinstae, @certainduckanchor, @ladyackermanisdead, @sh4nn, @milkandstarlight, @lilyadora, @depressedwhore, @nyumin, @kiwookse, @anisha24-blog1, @weepingluminarytale, @xxhayashixx, @hesperisms, @adraxsteia

AN: This is on A03! Good news guys!! Next chapter you guys get to find out the gender of the baby!! EEE even I'm excited and I'm the one whose writing it LOL. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter even if it is a tad bit sad. As always, tysm for your comments, asks, likes, and reblogs. I try and answer as many as I can! I get so happy when I see a new one. Never in a million years did I think so many people would love my writing to this degree! Mwah <3

As he got back up, Sylus’s lips brushed against yours in a way that felt surprisingly gentle, almost reverent, as though he were savoring every second. But slowly, his kiss grew deeper, his lips pressing into yours with a hunger that caught you off guard. His hand cupped the side of your face, his fingers tracing the edge of your jaw as he whispered between each kiss, his voice filled with admiration. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his hand gliding from your cheek to your shoulder. "So pretty with my baby growing in you, you're doing so good for me..."

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

Sitting in the library, you flipped through the pages of a book with little interest, the bland diagrams of bird anatomy staring back at you. The book wasn't exactly captivating, but it beat staring at the wall, lost in thought. Beside you, Mephisto shifted restlessly on the armchair, feathers catching the dim light.

"Coo..." he murmured, his beady red eyes fixated on the page showing the dissection of a crow.

You chuckled softly, reaching out to pet his cold, metallic head. "Don’t worry, you’re safe. No one’s dissecting you," you assured him, laughing as he flapped his wings in what seemed to be robotic indignation. "Well…I guess you could be taken apart. Screws and metal are a bit easier to put back together than bones and sinew."

"Caw! Caw!" Mephisto protested, his wings clanking softly as they folded back to his sides. His chirps and clatters were almost comforting—a small, dependable presence in this world where your reality was controlled by someone else.

"I was kidding," you said, still laughing. "I doubt Sylus would take you apart…unless you needed repairs, of course." The name slipped out without thinking, and as it echoed in the quiet of the library, the memories hit you again. Sylus. A flash of his hand, the belt, the hot sting against your skin, the way he’d pressed you over his knee, his voice commanding you to count each one.

You grimaced, looking away from Mephisto’s gaze. That night had left marks deeper than the ones that had lingered on your skin. Afterward, he'd taken you back to bed, surprisingly gentle, almost reverent as he rubbed the soreness from your body. He’d whispered reassurances, tender words meant to soothe you, but in that moment, they had felt like salt on an open wound. You’d tried to forget, tried to dismiss it, but the ache of humiliation hadn’t faded. Instead, it had curdled into something else entirely: anger.

It wasn't a searing, uncontrollable rage, but a quiet, simmering fury that gnawed at you, coiled in your chest like a snake ready to strike. Yet, you held it in, biting your tongue, masking your resentment beneath a shield of silence. After that night, you'd slipped back into a quiet demeanor, speaking only when necessary, keeping your distance even though every step you took was still watched.

But you weren’t just simmering in silence. You were observing, studying. Because in the past few days, you’d noticed something—a small, almost imperceptible change in Sylus. Guilt. He’d been eyeing you with a tension that hadn’t been there before, a discomfort that prickled through his otherwise calm demeanor. He seemed unsettled by your silence, watching you from across the room as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

A faint smirk played at the corner of your lips as you remembered his hesitations, his barely concealed awkwardness. So he did feel guilt, didn’t he? Maybe he regretted it. Or maybe he was simply rattled by the fact that he couldn’t read you as easily now. Either way, you liked it. Liked the way he squirmed, the way he seemed to second-guess himself around you. In some twisted sense, it felt like a tiny shift in power, a thread you could pull in this tangled web he’d woven around you.

He had tried to punish you into submission, to make you feel weak, dependent. But here he was, trying to overcompensate with tender touches, soft gestures, careful words. It was almost…pathetic. And despite the bitterness that lingered, a part of you found satisfaction in watching him struggle to understand you, to keep you close while sensing that you were slipping further away.

As you sat there, flipping absentmindedly through the book, the quiet satisfaction of Sylus’s earlier disappointment still lingered in your mind. He’d been hovering around you constantly these last few days, like a shadow, reminding you of his love in every way he could. It was almost ridiculous.

He’d even asked if he could help brush your hair earlier that day, his voice soft, almost pleading. The memory of his face when you’d declined—when you’d turned back on him, shutting him out completely—filled you with a strange sense of victory. That small flash of disappointment in his eyes had been the sweetest thing you’d seen in days.

You smirked to yourself, turning another page, pretending to absorb the information, though the words meant little. It was just a diversion, something to focus on other than the reality you were stuck in. But just as you were settling into that small, rare bubble of contentment, a sharp ache twisted in your belly, breaking through your thoughts.

You winced, letting the book fall closed as your hand instinctively went to your stomach. The nausea had mostly faded over the past few days, but it left this lingering, annoying ache that wouldn’t quite let you forget the changes happening inside you. Occasionally it would rise back up, making you feel ill again.

Your body was shifting in subtle ways—your breasts felt heavier, more sensitive, and a dull tenderness lingered in your abdomen like a constant reminder. You knew it was early, far too early for anything major, but it was impossible to ignore.

Your thoughts were disrupted by the soft creak of the library door opening, and immediately, your body tensed, that momentary peace slipping away. Sylus stepped in, his presence filling the quiet room as he walked toward you, carrying a tray. You eyed him warily, your senses heightened, your guard instinctively rising as he approached. He placed the tray gently on the table in front of you, the delicate clinking of porcelain breaking the silence.

“It’s a new blend of tea,” he said, gesturing to the steaming cup. “Should help with the nausea. And I brought some cheese crackers—thought they might settle your stomach a bit.”

You glanced at the tea, the steam rising with a faint herbal scent that was slightly different from the others he’d tried. Another attempt at catering to your needs, trying to make you more comfortable, to win you over with small gestures. It irritated you, the way he kept trying, as if he could somehow ease you into this life with little acts of kindness.

Something inside you snapped, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out with a sharp edge.

“The others didn’t work, so I don’t know why you’re even bothering anymore.”

Sylus’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he absorbed the sting of your words. For a brief moment, you saw the flicker of something—uncertainty, maybe a hint of hurt—as if he hadn’t expected you to respond so coldly. But then he sighed, letting out a slow breath, and a small, soft smile formed on his lips, his gaze settling back on you with that unyielding patience that had become all too familiar.

“I had this custom blended,” he replied, his voice calm, almost gentle. “If it doesn’t work, I’ll keep trying. I want you to be comfortable, sweetie.”

The way he said it, the soft undertone of care, twisted something uncomfortable in your chest. His eyes held that sad, pained look you’d seen lately, the one that almost made you feel…guilty. You hated that feeling, hated the way it gnawed at you, pulling at your resolve to remain distant, to shut him out completely. He looked so earnest, so willing to do whatever it took to make things easier for you, and for a split second, you questioned if you were being too harsh. Maybe…maybe you were being unfair.

But no. You quickly shoved that thought away. He was the one who had put you in this position, the one who had made it so you couldn’t leave, couldn’t live your own life. He deserved every bit of bitterness you threw his way. Still, the guilt lingered, a small, unwelcome presence in the back of your mind, and you had to fight to keep it from softening your expression.

“Fine,” you muttered, not meeting his gaze, focusing on the steam rising from the tea. “Thank you.” The words felt forced, hollow, but you forced yourself to say them, if only to keep up the fragile peace.

He studied you for a moment longer, as if weighing something unsaid, and then nodded, stepping back slightly to give you space. The sadness was still there in his eyes, that soft, wounded look that made your stomach twist, but he didn’t press any further. Instead, he simply watched you, a quiet patience in his gaze, as if waiting for something.

You took a hesitant sip of the tea, letting the warmth settle in your throat, trying to ignore the complicated mess of emotions churning inside you.

Sylus stood there, watching you, his gaze as unyielding as always, yet softer somehow, as though he were observing something precious and fragile. It unnerved you, the way he seemed to look straight through your façade, sensing the cracks in your resistance even if you tried to hide them. It felt like a silent challenge, one you were determined not to lose.

He shifted slightly, his presence filling the quiet room, making the air feel heavier. You kept your gaze fixed on the tea, willing yourself not to acknowledge him, not to give him the satisfaction of seeing the effect his nearness had on you. Yet, the guilt gnawed at you, undermining your resolve. Were you being too harsh? He had even gone as far as custom blending tea for you to feel better. He was a kidnapper...yes. But you could definitely be in worse hands right now.

Your fingers tightened around the cup as you tried to push those thoughts aside. You had a role to play, and you couldn’t let his gestures break through the wall you’d painstakingly built. But the effort was exhausting, the line between the real and the forced blurring in ways you hadn’t anticipated. A flash of that painful memory of the punishment surfaced, and you felt a surge of resentment flare up, fueling your determination to keep him at arm’s length.

The silence thickened between you, heavy and uncomfortable, as Sylus lingered in the room, his gaze unwavering. It was clear he was weighing his words, searching for something to break the tension. Finally, he spoke, his tone careful, almost regretful.

“I know it’s hard to understand, but I had to do what I did,” he said, his voice almost too even, as if he were convincing himself just as much as he was trying to convince you. You swallowed your frustration, choosing not to respond with the words that were boiling inside you. Instead, you offered a simple, lifeless, “Okay.” Your voice was so low, it was barely above a whisper, but it was enough to convey your disappointment.

You reached for another book, hoping to immerse yourself in its pages, if only to create some distance between you and him. But Sylus wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

He took a step closer, lowering himself to his knees in front of the armchair you were sitting in. He rested his hand on your knee, stroking it gently with his thumb in a slow, rhythmic motion, as if the act alone could soothe away the resentment you felt. You didn’t meet his eyes, focusing instead on the edge of the book cover, willing yourself not to let his touch affect you. But his fingers were tender, tracing small circles, almost too soft to ignore, and you could feel his gaze boring into you.

“Look at me, please,” he murmured, his hand moving to gently cup your chin. His fingers were firm, insistent, as he guided your face toward his. Your eyes met, and you felt a flush creep over your cheeks despite your best efforts to stay composed. The intensity in his gaze was overwhelming, the raw emotion there almost tangible. It was as if he genuinely believed that he could erase your anger with nothing more than words and a pleading look.

“I know you’re upset,” he began, his voice softer now, coaxing. “I do. But please…don’t force my hand like that again.”

The calmness in his words, the way he spoke as though the blame was somehow on you for “forcing” him, stoked a flicker of anger deep within. But instead of snapping back, you kept your expression neutral, letting the frustration settle into a sad, disappointed mask. You let out a shaky sigh, channeling your hurt, and then you forced a tremble into your voice, perfecting the mask.

“Whatever,” you murmured, your voice breaking just a little as you mustered the saddest expression you could. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy hurting me.”

The words hung in the air, cutting through his rationalizations, leaving him momentarily speechless. You saw a flicker of something—guilt, maybe, or shame—cross his face, and you knew you had struck a nerve. You took that opportunity to let your eyes glisten, to let your breath hitch as though you were struggling to hold back tears.

Yes. Play the part.

And then, with a soft, broken voice, you whispered, “You shouldn’t even be hitting me...what kind of man hits his pregnant fiancée?”

The question lingered, pressing into him with a weight that seemed to ripple through his composure. His face contorted briefly, his eyes reflecting a mixture of guilt and sadness that he couldn’t mask. He opened his mouth, as if to explain himself, but closed it again, clearly shaken by the accusation, by the reminder of your condition. His thumb traced your cheek gently, his touch almost desperate to communicate something he couldn’t find words for.

You had to fight the urge to smile, to laugh in his face. This was all too easy. The leader of Onychinus was on his knees in front of you, looking like he was about to cry himself.

“Sweetie…I’m—” he faltered, the words catching in his throat as he searched for the right thing to say, for something that could undo the hurt he’d caused. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. He brushed a tear from your cheek with his thumb, his expression softening, the guilt in his eyes unmistakable now.

“What can I do to make this right?” he asked, his voice laced with a pleading sincerity, as though he believed he could truly make up for the pain he’d inflicted. “Just tell me. I want to make it up to you. Anything.”

You forced a tremulous breath, allowing the tears to flow freely, each one feeding into his remorse. Inside, a small satisfaction bloomed, knowing you had managed to twist the moment, to pull him into your web of hurt and guilt. And though you knew this game was a dangerous one, you couldn’t deny the satisfaction it brought—the power it gave you, even if only for a fleeting moment.

Anything...what a lie. He wouldn't grant you freedom no matter how many tears you shed.

You say nothing for a moment, letting the silence stretch out between you, the hint of vulnerability in your expression carefully calculated. “There…there are two things you could do to make it up to me,” you say softly, glancing up at him. His gaze remains fixed on you, searching, waiting, and you can tell he’s hoping you won't ask for freedom again.

“The first is simple,” you continue. “You already know what I used for my skincare routine before all this, don’t you?” You try to keep your voice calm, steady. “I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask for a few familiar things to feel like myself. It might even help me stay calm…for the baby’s sake.” You know your words will resonate with him, his protectiveness piqued by anything that touches on your well-being, especially now that you’re carrying his child.

He nods, a slight, almost relieved smile forming. You suspect he’s ready to agree—skincare seems harmless enough, and it lets him be the provider he so desperately wants to be.

“And…there’s one other thing.” Your voice softens, and you avert your gaze, letting a hint of hesitation show. “It’s about my friend, Tara.” You pause, allowing him to see the faint trace of sadness in your eyes. “She’s probably worried sick, not knowing where I am or if I’m okay. You know I wouldn’t ask to contact…anyone else. But Tara—she’s like a sister to me. She deserves a little peace of mind.”

Sylus’s expression darkens just slightly, his eyes narrowing. But you press on, seizing the opportunity to paint this as a small, reasonable request. “One text. Just one, letting her know I’m safe,” you say softly, giving him your most genuine, pleading look. “I won’t say anything about…where I am. It’ll only be enough to put her mind at ease. That’s all.”

He studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable. You can feel the tension between the lines of his face, the conflict—his instinct to protect and control clashing with the guilt and love he professes for you. You know the second request is a risk, but you hope the weight of your sincerity, your quiet, calculated sadness, might tip the scales in your favor.

“Please, Sylus,” you add, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers brushing over his hand in a gentle, almost hesitant touch. “I…I just need this small bit of reassurance. It’s for me as much as it is for her.” You offer him a faint smile, one you hope conveys your gratitude before he’s even answered.

Sylus's chuckle, low and indulgent, makes your stomach churn. The nonchalance in his eyes as he agrees to retrieve your skincare products—the smallest concession—only serves to remind you of the careful control he wields over your life now.

"The skincare can be arranged," he says with a faint smile. "I do know precisely what you used.” His gaze flickers over you, and the possessiveness in his eyes is unmistakable. “I'll get it to you by tomorrow afternoon,” he adds smoothly. "Although, I expected you to ask for something much more expensive, kitten."

His words slice through the room, making you feel small, confined. Every hint of freedom feels more and more like an illusion—fragile, granted at his whim. He’s measuring your autonomy out in teaspoons, and it’s infuriating. You don’t even trust yourself to reply, opting instead for a nod, masking the fire burning beneath your skin.

Then Sylus leans closer, his presence unnervingly steady. "As for the message," he says, a note of warning hidden under the softness, "I’ll be the one to send it. We can’t risk any misunderstandings. So, what exactly would you like it to say?"

The way he speaks, with such casual control, prickles your nerves. You resist the urge to pull away, but inside, your mind races. Could you hide something in the message to Tara? A word or phrase that might signal her to read between the lines, something only she would catch? But the calculating look in Sylus’s eyes warns you against it; he’d dissect every word, weigh every syllable. He’d see it for what it was.

No, it’s too risky. You’re left with the crushing reality of speaking plainly, voicing words that hold no hidden message, no veiled meaning. You push down the urge to cry as you choose the only thing that’s true. “Just say, ‘I love you, and I hope to see you again someday. Be safe.’”

Sylus studies you, his gaze lingering in a way that feels almost searching, and it makes your skin prickle. He’s watching you as if he can read every corner of your mind, and you feel exposed under that gaze, as though every guarded thought you’ve carefully hidden from him is laid bare.

Finally, he nods, his lips curling slightly, though there’s a hint of something unfamiliar in his expression. Regret? Sympathy? Whatever it is, it softens his features, giving him an uncharacteristic look of understanding. "Consider it done," he says quietly, his voice gentler than before. The sudden kindness feels like a trap, and you force yourself not to flinch. You need his cooperation, not his pity.

Your mind fixates on those words you gave him for Tara. They were true but so deeply lacking—lacking the message you really wanted to send, the cry for help, the reassurance that you hadn’t forgotten her, that you hadn’t stopped fighting. If you closed your eyes, you could picture her, the bright laugh, the fierce loyalty that once made you feel like you could conquer anything. Now, she has no idea you’re here. No idea you’re alive, or that your feelings are anything but willing compliance with this nightmare.

Sylus’s eyes remain on you, watching with an intensity that makes your skin crawl. He must know the weight of that message, the way you lingered on the words, and yet he says nothing more. His expression shifts back into that small smile, one that’s equally disconcerting in its familiarity.

"You’ve made your requests, sweetie. And I always keep my promises."

You nod, carefully curving your lips into a soft, appreciative smile, one you hope is convincing enough. You’ve come to understand how much he wants this—forgiveness, approval, a glimmer of genuine affection from you, even if it's earned through carefully controlled gestures and scripted apologies.

You decide to play into it, leaning in slightly, letting your fingers reach out to brush his shoulder. His gaze sharpens, and you don’t miss the faint flicker of surprise in his eyes. "I really appreciate it, Sylus," you say, keeping your voice gentle, measured. "I appreciate your apology, and…I'm sorry, too. For…you know."

The words leave a bitter taste on your tongue, but you watch him as you say them, feeling the satisfaction of seeing him visibly relax under your touch. He’s buying it. You let your fingers rest on his shoulder a moment longer, steady and light, feeling the warmth of his skin even through his shirt, and you can tell he’s holding onto this moment, savoring it like he’s finally achieved something.

Sylus’s hand comes up, covering yours where it rests on his shoulder, his touch firm yet careful, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. There’s a softness in his gaze that he’s allowing you to see, something vulnerable, almost human, and it stirs a flicker of unease in you. He looks down at you with a warmth that, for anyone else, might’ve felt comforting. But here, in this twisted captivity, it only unsettles you further.

“I’m glad,” he says softly, his voice low, steady, layered with something like relief. "You have no idea how much that means, honey."

You nod, adding just a touch of warmth to your smile, though your mind races, pushing down every impulse to recoil. This is a game, and you are still in control, holding the pieces that he doesn’t realize you’re wielding. For every moment he thinks you’re softened, for every moment he believes in your forgiveness, you gain a small advantage—a little more leverage, a little more understanding of what he needs to hear. It’s your best tool, and it will be your best weapon.

“I really do appreciate it,” you repeat, your tone gentle but with just the faintest hint of reluctance, a subtle suggestion that, while you’re willing to forgive, it’s not that easy. And, as you expect, he nods, his grip on your hand tightening as if he can feel the tentative trust in your words.

“I promise," he murmurs, his gaze never leaving yours. “And I’m going to prove to you that things can be different. I won’t let you down.”

You simply nod again, suppressing the triumph blooming inside you as he leans down to capture your lips with his own, keeping your expression soft, sincere. He’s slipping right into your hand. And as much as he might think he’s gaining ground, the truth is clear: the longer he craves your forgiveness, the more power you hold over him.

The next few days slipped by with a tentative quietness, a calm that felt almost unnatural given everything that had come before. Sylus, perhaps out of some desire to prove his newfound leniency, had been giving you more freedom around the house. He hadn’t loosened his control entirely—Mephisto, continued to tail you wherever you went, always watching with that artificial gleam in his eye—but you felt a hint of ease in this small expansion of your world.

Sylus would come and go for his business ventures but would always be back before you went to bed. Luke or Kieran would come shackle you before you laid down. You had gotten used to the sound of Sylus coming home late, and therefore wouldn't jump when he entered the room anymore.

For the most part, you spent your days drifting through different rooms, occasionally finding a moment of peace by the pool. Sitting on its edge, you let your feet dangle in the cool water, relishing the gentle lapping at your toes. The water was refreshing, a reminder of the world outside these walls, yet every time you looked across the shimmering surface, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being in a gilded cage. The pool, the luxurious house, even Mephisto—they were beautiful distractions, seemingly crafted just so you’d feel a little more at ease.

One morning, as you sat by the pool, lost in thought, you felt the earth tilt under you. You’d leaned forward too far, distracted, and in a heartbeat, you teetered toward the water, hands flailing instinctively. But before you could feel the shock of cold water on your skin, strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back from the edge.

“Careful there,” Sylus murmured, his voice close to your ear, almost too close. His grip was firm, secure, and for a brief moment, you found yourself enveloped in his warmth, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath. His touch, though stabilizing, sent a chill up your spine—a reminder of his constant presence. The effect of his nearness was disorienting, an odd blend of repulsion and reluctant comfort.

You steadied yourself, offering a polite, if somewhat forced, smile. “Thanks,” you muttered, pulling back just slightly to regain a sense of distance.

He held your gaze a moment longer, his red eyes lingering on you before he finally released his hold, still keeping close. “You’re welcome,” he said, the ghost of a smile dancing at the corners of his mouth. “Be a little more aware, honey. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you…or the little one,” he added, resting a hand briefly on your shoulder, as if to underscore the sentiment.

A shiver ran down your spine at the mention of the baby, and you gave a quick nod, hoping he wouldn’t notice your discomfort.

Later that day, after you’d drifted from room to room, you found yourself drawn to the back of the property where the horse track lay. Sylus stayed close, of course, ever watchful, and despite the open space, you were aware of the subtle tension in his stance. Even with this seemingly mundane activity, you felt the weight of his concern, his subtle but constant reminder of the boundaries you couldn’t cross. Still, being around the horses provided a certain comfort. You took solace in their calm, the way they seemed indifferent to the trappings of wealth and control, caring only for the simple pleasures of grazing or being gently stroked along their necks.

Occasionally, the small colony of stray cats that Sylus fed would wander by, brushing up against your legs as if sensing you needed the comfort. You couldn’t help but smile at their easy affection, nuzzling each one and reveling in the softness of their fur. Often, you’d find yourself sitting among them, surrounded by their quiet purrs, letting their gentle presence lull you into moments of peace. Some afternoons, you even dared to nap, letting the steady rise and fall of their breaths ground you as they curled up beside you.

One day, as you reached out to pet one of the cats, something caught your eye—a small, wriggling bundle in the mouth of the one-eyed cat you’d grown fond of. It was a kitten, tiny and helpless, being carefully brought over and placed at your feet. Your heart leaped with joy, your earlier wariness momentarily forgotten.

“Sylus…I think she had a baby!” you exclaimed, unable to contain the excitement that bubbled up within you.

Sylus moved closer, his gaze softening as he took in the sight of the little creature squirming at your feet. He crouched down, reaching out a finger to gently stroke the kitten, his usually hardened features softened by an unexpected fondness.

“Honestly, I thought she was just putting on a few pounds,” he chuckled, his tone light, affectionate. He then looked up at you, his eyes holding a warmth that was both foreign and oddly comforting.

“Y’know, we’ll have our own little kitten eventually,” he murmured, glancing toward your stomach with an almost reverent look.

The comment brought you crashing back to reality, your thoughts swirling with the complexity of emotions his words had stirred up. While a part of you wanted to bask in the innocence of the moment, another part—the part that knew what was truly happening—resisted. The casual way he mentioned the life growing inside you, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, left you feeling both vulnerable and trapped.

Forcing a smile, you managed to nod, hoping the mask you wore was convincing. “Yeah…I guess we will,” you replied softly, willing yourself to stay composed.

He reached out, as if to touch your belly, but his hand hovered just inches away before he drew it back, his eyes lingering on you with a quiet intensity that left your heart pounding.

The subtle tension pulled you under like a rising tide, your thoughts swirling in relief as Sylus’s hand withdrew before it could actually reach you. You felt a blend of anticipation and unease, tangled together and bubbling just beneath the surface. It was unmistakable, this tension that had grown between you—something unspoken but palpable, simmering in each shared glance and lingering moment.

The idea of sex with him was out of the question, a boundary you were clear on. Yet, weeks spent in close quarters had made his small gestures impossible to overlook: the way his gaze lingered a second too long, his hand brushed yours just a bit too tenderly, his voice softened at the edges when he spoke to you. Each moment of near contact, every stolen look, hinted at a desire to have you that he seemed barely able to keep in check.

You tried to pretend it didn’t matter, to ignore what was slowly becoming an invisible tether. But with each passing day, that denial grew harder to maintain, becoming an itch you couldn’t quite soothe, a discomfort that gnawed at you. You needed to dispel the strange energy in the room, to shift away before he could notice the flicker of discomfort creeping onto your face.

Clearing your throat, you latched onto the first topic you could think of, hoping to ground the moment in something neutral. “You know,” you began casually, gesturing toward the kittens sprawled nearby, “you might want to think about getting them fixed. Before long, you’ll be overrun.” You forced a laugh, trying to punctuate your words with a lightness that might draw the attention away from anything unspoken lingering between you.

Sylus’s lips curved into a small smile, his eyes holding a hint of amusement as he glanced at the cluster of tabbies lounging without a care in the world. He looked at you knowingly, almost as if he could sense the undercurrent in your attempt to deflect.

“I’m already on it,” he replied, nodding toward the lounging felines. “Those over there have already been fixed,” he said with a soft chuckle. “But don’t let them fool you—catching them is no easy task. Cats…they’re smarter than people give them credit for.”

You studied his face as he spoke, noticing how, in that moment, he seemed to let down some unseen guard. The lines of tension softened in his expression, and for a fleeting second, he was just a man preoccupied with the everyday quirks of stray cats and unexpected litters. It still struck you as ironic that while he allowed these cats the freedom to roam, choosing to come and go as they pleased, you were bound, kept within limits he had drawn for you.

You offered a smile, hiding the deeper thoughts swirling behind it, and nodded with feigned interest. “I can imagine. They don’t look like the type to enjoy being scooped up.”

He laughed again, the sound soft and warm, and his eyes flickered from the cats back to you. His gaze held a gentleness you weren’t accustomed to, the previous intensity mellowing into something almost… affectionate. For a moment, the energy between you softened, and you felt the tension ease, just a little.

Still, even as you tried to sink into the calm, the awareness of his control pressed back in. While these cats moved freely, you remained tethered, your own freedom confined to the borders he had drawn.

The irony stung. Here you were, expected to play the part, to act as though these were the quiet comforts of home when, in truth, you were as far from freedom as you could possibly be.

He watched you, his gaze unwavering, and when you looked up, you caught that same intense look in his eyes—the one that seemed to see straight through you. The moment stretched, a silent exchange that felt both intimate and suffocating, until finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady.

“You know, I can’t help but imagine you like this,” he said, his tone softer. “With the baby. I can’t wait to see you holding them for the first time.”

The words sent a shock through you. He’d said things like this before, of course, always circling back to the future he envisioned, to his idea of a life together. But this time, his words felt heavier, as though he was trying to pull you into his world with just his voice.

You go quiet, letting the weight of his words linger in the space between you, the silence feeling heavy, almost suffocating. But you catch yourself quickly, swallowing down the discomfort and giving him the smile he wants to see—small, perhaps a touch hesitant, but accepting. It’s a practiced look, one that says you’re trying to come to terms with the future he envisions, the family he’s insistent on building. Sylus’s gaze softens as he watches you, a flicker of satisfaction passing over his face, as if he’s found what he’s been searching for in your expression.

Then, with a surprising gentleness, he reaches up and ruffles your hair, his hand lingering in your hair longer than expected. The casual touch catches you off guard, stirring a mix of emotions you quickly push down. He’s clearly pleased, his fingers curling ever so slightly as if savoring the moment. It’s both unnerving and strangely comforting—he seems almost normal, like a man simply doting on someone he loves. But before you can react, the sharp buzz of his phone shatters the illusion.

Sylus glances at the screen, his entire demeanor shifting as he lifts it to his ear, his voice cool and businesslike. “Mhm. Understood. Rest up,” he says briskly, then lowers the phone, his eyes flicking back to you with a sigh.

“Looks like the chef called in sick,” he says, his serious expression melting into a wry grin. “Seems we’re on our own for dinner tonight, kitten.”

You arch an eyebrow, folding your arms as you try to stifle a laugh as you follow him from the back and into the kitchen. Its nothing short of your expectations. Luxurious, large and stocked with every appliance one could think of using when making meals.

Glossy white marble countertops, streaked with subtle veins of gray, stretch across expansive islands and counters, catching the light from oversized pendant lamps hanging from above. Each light fixture is a custom piece, gleaming softly like jewelry against the sleek cabinetry.

Cabinets, painted a deep, sophisticated charcoal, line the walls from floor to ceiling, their polished brass handles catching glints of light. A double-door refrigerator with a matte stainless-steel finish stands beside a wine cooler and a large, commercial-grade range with six burners and a griddle. Above the range, an ornate, custom range hood extends up to the ceiling, adorned with decorative trim that gives it the look of an art installation.

In the center, a large marble island offers a second sink and ample prep space, surrounded by plush, high-backed bar stools upholstered in soft, gray velvet. The island’s edges are illuminated by under-cabinet lighting, creating a warm glow that makes the polished marble shine even more.

A walk-in pantry with frosted glass doors is tucked away near the far side, while a small but luxurious coffee bar complete with an espresso machine and built-in grinder shine on its surface.

You'd never seen a kitchen as luxurious as this and you're almost at a loss for words.

“Oh, so does that mean you’ll be cooking?” you tease, pretending to eye him with skepticism.

He raises an eyebrow in response, clearly entertained by your challenge. “Don’t look so doubtful. I’m more than capable of whipping up a meal.” His smirk broadens, a glint of mischief in his gaze.

You can’t help but play along, an idea forming in the back of your mind. “Well, I suppose we’ll see. Do we have ingredients for chicken soup?” you ask, a hint of curiosity in your voice.

“Chicken soup?” he repeats, looking amused. “So simple. Are you having cravings already?” He chuckles softly, as if the thought brings him a kind of joy, and for a moment, the tension between you both seems to ease.

You roll your eyes, but there’s a flicker of unexpected warmth in your chest, despite yourself. “It’s not that,” you say, forcing a light tone. “It’s just…my mom used to make it for me whenever I was sick. You know, one of those little comforts from home.”

Sylus makes a sound of acknowledgment, clearly pleased, and moves to the fridge, pulling out ingredients with a kind of confidence that surprises you. He sets a small pile of vegetables, herbs, and chicken on the counter, glancing over his shoulder with a playful challenge.

He nods thoughtfully, studying you with an intensity that makes you look away, feeling oddly vulnerable. “I think we have everything,” he says finally, going back over to the fridge and pulling out a few large containers of chicken broth, setting them on the counter with practiced care.

As he starts prepping, a thought crosses your mind. You know he craves this—normalcy, a sense of domesticity with you—and an idea takes hold. “Do you need help?” you ask, your voice soft, as though you’re hesitant, like this is something you’re warming up to. You can almost feel the excitement radiating off him as he glances up, his gaze softening further. He hands you a cutting board and some carrots, guiding you with a gentle but steady hand.

“Of course,” he says warmly. “I’d like that”, his voice genuine, as if this simple act of cooking together is all he’s been waiting for.

You focus on slicing the carrots, keeping your expression neutral, hiding the mix of emotions stirring within you. There’s a strange satisfaction in this, playing along with his fantasy, leaning into the role he so desperately wants you to fill. It’s a small game of control, one that lets you feel as if you’re guiding his emotions, that you have the upper hand in some way.

As you work side by side, you notice the quietness that falls between you both. He’s absorbed in his task, his movements focused and practiced. It’s strange, seeing him in this light, like a regular person preparing dinner. You catch him glancing at you now and then, a softness in his gaze, as if this scene holds something precious for him.

You feel a strange mix of relief and trepidation as you move beside him, trying to focus on the simple, rhythmic actions of chopping vegetables, feeling his presence close but silent, as if he, too, is trying to take in this unexpected moment. You settle into the process, carefully slicing carrots as you think back to the countless times you’ve made this soup before, that comforting aroma filling the kitchen, the memory of your mother’s gentle hands guiding yours through the motions.

But just as you fall into the rhythm, a sharp sting jerks you out of your thoughts. You glance down, seeing the thin line of red blossoming on your finger where the knife slipped.

“Ah,” you hiss quietly, pulling your hand back instinctively.

The sound catches Sylus’s attention immediately, and he’s springing to action in an instant, his fingers wrapping around your wrist before you can react. His grip is firm, almost protective, as he pulls your hand closer, inspecting the small wound. “Let me see,” he murmurs, his voice low, and there’s an edge of concern in his tone that makes your heart skip.

“It’s nothing, really,” you say quickly, trying to brush it off, but he doesn’t release his hold. He keeps his gaze fixed on the cut, his jaw tight. Then, to your surprise, he lifts your hand, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before he leans forward, bringing your bloodied finger to his mouth.

Your breath catches, and a sharp heat floods through you as his lips press around the tip of your finger, the warmth of his mouth searing against your skin. The sensation is foreign, overwhelming—something that tugs at a deep, visceral part of you that you didn’t know was there. His tongue brushes over the cut, gentle but deliberate, sending a shiver up your spine as he holds your gaze, his eyes dark and focused.

You can feel your pulse racing, your face growing warm, and your thoughts scatter, leaving you with only the sensation of his mouth on your skin, his hand steady around yours. “W-What are you…” you manage, but your voice comes out barely a whisper.

He pulls back, his expression a mix of smug amusement and something unreadable. “Relax,” he says softly, as if sensing your reaction. “Just making sure it’s clean. Can’t have you getting an infection.”

You’re left momentarily speechless, caught between anger and something dangerously close to longing. You pull your hand back, clutching it to your chest as if to protect yourself from the lingering warmth of his touch. It’s just a shallow cut, you remind yourself, trying to ground yourself in the present, to shake off the spell he cast with that simple, unsettlingly intimate act.

But he’s still watching you, a small smirk playing on his lips as he reaches for a first aid kit from a nearby drawer. “You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he teases, and though his words are light, there’s a glint of satisfaction in his gaze, as if he’s pleased with himself for getting under your skin.

You feel a surge of irritation, mixed with something you can’t quite identify, as you sit down on a stool, your face still warm. “Just…just don’t do that again,” you mutter, unable to meet his eyes as you try to regain your composure. You can feel his eyes on you, his gaze heavy, almost probing, but you refuse to look up, focusing on the sting of the bandage he wraps around your finger instead.

“All right, kitten,” he says quietly, his voice softer now, and you can sense a hint of genuine concern beneath his teasing tone. He finishes wrapping the bandage, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary before he pulls back, giving you space.

The room feels strangely charged, each movement laden with a tension that wasn’t there before. You glance down at your bandaged finger, the pulse of heat still lingering, and as you return to your place beside him, you find it harder than ever to pretend that his presence doesn’t affect you.

Focusing back on the vegetables, the silence stretches between you and Sylus once more, thick with the lingering tension from his unexpected tenderness over your cut. You reach for the celery, forcing yourself to focus, to forget the strange heat that his touch left on your skin. Sylus picks up a wooden spoon, stirring the pot of simmering broth in measured, careful movements. The kitchen fills with the warm aroma of vegetables and chicken stock, a comforting scent that feels like a foreign softness in the middle of everything.

You turn to chop more carrots, sneaking glances at him out of the corner of your eye. Sylus works with a quiet focus, his hands moving deftly as he adds in herbs—thyme, rosemary, a bay leaf—all carefully chosen to infuse the soup with warmth and flavor. You’re mildly impressed, watching him as he handles the ingredients with ease, as if cooking a simple chicken soup were second nature to him.

“So, what next?” you ask, trying to keep your voice light, as though you hadn’t just felt your heart racing minutes ago.

“Let’s get the chicken in,” he replies, his voice smooth as he gestures to the bowl of shredded chicken. “Then, we’ll let everything simmer together. Low and slow—no shortcuts.”

You pick up a spoon, gently stirring in the chicken, careful to incorporate it with the vegetables and broth. You watch the pieces swirl in the liquid, the broth turning a deeper golden as it absorbs the flavor. The quiet of the moment lets you drift, lulled by the comforting warmth rising from the stove.

“Keep stirring,” he murmurs beside you, his voice low, yet calm. His hand rests lightly on your shoulder, steadying you as you stand beside him, and his presence radiates a calmness that feels almost strange. The heat of the kitchen, the weight of his hand, it all leaves you feeling slightly off-balance.

As you continue to stir, you can’t help but let out a small sigh, the scent of the soup bringing memories flooding back—nights when your mom would make soup, humming softly to herself as she worked, the warmth filling the kitchen as you watched her move around. You close your eyes briefly, trying to savor the familiarity of it, the sense of home it brings, even if just for a moment.

You miss her. Before everything happened all those years ago.

When you open your eyes, Sylus is looking at you, his expression softened. “Thinking about something?” he asks, his voice gentle, almost curious.

You nod, hesitating. “Just…a memory,” you say softly, not wanting to share too much, but feeling a strange pull to let him see this small piece of you. What would explaining do anyway? Knowing him he probably knew all about your family.

“Of course,” he says, his tone understanding, and his hand falls away from your shoulder. “Let’s finish this up, then. You’ll get to taste it soon.”

He leans over, reaching for a sprig of parsley, and his shoulder brushes against yours. The touch sends a spark through you, one you try to ignore as he drops the herb into the soup. You watch the parsley swirl, each piece turning a vibrant green against the rich broth, and Sylus gives the pot one last, slow stir.

After a few more minutes of simmering, he dips a spoon into the soup, tasting it thoughtfully, his brow furrowed in concentration. He tilts his head, considering the flavor, before nodding in approval.

“Try it,” he says, offering you the spoon. His eyes are intent on you, watching for your reaction, as if he’s waiting to see if this small gesture will please you.

You take the spoon, tasting the soup. The broth is rich and comforting, each flavor melding together in a way that surprises you. The herbs, the chicken, the vegetables—they all work together to create something warm, soothing. You feel a rush of unexpected gratitude, a softness you hadn’t prepared for.

Not quite like your moms, but overwhelmingly delicious.

“It’s…good,” you say, unable to hide the small, genuine smile that crosses your face.

Sylus smiles back, his expression softening as he watches you. “I’m glad you like it,” he says quietly, his voice laced with an almost tender pride. For a moment, everything feels surreal, as if this is all part of a different reality—one where you aren’t trapped, one where this is just a simple, shared meal between two people finding comfort in each other’s company.

“Let’s serve it,” he says finally, breaking the silence. He ladles the soup into bowls, each one filled to the brim with steaming broth, the colors vibrant and inviting.

You carry your bowl to the living room table, settling down beside him on the couch. For the first time in a while, you feel a genuine sense of warmth as you both start to eat, the flavors filling the silence between you in a way that words can’t. It’s strange, this fleeting moment of peace, of almost normalcy. You savor it, even as you remind yourself not to get too comfortable.

You take another slow bite of the soup, savoring the comforting warmth and letting it settle over you. It’s surprisingly good, and for a moment, you’re tempted to get lost in the simple pleasure of a warm meal. You glance over at Sylus, who’s watching you with a soft expression, looking far more at ease than he usually does. There’s a gentleness in his gaze, an almost tender quality that contrasts sharply with the hardened exterior you’ve grown used to at times.

Taking the opportunity to lighten the mood further, you decide to test the waters. “So,” you say, a teasing note in your voice, “am I going to be cooking dinner every night with a baby on my hip? Is that what you’re planning?”

Sylus’s eyes twinkle with amusement as he sets his bowl down and leans back slightly, looking at you with genuine warmth. He chuckles, clearly entertained by the thought. “No, kitten,” he murmurs, shaking his head as if the very idea is absurd. "Not even close.”

A little surprised, you raise an eyebrow. “Wait, really?”

“Why would I ever want you to take on any of that?” he says with a soft laugh, his expression affectionate as he looks at you. “Why should you waste your energy cooking and cleaning, especially with everything else going on? We have people here to help with those things.”

You blink, a bit taken aback by his answer. He says it with such sincerity, as if the notion of you doing any kind of work around the house is ridiculous. It’s almost hard to believe, this view he seems to have of you—not just as someone to take care of, but as someone he wants to shield from any kind of hardship or responsibility. He’s looking at you with something deeper than affection. It's almost as if he’s envisioning a life where your only focus is happiness and peace.

“So…” you say, letting the thought linger, “if I’m not cooking or cleaning, what exactly am I supposed to do?”

He leans forward, his eyes never leaving yours, and brushes a strand of hair back behind your ear, his hand lingering a moment longer than necessary. “I just want you to be happy. Be the mother to our child, be here with me,” he says softly, his voice thick with warmth. “And everything else? Let me worry about that. All I need is for you to never leave and stay with me. You’ve already given me so much.”

There’s a sincerity in his words that catches you off guard, a rawness in the way he looks at you that goes beyond mere attraction. You’d half expected him to laugh off your question, but his answer is so direct, so heartfelt, that it leaves you momentarily speechless. You can feel the weight of his gaze, the quiet reverence in his eyes, as if he’s seeing every part of you and cherishing it.

"So have your baby and...be happy?"

He nods, picking up the glass of wine he's been sipping on to accompany his dinner. "And be as cute as you already are. So far, you're doing a flawless job, honey".

You manage a soft smile, trying to mask the complexity of emotions swirling inside you. His words are both reassuring and overwhelming in their intensity, a reminder of how deeply he’s bound you into this vision of a life together. There’s relief in knowing that he doesn’t see you as just a homemaker but rather as someone he truly values. And yet, that value comes with expectations, responsibilities that feel no less heavy despite the tender way he presents them.

“Wow,” you murmur, keeping your voice light to mask the turmoil within. “Sounds like a dream job.”

Sylus smiles at you, a look of profound satisfaction in his eyes as he reaches over, lightly squeezing your hand. “It’s not a job, sweetheart. It’s a life, a future. One we’re building together.” He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, and for a moment, you feel the full weight of his sincerity, a devotion that’s almost overwhelming.

The warmth of his hand, the steadiness of his gaze—it’s as if he’s pouring every bit of his affection into this moment, giving you a glimpse of the life he’s crafted in his mind. You glance down, your fingers tightening around the spoon as you take another sip of soup, using it as a shield to give yourself a moment to breathe, to process everything he’s just said. You know you’re still treading a thin line, but in this moment, you can almost believe that you’re safe, that he won’t ask for more than you can give.

For now, you’ll let him hold onto this vision, this gentle world he’s trying to build around you, while you keep the part of yourself that’s planning for a different future carefully tucked away.

You glance over at Sylus’s glass, the amber liquid catching the light in a way that makes it look particularly inviting. The warmth of the room, the gentle clinking of cutlery, and the surprisingly cozy vibe of the evening—it all feels surreal. Before you know it, the words slip out, half-joking but with a tinge of genuine longing.

“That wine…I bet that would taste amazing right about now,” you murmur, giving him a sly look. You know he’d never let you drink while you’re pregnant, but there’s a boldness bubbling up inside you, a playfulness that feels oddly freeing. You figure you might as well test the waters while you’re both in a relaxed mood.

Sylus pauses, the glass halfway to his lips, and raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. A chuckle escapes him, low and warm, and he shakes his head. “Nice try, sweetie,” he says, his tone filled with affection. “But you know better than that.”

You sigh dramatically, leaning back in your seat with a mock pout. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

His laughter deepens, a rich, genuine sound that resonates through the room. He takes another sip, savoring it slowly, almost as if to tease you with it. “Tell you what,” he says, setting the glass down with a quiet clink, his eyes meeting yours. “Once the little one arrives, I’ll have a whole case of the finest wine waiting for you. Consider it a gift for giving me my first child. Something truly extravagant.”

You can’t help but let a small smile tug at your lips. “You mean it?” There’s a flicker of surprise in your voice, mixed with a touch of excitement at the thought of a small indulgence waiting for you on the other side of this. Not that it would matter. You didn't plan to wait around long enough for this gift.

“Absolutely,” he says, his expression softening. “Only the best for you.”

The way he says it makes you feel as though he’s not just talking about the wine, and for a moment, the intensity in his gaze is enough to make you forget where you are, who he is, and why you’re here. It’s both comforting and unsettling, this unexpected tenderness.

You look away, letting your fingers toy idly with your spoon. “I look forward to it then,” you reply softly, the weight of his words lingering in the space between you.

The warmth of the room and the low hum of the TV slowly lulled you into a comfortable haze, the day’s events blending into the soft murmur of the late-night talk show on the screen. Before you realized it, your eyelids grew heavy, and the world around you blurred and faded into sleep.

When you stir awake, it’s just for a moment—a brief awareness of being lifted, cradled against Sylus’s chest. His arms are steady as he carries you, his steps measured and gentle, as if he doesn’t want to disturb the peace you’ve drifted into. You’re too tired to care, and the gesture isn’t exactly new, so you let your head rest against him, slipping back into that comfortable in-between state of semi-consciousness.

As he reaches the room and places you on the bed, you feel the familiar cool metal of the shackle as he carefully clasps it around your ankle. There’s a strange mix of acceptance and resignation that settles over you; it’s routine by now, and you’ve learned that resistance will get you nowhere. You don’t stir, barely opening your eyes as you feel the slight weight and coldness against your skin.

Sylus’s hand lingers just a moment longer than it should, his fingers brushing your ankle lightly as if apologizing without words. Then he straightens, watching you as though ensuring you’re comfortable, or perhaps just reluctant to leave. The silence stretches for a beat before he adjusts the blanket over you, tucking it in gently.

Drifting back to sleep, you feel the faintest, fleeting touch of his hand on your hair, his voice a low, barely audible murmur. “Goodnight, sweetie.” And then he’s gone, leaving you in the silence, shackled and resting, your heart and mind caught in that strange place between comfort and captivity.

A chill snakes up your spine, a subtle pull dragging you from sleep’s warm grasp. Something’s wrong. You stir, confused, only half-awake when a voice—a low, familiar, male voice cuts through the haze.

“Hey…it’s kinda cold. Could you let go of the blanket a little?”

Sylus? No...not Sylus.

The familiarity of it pulls you fully awake, and you snap your eyes open, blinking at the darkness. But then, as your vision sharpens, you see him. Reese. He’s lying beside you, facing you on the bed, his face turned just enough for you to catch the black, oozing gunshot wound in his head, gaping open and slick with blood. A trickle of it slides down his cheek, soaking the sheets under him, dark and thick.

Your body freezes, a scream clawing at your throat, but no sound comes out. Your breath is trapped, the air around you thick and cold, chilling you from the inside out. How is this possible? He’s dead—he’s dead, but here he is, lying next to you, close enough to reach out and touch.

“What’s with the face?” His voice is casual, irritated. “Didn’t you hear me? It’s cold.”

You shake your head weakly, trying to focus, to convince yourself this isn’t real. But his face—the wound, the blood—is horribly vivid, every detail clear. You close your eyes, muttering to yourself, “Y-you’re not real…you’re not real…” as if repeating it will somehow pull you out of this nightmare.

Reese laughs, a low, mocking sound that makes your blood run colder. “Not real?” His tone is twisted, bitter. “First, you can’t take responsibility for your actions, and now I’m just…what? A figment of your imagination?”

You can barely hold his gaze, the look in his eyes dark and hollow, yet piercing, accusatory. You’re rooted to the bed, every muscle locked, your body paralyzed as his words sink in, hitting deeper than you’d like to admit. You want to move, to pull away, but you’re pinned, helpless under the weight of his presence.

“Do I matter so little to you?” he asks, voice rising in anger, his tone laced with a venom that sends a new wave of terror coursing through you. He leans closer, blood oozing from his wound, seeping down to your skin. Warm, sticky drops spatter across your cheek, and you can feel them trailing down, clinging to your skin like a brand.

“Tell me,” he demands, his voice filled with rage. “Did I deserve that end? Was I so bad?”

You try to shake your head, to deny it, but the words stick in your throat, the fear, the shock smothering you. All you manage is a strangled gasp, your eyes wide and desperate as he stares you down, inching closer, his face twisted with fury, with a pain that cuts straight through you.

“I wasn’t a bad guy,” he whispers, his tone shifting, softer, but somehow worse—a wounded, broken sound that cuts deeper than the anger. “I just had…problems. But now...I'm dead. And its all your fault.”

The blood continues to flow, more of it now, as if the wound has deepened, spilling down his face, soaking into the sheets, covering the bed, drenching everything. You can feel it spreading, thick and suffocating, seeping into your skin, binding you in place. It’s pulling you down, drowning you in the darkness, and all you can do is lie there, trapped, helpless, as Reese’s voice echoes around you.

You want to scream, to claw your way out, to breathe—but there’s only the blood, the suffocating weight, the feeling of it pulling you deeper, filling your lungs. You’re sinking, slipping into darkness, your vision blurring as his words fade, replaced by silence.

You jolt awake, eyes flying open, heart racing as you lie there, paralyzed in the dark. The weight of the nightmare still clings to you, thick and suffocating, every inch of your skin damp with sweat. Reese’s voice, his blood-smeared face, feels too close, too real. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the image to fade, to dissolve back into the shadows where it belongs. Just a dream, you remind yourself, swallowing hard. It was just a dream.

Beside you, Sylus stirs. He must have fallen asleep only recently; he’s been on edge these past days, slipping into quick naps whenever he can. His arm rests lightly over you, and you feel it tighten as you shift slightly, trying to push away the fear that lingers like a shadow.

“You’re a little damp,” his voice murmurs softly, his hand moving to your shoulder, steadying you. His eyes open, just a glimmer in the darkness, and they narrow slightly as he takes in your expression, the remnants of fear etched into your features. “Too hot?” he asks, his voice low and concerned.

You barely manage a nod, still shaken. His eyes soften, and his thumb begins tracing slow, soothing circles on your shoulder. His presence, the gentle rhythm of his touch, begins to pull you back from the brink of the nightmare, grounding you.

“Bad dream again?” he whispers, a touch of worry slipping through.

You swallow, nodding as your voice comes out in a whisper, raw and unsteady. “It’s…I’m okay. Just…him again.”

For a moment, the words hang heavy between you. You hadn’t planned on confiding in him, on letting him see even a fraction of the fear that holds you captive. But in the quiet of the dark room, he’s the only thing grounding you, his hand still resting gently on your shoulder, his gaze steady.

Sylus doesn’t push you, doesn’t press for details. Instead, he offers a quiet reassurance, his voice almost a murmur. “You’re safe,” he says, the words warm and soothing. “Whatever you’re seeing… it’s in the past. I won't let that happen to you again.”

You feel the weight of his words settle over you, anchoring you as the last shreds of the nightmare begin to slip away. You don’t pull away, instead letting his calm presence ease the terror that had gripped you moments before. His hand stays on your shoulder, offering a comfort you hadn’t expected but don’t reject, not now.

Breathing slowly, you finally let your body relax, the familiar fear fading.

Sylus’s voice was gentle, almost coaxing, as he reminded you, “You know you can always talk to me if you need to. I’m here.” His eyes held that soft patience, as if he were waiting for you to finally accept his care. But he didn’t push further. You simply nodded, giving a small, hollow smile. “I think I’ll take a shower,” you murmured, avoiding his gaze.

He nodded, pulling back, watching you slip toward the bathroom as the chain around your ankle rattled softly against the floor. The instant you disappear into the bathroom, you exhaled, bracing yourself against the sink for a moment as the weight of everything washed over you. Stripping off your clothes, you stepped into the shower, letting the water wash over you as though it could erase the turmoil inside.

The warmth of the spray brought you a brief sense of calm, a moment of escape as you let the tension in your muscles release. You closed your eyes, letting the water course down your skin, trying to shake off the remnants of the nightmare and the reality you were stuck in. It was easy, at least for a few minutes, to let your mind drift, to imagine yourself somewhere else entirely.

As you dried off, wrapping yourself in a towel, a sharp, unexpected pain twisted low in your abdomen. You clutched your stomach, wincing as the ache pulsed for a moment before ebbing away. When you looked up, your reflection in the tall mirror across the room caught your eye. There, your gaze drifted to something you’d been avoiding for weeks—a slight but undeniable curve, a small but visible bump.

Your heart skipped a beat, panic clawing at you. No, no… this isn’t happening. You weren't showing yesterday...no way you grew overnight? Right?

Turning to the side, you ran your hand over the curve, hoping it would somehow disappear, that maybe this was some strange trick of the light, an illusion cast by the shadows in the dim bathroom. But it was real—solid and unyielding under your touch, a soft, foreign shape that hadn’t been there before. The life growing inside you, forced upon you in this gilded cage. There was no more pretending, no more denial. The truth stared back at you, a relentless reminder of everything you’d tried to escape.

Your mind raced, spiraling with thoughts, each one sharper than the last. What am I going to do? The question echoed in your mind, louder and louder. How could you bring a child into this world, trapped here, bound to a man who held you against your will? How could you even begin to reconcile the love that was expected of you with the resentment boiling beneath the surface?

And yet…

Somewhere, buried beneath the panic, there was a flicker of something else. A faint, fleeting thought that this was your child—a part of you, something innocent and pure, untainted by the cruelty of its father. But that thought vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, smothered by the reality of your situation.

No. Its a monster put here by a monster. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Suddenly, Sylus’s voice broke through the haze, calling to you from beyond the bathroom opening. You stiffened, panic flooding your veins anew. He can’t see this. Not yet.

A wave of panic surged, and you scrambled to snatch your shirt from the counter, clutching it desperately against your chest as his figure appeared, and he stepped inside. His gaze fell on you, his brow furrowing slightly with concern as he took you in, standing there, exposed, your knuckles tight against the shirt you were pressing tightly against yourself.

He took a step forward, concern etched in his face. “Did something happen? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine—please, Sylus, just…leave,” you replied, willing your voice to stay steady, hoping he would listen.

But his gaze softened as he searched your face, clearly noticing the quickening in your breath, the apprehension in your eyes. Without a word, he reached for the shirt you held, and despite your best efforts, his grip was gentle but unyielding as he eased it from your hands.

"I've already seen you naked sweetie, many times. You don't need to be shy".

You felt frozen, helpless to stop him as he lifted the shirt away, exposing the small curve that had been hidden beneath.

Sylus’s breath seemed to catch, his eyes widening in awe as he took in the sight of your small but undeniable bump. For a moment, he was silent, his gaze tracing the curve of your stomach with a mixture of astonishment and tenderness. Then, as if unable to contain himself, a radiant smile broke across his face, one of unrestrained joy, his eyes brightening in a way you’d never seen before.

“This…this is what you were hiding?” His voice was a soft, reverent whisper, and he knelt down, his hand reaching out to gently, reverently, rest on the slight swell. He looked up at you, eyes shining with an emotion so raw, so overwhelming, it left you speechless.

“Sweetie…you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his fingers lightly brushing against your skin, tracing the gentle curve as though it were the most precious thing he’d ever seen.

Before you could pull away, he leaned forward, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your stomach. His breath was warm against your skin, and the intimacy of the moment struck you to your core. Your heart pounded in your chest, revulsion and disbelief twisting in your stomach as he closed his eyes, his touch so tender it was almost unbearable.

Sylus’s gaze flickered up to meet yours, filled with love, wonder, and a kind of vulnerability you hadn’t expected. For a moment, he seemed lost in the moment, lost in the reality that the life he’d longed for was now beginning to take shape. He brushed a gentle hand over your bump, his fingers tracing a slow, reverent path.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his hand gliding from your cheek to your shoulder. "So pretty with my baby growing in you, you're doing so good for me..."

His words fell like honey, each phrase laced with something warm and heavy. The praise mixed with the gentle intensity of his gaze, and for a moment, you felt a strange, almost dizzying sensation, as if his tenderness was pulling you into a world where you could forget the truth—just for a second.

But the kiss was no longer soft. He leaned in, pressing you against the wall, his hands slipping down to your waist, holding you close. There was a tension between you, a heat radiating from his touch as he let his lips trail from your mouth to your jaw, each kiss leaving a lingering warmth on your skin. He was so close, his hand pressing gently but possessively against the small of your back, his closeness overwhelming. You could feel his breath against your neck, the rapid beating of his heart as he leaned closer still.

He pressed up further against you, and you could feel the hardening of his cock as his hands continued roaming your naked body. Panic surged within you, the walls closing in as you felt him drawing you deeper into his embrace. You weren’t ready. Not for this. The kisses, the closeness, the feeling of his hands anchoring you to him—it was all too much.

You took a shaky breath, willing your voice to remain steady. “Sylus… please,” you whispered, your hand pressing against his chest, urging a little distance. “I’m sorry…I’m just…I’m not ready.”

For a split second, the air stilled. You didn’t dare look up, bracing yourself, fearing a flash of anger or the sting of his disapproval. But slowly, his hands softened their grip, loosening from your waist. You could feel him shift, the intensity of his touch retreating as he pulled back slightly. Hesitantly, you looked up, expecting frustration or perhaps that coldness you’d seen before.

Instead, his gaze met yours, warm and filled with a softness that was entirely unexpected. He swallowed, his thumb gently stroking your cheek as he took a steadying breath, as if calming himself. “I understand,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, but the warmth in it resonated deeply, cutting through the tension. “This is a lot for you to take in. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.”

You blinked, your heart racing as his words settled over you. He wasn’t angry. There was no frustration in his expression—only a look of genuine concern and, to your astonishment, regret. He wasn't going to force you like he had before. He had let you go.

“Thank you,” you managed, the words quiet, almost lost in the air between you. For a moment, you struggled to process what had just happened. Sylus, who had always taken so much from you without question, had actually listened. He’d stopped. You’d steeled yourself for resistance, for anger, for some form of reminder of his control over you. Yet here he was, stepping back, respecting your boundaries with a tenderness that left you momentarily speechless.

As you looked at him, you felt an odd mix of emotions. Relief washed over you, but something else lingered too—something more unsettling, a tiny flicker of doubt that questioned everything. It was the way he looked at you, as if there were truly nothing he wouldn’t do for you, even if it meant pulling himself back.

Sylus’s gaze softened as he took a step back, releasing you from his embrace but keeping his hand on your shoulder for just a moment longer. His thumb brushed gently over your collarbone, lingering, as if reluctant to let go completely.

“Do you want any help getting dressed?” he asked, his tone tender, almost coaxing. His eyes held a gentleness you were still getting used to, as though he was allowing himself to be vulnerable for once, hoping you’d let him in, even if just for a moment longer.

You shook your head quickly, a polite smile crossing your face. “No, it’s okay. I can manage.” Your voice came out steadier than you felt, and you could see the hint of disappointment that flickered in his gaze before he quickly masked it with a soft smile of his own.

You wondered why he craved so much for you to depend on him for every little thing. You couldn't understand.

“All right,” he murmured, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on your cheek, his lips lingering just a fraction longer than necessary. “I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

With a graceful, deliberate movement, he knelt and reached for the chain at your ankle. Its weight shifted as he seemed to inspect it. You couldn’t help but notice the rust forming on its edges, the faint orange stain a quiet reminder of each time it had endured the showers with you, silently marking the limits of your freedom. He noticed it too, pausing for a second as he looked at the worn chain.

“Hmm,” he murmured, running his thumb along the rusted edge with a look of quiet contemplation. For a moment, you thought he might undo it, but instead, he straightened up, the faintest frown creasing his brow.

He looked back at you, his expression softening again. “I’ll see you in a bit,” he said, his voice a gentle promise.

As he turned and left, you found yourself exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The weight of his presence lifted, leaving you alone with the faint memory of his touch still lingering on your skin.

The room seemed to expand in his absence, and you allowed yourself a moment to collect your thoughts. The sight of the rusted chain resting limply at your foot reminded you that, despite his tenderness, despite these fleeting glimpses of something softer, you were still his captive. Yet a strange sense of relief washed over you. Today, he’d listened. Today, he’d let you keep that sliver of control. And for now, you’d hold on to that.

As you stood there, something inside you unraveled, a delicate thread finally snapping under the weight of it all. The reflection in the mirror blurred, and you didn’t even notice the tears until you felt the warmth trailing down your cheeks. They fell silently, each one a reminder of the future that was no longer an abstract concept. A mother...you were going to be a mom. This was real.

The thought settled in your chest, heavy and suffocating. You tried to steady your breathing, doing small calculations in your head, desperately seeking some reassurance. By now, you must be past twelve weeks, right? Past that critical point where things were supposed to feel safer, more certain. But the slight swell of your belly seemed too prominent, too soon, and the thought gnawed at you. Would this baby be huge? Were you somehow different? You didn’t know, and the not-knowing scared you.

With each breath, reality closed in, no longer letting you keep it at a comfortable distance. There would be no waking up from this, no shaking it off like a bad dream. This was happening, and the tiny life growing inside you was proof of that. You closed your eyes, pressing a hand to your stomach, the warmth of your palm grounding you, if only for a moment.

In his office, Sylus leaned back in his chair, the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips. The image of you lingered in his mind, your face still etched with surprise and maybe even a glimmer of acceptance. He’d seen it when you touched your belly, the soft, instinctual motion you likely didn’t even realize you’d made.

It struck him how profoundly this all had changed, not only for you but for himself. For the longest time, he’d moved through life with an efficient, calculated purpose, relationships and alliances mere tools in the larger picture. But with you, he found himself moving beyond that cold, strategic calculation. His gaze softened just remembering the way you’d looked at him, hesitant yet trying to keep up a facade, an echo of something fragile and new.

The hum of his phone jolted him from his thoughts, a message notification flashing across the screen. It was from Dr. Merrill, a routine check-in that he’d been insisting upon ever since he’d learned about your protocore syndrome. Sylus’s gaze darkened slightly as he thought back to his conversation with the doctor. There were, of course, risks. But he’d come this far—he would ensure both you and the child would be fine.

In the next coming weeks, you would both find out the gender. And he couldn't be more excited. He hadn't given the gender a whole lot of thought, as having either a son or a daughter would be fine. As long as they were healthy. He wondered if you were hoping for a specific gender? He would have to ask later once you were feeling more comfortable.

He quickly messaged the doctor back, instructing him to be prepared for another home visit in the coming weeks, as you were beginning to show.

Setting the phone aside, he let out a long breath, allowing himself to sink deeper into his thoughts. The joy he’d felt when he first saw the hint of your growing belly was overwhelming, almost surreal. It was rare, feeling anything so strong. He’d been raised to value control and precision, but with you, things were different. For once, he felt like he had a purpose beyond the plans and schemes that had once driven him.

You were wary, he knew. Never mind the fact that you were still pretending to cater to him and accept your situation. He had to admit, you were keeping this up far better than he expected. Even going as far to fake a few tears to get things out of him. How silly of you. You didn't need to cry to get him to buy you things. He was more than willing. He hoped overtime you would come to actually learn this and fall into your role by his side. But he didn’t expect this to be easy, he would be patient, careful not to push you too far. Especially after his hasty decision to punish you the way he did.

As he leaned back in his chair, Sylus’s gaze drifted out the window. His mind wandered to the future he saw unfolding: you, content by his side, his child safe and thriving, the three of you a family in every sense.

Sylus’s thoughts drifted, lingering on the changes he’d already started to notice in your body, subtle yet unmistakable. Your nipples had gotten slightly darker than their usual color. The gentle swell of your belly was the most obvious sign, but there were others—small, delicate shifts that only someone as attuned to you as he was could see. He thought of the way your figure had softened, the fullness in your curves that hadn’t been there before. He'd felt it during the past few weeks, during moments when he'd held you close, his hand resting against your back or your waist, anchoring you to him.

There was a warmth that spread through him as he thought about it, a kind of reverence for the life growing within you. He’d noticed your breasts, too—firmer, slightly fuller, and he couldn’t help but be fascinated by the changes, drawn to them in a way he hadn’t anticipated. The way your body was adapting, preparing, made him feel a quiet awe. It wasn’t just attraction; it was admiration, a deep appreciation for the transformation he was witnessing. He hadn’t said anything, of course—he knew you were still adjusting, still wary of him, and any comment on your body would likely only push you further away.

But he noticed. Every time he held you, every time you crossed his path, he felt a heightened awareness, his gaze inevitably drawn to the small signs of change. He’d often catch himself before you noticed, careful to keep his admiration hidden.

But the feelings for your growing body also went a little...past just admiration. He felt an ache in his groin as he kept thinking about your newly grown belly, and how much bigger you would have to get if you were going to carry a baby. He shifted, the tightness in his pants feeling a little more uncomfortable than usual.

He let out a sigh, looking down in annoyance at the hardness in his pants. This wasn't the first time he had gotten riled up at the thought of you, but he was usually pretty good at ignoring it until the ache went away. After seeing your belly preparing itself however, that wasn't going to go away anytime soon.

So he lifts his hips up to pull down his pants and boxers. His erection sprang free, curving upwards towards his navel. The thick shaft was flushed a deep, angry red, the bulbous head throbbing and already dripping with clear beads of precum. Veins pulsed along the length, testament to his rampant arousal.

Sylus shuddered, wrapping his calloused hand around his throbbing cock and squeezing firmly. A guttural groan escaped his lips at the pleasurable pressure, his hips rocking upwards involuntarily. He stroked himself slowly at first, savoring the feeling of slick skin gliding over rigid flesh. But as his lust grew, so did the urgency of his movements.

He certainly wasn't a short man. He had expected that any child of his, especially a boy, wouldn't be small either. How large would you get? Would you need help turning or getting up?

It excited him more than he wanted to admit.

His breathing grew ragged, harsh pants filling the room as he pumped his fist faster and harder over his weeping cock. Lewd squelching noises joined the symphony of grunts and groans as his precum smeared along his throbbing length, easing the way for his increasingly vigorous stroking.

Fuck...you were gonna look so cute fully swollen with his baby. Especially squirming underneath him, breathless, wet and begging for his touch. Swollen, heavy breasts prepping for milk. He read somewhere that pregnant women tended to get higher libidos somewhere in the middle of the second trimester.

He hoped to god that that was true for you.

Sylus felt the telltale tingle building at the base of his spine. His impending climax rushing towards him at breakneck speed, sinful images of you arching into his touch as he fucked you into the mattress, pregnant belly and breasts swaying with each thrust filled his head. He leaned down into the dresser of his desk, grabbing a spare handkerchief and positioning under the head of his cock.

The best part of all of this, was when your pregnancy would inevitably come to an end. When your body healed and you were at your most fertile, he could do it all over again. He could impregnate you as many times as he wanted and have a huge, happy family. Money was never going to be an issue, and as long as you were fertile, he could give you babies.

Over and over and over.

With a strangled groan, he exploded, thick ropes of pearly cum erupting from the tip of his jerking cock and into the handkerchief. He stroked himself through it, wringing every last drop from his spasming member until he collapsed backwards into his chair, chest heaving and cock still twitching.

He stared down at the cum now soaked into the handkerchief and tossed it into the trashcan beneath his desk. It was a shame such a heartful load wasn't leaking out of you right now. Weeks of buildup wasted.

Oh well. Plenty of time for that later.

As Xavier drifted in and out of consciousness, his mind clung to fragmented images, blurred scenes of his anger and desperation manifesting in the same looping dream. He saw Sylus, beaten and bloodied, collapsing in defeat. And then there was you, reaching out for him, your face soft, relieved. He’d pull you into his arms, his heart racing with the promise of safety. The scene was a balm, the only comfort in his haze of pain and meds. But when he blinked awake, reality crashed down with the sterile scent of the hospital, the sting of every broken bone, and the pulsing ache in his leg, arm and ribs.

The nurse gently shook his shoulder, calling his name, breaking through the thick fog. He stirred, his eyes heavy, everything feeling sluggish under the weight of painkillers. "How are you feeling, Xavier? One being the best, and ten being the worst." she asked, her voice steady and professional. He blinked, focusing on her as she held up her chart, waiting. He grunted a "five," the number slipping from his mouth like a reflex, more out of exhaustion than precision. She noted it, a brief look of sympathy crossing her face.

“I’ll be back soon to draw your blood and change your catheter,” she said, her tone compassionate but detached. He nodded weakly, feeling the stiffness in his neck as he tried to turn slightly.

The tray of food was right there—a bland meal of mashed potatoes, corn, peas, and water—but the sight was grounding. He took a deep breath and struggled, lifting his good arm with a heavy tremor as he reached for the spoon, his movements slow, clumsy. Just lifting the spoon to his mouth was a feat in itself, each bite reminding him of his limitations, the constant reminder of Sylus’s brutality.

He remembered so little of the past weeks—disjointed pieces that barely made sense. The memory of voices, some unfamiliar, and the persistent drone of machines had woven into his dreams, always melting back into the same loop: Sylus defeated, his blood pooling around him, and you, safe in his arms, looking at him like he was all you had left. He couldn’t shake it, didn’t want to, and yet each time he awoke, he was thrown back into the raw reality of his broken body, the helplessness of it twisting his stomach with fury.

The nurse stepped out, leaving him to the quiet of the room. As he chewed, he fought to keep his thoughts coherent, to string together the fragments of memory and rage that flickered in his mind. There was only one certainty left in him, one relentless drive pushing through the fog: he would find a way to make that dream real, no matter the pain or time it took. And next time, Sylus wouldn’t be the one left standing.

Xavier's gaze drifted to the small TV on the wall, where a tv show flickered in soft colors. The volume was low, barely above a murmur, but it filled the silence of the hospital room with a familiar rhythm. He hadn’t bothered to change the channel since he’d been here, his limited mobility making even that a chore. Besides, it was easier to let the shows cycle through on their own, each one a hazy backdrop of strangers’ voices, laughter, and applause.

Tonight, it was a trivia show. The host’s voice was calm and steady, calling out questions and waiting as contestants hesitated, stumbling through answers. The distant hum of excitement and applause from the contestants was oddly comforting. It wasn’t that he cared who won or lost, but the soft chatter, the flow of random facts and questions, was enough to draw his mind away from the pain, the memories, and the endless hours of confinement.

He let his eyes close briefly, the steady drone of voices pulling him into a light doze. It was almost hypnotic, a lull that softened the ache in his ribs and the rawness of his anger, dulling everything until all he could focus on was the pleasant monotony of questions and answers. The show was mundane, predictable, a relief from the nightmares that chased him when he let his guard down.

Xavier's mind had been relentlessly circling back to you. He could still picture you, asleep on Sylus’s couch, a ghostly image lingering in his thoughts. You looked...well, worse than when he last saw you, thinner, but relatively unharmed. It was a small comfort, yet it didn’t ease the dark, gnawing worry he felt. And then, there was Sylus’s claim—that you were pregnant.

The words echoed endlessly in his mind, stirring a sharp discomfort that clenched in his chest every time he recalled them. It didn’t seem possible. You didn’t look pregnant, not visibly, and he forced himself to cling to the hope that it was some twisted ruse. A manipulation. One more way for Sylus to get in his head, and damn it if he wasn’t succeeding.

Dr. Merrill had only made matters worse. Every time he entered the room to visit, his demeanor was professional, but his eyes held that wary, knowing look that Xavier hated. It was a reminder, a silent reinforcement of Sylus’s control, and even if they’d silently agreed to play along with the “robbery” cover story, it felt like another punch to Xavier’s pride. “I got careless. A random attack…left my guard down,” he had told Captain Jenna and the other members from UNICORN who had visited.

They’d been speechless, disbelief written across their faces. The top hunter of the organization, decimated by some “robber”? He had done his best to sell it, saying he’d been caught off guard after some drinks, uncharacteristically sloppy. But he knew Captain Jenna didn’t quite believe him. She’d given him a long, searching look, but she hadn’t pressed further. For now, the lie held.

His thoughts were interrupted by the nurse’s return, moving with the practiced efficiency of someone who had done this a thousand times. She went through her routine—checking vitals, prepping for the blood draw, making small adjustments to his catheter. As she tended to him, his phone buzzed on the table. He looked at her, nodding, and she held it to his ear as usual.

“Hello?” he said, feeling the dull ache in his bones as he braced for more bad news.

The voice on the other end was familiar—his property manager. The words spilled from the receiver, the matter-of-fact tone cutting through him. “Xavier, I understand your situation, but I can’t keep the apartment on hold indefinitely without payment. I’m sorry, but I’ll need to start clearing it out this week to prepare it for the next tenant. I’m not sure why you insisted on paying for two apartments, but this arrangement…it has to end soon.”

His heart dropped, a sinking weight that left him momentarily speechless. He’d known this was coming, had felt it looming, but hearing it now, in such stark terms, twisted the knife. That apartment—your apartment—was the only piece of you he’d managed to preserve. Without it…he could lose the last thread of connection.

Clearing his throat, he forced his voice to steady. “I can give you the remainder of what I have,” he said, desperation lacing each word. “I… I can’t work right now, but I’ll take out a loan if I have to. Please, just give me a little more time. A few more weeks.”

There was silence on the other end, the brief pause stretching out painfully. Finally, the manager spoke, her tone softer but unyielding. “I’m sorry. I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t make any promises.”

"If you must clean it out, please leave her clothes, documents, pictures, and stuffed animals in boxes outside my place. I'll take them and have someone move them inside. Everything else can go."

"Understood. Rest well."

The line went dead, and the nurse set his phone back down. She continued her work in silence, but he could feel her occasional glances, her unspoken sympathy. He clenched his hand into a fist, the pain in his fingers barely registering beneath the fresh ache in his chest. The nurse left and it was just him again.

Xavier felt the tears pressing behind his eyes, but nothing came. He was spent, emptied out, unable to cry anymore. He’d cried himself raw over you, over everything he’d lost, and now, it was as if his emotions had burned themselves out. Still, a deep ache remained, gnawing at him with every breath.

Captain Jenna’s generous “bonuses” were the only thing keeping him afloat financially, covering the bulk of his rent, but it wasn’t enough to support two places. And since you were no longer classified as an active hunter, he’d found himself struggling to convince her to subsidize your rent as well. His attempts to hold onto your apartment, your last space, were slipping through his fingers like sand.

He let out a weary sigh, his hand resting heavily on the now-empty dinner tray. Just as he was about to settle back into the silence, a commotion stirred in the hall.

“Ma’am, visiting hours are over…hey!” a nurse’s voice protested, strained with urgency. There was a scuffle, the sound of hurried footsteps, and Xavier strained to lift his head. Moments later, a familiar face bounced into his room, brown hair and eyes bright with energy.

“Tara?” he muttered, bewildered.

“It’ll only be a minute! Hold on!” she called over her shoulder, flashing a mischievous grin at the nurse. She turned back to him, face beaming as she moved a chair to his bedside. Her excitement was palpable, filling the air around her, and Xavier blinked up at her, caught off guard by her vibrant energy.

“How are you doing?” she asked, her voice warm, but her eyes scanned his bandages, his cast, and the pallor in his face.

He gave a small, tired smile. “I could be better,” he admitted.

She nodded, her eyes sympathetic but still sparkling with something he couldn’t quite place. There was a giddiness about her, an intense excitement that he couldn't place. He squinted, confused. “Why are you so excited?” he asked, voice tinged with curiosity.

A giggle bubbled up from Tara, and she pulled her phone out, brandishing it in front of him. “Because,” she began, nearly bursting, “I heard from her! Can you believe it? She’s alive and thinking about me!” Tara’s eyes danced with joy as she held her phone up, revealing a familiar name at the top of a recent text thread. “Look! Look what she sent me!”

Xavier’s gaze fell on the screen, and his chest tightened. There, clear as day, was a message from you. The message read simply but warmly, wishing Tara well and saying you hoped to see her again someday. His stomach clenched, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. This had to be Sylus’s doing. He could practically see the smug expression Sylus would have, reveling in the illusion he was spinning.

But he couldn’t say that to Tara.

His face remained carefully neutral, struggling to maintain a calm facade. “I’m happy she messaged,” he said, voice steady but weighed down with emotion. “Relieved…she’s alive and well.”

Images of you asleep on Sylus’s couch flickered through his mind, the faint rise and fall of your chest, your figure strained and thinner than he had remembered you. He knew better than to hope, but seeing the message struck something deep within him. He looked up at Tara, forcing himself to smile through the turmoil swirling in his mind.

“Seriously, I’m glad you got to hear from her,” he added softly, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray the dread he felt.

"Me too! I told her you were hospitalized, hoping maybe it would make her wanna come visit but she hasn't responded sadly".

The door swung open, and the nurse entered, her expression stern, disapproval clear in her eyes. “Ma’am, if you can’t respect the rules, you’ll be barred from visiting,” she said, her voice sharp and unwavering. Tara let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling her eyes as she rose from the chair beside his bed, brushing her hands over her clothes in mild annoyance.

“Fine, fine,” she muttered, flashing Xavier a look that seemed both apologetic and a bit frustrated. “Sorry our visit was so short. This was the only time I could get away today,” she added, softening as she looked at him. “I’ll try come back in a few days. Get some rest in the meantime, Xavier!”

He managed a small nod, a wave of sudden exhaustion pulling him under as Tara shot him a last bright smile before the nurse gently ushered her toward the door. With one last glance over her shoulder, she was gone, the sound of her cheerful goodbye lingering in the room.

The quiet returned, thick and heavy, and Xavier sighed, pressing his back into the hospital bed. His hand trembled as he reached for the plastic cup of water by his bedside. Lifting it with his good hand, he took a shaky sip, the coolness offering some brief relief against the dryness in his throat.

His mind replayed the visit over and over, the brief flash of Tara’s happiness, the message from you on her phone. How easy it had been for Sylus to manipulate your voice, to craft a message just believable enough to soothe the people who missed you. It felt almost mocking. As he placed the cup back down, his fingers slipped, and he caught it with a quiet curse, the weariness in his bones starting to settle deep.

The aching in his chest wasn’t just physical; the uncertainty gnawed at him, hollow and relentless. He lay back, eyes drifting shut, waiting for the pull of sleep to offer him some escape from the steady, simmering dread that had taken up permanent residence inside him.

Xavier wasn't sure how much time passed since then. Days. Weeks. None of it mattered anymore. Dr. Grey entered Xavier's room, clipboard in hand, his expression measured as he checked over Xavier’s latest chart. Standing beside the bed, he offered a polite nod, glancing at Xavier’s array of casts and bandages before beginning his assessment.

“Well, we’re seeing some positive signs of healing. Your bones are knitting well, though given the extent of your injuries, I expect that you’ll be able to start a semi-recovery phase in about four months,” he explained, adjusting his glasses and skimming through the notes. “But as you might guess, physical therapy will likely add at least another two months. And you’ll need to be diligent with it to avoid setbacks.”

Xavier’s face fell as he processed the news. He groaned, his frustration palpable. Six months. Half a year. It was an eternity, too long when he could barely keep himself from going stir-crazy in the bed after just a few weeks. He muttered a quiet, “Thanks,” his hand clenching around the bed rail as he fought the urge to sink back into the haze of exhaustion and disappointment that had plagued him since his injury.

He closed his eyes for what felt like the fiftieth time that day, hoping to drift away, if only for a few moments. But to his surprise, he felt Dr. Grey hesitate. The doctor wasn’t moving to leave; instead, there was a brief pause, then the scrape of a chair being pulled closer to his bed. Xavier’s eyes opened slightly, watching as Dr. Grey leaned in, his face shifting into an expression that hinted at something more than the usual professionalism.

Dr. Grey’s voice dropped to a lower, confidential tone. “Between you and me, Xavier…my team and I have been working on something… experimental,” he began, his gaze intense, as though gauging Xavier’s reaction. “Now, I know what you might be thinking—sounds shady, right? But hear me out. This could be revolutionary for medicine.”

Xavier’s brow furrowed, his wariness growing as he took in the doctor’s words. “Experimental?” he echoed, his voice rough with both curiosity and skepticism.

Dr. Grey nodded. “If this works the way we believe it could…you’ll be back on your feet far sooner than six months,” he explained, the gleam of ambition unmistakable in his eyes. “We’re talking no physical therapy. We’d skip right to complete bone regeneration and muscle repair, advanced healing far beyond the standard protocols.”

For a moment, Xavier was speechless, his thoughts racing. A quicker recovery would change everything—restore his autonomy, get him back to his work. It would mean less time relying on people like doctors and nurses, less time spent waiting for the smallest signs of progress.

And more importantly, get him back on his feet and to you.

He took a deep breath, his skepticism wavering slightly in the face of this new possibility.

“But…” Xavier said slowly, eyeing Dr. Grey carefully, “experimental could mean anything. Risks. Side effects.” He usually wasn’t one to jump into things blindly, not without knowing what he’d be up against.

Dr. Grey’s face grew serious, his tone steady and measured. “Yes, there’s risk. No treatment is without it, especially in uncharted territory like this. But the preliminary results we’re seeing are promising. If it works, you’ll be out of here much faster than anyone thought possible.”

Xavier mulled over the offer, the potential benefits battling against the whispers of doubt in his mind. The six-month stretch ahead of him felt like a prison sentence he couldn’t stomach, a length of time he couldn’t afford to lose. But the thought of unknown side effects nagged at him, adding a darker edge to the choice in front of him.

He glanced up at Dr. Grey, weighing the options carefully.

Xavier stared, a mix of disbelief and wary curiosity flickering across his face. “So…sooner than six months? With my injuries?” he murmured, the doubt sharp in his voice. He tightened his grip on the edge of the bed, gritting his teeth as he tried to wrap his head around what the doctor was saying. “It sounds…impossible.”

Dr. Grey offered a small, encouraging nod, his eyes lighting up as he rubbed his hands together, warming to the topic. “Look, Xavier,” he began, his voice laced with enthusiasm tempered by professionalism, “even if the recovery time doesn’t end up as drastically reduced as we hope, I can guarantee one thing: you’ll come out of this much stronger. Think of it this way—typically, after severe breaks like yours, even with the best therapy, the bones don’t ever quite return to their original strength. They’re vulnerable, fragile, prone to aches and limitations. But this…” he paused, as if savoring the impact of his words, “this could give you bones that are as strong—no, stronger—than they ever were. It’s essentially as if you’d been given brand new bones.”

Xavier felt his breath hitch. “Brand new bones?” The concept was almost beyond belief, a prospect that seemed too good to be true. It was like a second chance, a way to return not just to his old self, but maybe even better. And yet, his skepticism remained. “But…why me?” he asked, narrowing his gaze. “I mean, this can’t be something you offer everyone who comes in here.”

Dr. Grey nodded slowly, weighing his answer before he replied. “True, not everyone is a candidate. But in your case, your natural strength as an Evolver and your resilience make you uniquely suited to withstand the process. Evolvers have a different kind of stamina, a level of resilience the average person just doesn’t have. We believe this factor alone could make you less prone to some of the riskier side effects we might expect in others. Your body is already conditioned to endure more than most.”

Xavier took this in, a strange flicker of hope stirring in him, tangled with wariness. His eyes drifted down to the cast on his broken leg, envisioning what “brand new bones” might mean in terms of mobility, agility, strength.

Xavier narrowed his eyes at Dr. Grey, the skepticism carving deeper lines into his face. “And the catch?” His voice held a hardened edge, matching the unyielding look he gave the doctor. This all felt too good to be true. In his line of work, anything that sounded miraculous usually had a dark side. He’d likely end up a glorified guinea pig for some experimental nightmare and be worse off than he started.

But…there wasn’t a line he wouldn’t cross for you, no risk too great. If the price was turning into some kind of super mutant or even losing parts of himself in ways he could hardly imagine, so be it. If it brought him closer to rescuing you, it was worth it.

Dr. Grey shifted, hesitating for a fraction of a second before continuing. “There is one primary side effect,” he admitted, his tone carefully measured. “We’ve observed a tendency for this treatment to…impact fertility. Both men and women, in preliminary trials, show significant drops in sperm and egg counts. In some cases, the subjects have lost reproductive abilities entirely.” He sighed, rubbing his temple. “It’s not something we’re proud of, but it’s been difficult to address so far. If that’s a potential deal-breaker…”

Xavier shut his eyes, the doctor’s words settling heavily in his mind. The idea of a life where having a family with you might be impossible sent a sharp, painful pang through his chest. He had imagined that life with you—seeing you safe, starting anew, building something together that could finally erase the pain and chaos. To lose the chance of creating that future would be…devastating.

But then his thoughts spun back to you, imagining the worst of what you might be facing at that very moment, and his resolve hardened. No matter how much it tore him up, he knew his choice. You were the reason he had to see this through, the reason he’d go to the end of any dark path if it meant even a chance of finding you.

Opening his eyes, he looked back at Dr. Grey, voice steadier than he felt. “What do I need to do?”

Dr. Grey pulled his chair closer, glancing around the empty room before leaning in with an almost conspiratorial air. “The process is unconventional,” he began, keeping his voice low. “What we’re proposing is an IV-based therapy infused with liquid stem cells—stem cells that are mutated, cultivated from a unique gene therapy we’re developing. You’d be receiving not just healing cells, but cells that could actively ‘re-code’ the bone and tissue growth at an accelerated rate.”

Xavier stared at him, skepticism flaring. “You’re saying this will just… rebuild everything that’s broken?”

“Not just rebuild,” Dr. Grey clarified, “but create brand-new, fortified structures. The treatment relies on highly controlled pluripotent stem cells—cells that can turn into any type of tissue your body needs to repair, replacing damaged bone and muscle. We’ve also engineered them with peptides to enhance integration, minimizing scar tissue and allowing for what could be an almost full recovery.” Dr. Grey’s voice took on an eager edge, as though the science itself thrilled him.

Xavier considered the implications, a wariness settling over him. “Why keep it quiet? If this is so revolutionary, why not use it openly?”

Dr. Grey’s face hardened slightly, and he shook his head. “This therapy hasn’t been through traditional approval channels yet. Too many hurdles and red tape. If word got out, the scrutiny could shut down the whole program before we’ve even seen the full potential. That’s why I’m asking you to keep this between us.” He glanced briefly at the closed door before looking back at Xavier, his eyes intent. “If anyone on the staff asks, tell them I’m trialing an enhanced recovery solution. They don’t need to know what’s in the IV.”

Xavier processed this, a wave of doubt mingling with a grim determination. Risk or not, this treatment might be his best shot at getting back on his feet in time to make a difference. Still, the potential for irreversible effects, the secrecy, and the implications hung over him like a dark cloud.

“When do we start?” Xavier finally said, his tone a mixture of resignation and resolve.

Dr. Grey nodded, a spark of approval in his eyes. “We’ll begin tomorrow morning. It’ll be administered daily through a controlled IV drip. You’ll likely feel strange—minor aches, even slight chills as the cells begin to integrate. But over time, you should notice the pain lessening, your bones strengthening faster than normal.”

He looked Xavier in the eye. “And remember, if anyone asks, you’re on an advanced, routine recovery regimen. Let’s not invite extra questions.”

Xavier nodded and the two shook hands. And with that, Dr. Grey checked Xavier's vitals before heading for the door.

As Dr. Grey exited, Xavier stared at the door, a blend of unease and determination churning within him.

For hours, Xavier lay still, staring up at the sterile ceiling tiles. The hum of machinery in the background droned on, an endless rhythm that allowed his mind to wander deeper into his thoughts. Was he about to make a colossal mistake? Was he really willing to let Dr. Grey treat him with an experimental concoction, to let his body become a petri dish for untested science? A gnawing feeling of unease grew in his gut, twisting alongside the lingering ache of his injuries. The thought circled back like a vulture, forcing him to question if this was desperation leading him down a dangerous path.

But then his thoughts drifted back to you—your face, the way you looked when he last saw you, thinner, sleeping in Sylus's house as if you belonged there. Anger churned, and it transformed his doubt into something sharper. He couldn’t let Sylus keep you trapped. The longer he lay here, the stronger Sylus’s grip over you became. If this treatment could bring him back stronger, faster, ready to take on any danger…it would be worth it.

He could feel his heartbeat thudding, the blood rushing with a renewed purpose. He pictured himself fully healed, the ache and limitations of his injuries gone. Imagined the possibility of facing Sylus not just as a recovering man but as someone better, someone who could outmatch and overpower him.

A sense of determination crystallized. He could become more than Sylus’s equal. His lips tightened, resolve hardening like steel in his gut. His vision sharpened with new clarity, his dreams of seeing Sylus bloodied and broken gaining new weight, becoming less fantasy and more like a promise to himself.

And if Dr. Grey’s treatment delivered, those dreams might just become reality.

#umi writes ♡︎#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace smut #sylus #lads #sylus x reader smut #lnds #l&ds #lads smut #love and deep space x reader #xavier x reader #l&ds xavier #xavier lads #lads xavier #xavier love and deepspace

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luvsupa · 4 months ago

Text

GOODBYE, PRINCE GOJO.

tags: fem!reader x prince! gojo satoru, childhood enemies to almost lovers to enemies (☹️), smut, (fingering), gojo has no shame, ANGST, royalty, sad ending arranged marriage, forbidden love, kissing, mdni idk what to add..

w.c: 4.4k

a/n:FINAL PART 🥹🥹 tysm for everyone who supported me and my story! ALSO THANK U GUYS SM FOR 500 FOLLOWERS! IM BEYOND THANKFUL 💗+likes and reblogs are appreciated 🤍🤍

the next morning, unease settles over you as you touch up your makeup at your vanity desk, preparing for family breakfast. your entire life feels like it’s crumbling. you have only two days to choose your fate. strangely enough, you’ve grown comfortable around gojo again, but the fear of him tormenting you lingers.

but then there’s nanami.

he promised you a loving future. he’s charming and everything you want in a husband. yet, you can’t have both. society would never accept it; you’d be shunned if you tried.

choosing nanami means finally being freed from gojo, the twisted curse that has haunted you. but also being sent away could benefit you, offering no drama and pure freedom from him.

this is the only way you could truly be happy.

you grip your makeup brush tightly, feeling beyond conflicted. in a fit of frustration, you throw the brush and stand abruptly, nearly tipping your chair. this decision is tearing you apart. you don’t care about your appearance anymore as you exit your room and head to the breakfast room.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

you hear distant chatter before arriving in the royal breakfast room. you greet the guards kindly as you enter, finding only your mother, gojo’s mother, and ayana seated around the long table. you expected more seats to be occupied, but many were empty.

the servants were bringing plates of fruits and vegetables to the table, along with freshly squeezed juices.

ayana notices you first, scoffing and turning away. you walk to the opposite side of ayana, catching gojo’s and your mother’s attention with your heels clacking against the wooden floor.

“oh, good morning, dear,” your mother says as you greet everyone respectfully. you sit directly in front of ayana, with your mother to your left at the table’s end.

“will ‘ruru be joining us, your majesty?” ayana asks annoyingly. the queen confirms his arrival. ayana looks at you with a hint of mischief, but you’re already weary of the torment you’ve endured.

just in time, you hear his laughter echo outside the breakfast room as he chats with the guards, thanking them for their hard work. ayana leans back in her seat, trying to see gojo through the doorway, biting her lip as she eyes him.

you feel a pang of jealousy at her reaction to him—oh.

i get why.

gojo walks in with his hair fluffy and damp, wearing a white button-up with the first few buttons undone, revealing a bit of his chest. you feel yourself start to salivate as his lotus tattoo peeks out.

holy fuck, he’s hot, you think.

“satoru, dear, must you always arrive in such untidiness?” his mother inquires with a touch of regal authority as he makes his way toward you. ayana’s jaw drops as he ignores her and takes the seat beside you.

you nearly moan out loud as you inhale his scent.

“presentable for whom?” he questions in a sassy tone.

“the royal authorities and ayana’s parents will be joining us,” the queen says as gojo rolls his eyes, clearly uninterested in anyone but you.

as you wait for the remaining guests to join, gojo keeps trying to hold your hand under the table. you keep shoving him away because your mother and ayana are watching you like hawks.

gojo knows they’re watching and doesn’t care—he wants them to see. as you push his hands away for the fifth time, the guards notify everyone that the rest of the guests have arrived.

you all line up to greet each person, feeling especially awkward when greeting ayana’s parents.

eventually, you return to your seats, still sitting in front of ayana and now her parents, as well as other royal authorities along the table, and beside gojo. great.

the maids kindly serve everyone plates of their desired breakfast. the room fills with the clatter of forks and knives scraping plates, and the soft chatter of the queen and royal authorities. as you enjoy your food, you notice gojo’s plate is untouched.

“you’re not hungry? you didn’t touch your food,” you whisper, concerned about his lack of appetite. he lazily turns his head to you, leaning in.

“i want you,” he murmurs.

you hold your composure, not wanting to show a reaction as you know many eyes are on you, including ayana’s. you ignore his words and focus on eating, but you feel gojo’s gaze, intense and searching.

he won’t back down, will he?

gojo deliberately knocks his utensils under the table, the clattering noise drawing everyone’s attention. you know he has something up his sleeve.

“ahh, don’t worry about me! just clumsy,” gojo reassures everyone as they return to their conversation. he lifts the tablecloth and ducks under the table to retrieve the utensils.

just as he’s getting up from under the table, you feel his hand slide under your gown. his cold fingers trail smoothly up your calf, moving higher and higher until they reach your thighs.

your heart races. he cannot be doing this—the royal authorities are here!

your breath hitches, but you try to maintain your calm persona. his touch sends shivers through you, and the risk of being caught only heightens the tension. gojo’s fingers tease your inner thigh, his touch both infuriating and electrifying.

“please,” you whisper, almost inaudibly, not sure if you’re begging him to stop or to continue.

you nearly moan out loud as he rubs you through your already wet undergarments, holding the utensils in his other hand. “here they are! silly me,” he says jokingly, eliciting laughter from the guests. with a rough pull, he moves your undergarments aside, revealing your cunt under the table.

if anyone dared to look under, you two would be sent to the guillotine.

“be a good girl and keep quiet,” he huskily whispers into your ear. you feel yourself slowly turning to mush, his voice, his fingers, his scent—

you cannot keep quiet like this! you must look presentable, especially with ayana glaring at both of you, her annoyance evident.

gojo rubs his fingers along your slit, parting your folds and applying pressure, provoking you to the brink of losing all sanity. his long, slender fingers tease your entrance, almost inserting, but not quite. you bite your lip so hard you think you could bleed, desperately trying to maintain your composure.

shaking, you hold your fork and struggle to focus on eating. gojo, meanwhile, looks unusually pleased, a smug satisfaction on his face as he watches you squirm.

“dear, have you made your decision?” your mother asks, her voice cutting through the hushed conversation at the table. you nervously glance around, internally cursing gojo for his reckless games.

“I-I haven’t,” you stammer, feeling exposed and vulnerable as gojo pinches your throbbing clit. he smirks knowingly, enjoying your struggle to maintain composure.

“you must decide soon, mustn’t you?” gojo interrupts, his tone taunting and cruel. tears threaten to spill from your eyes, realizing he intends to torment you in front of everyone.

“I- mmf”

your whole body jolts as gojo shoves two of his thick fingers straight into your sloppy pussy, the stretch burning in a way that feels strangely good. your velvety walls immediately pulse around his invading fingers, your wetness flowing down your legs. you bite your lip to stifle a cry, struggling to maintain your composure, slowly forgetting that everyone is waiting for your coherent response.

“I will,” you frantically whisper, unsure if anyone heard your hasty response or grasped its significance. as gojo curls his fingers, finding that spot that sends shivers down your spine, you feel yourself growing weaker and weaker with each thrusting movement.

your clit twitches in desperate need of attention, neglected by his deliberate touch, heightening the risky thrill of the forbidden act.

“she would be happier away from all of us,” ayana says, attempting to provoke a reaction from you. but you’re too intoxicated by gojo’s fingers to fully register her words. your legs begin to shake uncontrollably as gojo inserts a third finger, stretching you to the fullest as he’s reaching the deepest parts as you feel intense waves of your orgasm approaching.

“ahh you would love the countryside wouldn’t you?” gojo asks again, smirking at how dumb you’ve already became from his fingers. to an outsider, you appear dazed and drowsy, your senses overwhelmed by gojo’s addictive touch. meanwhile, gojo sits composed and seemingly innocent, oh how this made you want to scream at him.

gojo sneakily snakes his other hand under the table. just as you were about to respond, he begins to rub circular motions on your sensitive nub. the double stimulation causes your velvety walls to rapidly tighten around his curled fingers, soaking both his fingers and your gown.

your brain feels fuzzy as your orgasm intensifies. your eyes flutter continuously, as you hear lewd squelches erupt from under the table as his thrusting movements quicken, eager to have you come for him.

your legs continue to shake uncontrollably as the climax rushes through you, your body tensing up. you collapse onto gojo’s chest, your pussy gushing out juices non-stop, creating a messy puddle under the table. as you catch your breath from the intense release, your arousal remains heightened. gojo holds you close, supporting you as you lean against him.

“oh, she might not be feeling well,” gojo remarks, feigning concern. he slides his fingers out of your cunt, and you silently whine at the sudden loss, your walls clenching around nothing.

wait.

you forgot that you were still having breakfast with all the royal statuses as you and gojo were acting like fools! someone for sure had to notice. you’re too scared to look around as you remain leaning on gojo’s chest.

“i will bring her to her room to rest; this topic can be overwhelming,” gojo says, and everyone believes his cover story as he helps you, guiding you out of the breakfast room.

instead of taking the direct route to your room, gojo leads you down a longer path, where fewer guards are present. he stops at a secluded corner, where you have more space to talk openly.

“do you have any sort of decorum? i almost lost it in front of them!” you exclaim, still feeling the pulsating aftermath of your recent actions. your jaw drops as you watch gojo suck his pruned fingers into his mouth, humming loudly as he savors the taste of your arousal. his bright blue eyes lock onto yours with intense lust.

“i said i wanted you,” he murmurs, seemingly dazed by the lingering taste in his mouth.

“i do not want you to go to the countryside. i want you with me,” he pleads, his eyes darting between your lips and your gaze.

“you cannot always get what you want, big boy,” you tease, your hands wrapping around his neck as you pull him into a passionate kiss. you both moan loudly as your tongues entwine, tasting your arousal on his tongue immediately.

you pull away, denying gojo’s attempt for more kisses. he looks desperate, as if he’s dying without your touch, but you reject him again.

“i have to make my choice,” you say, smoothing out his unbuttoned shirt. your hands slip inside, revealing his lotus tattoo once more. he watches you intently, recognizing your odd attraction to his ink.

“i will see you later, ’toru,” you declare, ending the encounter. with that, you take the longer route back to your room, leaving gojo flustered once again.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

as gojo makes his way back to the breakfast room alone, he re-enters the bustling atmosphere where a few people notice his presence. feeling already bored, he settles back into his original seat and makes eye contact with ayana's glossy eyes.

"is my daughter alright? i didn't want her to feel overwhelmed," your mother asks gojo with concern, while ayana eavesdrops. gojo reassures her that everything is fine, but ayana grows more impatient, her leg bouncing in frustration as she knows what transpired between you two.

"all she needed was rest—"

"do you all find this quite odd?" ayana rudely and loudly interrupts, causing a stir in the conversation. her parents are taken aback by her outburst, and the room watches in confusion, waiting for her to continue with her suspicions.

"the man i am supposed to marry is all lovey-dovey for that bitch!" she exclaims, prompting your mother to scold her for her language, which earns ayana's parents a disapproving glance from yours. on the other hand, gojo glares at ayana, visibly restraining himself from reacting impulsively.

“i mean mother, father, you have not seen it all yet but all she does is manipulate my poor ‘ruru,” she continues, spinning a false narrative to fit her story.

“manipulate how?” one of the royal authorities questions, clearly curious about the drama, which could further complicate your choices. ayana shifts her attention to the royal figures, grinning mischievously.

“it’s been many times i have caught them in sexual acts together, she manipulates him into it,” she lies, faking a sniffle to garner sympathy from the authorities. “j-just the other day—oh goodness—they were going feral for each other,” she claims, drawing everyone’s attention to gojo, whose smirk infuriates his mother as he reminisces on your shared intimacy.

“and you were a witness to all of their sexual acts?” the royal authority questions again, setting his utensils down and wiping his mouth with a cotton cloth as he stares intensely at ayana.

“unfortunately, i was. i just hope her punishment increases even more—even right now! they were just engaging in sinful acts under the table! how shameful,” she continues, causing shock and discomfort throughout the room. gojo slouches back in his chair, arms crossed, and begins to laugh, confusing everyone except the royal authorities.

“ayana hara,” another royal authority calls out, catching the attention of ayana and her parents. “as of now, you have confessed to committing a taboo—” ayana’s jaw drops as the authority’s words sink in. her plan isn’t unfolding as expected.

“t-taboo? my royal authority, i-i have not!” ayana interrupts, frantically trying to deny the accusation.

"as i was saying," the royal authority declares firmly, his demeanour visibly upset at her impudent interruption. "bearing witness to sexual acts among two unmarried individuals and failing to promptly report such transgressions to the authorities is considered a grave breach of decorum and law."

ayana’s face drains of color completely. she turns to her parents for support, their eyes seeking guidance from the queen, who remains composed but stern. tears begin to trickle down ayana's cheeks as she comprehends the gravity of her confession. meanwhile, gojo surveys the room with a knowing smile, fully aware of how ayana has unwittingly sealed her fate.

"i- i do not understand, there’s certainly no law about this," ayana stammers, desperation evident in her plea as she searches for any form of support, even casting a fleeting glance towards gojo, hoping he might intervene on her behalf.

"the king and queen uphold the law of the realm without exception. as for your transgression, ayana hara, you are hereby stripped of your duchess title, and immediate banishment of the hara estate is mandated," the authorities pronounce with unwavering authority, rising from their seats in disapproval of the disruption during breakfast. the queen and your mother remain somber and silent throughout, their disappointment clear.

"w- where would i s- stay?" ayana sobs, her world collapsing before her eyes. had she only kept silent, gojo thinks.

"there exists a remote village in the southern reaches, designated for those who have fallen from noble status. there you shall reside until further decree," he continues, the other authorities respectfully concluding their business with the queen and gojo before exiting the room, leaving ayana to cry out in anguish. tears stream down her face as her mother attempts to comfort her.

the room hangs heavy with tension, your mother and the queen maintaining bowed heads. ayana's father hastily pursues the departing authorities, seeking to work out the severity of his daughter's punishment. meanwhile, gojo remains seated, quietly amused by the unfolding drama. from the moment ayana spoke out, he knew her fate was sealed.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

"she was screaming all the way to her carriage, it was hilarious," gojo recounts the scene that unfolded in your absence. ayana had finally got what she deserved, and although you wish you could have witnessed it firsthand, it was satisfying to know she was facing her karma.

gojo stands in your room, recounting the events as you sit at the end of your bed. his shirt is still unbuttoned, and you notice a few more buttons undone than before.

"where has your pretty mind wandered off to?" gojo teases, his hand reaching down to gently lift your face so you meet his blue eyes.

"i am deciding on the first choice," you say, indicating your plan to move to the countryside. you don't want to be forced into a marriage with one of his distant relatives. gojo's smile fades, and he slowly lets go of your face, taken aback by your decision.

"what? no, we must figure something out," he stammers, reality sinking in as he realizes your departure is soon. "time's running out, 'toru. i have to decide, or your father will decide for me."

"no, we will go speak to them." before you can respond, gojo grabs your arm and pulls you out of your room, determined to find his parents. this time, you don't resist his grip, knowing that no matter what gojo says, the king's decision will stand greater.

as you descend the stairs, still hand in hand with gojo, you enter the drawing room to find the king and queen, accompanied by an unfamiliar woman.

“ah, perfect timing,” the king remarks as you both halt. gojo tries to speak but is immediately cut off by his father.

“son, with ayana’s banishment, it disrupts your marriage plans,” the king states.

“yes, father, but i have decided i will marry—”

“you are going to marry ayana’s cousin, rina.”

you shift your focus to the beautiful woman standing beside the king. she’s the same height as you, with long blonde silky hair draping along her back, some pieces neatly curled. her satin blue gown with white accents is beautifully hand-made as she holds a matching fan in one hand. she’s stunning.

you let gojo’s hand go as you feel utterly defeated, his plan of trying to convince the king shattered.

“dear, we ask if you can give them privacy to speak,” the queen says, ordering you to leave. gojo once again grabs your hand.

“she hasn’t decided yet, mother. she has two more days,” gojo says through gritted teeth. the queen chuckles softly at his defensiveness.

“she no longer has a choice. after the incident at breakfast, she will be sent to the countryside permanently first thing tomorrow,” the queen declares.

you can feel his anger.

“are you serious? you allowed her until—”

“i understand,” you say, cutting off gojo as he looks at you in disbelief. he cannot believe how quickly you surrendered your future.

“very well, come now, let us give them space,” the queen says, guiding you out of the room. gojo and rina are left alone as his anger boils over.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

as you wander the estate, feeling under the weather, you notice nanami through a window, sitting alone in the outdoor library, writing in a journal.

you approach him, and he looks up, smiling as he gestures for you to join him.

“how have you been?” you ask, genuinely concerned for his well-being.

“I should be asking you that. i never wanted this to happen to you,” he replies, closing his journal and placing the feathered pen neatly beside it. you nod, fidgeting with your fingers.

“i have been avoiding you for a few days. i am so ashamed of what occurred, my dear,” he apologizes, his voice rich with sincerity. you immediately forgive him, not wanting to hold a grudge.

“i am being sent to the countryside tomorrow. satoru will marry ayana's cousin,” you inform him. his brows raise in shock at the speed of the decision.

“and you wanted this?”

“no, i initially wanted to marry you, then sat—“ you stop yourself before you can fully say his name, but nanami already knows. he nods at your almost slip-up.

“i believe moving away is probably for the best, but cutting all contact with all of you is the hardest part,” you say truthfully, your heart aching at the thought of never seeing them again. nanami reaches for your hands, taking them into his larger ones.

“you will always be in contact with me. i shall visit you often and write to you,” he reassures you, his voice calm and steady, making you feel more at ease. "and who knows, perhaps one day i can truly make you my queen," he adds, making you gasp at his words, almost as if he's making a promise to you.

“you are destined to make a great king,” you compliment, rubbing circles onto his hands. his cheeks tint a slight pink beneath his glasses, and he smiles humbly, a touch of warmth in his expression.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

night approaches, and the maids and servants diligently pack your belongings. your room is filled with many helpers, working immediately on the king's orders. your mother and father are nowhere to be seen, their absence suggesting their disappointment in their daughter.

you quietly leave your room and make your way to the staircase, heading towards gojo's quarters. you walk down the long hallway and stand before his door, noting his initials engraved on the wooden surface.

you knock, and he swings the door open, not expecting you. his eyes widen as he sees you standing there, arms crossed, gazing into his puffy eyes—he has been crying.

“my room is filled with servants. may i sleep here?” you ask. he steps aside, allowing you into his spacious room.

“how was the meeting with rina?” you ask, turning to look at him as he locks the door, wanting to know if he has any interest in her.

“i want to move with you,” he says, disregarding your question. you look at him in confusion.

“you know that is impossible. are you truly willing to abandon your future as king for me?” you remind him. he nods, not caring about royal status anymore. you glare at him, wanting him to be realistic.

“please wait for me. i promise i will find you and make you the ruler of this estate,” he says as you step closer, embracing him. he nuzzles his head into your neck.

“i will delay the marriage until i can be with you. just, please, wait,” he pleads, and you chuckle softly at his desperation.

“there will never be a time when we can be together, ‘toru,” you say, shattering his dreams of your future together.

“y-yes, there will be. my father's illness will not last long, and my time as king will soon come. i will bring you back,” he says, choking on his words. he releases you from the embrace, sharing his plan.

you smile at his words, knowing that by the time gojo ascends to the throne, you both will have moved on with your separate lives. you take his hand in yours as you both climb into the large, comfortable bed, cuddling together as you stroke his fluffy hair. his continuous promises of your future together ring in your ears as he slowly drifts into slumber.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

your bags are placed across the grand entrance of gojo's estate. through the large double doors, you see three carriages ready to transport you and your belongings. you’ve barely slept, having spent the night in gojo’s tight embrace.

standing beside your parents, you see the tears welling in their eyes at the thought of their daughter departing. the king and queen arrive, with gojo trailing behind them, a look of sadness all over his face.

“it is indeed a sorrowful sight to see you leave,” the king speaks , “but we must act in the best interest of both our families and your reputation.” your gaze shifts to gojo, whose expression mirrors the anger he felt upon first seeing you enter their home.

“thank you for your hospitality,” you reply, your voice trembling as you bow respectfully to the king and queen. the king gestures for the guards to take the remaining luggage to the carriages, while both sets of parents attempt to accompany you.

“i would request that satoru escort me to my carriage,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. gojo’s face lights up with a mix of relief and sorrow as he takes your hand, guiding you down the grand staircase. your parents and his look on in surprise at your request.

as you descend the steps, you can feel gojo’s sorrow acutely. “i love you,” you confess softly. his eyes glisten with emotion, his cheeks flushing as he averts his gaze to conceal his smile.

reaching the final step and approaching the carriage, a guard opens the door. you slip from gojo’s grasp and turn to face him.

“please wait for me,” he pleads, his voice cracking as he presses his lips to yours. unperturbed by the guards or your parents watching, this kiss is laden with his anguish. he pulls away, tears brimming in his eyes, and kisses your forehead tenderly.

“stay in contact with me, my love,” he says, handing you a letter adorned with your name and a heart. you take it, fighting back tears as you strive to remain composed.

“prince gojo, we are to depart now,” the guard announces, interrupting your moment. you give gojo a final, lingering kiss before entering the carriage. as you adjust your gown in the seat, the guard shuts the door, and you are left alone, moving away.

overcome by emotion, you burst into tears as the carriage slowly begins its journey. gojo stands at the entrance, his heart breaking with each muffled sob that escapes from within. the further the carriage travels, the more his frustration grows—unable to bear the thought of being apart from his true love.

turning abruptly, gojo rushes up the stairs back into the estate, pushing past the concerned crowd as he ignores their calls. all he truly ever wanted was you.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen angst #gojou satoru x reader #gojo angst #gojo satoru #jjk smut #gojo smut #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen smut

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girlkisser13 · 2 months ago

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taste- part 2

"every time you close your eyes and feel his lips, you're feelin' mine" "and every time you breathe his air, just know i was already there" "you can have him if you like, i’ve been there, done that once or twice" "and singin' bout it don't mean i care, yeah, i know i've been known to share"

a/n: the long awaited part 2. tysm for all the love on part 1 !! if you haven't read part 1 yet, you can read it here.

pairings: theodore nott x slytherin fem!reader

warnings/tags: mentions of cheating. pansmione mention.

summary: theo makes his choice.

theo's gaze lingered on you as you disappeared out of honeydukes, your parting words still echoing in the silence that followed your exit. pansy had been stunned, her smirk wiped clean off her face. now, she stood frozen next to him, her dark eyes darting back and forth between the door and him.

it didn’t take long before her shock morphed into anger. she turned to him, her voice low, almost dangerously soft. "is it true?"

theo shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the shopkeeper who was pretending to be busy counting coins but was clearly eavesdropping. "pansy," he began, unsure how to even start.

"don’t. just tell me the truth." her eyes bore into his. "how long?"

theo opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. he wanted to explain, to justify, to somehow make it all seem like less than it was, but nothing he could say would change the facts. "since the summer," he admitted finally, his voice barely audible.

pansy’s breath hitched, her eyes widening in disbelief. "the summer," she repeated, the words foreign on her tongue. she took a step toward him, nostrils flaring as she inhaled deeply. her eyes sharpened, realization dawning as she caught the faint, sweet scent that lingered on his clothing.

"god, you even smell like her," she hissed, taking another step closer. "it’s like she’s still here. like i’m breathing the same air as her."

theo clenched his jaw, guilt washing over him. he had never intended to hurt pansy, not like this. his feelings for you had crept up on him, unexpected but undeniable. but pansy had been a part of his life for so long— he had thought he could manage both, keep up appearances with her and still have you. now, he realized how naive that had been.

"how long have you been lying to me?" pansy asked, her voice rising as her emotions took hold. "how long have you been sneaking around behind my back?"

"i wasn’t—" he began, but she cut him off with a bitter laugh.

"since the summer," she spat, shaking her head in disbelief, her face a mix of anger and hurt. "all those times you disappeared, all those excuses— you were with her, weren’t you?"

he couldn’t bring himself to deny it. he nodded, shame settling deep in his chest. "i didn’t mean for it to happen like this, pansy. i never wanted to hurt you."

"funny how that works," she said coldly, taking a step back. "because you did."

without another word, pansy stormed out of the shop, leaving theo standing there, lost in the wreckage of the moment.

it wasn’t long before pansy found you.

she caught you as you were leaving the three broomsticks, the warmth of the tavern replaced by the chill of the autumn air. you barely had time to register the fury on her face before she was in front of you, blocking your path.

"so it’s true," she said, her voice shaking with a mix of anger and disbelief. "you’ve been messing around with theo behind my back."

you stared at her, feeling a deep weariness settle over you. you didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to keep rehashing the same painful truth. "you don’t have to worry about me anymore, pansy," you said quietly. "there’s nothing between us now."

pansy narrowed her eyes. "what are you saying?"

"i’m saying you can have him," you replied, the weight of your own words pressing on your chest. "i don’t care anymore."

for a moment, she just stood there, her expression faltering. and then, something inside her seemed to snap. she let out a breathless, bitter laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. "you don’t care?" she echoed. "you ruined everything, and now you’re just going to walk away?"

you held her gaze, your own emotions swirling just beneath the surface, but you kept your voice steady. "it’s over, pansy. there’s nothing left to fight about."

behind her anger, you could see the confusion and hurt. pansy had always been so sure of her place by his side. to have that shaken so thoroughly, it was clear she didn’t know how to process it.

"this is too much," she muttered, her voice breaking. she glanced back toward the village, her shoulders tense, before turning her eyes to you again. "he’s not worth it," she said, her voice cold, but there was a flicker of something softer underneath. "i’m done with him."

and with that, she walked away, leaving you standing in the street, the wind biting at your skin.

you barely had time to process her departure before you heard the sound of footsteps behind you. you turned just in time to see theo running after you, his face drawn with frustration and worry.

"wait—" he called, but you didn’t stop. you couldn’t. you couldn’t let him pull you back into this mess again.

"theo, don’t," you said, your voice thick with emotion as you quickened your pace, trying to put distance between you and him. "just go."

"i’m not going after her!" he shouted, catching up to you, his hand grabbing your arm to stop you. "please, just listen to me."

you stopped abruptly, pulling your arm from his grasp as you spun to face him. "i won’t be anyone’s secret, theo," you said, your voice trembling with the effort to hold back your tears. "if you want to be with pansy so badly, then go. be with her."

he flinched at your words, hurt flashing in his eyes, but you turned away before you could see any more. you couldn’t handle it. not now. not after everything.

"wait—" theo tried again, but you shook your head, walking faster, not stopping until the distance between you and him was more than just physical.

when you were finally alone, the tears came. you let them fall, letting the weight of everything settle on your shoulders. and in that quiet, in the solitude of the moment, you made a promise to yourself.

you would never let anyone treat you like that again.

the days after the confrontation were strange. theo kept his distance, and for that, you were grateful. but it didn’t stop him from watching you, didn’t stop the furtive glances he sent your way when he thought you weren’t looking.

it wasn’t until a few days later, during charms class, that theo made his next move.

a folded note landed on your desk, sliding across the surface to rest just beneath your hand. you glanced down at it, your heart sinking as you saw theo’s familiar handwriting scrawled across the parchment.

meet me at the astronomy tower? 9 p.m.

you rolled your eyes, crumpling the note in your hand and shoving it into your bag. as if things could be that simple.

after class, theo approached you again, his face full of the same pleading expression you had seen too many times before.

"please," he said softly, stepping in front of you. "just five minutes. that’s all i’m asking."

you stared at him for a long moment, considering his words, weighing the possibilities. against your better judgment, you found yourself nodding. "fine. five minutes."

he looked relieved, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "thank you."

you said nothing as you walked away, your stomach twisting with anxiety for the conversation that was sure to come.

at nine o’clock, you made your way up to the astronomy tower, your heart beating a little faster with every step. the night was cool, the stars scattered across the sky like distant pinpricks of light. when you reached the top, theo was already there, leaning against the stone railing, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

he straightened as soon as he saw you, his expression soft, almost vulnerable.

"you came," he said, his voice filled with quiet relief.

"i said i would," you replied shortly, crossing your arms. "you’ve got five minutes."

theo sighed, running a hand through his hair, his eyes darting to the sky before they finally met yours again. "i’ve been a fool,” he started, his voice quiet, almost pained. "i was a fool to think i could be with pansy in public and have you in secret. i want to be with you."

you blinked, taken aback by his sudden admission. "where is this coming from?" you asked cautiously. "why do you suddenly feel this way?"

"it’s not sudden," theo replied, shaking his head. "i've always felt this way. i was just too prideful. too scared to admit it, to myself or to you." he stepped closer, his voice trembling slightly as he continued. "but fuck my pride. fuck everything. i am in love with you."

your breath caught in your throat, the rawness in his words slicing through the defenses you had carefully built up over the last few weeks.

"i’ve tried not to be," theo admitted, his voice thick with emotion. "i’ve tried to do the right thing, to do right by pansy, and by you. but i can't help it. my heart won’t stop wanting you.”

you stood frozen, barely able to process his words as he took another step closer, the intensity in his eyes almost overwhelming. "i’ve been in love with you since the day you tripped and fell on your face right in front of me."

you let out a breathy laugh at the memory, your heart tugging at the unexpected sweetness of it.

theo smiled, his expression softening as he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. "my love is yours, if you’re willing to take it."

you hesitated, your mind spinning as you tried to sort through the mess of emotions swirling inside you. "i... i am not sure if i am ready yet," you admitted softly, pulling your hand back slightly.

theo nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. "that’s alright," he said gently. "i can wait. i will wait as long as you need."

there was a quiet, fragile moment between the two of you, the weight of everything that had passed finally beginning to lift. slowly, you felt some of your defenses crumble, your heart opening to the possibility that maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

over the following weeks, you and theo took things slow. there was no more secrecy, no more hiding in shadows or sneaking around. theo kept his promise, giving you the time and space you needed to feel ready. and when the two of you were finally ready to make things public, it was on your terms, with no lingering doubts.

pansy, to your surprise, had been able to reconcile with theo. while their romantic relationship had ended, they were able to find a new sense of friendship. as it turned out, pansy had begun seeing someone new as well— hermione granger, of all people. though unexpected, their relationship seemed to be exactly what pansy needed, and you couldn’t help but be happy for her.

in time, you and theo began to date publicly, and while the journey hadn’t been easy, you knew that what the two of you had was real. the love theo had promised you that night under the stars was yours, and you were finally ready to accept it.

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emilys-bangs · 4 months ago

Note

loved your other fanfics for Emily! Could I request a Emily x fem!Reader fic with fluff and maybe some angst? Maybe one of the two gets hurt and the other is scared for them? <3

Thanks! And tysm for requesting! I hope this is similar to what you had in mind <3

———— wounded hearts | e.p

Tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, typical cm violence, mentions of blood, use of petnames, no use of yn, bau!reader

Word count: 1.6k

Your heart flutters like a raven’s wing. Even now, with Emily right in front of you, sitting on the ledge of an ambulance and grumbling at the EMT—more than enough sign that she’s actually okay—you feel the residual fear lingering in your bones, sticking to your skin.

The unsub was operating out of an abandoned warehouse. It was huge, covering several blocks, and you were running out of time; he had a pattern of killing once every three weeks before going dark for a whole year, and then striking again.

Hotch had the team split up to search the property, and when all of you had reported back except for Emily, your heart dropped to your stomach. You ran to the section she’d occupied, your footsteps thundering on the floor as you yelled her name, the sound echoing in the endless space.

When you finally found her, Morgan was there, handcuffing the unsub on his knees as Emily stood in front of them, breathing heavily. She was holding up her arm, blood dripping down her elbow and to the floor, her chest heaving as she tucked sweaty bangs behind her ear with her other hand.

“Emily.” Your voice broke. When she turned, her eyes dazed from the blood loss, you saw the bruises and split lip. Your stomach had churned with nausea as you caught the unsub’s bloody knife, darkened with your girlfriend’s blood.

Emily could hold her own, you knew that. And as beaten as she was, she still managed to take control over the unsub, keeping him subdued just until Morgan came to cuff him. But the logical part of your brain hadn’t reminded you of that as you heard her labored breathing, saw the dark drip of her blood fall to the cement floor. You only saw the slight way she swayed, the small huff of relief she let out as your eyes met hers. Only felt the twist in your stomach at the stark bruises marring her face.

As you pull yourself out of the reel of memories, your gaze sharpens on her again.

She sits on the very edge of the ambulance, ready to stand the second the medic gives her the all clear. Her pale skin is darkened with bruises, the ivory of her cheek lost in a layering of blue and deep purple. Red crawls up her jaw, the imprint of the unsub’s knuckles still lingering on her skin and growing more obvious as she grinds her teeth at the EMT’s prodding. He bends over the long gash on her arm; it runs from the bottom of her thumb to just shy of her elbow.

The blood is wiped away now, only forming in beads along the gash, but the sheer length of it makes your stomach churn. Emily must feel your searing gaze on her, because she ignores the medic and looks up, forcing her grimace away as her eyes meet yours.

You haven’t said anything since you’d found her, but the fear still clings to you, making itself known in the way you bite your lip and fiddle with the material of your shirt.

“Babe, I’m fine.” Emily says, her voice raspy as she tries for a smile. It tugs more at the gash on her lip and you frown as blood blooms red again. “Can you stop worrying? Please?”

She might as well have asked you to stop the sun from rising.

“Can I stop worrying?” You give a small scoff, mostly to clear your voice from the tears gathering at the back of your throat. “Your face is ten shades of purple, Emily.” You hate the way your voice shakes. “Your arm was practically ripped open—”

“Honey, it doesn’t even need stitches,” she coaxes.

“Um, actually it does.” The EMT interrupts softly. He’s young, clearly still fresh, his hair flopping over his forehead and his frame lanky with youth.

Emily gives him a dirty look. “Can we have a minute?” She bites out through her teeth, her eyes murderous as she rips her arm out of his hold.

The EMT shies away. Ducking his chin into his chest, he mumbles, “Sure,” and scurries to the front of the ambulance, leaving you and Emily alone.

“He’s just trying to help.”

The way your voice shakes doesn’t go unnoticed by her.

Emily’s eyes go soft—the way they always do for you. She taps the space next to her. “Sit with me.” She murmurs.

You do. The ledge of the ambulance is hard and your shoulder bumps gently against hers, but you look straight ahead. Her eyes are hot on your face; you focus on the dark silhouette of the warehouse, still too unsettled by the bruises on her skin.

Deep down, you know it’s ridiculous. It’s not the first time you’ve seen her like this and you both know damn well it won’t be the last. Maybe, if you try to justify it, you could chalk it up to the fact that this is the first time she’s gotten hurt as your girlfriend.

Not SSA Prentiss. Em. Up till now the only bruises you’ve seen on her alabaster skin were ones you’d put there yourself, marks of love from your teeth and hands and lips, tattooing your reverence on her body if only for a little while.

Tears sting behind your eyes as Emily reaches for your hand. Your fingers are loosely held in a fist, but her hand curls around yours. Slowly, she coaxes it straight and laces her fingers through your own, then turning them so your joint hands settle on your thigh, palm side up.

“I’m okay, dolcezza.”

If not for the rasp to her honeyed voice, you might’ve believed her.

You turn to face her. She’s so close, the fluorescent lighting of the ambulance harshly illuminating the bruises. “Don’t lie to me, Em.” Begging has always been beneath you, but when it comes to her, all your principles are thrown out the window. Desperation sticks to your words, the vice around your heart making you sound breathless. “Never lie.” You plead.

“Okay,” she breathes, her eyes widening. She tightly squeezes your hand, “Okay, I won’t. It hurts. But I’ve had worse,” she quickly says as your vision begins to blur.

How very Emily of her, to be so quick to reassure, quick to soothe someone’s worries before her own. It makes her all the more maddening, all the more remarkable and endearing and unfortunately, exactly the kind of woman you fell in love with.

“Sweetheart,” you murmur, shaking your head as you carefully cup her cheek. The hitch in her breath is audible, but somehow you know it’s because of your tears and not your touch. “You don’t have to hide your pain from me.”

“Can you blame me?” Emily whispers, her shoulders rising in a helpless shrug. “If it makes you cry, of course I will.” She says softly. It makes it worse that her voice is sincere. Her eyes, still clouded with pain, are earnest, and you don’t know if you want to laugh or cry.

“How heroic of you.” You croak, sniffling as a few warm tears finally slip down your cheeks. Her mouth parts, her eyes widening, and you know some protest is underway so you close the small distance and kiss her as gently as you dare.

She tastes like blood. Her mussed, sweaty bangs tickle your skin as she leans in close, places her hand on the curve of your waist and squeezes over your shirt. You’re careful, shying away from the cut even as she chases you, wordlessly imploring you to kiss her like you always do, with near reckless abandon. Ignoring her signals, you place a final soft kiss on her mouth before you pull away.

“Please don’t, Emily.” You whisper. She raises her hand and thumbs your wet cheek, a small frown on her face as her finger slips on your tears. “This isn’t about me, it’s about you.” You cover her hand with your own. Her eyes meet yours, dark and lovely and shining with the selfless love she’s full to the brim with. “I don’t want you to hide anything from me. Not your pain or anything else.”

Another warm tear falls on your joint hands.

Emily wipes it away. Taking in a shuddering breath, she blows it out slowly and leans forward to press her forehead against yours. “I love you, you know.” She says quietly. Her voice is hoarse, her eyes a little more wet than they were before.

A small smile pulls at your lips. “I know, sweetheart. I love you back.” Taking your hand off hers, you tuck her bangs back behind her ears. The bruises are clearer now that they’re out of the way, but you shift your gaze back to her eyes. “Now, will you be a good girl and let the EMT do his job?” Your voice is the slightest bit teasing as you try to lift the mood.

A flimsy smile flits over her face. Emily grabs her lip between her teeth and you mentally grimace as it pulls on her cut. “It hurts.” She admits.

The soft admission both warms you up and makes your heart clench. Gently, you pull her lip from the cage of her teeth. “I know that too. I’m coddling you when we get home, whether you like it or not.”

Emily snorts lightly, her breath skipping across your skin. Her eyes light up despite the pain, and both your smiles are a little more genuine. “If you insist.”

“But you have to get stitched up first.”

“Fuck.”

taglist: @suckerforcate

Reblogs and comments mean the world; I’d love to hear your feedback! Prompts are very very welcome <3

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss fic #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss blurb #emily prentiss drabble #divider creds: cafekitsune #emily prentiss fluff #fic

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pretzel-box · 3 months ago

Note

hello! do you perhaps do smut things? If so! Perhaps sebastian and his husband with some smut? I know hes married to..zerum but her toxicity in the servers been enough for me!!

if you dont do smut or dont want to do this PLSS sebastian comforting an anxious (male plspls) reader? Tysm!! You rock and i love ur feed!!

The memories of the drowning

words: 1k

status: barely proof-read

tags: male!reader, slightly sequel to Suffocated , married established relationship, mention of anxiety and panic & comfort in the end

author note: I'm probably one of the people that currently hate on the devs for their behaviour, which makes me write x reader stories in first place. Zerum isn't included in the game, which means she can't be married in canon to Sebastian. She's a real person, not a pressure character. So congrats, y'all can marry our beloved merchant in your own headcanons! ♡

Every time you close your eyes, the events of the past replay in the depths of your mind, vivid and unrelenting, replacing your dreams with painfully realistic memories. The horrors you faced in the Hadal Blackside refuse to fade, instead etching themselves deeper into your consciousness with every passing night.

The different screams echo endlessly in your ears, a cacophony of terror that leaves an uncomfortable ringing, dulling your senses. Your body, conditioned by the countless encounters with unspeakable horrors, twitches involuntarily at the memory of how the floors and walls shook violently with every terrible angler attack. The sensation of those tremors, the sickening anticipation of what was to come, still lingers in your muscles, a reminder that survival was never guaranteed.

At this point, you can't lie to yourself anymore. The time spent in the depths of the Hadal Blackside has mentally scarred you, leaving wounds that may never fully heal. The darkness of the ocean wasn't just physical; it had seeped into your mind, haunting you in the night when your body relaxes from the survival modus only to switch back into pure panic.

Sometimes, the weight of it all comes crashing down on you in the dead of night, overwhelming you with the sudden, terrifying realization that you are trapped in a facility full of death traps, thousands of feet below the surface. The oppressive pressure of the ocean above feels like it's bearing down on you even now, crushing you under its immense, suffocating weight. The knowledge that you are surrounded by darkness and danger, with no escape, no reprieve, gnaws at the edges of your sanity with each passing second, making the experience worse.

Your eyes rip themselves open as your whole body starts to tremble uncontrollably. Cold sweat drenches your skin, making the sheets cling to you like the tentacles that once threatened to drag you to your doom. Your hand clings to your shirt, grabbing it tightly as if the fabric could anchor you to reality, grounding you in the present and warding off the terror of your memories.

The breath hitches, coming in shallow, rapid gasps that only feed the growing panic. The ringing in your ears intensifies, drowning out any attempt to calm yourself, until it feels like your head might split open from the noise. Desperate to silence it, you press both hands over your ears, squeezing your eyes shut in a futile attempt to block out the memories, the sounds, the overwhelming fear that consumes you.

But even with your eyes closed, the darkness offers no comfort. Instead, it brings the images flooding back, the twisted, writhing forms of the creatures you barely escaped, the cold, uncaring walls of the underwater facility, the endless corridors that seemed to close in around you with each step.

The faint hint of fluorescent blue hovered in the corner of your eyes, casting a soft, eerie glow across the dimly lit room. It was a color that had once sent chills down your spine, a reminder of all the deaths you had experienced. But now, it had become a familiar presence, a sign that you were not alone.

Sebastian had stirred beside you, waking from his own troubled nap. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest. The gesture was silent, but it spoke volumes. He knew the weight of the nightmares that plagued you, the way they clung to your mind. He couldn't lie, he was in a very similar spot, haunted by his own memories of the Hadal Blackside and all the things Urbanshade did to him.

As his arms encircled you, you felt the coldness of his body seep through your clothes, a stark contrast to the warmth of his embrace. Yet, instead of making you shiver, it grounded you, reminding you that you weren't lost in the darkness of your mind. He was here with you, sharing in the burden of those memories.

Sebastian held you tightly, as if trying to shield you from all the monsters that have threatened to pull you under. His other free arm moved gently, fingers threading through your hair in a soothing motion. The rhythmic, repetitive strokes were comforting, helping to slow the rapid pace of your heartbeat and calm the storm raging within you.

He didn't need to say anything. His presence alone was enough, a quiet assurance that you didn't have to face this alone. He understood your fear, your pain, because he had lived it too. The horrors of the deep had scarred you both, but in this moment, you found solace in each others company.

Gradually, the tension in your body began to ease. The panic that had gripped you loosened its hold, replaced by a fragile sense of peace. You closed your eyes, not to shut out the memories, but to focus on the feeling of Sebastians arms around you, his fingers in your hair, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. His tail moved, wrapping itself around you, and you couldn't help but melt into his touch.

In the silence, you could hear a faint sound. But it was Sebastianâ€™s heartbeat, slow and steady beneath your ear, that anchored you. With him, the memories didn't seem as overwhelming, the darkness not as suffocating. He was your lifeline, pulling you back from the brink.

"You're safe," he finally whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with certainty. "I got you." He leaned down, placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head, and nuzzled into your hair. "I keep you safe, didn't I promise you that in my wedding vow?"

You nodded against his chest, not trusting your voice to respond. His words were simple, but they carried a truth you desperately needed to hear, and you felt blessed to have such a protective husband. For now, it was enough. You were safe, wrapped in his arms, with the knowledge that whatever came next, you wouldn't have to face it alone.

Sebastian continued to hold you close, his touch gentle and reassuring, until the tremors in your body subsided completely. As you drifted off into a more peaceful sleep, the fluorescent blue light dimmed behind your eyelids, leaving you in a quiet, comforting darkness that was no longer filled with terror, but with the warmth of his presence beside you.

#sebastian solace x male reader #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace #sebastian solace fanfic #sebastian solace x you

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zznsthetic · 6 months ago

Text

INTO YOU

*꒰ 뭐 ꒱ Non-idol AU — Hook-up!Kai × AFAB!Hook-up!Reader

*꒰ 뭐 ꒱ Appetizer — Kai is too much into you, sexually and soulfully. Even after thrice the times he fucked you, he doesn't wanna end this. It's like he wants to keep you, but how? He wants you more and more the times he's with you, will he ask you out?

*꒰ 뭐 ꒱ Disclaimer — This is PURE FICTION : Nothing in this work aligns with the idols' character, moral and their real life. The characters are all legal adults ( 18+ ) and everything happening around & to them is entirely consensual. Readers are humbly advised to read the Contains and Disclaimer before they read.

*꒰ 뭐 ꒱ Word Count — 3k+

*꒰ 뭐 ꒱ Contains — barely-any-plot SMUT : mdni! Unprotected sex ( of course but don't! ), missionary, make outs, nipple play, dirty talk ( idk! My first time writing it!! ), begging fetish, Kai's rough, Soft-Dominant!Kai, Submissive!Reader, breeding fetish, Kai is whiny when he cums, and idk. Lemme know if I should add more.

*꒰ 뭐 ꒱ Noulli's note — this shitty drabble was backed up by my special moot @soobinsonly1bf , thanks my dear twin, without you this might have been the crappiest piece ever! I love you so much already😭 and tagging @jeongin-lvr and @hyhkai ( cause you both rooted for it, tysm lovelies ). I also half-assed in the last cause I have no idea to end a smut. And Idk what I wrote, went along with my fingers so bear with it (T^T).

His lips tickle yours like a feather brushing at it, his hand only pull you into his warmth, while the other tucked your hair behind your ears. His perfect narrow eyes are slightly open, only to get a slight look at you tembling at the slight collision of your lips with his, sitting beside, but rubbing your thighs together. Your body quivers everywhere, and the thing is, he hasn't done anything yet, and you're this desperate for him. Just as perfectly as he wants.

"Want a minute?" His question is absolutely ridiculous considering how his hands take up the job to elicit goosebumps on your body, that touch jolting you up from every where it traverses, having you gulp your saliva down your throat. Your heartbeat even echoes, syncing with his, in that pin-drop quiet room. His kisses on your lips are continuos, perfectly embracing them to never let you go, he whiffs you with his panting breath, to let you know, he is wholly into this, into you.

Your eyes meet his with the look he has never seen before. the doe's they curve into, pleading and drowning themselves into his orbs; your pupils holding back a fiery lust that darkens your gaze and yet glistens with something mysterious, actually something sweet when he kisses you, or at the slightest touch he delivers on your body. His hands slip in your red lacy crop top as he squeezes your underbust and groans at the plush. Women were his least interesting cup of tea, until he met you and now he wishes to turn over your every page and learn you.

This has gone too far. Both of you know it.

You however didn't even take him in your pussy, yet have him drip pathetically, aching for you. fuck should have sat in my lap, his mind groans to him. He leans in, his damn lips again working down your earlobe; at every trail of his kisses, your skin burns and your heartbeat accelerates, actually throbbing your boobs in his hold.

That blush you've been having on your cheeks the whole time has never deserted, if anything, it reddens even more on your face, at every kiss he plants every now and then. He looks back into your eyes for an answer. "No," you breathe, answering his ridiculous question. "But I want more..." a smile immediately makes its way to his lips and his cold eyes warm within themselves.

His smile... a rare thing to actually witness, for a cold, aloof Huening Kai who doesn't sleep twice with a woman, but he ridiculously can not stop sleeping with you, and of course, smiling like an idiot. He loves the way your eyes soften at his smile, and he does smile so, often for it. Such a strange feeling, he can't get rid of you, you don't seem to let go of him, in reality, he can't seem to let you go.

Your addictive brush on his lips never ceases to haunt him at the times he wishes to forget about you, or your warm hands that should have always been securing him ( scraping his back with yo nails lol ) never seem to warm the cold emptiness he feels when he goes to his bed at night, without you. The bed which moved when he drilled into you, never felt so still and so wrong, which is exactly why he has brought you here again, feeling that same warmth which is just as capturing as last time. He is inable to stop, he needs to feel you again, which he is clearly aware of, the heat for you, burning inside him and aching his insides for you.

Nothing ever feels enough, when it comes to you.

The warmth in his touch, the fire in his kisses, the writhing heat he has for you is the exact thing which confuses you for his freezing stare and his cold attitude, reserved as fuck when you had the first encounter with him, correction - a mere exchange of consents before the both of your were colliding into each other. The seeming magnetic pull he had, something was unleashed in you when he first entered the bar. You went to him, asked him if he was in for drinks and hook up. Drinks were all to hell when you both left to fuck, absolutely in a rut for eachother where ending the night felt wrong and you had to leave him.

He was left alone, or so he felt he did, cause it didn't feel right to part, part from you.

What pulled him into you? He wonders himself, you had that perfect black dress, which seemed to be glued to your body, that short little dress didn't disgust him and he felt no repulse like the other times he pushed away the women throwing themselves at him Instead he was teased to explore what was under, which now is no mystery and ravishing it, an addiction. Fucking you once didn't feel right to end, he was left to want more. Fucking you twice was not enough. I guess I want more of her, he realized. Now thrice, still doesn't feel enough either. It's like, he wants you more and more the times he feels you.

His hand refuses to leave your tits while his lips play with the skin on your neck, tickling at soft spots repeatedly as he does not relent until a crimson mark erupts, only then does his lips descend to your cleavage as he examines the valley, he parts from your chest, earning a heave which rises it, inviting him again.

He tilts his head up at you, your jaw glistens from sweat and your voice box bobs, and then, he discovers how you are lost in this foreplay.

"Can I...?" The third night he is fucking you over now, yet his way of asking consents never seem to fail in amazing you everytime. His eyes meets yours with the sparkling hunger which never seemed to fade away from his orbs. His following rasp holds an odd, safe, yet that 'dampening-your-pussy' effect, where it takes no seconds for a 'yes please..' to leave your mouth and he is ripping that top off in the blink of an eye, laying you down.

Your hands find his hair and get lost in it when he kisses your aereola, sucking and leaving kitty licks, toying with your nipples using his tongue, the displayed plush of your tits mercilessly having him leak out the pre-cum.

Though he is at your tits, listening to your racing heartbeat, feeling all of it with his mouth latched onto your boobs, his heart too races as if it knows no relent in pounding so hard for you. So badly does he want to just shove his cock in and fuck your senses out until his hunger died for you, he aches for this little fluttery feeling, rushing through all of him to a point he mindlessly acts so gentle and so hypnotized, he can't stop.

His hands have a mind of their own, gently imprinting the feeling of yours. His ears always noting your little sounds and his eyes always store your various sights of writhing under him, in him, always trying to elicit them again, so he gets a replay of it. The drumming of his heartbeat echoes in his own ears, the exciting feeling actually so good, he is damn sure, he is feeling it for the first time. Just what are you doing to me, sweet thing?

He is beyond into you, where his mind no longer holds any control over him, he wishes to absorb you, all to himself.

The moment he feels enough, he strips you off of your skirt, revealing your pink panties, where he spreads your legs with his hands and witness the glistening wet patch on it. "Fuck, you're so desperate aren't you? It's a fucking flood I suppose..." His fingers start toying with the wet cloth, pressing his fingers there and he strips you of it and reveals you're pooling heat, groaning and chuckling at it. "And It fucking is.. haah"

There. His runny mouth. Curses sound so sweet by his mouth and his degrading moans, melo-fucking-dious. "Says you, with that wet bump of your rock hard cock. Adorable, Huening."

Fuck, she's so hot. His rock hard cock, forming that wet glistening patch on the bump, even on his dark pants is so visible, your cunt flutters imagining how good he'd stretch you out at the sight. The bump looking so massive, his cock twitching inside you is the best one of the best, from the two longs nights you've been up with him, you know damn well, he's the fucking best you've ever had.

"Fuck love," he curses, his smirk revealing a little of his gritting teeth.

"You run that mouth and I'll fuck it too." He looks down at you, punctuating his sentences with his condescending and solemn look, annoyingly decorated with a tight smile lasting for no seconds, but you know, you shoot him a cocky look for it will soon become whines and praises when he feels you. Amusingly, his struggle to look at you when his eyes drift to your pussy is not unnoticed by you, a proud giggle leaving your mouth that does not catch his attention, his adam's apple bobs at the sight, a pink tint smears across his cheeks and cock jerks wildly at it, crazy how he thinks with his dick and dick only, when you're the one taking it in.

"B-But now just take my cock, as I say, will you?"

Another giggle leaves your mouth, as you nod along, permitting him. However, it is all giggles until it turns into a surprised gasp, clearly interupted, with his cock shoving pushing inside with no prepping. He once realized when he sheathed himself in for the first time that night, you were and are so tight he might snap, with the way you're strangling his cock exactly like how you did then, and choking on your laugh, clearing whimpering later with that cockiness abandoning your face.

Fuck! he's caught you off guard, entertaining himself with your surprised moans, oh damn, to fix that attitude of yours using his cock, he fucking enjoyed it. It's his turn to laugh now, a deep one so melodious to your ears, as he looks at with you with a cocky look, smugly amped up with a smile which resembles yours from before. "Laugh now, baby?" He raises his eyebrows, trying his best to hide the way he is losing his mind. "Can't laugh when filled up with cock?" His smile never fades, but his little whimpers do echo when he pulls out, as a slowly as he can, the emptiness you feel when his cock slides out, your walls flutter, trying to invite his cock again.

Holding his cock as he finally pulls out, he rubs the tip on your area, sliding it up and down as he feels your little shivers when his cock prods at your hole, he pushes in, only so his tip is held by your hole. "What's that, baby? You wan' it?" He tsks at the way your hole clenches at nothing, a wild grin creases eventually on his smiling lips at your squeezes, he's absolutely enjoying the way you're so desperate for him and are nodding at his words as dumbly as you could, he is damn satisfied. "Pussy's begging me so perfectly, but I don't know, think you deserve it?"

You nod at him as desperately as you could. His eyes darken and form crescents, his dick taps at your clit and attempts to push in, only to tease you and watch you think he finally puts it in but he doesn't, disappointment rippling on your face when you realize he did not push it in. Your moans die when he parts his cock away from your cunny. "Words baby, words. Guess your pussy doesn't-" he is so cruel to do that, when youre absolutely dying in anticipation, you can't hold it in.

"I do! Please fuck me, wan' your cock, and make me cum, Kai, pleeaaasee."

"Fuck! guess you do, when you beg so good." He groans and fills you in, his cock nesting in your cunt ever so perfectly, your whimpers at the stretch synchronize with his groans and he begins his movements. His movements always begin with short deep thrusts and then, do they begin fucking you into his mattress, you know it's when you begin to cry and whine like the slut you are for him.

"When I'm in your pussy b-baby," Kai grunts, angling his cock to your sweet spot which he knows where it is like the back of his palm. You are aware, he is talking, talking to you, but does he not know? He is not beside you, up for a chat, he is fucking into you, where anytime your mouth parts to speak, it only knows to moan and scream, or to be shut by his prodding tongue. And the words are hazy, with that tinnitus echoing due to the immense good feeling- just what is he saying?!

You wish to understand, make out what he says but little do you know, the ability to think bid goodbyes to you, when his cock pushed in you, but you don't do any of it. Kai has felt it, you no longer listen to him and it doesn't take him long to lean in on you, and flick your chin to look at him, as he thrusts even then. "When I'm in you, you only moan my name get it, slut?"

His little words strike straight at your 'getting-ruined' pussy, squeezing him even more as every thrust now feels intense; his all dominant facade wearing out. You feel if you're a dumb doll, when he fucks and tells you things, you obey him as you nod at every single thing he says, with one and only goal, to cum, cum on his dick. And oh, the way your mouth keeps chanting his name like a mantra after he orders, Kai definitely loved it. His name rolling off of your tongue, almost in a crying manner, sometimes even stuttering when he fucks. His name called in n different ways when you moan it, all of the forms echoing in his ears are a melody which always guide him to his orgasm.

"Kai-! I'm so close- s'close-!" such a slut are you, to say you're close and cream his cock in a split second after. It's too much, to contract around his moving cock and your orgasm rippling all parts in you, more reactive do you become, grabbing the most of the blankets on his beds as you could, curling your toes and arching your back the hardest you could, you cum. And yet, his pace doesn't stop.

You, in a way, lubricated your own entrance, getting Kai to thrust in faster than he already was, gaining him a perfect rhythm, his cock rushes him everywhere in body to use you to the fullest he could; his grip on your thighs becomes bruising. Gripping sheets, digging nails in its cloth, curling toes and hooking your legs around his waist, tears cascading down and your moans almost sounding like screams, the overstimulation is swarming your body and absolutely wrecking your senses.

Praises overflow out his mouth when he witnesses this heavenly sight, and in no way his dick stops twitching, fuck it. He is getting off of your orgasmed frame getting overstimulated, and he is gonna snap at any moment, he feels it. "I'm c-cumming-! Cumming! hnnnngggg-!" Those slutty whines he be letting out when he is close but doesn't stop, depriving you of his eyes rolling back into cranium and pulling you onto him using his big, strong hands, he finally cums.

To release a handful of load in you, just hooked onto your pussy bracing his cock ever so warmly to squeeze out the last droplets of his semen, the feeling is out of the world to him, his panting mouth, dazed eyes and his tongue out like a puppy, oh fuck, he loved dumping his load into you.

"Fuck you, Huening Kai!" You wail, you were so close to cumming, he replaced that with his warm seed instead, again leaving you want for more.

"I was so close!"

"Aw, is that it baby?" He finally comes back into the world, looking you at release yourself from his hold and walk away, his cum dripping out as you stand naked, pearly liquid gliding down your thighs glowing in the dim yellow light of the lamp, your ass perfectly painted with his hand prints. "What's wrong, what do you want?"

Just why would you like walk like that princess? Haah, I wanna do it again.

"Well, my clothes." You glance at the red top laying on the floor as you make your way to get it. You turn back to look for other discarded garments, only to find Kai pulling you into his embrace, squirming in his hold. "Kai! What are you doing?"

"So you aren't staying?"

No, cause this won't last. How the fuck do I say it?

You wish to end this, this might be your last night with him. You didn't wish to get attached which aren't reciprocated even a bit. The way you crave him more than physically, isn't just a hook-up anymore. "Uhm, why?"

Kai cages you in his hold. "So I fuck you all day, all night to make you stay? Tell me?"

He holds you against your will but his question melts you in him. Just what does he mean by 'fuck you all day, all night to make you stay?' You are at loss to retort; the question so weird. Still, that does flutter your heart, an unknown tingly feeling kissing your knees when he implies to make you stay.

"What do you mean, of course- not! I mean-" His fingers shush you, and your chain of broken words stay gulped inside. But what should you say at this moment? You had no idea. When you gather the gravels of your whatever answers, his hands cup your cheeks.

"Let's date. Let's fuck. Everyday."

#hyuka smut #hyuka hard thoughts #hyuka hard hours #huening kai smut #huening kai fanfic #huening kai hard thoughts #hyuka x reader #huening kai x you #huening kai x reader #huening kai hard hours #huening kai x y/n #txt fanfic #txt smut #txt hard thoughts #txt hard hours #txt x y/n #txt x oc #txt x you #txt x reader

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gurokiitty · 6 months ago

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hii!! i love all of ur writing and headcannons so much, would there be any chance you could write about strade kidnapping reader who just so happens to be a virgin? he knows about this thanks to some talking beforehand at the bar and later brings it up. he ends up taking their virginity (unwanted hehe) thanks a lot if u write this !! 🙈🙈🙈 feel free to change the consent !!

a/n: tysm! as a certified virgin™️, yes i can!!! <3 hope you enjoy :3

IN THE WOLF'S DEN

{ strade x virgin! gn! reader }

word count: 2.2k

warnings/tags: NSFW (graphic), NONCON, build-up, brief alcohol use, kidnapping, violence, knifeplay, blood and injury, licking and biting, mild corruption themes, loss of virginity, creampie.

Your fingers glide along the rim of your glass, tracing patterns in the condensation that pools beneath your touch. Amidst the cacophony of voices in the bar, his presence stands out, a solitary figure who commands your attention. He emerges from the crowd, his sharp features softened by the warm lights, and his eyes gleam with a dangerous allure, drawing you in with each step he takes. He slides onto the stool beside you, effortlessly claiming the space as his own.

"Name's Strade," he offers, his voice smooth and accented. You introduce yourself in return, feeling the weight of his gaze as you shift nervously in your seat.

"You look like you have something on your mind," he observes, taking a sip of his drink. You're taken aback by his directness, but something about him draws you in, a magnetic pull you find impossible to resist.

You swallow, nerves dancing beneath your skin as you meet his gaze. His presence is overwhelming, yet oddly comforting. "I guess so," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper, "but it's nothing I'd share with a stranger."

His chuckle ripples through the air, a low sound that sets your pulse alight. "Ah, but aren't strangers the best confidants? No judgments, no preconceptions."

His words resonate within you, coaxing a nod of agreement. "I suppose you're right," you concede, turning your gaze back to him.

You begin to open up, sharing things you've never told any stranger before. You tell him that you're alone, that your family lives in a different city, that you feel the most lonely you have in your adult life. The words spill freely from your lips and he listens with an intensity that both unnerves and excites you. And then, almost as an afterthought, you confess a truth you've kept hidden for so long— the truth of your virginity.

Strade's reaction is immediate, his lips curling into a wolfish grin. "A virgin," he muses, his voice edged with amusement, "how intriguing."

A flush blooms across your cheeks, a blend of embarrassment and exhilaration at his reaction. Your fingers linger on the rim of your near-empty glass, his gaze holding you captive.

"In what way?" you ask, a small thrill pulsing through your veins.

Leaning closer, his smile widens, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "It's not every day you find someone so… untouched. It makes you unique, like a rare gem."

Your pulse quickens at his words, but before you can respond, the bartender interrupts; a temporary reprieve. You hastily order another drink, the liquid a balm for your nerves.

As the night wears on, you lose yourself in conversation, the sounds of the other patrons fading into insignificance. Only when the bar begins to empty does reality come crashing and you realize it's time to part ways.

"I should get going," you say, pushing yourself away from the bar. "I have an early morning." Before you can take another step, he's beside you, his hand grazing yours in a tantalizing caress. "Allow me to walk you to your car," he offers, his eyes twinkling with a dangerous glint.

There's part of you that hesitates, a silent warning echoing in the recesses of your mind; but the pull of his presence is undeniable, drawing you into his orbit once more.

The streets are quiet as you make your way through the night, the only sound is the soft shuffle of your footsteps on the pavement. You steal glances at him out of the corner of your eye, his silhouette a dark shadow against the moonlit sky.

As you round a corner into a dimly lit alley, the air suddenly thickens with an ominous tension. Your heart quickens its pace, a silent drumbeat of warning, and in an instant, he's upon you, pinning you against the rough surface of the alley wall. His grip is firm, almost bruising, as he leans in close, his hot breath fanning across your face.

"Don't make a sound," Strade whispers, sending shivers racing down your spine. His smile, once charming and enticing, now twists into something dangerous; like a predator revelling in its prey.

Panic surges within you as you struggle against his hold, your pleas swallowed by the gaping alley. With a sickening thud, your head meets brick and stars explode behind your eyelids as darkness descends like a shroud.

You awaken to the unforgiving glare of fluorescent lights, your head pounding with a dull, insistent ache. Disoriented, you blink against the harsh brightness, your surroundings slowly emerging from the haze. No longer are you in the alley; instead, you find yourself in a musty basement, the air thick with the scent of damp and decay.

Your heart lurches as you shift, feeling a cold metal pole press into your back and your arms bound tightly behind it. Panic claws at your insides, fueling a desperate struggle against the restraints.

"Ah, you're awake already?" Strade's voice cuts through the silence like a blade, sending a shiver down your spine. You turn your head to see him descending the stairs with an unsettling grace, his silhouette looming like a spectre in the dim, flickering light.

"Wha— What's going on?" you stammer, your voice trembling with fear.

He chuckles, a sound devoid of warmth, as he crouches to meet your gaze. "You don't remember? Our chat was going so well... You opened up to me about so many things,"

Dread coils in the pit of your stomach as your naivety sinks in like a lead weight. "Please, let me go," you plead, shrinking back against the cold metal pole, trying to distance yourself from him.

But he only smiles in response, seemingly unmoved by your desperation. "I wanted to get to know you on a more... intimate level," He explains, his tone disturbingly casual. "So I took you home."

Your breath catches in your throat as he moves closer, the heat of his body an unwelcome presence. With a swift motion, he withdraws a knife from his belt, the blade gleaming in the dim light.

"Please," you whimper again, tears clouding your vision. "I'll do anything, just let me go."

Strade laughs, the sound echoing in the confines of the basement. "Anything, huh?" he muses, that menacing smile still etched on his face. "Well then."

He places the knife on the floor and leans into you, his body pressing intimately against yours. He's so close you can smell him— a dreadful blend of sweat and petroleum invading your senses. Rough hands reach for the ropes binding your wrists, causing you to flinch. With deft movements, he begins to untie the knots, his fingers brushing over your skin in a way that makes your stomach churn.

The ropes fall away, and you gasp in relief, only to feel his hands seize your shoulders, shoving you back against the pole. Strade retrieves his knife and kneels before you, his bulky frame illuminated by the overhead lights.

"Now," he commands, gesturing with the blade, "strip."

You swallow hard, bile rising in the back of your throat as you meet his gaze. Slowly, with trembling hands, you begin to remove your clothes, the fabric rustling loudly in the silence of the basement.

Strade watches you intently, his eyes devouring every inch of exposed skin. You strip down to your underwear, your clothes a crumpled heap at your feet. The cool air of the basement chills your skin, and you curl into yourself, attempting to shield your body from his invasive gaze. He steps closer, his free hand brushing across your cheek.

"Have you ever stripped naked for anyone before?" he asks, almost tauntingly, his face mere inches from yours. You shake your head, your voice barely a whisper. "N-No," you manage to croak out, the response hanging between you.

Strade chuckles as if amused by your innocence. "I figured as much," he sneers, "A virgin in every sense."

He watches your reaction with a sadistic delight, savouring your fear— your vulnerability, as you shrink further into yourself.

"Aww, you're trembling," he observes, his eyes raking over your quivering form. "Niedlich."

With a sudden, brutal motion, he grabs your ankles, dragging you forward until you're sprawled on the ground before him. He crawls over you, his weight pressing heavily, the knife still firmly in his grasp.

Strade brings the knife to your chest, the cold steel kissing your skin before biting in with a sharp sting. You gasp, a cry of pain escaping your lips as the red line blossoms with warm, crimson buds. His eyes gleam with sadistic delight, his thumb pressing into the wound and smearing the blood across your skin.

"So cute," he repeats, his lips curving into a predatory smile. "I could just devour you whole!"

His tongue flicks out to trace a wet, humid stripe along your jaw, his putrid saliva mingling with your tears. "Hah... You taste sweeter than I imagined, Liebling," he purrs, and you shudder beneath him, the sensation both revolting and terrifying. His fingers then trail down your stomach, his touch like a brand against your skin.

"But you forgot something," he breathes, forcing your trembling knees apart.

Your blood runs cold as he carves a delicate line along your abdomen with the knife. He stops just below your navel and flattens the blade against your stomach, sliding it beneath your underwear. His movements are slow, deliberate, and you can feel the blade prodding the delicate skin of your groin.

Strade's breathing is quick and shallow, his breath warm across your face as the flush of excitement tints his cheeks. "Don't squirm too much," he whispers, his voice trembling with anticipation.

Without looking down, he begins to slice through the fabric of your underwear, the knife gliding effortlessly through the thin material. The sound of ripping cloth fills the silence, mingling with the rapid beat of your heart. As the last shred of fabric falls away, your body is laid bare, exposed and vulnerable beneath him.

He runs the flat of the blade over your abdomen once more, a sadistic smile spreading across his face as he revels in your fear. "So rein," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "So unbroken. It's almost a shame." He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks, "but not quite."

As Strade sheaths the knife, you attempt to pull yourself away, the concrete chafing your palms with each drag. He follows close behind you, his cruel smile unwavering. Your heart is pounding in your ears as you desperately try to crawl faster, but it's futile. His hand clamps down on your waist with a bruising grip, yanking you back towards him.

You cry out in terror and frustration, the sound echoing in the desolate basement. He flips you onto your wounded stomach, your skin scraping painfully against the floor. With a sadistic grin, Strade forces your head down, pressing your cheek into the rough concrete. It bites harshly into your skin, and you can feel your tears mingling with the grime.

The metallic clink of a belt buckle sends a fresh wave of fear through you, and the sound of a zipper follows soon after. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as he positions himself between your legs, his weight pressing down on you. His hands roam over your body, squeezing and kneading, leaving blooms of purple on your tender skin.

His grin widens as he leans in, panting. "This may... sting a little," he taunts, his voice sticky against your ear.

"No! Wait!" you cry, your voice cracking with desperation. Your pleas are met with cold indifference as he slams into you, his cock worming past the resisting tissue and resting deep inside. A searing pain rips through your body, and you scream, the sound raw and guttural.

"Mmm, perfekt..." he huffs, revelling in your agony.

You choke on your sobs, the foreign sensation warm and heavy, and tearing with force. Something warm and wet trickles down your thighs, coating them—and him— in a cherry-red sheen. With each brutal thrust, your cheek grates against the rough concrete floor, the blistering ache engulfing your pleas. Strade shows no mercy, his movements relentless and punishing, each gasp and flinch you make fueling his perverse excitement.

"That's it," he breathes, heavy and strained. "Scream for me."

The pain blurs into a surreal haze, your mewls crumbling into incoherent moans and whimpers. Strade's weight is suffocating and his flesh is damp against yours; a clammy, sweaty layer uniting you both. His breath is hot and heavy as it mingles with the nauseating wet slapping between you.

His teeth drag threateningly along your shoulder as his thrusts become more frenzied. He curses against your skin before biting down hard on your neck with a sudden, primal urge. You yelp in pain and he cums, the warm spurts seeping deep inside your body.

Strade chuckles breathlessly as he pushes himself off of you, his eyes heavy and pupils dilated.

Your own eyes flutter open, puffy and glossed with tears as you roll over, curling into yourself on the unforgiving concrete. Through the haze, you dimly register the traces of your spit and blood splattered beside your face; the rough surface glittering almost beautifully under the light.

#sssoooo sorry for the wait aaagggg #strade x reader #btd x reader #btd strade #ykmet strade #strade btd #joonsbagchaser requests #tw noncon #tw violence #tw blood

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dancingbirdie · 1 year ago

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hi! can I request Astarion x Tav where Tav is crying (same innocent type Tav from your last fic) and Astarion has to comfort them? (like after his confession scene in act 2 but before his final quest please?) tysm for your time!

Ask and you shall receive, my dear anon! Although a word of warning: this fic has a lot of fluff and a whole lot of angst. Also damn I really explored some of my own shit in this fic and am feeling very vulnerable but also very good. PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO THE WARNINGS/TAGS BEFORE READING <3

If I could nominate a song that inspired this writing, it would be "When The Lights Go Out" by Gabrielle Aplin.

The Dark Sun

Word Count: 1.6K

Rating: Teen

Warnings/Tags: Mentions of death, grief/trauma response to death of loved ones, mentions of blood, emotional pain, hurt & comfort, FLUFF, ANGST, non-sexual comfort, Astarion x GN!Tav, Minor Act 2 spoilers.

None of the others had ever seen Tav like this. They weren’t about to let anyone see them in this state now. After all, Tav was the sunshine of their party. Sunshine had one job; it was in its very name.

It isn’t true. It isn’t! Get away from me. Go!

Sitting in their tent, as far away from the other party members as safely possible, Tav was powerless to stop the replaying of Arabella’s words over, and over, and over, in their mind. They saw in their mind’s eye the maelstrom of emotions that had played across the young tiefling’s face when Tav gently broke the news that her mother and father had been killed. Shock. Anguish. Disbelief. Rage. Despair. Resentment.

Tav knew those feelings well. They had felt them before. They still felt the echoes of them, even now, so many years after the death of their own parents. Tav had been so like Arabella in their youth. They had recognized a kinship with the tiefling as soon as they met her in the Emerald Grove. To be the one who ushered in those emotions for someone so young and so full of unbridled joy - it was a cruel irony. To be that bearer of such unspeakable news, to a mere child.

Though Tav knew that time would eventually take the immediate sting from this news, they also knew from their own experience that Arabella would forever be scarred. Even before she was aware, the world had been violently reforming beneath her feet. Life would never be as it once was. And the knowledge that they would forever be intertwined with Arabella’s memory of losing her parents, even if those deaths had not come at their hands, felt like opening the fissure in their heart all over again and injecting acid throughout its crevices.

The reality of it all had Tav doubled over, sobbing into their hands in a feeble attempt at hiding their pain from the rest of the camp. None of the others had ever seen Tav like this. They weren’t about to let anyone see them in this state now. After all, Tav was the sunshine of their party. Sunshine had one job; it was in its very name.

Most of the time, Tav didn’t mind being that cheery glue that held people together. It was a role that was helpful to others, and they had performed it very well throughout their life. It also had the added benefit of distracting Tav from hosts of problems that were better left in the far corners of their mind. Seeing them like this, in this state of despair? It would topple the whole façade. And given where they were, in a bleak forest of darkness, fumbling through perpetual night, Tav knew the party needed sunshine more than ever before if they had any prayer of making it through this area alive.

So, no, Tav resolved to work through this pain in solitude. They had done so before. They could do it again.

***

The Shadow-Cursed Lands were not exactly an Eden for animals that could quell Astarion’s thirst. Most of the beasts were either blighted or dead. Given this, Astarion had purchased an ox and some boar from the Harpers at the Last Light Inn for the express purpose of draining their blood and storing it in vials he could consume along the way. Gale had come up with a handy little spell to keep the containers cool and prevent the blood from spoiling. He estimated that those reserves, coupled with Tav’s generosity of allowing him to feed off them, would be enough to keep him stable for several more days.

He heard the sound as he was exiting his tent to retrieve a vial of ox blood from the camp supplies.

Muffled choking sounds. Someone was…crying? He piqued his ears, concentrating to locate the direction from which they came.

Tav’s tent. He was sure of it.

Pitched as far away from the others as possible, Astarion had thought it odd earlier in the evening that Tav had positioned themselves so far away from everyone, including himself. Normally, they rested at the dead center of the camp, where they could easily chatter and joke with the rest of the party. But, given his own proclivity for solitude, he hadn’t pondered it further, assuming Tav had just needed some quality time to themselves.

Hearing their quiet sobs now, in the middle of the night, Astarion could have kicked himself for not realizing sooner that something was wrong.

Though he had confessed his feelings several days ago and found them wholeheartedly reciprocated, his new… status… with Tav felt like learning a new language. A language with an alphabet wholly different than anything he had ever known. He certainly wasn’t fluent yet. He wasn’t even sure if his ability to… speak it, per se… was passable. But, if for nothing else, he was grateful to Tav for their patience and understanding as he navigated this entirely foreign situation. They never asked for anything more than he was willing to give, and that empathy continued to compel him to try. For himself. For Tav. For their future prospects.

Of course, knowing all of this made Astarion feel all the more worse for failing to intuit Tav’s emotional state. They were not exactly a closed book. Had he not have fallen back on old ways of thinking and processing people’s behavior, he likely could have recognized the signs of Tav’s distress. But 200 years of habits and mindset was hard to break. He could hear Tav’s voice in his head, gently reminding him to be patient with himself, to afford himself grace.

They were always giving him the space to be vulnerable. This time, he wanted to try providing them with the same assurance.

Astarion quietly padded over to Tav’s tent and cleared his throat in a somewhat awkward attempt at announcing his presence.

Immediately, the sobbing ceased. “Um, just a moment!” came Tav’s watery reply.

Astarion listened carefully to Tav’s quiet sniffles and movements about the tent. He assumed they were quickly trying to right themselves, slip that cheery mask they wore so well back on. The thought broke his heart.

“Tav, darling, can I come in?” he asked softly so that their fellow party members would not be able to hear.

“Oh sure, are you thirsty? I was just lying down… resting,” Tav added lamely before finally poking their head out from between the tent flaps. They gave him a tiny smile, a weak attempt at normalcy, before pulling back and making room for him to enter.

Astarion seated himself across from Tav, who began rearranging their pillows and preparing for what they assumed to be another feeding session. He took in their ruddy cheeks, their tearstained eyes, swollen from crying so much. Tentatively, the movement still so foreign but becoming more familiar, he reached out a hand to cup their cheek.

Tav stilled at his touch, sucking in a breath. He watched as tears began welling in their eyes.

“Darling, you don’t need to hide your pain from me,” he gently intoned.

Tav gave a breathless laugh, traitorous tears leaking down their face.

“I didn’t want any of you to see me like this. Especially you,” they warbled, sniffling.

“And why ever not?”

“I’m ‘Tav The Sunshine,’ remember?” they said with a self-deprecating grin. “The sun only ever shines on us. That’s its job.”

“But the sun isn’t always shining,” Astarion reminded them softly. “Times of darkness are allowed.”

Tav released a quiet sob. “I don’t… w-want you to see that darkness. It’s too much… I… I can’t-”

Seeing Tav fall apart before his eyes, so broken and disconsolate, the urge to take them in his arms felt like second nature. Not a foreign language at all, not a struggle to initiate a touch. Astarion couldn’t explain it; his subconscious had known how to respond and barreled through all those years of self-loathing, manipulation, and disgust to reach out for Tav. Quick as a flash but so very gently, he pulled them into an embrace, maneuvering them so they sat cradled in his lap, their arms wrapped around shoulders.

“My sweet, sweet Tav,” Astarion crooned as they cried into his shoulder, tears quickly dampening his nightshirt. He raised one hand to push back the locks obscuring their face and softly caressed their cheek.

“I want to tell you something,” he continued. “And I want you to truly listen... I’ve walked in darkness for over 200 years. Mostly alone. Committing depraved acts against others in the service of a master who sees me as nothing more than a means to an end… There is nothing - nothing - in your darkness that could scare me away. I swear it.”

Tav raised their head to look at him. Slowly - as one would approach a wild animal - they raised their hand and kept it hovering right beside Astarion’s face.

That Tav would still be thinking of his comfort, even in their abject sadness, unleashed a powerful wave of… some strong emotion in him.

Is that love? Is that what it feels like? He thought.

He couldn’t be sure. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before.

Acknowledging their silent request for consent, Astarion pushed his cheek into their hand. He turned his face for a moment to kiss their palm. He felt Tav shudder in his arms.

“You’ve already borne so much sorrow in your long life, Astarion,” they whispered. “You deserve lightness and levity from your partner.”

“And you have given me that every day since we met, darling,” he returned, carding his fingers through Tav’s hair. “But we also agreed to share something real between us. That isn’t possible if you hide a part of yourself away. You deserve space for light and darkness inside yourself, Tav.”

They sat in silence for some time, Astarion allowing Tav to empty their tears onto his chest, until they were finally calmed.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Tav finally sniffled.

“Shh, shh. There’s no space for apologies here, love. But, there is space to share your pain. And I’ll carry it with you, as you do for me,” Astarion promised.

And in that quiet night, in the heart of the Shadow-Cursed Lands, Tav opened their darkness to Astarion.

And he was not afraid.

#dancingbirdiewrites #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion #baldur’s gate astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion x mc #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion x you #baldur's gate fanfiction

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techwrecker · 2 months ago

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𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐏𝐮𝐳𝐳𝐥𝐞 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬

Summary: The first time you hold Echo in your arms

Genre: fluff

Tags: SFW, gn!reader (but reader is slightly shorter than Echo), very fluffy, mando'a, prompt/ask

Word Count: 0.7k

Warnings: N/A, (please let me know if I missed any!)

A/N: Thank you so much for the ask! This was so lovely to write.

Other: divider by @moosgraphics & @bunnysrph (tysm!)

“Okay, hold on. Let me try adjusting this way,” Echo said from under the hull of The Marauder.

The trusty ship had blown the second capacitor in one week. After putting it off for too long, Echo begrudgingly decided it was time to lift the hood and see what had your home all hot and bothered. You volunteered to be his assistant, knowing it would put him in a better mood about the whole ordeal. Normally Tech would be his number two, but he and Wrecker were working on something else at the moment. Besides, this gave you some alone time with Echo and that alone made your heart beat a little faster.

“Did it work?” You asked from beside him. He was half buried beneath metal while you were sat criss-cross to hand him the tools he needed.

Echo grunted with exertion before replying. “Well it didn’t not work, I suppose.”

“Need anything else?”

“Yeah— a new hand me the laser caliper. I’m not sure how much life this bird has left to give.”

“On it.” You fished the tool out of the box and handed it to Echo. “Here it is.”

Your fingers brushed one another, shooting a sizzle of pleasant nerves up your spine. Your body was desperate to feel his touch against your skin again.

He tinkered a few minutes more before rolling out on the crawler for a breather before continuing. Still on his back, you could see his chest heaving slightly from the work.

“If anybody can fix her, I know you can.” You gave him a sweet smile and reached an open hand out to him to help him sit up. He took it, grateful.

“Thanks, love,” he said with a smile.

Your cheeks warmed pink against the cool breeze and you looked away, toward the ground. Echo wasn’t your boyfriend, but there was definitely something building between you. Echo let go of your hand only to stand up and stretch. You followed suit. You were still avoiding his eyes so as to not let your face become any redder. He wasn’t an overly affectionate man, so you were surprised when used his scomp link to raise your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. His gaze was determined but soft.

“You know,” he started, taking your hand back up in his. “I couldn’t imagine roaming around the galaxy in this bucket of bolts without you. I’m really glad you’re here.” He took a step closer to you.

Your chest surged with love for Echo, reaching the tipping point. You flung your arms around his torso, enveloping him in a hug you had been dying for weeks now to share with him. The crook of his neck fit your face perfectly as you nuzzled into him. He obligingly hugged you back, tightly. He wanted to hold you until forever and then some. It was as if your bodies had been made for each other, molding perfectly into one another. Two pieces of a puzzle that had found their perfect match. You couldn’t believe how perfect, how right, it felt to hold and to be held by him.

Echo was the first to slightly pull away so he could see your face. You had the biggest grin in the galaxy plastered across it. His eyes were so full of love for you, he couldn’t help but smile back. His face was covered in grease so you reached up and wiped a smear off his cheek. He took it up in his own hand and brought it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

“Echo, what are we going to say to the others?” You were worried they would forbid what you shared together.

“Don’t worry about it, mesh’la. I walked in on them last week placing bets on how long it would take for us to finally be together,” he chuckled. “Hunter is about to make a lot of credits.”

You laughed and finally let him go. He had to finish fixing The Marauder before the crew got back for the evening. The time Echo spent under the hull seemed excruciatingly long, but you knew it was only because you were anticipating the moment he finished. You wanted to pull him against you and fit perfectly into his arms again. And once he finished, you did exactly that. From now on, you took every opportunity you could to let Echo know you cared for him by holding him in your arms. Until forever.

taglist: @baddest-batchers @rinksu-no-joo @welcometo79s

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rulerofstars · 1 month ago

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a new year thing

oneshot: this new year’s eve, with no big plans and plenty of quiet moments, something shifts between you and chase. the playful banter gives way to a growing tension, and as midnight approaches, so does the realization that things between you might be changing.

pairing: robert chase x reader

tags: roommates to lovers, slight slowburn, fluff, holiday romance

based on this prompt by @novelbear (tysm i luv ur prompts so much) <3

It was New Year’s Eve, but neither of you had any extravagant plans. After the whirlwind of work in the hospital, you and Chase had barely noticed the date. No party, no fancy countdown, just the two of you—roommates who’d become more like something undefined, and you both were too tired to figure it out.

Instead of celebrating, you ended up on the couch, binge-watching some ridiculous show while your laundry was still piled up on the floor. The air was quiet, interrupted only by the occasional chirp of the smoke alarm that had been mocking you for days now.

You stared at the thing and groaned. “Man, I should probably change the batteries in that smoke alarm. It’s been chirping all week.”

Chase, stretched out lazily beside you, raised an eyebrow, not moving from his comfortable position. “Want me to do it? You can’t reach that thing, you know.”

You shot him a playful glare. “Excuse me? I’m perfectly capable of reaching it—on a good day, maybe with a chair.”

“Right. And then you’ll fall and break your neck,” he said, smirking as he sat up, brushing his hair back. “Come on, just let me do it.”

You sighed and handed him the batteries. “Fine, since you’re so desperate to be the hero.”

Chase chuckled and stood, dragging the step stool from the corner. He climbed up and easily reached the smoke alarm, his hands skillfully replacing the batteries. He looked down at you, that smirk still plastered on his face. “See? Easy.”

You crossed your arms, shaking your head. “You just like showing off because you’re taller.”

“Not my fault you’re vertically challenged,” he shot back with a grin as he jumped down from the stool, landing lightly on his feet.

“Sure, rub it in,” you muttered, but your lips twitched into a smile. “So, what now, hero? Want a reward?”

He flopped back down on the couch beside you, making the cushions bounce. “Maybe stop hogging the couch?”

You bumped your knee against his, shifting a little to give him space. “I wasn’t hogging anything.”

He gave you a playful nudge in return, and the two of you fell into comfortable silence, the TV filling the room with background noise as the clock ticked closer to midnight.

“Happy New Year, by the way,” Chase said softly, breaking the quiet.

You glanced at the clock—it was two minutes to midnight. “Happy New Year.”

It was a simple exchange, no fanfare, no fireworks, just the soft hum of the TV and the warmth of Chase beside you. The way you were sitting, your shoulders were pressed together, your knees bumping occasionally. The quiet felt different, heavier with the weight of something unspoken between you two.

Midnight arrived, and outside, you could hear fireworks exploding in the distance. But inside your little apartment, it was calm. Chase reached over, casually resting his arm on the back of the couch behind you. You felt the shift in the air, like something was about to happen but neither of you was quite ready to acknowledge it.

You broke the silence with a sudden, almost impulsive question. “Should we kiss?”

Chase’s head snapped toward you, eyes wide, the question catching him off guard. “What?”

“What?” you echoed, immediately regretting your boldness. “I mean, it’s New Year’s and… isn’t that a thing people do?”

He blinked, his mouth twitching into a small smile, but his eyes remained serious for a beat longer. “Only if they want to.”

A warm flush crept up your neck. You hadn’t thought this far ahead—what had you been expecting? Before you could come up with something coherent, he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours softly. His touch was gentle, like he was asking for permission.

“Well, do you?” His voice was lower now, a little more serious.

You opened your mouth to answer, but then you saw it—that vulnerability behind his teasing smile. The way he looked at you wasn’t casual, it wasn’t something you could laugh off. You swallowed hard and nodded, the air between you thickening with unspoken feelings.

Chase didn’t hesitate after that. His hand cupped your jaw softly, and he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours. The kiss wasn’t hurried or awkward—it was slow, like both of you had been waiting for this moment far longer than either was willing to admit. You could feel the warmth of his skin, the way he breathed against you, steady and grounding.

When he pulled away, there was no rush to speak. You both sat there for a moment, eyes locked, the gravity of what had just happened hanging between you. The TV droned on in the background, but neither of you noticed it.

“I didn’t know you felt…” you trailed off, unsure of what to say.

“Yeah, well,” Chase rubbed the back of his neck, the familiar playfulness creeping back into his voice, though his eyes remained serious. “Guess it took New Year’s for me to stop being an idiot.”

The days following your accidental confession were filled with strange, unspoken moments. There were times when Chase would brush past you in the kitchen, his fingers lingering on your arm a little longer than necessary. You’d catch his eye during breakfast, and he’d give you that knowing smirk, like he was waiting for you to say something.

One evening, a few days after New Year’s, you walked into your room to find a bouquet of flowers sitting on your desk. A little card was tucked into the stems, and the handwriting was unmistakably Chase’s.

“Did you get me flowers?” you asked, holding them up as you walked into the living room where he was lounging on the couch.

Chase glanced at the flowers and then back at the TV, nonchalant. “They were for decoration.”

You raised an eyebrow. “In my room?”

He shrugged, refusing to meet your gaze. “Thought it could use a bit of color.”

“Right,” you muttered, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. You set the flowers back in your room, your heart doing that weird, fluttery thing it had been doing ever since New Year’s.

The shift between you and Chase wasn’t dramatic. It was quiet and subtle, like two puzzle pieces finally snapping into place after spending too long figuring out where they belonged. You spent more time together, lingering in each other’s spaces, exchanging glances that carried more meaning than words.

One night, after a long shift at the hospital, you came home to find Chase trying to change the batteries in the smoke alarm again. The step stool wobbled slightly under him, and you stifled a laugh, crossing your arms as you leaned against the doorway.

“You’re gonna fall,” you called out.

Chase turned, glancing down at you. “What, you don’t trust me to handle this?”

You let out a loud laugh, and you saw how his expression softened even more, as if knowing that you generally find him funny cures something in him.

“Get down, then,” he said, stepping off the stool with a grin. “I’ll let you try.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing him out of the way. “You’re hopeless.”

As you climbed up, Chase stayed close, his hands resting on your hips as if ready to catch you if you lost your balance. You could feel his breath on your neck as you fumbled with the smoke alarm, and despite your best efforts, the moment felt heavier than it should’ve.

“You’re not even doing anything,” you muttered.

“Just enjoying the view,” he teased, squeezing your hip playfully.

“God, you’re impossible,” you grumbled, but there was no real annoyance in your voice. You liked it—this new, easy intimacy between you.

---

The clock struck midnight again, marking a few weeks since that first kiss on New Year’s Eve. This time, there was no hesitation. You and Chase had settled into this new chapter, one filled with teasing, casual moments, and the quiet understanding that, somewhere along the way, your friendship had shifted into something deeper.

As you sat together on the couch, his hand resting lazily on your thigh, you couldn’t help but smile. “So, we gonna kiss again at midnight, or is that only a New Year’s thing?”

Chase looked at you, his green eyes twinkling with amusement. “Nah, I think we can make it an everyday thing.”

And just like that, he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours, the moment feeling just as new and exciting as the first time.

#rulerofstars #housemd #house md #gregory house #robert chase fanfic #robert chase #robert chase x reader #robert chase x you #chase x reader #robert chase fanfiction

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ivystoryweaver · 6 months ago

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Special Delivery

Based on this very patient nonnie’s requests: “I was thinking about Steven Grant x male reader. Like something very and super fluff with him, cause I love him so much and I love fluff stuff with him” Original asks here, here , and here - tysm nonnie!

Summary: You're making a delivery to the museum's gift shop and the cutest gift shop clerk has to sign for it (It's Steven, of course)

Pairing: Steven Grant x m!reader

Word Count: 724

Content: fluff, flirting, meet cute, not beta'd

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

“Stevie, if I have to ask you one more time to answer the back door bell, I swear I’ll take the shipping fare out of your paycheck.”

Steven’s entire body tenses as his supervisor’s grating voice echoes across the museum gift shop.

“Right. On it, boss,” he amicably musters with a cheesy mock salute, grumbling a curse under his breath as he shuffles off the sales floor, through the swinging door marked “Employees Only”. Rummaging around for his keys, he groans as the bell rings again, signaling what’s likely to be an impatient and possibly rude delivery person.

“Just a moment,” he sighs, checking each and every pocket for his keys, hopelessly tossing his dark curls out of his eyes as he finally produces his keyring. “Could’ve sworn I left those in my jacket,” he murmurs, attempting to remember the past twenty-four hours, vaguely realizing he could not, in fact, remember much at all.

Then the bell trills again - insistently. One, two, three times in a row.

“All right, hold your bloody horses…” Steven trails off, yanking the door open, eyes going wide at the sight of you.

Dressed smartly in your delivery uniform, you chomp on your gum, reaching up to cheekily tip your cap to the flustered gift shop clerk.

“Doorbell broken?” You casually ask, popping your gum. “Must’ve rung half a dozen times.”

“So sorry,” Steven rushes to apologize. “Bit of trouble finding my keys. Come right in.”

You chuckle warmly, rather than condescendingly, as the shorter (and very cute) man reaches for a box to help you unload.

“You know, they pay me to do that, mate.” The corner of your mouth curls as his bright brown eyes go wide.

“Oh god, sorry. Wouldn’t want to break anything.” Steven almost jumps back, pulling his hands closely to his chest - a gesture so adorable your heart trips over itself. “Just wanted to help, is all,” he adds.

“Appreciate it,” you sincerely reply, but…noticing the rosy hue creeping across his cheeks, you chance a wink, nodding down at his name tag. “Steven.”

“With a V,” he chuckles, a bit flustered. “Steven with a V. That’s me.”

“I see that,” you smirk, pointing, once again to his name tag. “Can’t really make deliveries if I can’t read now, can I?”

The thing is - everyone calls Steven the wrong name. Everyone. Stevie, Scotty, ‘hey you!’ The fact that you read his name tag and winked... Maybe you winked?

Steven probably imagined that. "Right, em, guess I'll get out of your way then." He makes a circular motion with his hand. "Sure you have a whole system going. Sorry to bother."

"No bother," you shake your head, expertly offloading a huge palate of shipment with astonishing ease.

Steven wets his lips at the way your uniform shirt fits your arms and chest. "Must be new here..." He finds himself murmuring.

"What's that?" You pause, slinging your arm over your dolly full of boxes.

"Oh, em, haven't seen you 'round. Must be new," Steven repeats, snapping out of his distracted stare. Returning the favor, he reads your name from your uniform shirt tag.

"New route," you explain, pivoting the dolly up with your foot, ready to move it again, but you pause - eyes raking over Steven's adorably hunched body. A mess of dark curls, and purple circles under eyes with secrets and stories to tell. Hands with long, lovely fingers drawn carefully to his chest. Still...he's handsome. And kind.

To most people, you're invisible. But Steven's noticed you. "Gotta say. I like the view." With another well-timed wink, you chomp your gum and carry on with your task.

Once you finish, you have the gift shoppist electronically sign your tablet. "I will see you later, Steven with a V." You smile warmly.

"Every Monday and Thursday!" He exuberantly quotes the delivery schedule to you, as if you aren't aware.

"All right. Thursday then." Pulling your work glove off your hand, you take a chance, crossing over the line of professionalism. "Nice to meet you...Steven." You extend your hand for a shake, completely right about how it would feel to touch him.

Yeah. You're glad you've left your number scribbled on the top box. Maybe he'll call you before Thursday. If not, you'll make sure to write it on his hand next time.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Steven Grant-Centric stories

Moon Knight Masterlist

Main Masterlist

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

#moon knight #steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant x m!reader #steven grant fluff #steven grant of the gift shop #steven with a v #special delivery fic #happy pride

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lendeah · 9 months ago

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The currents of destiny

Chapter 3: Guilt and remorse.

Summary: In his third vision, Astarion observes himself trapped in a relentless cycle of thirst, remorse, and yearning within the shadows, witnessing others moving forward while he goes back to familiar patterns of the past. Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Reader/Tav Word Count: 3.6k Tags: Heavy Angst, Psychological Trauma, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Psychological Torture (kind of), Emotional Manipulation, Verbal Abuse, but just chapter 2, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending.

a/n: tysm to @tinystarfishgalaxy for helping me with this chapter <3

<- Previous chapter Next chapter ->

[AO3 Link]

Astarion wept, as his body shook uncontrollably. His thoughts and emotions were swirling, Tav's agonized screams still echoed in his mind, haunting him. And those staring, lifeless eyes... they would forever haunt his darkest dreams. He shuddered at the thought of what he could have become: a soulless monster who would have used and abused Tav without remorse. The weight of guilt and regret bore down on him like a heavy cloak, suffocating and unrelenting. He wanted to kill that version of himself, he wanted to erase him from existence.

He briefly believed they were returning to the vast emptiness of space. But before he could process that thought, he was being violently pulled once more. Then, everything went black.

Astarion's heart clenched with fear as he quickly realized that he was inhabiting another body, once again a different version of himself. His mind was still spinning from the previous vision, but he forced himself to calm down and focus on his current reality. None of this is real, he told himself, you can still change everything.

The first thing he noticed was the emptiness in his head, the silence. The lack of parasite buzzing over his senses. That explained why his limbs felt heavier and slower, without the surge of power he had grown used to. He was back to being a vampire spawn.

We won, then. We beat the Nether Brain.

He would have laughed, had he not noticed the feelings coursing his body: regret and a deep-seated remorse. It was a stark difference from the empty void of emotions that had possesed him while inside his Ascended body. This version... this future Astarion, was filled with nothing but guilt. And hunger, so deep it shook his frame to its core.

He looked around, taking in his surroundings. He was crouched against a damp stone wall, his body weakened and exhausted. The putrid stench of the city sewers filled his nostrils, adding to his misery.

His clothes, ragged and wet, were clinging uncomfortably to his body. Hells, he looked like a wild animal.

Disgusting.

Astarion's senses heightened as his body caught a whiff of fresh blood, human blood. His stomach growled and he could feel the thirst coursing through his veins, demanding to be sated. How long had it been since he last fed? Judging his estate, he estimated it had probably been weeks, if not a whole month.

He hadn't felt this feral in years. Since...

Since Cazador buried him alive for a year. Have I been starving myself?

His body forced itself to stand up, legs shaky and weak from lack of nourishment. He stumbled through the dark corridors of the sewers, following the scent of fresh blood like a predator on the hunt. The sound of voices echoed off the walls, growing louder as he neared his destination. He froze at the end of the tunnel, straining to make out their words.

"There's another body. How many innocent civilians have to disappear before someone takes action?" A woman's voice said.

"I know. We're doing our best to find those damned bloodsuckers. But the Dukes seem to have other priorities at the moment." Another male voice responded wearily.

Astarion's heart sank as he realized what they were talking about. Shit, the spawn. They are in the sewers too.

From behind the corner, he could see two Fists standing outside. Their weapons of choice were stakes and swords, a comical sight if he wasn't in so much pain.

He crouched down, trying to gather his strength and formulate a plan. But before he could process everything that was happening, his body was wracked with searing agony. His vision blurred as he fell to the ground, clutching at his stomach.

Then, everything was a blur.

His body launched itself at the unsuspecting guards. The sudden attack threw them off guard, their shocked cries echoing through the darkness.

What are you doing? Stop, you bastard!

Astarion willed his new body to halt, but it paid him no mind. With ruthless precision, he sank his fangs into one of the guards' necks, and tore the soft skin in seconds, hot blood pouring all over him. The other guard scrambled for his weapon but Astarion was too fast, too desperate. He struck again. However, the guard managed to slide the sword out in the process and lunged forward. Astarion barely managed to dodge it, the blade grazing his arm instead of piercing through his heart. The pain shot through him like lightning but did little to deter him.

He buried his fangs in the man's neck, relishing in the warm rush of blood as it filled his mouth and quenched his hunger. The guard struggled against him, but Astarion was far too strong in his primal state.

It wasn't until both guards lay lifeless at his feet that Astarion snapped out of his bloodlust-induced haze.

The silence was deafening. He released the limp body from his grasp, letting it slump onto the cold stone floor. The hunger had subsided for now, and he was left with a chilling emptiness; a void that echoed with his victims’ last moments.

He felt…dirty. Disgusted with himself and the monstrous actions he was forced to commit while under the control of this abhorrent future self once again.

The future version of Astarion sat in a corner of the room, his back against the unforgiving stone wall. He crouched over the blood-soaked floor, holding his knees tightly to his chest.

A bitter laugh escaped his body. "Look at what you've become," he muttered, "A monster...a butcher." His voice was barely a whisper, drowned out by the steady drip, drip, drip of the sewer pipes.

Oh, hush, Astarion supplied inside his brain, you are just trying to survive.

Survival was indeed his main priority now. With no friends or allies, Astarion had to do whatever it took to stay alive. And if that meant giving into his vampiric instincts and becoming a ruthless killer, then so be it.

But even as he tried to justify his actions to himself, guilt gnawed at him from within. One thought kept resurfacing in his mind - Tav. The one who had shown him kindness when all others saw him as nothing more than a tool to be used.

How could he face her after what he had done? Would she still see him as someone worthy of forgiveness or would she turn away in disgust?

How did you even get to this point? he asked himself.

Astarion's future self felt a strong urge to chase after her and make amends, begging for her forgiveness and asking her to take him back. But his pride wouldn't allow such a display of vulnerability. Instead, this version of himself reveled in the anger he felt towards her for not helping him complete the ritual. After all, it was her fault this had happened. If only he had ascended, he wouldn't have resorted to killing innocent people now.

No, he told himself, you would be killing her, you idiot.

But as always, he didn't listen. Didn't know.

As his eyesight blurred and shifted, Astarion found himself in another scene. It was late at night, and he was slowly making his way to the Elfsong tavern. Astarion felt a sense of unease, concerned that future him might harm his companions. But then it became clear: he was there to beg for forgiveness at last.

He watched for a moment as his body hesitated at the entrance of the inn. From within, he could hear the sound of laughter and music spilling out into the night. Through the dimly lit window, he saw his companions seated around their usual table, their faces glowing with warmth and camaraderie. There was Wyll, spinning tales of his latest exploits while Shadowheart listened with feigned indifference. His heart ached as he saw Tav, alive and well, her eyes sparkling as she shared a story with Lae'zel and Gale, her laughter more enchanting than any song sung in this tavern.

His heart swelled at the sight of her, revealing on seeing her unharmed, happy. If he had been in his own body, he would have cried of relief. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to hold her in his arms again, to feel the warmth of her embrace. What he would give to feel it right now.

But instead, he felt future Astarion's heart sink. A sense of longing for the life he could have had if he had chosen a different path. He could have been sitting with them, laughing and sharing stories instead of being haunted by guilt and regret, like a wild animal, resorting to living in the sewers to escape the sunlight.

The weight of his shame was too much to bear, and he couldn't bring himself to ask for their forgiveness. He convinced himself that they were better off without him anyway. As tears threatened to spill from his eyes, he glanced one last time at the scene before turning away from the window. He didn't want them to witness his broken state - humiliated, reduced to a mere shadow of his former self.

And a part of him, real him, thought it was true. They seemed so happy without him, like he had never been there to begin with.

Do they even miss me?

His consciousness was pulled away once again. When he came to his senses, he found his body standing pressed against the cold stone wall of an abandoned alley. He took in his surroundings, trying to make sense of this new place. Through his future self's eyes, he sensed he was scanning the darkened streets for potential victims. His gaze lingered on a handsome young merchant, who despite his drunken state, still exuded a certain innocence. His body stepped out from the shadow, a charming smile already playing on his lips. The image was too familiar, and for a brief moment, he wondered if he had somehow traveled back in time instead of forward into the future.

The merchant's eyes, predictably, lit up at the sight of him.

"Well well, what do we have here? A handsome stranger wandering about all on his own?" he purred, trailing his finger down the man's arm. "My dear sir, it's far past bedtime for such daring adventure on your own."

The merchant blushed and stuttered something about getting lost. Astarion chuckled softly and offered to escort him back to his lodgings - an offer the man happily accepted.

His real self could only watch everything in disgust and shame; he had reverted back to his old ways. And this time, he wasn't even under the influence of his master.

Guiding him down an even narrower alleyway, Astarion couldn’t help but curse himself inwardly for what he knew he was about to do. Astarion wished he could look away as he saw his body lean in close, his voice a smooth whisper in the man's ear. He could see his blush and giggle, taken in by Astarion's false charm.

Oh, how he wished he could warn him of what was to come. But all he could do was watch on helplessly as his body continued this dreadful performance he had practiced so many times before.

I am back to being a puppet.

"Astarion?"

His body stiffened at the sound of his name, and he turned to face the voice.

"Tav," his body breathed her name. Their eyes locked, and for the first time in a year, he felt something other than the hunger that had become his constant companion. A sly smirk danced across his lips as he effortlessly masked his true emotions. "Well, well, what brings you to this enchanting alleyway?"

"I could ask you the same," Tav replied, her voice filled with a mixture of concern and shock. She glanced at the merchant standing next to him, stumbling in his drunken stupor. Her eyes filled with sadness as she took in the scene.

There was a tense silence as they stared one another down. Astarion swallowed hard, racking his brain for an excuse that would believably explain his current situation. Before he could come up with a response, Tav spoke again.

"Astarion," Tav uttered again, her voice trembling slightly. "Are you... are you okay?"

No, I am not.

"Of course, darling," he replied smoothly, flashing her a charming smile. "Just enjoying a late-night stroll with this... gentleman." He gestured towards the drunk merchant, who was now leaning heavily on Astarion for support.

Astarion's heart, however, constricted at the concern in her voice. He desperately wanted to tell her the truth, to hold her close, to kiss her breathless.

Do it, tell her. Kiss her. Save yourself.

"Are you sure you're okay, Astarion? You... you can tell me," Tav asked once again, her voice tinged with worry as her eyes flickered between them, clearly not buying his explanation. Astarion could feel her searching gaze boring into him, trying to read him like an open book.

Just as he was about to confess everything, Shadowheart appeared behind her, sliding a hand around her waist.

What?

"Love, what are you doing in an alleyway? You are asking to get murd-" her eyes suddenly locked on Future Astarion. Recognition and shock flashed across her face before it hardened into a scowl.

"Shadowheart," Astarion acknowledged her presence coldly. His gaze was caught on the way Shadowheart's fingers rested possessively on her waist; a sight he found increasingly difficult to stomach.

What is the meaning of this?

For once, Astarion felt the same way as his future self; confusion and hurt mingled with betrayal and anger. Shadowheart and Tav... together? When did that happen?

Tav turned around to look at Shadowheart, a soft blush spreading across her cheeks. "I was just..." she began nervously, gesturing towards Astarion and the merchant. "I saw..."

"Astarion." Shadowheart's voice interrupted, cold as ever. Her grey eyes looked past him to the merchant who was almost passed out at this point. "You have poor taste in company these days."

Despite the icy edge to her voice, Astarion could make out a hint of worry in her eyes as she looked at Tav. It was a concern that echoed his own, one that served only to intensify the bitter taste of jealousy creeping up his throat.

"Perhaps," Astarion finally replied, his voice filled with false cheerfulness."But at least he knows how to appreciate a good drink." He then mumbled, "Anyway, I should probably take him home," gesturing towards the unconscious man.

As he started to walk away, Tav weakly protested and broke free from Shadowheart's grasp to approach Astarion. "Hold on!" Tav interjected, still unsteady on his feet. "You still haven't answered my question."

A tense quiet settled over them as they locked gazes once more. Astarion could see the mix of emotions in her eyes - confusion, pain, and yet a glimmer of hope. His other self didn't understand, but he did. He saw right through her.

She wanted him to ask for help, because that would mean he was ready to rejoin their group. She needed to help him. To redeem herself and close the wound he had opened a year ago.

He desperately yearned to do it, to return to his friends, to her. Instead, his body betrayed him and spoke on his behalf, "I assure you, Tav," he declared with stiffness in his voice, fighting to keep his emotions in check. "I am doing perfectly well without you."

Like hell you are!

Tav's face fell at his words, her eyes widening in shock and hurt. But before she could respond, Shadowheart spoke up again, her tone sharp and accusatory. "Oh yes, Astarion. You are the very definition of perfectly well." She directed a pointed look to the boy, who was sobering up and looking utterly confused, "You should go home," she said firmly.

The boy stumbled away, casting a final bewildered look at Astarion before disappearing into the darkness. Astarion watched the boy leave and turned his gaze back to Tav. He could see the disappointment in her eyes, but he couldn't explain or apologize, trapped as he was inside his own mistakes.

Tav hesitated for a moment before talking again

"Why didn't you return? We could have searched for a solution together."

Astarion's heart was heavy with the pain in Tav's voice. However, watching them together, watching how they had moved on without him, was stirring up a sick and ugly sensation within his chest. He could feel the longing consuming him, but his future self chose to focus only on the anger instead. Focus on the pride.

"Yeah, looks like you all missed me so much." Astarion quipped bitterly, glancing between Tav and Shadowheart.

Tav flinched like she had been hit. Astarion wanted to hit himself for it.

"Astarion, we didn't mean to hurt you, I-"

"That's not what it looks like. In fact, it seems like you both have moved on quite easily without me."

"Enough, Astarion," Shadowheart snapped, her patience clearly at its end. "Stop playing the victim. You disappeared without a word. What did you expect us to do? Wait for you forever?"

Yes. Maybe.

Tav's words were softer, her face etched with worry and regret. "You could have come to us... we would have helped you..."

Astarion scoffed. "Like hell you would." His tone was bitter, but he couldn't bring himself to meet their eyes. "You were the reason I left in the first place. Your betrayal."

His body had expected to feel relief upon seeing them again... but all he felt now was an overwhelming sense of loss. The sight of Tav and Shadowheart together brought a reality crashing down on him – they had moved on and he was stuck in the past. In the same toxic cycle from his time with Cazador.

There was another tense silence between them as they stood there in the dark alleyway. Astarion could feel their gazes burning into him, but he couldn't bring himself to meet their eyes again.

Shadowheart spoke up again. "What are you going to do now?"

Astarion shrugged casually. "Who knows? Maybe I'll just find someone else who actually keeps their promises," he said with a tone of bitterness.

But that was far from the truth. He felt completely isolated and alone, with no one to turn to for comfort or support.

Tav glanced at him once more, her head shaking as tears streamed down her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry," she said brokenly.

No, I'm the one who is sorry.

The need to reach out was overwhelming. But he could just watch in despair as his body decided to keep quiet, and observe as she silently turned around and left.

Shadowheart, however, stayed put, looking at him dead in the eye.

"I thought you'd come back for her, you know?"

I almost did, he told himself, I almost did, but I am a coward.

"You know, I thought you of all people would understand why I left. How could I stay after she ripped me off my only opportunity at freedom?" Astarion responded, finally meeting Shadowheart's gaze.

He expected anger, but was instead met with deep sorrow.

"When you left, something in Tav... it broke. She cried for you, night after night. For months, Astarion."

Of course, he knew. He had seen the scene at the Elfsong Tavern. However, this version of him hadn't.

He scoffed in an attempt to hide his pain, but Shadowheart continued relentlessly.

"She suffered so much because of your selfishness," Shadowheart said, her voice barely a whisper. "I... I had to pick up the pieces, Astarion. I had to convince her not to... not to lose herself."

Astarion felt a wave of guilt wash over him as Shadowheart's words hit him like a physical blow.

"I'm sorry," was all he could manage to say, his voice breaking with emotion.

Shadowheart's expression softened for a moment before hardening again. "Sorry doesn't fix what you've done. What you said," she replied, her tone biting.

"I know," he mumbled quietly, feeling the weight of his mistakes crashing down on him.

They stood there in silence for a few moments longer before Astarion spoke again. "She's hard not to fall in love with, isn't she?"

Shadowheart's eyes opened in surprise, and the softened slightly.

"Yes. Yes, she is," she replied under her breath.

Astarion shook his head.

"Is she happy?" he asked, unable to help himself.

Shadowheart sighed. "She’s getting there," she admitted quietly. "But she won’t be if you drag her back into your mess now."

And he knew what that meant. Let her go. She is happier without you.

Astarion hung his head, feeling a familiar pain bloom in his chest. He was quiet for a long moment before finally looking back up at Shadowheart.

"I won't," he promised, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat.

Shadowheart’s gaze bore into him for another moment before she nodded, and finally turned to leave.

"And Astarion?" she called over her shoulder, causing him to look up at her again.

"Hmm?"

"I hope you find your happiness too. You deserve it."

And with that, she walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Astarion watched as she sauntered towards Tav, who was standing a little ways off. He could barely make out the details of her face from where he was standing but even from the distance, he could tell she was beautiful – more beautiful than he remembered.

Shadowheart gently approached Tav, her hand resting on her arm before leaning in for a tender kiss. Astarion couldn't help but feel like an outsider, witnessing this intimate moment between the two. As he watched them, he noticed the way Tav gazed at Shadowheart with such adoration and love - the same way she used to look at him.

He watched their retreating figures until they disappeared into the night. And his heart threatened to break into smaller pieces at the thought that this had probably been their last conversation.

In a flash, Astarion was once again standing in the void, surrounded by darkness. He felt a sense of unease wash over him as he waited for G'axir's voice to come through again.

See now... Astarion? G'axir's voice echoed around him.

See what? All I see are stars. Astarion asked, feeling frustrated at the cryptic messages.

Amidst the shroud of remorse and longing... lies the opportunity to redefine. Hope's whisper still lingers... in a realm unseen.

Tag list: @tinystarfishgalaxy, @imaginarypetlizard, @nanamisfriedstick, @stuckinaoaktree, @madislayyy, @cosywinterevenings, @fandom-garbage, @generalstephkenobi

a/n: I kind of hate G'axir. If I was Astarion I would be throwing hands, ngl. Anyway, hope you enjoyed the last angsty chapter! Thanks for the support! And lmk if you want to be added to the taglist☺️✨

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