#when they said crow they meant little bird

[brekkie-e]

A little side by side:

Listen, I thought I made Ward rather Average Woman™️ shaped. Just a lass. Not making any sort of statement one way or another.

I'm kind of obsessed with the fact she's so tall and beefy compared to him when she really isn't? She looks normal compared to all the npc's and companions?

I swear when they're running around, she looks like she could dead lift him.

[dollgxtz]

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.

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..."

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.

[benjinotes]

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 - prologue

next.

( benjicot blackwood x daella velaryon )

don’t translate.

Rain pattered against the window of the young princess' chambers, its steady rhythm echoing Daella's growing unease. Seated by the fireplace, the warmth of the flames should have comforted her, yet her mind remained unsettled, thoughts swirling like the storm outside.

The book on her lap had been forgotten for quite some time; the only indication of its existence was her index finger absentmindedly massaging its leather spine.

The crackle of burning logs mingled with the distant rumble of thunder and the patter of rain outside, creating a slightly foreboding symphony. Daella's gaze shifted from the flames to the window, where raindrops raced across the pane. The Dragonstone Castle, usually bustling with life, now rested eerily quiet under the veil of night.

Suddenly, a strange noise caught her attention. Observing from afar, she saw a crow perched in the window, its black feathers glistening in the occasional flash of lightning. The bird watched her with intelligent, penetrating eyes, as if carrying an unknown omen.

However, what caught her attention the most was the red beak that the bird had, which seemed to stand out against its black features and, for some reason, brought her comfort.

Deep down, she knew that this was the maximum comfort she could get at that moment and for the next few days, since her mother's throne had just been usurped and her brothers had gone in search of allies to fight in a war that was to come.

Remembering that Jacaerys and Lucerys were alone out there in search of allies made Daella's heart come to her throat and made her feel a little guilty for not having followed them in search of more support for reclaiming the throne. Yet she couldn't go, not when her combat skills were almost nonexistent and not when Rhaenyra was mourning Visenya, who had died during birth.

To say Daella was her mother's shadow was an understatement. The princess was like her mother's shadow from the day she was born, following in her footsteps in almost every aspect of life. The connection between them was so deep that Daella seemed to reflect her mother's essence and values in almost everything she did.

She would do anything for her mother, and that's why she decided to stay to help her, because in addition to loving her unconditionally, she knew her; she knew that Rhaenyra was suffering, and she knew that sometimes she was too proud to admit it. That was one of the things they had in common.

"Princess Daella?!" A man's deep voice woke her from her thoughts, and she jumped a little, startled by the sudden noise that came from behind the oak door. "Princess, are you there?" The man asked again, and she recognized it as Sir Duman's voice, one of her mother's most faithful guards.

Regained her composure, Daella took a deep breath, and hurried to the door of her chambers, both worried and curious about the late-night interruption.

The first thing she saw when she opened the letter was Sir Duman's worried face. The flickering torchlight in the hallway cast shadows across his features, highlighting the urgency in his eyes.

Lifting her chin and stretching her back, Daella couldn't help but feel worry wash over her, but still, her voice didn't waver as she began to speak. "Yes, Sir Duman, I'm here. What happened?" She asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

The old man's expression returned to normal, and the girl couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief when she noticed his expression soften.

That meant he didn't bring bad news, right?

"Queen Rhaenyra is waiting for you in the great hall, my princess; she wishes to speak with you." Sir. Duman began, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the castle. "A raven has arrived with news." At those words, the Velaryom girl furrowed her eyebrows in question, curiosity falling over her once again.

"Oh." Daella said, and she bit her tongue when she realized her short and stupid answer. "Then let's go; we can't keep our grace waiting." At Daella's words, the man nodded and waited for the princess to lead the way, giving a small bow when she passed in front of him.

Even as she tried to maintain a confident posture while making her way towards the great hall, the Velaryon girl couldn't help but let some of her other concerns creep back into her mind, and the speculations of what could have happened seized her brain in such a ravenous way that she felt like she might vomit at any moment.

The queen had never summoned her at such a late hour, so the matter must be urgent.

Upon arriving at the great hall, Daella carefully opened the door, finding her mother and stepfather, Deamon, standing in front of the stone table. Strangely, none of them seemed to notice her presence there.

"Your grace." The princess spoke in a loud voice, hearing the wooden door behind her slam as she spoke. "Did you request my presence?" The girl said that, although it came out more as a questioning tone, she couldn't help but smile when she noticed her mother's violet eyes looking at her with so much love.

Without hesitation, Rhaenyra approached her daughter, a smile on her face but a tired look that made Daella's heart sink. Losing Viserys had been difficult for her mother, but losing Visenya had caused her mother heartbreak that she had never felt before.

She knew she probably couldn't endure a loss like that as well as her mother did, which only deepened her admiration for her.

"My sweet girl." The queen greeted her sweetly, and Daella couldn't help but let her smile widen when she realized that she wanted to have a conversation as a mother and not as a queen.

"Yes, māzma?" Daella questioned with curiosity shining in her eyes and got a little closer to her mother, managing to get a clearer view of her stepfather, who was currently reading a letter with an annoyed expression. The coat of arms of House Blackwood was visible on the envelope he had in his another hand. (mom)

Rhaenyra sighed softly, and when the princess saw her exchanging meaningful glances with Daemon, their eyebrows drew together in confusion. "You know we sent letters to some noble houses seeking support for the war, right?" The queen asked rhetorically and gave another sigh when she saw her daughter nodding her head hesitantly.

Daemon got a little closer to them.

For some reason, Daella's heart began to beat heavily, and she couldn't help but bite her lip, anxious for the next words the white-haired woman was going to say to her.

"The good news is that most houses have decided to join us." Daemon spoke up for the first time, sensing his wife's hesitation in bringing up the subject. He just wanted to finish this conversation.

"But?" Daella asked when she noticed the hesitation and the hesitant exchange of glances. Her head was racing. They should be happy to have such strong allies, but yet they seemed worried, and the fact that none of them told her what was happening was starting to make her upset.

"The Blackwoods have agreed to support our cause." This time, Rhaenyra spoke and placed a hand on her belly. "But they have one condition." The woman's words faded off, and Daella turned to her stepfather for an explanation.

Daemon moved a little closer and looked at his wife for permission before speaking. "They want a marriage alliance between you and Benjicot Blackwood." He explained carefully, and the princess looked at the two in shock.

The revelation hit Daella like a wave, causing her to step back in shock. She had always known a political marriage was inevitable, but now that the reality had dawned on her, she felt dazed and even a bit unwell.

"What? Why?" She asked, distressed, her heart pounding and her hands sweating as she walked backward down the hall. Rhaenyra glanced at her worried daughter before turning back to her husband and giving him a nod.

Daemon massaged his forehead, starting to get irritated. "House Bracken and House Blackwood have always been at odds." The man began to explain and once again looked at his wife for permission to continue. "Upon discovering that the Branckens were our allies, Lord Blackwood made the marriage request in exchange for his troops and services." He finished, and the princess couldn't help but give a disbelieving nasal laugh, her hand out of a simple rivalry. It was the stupidest thing she had ever heard.

Noticing Daella's expression, Rhaenyra approached her daughter again, this time more carefully. "I know it's a lot to process. But it's your decision; if you don't want to get married, Daemon and I will refuse the proposal." She said, while putting her hand on Daella's face, who bit her lower lip.

She harbored an intense desire to express her refusal, to vocalize her frustration, but remained unable to do so, aware of the imminent threat of war, the critical need for allies, and her support for her mother and brothers during the approaching storm.

"The House Blackwood is important?" Daella asked hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper, and the two adults in the room exchanged a solemn nod. Too much important.

"It's better to have them on our side than on the opposite side." Her stepfather reacted with an impatient gaze, and she couldn't help but sighed.

"I understand, I will do it." Daella said quietly, her voice steady as she accepted the reality before her, and with a deep breath, she straightened her posture.

There was no turning back now.

Rhaenyra and Daemon exchanged glances, a mixture of pride and concern evident in their eyes, knowing the weight of the sacrifice that the only daughter of the heir to the Iron Throne was making at this moment.

"I'm immensely proud of you, thank you." The queen whispered, planting a tender kiss on her daughter's cheek. The princess visibly softened, reassured by her mother's affectionate gesture amidst the swirling emotions.

"I will promptly dispatch a raven to Lord Blackwood." Damon interrupted , his tone brooking no delay, and Rhaenyra shot him a stern look at his brusqueness, while Daella sighed anxiously in silent agreement beside them.

She was doing this for her mother.

— i don't know how to feel about this, but i hope you like it. <3 normally my chapters tend to be bigger, but as this is just the prologue i decided to make it smaller, and this is my first hotd storie so i'm kinda scared.

— benji soon, promise. 😔

ALSO: please make me requests for: reader x character.

wattpad.

tag: @marytvirgin

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (Part 9)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things 📍 Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie Part 13 - The Release Part 14 - Someone like her smutty💦

Part 9 - Shiny Things

Ephi moves in, and Ruth reads you like an open book.

「Warnings/Promises: HumanAlastor x Fem! BurlesqueReader, Reference to domestic abuse of non-reader character, fucks, crows, swans, emotions be emotioning, so many birds, I don’t think reader is Aromantic I think she’s just stubborn, Cliff diving is just a joke do not follow people off cliffs, everyone is kicking reader’s ass in some way, my apologies to parts of Texas but not Texas as a whole」

Long time no see ! My head wasn’t in the right space for this story, and my head was also literally not doing well. But! Reading glasses helped since I’m writing on my phone like 7 inches from my face. the goal is Wednesday updates~ there’s about four parts already written so we’ve got a month of runway 👌🏼 Wednesday mornings are ‘God, That’s Good’ by @macabr3-barbi3 and nights are ADIF!

🎶 last time on A Doe In Fall 🎶 : you came home from your first week staying officially at Alastor’s to find your estranged sister waiting on your stoop.

this isn’t sexy but just like minors come on, MDNI? This blog is a sex shop

It’s not that you hated your sister, it’s that you resented her. You could love someone and not like them an ounce… but unfortunately when she left so did your familial love. Which meant all that held you together now was distrust and an obligation to a dead woman. 

“So things didn’t pan out up north?” You waved her into your apartment, agitation apparent in even the gesture of your arm. 

“It’s peachy! Just need to lay low a bit.” She said it with a chipper voice while looking around your apartment like she paid for it. “Wow you weren’t lying about the no money, huh? Talk about a shoebox.”

Charming. 

“Well, Ephi, you’re welcome to leave.” While you didn’t understand the name it wasn’t your business to question what someone asked to be called. Especially considering your own dual identity. You may have disliked the woman but human decency still hung to the bones of the relationship you called your sisterhood.

An obnoxious chuckle, “Nah it’ll do! Just the one single bed?”

“Why would I have more than one bed?”

A deep sigh from her, “Still last to be picked by the fellas, sis?” Her hand passed over your dresses hanging in the open closet, “The ugly duckling was always your favorite story.”

The fine hairs rose on the back of your neck, a cat’s hackles moving as the anger bristled through your body. You opened your mouth to shout all the ways you were not the ugly one in the room, hand already in the air to direct her attention to the dried, hanging flowers covering the far wall. How many people threw flowers at her feet? How many proposals were shouted to her? Wedding rings slipped off fingers and into pockets for her? 

The air in your lungs went flat as a small fire of embarrassment rose in your gut.

How could she so quickly reduce you to a little girl again? Taking the bait for a fight you couldn’t win, because she wasn’t listening to anything but her own voice. Biting the inside of your cheek, your hand fell back to your side.

“You can take it. I’ll just be by for clothes now and then. Been staying with a friend closer to work.” Flipping through your mind you tried to catalog your valuables. What did you absolutely need to not turn up missing?

Ephi sat on the bed and crossed her legs in her best imitation of a lady. “Staying with Mister Fancy Pants?” A smile that reminded you of your childhood. A smile that said, “I won’t tell mom!” Right before turning and running to your mother’s ear.

“No.” 

A giggle two octaves above her usual tone, “Sure, okay! No skin off my back.”

You took your time to gather the items you had forgotten first, then the items you didn’t want her to have. Unsure how exactly to tell Alastor why a week into sharing his home officially you were already redecorating, you left that for your future self to figure out. The first item was obvious.

An angel statue your mother kept on her nightstand. You wrapped it in some newspaper, trying not to look in her direction. 

Your sister chased dick like most people chased liberty. Something she shared with your mother. Which was her right, but it rubbed you the wrong way how she would always forget everyone else in her life when she had a man to call her own. A fair weather friend, at that. 

“How’s Howard?” The dick that took her away so many years ago.

She abandoned the lady act and rummaged through your cabinets, “Who’s that?”

Right.

A gold coin on a necklace. You slipped it inside a sock. 

“So, then, who is the man of the hour?”

Ephi began opening the dresser drawers, poking here and there. “Whaddya mean! I am an independent woman.”

You weren’t sure that had ever been true. While your mother had drilled it into your skull to never place yourself in the need of a man, she always seemed to throw her heart (and house keys and purse strings…) at the feet of any man willing to love her. 

“Love” her. 

There was no love in any of that. A common problem of confusing love with any and all intense emotions affected your mother and many others.

Slashed furniture is not adoration. Breaking windows is not a love language. Bruises are not affection.

Your hands ran down the bag’s shapeless sides. Without thinking, you smiled. Adoration. Love languages. Affection. You had them and the knowledge of their secrets all to yourself. 

Secrets you didn’t need slipping out. Secrets your sister couldn’t hold to save her life, or yours for that matter. You hurried around the room grabbing knick-knacks and photos and jewelry. Alastor would be at work soon, you wondered if you should call to warn him. This time not about a hot headed flatfoot but a nosey sibling.

You’d tell him later. No reason to talk to Brenda again. Quickly your leather bag got full and heavy. What was supposed to be a casual foray into sharing a home already turning into a full on move. 

Everything you needed and a few things no one ever would, because damn would Ephi pawn them the very second she needed something, were safely zipped away. Any plans to relax at home before work were abandoned and you just marched to the door. 

A random memory flashed behind your eyes,  washing Alastor’s hair in the tub until the water ran clear. Why now? The only memory shared in your apartment. And it was an awful one. But, it had Alastor. That gave it value. 

“Hey, if any men come by looking for me you just don’t answer, okay?” You forced your face to relax, to show the sincerity you worked so hard to keep to yourself, “Please, Ephi.”

Her smile widened past unnaturally white teeth, no money for a room but clearly cash for peroxide tooth gel, “Ooh, why? Little sister make some enemies?”

Why couldn’t she just fucking agree?

“My job sometimes attracts crazies. I don’t tell them where I live but occasionally they figure it out. They’ve gotten violent before so…just don’t answer the buzzer. They’ll say they’re damn near anyone to get you to let them up.” You stopped the nervous twisting of your bag’s handle, “Boyfriend, boss, detective. They've tried it all.”

“Aww, sis. Look at you.” She leaned her full figure against the open door frame, arm raised up like a pin up. Ephi was always effortlessly enchanting when her mouth was closed. “Stalkers? Mama would be so proud. Finally learning how to catch a man’s attention.”

The tears that stung your eyes were inspired partly by anger and partly by pain. They came so suddenly you could only laugh in response. 

“Lovely to see your new name hasn’t changed you, Ephi. I’ll be back occasionally. Don’t steal anything, no strangers over. Spare key is in the bowl by the door.” 

“Oh hey!” 

You turned back.

“I do need some cash. Until I find work.”

The numbness blanketed you with a chill. 

“I’ve got like, three bucks. Is that fine?”

Why did you ask that? You knew she could very well say it wasn’t fine and you’d be obligated to offer to get more. Atleast, that’s what you’d have done when you were younger. How easily you both slipped into old roles. Or perhaps she never grew out of hers. 

She mulled it over, “Yeah that’ll be fine.” Her hand came out and waited for the bills.

An open palm waiting for your money.

You pulled the folded bills from your wallet and set them in her hand without touching her skin. 

“Thanks sis!” She turned and closed the door before you could reply.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The other dancers shot you a look when your bag jingled and clanked as it hit the floor, you wincing as you remembered the ceramic figurine.

“You…. going somewhere, hun? The detective got you on something?”

A quick shake of your head. You hadn’t considered the optics. Luckily it was early enough the room wasn’t very busy. A few select missing women would have pried for more information. Your hands fidgeted, unsure what to do. On the way in you saw some newer talent getting their feet on stage, maybe watch them? Too early for make up. 

A loving voice from Ruth, always a savior, “Cigarette?”

You melted at the offer. Alastor wasn’t a fan of the smell so you were slyly cutting back. 

She popped a sun bleached folding chair open and set it in between you both as a footrest. So many broken and ruined chairs littered the sides of the dingy roof, you were shocked she found a good one on her first try.

“Alright, tell me what happened with that detective. Do I need to go rough up a city employee?” Ruth leaned back and settled into her chair with a creak and a whine of the wood.

You needed a second, eyes flitting around as she handed her cigarette for you to take a drag. What could you say? What did she already know? You’d not spoken about it since she helped shoo him away but the appearance of half your belongings haphazardly stuffed into a bag clearly had her alarms going off. 

“So remember the guy who came by for me? Tall handsome one.”

She nodded enthusiastically, “Yes! Of course. Don’t forget a name like his. Or face.” She whistled like a crude man trying to get a woman’s attention in the most annoying way.

“The detective thinks he did something to Tommy. That he was jealous. Which is ridiculous-,” you felt a nervous energy slip down your arms. 

An abrupt laugh, “That string bean couldn’t open a heavy window. He didn’t do shit to Tommy. What a stupid thing to say.”

Did she notice how much you’d been holding your breath? A deep sigh as you let it go. “Exactly! He doesn’t even know about what happened that night with that guy and Tommy’s arrangement; it’s too mortifying. Anyway, the detective has been hounding me about it. I don’t wanna cause trouble.” You ashed the cigarette and held it out for her, “Stuff is still new with him and me, so I didn’t tell the detective his details or work anything. Why would I? So he can harass him too?” The words all tumbled out so quickly. A faucet turned too far to the left.

“Fair.” A few passes back and forth in what you hoped was a comfortable silence and not an indication she was piecing together things you needed to remain unlinked. Finally, “Didn’t realize you two were still seeing each other. Longest one you’ve kept for awhile now.”

Looking up, you marveled at the view of the open sky. Not a cloud in sight. A smile crept across your face, the heat of the sun warming you from the inside out. The slightest chill to the air warning you of Fall. “Yeah.”

She asked what made him so special and you didn’t know where to start. “The obvious,” you began. “He’s so-,”

“Clever.” “Handsome.”

You’d spoken at the same time, her attempt at soothsaying failing miserably.

“Clever, Ruth. He’s very clever. Handsome men are a dime a dozen. But he’s sharp as a tack.” She rolled her eyes and waved her hand around for you to go on. You let your mind toss out the shiniest examples. “He’s so skilled. He knows how to hunt and take apart animals. He can fish. Cooks like a dream. He knows how to clean clothes well and how to use a washing board.” 

“Useful.” She mused. That isn’t what you meant. You weren’t trying to list off his features like a new appliance. It was just— impressive. He was well rounded.

“And he’s terribly kind. He’s always,” how to say it delicately, “going out of his way to help others solve their problems.” That seemed accurate and vague enough. You chuckled to yourself, remembering him at the kitchen table, “His face lights up so bright when he’s talking about his hobbies. Like, I can see his soul glittering behind his eyes and suddenly I’m just as interested in whatever he’s talking about as he is.” You let your eyes close around the mental image of his surprised face every time you complimented him. But they shot open when she began giggling, “What?”

“You’re in looooove,” her foot kicked yours, “I know that look. Head over heels already. Talking about him like he made the fucking stars.”

Wide eyed and stunned, was it written on your face so plainly? “Oh don’t say that. It makes me so uncomfortable. We’re just enjoying each other's company.” When she moved to give you the cigarette again you didn’t take it. “All I was saying was—,” fuck, what were you saying? That he was special? “He’s a very nice person to spend my limited time with. It’s a finite resource and all.”

With a shrug she took another puff, “What’s to be uncomfortable about? Falling in love is a wonderful thing, hun.”

Was it? Honestly, had she ever considered how much damage came with loving someone? It was putting your heart outside your body. Letting someone else carry it around and just praying they didn’t hurt you, or get hurt, or go off and die and take your heart with them. Why would anyone willingly do such a silly thing?

“Cheesy. And kind of creepy. Falling? How do I get back up if things go south?”

You’d successfully avoided emotional attachment to nearly every lover you’d taken. The way women seemed to get struck down dumb by any old John or Jane just wasn’t appealing. Love was for fools. The weak. The dependent.

Or, so you had whispered to yourself as you pretended to not be home when suitors came knocking, as you avoided ringing phones, as you apologized and slid out of restaurant seats after awkward dinners. 

“If you fall hard enough, you don’t get back up.” She said it like it was a good thing. “You’ll love them forever, even if you hate em.”

That was the problem, too. How could she not hear that as she said it? All loss of control of your own heart and emotions was simply bad. People do irrational things for love.

You shivered, “That sounds absolutely horrid, Ruth.”

“Aah,” she dismissed you with a raspberry blown between her lips, “For the right man, you’ll find yourself enjoying the trip down!” 

“Nah, I’m not fan of heights. No dick is worth that.”

“Is that all men are to you? Sex?” She guffawed, taken aback by your comment. Which was odd, given it was Ruth. 

But, Yes.

Well. No . But — he wasn't a man. He was something different. The exception to the rule. Alastor was different.

Or, fine. 

Yes, he was a man. 

No, you didn’t see them as just sex. It was easier to say people were just pleasure and not stop to think about life any other way. Things got complicated when you added another person. Life became sloppy and uncontainable. If you stopped and considered the lives behind the people you used to lead on and let go before things got too difficult, you’d just wound yourself. It was easier to stop at sex.

When you could. Which you could, before. When sex was a token you traded back and forth with someone. But Alastor didn’t accept that currency. You couldn’t hand him your body and get brief but lovely companionship back. Your value had to lie elsewhere, the things you set before him and the wonders he had to offer were much richer in their worth than what you’d ever had before. 

Sometimes it felt like you slid him a penny and he handed you a quarter. You found yourself scrounging up the petty coins of your worth and trying to save them up for him. Practicing your makeup, learning how he liked his coffee, remembering all of the things he said he hated and loved. Attempting to stop smoking. Every act was another shiny offering for him. 

A crow scrounging the park grounds for glittering trash. Not very swan-like, you thought.

“You really don’t think you’re falling for him?” Ruth put out the cigarette in the coffee can beside her. As you turned to argue with her you saw her face full of amusement and incredulousness. It was rhetorical.

The argument withered and you could only pout, everyone that day seeming to catch your tongue, “I don’t wanna think about it. I’ll get scared and run away. He’ll figure out how little I have to give eventually. If anything more is gonna happen, it’ll happen. I’ll just… let it. Why ruin it with… saying childish things.”

“You’re naive but that’s okay. Enjoy the honeymoon stage while you can.”

Your eyes rolled, “What if he doesn’t feel the same? Why embarrass myself.” When you sighed the weight of just how heavy and true that sentiment was resonated in your stomach. Telling him you were falling in love? Alastor was a killer. His passion was singular. What good was a dame to him? No, worse than worthless. A liability. A witness. A weak point in the walls he so carefully crafted. If he knew you were in love with him he’d just end things sooner than they would have naturally.

“Dontcha wanna know if he’s a waste of that precious time, then?”

You cackled, choking on your spit. Alastor? He was the most worthwhile thing you’d ever encountered. Time with him suddenly had …. Value. That fucking word again. But time with him, it was slow enough to be deep and rich, but so fleeting you already felt a mourning mood for how much closer you were to the end.

You could only shake your head, “Wait, Ruth, didn’t you get divorced?”

“Shhh that doesn’t count!” She rose and stretched her long arms up to the sun and then out to the horizon, “Plus that’s how I know what I’m talking about! After the honeymoon phase? You’ll be arguing about laundry and wishing you were strangers again. Fighting about children and lawncare.”

As your finger nervously came to your mouth, teeth cutting into the nail, you considered how if Alastor complained about laundry and you could argue back with the comfort of knowing neither would simply leave, that’d be….nice. The safety of being honest without the fear of the other person giving up on you. Was that love? 

And did that matter at all? 

You’d thought earlier you knew the answers but now, when someone else said it, you got scared of those words. 

Ruth must have put a spell on you. As you and a bevy of others danced in line on stage, arms over shoulders and legs kicking high enough to show cheek and jiggle the soft skin of your thighs and stomach, you felt butterflies in your gut. Alastor would be picking you up in a matter of hours. 

A few men sent you drinks, which you repaid with a wink and a kiss blown across the bar before downing the liquor. It was the usual routine. You hadn’t felt nerves to see Alastor quite like that since sheepishly picking out “comfortable” shoes.

Alastor’s eyes widened when he took the bag from you, not noticing your attempts to avoid making eye contact. He let out a chuckle, his best attempt at stifling the joking question, “Already moving in?”

He realized quickly enough that wasn’t a good joke. Not when he finally looked up and saw your stare was distant. 

“Everything okay, dear?” He walked to open your door for you, and you nodded a thank you and an affirmative.

Should you rip off the band aid? Should you just say it and see what happens? 

When you turned to look at him and blurt out a confession, you were stopped by the profile of his face. What a gentle face. A lovely jaw. Even his bones were better than other people’s. What were you doing in this man’s car? What little pieces of glittering trash were you about to toss at him on a random Friday night?

No, in the books you read, confessions were always grande affairs. Fireworks and dinner parties and passionate kisses in rain storms.

You’d have to put a little effort into this. His brows rose as he clocked your staring. Eyes on the road, smirk pulled to the right, his hand came to rest on your thigh.

He deserved something much better than whatever you had to offer. Something unlike yourself entirely. 

The drive home, and yes you let yourself linger on the word instead of shoo it away, you watched a deer jump across the dirt road just past the bridge. 

“The bucks chase the does. It’s part of their mating ritual. I guess it’s not unlike the ‘playing hard to get’ some women like. The longer the chase, the prouder the buck to snag his prize.”

You laughed, “Women don’t like it, I don’t think. Well, some do I am sure but… If we don’t do that then people think we’re easy. We need plausible deniability. If people learn we put out we can claim we didn’t really want to and save some face.”

Alastor grimaced, “Gross.”

Unseen, you nodded and turned to watch the buck leap after its doe. 

“Kind of funny, you chased me down, didn’t you?” Alastor’s comment pulled you back to him.

“Oh yes. That makes you my doe.” Your arm came to rest against the car door, the trees slowly rolling by in the darkness. “Reminds me of the small freckles across your shoulders.”

“My mighty buck!” He fawned, in jest, pretending to collapse into your lap. You shoved him back up and behind the wheel proper. “Well given the chance, I’d chase you for miles.” His hand flexed on your leg.

“To Texas?” You asked. Your usual end point.

“Further.”

“How far?”

“There is no limit. I’d … run right off a cliff, head first, if you were waiting at the bottom.” He took his hand back, needing both to hold the wheel. What he said hit him harder than he had intended. Was it too much? A tad too dramatic? A nervous clearing of his throat, followed by an awkward laugh to put more space between him and the confession. 

The idea of you making Alastor chase you was ridiculous. You enjoyed the games you played with others, but you were never meant to be caught. If you wanted that, you’d just…give yourself. As you had done with him. Only him. The first and last person you ever wanted to give yourself over to in any sense. “And if I just… lied down and let you catch me? Would that make me a poorly earned prize?”

“Nope! That’d make me a lucky duck. And make you quite smart, if I do say so myself.” A wink. “Why run from such a catch like me?”

You landed a smack on his arm, light and playful. 

A truly comfortable silence settled in, just the sound of the car trembling over the rough road. The newest model Ford was still as loud as the last, but luckily you were far from others. 

The words had lingered like smoke, and you felt the need to address them.  

“Don’t actually do that though. If I run off a cliff or something stupid, don’t you dare follow me.”

Alastor just laughed, wasn’t that what you were doing for him already? Diving into hell for some inexplicable reason after Alastor. He wasn’t expressing some lack of self preservation, he was merely letting you know he’d reciprocate the fall. You hadn’t made him run after you, but instead seemed to just….rest your neck between his canines. And trust. 

If you were to go to heaven, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. It was too late to redeem his soul now. How far was heaven from hell, anyways? If the devil survived the plummet perhaps he could scale the walls of his enclosure and breach the gates.

Though, as he thought about the idea of heaven, he considered how happy his mother would be to meet you. To take you from her would be as cruel as heaven taking you from him. 

Maybe he could make a plea. To just be able to see you from below. 

But if the knowledge you were happy and safe was all he had, he’d be a richer man in hell than he’d ever been on earth. It’d be enough. 

He’d just need to broadcast his radio waves a little further for your listening pleasure.

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies

@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @fizzled-phoenix , @star-kujo-platinum

, @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl @smoky000

@hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain

@harley2223-blog , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby

@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Synopsis: You haven’t gotten along with Tabito Karasu in a long, long time. However, when a chance encounter with a mysterious woman leads to the two of you switching places, you find out that maybe there’s more to him than you realized.

BLLK Masterlist

Pairing: Karasu x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 8.4k

Content Warnings: crack fic, reader is implied to be smaller/weaker/less athletic than karasu, miscommunication of the sort you’d expect from a k-drama, VERY unserious and stupid, crude humor, non-explicit mentions of karasu’s dick, reader explicitly does NOT have a dick, i haven’t watched the movie freaky friday in ages so don’t expect it to follow that plot or anything, random old lady’s divine intervention saves this dumbass girl failure x boy loser relationship

A/N: to be honest i have nothing to say for myself. there is 0 reason for this to be as long as it is considering how legitimately idiotic of a plot it has LMAOAO but i couldn’t help myself from writing it…i watched an edit of **** and ***** from jjk set to the song ‘freaky friday’ and i was like. inspired. idk. if this is your first time reading smth by me i promise i usually am better than this 😭

The margins of your Mathematics notebook were littered with intricate sketches, pretty birds and flowers arcing alongside the equations that you copied down from the board when you remembered to look up at it. If anyone else in the class could see how little you truly paid attention, they’d likely be furious; after all, you consistently had high marks, often even managing to be first in the class despite your constant distraction.

One person in particular would likely have a heart attack, but considering you liked him the least out of everyone in the entire school, the prospect filled you with a sort of joy and determination to continue in exactly the manner you had been. Tabito Karasu — in his honor, you drew a crow next to the swoop of an integral that you had not bothered with solving, and then, for your personal satisfaction, you crossed it out.

“Yo.” You had not noticed the bell ringing, so caught up were you with shading in the petals of a sunflower, the tip of your pencil growing dull from the heavy, repetitive strokes. “My mom told me to tell you that yours left her purse at our house, so if you could come get it after school, that would be great.”

You glanced up at Karasu, who was standing in front of your desk, his bag slung over one shoulder, his lopsided smile noticeably vanished. It always was when he spoke to you, his face never anything but solemn on those occasions.

“Again?” you said. “Sure.”

“Cool,” he said. “See you then, I guess.”

You wrinkled your nose at his receding back, gathering your own things and following him sedately out of the classroom before splitting off to head to your next period, not even affording him a farewell in return for his half-hearted attempt.

There had been a time, when you were both very young, that you and Karasu had been friends. It wasn’t really your choice, of course. Your mothers had known one another since their college days and thus had been determined to raise their children side-by-side, but neither of you had minded too much.

When your minds were innocent and plain, things came easily and simply. You would make castles in the sandbox of the playground by his house, racing one another down the slides as your mothers watched you and conversed. It had been nice. Back then, Karasu had been a person you could be fond of, and so you had been. He had been your best friend, your only friend, really, and he had even sworn to you that he would always be so, interlocking his pinky with yours and saying that it was a promise.

Anyways, promises were easily made and easily forgotten back then. Not so long after you entered grade school, he abandoned you entirely, sneering at you if you dared to approach him, turning away whenever you waved at him in the hallways. You understood quickly enough what he meant by it, and you grew to resent him as much as you had once cared for him.

It had happened long enough ago that now, there was just an awkward sort of tension between you two whenever you spoke. He must’ve known that you didn’t like him, hadn’t for a while, and he never really pressed the issue, though he never did anything to fix it, either. You doubted he cared; after all, he only ever spoke to you if he absolutely could not avoid it, and you operated by the same policy.

“Hey, Y/N, we’re all thinking of staying after school to study for the Chemistry exam,” your best friend said to you as you settled into your seats for Economics, the one class you both shared. “Wanna come? I know you don’t really need it or anything, but it’d be fun if you were around.”

“You just want me to explain everything to you so you don’t have to read the textbook,” you said.

“Guilty,” she said with a grin that suggested she did not feel very guilty at all. “Sorry, but it’s a really boring textbook.”

“It’s a drag,” you agreed. “I’d say yes, but I can’t. My mother forgot her purse at Karasu’s house when she was visiting, so I have to go with him and grab it on my way back home.”

Your best friend winced. “I’m sorry. Will you be okay? I can come, if you want.”

“There’s nothing to be done about it,” you said, shaking your head. “It’ll be alright. You need all of the studying time you can get, so don’t concern yourself with me.”

“If you say so,” she said reluctantly. “Call me if you change your mind, okay? I think my exam grade is well beyond the point of saving now, so I don’t mind giving up some studying time to help you out.”

“All the more reason for you to study longer,” you said. “Seriously, relax. It’s not like I’m planning on staying there for long. I’ll be so quick that there won’t even be any time for things to get weird.”

The day was over before you knew it, and then you were trudging out of the building, scanning the front entrance for Karasu and finding him leaning against the brick wall of the school, gesturing wildly as he laughed at something one of his teammates had said.

You waited for his teammate to leave, and only then did you approach, stopping a distance away from him and folding your hands behind your back as you waited for him to notice you. He did so almost immediately — he was keen like that, ever aware of everything happening in his general vicinity — and his back straightened, the mirth from earlier dropping into the melancholy you were more used to.

“Let’s go,” you said.

“Yes, let’s,” he said. “Come on. If we cut through town, we’ll get there faster.”

“Okay,” you said.

The two of you walked in silence after that, Karasu’s hands shoved in his pockets as he shuffled along beside you. You hugged a never-opened Economics textbook to your chest, your heart beating against the hard cardboard of the cover.

“How have you been?” Karasu said after a while, when the quiet must’ve grown to be unbearable for his typically talkative self.

“Fine,” you said.

“Same,” he said.

“I didn’t really ask,” you said.

“Right,” he said, “Sorry.”

“There’s no need for any of this,” you said. “We’re not friends, so don’t act like we are. I’m going to your house to pick up my mother’s purse, and then I’m leaving. That’s it.”

“Right,” he said again. You thought he must be relieved that you had given him leave to disregard you. Thus assured that he would leave you alone, you allowed your mind to wander, mulling over the assignments you had due the next day and figuring out a plan to complete them that would require the least amount of effort possible.

“Excuse me!”

You both were passing through a part of town that you did not frequent when the door to a storefront swung open, revealing a wizened old lady. Her thick gray hair was gathered in a knot at the nape of her neck, and her posture was stooped over but her expression was no less intense for the age she showed. You jumped at the abruptness of her exclamation, and you sensed Karasu had been equally as surprised, though he remained far more collected than you had.

“We don’t want to buy anything,” he said bluntly, without even waiting for her to explain.

“It’s not wares I sell,” the woman said. “It’s fortunes.”

“Not interested,” he said, though not without glancing at you, so briefly that you almost believed you had imagined it.

“Listen, boy, I don’t look into the future for just anyone. It’s a rare soul that attracts my attention, and here I have two in front of me! You’ll avoid a lot of misery if you agree to it,” she said.

“We’ll take the misery,” Karasu said. “Like I said, we’re good. Leave us alone, old crone.”

“Be careful who you’re rude to,” the woman said, her irises gleaming. “It’s already cost you once, hasn’t it?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched from how hard he grit his teeth at that. “You’re just saying things.”

“Ma’am,” you said, finally deciding to speak up. This entire conversation was such a waste of time, and furthermore if Karasu was irritated, then you felt as though there was a chance he’d lash out and you’d be the unfortunate victim. “Every minute we are delayed here is another minute I must spend with him, and considering I don’t like him all that much, I’d prefer if we could get on with it.”

“Is that the case?” she said, and then she beamed at you, her lips peeling back in a more sinister form of the expression than she ought to have been capable of. “But wouldn’t you give anything if you could go back to how things once were? I know that he would.”

“Shut up,” Karasu snapped, his face uncharacteristically red. “What the hell do you know about me, anyways? About either of us?”

She began to laugh, and it was a rattling, wheezing sound which made even your own chest ache. Karasu glared at her, but she ignored him completely, cackling and cackling, slapping her knee as if he were an award-winning comedian who had just made the joke of the century. Despite yourself, you inched towards him; he was far from your preferred partner, but you thought that if she were to suddenly lunge at you or something, he was probably your best bet at survival.

“I have seen many versions of you in my lifetime, and you have all said the same. What do I know about you?” the woman said. “Well, well. I’d wager I know quite a bit about you, indeed. How about this? I’ll give you a gift — on the house, of course. Then we’ll see who knows what.”

“We don’t fucking need any gifts,” Karasu said. “Y/N, let’s get out of here. She’s crazy.”

“You can’t deny a gift that’s been freely given!” she shouted gleefully after you as you strode away. “It’s yours, whether you like it or not. Enjoy yourself, baby crow — you may thank me yet!”

Whether it was a placebo borne of the woman’s odd behavior or a symptom of the atmospheric pressure dipping before an out-of-season storm, you noticed that there was a headache mounting behind your left eyebrow. You kept silent about it as you dutifully followed Karasu towards his house, but it was definitely uncomfortable, and whenever he looked away, you’d press the pads of your fingers against the source of the pain in a fruitless effort to alleviate it.

Neither of you said anything until you reached his porch; he had been jarred by the conversation with the woman, though he disguised it with a scowl — it was obvious from the tension of his shoulders, however, and as for you, you relished in the tranquility, which was what you had been seeking the entire time.

“She was full of shit,” he informed you as he unlocked his front door and motioned for you to go inside. It sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was you, but you had long ago come to the conclusion that the woman was just searching for a way to make a quick sale, so you were unruffled.

“I didn’t think otherwise,” you said. You hadn’t been to his house in a while, but it still looked the same as you remembered it, down to the Siamese cat curled up on the couch — although, of course, far more gray peppered her muzzle than the last time you had seen her. You scratched her under the chin as you waited for Karasu to return with the purse, and without even opening her eyes, she purred at you, rubbing her face against the back of your palm.

“Here you go,” he said, tossing the purse at you. You reached up and caught it with the hand you weren’t using to pet his cat, and then you offered her one last stroke in farewell before heading back to the front door.

“Thanks,” you said.

“Right,” he said. “Anytime. Later, Y/N.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder before nodding, figuring there was no harm in one final act of politeness. No matter the grudge you held against him or how justified it was, you supposed you could be the bigger person this singular time. “Later, Karasu.”

The walk between your houses was not so long, but for some reason, it dragged on and on — a symptom of your headache, maybe? By the time you reached your own doorstep, the world was spinning, and after returning your mother’s purse to her, you stumbled up to your room, flopping face-first on your bed.

A few minutes later, there was a knock. With a groan, you rolled over so that you were lying on your back, a hand covering your eyes so that the fading twilight did not worsen the pounding that had spread from your left eyebrow to your forehead and the back of your neck.

“Come in,” you mumbled out. Your mother poked in her head, a bowl of soup in her hands, a kind frown on her face.

“Are you alright?” she said, sitting beside you and setting up your pillows so you could lean against them.

“My head is killing me,” you said. She pressed her hand against your brow, pursing her lips.

“Doesn’t feel like a fever,” she said. “Here, have this.”

She handed you the soup, which she must’ve been making for dinner. You accepted it gratefully, the heat of the bowl against your skin helping, if only slightly. Taking a sip, you sighed and offered a smile.

“Thanks,” you said. “I’m just going to do my homework and then sleep early. Hopefully it’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

“It looks like there’s going to be a nasty storm tonight, so that could be what’s messing with you,” your mother said, confirming your earlier thoughts. “On the bright side, your father and I won’t have to water the plants.”

“That’s good,” you said as she got up, pressing a kiss to your forehead and closing your curtains so that only your dim, warm lamp lit the room.

“Text me if you want me to bring up some ibuprofen for you,” she said. “But finish that soup first. It’s not good to eat on an empty stomach.”

“I’ll keep you posted, but I think just getting to bed is going to do the most good at this point,” you said. “Thanks again, mama.”

“I miss when you used to call me that all of the time,” she said. “Now my baby’s growing up. Soon you’re going to get married and leave your father and I all alone.”

“Not for a while,” you said with a smile. She scrunched up her nose and blew you a kiss.

“I’ll leave you alone. I hope you feel better soon, honey. Try not to work too hard,,” she said, shutting the door gently, so that it did not slam.

Your homework took you a couple of hours, and it was dark by the time you finished. Only the thought of the further aggravation it would bring should you not complete it managed to push you through the maddening exercise, as your headache had not lessened any in that time. If anything, the steady process of your schoolwork only made it worse, and it was all you could do to get ready for bed before diving in between your sheets and burying your face back in your pillow, drifting off to sleep almost immediately.

You had many dreams that night, most of them unrelated, though the common thread was Karasu. He was in all of them, whether in the background or as a main focus, and indeed when you woke up gasping and in a sweat, his face was the only thing you remembered.

Based on the sun streaming through the window, you had slept for the entire night. An unfamiliar alarm was blaring from your nightstand, and you reached out to silence it before pausing.

The room you were in was not your own. It was different, the sheets a deep navy shade, the blanket a plain gray, an L-shaped desk with a PC on it in the corner. There was a shelf beside the desk, books shoved in between gold soccer trophies — soccer trophies?

“What the fuck?” you said before clapping your hands over your mouth, your jaw dropping as you scrambled out of the bed, your limbs flailing about when the drop ended up being smaller than you had anticipated. Grabbing your phone off of its charger — what the hell was with that bland case? — you raced over to the mirror propped up by the closet.

Upon seeing the reflection in it, you screamed, because for some reason, instead of your own body, it was Tabito Karasu’s staring back at you. You raised one hand and then the other, hoping and praying that it wasn’t real, that you were hallucinating or something, but the reflection followed your movements exactly. When you pinched yourself, that, too, hurt, which meant that somehow, this was happening.

If you were in Karasu’s body, then what about your own? Was he in yours, or had it just vanished or something? You turned on his phone, unlocking it using Face ID and opening the call app. You doubted he had you saved as a contact — after all, the two of you had stopped being friends long before either of you had gotten cellphones — so you went straight for typing in your number, pausing for a moment as it suggested a contact name.

Y/N <3

“What?” you said. There were so many things that needed to be unpacked there, but you decided it wasn’t even worth considering. You had more pressing issues; namely, how had this preposterous situation even developed?

Clicking on the Y/N <3 contact, you held the phone up to your ear, hoping that whoever currently had possession of you would pick up instead of ignoring the call.

“Hello? Who is this?” Hearing your own voice on the other end of a call would ordinarily have been one of the most disconcerting things to happen to you in the last twenty-four hours, but considering you were still reeling from whatever body-swapping nonsense had just transpired, it ended up being kind of underwhelming.

“Karasu?” you said. There was a pause on the other end of the line, and you prayed they would not hang up.

“Y/N?” he said after a moment.

“Yes!” you said.

“So you’re in my body? I was wondering what might’ve happened to me…” he said, trailing off thoughtfully.

“What the hell is going on? Why am I you, and why are you me?” you said. “More importantly, how do we switch back?”

“How would I know? I’m just as lost as you are. By the way, um, why don’t you have my number saved?” he said.

“That’s what you’re choosing to focus on?” you screeched. “There is a dick attached to me! I have a genuine, bona-fide dick right now, and more specifically, it’s your dick! How about we focus on that?”

“Sorry,” he said. “But also, I was trying not to think about that. This is already weird enough, why’d you have to make it worse?”

“I’m trying to impress upon you just how dire our situation is,” you said. “By the way, while we’re on the subject, don’t even think of looking down my shirt. I’ll kill you if you do.”

“I wouldn’t,” he protested.

“Uh-huh,” you said. “Whatever. What are we going to do now?”

“How did this even happen?” he said. “Maybe if we work backwards, we can figure out what we have to do to fix it. What were you up to last night?”

“I just did homework,” you said. “And then I slept. I had a really bad headache, so I didn’t do much.”

“Wait, I had one, too,” he said.

“That doesn’t really mean anything. It’s not like headaches are uncommon,” you said.

“It’s a start, okay? I’m trying here! Why can’t you be cooperative for once?” he said.

“Why can’t you be cooperative for once?” you muttered under your breath, finding that the mockingly high-pitched voice sounded much more derogatory in Karasu’s harsh tones than it ever had coming from you. “Fine. When’d your headache start?”

“While we were walking back from school,” he said. “To my house.”

“That’s about when it happened for me,” you said. “Now that you mention it, it was right after—”

“—right after we talked to that old lady,” he completed for you. “Two steps ahead of you.”

“No, you just cut me off. That doesn’t mean you were ahead of me,” you said. “It just means you’re rude.”

“Sure, sure, whatever,” he said. “Do you think this is that gift the old lady was talking about?”

“Hm,” you said. “You think she was serious about that?”

“It’s as good a guess as any. Back then, I figured she was full of bullshit, but what if she actually does have some kind of supernatural powers?” he said.

“Then this is all your fault!” you said.

“What?” he said.

“You heard me. Why’d you have to be such an asshole to her, huh? Like always. Jeez. You can’t help but be a jerk and fuck things up, can you?” you said. “Well, we’re going to be late for school if we don’t get a move on, so I guess the only option we have is getting through the day and then going to visit her after classes.”

“I don’t — do you really think so?” he said.

“Obviously? She’s the biggest suspect at the moment, but I’d really prefer if we didn’t miss school. What with board exams and all coming up…” you said.

“Never mind,” he said. “Anyways, why do you care? It’s not like you do anything but draw in class.”

“How’d you know that?” you said. “Are you some kind of stalker or something?”

“I’m not a stalker. I just…pay attention to people,” he said.

“Sure,” you said. “And you put little heart emoticons after everyone’s contact names, too. How’d you even get my number?”

“You saw that?” he said.

“How do you think I called you?” you said.

“Oh,” he said. “We were in a class group chat together in seventh grade.”

Now that he mentioned it, you did recall something along those lines, although of course, you had not saved his number in return. You hadn’t seen a need to — out of everyone in that class, you would’ve texted him for help last.

“Okay,” you said. “Bye.”

You hung up immediately, finding the entire discussion to be unproductive, and then you sighed. It seemed that, for now, you were stuck as Karasu; massaging your sore jaw, you gave up on procrastination and began to get dressed for the day.

Somehow, you were able to get through it with minimal embarrassment, and you even shaped his hair into the style he preferred, which you were particularly proud of, given how absurd it was. You could only hope he was showing your own body the same kindness you were reluctantly giving his.

“Good morning, Tabito,” his mother said absently when you strolled into the kitchen.

“Morning, Mrs. — Mom!” you said. “Mom. Good morning.”

It would be a little strange if Karasu began referring to his own mother as Mrs. Karasu. You had to keep in mind that to everyone else, you were no longer Y/N L/N, and if you didn’t want them all to treat you like you were insane, you had to play the part of Tabito Karasu in a convincing manner.

“Time for breakfast?” she said. You nodded.

“Do we have any cereal?” you said. She furrowed her brow at you.

“Cereal? You made us throw it all away because it was too sugary, remember? Your energy bars are in the pantry, though, and there’s apples in the fridge if you want,” she said.

Your eye twitched. A health freak, really? His body and soccer career were impressive, but did both really take so much maintenance that he restricted himself from even cereal?

“Thanks,” you said, rifling through the pantry, picking out a random bar and an apple to snack on as you walked to school. “See you later!”

“See you,” Mrs. Karasu said, not even looking up from the laptop she was working at. You frowned, used to your own mother, who always responded with as much energy as you gave her. Brushing it off as the relationship she and her son must’ve had, you bit into your apple and vowed not to think about it further.

The energy bar was absolutely disgusting; you weren’t sure how Karasu could stand to eat them on a daily basis. It was some German brand with an umlaut in the name, and it tasted like cardboard coated in glue. You were barely able to force it down your throat, but you knew a mere apple wouldn’t last you until lunch, so you had no other choice. Still, it put you in a foul mood and set the tone for the day, which, considering what tone had already been created by your migration into Karasu’s body, was not a good thing.

“Karasu! Hey, Karasu, wait up!” You had no idea what his name was, but as soon as you walked into the school building, a boy was shouting out after you, panting as he sprinted to catch up. From your vague knowledge, he was one of Karasu’s friends and soccer teammates, though not one he was particularly close with. “You deaf or something, man? I’ve been trying to get you to slow down for ages! What’s the rush?”

“Rush?” you said.

“Why’re you walking so fast? First period doesn’t start for another ten minutes,” he said.

“Sorry,” you said. There had been no intention behind your pace, actually. It was just that you were unused to the length of Karasu’s stride and so found yourself going along at a far greater clip than you meant to. “I didn’t realize.”

“Okay, Captain,” he said. “I get it. Some of us are just average guys, you know, so let’s keep it nice and easy, alright?”

“Yup,” you said. His friend squinted at you.

“You’re being oddly nice today,” he said. “I don’t like it one bit.”

“We’ve been speaking for all of two minutes, how can you tell that already?” you said. His friend cocked his head at you before elbowing you in the side. You blinked at him. He blinked back, and then he punched you in the arm. You barely even felt it, so you didn’t react, which only caused his friend to wail.

“See? What are you plotting? You only act this nice when you’re planning to be really mean later! What did I do to you? Is it because I went and studied with L/N’s friends? I’m sorry! Just hit me, please, and let’s get it over with!” he said.

“Why would I care if you studied with my — with L/N’s friends?” you said. “And I’m not hitting you, dude, calm down.”

“You’re always calling them mediocre,” he said. “Though I guess you call everyone mediocre, so that’s not really saying much.”

“Of course,” you said dully, unconvincingly. “Mediocre. That is what I think of them. Absolutely.”

His friend shrugged. “They’re not that bad, though, in all honesty. You shouldn’t be so hard on them just because you wish L/N was friends with you instead. She doesn’t even like you, bro. You should just give up.”

Your mind went blank at this. “I wish that who was what with who now?”

“Oh, are we back in the denial stage? My bad,” his friend said.

Karasu wanting to be friends with you? It was a laughable idea. He was the one who had left first. Your dislike was only a symptom of that, of the act which he had never explained nor apologized for, and he knew that as well as you did. He was popular, too, even more popular than you were — which was saying something — so what use would he have in befriending you? This boy was delusional. Or maybe there was another Y/N L/N at the school. You doubted it, but wasn’t it technically a possibility? At any rate, it was more plausible than Karasu harboring any kind of affection for you.

When you entered your first period classroom, you almost made the mistake of walking to your normal desk. In fact, you were about halfway there when you realized that your desk partner was giving you an odd look, her face souring with every step you took. For a moment, you considering asking her what was wrong, since the two of you usually got along well, but then you remembered — you were Karasu at the moment, and though you had never told her in your own body how much you detested him or why, she had picked up on it through the course of the semester.

Turning on your heel, you made a beeline for Karasu’s normal seat. His partner was unfamiliar to you, but you couldn’t recall Karasu ever talking much to him, so it probably didn’t matter much that you had no idea who he was.

“’Sup, Karasu,” his partner said.

“’Sup,” you said, omitting his name and hoping he didn’t find it strange. Thankfully, his partner only nodded at you before returning to his homework, which he was completing in the seconds before the bell, for some reason. You rifled through Karasu’s bag and pulled out his own paper, which was perfectly done, missing all of the adornments which often littered your assignments. You believed that this week, you had drawn a little cat playing with a ball of yarn next to your answers. You were sure it would delight your teacher immensely, at least based on her reactions to the previous doodles you had included, though you also had a sense Karasu would judge you when he saw.

The class passed by even slower than it usually did. If you started drawing to while away the time, you’d make your desk partner suspicious, so you had nothing to waste your energy with, bar watching the minute hand creeping along against the clock.

After all, Karasu was an attentive person, raising his hand in class to answer every question the teacher asked, the first to know how to solve a problem and the first to explain it upon prompting. It was another one of those things that made him so well-liked; despite his brusqueness, he really was willing to help people out if they needed it, in his own insolent way.

It was unnerving. When did you learn so much about Karasu? You thought you had been ignoring him quite successfully. You could hardly even tolerate him, so why were you so knowledgeable on the kind of person he was, his routines and friends and quirks? Was it an old habit that, even now, you could not quite put out of your mind? A remnant of that former friendship? You had not understood until you took on this new role how much of him you were still familiar with, how much of him was still the same as you had remembered.

At lunch, you headed over to the table where Karasu’s friend group was waiting, giving your own friends a mournful glance as you did so. Karasu was sitting in your normal spot, listening to your best friend as she ranted about something. There was a small frown on his — your? — face, as if she was saying something that he didn’t agree with but was too scared to speak up against.

“Bro, enough with the longing stares. This shit is embarrassing.” You were shocked out of your trance by someone socking you in the abdomen. Doubling over with a cough, you glared at Karasu’s best friend, wondering why every one of his relationships was so violent.

“What was that for?” you said, shoving your shoulder into him so that he would move over. He did so willingly, albeit not without a snicker as you set your lunch down beside him.

“Just saying,” he said. “Now that we know what your deal is, you can hardly expect us not to mention it.”

“My deal?” you said.

“Told you he’s back in the denial phase! As if we didn’t just have an hour long confessional video call last night,” Karasu’s teammate from earlier said.

“Huh?” you said. Karasu hadn’t mentioned anything about an ‘hour long confessional video call’ when you had been discussing what you had done the night before the body switch. Actually, he hadn’t mentioned anything at all. You had brought up your headache before he had gotten the chance, and then the two of you had jumped topics to the old lady, so he hadn’t needed to.

“You don’t remember?” his best friend said, clearing his throat and lowering his voice in what you were sure was meant to be an impression of Karasu’s. “I miss Y/N so much. Sooooooo much. Sosososososo much.”

He burst into laughter, high-fiving their teammate. You gave them an unimpressed look, which only made the duo laugh harder. The rest of the table seemed similarly amused, though they had the dignity to not giggle about it aloud.

“It wasn’t like that, exactly,” a different one of Karasu’s teammates said, taking pity on you. “But I definitely recall you going through a crisis about how you wished you could be friends with her again, and how you secretly miss her and whatnot.”

“You mentioned some freaky lady, too,” his best friend said. “That’s what prompted you to spill your guts to us, wasn’t it? She started going on about how she knew your past, and then L/N said she didn’t like you and didn’t want to spend even a minute more with you, which made you so depressed that you yelled at the old lady and L/N.”

“Um, I don’t think I yelled at Y/N — L/N,” you said. As far as you could recall, he hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary to you, though perhaps it was just that you were used to him being caustic and had brushed it off.

“What’s with you?” his best friend said. “Just yesterday, you were throwing a fit about how you’d never be able to fix things with her, and now you’re all nonchalant about it? You need to see a doctor.”

“Why would I even want to fix things with her?” you said. “We’ve not liked one another for a while.”

His friends all exchanged looks before his best friend, apparently the designated spokesperson, shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Are you feeling alright?” he said.

You could not answer this truthfully. Of course, you were, at the moment, feeling the furthest thing from alright, but how could you say that to them? Oh, actually, I feel shitty, mostly because I’m currently stuck in someone else’s body. Wait, did I forget to mention that? Well, surprise, I’m Y/N L/N! Not Tabito Karasu. By the way, am I supposed to aim when I take a piss, or is this like a freestyle thing? They would have you hauled off before you could say ‘creepy old bat with possible witch powers.’

“I’m fine,” you said.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Did you, uh, get into your dad’s liquor cabinet last night by any chance?”

“Not that I know of,” you said, which was as sincere as you could get. Whether Karasu was an underage drinker or not was none of your business, but for what it was worth, you didn’t think that you were hungover at the moment, so either he complied with the law and stayed sober, or he handled his alcohol better than he probably ought to at this age.

“Right, then,” he said. “Just let us know if anything changes and you need to skip practice or something.”

Practice? There was no way you could go to practice. Even if you were piloting Karasu’s well-conditioned body, you had nothing resembling his soccer know-how or field awareness. You’d fail miserably if you had to attend, and what then? He’d get kicked off of the team and be denounced as a fraud, maybe, and it’d be your fault. It was a worst-case scenario, but it was still a scenario, and one you didn’t want to consider further.

“You know, I do feel a bit queasy. Maybe you guys are right,” you said. “I think I’m off today.”

“For you to be admitting that aloud means the problem is worse than we realized,” one of his friends said.

“We’ll let the coach know you had to go home sick,” his best friend assured you. “Don’t worry about it. You haven’t missed a practice yet, so he won’t be mad.”

“That’s right! Rest up, Captain. We need you at your best for our game this weekend,” another teammate said.

They were kind of sweet when they weren’t pummeling one another, you thought. It wasn’t in the warm, affectionate, supportive way of your friends, but they showed their caring in whatever manner they could. You didn’t prefer it, but you could see how someone would.

It wouldn’t have seemed like a role reversal to anyone else, but you alone recognized it for what it was. Waiting in the spot that Karasu had been yesterday, you made designs in the dirt with the toe of your left sneaker, periodically glancing at his phone for the time.

“You waited for me!” he said.

“Ahh!” you said, jumping backwards, your back smacking against the wall. Being this close to your body, hearing your voice and knowing it wasn’t coming from you, was perturbing, and you narrowed your eyes, leaning forward and inspecting it. “Hey. Looks like you didn’t fuck things up too terribly. My hair is its original color, and I’m not breaking out anywhere, so it’s a success story in the end.”

“What about you? D’you go around doing dumb bullshit to make me seem like an awful person?” he said. Though it sounded like you, the words were so utterly Karasu that it was obvious he was the one speaking.

“Why would I do that?” you said.

“Dunno,” he said. “Apparently you hate me more than I realized.”

“And that came as a surprise?” you said.

“Kind of,” he said as you began walking towards the part of town where you had met the old lady. “I thought you were just indifferent to me. Didn’t know it was that bad.”

“Do you even know why?” you said. “Or do you just think I’m mediocre and unreasonable and annoying?”

He looked at the ground instead of at you. “Yeah, I get it.”

“You don’t,” you said. “You went and you made your new friends and that was that.”

“Wait, what?” he said in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

“What am I talking about? What are you talking about? I’m referring to why I don’t like you, of course,” you said.

“Isn’t it because I’m not good enough?” he said. Before you could stop yourself, you were scoffing at him. His shoulders slumped.

“Are you fishing for compliments? Save it, jerk. You haven’t changed a bit,” you said.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “That’s the reason, right? You’re Y/N L/N. You draw all over your homework and are still the teacher’s favorite, you’re good at school without even trying, and you only talk to people you approve of.”

“What about you?” you snapped. “You think I’m perfect? You’re the captain of your fancy-ass soccer team, everyone at school loves you, you’re smart and talented and good-looking, and you know it! You walk around like you think you’re better than everyone — like you think you’re better than me! You told your entire group how you wished you could be friends with me, right? We were friends! Until you decided that, for some reason, we couldn’t be.”

“I didn’t decide that,” he said. “You stopped talking to me.”

“What did you expect, that I’d just keep hanging around someone so horrible?” you said. “You completely ignored me once we started school. I tried to talk to you, to acknowledge you, but you just acted like you had no idea who I was. Why would I ever, ever be friends with someone like that?”

“That’s why?” he said. “You’re mad about how I acted when I was six? That’s a little immature, don’t you think? We’re obviously not in grade school anymore. I mean, it’s a little unwarranted for you to be holding a grudge for this long.”

“You were my only friend back then,” you said. “You were my only friend, and you left me alone. I don’t want anything to do with you. You were a pain as a child and you’re a pain now.”

“A pain?” he said. “You wanna talk about being a pain? You decided you didn’t like someone when you were a kid, and you’ve refused to change your mind about them in the years since. It’s not like I haven’t tried! Do you think your mother was incapable of driving over and grabbing her purse? Do you think mine suddenly forgets the route to your house every time she leaves something there? I want to see you. I make up excuses to be with you, but you’re so damn hostile that it doesn’t matter! What am I supposed to say? Hey, Y/N, I really like you. I think you’re cool. I wish that things were as effortless for me as they are for you. And that side-eye of yours? Totally appealing.”

“Because appealing to you is my life goal,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“I don’t think appealing to anyone is in your playbook,” he said. “You just do what you want, and it works out somehow.”

“As opposed to you?” you said. “Whether it’s an innate skill or an earned talent, at least I don’t have a stick up my ass about it. I would ask you if it’s uncomfortable, but considering I’m in your body right now, I can answer that it’s not, really, which is impressive, considering how big it must be. Got some preferences you want to share?”

“Seriously?” he said. “You’re pulling out that kind of joke now?”

“Just trying to method act,” you said. “Since I’m you and all. It’s your modus operandi, isn’t it? You can’t help but criticize people, even when they’ve done nothing wrong. Even when you’re the one who's done something wrong. You’d rather blame me than apologize, but despite what you say, it doesn’t matter how long ago it happened. It hurt my feelings. The fact that you don’t recognize that is all the proof I need that you’re just as self-centered now as you were back then. Forget about trying to be friends with me. You’re right: I only talk to people I approve of, and you’re not one of them. The second we’re back in our original bodies, I want you to leave me the hell alone.”

Karasu’s body’s superior athleticism allowed you to put enough distance between you two that you could clear your mind. This was the first time that either of you had had anything resembling a proper conversation since you were kids, and it had not exactly gone the way you had wanted it to.

What had you wanted? You weren’t sure. Maybe for him to apologize. Grovel and tell you that he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant any of it, that he had an explanation for why he had treated you like a stranger instead of a friend, some magical clarification that would make everything better again.

Somehow, he caught up to you. You must’ve slowed down as you were thinking, the speed of your mind and the length of your stride not quite correlating. He was huffing, though, which did bring you some measure of gratification — which vanished when you remembered that it was your body which was struggling in comparison to his and not the other way around.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Really, I am. I didn’t want to hurt you. I know that I did, but it wasn’t — it wasn’t my intention. It just happened, and then before I knew it, it was too late for me to stop things from blowing up. And once they did, I avoided the mess I had made as best as I could, because I was too afraid of facing your distaste to do anything to remediate it. I thought it would be worse if I brought it up and you still kept avoiding me than if I never made an attempt at all.”

“Why’d you even do it in the first place?” you said.

“You want an explanation?” he said. You nodded. He shrugged. “I’m sorry. There really isn’t one. Sometimes it’s just like that. I was dumb, and when the other boys in class told me it was lame to be friends with girls, I believed them. I know it’s not right, but that’s really all there was to it.”

“Oh,” you said.

“Expecting fairness from a six year old is a little much, don’t you think?” he said, not unkindly. “I should’ve apologized earlier, I would’ve, but I didn’t realize that that was the reason you spurned me at all. I thought it was because, well, I mean…you’re so you. You’re amazing, and now that I’ve lived your life, that fact is only all the more evident to me. You’re so wonderful, Y/N, and I’m just the mediocre Tabito Karasu. It was only natural that you left me behind. I’ve spent this entire time trying to become someone you’d look at again, but no matter how much effort I put forth, it was never enough. You never did.”

You both had wanted the same thing. For all those many years you had run from one another, you and he had only ever wanted to be with each other. But you had thought Karasu had abandoned you, and he had thought you were too good for him, and so you both had denied yourselves that very thing, which had always been within your grasp, if only one of you had made a genuine effort to reach out and take it.

Stopping, you turned to face him. Squeezing your eyes shut — it was a little awkward, after all, gazing into your own eyes when you were being so vulnerable — you extended your pinky finger out to him, waiting for him to interlock his with yours, like you had when you were children.

“Let’s be together again,” you said, the moment he did so. “For good this time.”

“For good,” he agreed. A cold, slimy sensation slithered down your back, and you opened your eyes with a shiver, only to find yourself looking up at Karasu’s face, his actual face, not the one he had borrowed from you. His lashes fluttered open, and when he noticed you standing in front of him, back in possession of your own body, his eyebrows drew together in confusion before his expression cleared with understanding.

Not even bothering to detangle your pinkies, he interlaced the rest of his fingers with yours. Then, for the first time in years, he gave you one of his sweet, genuine, lopsided grins.

“What the hell? I could’ve sworn this was where she was!” Karasu said, pointing at the storefront where you had encountered the old lady. Somehow, miraculously, it had vanished, replaced with a bustling restaurant that seemed to have been there forever.

“How’d they set up a new restaurant in the span of a day?” you wondered. “That wasn’t there before, I’m sure of it.”

“I was going to give that woman a piece of my mind,” he whined.

“Watch your mouth, baby crow,” you said. “Who knows? Next time you yell at her, she might turn you into one.”

“Would you kiss me and turn me back into a prince if she did?” he said, puckering his lips at you.

“Prince, my ass. You’re still on thin ice, so don’t push it,” you said.

“Alright,” he said amenably. “You know what? Maybe it’s for the best that she’s gone. I think she’s one of those people that you’re only meant to meet once in your life.”

“Very wise,” you said. “The time you spent in my body must’ve had a positive effect on your mentality.”

“Ha, ha,” he said. “Hilarious. C’mon, you have to hang out with me today. You’re the reason I’m missing practice, so entertain me.”

“I guess I don’t have that much homework to do, so I don’t mind,” you said. “Okay. Your place or mine?”

“You pick,” he said. “Though we are over halfway to my house already. And my cat does miss you. Just saying.”

“Convincing argument,” you said. “Lead the way.”

As the two of you turned in the direction of Karasu’s house, your conversation flowing as easily as if you had never not been friends in the first place, the owner of the restaurant ducked out to flip the sign from open to closed.

“Oh, are you shutting down for the day already?” a young man said, frowning at her. The old lady only smiled at him mysteriously.

“Once my work’s done, it’s done,” she said. “Why would I stay open longer than that?”

The man gave her an odd look before wandering off, perhaps aware that arguing with the eccentric old lady would be more trouble than it was worth. The old lady paid him no heed, folding up a stray menu and holding it to her heart as she watched you and Karasu disappear into the distance, chuckling self-indulgently all the while.

Welcome to Freaky Friday! Ask your server about our special — critics call it life changing!

[peachdues]

THE GREAT WAR — PART II TEASER

Giyuu’s Flashback • Secret Pregnancy AU

A/N: don’t think I’ve forgotten about these two!

Enjoy a small teaser featuring a key flashback for Giyuu from Part II of TGW. As I said in the notes for Part I, this is a non-linear story, and this flashback in particular is something referenced in Part I, while Reader is patching Giyuu’s wound up (a hint: Giyuu’s particular questioning about Reader’s choice of perfume oils).

Enjoy a little humor and a very, very flustered Water Pillar.

CW: accidental spying while Reader is bathing • Giyuu gets horny but doesn’t realize why • Giyuu is an idiot

READ PART I HERE

The shop vendor continued to gape after the woman long after she disappeared into the bustling crowd. Mildly, Giyuu noted that he’d polished the same dish two times over, unable to break free from his trance.

“Was that not the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen?”

“I did not notice.” He replied, chewing thickly on his mouthful of udon. The vendor raised a single, skeptical eyebrow at his dismissiveness but said nothing more, and for that Giyuu was grateful.

He hated small talk, especially when he was trying to enjoy his meal. If anything, it only took away from the experience, ensuring that half his food ended up everywhere — his lap, the counter — but his mouth.

Besides, the Merchant’s attempt to engage him on this particular subject was rather pointless. In truth, Giyuu never really found anyone beautiful — not really. Though, he supposed as he shoved down another mouthful of his soup, perhaps that was because he’d never truly bothered to pay attention to anyone to definitively say one way or another. Paying attention to something as trivial as one’s physical appearance meant he wasn’t focusing on that which truly mattered — like signs of demons, of things going bump in the night.

And Giyuu Tomioka did not tolerate distractions.

With a grimace, he drained the last of the broth from his bowl and tossed a handful of change on the counter for payment. He only nodded curtly at the cook in farewell before he set off, ready to do one final patrol through the forest leading to his home before he would return and await his next orders.

The sleepy forest absorbed the sound of his footsteps as Giyuu made his way through the unmarked path he’d established as the final length of his patrol through the small, mountainous region in which he was assigned. Judging by the faint chirps of the earliest birds beginning to sound from the canopy of trees above, he knew dawn was close, and thus, his vigil was coming to an end.

The night had been relatively quiet, and so Giyuu allowed his thoughts to roam to the Shrine at the other end of the forest. He wondered whether its grounds were already abuzz with trainee priestesses and groundskeepers, as they flurried around to take care of their morning duties before breakfast was served.

Truthfully, his mind was only interested in the activities of one particular trainee, but the Water Pillar had no reason to drop by the once-reverent shrine, and so, he decided to stick to his current route, and then he’d make his way back for a few hours’ rest. If anything were amiss at the shrine, one of the crows he’d stationed there would alert him.

As Giyuu began to make the loop that would lead him back to his barren estate, a shift in the wind brought a change in scent from that of the usual dirt-pine-molded earth odor he’d always associated with the woods, to something softer; sweeter.

The Water Pillar frowned as the early morning breeze wafted more of the peculiar scent towards him. The herbal-floral fragrance was out of place amidst the familiar, damp rot of the forest, and it made him uneasy. Giyuu had long since learned that things that were out place usually spelled trouble, and where there was trouble, there was usually demon activity afoot.

That was all it took for him to change his course of action. With a fluid deftness that came only from years of having to tread lightly to avoid being ripped apart, Giyuu moved through the forest towards the source of the scent, it’s pull growing thicker as he drew nearer.

A cursory glance toward the canopy of the forest above him revealed a lightening sky; the stars had long since winked out, and the Water Pillar knew that the sun was well on its way to breaking over the horizon. But until that time arrived, the threat of demon activity persisted, and this unknown scent was far too close to not investigate.

Besides, if there was a demon in this forest, that meant it could stumble upon the Shrine at any moment, and that was a risk Giyuu would not take.

He took off in a silent run, eyes peeled to track any movement in the dark, his ears pricked for the slightest signal of something misplaced — an odd crack of a branch, or the sudden silence of the rising, tittering birds.

As the trail of strange floral perfume grew stronger, so too, did the distinct aquatic scent of nearby water. His eyes narrowed; only a few feet ahead, the trees thinned into a line before giving way to a large gap.

A clearing. One that housed a sizeable waterfall, judging by the telltale sound of roaring water as it smashed into a cluster of rocks below. He eased into a stealthy prowl toward the opening, his body alert and poised to respond to any threat that awaited him beyond the darker of the forest.

But all was quiet; yet, years spent within the Corps had ingrained within him a deep mistrust of silence. And so, Giyuu lingered in the shadows of the trees surrounding the small waterfall as he watched, waiting.

The raven-haired slayer’s attention snapped to a small disturbance over by the bank of the waterfall. The sky had lightened enough that he could make out a figure, clad in white, knelt down in the shallow of the river basin.

Giyuu’s hand drifted to the hilt of his sword, but as his eyes further adjusted, he felt his mouth go dry.

Silhouetted against the faint glow emitting from the waterfall and the rapidly lightening sky, Y/N sharpened into focus as she waded deeper into the pool, a small bucket cradled in her arms.

She was not dressed in her usual, traditional Miko attire; rather, she was clad only in a thin white kimono that clung wetly to her hips as she moved towards the waterfall. She paused at the base of the gentle flow of river from the cliff above, and she pulled a small vial from her bucket that she uncorked with one hand.

The shrine maiden poured the contents of the glass over her head, the liquid too viscous to be water. Giyuu closed his eyes and sniffed the air, and he noted that the scent of herbs and flowers now hung in the air like a thick perfume.

The Water Pillar’s gaze snapped back down to the vexatious Miko just as she filled her bucket with water from the fall. With a grace that he hadn’t realized the young woman possessed, Y/N lifted the pail over her head and tipped its contents over, allowing the water to pour down her frame, drenching her.

A cleansing ritual, Giyuu realized as he watched her repeat the process once more. And a very old one at that; he wasn’t sure many shrine maidens still partook in the rite.

Though, Giyuu supposed, it would make sense that Y/N would not only know of the outdated ceremony, but that she would practice it, given that she’d been raised by a grandmother who insisted on abiding by tradition at all cost.

He hadn’t realized that the mere observation of a cleansing rite meant that its participant would look the way Y/N did, standing in the cool spring, clad in nothing but a thin white gown that the water had nearly turned transparent. The Water Pillar’s worked to swallow around the lump that had formed in his throat as Y/N’s water-soaked kimono clung to her skin, revealing the soft, rounded curve of her backside and the delicate length of her legs that Giyuu hadn’t realized she possessed under the loose layers of her shrine outfit.

Giyuu shifted his weight in the tree, inexplicably enraptured by the Miko’s morning ritual to realize he’d startled a small bird into flight.

Y/N whipped around at the disturbance and the ravenette shrank further back into the shadows, his cheeks feeling bizarrely warm at the sight of the young woman now facing his direction.

Giyuu chanced a glance back at the Miko just as the sun broke over the horizon, its pale golden light reflecting off the calm surface of the spring, casting Y/N in the hoary glow of the cascading waterfall.

She looked…like she did not belong in this world. Her hair hung around her shoulders and down to her waist, and the spray of the waterfall clung to the strands like thousands of glittering stars. Her eyes were sharp and bright as they scanned the tree line for the source, her soft, reddened lips twisted down into an uncharacteristic frown.

Giyuu kept his assessment of her form, so stripped back and vulnerable, confined strictly to her face. It was bad enough that the sight of Y/N, standing in the luminescent water, had sent his pulse skyrocketing; he did not trust what would happen if he allowed his gaze to drop lower, to where that diaphanous kimono covered her chest.

Perhaps there was a perfectly logical explanation for his strange reaction to the image of Y/N, standing in the pool, that had nothing to do with her at all. He wondered whether some of the herbs she’d used in her cleansing oil could impart a physical effect on those exposed to their concentrated fragrance; Giyuu made a mental note to find a casual way to ask her, the next time he saw her.

Y/N turned away from him once more as she began to wade back over to the bank of the spring. Now that the sun had risen, Giyuu could spy the familiar white and red cloth of her kosode and hakama pants, folded in a neat bundle atop a small boulder.

Before the sun could chase away the shadows of the forest and reveal his presence, Giyuu turned away and retreated, willing himself not to ponder on the fact that she’d changed clothes, in the middle of a dark forest, just prior to his arrival.

Though, his commitment to not thinking about how the shrine maiden may have looked as she discarded her usual attire in favor of the flimsy bathing kimono she’d been wearing meant that Giyuu’s traitorous thoughts wandered instead to the memory of her standing hip-deep in the spring. His mind struggled to categorize the mental image of her — she was the same Y/N he’d come to know, and yet, something about her was different, though he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out what it was.

The word he’d been searching for came to him not long after the sun had fully risen in the early summer sky, just as the sloped roof of his manor came into view.

Beautiful, Giyuu decided. Y/N was beautiful.

dividers from @/saradika • reblogs/comments/likes always appreciated!

[musouie]

੭ simon loves to play cat-and-mouse with the lovely little publican | suggestive language, 1.0k wc, angst if you squint, fem!reader

It’s at a dingy hole-in-the-wall pub where Simon found he spent most his time. In a dodgy part of the city, one that perpetually smelled of tobacco and car-exhaust; nestled between a boarded-up shopfront and a seedy hotel that any out-of-towner wouldn’t give a second glance.

There was no sign, no windows — just a lone, flickering porchlight glowing above a decrepit old door, looking so worn and dilapidated that it could fall off its hinges at any moment. It all seemed more like the cover to a bando than an actual pub with scarcely decent ale, but he minded that little.

It meant not too many people frequented it — that he saw the same lot everyday — faces so familiar they blurred and meshed together most nights —

— which was just the way that Simon liked it. Inconspicuous. Subdued.

No one here batted an eye at him, the boulder at the end of the bar, who nursed his drink between a huge paw and sat by his lonesome. Who would? No one here was quite the saint. Otherwise, they’d have long left, made for the hills when they heard half the conversations that went on:

Of rogue smuggling. Gun trades. Dirty deals. Attempted hits.

It was only a plus, Simon mused solemnly, eyes lidded and trained on the bird before him, that you were here. The pretty little publican, as sweet as a fig in the midst of summer, plump and dangling from the vine.

(He wanted to sink his teeth into you, peel your flesh back, savour you to your core.)

Your hands were nimble, fingers rolling around bottles and skimming against ice as you poured a golden light ale into a chipped, glass mug. A flick of your hand and a fizz bloomed atop the drink, foam ebbing at the sides, flirting with the rim before settling. A fair pour, he reckoned, no ounce wasted. It was one of your virtues, really. An eye for a measure and a patient pour.

Simon caught you in his periphery, saw your head was tilted to the side and his lips pursed. Had you said something?

He cocked his brows up at you, inquisitive, glancing away from his drink. (It was only you he’d do this for. A sacrifice of the greatest kind, he’d wager.)

“Havin’ a night?” you hummed, leaning against the counter. You were close enough that he could see down your shirt, your dainty, little breasts outlined with the help of your nude brasserie.

No, yes.

Maybe. Could you see the weariness in his eyes? The lilt of the bags underneath them? His posture was slouched, but with an undercurrent of tenseness, the type of rigidity that clung until it was instinct — ran clear down to the sinew, blood…marrow.

You were perceptive. Maybe a bit too much so.

What could you glean from him now?

He shifted in his seat, drumming his thick, misshapen knuckles against the countertop. “Wha’ would make you say tha’, dove?” Simon hummed, low and sonorous.

A pause. Fingertips danced on the glass bar top, tapping in a cadence that suggested you were deep in thought.

“You haven’t flirted with me all night.”

He smiled behind his mask, crow’s feet crinkling as his mouth twisted peculiarly, mirth so foreign his lips couldn’t even lift without a fight.

“Tha’ makes it seem like all I think about is fuckin’ you.”

He ignored how his chest thrummed, pulsated, rumbled, alive and aflame. (A rare occurrence, a rare fusion.)

“Don’t you?” You glanced over, furtive — shy almost, if it weren’t for the coy little smile across your lips. Smug, self-satisfied, beguiling, bewitching; your mouth, your mouth, your mouth.

“May be a lad, but I think ‘bout other things.”

(The odious squelch of blood. Explosions that shook his ribcage and rattled his teeth — strained his maw. Gristle and flesh and innards and brimstone, the stench of them rife when they were raw and unburnt, prodding at his feet.)

“Oh, really?” You leaned further, breasts pressed against the lip of the counter and met his hooded eyes with your sceptical ones. Curiosity danced in your irises, untamed and bursting at the seams. “Like what?”

His gaze briefly flitted down to your cleavage, the supple skin of your breasts plumped between your arms, rising and falling with the jagged rhythm of your breaths. “Brews, birds,” — this, punctuated with a shrug of his broad shoulders — “bike engines. Bein’ of good company.”

“Bloke like you? Company?”

“‘m sure there’s good blokes even in the bowels of hell,” Simon huffs, lightly chagrined.

“Yeah? Like who?”

“Napoleon,” he provided with a crude grin, amused and impious. “Lucky fuck could nab a cunt like Josephine.”

“A dead cunt’s nuthin’, yeah?” Simon snorted; it’s low and gruff, but his eyes gleamed — danced with humour and the unbridled joy of provocation, dark and bottomless, obsidian pits that pulled and pulled and pulled, further and further. “Only you would think he’s good, bein’ a military bloke like yourself.”

Simon smirked, loosened his grip about his glass. “You ask me wha’s wrong just to insult me, dove?”

“But you offer yourself up so willingly, Si.”

He tried not to dwell on how sweet his name sounded tumbling off your tongue, like honey. Sugary sweet nectar that caused a swell in his veins. “Bugger off, bird.” Simon thumbed the edge of his glass. “Shitty service and rude staff. Remind me why I keep comin’ back?”

It was the little quirk of your lips that got him every time.

“‘Cos you love the ale.”

𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐢𝐞 © 2024 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. it is prohibited to reproduce, distribute, or transmit my works in any form or by any means! ﾉ masterlist

[b0g-b0y]

Part2 requested

Simon ghost x m reader shadow company

Been sitting on this one because I didn’t like it.

As days go by and refusing to see Simon daily. It was time that Y/n could check out of the hospital but the Doctor would have preferred him to stay longer , y/n couldn’t stand the white room he couldn’t stand to hear the crows in the garden he felt as if they were laughing at his expense. He felt bitter. Y/n held his bag tightly as he walked out of the hospital. “ You shouldn’t be out yet.” A gruff voice spoke. Y/ns hand twitched. “ Out of all the people in the world I don’t want to see you the most.” Y/n spat out. “ You don’t mean that love. You said you loved me more, I know I’m in your heart still can’t push me out that fast. I know you Y/n did you forget?” Simon chuckled softly. “Piss off. Simon I don’t want to see you, you buried whatever we had that’s on you! Not me I gave you loyalty and for what, to be put down like a damn dog you didn’t want anymore you put the dog to sleep, don’t lie to me I’m just a pet you couldn’t keep. I’m not stupid Simon.” Y/n spoke.

Simon's dark brown eyes looked at the small man in front of him. Y/n was right, hell he always was. “ I can’t prove to you anything… but I’m your ride back to base.” Simon spoke. “ Absolutely not, I’ll walk!” Y/n grumbled out. This caused Simon to let out a laugh, a real laugh, something that isn’t often heard; it felt like music to Y/n's ears. “ You’re as stubborn as the day I met you mate. You're not walking 30 miles.” Simon said with warmth in his eyes. You hated how Simon was right, you couldn’t walk that. “ I’m driving.” Y/n finally spoke. “ No.” Replied Simon. “ You are the worst driver in the world Mr Reily there is no way I’m letting you drive!” Y/n argued back. “ Too bad, I got your Dr notes and I got orders to drive and Graves said not to let you drive “ Simon smirked through his mask. “ I hate you.” Y/n grumbled out.

The car ride was silent. Y/n wanted to be mad at Simon for everything he did, but every petty argument brought a little bit of warmth into his heart. It wasn’t even five minutes into the drive before Simon spoke.” You almost hit a buck once. You're supposed to hit it, not swerve out of the way.” Y/n was baffled that Simon remembered that, how did he remember something from one of their first assignments together. “ At least I know how to drive!” Y/n shot back. Simon rolled his eyes, but he knew he was getting back into Y/n's heart and the anger phase had ended. Unfortunately he was left with the sassy phase.

The car pulled into a small clearing that was almost a park. “ Why did we stop?” Y/n asked. “ Come on.” Simon spoke as he grabbed a bag. With curiosity Y/n followed. There was a large pond with ducks. Simon pulled out a loaf of bread and offered Y/n some as he started to throw small bits of bread at the birds. Y/n let out a huff Simon knew he loved animals it was his biggest weakness. They sat in silence as the birds quacked and raced to get to the bread. “ You're not a dog.” Simon spoke.” No shit.” Y/n replied. Simon let out a sigh “I meant that, you’re not a dog you’re not Graves damn dog… When Graves gave the order to hunt 141 down you let me go, you’re a good man. You should have killed me.” Simon said softly. “ I can’t kill you… I can’t hate you no matter how much I should. I hate that I love you.” Y/n spoke as he finished feeding the ducks. “ I know. And I might love you back.” Simon said as he put the now empty bag of bread in his pocket.

They were in the car again. It would be an hour drive.” I promise you won’t die alone, that’s a promise I won’t break. Let’s start over not as lovers or someone to warm a bed but like we used to be.” Simon said. “ like how I wouldn’t stop talking about every useless fact I knew and bother the hell out of until you were annoyed enough to talk back?” Y/n spoke. Simon chuckled.” No, let's go back to before we slept together. Let's start fresh we’re we would lay down and talk about things we wanted to do.” Simon said as he looked at the road.” Like when I told you I wanted to garden? You know it never grew. Was away too much to tend to it.” Y/n confessed. “ Yeah I remember you telling me how you used to garden as a young lad.” Simon spoke.

They sat in comfortable silence for the drive back and Y/n had somewhat forgiven the Brit. Y/ns e/c started to close all the bumps in the road and the long drive had eased him into a sleep. He was going home.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Trust [K. B]

Kaz Brekker x fem!reader

wc: 7.8k

summary: something goes wrong with a heist and Kaz's anger lashes out at you, only later realizing it's not for the reasons you thought.

A/N: I feel like it took me literally YEARS to write this. Someone requested the central idea but I decided to expand a bit and since in anon he mentioned that they like hurt/comfort I hope I have achieved it. I hope you like it, thanks for reading!

warnings: trauma (again)

taglist: @be-lla-vie @milkshake0 @ladespedidas

As soon as you stepped foot inside The Slat, you felt enormous relief to think that you could finally get some rest. The day before, the boss had told you that it was necessary to recover something and had drawn up a general outline of how things would be carried out, so to avoid mistakes, instead of sending just one group, the whole team would go. But at a certain point things had gone wrong and then the whole mission had gone awry. You were scared and everyone else was scared, but you knew that Kaz was probably the most upset about it. He hadn't spoken to anyone since you had to flee the mansion.

“Well, I declare that a resounding failure. Good night, my friends,” Jesper said, holding his side with a wince. Wylan was at his side to catch him in case the pain buckled his knees.

You sighed, defeated, and started walking towards the stairs to take a shower to remove all traces of dust, blood, and shame that you had impregnated on your skin, however, Kaz's cane stopped hitting you in the stomach, blocking your way and suffocating you at the same time.

"Are you crazy?" he asked, his voice raspier than usual. You asked yourself if he was referring to your plans, which he obviously couldn't know about, and why he was upset, but it didn't take anything more to get an answer, "What the fuck was that in the mansion?"

Oh, that is what he meant. 

To recap a bit, your goal that night was to recover a few bags of cash that a new gang at The Barrel had stolen but originally belonged to the Crow Club, i. e you guys. It was a payment for an exchange that Kaz had made days ago with art supplies or something, it was a business that none of you were very involved in.

The black-haired man knew the place where it was kept (he always seemed to know the whole city like the back of his hand) and so he had drawn up a pretty solid plan with which you could get away with it. Regularly his plans contemplated in the most opportune way each of your abilities: guns, stealth, the Grisha qualities, strength, chemicals, and the skills with your hands in which you surpassed the man. It was almost like something in you and your friends used to joke that your hands were a kind of magnet for everything shiny, although those same hands also worked perfectly to use a pick and give access to many places.

Things were going well that night, until you had to make a last-minute decision when you found out that an unknown person was in the place and you wanted to get them out of there so they wouldn't be in the crossfire. That was the 'certain point' I had mentioned before, where everything got screwed up. It was about a poor and defenseless servant girl who started screaming like crazy when she saw you and although you tried to calm her down that was enough to draw the attention of the guards, who came towards you to capture you. And since you were very busy struggling with two armed goons, you couldn't fulfill your part of the plan, which was to open the vault where the money that you were going to steal was. It had been a rather unfortunate chain of events.

"Kaz, you know I didn't mean to…"

"Are you deaf, then?" he interrupted you, ignoring your attempt at justification. He took a step towards you, limping a bit due to the lack of a cane, and then you could see the expression on his face.

You'd only seen Kaz this angry once and the poor man who caused it was already resting in peace, so you cringed in on yourself like a scared little bird.

"Or why didn't you do what we agreed?" you didn't know if he wanted a verbal answer, but even if he had, what could you say to that? It was more than obvious why you had done it "If there is a plan, it is because that plan must be executed as I have said, if not, then what would it be?"

"I shouldn’t…"

"No, you shouldn't," he interrupted again, speaking louder than usual to look imposing. And boy he was doing it. “That was the stupidest thing you've ever done, and all for a damn maid? What were you thinking?

"I wanted to help her"

"Oh really? And how did she thank you? Yelling at the guards to come to get you! Did you think about that before acting? Do you ever consider the consequences?” his voice didn't drop in volume, but rather rose gradually with each word that came out of his mouth.

You were in a panic, somehow strangely having the strength to meet his angry eyes, for you didn't think he would start saying such things to you in front of everyone else, who had been silent since the exchange had begun. You tried to think of anything to defend yourself, but even if you found the right argument you knew you couldn't outsource it due to nerves.

Even with your devoted silence, Kaz did not seem satisfied and he continued speaking.

“You had to follow simple orders: wait for the signal and open the vault. Everyone stayed in their positions. Was it very difficult for you to do that?”

"Kaz, I don't think…" Jesper started to say, trying to help him out of the situation, but he fell silent as he watched the black-haired boy turn his head to look at him. It was true, you guys hadn't seen Kaz in that state more than a few times and even the gunslinger, who loved you immensely, thought it wiser to keep silent if he didn't want the opponent's anger to lash out at him.

"Look at Jesper," he said close to your face. If he hadn't been so averse to touching you, you were sure he would have held your face to keep your gaze on him, because by this point your eyes were cloudy and you were trying to focus on anything other than the conversation “He's hurt. You are hurt. Imagine what would have happened if we hadn't been able to get out in time or if Inej hadn't come to your rescue, do you think those men would have tempted their hearts before killing all of us? Of course not! There's no room for charity here because until that servant was in real danger, she wasn't your problem. You behaved stupidly and those actions affected all of us” Kaz fell silent and you thought that was it. You were with your arms crossed, perhaps as an unconscious act of seeking protection, not daring to look at him.

But he took a few seconds to examine you and then said something else:

It is your fault that we are now in this state; without a single penny in our pockets.

The words your fault, and without a penny were the cause of a tug across your chest. It was useless to hold back the tears that had already treacherously begun to slide down your cheeks and that you wished you had the strength to wipe off with the sleeve of the jacket you were wearing.

In all the time you had belonged to the crows he had never spoken to you like that. There had been disagreements, of course, and he'd even called you out for neglecting some tasks he'd given you, but those kinds of hurtful words were reserved for criminals from whom he extracted information or threatened. That's why you were so upset, because Kaz was terrifying when he put his mind to it and you'd just had the misfortune to experience it firsthand.

The rest of your friends were also perplexed by what had just happened, since most of them had found your outburst in the mansion quite justifiable, since it was an innocent life that you had tried to protect, a very present code always.

The other part that had managed to break you was knowing that the man's annoyance was actually due to the money you had caused him to lose rather than the fact that you or someone else had been in danger. Or at least that was what you had understood by the final sentence.

The silence was sepulchral, no one even dared to breathe harder than usual for fear that he would take them as the next victim, and only a small sob that escaped you broke the silence. You hoped that would soften Kaz’s expression a bit, but he didn't flinch.

A part of you thought, due to shock, to apologize to him, but you weren't even able to. You just stood in the middle of that room under his questioning gaze.

When your body finally wanted to react, you walked directly to the stairs to go up to your room, without even looking back, collapsing on the floor and crying as soon as you closed the door behind you. You didn't even think about taking a shower anymore and the burning pain in your ribs, which you hadn't mentioned to anyone about, intensified. You had to cover your mouth with your hand so that the crying wouldn’t reach the floor below and you felt that everything around you was spinning.

You stayed in that position for a few minutes, which felt like hours, until someone opened the door and stuck their head inside. It was Nina, who had surely gone of her own free will but also partly at the request of others. She could hear your erratic heartbeat and your lungs struggling to hold some air, so it didn't take her more than a second to kneel next to you to wrap her arms around you and start running her hand up and down trying to comfort you. She offered to heal you and you agreed, but through it all you thought that even though the blows on your body burned like hell, what was definitely causing you the most pain was the wounds you just received to your heart.

After that night you could say that the tension in The Slat could be cut with a knife. You thought that the others were also going to blame you for the failure of the heist, with justifiable reasons, but you were pleasantly surprised to find out that this wasn’t the case, since they all told you so explicitly as soon as they had a chance. Matthias, who was most of the time the most mature among you, told you that sometimes things went wrong and that at least he was glad that you were okay; with Nina there, the physical problems could be solved and the money would be recovered somehow. But, to your surprise, it was Kaz they weren't very happy with.

You never meant to start a mutiny against the boss, God knows you didn't, but as much as you tried to change their minds, they were distant and reluctant to talk to Brekker. And Kaz, in turn, didn't exchange a single word with you.

Jesper and Nina were the ones who showed it the most, the first one kept looking down at your friend as if he could make him combust spontaneously with his eyes while the woman simply didn't say anything, as if he were invisible. The rest of the group hadn't cut off the communication suddenly, but it was evident that they weren't entirely happy with the black-haired man's behavior.

Although there were few occasions when the seven of you, or the majority, coincided in the same space, since you were always doing other things around The Barrel or the club.

You weren't the proud type, yet you refused to offer an apology for something that wasn't wrongdoing and finally stopped feeling guilty for applying this silent treatment to thinking that Kaz deserved it. Just a little. Also, if he didn't bother to talk to you, everything would be easier for you, because, although you still did some general tasks, most of the time you spent locked in your room, doing anything to entertain yourself.

If you looked at it from the outside, unaware that you guys were a bunch of criminals living in the same horrible building, that looked like a real teenage fight. But you couldn't blame yourself too much, because you were teenagers.

Sometimes, when he didn't notice, you watched him from afar. You analyzed his expression, his posture, his eyes, anything that would help you figure out if he really cared about your absence or the silence of others. You tried to believe that he was in a bad mood (more than usual) because he wanted you to not be angry anymore, but after a long time you always came to the same conclusion; he was inscrutable, shielded in that armor that you highly doubted could shatter, much less by you. Sometimes you wished you could know what Kaz was thinking so you could figure out if he had noble motives for acting the way he did or if he was just a heartless jerk. And, although your desire to read minds wasn’t fulfilled, you began to bet more on the latter the day a new job was presented. It was, now, a kind of revenge against the men of the opposing gang (who had stolen your business payment in the first place), however, when the meeting took place you noticed that he was skipping a detail. 

"And what will Y/N do?" Jesper had asked, going ahead of you, after listening carefully to the plan and realizing that you weren't contemplated anywhere. You expected Kaz to say you were going to stick with him, even if it was so he could keep an eye on you and avoid another outburst, but when he shook his head you were completely offended.

"She's not coming"

It was one thing to have received a scolding for the mistake made and quite another to be removed from the team just like that. And that Kaz had responded as if you weren't there made you feel completely humiliated and, consequently, angry.

"Great, so now it turns out that I'm grounded," you said sarcastically. It was the first time in weeks that you had spoken directly to Kaz and he just looked at you sideways for a few seconds, as if examining you, which made your blood boil even more "Are you really going to leave me out?" you continued, now with more seriousness than before. You wished he dared to face you with an answer, and you were surprised at how quickly this happened.

"It’s not personal. This time it’s better that you stay” was all the explanation he offered you. The way he said it made it clear to you that it wasn't up for discussion and you felt powerless, but before any of your friends could say anything in your defense, you decided to take it the best way.

If Kaz didn't want you around, you weren't going to make him. If you didn't receive even a measly part of the money from now on, you didn't care. If it was true that you had screwed up, you weren't sorry for anything and you weren't going to give in so easily, despite the love and respect you felt for him.

“Good luck then,” was all you said, offering the best fake smile you could have and purposely patting Kaz on the shoulder. He watched you walk away with eyes wide open in surprise, even though you didn't even notice it when you got lost in the hallway, and it was hard for him to keep his composure as he turned around again to clear up any doubts regarding how the crime would be carried out; although he tried to hide it, almost most of the group could tell.

What the hell did Kaz have against you lately? The others had made mistakes countless times and never suffered consequences as harsh as yours, because probably the hardest part had been dealing with the boss's anger and being forced to find a solution for what they had screwed up. You probably would have offered to get the money back yourself if he had let you end the problem, but you couldn't even do that because you knew it would only fan the fires of anger.

So when you left there everyone thought that things had already gone on too long and someone had to point it out to Kaz.

"Is everything clear?" he asked, looking at the crows and receiving a general nod.

We would have to wait until night to work, so once there was nothing more to say, each one dispersed in opposite directions.

“Inej,” Kaz said, not even looking back. He knew she was there, he always knew, as if there was a connection between the two of them "Everything okay?"

“Everyone is where they should be. The carriage is on its way and the streets are free”

"Good"

“But there is something else we need to talk about”

Kaz was afraid it was something to do with you, and he closed his eyes for a moment at the possibility. They were on a roof, he too close to the shore to be able to supervise that the robbery was carried out effectively, and she took a few steps until she reached his side. The two kept looking down for a few seconds, preparing internally for what was coming; talking about feelings was never one of their strengths.

"What would that be about?”

"About who" she corrected him "This discussion with Y/N has already escalated to exacerbated levels, you didn't have to forbid her to come"

"And what did you want me to do?" he muttered, more upset than he would have liked, and he had to take a deep breath before speaking again, “She's… was impulsive and… she doesn't measure the danger she's putting herself in. She is like a child, without conscience or limits”

“We all know that, but you called her stupid. That's very different."

“I don't want her to end up killing herself,” he said, and Inej caught a hint of sincere concern tinging her friend's voice. Kaz hated seeing himself like this, but there was something about her that made him trust her with that part of him. “Y/N acts with her heart, that's the problem. And I worry that she doesn't know how to control it. I don't want anyone to hurt her and she just doesn't cooperate” he sounded desperate, helpless, and then Inej realized how many things were being ignored by the team about the boss's decisions, apparently cruel, but quite considered in the background. It was like… acting badly for the right reasons. Or something like that.

“Well, if you really do this to safeguard her welfare, you should tell her. Because I don't think you're giving him the right message with your actions” Inej told him. Then she decided that she wasn't going to pry into the matter anymore from that point on, wishing that the conversation had been enough to make the black-haired man see reason.

He thought about it for a second and wished he could ask her more, but then he noticed that, as always, she had already vanished into the night.

Kaz tried very hard to focus on the robbery and stop thinking about you or what it would be wise to say to you, but he was having some trouble. In the next hour, to everyone's surprise in general, things went perfectly; there was no guard, just a driver who didn't resist, and they were coming back with some juicy loot. Almost too easy to be true.

Kaz didn't give much thought to the nature of the success they'd just had and they all just set off, their group spirits much better now that things were looking up.

It would be foolish to deny that Kaz had been thinking about how quickly you would have managed to carry out the robbery and also had missed the joking duo that you formed with Jesper, who now had barely looked at the blue-eyed man.

On the way he got a bit withdrawn and was mentally torturing himself about what was the right thing to do when he got home. After thinking it through, he concluded that he should take Inej’s advice and talk to you to fix things. Brekker wasn't used to apologizing, but at least he could explain things to you the way he had with the girl, so that you would understand better and hopefully forgive him for the idiotic behavior he had been displaying for the past few weeks. Although he was still upset, it was worth putting that aside to try.

After going to the club to save the cash they went back to The Slat and when he stood in front of your door he never thought to feel more nervous in life, while he started to ask himself if that was a good idea. Maybe he should just let time wash away your bad face and carry on as before... but he was also aware that that wouldn't happen.

He hesitated for a long time about whether to knock on your door or not, but after a few minutes he finally did and was frustrated when no one answered, despite a strip of light coming through the door grate.

"Y/N, I know you’re there" he tried, but there was no response. Kaz ran a gloved hand through his hair and exhaled in frustration. "Fine, don't talk to me if you want, but that's not going to stop me from coming to tell you what I came to say," he muttered determinedly. Even trying to communicate assertively, he couldn't help but sound rude. “I didn't mean to yell at you like that when we got back from the heist, I just didn't know what else to do. And today I asked you to stay here because it could be dangerous and I'm trying to take care of you because apparently you don't give a damn about your own life, not because I hate you or because I'm upset with you. It's just that…” he was having a hard time talking, so he had to take a deep breath to collect himself a little “I worry about you. And I want you to be okay. Safe"

Kaz was silent, waiting for you to say something, but again there was nothing. He felt so foolish and embarrassed that he even thought his eyes were going to glaze over with helplessness. He was trying his best to go there, but you didn't seem to care, and honestly, he didn't blame you.

His gaze lowered to the floor, the pressing sensation of rejection flooding his chest, and only then did he notice the glow emanating from a section of the floor. With difficulty he knelt to take the substance with his fingers and his glove was stained with a fine powder that gave off an iridescent glow, which until that moment he had not realized he was scattered over various sections of the corridor. And next to that dust, there was a bloodstain.

Kaz didn't even wait for a second to lunge at your bedroom door and yank it open, which he hadn't done before out of respect for your privacy, only to realize that everything in there was turned upside down. There were remains of a smashed nightstand, books scattered on the floor, the bed in disarray, and sporadic stains of blood that he prayed weren't yours. The window was wide open and the white curtain billowed violently in the night air.

Someone had broken into your room and it wasn't hard to put the pieces together to find out what they had broken into. Someone had kidnapped you.

His eyes traveled all over the place looking for something that would give him clues and he decided to start rummaging through the books hoping to find a note, the amount for your ransom, whatever. When he read ‘We're even, Brekker’ written on yellowed paper and signed with the seal of a snake, he felt that his balance was missing.

That's why the robbery of the carriage had been so easy, because they had wanted it that way. Their plan was always to enter The Slat. You were there, alone, and they kidnapped you because Kaz had allowed it. Because in his eagerness to protect you, he had delivered you directly to the enemy.

It was all his fault.

"Jesper!" he screamed, on first impulse. He didn't know if it was difficult for him to get up from the floor due to dizziness or because of the limp “Inej! Wylan! Whoever!" he continued, wanting to get the attention of anyone who could help him. He was in a panic and he was also furious. He would be capable of torturing the men who had kidnapped you in the most horrible ways ever seen, as soon as he found out who they were.

All the people present in the building followed the sound of the boss's wailing and when they observed the state of your room a collective sigh of surprise filled the silence.

"Where is Y/N?"

“I don't know,” Kaz hissed, sounding desperate. That didn't even matter to him anymore "They took her, they set us up"

“We have to find her,” Matthias muttered, and he wanted to hit him for saying something so obvious. But he had to calm down, for everyone's sake.

"There's blood and this in the hallway," said the black-haired man, showing everyone the dust that still glittered on his glove.

"It's a trail," Wylan exclaimed, his features lighting up like when he had an idea. He stepped forward to analyze the sample and then nodded. “I gave this to her, it's a bioluminescent powder we were experimenting with. In theory, when…" he walked around the room as if looking for something until he found a box of matches that you had lying around "it comes into contact with the fire, it emits a blue flame" he explained, going into the corridor and demonstrating the information practically.

There was hope, if they hadn't taken you too far your friends might track you down and rescue you. You had been scared enough to leave a clue because you knew they would look for you.

In that moment Kaz felt so guilty that he had ever even suggested that he doubted your abilities.

“You have to follow it. We have to find where they took her right now” he ordered and, of course, no one argued. Everyone went ahead to get the necessary things to look for you and Kaz leaned against the wall for a moment, breathing slowly in an attempt to contain one of those panic attacks he sometimes felt, not imagining that this would only be the beginning of an awful night. 

And the worst wasn’t over yet.

The crows moved faster and more efficiently than ever before, and within minutes Wylan had figured out how to follow the trail. Sometimes there were long lines through the streets that were lit with a single match, but other times they had to look for them more carefully and that consumed time that Kaz considered vital. Although he wasn't saying anything the others could tell that he was quite upset by the situation, so they did their best. Also, you were part of the group, so they too were extremely worried.

By the time they reached Fifth Harbor, Kaz was already burning all the way down his leg, but that didn't matter to him. They were all out of breath, but that didn't matter. And the trail ended right at the pier, but that didn't matter because they saw in the distance a boat with two robust men, one of them holding a lamp and the other struggling with a girl tied by her hands and legs who was screaming in despair.

It was you and you were yelling Kaz's name.

They rushed to find a boat tied to the dock big enough for the six of them and when, luckily, they found it they jumped on it. Matthias and Jesper were in charge of rowing and the movement did not go unnoticed by the men who had you captured, nor by you.

A feeling of relief swept through you as you realized that the silhouettes approaching you were your friends and you felt that all was not lost. Kaz thought that they had arrived just in time and that calmed him down for a second, but he didn't count on the fact that the man would lift you off the ground and, with a sharp gesture that surprised everyone, he would throw you straight into the sea.

Your cry was drowned out by the roar of the water and the black-haired man's breath caught, while everything around him was spinning again. Until then he realized the position he was in: in the middle of the immensity of the sea, in danger of drowning. It was then that the memories of his brother's body came back to him like needles sticking in and he felt like he might vomit.

Kaz didn't know how to swim and even if he had known how to at some point in his life it was now impossible due to his limping leg. But he wasn't going to let you die. He can’t.

In the midst of the attack, he was dimly aware of what was happening. You were now within safe distance of the other boat which allowed Inej to throw a knife at one of the men and Jesper took it upon himself to put a bullet into the other. In hindsight, Kaz would have wished they had stayed alive so he could take it upon himself to give them a slow and painful death. There was no point in letting the men who had kidnapped you die so mercifully.

The water was dark and they couldn't see anything, but still Matthias was the one who ventured below the surface to find your body, hoping that when he did it wouldn't be too late.

Nina kept her hands up to monitor the beating of both your hearts and the rest stood without saying anything, looking expectantly out at the water that rolled in small waves. Only Kaz's erratic breathing broke the silence of the environment.

A few seconds passed, and when there was no sign of him or you, concern gripped the group. Now there wasn’t only the fear that you wouldn't get out of the water, but also that Matthias wouldn't and thus lose two members of the group. Nina winced when she heard one of the heartbeats slowed down considerably, though she didn't comment on it to the others.

When he finally surfaced everyone was relieved to see that he wasn't alone, even if your body was just an unconscious bundle that he was pulling with difficulty.

They still put you in the canoe and you had your limbs tied with rope, so Inej was in charge of cutting them with a knife, while the others crowded around you to try to see how you were.

“She's not breathing,” Matthias gasped. Nina knelt to try to expel the water from your lungs, but for some reason your body was resisting. If she didn't get the water out of your lungs, the lack of oxygen would permanently affect your brain.

"This isn't working," she snorted after several hand movements.

It was only then that Kaz dared to look at you. You were pale, wet, and a trickle of blood was coming from your forehead and you had some bruises. He never thought that he would feel the same pain that he seized when he traveled to the coast with the lifeless body of his brother.

Wake up, he wanted to tell you, but his voice wouldn't come out. You have to wake up.

Nina kept trying and until he finally saw you jump up to vomit up the salt water, he too felt like he could breathe again.

When you finally finished inhaling the air around you everyone bombarded you with questions to check your well-being and you just nodded to them all, a little dazed and scared. Nina took it upon herself to help with the cut and bruises, while the men took up the oars again to reach the dock.

Kaz was the last to get off the boat and he was also the last to enter The Slat, as if he needed to check that the rest of you had done it, since he didn't want to leave anyone behind again. Never.

“Let me accompany you,” he said. It was the first thing he had said to you after the incident and you were so exhausted that you didn't offer any resistance. When you walked up the stairs and into your room, you thought Kaz would leave without another word, but instead he stood in front of the door.

You looked at him with a neutral expression, trying to understand what he was trying to do.

"You were very intelligent" he began to say "When you left the trail"

"Thank you," you said quietly. Your throat was a bit sore from the water you had swallowed.

"How it happened?" he asked. The trip had made you recover a bit and you were calmer than before, so you didn't mind telling him things.

“They were supposed to be looking for your office, but they saw my light on and thought it would be a better idea to go after the helpless damsel. They got in through the window and… voila,” you said bitterly, gesturing with one hand at the mess around you. “They held me here and tied me to a chair, but the knots were so painful I got free in a few minutes. They interrogated me to ask about things of value or obtain some information, but I didn't say anything. My fighting could irritate them, but I think I really pissed them off when I smashed a vase over the head of one and plunged a knife into the other's leg. Maybe that's why they decided to throw me into the sea”

Kaz was a bit dismayed at how calmly you said things and he wondered if you really didn't care or were just pretending. Although he wanted to say the same things to you that he had said to your empty room a few hours ago, the truth was that remembering it made him feel ashamed. It had been a sincere apology, but he didn't think he could say it twice.

"I'm sorry I put you in danger," he said, stepping forward for more privacy. He watched your reaction to what he said and what he did, hoping that if you were still upset you would show it. But the near-death experience seemed to soften both of you.

"Why apologize? you didn't send those guys. It was just some… being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It could have happened to anyone."

“I know, but maybe if I hadn't asked you to stay here, they wouldn't have hurt you” he admitted and although you wanted to recriminate him for that, you decided to remain silent, feeling curious as to how far he could go with that talk "And if you don't… if you hadn't been smart right now you wouldn't be here”

"But I am" you answered with determination "And that's what hurts me, Kaz, that you doubt me" you expressed. You weren't going to forget so easily what had made you walk away in the first place and you thought it was the right time for him to know what you thought about it “I made a mistake, it's true and I take responsibility for that. But you didn't have to treat me like this."

"I know that too," he hastened to say, "I don't doubt you, I never have."

“It is not noticeable. Today you pushed me aside and you told us that trust is always the most important thing. And although I was stupid, I consider that this behavior is not worthy of making you stop trusting me just like that. You know I didn't do it to screw you over, I just wanted to save her."

“It's not about that woman, I don't care about her. You know that I too would have prevented her from getting hurt if the situation arose."

“Then what is it about? Is it only the mistake of the century if I make it?”

“This is about you, Y/N” Kaz said, pointing at you with his open palm and starting to sound desperate “I got so mad because you were the one who ended up in the hands of the enemy. I hate that you act like that because I care about you too much to allow myself to lose you”

You didn't expect that and he didn't expect to say it either. It was even more embarrassing than what he had refused to tell you in the first place.

He said that he didn't want to lose you and you thought about the meaning of that expression: did he not want to lose what you brought to the team or did he not want to lose your person?

"These weeks I thought you only hated me because I made you lose money"

"Oh, I do hate you a little for that," he said, taking a surprise "Not for the money itself, but for what that money implied" there was no point in keeping secrets, if Kaz had already started to sink then he preferred to do it completely and with dignity “The club is going through some difficulties, Y/N. I sold those things so I could keep it going. Because while our criminal jobs give us some kruge, you know that the main source of income for that group is the Crow Club. Also…” he felt his breath shake and had to take a moment to calm down “I've been thinking about something these past few months. A long time ago you said that you had always wanted to go to university, do you remember?” he asked you and you nodded your head “Jesper had the opportunity, but he is a lost cause, because he prefers this kind of life to having an office job or a quiet home and I respect that. But not you, you ended up here because you had no other options” Kaz was silent, hoping that if you had something to say you would say it now, but then he continued, “And I thought if I gave you some money you would have that opportunity. That way I could get you away from all these Dregs and you'd live the way you wanted. That's why that robbery was important”

You were totally stunned.

You never expected Kaz to have that opinion of you or even care about you to the degree that he had just confessed to you. He had listened to you, had seen beyond the apparent happiness of living in The Barrel to find your true dreams, so forgotten within yourself that you no longer thought you could reveal them to anyone else.

You mistakenly believed that the only thing that mattered to Kaz Brekker was dying suffocated by piles of money, but you had just realized that the true engine of life of the black-haired man was the love he had for that peculiar family that you made up.

“You… you know that's not necessary, right? You don’t have to do it"

"But I wanted"

The gap was less since Kaz had walked towards you and you decided, venturing a bit, to take another step towards him.

"Why didn't you tell us that the club has financial problems?" you asked softly, because you thought there could be no other way to talk to him in a situation like this.

"Because it wasn't important"

"Yes, it is, Kaz" you walked in his direction again. At that distance, if you raised your hand a little, he could reach to take hers "That's the point, you decide to swallow all the problems without talking to anyone and then we have no idea what ails you or why this or that is so important. Jesus, if you had told me that money was so vital, I would have put my life into opening that vault as quickly as possible” it was at that moment that you really regretted what you had done and thought that, if possible, you would have returned in time to listen to him and not just your instincts.

"It does not matter anymore. I can't spend my life telling you all the bad things that happen around here."

“You should do it, Kaz. We are a group and we can't just enjoy the rewards without knowing the sacrifice, stop burdening yourself with that alone” he warned seriously “You take care of all of us, but then who takes care of you?”

His reaction was the same as you had a moment ago: stupefaction. Kaz didn't know at what point in his life he had to become that, but he thought that perhaps Jordie's death was decisive for him to have to fulfill the role of the person he had just lost. To be for others what no one had been for him, so they would not suffer what he had suffered. It was quite an altruistic act if he thought better of it.

But after so many years it was exhausting and he wished he could just fall into someone else's arms to rest, figuratively speaking. And there you were right in front of him, probably the person he loved the most, with an expression that reflected a willingness to listen to what he had to say.

So Kaz thought that, maybe for once, it was okay for him to be vulnerable.

“I had an older brother” he murmured, after a long while and you were a bit confused by the sudden change of subject, but you nodded your head so he knew you were listening “He died during the plague epidemic. And miss him so much"

You knew little, if anything, of the personal life of the man in front of you, so you didn't know how to react to the disclosure of that fact. You imagined a little Kaz, scared and sad because his brother was gone. You didn't think for a second about the horrible things he had to go through and that he, with some luck, would dare to tell you later.

But even with this paltry piece of information you couldn't help but feel enormous compassion. He was human, like everyone else, and he was afraid that death would come to take another person important to him. Now you understood better.

"What was his name?" you asked in a whisper, as gently as possible. Kaz was silent for a moment, reflecting no sentiment, then swallowed.

"Jordie"

You weren't going to ask him any more questions after that, you just looked into his eyes and you knew that this was his way of telling you that he trusted you to keep that shred of his past.

"Well, I think Jordie would be happy to know that now there are six of us who love you as he did" was what you replied. You didn't know if it was the answer he expected, but at least it was the one that had come from your heart. When he looked at you, you swore that his eyes were teary, although later you convinced yourself that it had only been an effect of the light.

"I hope we're fine now" he murmured, regaining his composure, referring to the problems that had existed between you after that discussion.

"Calm down, everything is fine. I know you can't live without me."

"Actually, I've had enough of Jesper seeing me with those murder-eyes."

"Then you noticed," you joked. You were completely exhausted and at that moment you were even more conscious, as if you were going to pass out the next second “Everything is fine” you repeated “I just hope this doesn't happen again. I… will try to be less impulsive. And you have to tell me if something's wrong and we'll figure it out, okay?"

Kaz hummed back and you put on a tight-lipped smile. Then you looked around you to analyze the chaos that had been left by the fight with those men, feeling exhausted just thinking that you would have to pick up the pieces of wood, the books, or clean the stains, and he realized what you were thinking by the look on your face.

“I'll send someone to clean all this up tomorrow, I promise. For now, you just… lie down”

"For the first time, I'm not going to argue with you," you laughed bitterly. Then a yawn invaded you and you felt your eyelids tremendously heavy, which he perceived. Kaz didn't want to leave there, even if you were on the verge of exhaustion, however, he didn't know what excuse to use to stay “Good night, Kaz. You should rest too"

"Yeah, um... I'll do it"

“Good”

There was silence for a few seconds. 

"Have you really forgiven me?" he asked, looking to make sure you weren't upset anymore. You smiled and, amid your delirium from exhaustion, you stood on your toes to kiss him on the cheek. He paled and held his breath, but you didn't notice.

“As much as you have forgiven me for screwing up the mission. Now go and sleep"

Perhaps it was the shock of receiving something like this from you that caused Kaz to practically run out of your room, without even saying goodbye, staying in the hallway for a moment to process things. The speed of the contact hadn't given him time to panic, but that didn't stop him from feeling the pumping of his heart hammering like crazy under his chest and hot cheeks under the memory of your lips on them.

When he locked himself in his room he tried to calm down, when he was taking off his clothes to put on his pajamas he tried again, washing his hands and face, going through paperwork before going to sleep, lying down on the bed, closing the eyes... but nothing worked.

And eventually he fell asleep with the ghost of your kiss haunting him through dreams.

[storiesforallfandoms]

more than a song ~ alex turner

word count: 2937

request?: yes!

“hi lovely! i wanted to request an alex turner x reader. just something based off of the song you’re so dark by arctic monkeys. he’s been friends with you for a while but a side comment from his girlfriend (something just like she doesn’t get how they’re just friends) and it’s just snaps into place. ig just him writing the song and moments of them together. maybeeeee him jacking off imagining her on all fours 👀. something like that! thank youuuuu”

description: in which he starts by writing a song about his best friend who is much different than him, and it turns into something more

pairing: alex turner x female!reader

warnings: swearing, smut (male masturbation), kind of cheating since alex is imagining the reader and not his girlfriend (who will be a made up character, not his real girlfriend louise), also the reader doesn’t really know what alex was doing so idk take that into consideration? idk these warnings are a mess now

masterlist (one, two, three)

It all started with a comment his girlfriend, Cheryl, made.

“She’s so dark. How are you two friends?”

They had just left a night out with Alex’s bandmates and his best friend, (Y/N). It was the first time the two women had met, which Alex was hoping would go well since both of them meant so much to him. They had just barley left the bar when Cheryl made the comment.

It amused him so much that he couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Why do you say that?”

Cheryl gave Alex a look. “Really?”

He stopped walking so he could turn to face her. “I’m serious. What do you mean she’s dark?”

“Alex...she talked for nearly an hour about HP Lovecraft and Edgar Allan Poe.”

Alex waited, expecting her to explain why that was a bad thing. When she didn’t, he said, “Yeah, those are her favorite authors.”

“They’re very depressing authors.”

Alex shrugged. “I’ve never read any of their stuff.”

Cheryl closed her eyes and sighed. “She’s got a very dark personality, Alex. Like murder of crows follow her around, Addams family’s long lost member dark. It’s just weird to me that you’re her friend when she’s so depressing.”

“Hey, you may think that, but she’s still my best friend. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t insult her like that.”

Cheryl crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him. “Maybe I should be questioning your friendship with her in different ways.”

It was safe to say the night did not go as planned. Alex brought Cheryl home in a tense silence. He gave her a chaste kiss on her cheek before she got out without a word, slamming her door shut behind her.

The night had definitely left a slight strain on their relationship. Cheryl had decided that she hated (Y/N) just because of this idea she had that Alex and (Y/N) had romantic feelings for one another, but Alex refused to end his friendship with her when that wasn’t true at all, and when he had known (Y/N) for so much longer than Cheryl. So, even though they decided to continue their relationship, it wasn’t exactly smooth sailing.

But Cheryl’s comment about (Y/N)’s personality stuck in Alex’s mind. He had never noticed a “darkness” to his best friend. She was just (Y/N), the person Alex had known since they were kids. But now he was thinking about the things she liked, and the way she acted and just her general personality. He found himself humming to himself around his apartment; a melody at first, but eventually lyrics started forming in his mind.

“You got your HP Lovecraft. Your Edgar Allan Poe.”

He quickly rushed to his work desk to scribble down the lyrics as they came to his head.

“You got your unkind ravens, and your murder of crows.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as he thought of Cheryl’s comment about (Y/N) being like a murder of crows. What Cheryl didn’t know was that (Y/N) had a tattoo along the backside of her left shoulder that was a flock of black birds. They weren’t distinguishable birds, but she often said it was a murder of crows since they were black birds. Cheryl would probably have lost her mind if (Y/N) was wearing anything that would’ve showed off that tattoo.

Thinking of Cheryl caused his mind to wander to the turmoil of their relationship. He looked down at the verse and chorus he had written about (Y/N) and thought about the fact that he was in the process of writing a song for his best friend when he had never had thought about writing one for Cheryl at all since they started dating. Maybe Cheryl was right to think Alex felt stronger feelings than friendship for (Y/N).

He shook his head. No, that’s not it. She’s my best friend since we were kids, and I’ve only known Cheryl for a few months. That’s all it is.

“I know you’re nothing like mine, cause she’s walking on sunshine. And your love would tear us apart.”

Alex was at his desk for nearly an hour putting the song together. He had two full verses and a rough outline for the chorus, but it still needed something more. He was toying around with more lyrics when he started writing, “You watch Italian horror and you listen to the scores. Leather-clad and spike collar, I want you down on all fours.”

“Whoa,” he muttered to himself. “Where the fuck did that come from?”

But now that he had written it, he couldn’t help but picture (Y/N) doing exactly what he had written: on his bed, down on all fours, her ass in the air.

He shook his head. “No,” he scolded himself. “No, stop. This is wrong.”

But he couldn’t stop. He closed his eyes and the image was embedded into his eyelids. He felt himself straining against his jeans as he imagined himself knelt behind her, looking down at her ass in the wear, wearing only a pair of lacy black underwear.

He groaned as he palmed himself through his jeans. The desire was far too strong to ignore. He had to take care of this, otherwise he knew he’d have a nasty ache between his legs that he would not be able to get rid of.

Just one time, he thought. Then I’ll never think of her like this again.

Alex unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them and his boxers down to his knees. His dick was hard as a rock and angry red. He hissed as the cool air touched the sensitive area. He spit on his hand and wrapped his hand around the base. His head tipped back as a moan erupted from his throat.

He closed his eyes and the image of (Y/N) appeared again. Her face buried into the pillow beneath her, moans muffled by the fabric of the pillow. Alex’s dick plunging in and out of her tight pussy, her ass bouncing every time his hips collided with it. He imagined that her moans were as pretty as her regular voice was. Picturing that pretty voice moaning his name caused his dick to twitch in his hand.

The wet sounds of his hand stroking his dick mixed with his heavy breathing and moans filled the room. His mind drifted from having her bent over in front of him to having her sat on his lap in the very chair where he was sat. He imagined (Y/N), still just in a matching lingerie set, pulling him away from his songwriting so she could climb up onto his lap and straddle him. He imagined her pulling the fabric of her panties to the side, a string of arousal connecting her needy hole and the underwear. He could almost feel the warm, wetness of her walls as she sunk herself down onto him, and her lips on his neck as she started to ride him.

“Fuck,” he grunted. “God, that feels so good.”

His desire to have her grew, even though he knew he never would. She was his best friend. There was no way she felt this way for him, too. And he definitely was not going to risk their friendship by bringing these feelings up to her. More than anything, (Y/N) was his friend and he wasn’t about to lose her all together. For now, the only way he’d have her would be in his imagination, and he was more than okay with that.

Behind his closed eyes he could see (Y/N)’s perfect tits bouncing in his face. He squeezed the base of his dick a little tighter as his jerking motions became quicker, almost more desperate. He could feel his high creeping up on him, and he was desperately trying to chase it.

In his mind, (Y/N) was leaning into his ear. In a sexy, sultry voice, he pictured her whispering, “Cum for me, Alex.”

And that was all he needed to go tumbling over the edge. He called out her name into his empty apartment as his hot cum spilled over his hand, lap, and some on his shirt. He mentally cursed to himself for not preparing more for the mess, but physically he felt incapable of fixing it. He let his head rest on the back of the chair as he breathed heavily. When he opened his eyes to finally face reality, he was looking up at the ceiling instead of at (Y/N)’s beautiful face.

There was a slight ringing in his ears as the blood flow from his brain to his dick finally went down. It was loud enough that he almost didn’t hear his phone vibrating on the desk and took him a moment to realize someone was trying to call him. He reached out with his clean hand to look at the caller ID, and his heart skipped a beat when (Y/N)’s name and face popped up on his screen.

Against his better judgement, Alex answered. “Hello?”

“Where the fuck are you?” (Y/N) asked, a joking tone in her voice. “I’ve sent you, like, five text messages.”

Alex pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the lockscreen to see that (Y/N) had in fact tried to text him.

“Hey fucker, what are you doing?”

“Hello? Alex?”

“Quick wanking off and answer me.” (That one both made him laugh and made his heart pound harder against his chest.)

“Listen, can I come over? I wanted to talk about something.”

“I really hope the reason you’re not answering is not what I think.”

“Sorry, I was - uh - I was busy writing,” he said. It wasn’t entirely a lie. “I got really into it and had my phone on silent. Didn’t even know you were texting me. What’s going on? Is everything alright?”

“Well, I’m currently parked outside your place. Can I come in to talk about it?”

He felt his blood run cold. (Y/N) was outside his place right now trying to come in to talk to him, meanwhile he was sat at his work desk with cum over himself after jerking off to the thought of her.

This truly could not be any worse.

“Yeah! Yeah, just give me a second,” he said, quickly trying to figure out a solution to this.

“Alex, I’ve known you for years, you do not have to tidy the place up for me,” (Y/N) said.

“I know, I just need to...I just have to do something before you come in. Give me a second.”

He hung up before (Y/N) could protest any further. He quickly took off his already cum-stained shirt and used it to wipe off his hand and the area around his dick. He threw the shirt with the rest of his dirty clothes, tucked himself back into his jeans, and found a new shirt to put on. Just as he was pulling the shirt over his head, the doorbell started ringing. He quickly raced to his front door and threw it open to reveal (Y/N) stood there.

“Are you done whatever you had to do?” she asked, but pushed past him before he could answer.

“Come on in, make yourself at home,” he teased as he followed her in.

“I always do,” she said with a smirk. “You’re lucky I respect your privacy enough that I didn’t just get that hidden spare key and barge in here before I called.”

Very, very lucky for that, actually.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” he asked her as they reached his living room. “Your texts sounded serious.”

(Y/N) sighed and flopped down onto his couch. Alex sat across from her, leaving a decent amount of space between them. His mind was still reeling from the mental images from earlier that he wasn’t sure if he trusted himself to be so close to (Y/N) right now.

But she seemed very troubled, which was very concerning to him. (Y/N) always talked to him when something was wrong, but very rarely did she physically come over to his place to talk about something. He knew whatever it was had to be very serious for her to show up so suddenly like this.

“I ran into Cheryl at the store just now,” she said, looking down at her lap. “And...well...I know she doesn’t like me. I’m not stupid. I know there’s a reason she doesn’t come out anymore when she knows I’m there, and our brief run ins since we first met always include a glare whenever she sees me. Don’t even try to deny it, Alex.”

He wasn’t going to, but his mouth had been open to speak. He wasn’t even sure what he would’ve said, so he closed his mouth again and allowed her to go on.

“I saw her and decided just to try and avoid her. I expected her to do the same. There was really no reason for her to approach me when it was just her, so I thought. But she came right up to me in the middle of an aisle and she...well, the best way to describe it is she went off on a tirade about not liking me and how she wishes you would just stop being friends with me, and even told me that I should be the one to end our friendship so that she didn’t have to stress about me and you anymore.”

Alex’s hands balled into fists on his lap. He couldn’t believe Cheryl would really go up to (Y/N) like that when he wasn’t around. Like (Y/N), he figured that Cheryl would’ve just walked the other way and left her alone since she disliked her so much. But to go up to his best friend in a public and to go as far as telling her to stop being friends with him for the sake of a relationship that wasn’t even a month in was further than he ever expected her to go.

“I thought you weren’t responding because she got to you first,” (Y/N) continued. “I thought she was going to come to you with some made up bullshit saying that I was the one who attacked her or something.”

“I haven’t heard from her,” Alex said. “I guess she’s waiting till whenever I see her next.”

“Listen, I’m sorry that I’m causing this strain on your relationship - ”

Alex reached out to take (Y/N)’s hand to cut her off. The contact sent a spark through him, but he tried his best to ignore it.

“You’re not the one causing any strain to my relationship. Cheryl is. She’s the one who is feeling so insecure about our relationship that she has to go as far as calling you down to the dirt while I’m not around. I’ve tried everything to assure her there’s nothing to worry about between us, but it’s not enough for her. I think...I don’t think I can continue this relationship with her. Especially not after what you told me.”

(Y/N) looked down at their joined hands. In a soft voice she said, “She’s a fucking bitch.”

Alex smiled and chuckled softly. (Y/N) did as well, and eventually, they were both laughing at her comment.

When the laughter died down silence fell over them. Neither one of them knew how to break it, but they didn’t really feel like they had to. Silence always felt comfortable between the two of them. They never felt like they had to speak if they didn’t want to. They could just sit like this for hours and it would be fine.

But their hands were still joined together. (Y/N) was tracing circles in the back of his hand with her thumb, almost absentmindedly. He liked the feeling of her hand against his. He never wanted to let go of her.

“You said you were writing when I came?” she finally asked, looking up at him. “Anything good?”

“Oh, um, I think so? I haven’t really put it together properly. It’s just a couple verses and a chorus that I have to finish.”

“Can I hear it? Or see what you have written, at least?”

His face burned at the question. He knew he was definitely blushing by the way that a confused look creeped on (Y/N)’s face. How did he show her this song, which was clearly about her and included a line about wanting to fuck her, and not absolutely ruin their friendship in this moment?

“I-I guess, if-if you wanted to,” he stuttered. “But, um...it’s...it’s a little embarrassing because...well, you were my muse for it.”

Her face seemed to brighten. “Really? You were writing about me?”

“Yeah. There’s some lyrics...well, you’d know it was about you the song is released so I guess there’s no getting around it, there’s some lyrics that are a bit...more than friendly.”

And there it was. There was no taking it back.

He watched her face, trying to gauge what her reaction to that revelation would be. She was just looking at him for a moment, as if registering his words, before a smirk crept across her face.

“Then show me,” she told him, her voice low and sultry the exact same way it had been in his imagination.

And Alex swore he had never been more excited than in that moment.

[le-monchou]

𝐒𝐞𝐚 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 || 𝐑𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐞 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐜𝐡𝐢 || 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭: 𝐁𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 (𝐆𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐧)

the dusty blond merman in your rickety old boat chuckles shrilly as you glare at him while struggling to row the damn thing, the tip of his tail occasionally dipping itself into the water to splash you. “shishishi, guess you’re all talk and no bite, huh?” he starts as you spit out the water that got into your mouth and groan. “shut up,” you responded before stopping. “this is the place you told me about. what’s going on?” 

“look below the boat,” he starts as you nod, peering over the edge to see the water turn a bright shade of blue. “it’s called the glowing gems. we eat it, once in a bit, because they’re not really meant to be eaten, but humans shouldn’t touch it.” you hum at the word of caution appreciatively, tucking your hands into the boat. “there are some kinds of peeps who eat it, some who don’t. i used to eat it when i was little and there were the hard days.” 

“can’t believe human systems of the rich trampling the poor made it all the way down there,” you chuckle sadly as you look at the blond merman from the periphery of your eye. “well,” he responds as nonchalantly as he can, “a lot of peeps said we were their descendants, of this one ancient city that collapsed or something. i dunno, though. that theory’s popular up in the capitol, where they’ve got the time and the money to invest into this nonsense.” 

“you don’t live in the capitol? then where do you live?” you asked, eyes wide. “me? i live in this cave system a bit outside. don’t tell me you’re worried for little old me,” the blond merman adds and smirks, pointy teeth glistening under the moonlight, his hair more silver than gold afloat on the boat. “you ‘ve got your own problems, don’t you?” 

“doesn’t mean i can’t feel sorry for the pain you’re going through,” you murmur as you reach out to him slowly, pausing halfway for his approval. with a flushed face and a slight harrumph, the merman lets you indulge your curiosity with his face and his hair, stroking his face gently before moving towards his hair. there’s little need for any words at this point- the merman’s trust is not easily given, you feel, and you want to receive as much of it as you can. even though you know he’ll probably never come back to the surface world. 

behind you, the skies turn a muted orange, and the first signs of life on land begin to appear, with the cawing of the crows and the sea birds, and of the weary fisherman who have to make their way to the ocean for another day’s worth of work. the merman pulls away from your touch, and for a second, you feel rejected, before closing your eyes. “we have no more time,” he murmurs, caressing your cheeks like you did before throwing his tail overboard into the water. 

“i’ll see you soon, pretty. and before you give me a name of your own, though i’d like that, to be honest- the name’s ruggie. ruggie bucchi. don’t you forget that, hmm?” kissing you on the cheek, he tips the boat just enough to fall into the water, and as the sun finally comes up, there’s no evidence of ruggie bucchi ever existing. But his hands are warm on your face, and so is the lilting kiss on your cheek.

[thebiscuiteternal]

Happy NHS thought: Imagine he rescues and adopts the chonkiest and surliest pigeon known to man and names it Da Ge. Because the “ge” in the Chinese word for pigeon is the same sound as “ge” in big brother

So it turns out most pigeon species that have appropriately-Nie coloring live too far south... but an unfamiliar pigeon where it shouldn't be would so catch his attention pretty effectively, SO.

------------

"What. Is that?" Nie Mingjue asked when he saw what his little brother was holding.

"He's a pigeon! I think."

It didn't look much like any pigeon Mingjue had ever seen. Most of it was the iridescent black-green of a crow, with a few areas that shone closer to purple and others that were entirely pitch black. There were also some patches where it was missing feathers, as if it were scarred from a fight. And finally, it was huge for a pigeon, its feathery bulk taking both hands for Nie Huaisang to hold.

The only things that looked remotely-pigeon-like about it were the shape of its beak and its blank-eyed stare as it turned its head this way and that to get a look at the room they were in.

And then it looked at him, and he felt a little chill crawl down his spine.

He'd swear that thing was glaring at him.

"Where did you find it?" he asked, pretending not to have noticed.

"On the way home from town. He must've gotten in a fight, because was sitting at the bottom of a tree because he couldn't fly, see?"

The pigeon allowed Huaisang to stretch out its left wing without so much as an attempt to bite, showing off that it had some feathers missing there, too, including a gap in the flight feathers.

"Hrr." The pigeon's attempt at cooing was just as rusty and damaged as its wing, which did absolutely nothing to make Mingjue less uneasy about it.

"What are you going to do with it?"

"Well, some of his injuries are too old for the feathers to grow back, but this I can fix," Huaisang said, pointing to the missing flight feathers. "And then he can decide where he wants to go."

Mingjue rather hoped that meant it would leave. While it seemed to have no issues being poked and prodded by his brother, he didn't like the looks it kept giving him.

"C'mon, Da-ge, let's get you something to eat and a better look at that wing," Huaisang said cheerfully as he turned to head for the aviary.

"Don't call it that," Mingjue muttered before he could catch himself.

Huaisang grinned at him over his shoulder and turned to hold up the bird. "Aw, c'mon. Doesn't he look like a Da-ge? He's got your grumpy face and everything!"

"It does not."

Huaisang laughed before turning to leave again, and he would swear the noise the pigeon made meant it was laughing at him too.

[finnedfatale]

Well, let me take it for a try. How about some fluff headcanon about favorite things to do when relaxing for Diasomnia. I really love fluff about Tsunotaro!

Giggling, rubbing my hands like a fly. Four big guys. Headcanons are my favorite tbh, I love taking characters and mishmashing what I feel is right for them.

Lilia, Sebek, Silver and Malleus.

You said you like malleus so get ready to read pookie.

Lilia's obviously is hanging upside down. You'd think he does that only to scare people, but for him it's a surprisingly comfortable position to read in. He used to practice instruments for fun but now he has most mastered, from guzheng to percussion so he doesn't find it all that relaxing anymore. He prefers to sit in a dark room, enlightened by candles as he reads something. It's usually a romance, he steers away from any books he deems as fantasy due to thinking they're boring (and already reading the better ones a long time ago). Though, one time Yuu offered him a book from their universe. Despite being a thick and complicated fantasy series, Lilia read through it in less than a day. He was fascinated by all sorts of magic described in the book, having to take everything he knew about his own universe and reconsider if all this fantasy in the book was meant to truly be like a weird alternative version of the one he is in. Yuu never saw that book again, though Yuu did get thousands of questions from Lilia about said book.

Sebek doesn't relax. You think he relaxes? WRONG!!! He's always on high alert in case his liege needs him.... Though he does admit, reading is a hobby of his which he indulges in often. It may not be very surprising but everytime there is thundering outside he relaxes like never before, he himself never is able to fully relax until he hears that distinct rumbling and a deafening crash of light. Though he only watches from inside due to most lighting being accompanied by cold rain, he prefers warm places! (Canonically he finds the school's botanical garden relaxing due to it being warm and humid!)

Silver's weird fact about himself is the fact that he keeps a collection of sword handles. He used to keep full swords (and he still has some) but his collection took up so much place that he decided to shorten them. Blades of the swords were never interesting to him anyways, it's mostly the handles that were intricately designed. To relax he often goes through his collection and polishes them until they shine so bright that it's almost like looking into a mirror. If still needing to relax and his polishing attempts didn't calm him enough, he goes outside in order to feed the birds. The Diasomnia dorm is mostly surrounded by crows which always scurry around him when they see him.

Malleus is somewhat of a yapper. He doesn't get too into talking though until he is sure he can, keeping a distance to his words before actually yapping. Though... When one of the people he trusts more comes by, he tends to talk and talk about mundane topics until the corners of his mouth hurt from speaking. Even other people in the dorm fail to get to see that side of him, it's reserved for those who he can actually open to which isn't a lot of people. When Yuu came by he opened up to them due to a few simple reasons. Tamagotchis and dedication. Other than Malleus having one, Yuu carried about three on their person. He wondered why Yuu needs so many only to find out that two were broken and serving simply as keychains, he understood it simply as attachment to an item they deeply cared for. But for Yuu it was more of a "fixing it costs more money" situation. The two didn't talk much, occasionally passing eachother in the hallways. Yuu found out through Idia's doing that the little devices were compatible despite being from different universes and if given a bigger screen the creatures could interact. Everyday that Malleus saw Yuu, he silently watched as they paced back and forth while planning things. It gotten to the point that Yuu randomly screamed out "Eureka!" and other stuff in class when they gotten a plan on what to do next. Though with the two broken devices Yuu managed to make a scuffed version of a wide tamagotchi. It was like a small connecting screen which as soon as it was placed near a tamagotchi (or a similar device) transfered it from the small screen to the bigger one. Malleus was hesitant at first, obviously scared to put his beloved object next to something that looked like a portable bomb or a Nintendo switch without a casing. But everyday he did it and the two talked while they took care of their little electronic creatures. Malleus finally felt like he could open up, everytime he talked with Yuu he could feel his heart warming up to them. Eventually he forgot about the toy for a bit, only coming to Yuu in order to talk about everything and nothing. Hobbies, food, new things he learned, things Yuu may have not known, history of twisted wonderland... He finally had a friend he could talk to :)

This was long oh my days. This ask was actually so cute so I decided to yap and yap like Malleus. I think I'm getting more comfortable about writing to you guys because my posts are only gonna get longer.

Though... i can't stop imagining what would happen if he finally found a friend in Yuu and the next day they were able to go back to their universe bro would be mentally destroyed 😭

Also this got me thinking why Silver doesn't have a last name. Like shouldn't he have one?? And why is Sebek the only guy from Diasomnia from another place?? Like said place doesnt even have a tumblr tag 🤔

I think I should go offline for today. Too much thoughts.

[hedgehog-moss]

Bird update: Unfortunately I’ve had to say goodbye to my rooster. I quite liked him but if you’ll remember, he was here on probation and after a few weeks of good behaviour he started pestering my hen a lot. She started looking a bit unhappy (huddling under the outdoor table instead of trotting about), then she stopped laying and I thought perhaps she was moulting and it could explain her moodiness and missing feathers, but the pattern of missing feathers seemed to point to the rooster as a culprit. Then he hurt her wing, allegedly (I have no proof so I’m protecting myself from a libel claim.)

On nice days Dru likes to sit and soak up the sun, stretching her wings one at a time, and on a couple of occasions I saw her stretch only her left wing, never opening her right one. I poked her wing gently and she didn’t bite my hand off which was a good sign, but then I picked her up and placed her on a chair, expecting her to jump off straight away like “I never asked you to put me here, mind your own business”—and indeed she jumped but she only flapped her left wing to slow her fall.

I called the vet to ask if it meant the other wing was broken and what I could do, and she was pretty reassuring, saying if the wing was held closed in the right position it would heal on its own—if it were dangling on the other hand I would need to find a little toddler’s t-shirt for my hen to wear, to keep her wing against her body. The vet also said what vets always say—“as long as the animal is eating normally it’s probably going to be fine!” (and that’s the case)

But I couldn’t keep the rooster any longer—even if he weren’t the one who hurt Dru (innocent until proven guilty) it wouldn’t help the healing process if he kept trying to mount her, so I put him in a box and took him back to his natal farm. They weren’t terribly happy to see him again, but well. I wanted to give him a chance but the circumstances (with only one hen) weren’t auspicious and I sort of expected this experiment to fail. Best of luck, rooster...

A couple of days after his departure, Dru lay an egg again for the first time since mid-February, so I think the message was pretty clear!

Also, that’s a tall bale of hay (from a chicken’s perspective) so I’m not sure how she managed to climb on top of it without boosting herself with her wings. Did she fake a wing injury to get the rooster ousted? Pampe would fake a wing injury without hesitation but chickens strike me as honest. I mean they're unrepentant food thieves but they’re upfront about it.

Final bird update: on Friday I managed to get a new hen! I hope having a new coopmate won’t put Dru in a bad mood again and cause another egg strike. The new hen is very young and still looks like a gangly teenager, and she seems quite vivacious and curious, here she is determinedly strolling into her new home:

One notable fact about her is that she doesn’t speak chicken. She doesn’t kot kot like an adult hen, and she doesn’t make the incoherent gurgling sound that baby hens make, either. It’s more like a dissonant quack. I’m not sure what to attribute it to—maybe she was raised near ducks and picked up a foreign language? I might have to call her Daisy if she keeps this up. I tried to record her but she’s pretty scared of me for the time being so she’s all shy and quiet when I’m nearby...

Dru isn’t amused by any of this. New hen tries to follow her and chat with her and gets snubbed a lot. Well, I did hear Dru cluck amicably the first evening when I brought the new hen in the coop, but she didn’t get an answer, there’s a real language barrier here. I hope the new hen learns French soon because right now Dru just keeps running away from her! 

Poor Dru, she lost her good friend and then had to deal with a dude who woke her up every day at dawn crowing as loudly as possible, and now a new roommate who speaks duck. It’s only been two days though; I’m sure they’ll get along eventually!

[rabbitbandit05]

for starters, I love your writing so so much! i have a bunch of request ideas but won't overwhelm you too much, but one concept I had was modern mizu x spiritual reader? if that isn't too much of a problem, like maybe the reader is into witchy stuff and believes in the universe and signs, and practices magick? like just imagine mizu walked in their apartment and there are just little altars, and the reader does little cleansing rituals, and gives mizu little 'spell jars' and is just so in tune with nature and I am wondering how you think Mizu would react? i was scrolling on tiktok and saw a video and got the idea, and if you are okay with writing that I think it'd be silly seeing how mizu thinks of it (in a positive light probably?) hcs would be preferred :)

Mizu with a Spiritual/Witch Reader

Anon- this is brilliant. I had to write this down as soon as I saw this.

I tried to incorporate as much as I could remember from when I was a practicing witch, as well as doing additional research to double check it. I just did some general things but I hope you like it!

Also again: requests are open for both headcanons and longer writing prompts. Those who have submitted- I’m working on them! 🐰🙏

Enjoy!

I don’t think Mizu 100% gets it, but understands some of it

When you two had met, and after talking for a bit, you casually mentioned how you knew you would get along with Mizu because you had done a reading (a tarot reading) that morning and were expecting new beginnings

And new beginnings she was- you two started dating after talking for a few weeks.

During the first few weeks of dating, you would gift her small candles (which you explained the colors meant different things- many of which you gifted her were blue- which apparently meant peace of mind and good fortune- both things she needed)

You would also give her gemstones- rose quartz (if you know- you know 😉), Citrine, selenite, and amethyst

and even one time a aquamarine- since you claimed it reminded you of her eyes

At first she kinda brushed off the comments and didn’t think much- she knew you had to be some sort of witch, but didn’t really mind and didn’t understand the extent of it

Until she walked into your apartment for the first time-

“You’re like a crow” Mizu would blurt out after entering your apartment and seeing the crystals, the herbs in pots that littered the window seal, the hanging tapestry’s, and that didn’t even mention the multiple windchimes that hung throughout the apartment that casted rainbows on the walls of the sun hit it just the right way

Mizu can see it already on a sunny afternoon- the windows open, light filtering in, the scent of your candles and herbs around her- it was a comfort she couldn’t quiet place

“A crow???” You look at Mizu not offended, but more confused- this snapped Mizu back to present day as she realized what she had said

“I mean- I misspoke-“ Mizu is now flustered. She didn’t mean it negatively but more like an assessment of the surroundings.

It reminded her of a birds nest with how cozy your home was, and she once heard that crows like to collect shiny things- and give it to people- much like you. The connection had just popped up into her head really.

She sees it not as just some hobby, but that it was a part of you and important to you

The occasional prayers to whoever your deity is (if you have one) has become a regular occurance for her and actually, she tries to be as respectful as she can be

Mizu joins in occasionally in whoever you are praying to- even if most of the time not knowing-

She also can’t turn to you mid session and ask who you are praying to because that might be rude to interrupt

One time, Mizu walked into your apartment (she had had a rough day), and you stopped her at the welcome mat before she could walk further into the apartment

“I sense bad energy on you…” you calmly state “stay there-“ and you ran into the kitchen and returned with an egg

“Ummm… do I need to eat this?” A giggle erupted from you

“No- you need to roll it all over you to get rid of the bad energy. If we crack it and the yolk is cloudy, it means it worked” yeah cause that made more sense than eating the egg- Mizu thought- but she still let you roll the egg all over her before cracking it open and finding the yolk cloudy as you said.

“There! See?” You showed her and she simply hummed out a thank you and kissed you on your head.

She really adored everything- from your alters to the small jars you would gift her on special occasions or just because you felt like it- she cherished each and every thing.

[solaneceae]

blind devotion

a team bolas oneshot. codebreakers-centric (philza and étoiles) (read on ao3) found family, ambiguous relationships, fluff @apthotiosis tagging u because codebreakers heehee

“They’re not crow wings,” Jaiden remarks, tracing the sharp edges of the long feathers meant to catch on updrafts. “They’re too big. And you got extra bones and joints going on.” Phil hums, a hesitant eeeeeh with a twist of his hand. “There’s some crow in there. But most of it is actually—”

“Elytra!” Baghera quacks, awe lacing her voice as she croons over the white diamonds that appear beneath the grime and dust she’s cleaning out. “You’re part Elytrian, Philza?”

“Not exactly,” he laughs, pointing at the very human features on the rest of his body. “I’m not actually a hybrid. Not like Jaiden, or even like you. Those wings were a gift.”

Étoiles perks up. “From Kristin, yes?” he nails down, perceptive as ever. The rest of the flock oooohs, a little chorus of yes, of course, makes sense. “I like your wife, Phil,” the duck smiles, brushing out a crooked feather. She remembers the Goddess’s voice, soft and warm as late spring’s sunlight, pouring out of Phil’s mouth as she borrowed his body to greet them. “She’s so nice.”

“She’s awesome,” Étoiles nods, unseeing eyes reflecting invisible stars. He cannot see anymore, he’s told them, but he still fights like he can, somehow. “I see her, sometimes, when I don’t have enough sugar and I almost die. She tells me to take better care of myself, but I’m dumb and shit so it keeps happening.”

“T’es con,” Baghera chastises him, slapping the back of his head, and Philza snorts at their antics. He’s so glad Étoiles joined them, the memory of his expectant frame almost vibrating out of itself when the old crow-not-quite-a-crow approached him at Global, just the day before. The words had barely left his mouth and the warrior had dropped to his knees before him, like a worshipper before his deity made man. I am your arm, your sword, Étoiles had said to him once, long ago. Felt like long ago. Just tell me where to hit.

A wave of fond-flock-yesyes, the Angel of Death pulls Étoiles forward to shelter him within his wings. “Aaah, Philza, Phil,” Étoiles laughs as his friend pecks at his hair, crooning incessantly. “The goat, oh, he’s moving so good! So good aim!”

“No mames.”

“No maaaaames man.”

“Shut up dude,” Phil wheezes, a huge smile on his face as he runs his talons through the frenchman’s tangled, white-faded locks. Yesyes. “I’m having a moment.”

“Oh? He has a moment, okay. I fuck myself, I don’t move, I get it.”

“Oh my god, stop.”

“I want to see you fly,” Étoiles says, quieter. Almost a whisper, that has everyone tilt their head in focus. “I didn’t see you fly, that’s bullshit. It must be beautiful, to see.”

Phil flashes him a wry grin. “Maybe. They’re pretty fragile, still. I don’t want to fuck them up all over again. Pretty sure the Feds will just clip them once we get back anyway, so.”

“Fuck them!” Baghera screeches indignantly. “Not letting that happen. I kill them first.”

“It’s fine. Just gotta enjoy ‘em while I got ‘em.”

Étoiles pouts at that, mumbles something in rapid-fire French that sounds rude. Phil hums and cups his face with a low trill, talons rapping on the space between his skull and neck, feather-soft. His friend blinks, cloudy silver. “What do I look like to you?” Phil asks, feathers ruffling as he spreads his wings wide, his fellow avians shifting to avoid being smacked by them.

Étoiles smiles, all teeth and greenish gums. “Like home,” he says, and it’s such a silly yet earnest answer that Phil could kiss him into silence. Mine, his hindbrain thrums, fierce possessiveness curling around his heart, and Étoiles laughs, that airy, high-pitched wheeze of his, because he’s making bird noises again. “And he says, he says he’s no hybrid, this man?” he mocks, tackling Philza to the cold floor of their cave to wrestle him into submission. “He’s a liar! Lies! You know who you are, Felipe Minecraft! Embrace it!”

“I am- fuck, get off,” Philza growls, play? play? Swoops Étoiles’ legs from under him to pin him down and they’re both laughing, batting at each other’s faces, talons carefully curled inward to not slice at dark green skin. Baghera and Jaiden cheer them on from the sidelines, loose feathers flying here and there, a viney tail wrapping itself around his leg as they roll and swipe and snap their teeth at each other’s necks, play, play! 

Étoiles loses at some point, freezes when sharp claws brush against his jugular. “Oh, he’s too good,” he smiles, tired and fond. “He’s good, and I’m shit. GGs.”

“Don’t say that,” Phil rolls his eyes, but doesn’t draw away. Étoiles’ eyes are squinted in twin crescent moons, and he doesn’t know if he wants to pluck them out to wear like jewellery or forget himself in them. “You. Are the best,” he chirps, pressing his forehead against the other man’s, flock, mine. hello. “I chose you. And I only choose the best for my family.”

“That’s us,” Baghera gasps — she and Jaiden have taken to preening each other instead, her bill ruffling through dark blue and green to dislodge specks of dried blood and sand out of her flockmate’s wings. “Bolas family, yes!”

“You picked Roier first,” the warrior whines, hands pawing at Phil’s chest, not quite pushing him away. “You like him better, no? He’s better, stronger. I don’t blame you.”

“Cellbit wanted him. I wanted to make him happy.”

“Oh, he is,” Jaiden huffs. “They’ve been snogging in the nest all evening. It’s cute and all, but I can only take so much kissing noises until I gotta vomit.”

“Hater!” her sister teases, bonking her bill against her cheek. “You’re just a little hater, let them be gay and happy.”

“They can be gay and happy and not slobber over each other.”

“I kinda like it,” Slime pipes up from his hole in the ground. Jaiden quirks an eyebrow at him. “...You need to get over Cellbit, dude.”

“Whaaaaat? You’re talkin’ nonsense. Put your mask back on, the fumes got to you.”

“Don’t you have Mariana anyway?”

“I don’t see your point.”

“Roier is Roier,” Phil cuts them off, catching Étoiles’ wrists to push them down against the stone. Mine. “You’re you. Cellbit wanted him, I wanted you. Simple.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” A croon, their noses brush together. Jaiden makes a gagging sound, which makes Baghera cackle. What am I doing? “Phil?” He blinks. His friend is looking up at him, eyes crinkled up in amusement, fang poking out from beneath his upper lip. “I’m already yours. You don’t need to go all birdbrain on me.”

“Sorry.”

“Nah. Don’t be sorry, be the GOAT that you are.” Étoiles pushes himself up, and Philza lets him. He tilts his head to the side, like he always does whenever he’s mapping out his surroundings. “Phil, Phil,” he nudges at the crow’s shoulder, vine-tail thumping against the ground in renewed vigot. “PvP check, yes? Sticks?”

“Bruh.”

“Come oooon.”

“We’re actually ahead today, let’s not die and mess it up.”

“Rhoooooo…”