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[yogirl-willow]

The Crimson Pact | Part 2

Characterizations | Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

SoulBond!AU

Pairings: Yandere!Saja Boys x F!Reader

Synopsis: You were never supposed to remember them.

Four hundred years ago, a pact was made—a blood-soaked bond tying five demons to one human soul: yours.

They’ve waited lifetimes for your reincarnation, cursed with obsession, tethered by fate.

And now that you’ve returned?

They’ll burn the world before they let you go again.

Warnings: Soul bond with the Saja Boys, Yandere themes!, obsessive behavior / possessiveness, mild stalking, romantic psychological tension, mentions of implied past death / reincarnation, intense emotional fixation, yearning, a little dirty talk (if you squint), dark romance, sick!reader, mild supernatural body horror (bond sickness), demons, comfort and control.

Author's notes: Thank you guys so much for all your comments, reposts, and likes! I'm definitely motivated to continue this story and have some plans in mind for the future chapters. 🥰

───────── ༺🜃༻ ─────────

The Saja boys are all demons.

They are wrath and ruin. Jealousy and death.

And yet, before her, they kneel.

Because she is the Heart. Because her soul is what keeps them from unraveling into true monsters. Because they were bound by her love and her curse.

They don’t just crave her—they depend on her. Without her presence, their minds deteriorate. Their bodies decay. Their hunger becomes unbearable.

Only Y/N’s touch tames the demon inside.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Part 2:

Tethered in Silence

You wake up every morning feeling… better. But it doesn’t make sense. Because during the day, you feel sick. Nauseous. Lightheaded.

Your skin prickles like you’re wearing clothes that don’t belong to you. Sometimes you forget where you are mid-thought. Your body feels too heavy for this life.

But at night?

You sleep deeply. Without nightmares. Without fear.

It started the day you ran from them.

And you don’t understand it. You’ve done nothing different. No medicine works during the day. But when the sun sets… Your body calms. Your breathing evens out. You feel—safe.

You tell yourself it’s just exhaustion. You don’t know that each night, one of them watches over you.

Sometimes it’s Mystery, curled up outside your window, nose pressed to the glass like a loyal animal waiting to be let inside. He never scratches. Just listens for your breathing to steady—then smiles softly in the dark.

Sometimes it’s Romance, leaving rose petals beneath your balcony, humming one of the songs he swore he wrote just for you. The same one you’ve caught yourself humming without realizing.

Sometimes it’s Jinu—who, when your fever spikes, slips silently into your room just to stand near you until the bond calms. He never moves. Never speaks. Just watches you with reverence and restraint, fists clenched tight to keep himself from reaching for you.

And sometimes—only sometimes—it’s Baby. Not close. Just nearby. Leaning against the wall across the street. Eyes glowing faintly under his hood. Unmoving.

Watching.

They never touch you. Only witness. Only ache.

Your light. Their everything.

They hate to feel your suffering during the day—a consequence of the bond forming without proximity. But they hope that this pain you carry is what drives you toward them.

Because every night, you sleep because they’re there. And you don’t even know it.

You wake up on a Wednesday, feeling well rested—though you know that won’t last long. It never does. You sit on your counter, chewing breakfast slowly, staring off at nothing. Your eyes drift to the shelf.

Romance’s book.

It’s been sitting there for days. Untouched. Daring.

You don’t want to admit you’re curious. But your hand moves anyway. “How did he even know I wanted to read this?” You mutter around a mouthful of bread.

You waddle to the couch and crack it open. Your heart’s not ready, but you flip through the pages. And then—

You freeze.

A passage, underlined in neat black ink:

“Love that spans lifetimes is never gentle. It devours slowly.”

Your breath catches.

The creeping feeling in your chest tightens. Longing. Yearning. You don’t even know for what.

Nope.

You slam the book shut.

Not today.

You work overtime at the café the next few days, thinking you’ll outrun whatever this is. But the nights remain the same. Each one of them leaves something. A new sketchbook on your doorstep, the paper thick and expensive, with a note from Mystery:

“For when you draw us again.”

You haven’t seen him. But your heart races every time you hear footsteps outside. You swear you hear purring through the window once, but shake it off.

The day after, you come home late, too tired to even stand. You drop your bag. Your stomach growls. But your apartment smells like miso and spice. Your favorite ramen sits warm on the stove. No signs of forced entry. No windows broken. Your locks were fine. You tell yourself you must’ve made it before and forgot. You try not to look at the empty bowl already set out for you.

After that, it becomes a pattern.

Groceries show up on your doorstep. Snacks you forgot you liked. Drinks you told no one about. Sometimes a sticky note:

“Don’t skip meals, brat.” (You know it’s from Abby. You roll your eyes… and smile.)

They don’t push. But they never leave.

Letters. Tickets. Handwritten invitations. Concerts. Fanmeets. Award shows. You never go. But you read them all.

The private session ticket with your name in looping calligraphy stays on your desk. You’ve moved it twelve times. You’ve never thrown it away.

Then, on Friday of the next week, comes a final envelope.

No ticket.

No flower.

Just a single sheet of paper, torn at the edges. The ink slightly smudged like someone had been holding it for too long before sealing it. You unfold it slowly.

‘You don’t have to believe us.Just let us prove it.’—J

You sit back on your couch. Everything aches. You’re tired. Dizzy. Burning with fever in the afternoon, freezing by night. It’s getting harder to deny what’s happening. You keep telling yourself it’s a prank. A stunt. A delusion.

They’re famous. Rich. Beautiful. They have no reason to want you.

You met them once.

But the bond doesn’t care about logic. The bond wants what it wants. And as you stare at that letter in your trembling hands… You start to wonder if maybe—just maybe— you want them too.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

By Sunday, you’re fed up from feeling so sick and decide to go and buy new medicines. You’re pale. Shivering. Oblivious to the way demons on the street stop in their tracks when they see you.

One begins to follow you.

From the shadows, Rumi, Zoey, and Mira spot it.

“Target marked,” Zoey whispers.

“No incident,” Rumi replies. “Quiet takedown.”

They move in—silent, lethal. Weapons at the ready.

But then the demon sees your face.

It freezes.

Eyes wide. It backs away, trembling, then flees like it’s seen a god. You never notice. You’re inside buying Tylenol.

The girls stare after you.

“What the hell?” Rumi questions, watching as the other demons in the area back off and run somewhere else.

“That’s… not normal,” Mira mutters.

“Is it her?” Zoey questions, watching your sick form drop a vitamin jelly and curse pathetically. Pity erupts in her chest. “She seems pretty normal to me…”

“Something’s off.” Rumi states, analyzing you. You seemed like a very normal person. No markings whatsoever. Why did they flee? “Maybe we should look into it a bit more..?”

“We can run a background check.” Mira suggests. “Though it’ll just be for precaution. We shouldn’t- ZOEY?”

The rapper of the group was slowly walking towards you with the intent of engaging in conversation. 

The fluorescent lights above hum louder than usual.

Your head is pounding. Your limbs feel like lead. Every movement takes just a little more effort than it should.

You shuffle toward the over-the-counter shelf, fingers grazing through boxes of headache meds and nausea tablets. You’ve been here too many times this week.

“You okay? You look like the flu’s winning.”

The voice is light, teasing, warm.

You glance sideways and nearly drop your medicines again. Cool. Effortlessly pretty. The kind of girl who belongs on your feed—not in front of you, talking like you’re friends.

You know her face. You’ve seen her before. Not in person. But in clips. In edits. She’s Zoey—one of the girls from Huntrix.

“Sorry,” she says, flashing an easy grin. “Didn’t mean to startle you. You looked like I did last week when I thought I had the plague but it was just anxiety and kombucha withdrawals.”

You nod stiffly. Your throat is dry. “Yeah. I’ve just… been off…sorry, you’re Zoey, right? As in from Huntrix?”

She giggles nervously. “Yeah, I just need to grab a few things too.” She steps closer to the shelves. Casually, like she’s just browsing. “Cold stuff’s over there, but if it’s more like… migraines or vertigo? These work way faster.” She taps a pack of fast-acting tablets and hands them to you.

You take them without thinking, a little starstruck. “Thanks.”

She studies you—not overtly. But it’s there. Her eyes linger too long on your face. “No problem! I hope you feel better! Uh... I, sorry I didn’t get your name-”

“Y/N” you nodded with a nervous smile. 

“Great to meet you, Y/N! Maybe when you feel better we could hang out sometime. Get your instagram?”

You stammered, mouth gaping then closing. What was with all these pop stars approaching you as of late? “Uh, yeah, sure…” You said blinking. You were too sick for this. Why did you have to meet one of the most famous people in the country now when you looked this shitty? And she wanted your instagram? Is this real life?

You told her your instagram handle and she smiled. “Awesome! Well, I hope you feel better.” she started to walk away and you raised an eyebrow. “Uh… weren’t you supposed to get something?” 

Zoey turned red and laughed nervously. “Oh- right! Silly me. My memory is so bad. Thanks for reminding me!” 

You nodded, still a bit shocked at this whole encounter and went to pay for your medicine. 

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The next day, You see a clip on TikTok. It was the Saja Boys at a fanmeet. Laughing with the Huntrix girls, though the girls seemed less enthusiastic. You scroll through more of your feed and stop when you see an image.

It was Jinu and Rumi playing footsies.

You feel a pang in your heart and scroll on.

Zoey playfully hitting Mystery and his little pout after that.

Romance and Abby fanart with Mira.

"Miromabby is real!"

"Zoestery supremacy."

"Rujinu playing footsies? They’re the cutest!"

Your stomach drops.

You turn your phone off. Then on. Then off again.

“They’re not mine,” you whisper to convince yourself. “They were never mine.” You feel yourself getting weaker. A sinking feeling in your gut. It’s unexplainable. You were the one avoiding all of the boys and their madness. Why would something like this upset you? You were the one rejecting their invites.

And then something just breaks.

The next weekend, your coworkers drag you out. They mean well. You look like you haven’t slept in days, and so when one of the girls invited you to come out with them after work on a Saturday, you accept. 

They take you to a club. Loud music. Glittering lights. Free drinks. You tell yourself you deserve it.

But deep down, you feel wrong. Like you’re doing something unforgivable.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The boys are in their studio, practicing choreo for an upcoming show when Mystery jolts upright mid-step. His head whips toward the door. His pupils dilate. And then—

He growls. Low. Deep. Animal.

They freeze.

Romance is the first to stop moving, lips parting as he slowly lowers his mic. Abby drops into a ready stance like he’s about to charge into something. “What? What is it? What is she feeling now?”

He’s been on edge for days. Every time Mystery whimpers about your nausea or fever, he paces like a caged beast. Every time your scent spikes with sadness, he throws something across the room. It’s taken both Jinu and Baby to restrain him—twice this week alone. Once when Mystery said you slipped in the shower. Another when your heart rate flatlined in fear while walking home alone. He hasn’t stopped shaking since.

“Tell me,” Abby grits. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Mystery’s hands twitch. “She’s not alone.”

Romance is already unlocking his phone, screen flipping up to your page—he checks it a hundred times a day. Sometimes a thousand. He breathes in sharply.

“She posted. Or—no, someone tagged her.”

A nightclub. Low lighting. Your smile—nervous. Shy. And then—other men.

Hands brushing your waist. A stranger whispering in your ear. Your head tilting back in a laugh that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

The phone screen burns in Romance’s hand. His smirk dies. “Is that her?” he asks. But he already knows the answer.

Abby doesn’t bother replying. He rips the phone from Romance’s grip and snarls, muscles tensing beneath his shirt as he glares at the video. “Who the fuck are those guys?” he growls, loud enough to shake the chandelier above. “Why is he touching her? Why is she letting—”

A teacup shatters.

Baby hadn’t moved. But his hand had clenched just enough to crush the porcelain in his grip. He stands at the edge of the room, statue-still. His pupils blown wide, pitch black. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch. His breathing is slow—too slow—as he watches the clip loop.

He’s memorizing the men’s faces. So he knows who to kill first.

Mystery lets out a sound—not human. It rips from his throat like a guttural whine and a growl, high-pitched and wet. His claws are out, twitching. 

“She’s letting strangers touch her,” Baby says softly. But it’s not soft. It’s dangerous.

Romance’s voice is velvet-wrapped venom. He’s smiling again, but the smile is hollow—like a cracked mask. “She’s trying to forget us,” he murmurs. “Trying to pretend she doesn’t belong to us.” His voice dips. “It won’t work.”

There’s a snap. A shift. Something ancient uncoils in the room. The temperature drops. Power hums in the air like static before a storm.

And then—they move. No plan. No hesitation. No words. Just instinct. Baby’s already calling Jinu. The leader’s in a meeting—still gathering intelligence on Rumi, on the Hunters, on the fragile balance between war and reunion.

The phone rings once. “Yes?” Jinu’s voice is curt, sharp with authority.

“She’s at the club,” Baby says calmly.

Jinu doesn’t respond at first. There’s the sound of footsteps. A tiger’s whine. Then Baby adds, like a bullet to the heart:

“Men are touching her.”

The phone crackles. Not with sound, but with energy. Dark, feral, electric. Baby can feel the shift through the line. Something old stirs. Something broken. Then—

Jinu’s voice returns. But it’s not Jinu.

It’s the voice of the thing that crawled to Gwi Ma 400 years ago, begging to bring you back. It’s older. Colder. Hungrier.

“Where is she?”

────────── ⚘ ──────────

You're tipsy. Laughing. Warm. The club pulses like a heartbeat beneath your skin—bass thudding through your ribs, lights smearing color over your vision. You haven’t felt this loose in ages. Not since university. Not since before the dreams started. Before the headaches. Before the boys.

Your coworkers sway around you, drunk and shouting. One of them pours you another shot. You take it. You let it burn. It’s easier to blame the sick feeling in your chest on the alcohol now. Easier than admitting that you’ve been haunted.

You don’t notice the guy your friends brought getting too close. Not at first. He presses against your back under the excuse of helping you keep balance. His hand slides to your waist. You laugh it off. You don’t want to make a scene.

Another drink. Another dizzy smile. Another moment where you forget who you are. “Come on,” he says, too close to your ear. “Let me walk you home.”

You nod. You shouldn’t have.

He throws his jacket over your shoulders like it’s a favor. Wraps an arm around you. Guides you through the club’s glowing mouth into the alley beside it.

The world tilts sideways. Your pulse buzzes against your skull. And then—you round the corner.

And they're there.

Five shadows cut from the dark like carved obsidian. They don’t speak. They don’t have to. Your breath hitches in your throat. The bond snaps into place like a noose and for the first time all night—you can breathe. The ache behind your eyes disappears. Your limbs go steady. Your nausea evaporates. And even in your drunken haze, you know it’s because of them.

The boys who haunt your dreams. The demons who ruin your peace. The monsters who feel like home.

Abby moves first. He doesn’t speak to you. His full, furious attention is on the man still touching you. “Touch her again,” Abby growls, voice low and venomous, “and I’ll shatter every bone in your body.”

Romance steps into view, golden eyes gleaming like firelight. He tsks, slow and mocking. “Naughty girl,” he murmurs, eyes trailing down your body like he’s savoring the view of you in your dress. “Out here, letting strangers paw at what isn’t theirs.”

His gaze lingers on your thighs. The hem of your dress. Your dazed expression. You see the muscle in his jaw twitch. “She forgot us,” he says with a small, cruel smile. “So she let herself be touched.”

Romance leans in with a sickly sweet smile aimed at the guy by your side. “She’s not yours to protect,” he whispers. “So if you would so kindly… fuck off.”

The guy squares his shoulders. “Who the hell do you think—” His voice dies the moment his eyes land on the figure behind them all.

Baby.

Still. Silent. Watching. His pupils are blown wide, pitch black. Shadows crawl up his arms like smoke.

The guy’s bravado crumples. “Hey, hey—I didn’t know she was spoken for…” He stumbles back. Your balance wavers. 

Mystery darts forward, catching you in his arms like you were made to fit there. He buries his nose in your neck with a shaky inhale. Like it's the only thing in the entire world that could calm him down. You don’t push him away.

“Y/N? You know these guys?” your friend calls weakly.

“Uh huh,” you mumble. Your voice is slurred, but you don’t miss how Romance is staring—burning holes through your clothes. Your spine prickles. He rakes his eyes over you slowly, like memorizing every inch. You remember the way he said you belonged to him. And for a second, you want to.

Abby moves closer again, jaw tense. His eyes flick from your dazed expression to the guy who dared to touch you earlier. He sees red.

“Take care of him,” Baby says, the words barely audible—but they’re a death sentence. Abby cracks his knuckles.

“With pleasure.”

“Don’t look, baby,” Mystery whispers into your ear. You shiver. His voice is soft, but it carries heat. Danger. Something low coils in your stomach, and lower still. His hands tighten around your waist and you melt. You don’t even notice the scream behind you.

“You came,” you slur, eyes glossy. “I… feel better now…”

“Is that so, princess?” Romance frowns, stepping closer. He tilts your chin with two fingers. The bond flares. A moan slips from his throat before he can stop it. His eyes fall lower—to the swell of your chest in that too-short dress.

“Did you wear this for them?” He asks through gritted teeth. “For all those men to see you like this?”

His jaw tenses. His hands twitch. Mystery’s fingers dig into your hips and you gasp. It’s too much. You whimper. And it breaks something in all of them.

Romance yanks his hand back like he’s been burned, turning away with a curse. Marks rise on his skin, glowing faintly. You don’t even notice.

But then—

Jinu steps from the shadows. His gaze is ice. Piercing. Regal. He spares no glance for the man Abby dragged away. Only you.

“You’re drunk,” he says flatly.

You flinch.

“You’re reckless.”

Tears prick at your eyes. You know you shouldn’t have gone out. You know you shouldn’t feel better just because they’re here. But you do. Jinu’s hand reaches for your jaw, and you go still. The moment his fingers graze your skin, the bond explodes between you. You can’t breathe.

He leans down until your noses almost touch.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So reckless. So breakable.”

Jinu trails his nose on the side of your neck causing a shiver to erupt down your spine.

“If you’d stopped pretending this wasn’t real, you’d be spread across my lap, begging us to forgive you.”

You suck in a breath. Every nerve in your body screams. You squeeze your thighs together. This is wrong. This is insane. You should be running.

But you’re not.

You’re melting.

He lets go. You nearly fall forward—but he catches you. Of course he does.

They don’t ask.

They don’t wait.

They take you home.

Theirs.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

From the rooftop nearby, Mira watches the scene unfold.

The way the boys surround you.

The way you lean into them like they’re the only thing keeping you alive.

And then—

They vanish in smoke. With you.

She presses a finger to her earpiece. “She’s not normal,” she whispers. “And she’s gone with them.”

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The sheets are silk under your touch. A splitting headache forms and you groan, last night’s party flooding back like a cruel wave. You decide you’re never drinking again.

Your eyes open—and your stomach twists. The ceiling isn’t yours. You bolt upright, heart pounding. And they’re there.

All five of them. Beautiful. Dangerous. Familiar in a way that makes your soul ache. They’re watching you. Some with concern. Some with reverence. Some like they want to devour you.

“Where am I?” you breathe. Your voice shakes. “Why am I here?”

You look around wildly, mind racing. You remember the latter events of the night. Romance’s gaze. Mystery’s breath on your ear. Abby’s voice like thunder. Baby’s black eyes. Jinu’s warning...

“You took me,” you gasp. “You took me.”

Abby steps forward first—hands raised like you’re a spooked animal. “You were in danger.”

“I was out with my friends,” you argue.

Mystery whispers from where he kneels near the door. “You’re always in danger when you’re not with us.” His voice is soft, but it cuts like glass.

Romance kneels beside the bed next. Too graceful. Too close. “Let us explain.”

You scramble back, trembling. “No. No more dreams. No more tricks.” Your hands press to your temples. “I’m not yours.”

You say it like you need to believe it. Like it’s the only thing keeping you sane.

Baby finally speaks from the shadows. “Then why do you feel safer here than you’ve felt in your entire life?”

His voice is emotionless. Clinical. But something about it makes your skin erupt in chills. You freeze. Because he’s right. And that terrifies you.

Abby sits at the edge of the bed, watching you like a kicked dog. “You must be tired. How about a bath first, hmm?” His voice is too gentle for someone so strong.

You flinch. He notices.  And it kills him.

“I should go home—”

“Please, stay,” Mystery pleads. His voice is almost a whimper. You look at him and feel your heartbeat falter. Then Jinu approaches. Deliberate. Measured. The pull in your chest pulses harder.

“We would never hurt you,” he says, voice steady. “Please allow us to explain.”

You glance around. Five sets of eyes. Each one begging for the same thing. Not obedience. Not fear. A chance.

You sigh. “Fine. But I need a bath first.”

They release a breath like they’d been underwater for hours. Romance smiles. “Thank you, baby.”

So there you were, sitting on the edge of a couch that costs more than your rent. Hair damp and in clothes way too big for you. Based on the scent, you hate how you could tell they were Jinu’s. Unbeknown to you, the guys had drawn sticks to decide who’s clothes you would wear after your shower. 

Velvet cushions. Mahogany floors. Tall windows draped in gauzy silk that sways with no wind. You don’t know where you are.

But it smells like them. Like rain on stone, smoke, citrus, old paper, and heat.

You’re in their apartment.

And they’re all still here.

Watching.

Waiting.

Like wolves circling their starved mate—but trying to look civilized about it.

Abby comes up from behind you, handing you a glass of water and two painkillers. “For your pretty little head. It must be pounding right now” 

You noticed his extra caution and nervousness and it broke your heart a little bit even if it shouldn’t. You take the medicine. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, princess.” 

The room is bathed in silence after you take your medicine. Five pairs of eyes staring at you with longing and another emotion you were too afraid to acknowledge. Fondness? 

Love?

You shake your head at the thought. 

All of them couldn’t believe you were here. In their clothes sitting on their couch in their apartment. It was almost too good to be true. They had to be careful. They couldn’t afford to have you run like last time. 

Because they knew they wouldn’t just let you go now. Now that you’re here in their clutches. They’d make you stay.

Romance is the first to speak. “You’ve been dreaming of us.”

It isn’t a guess.

You swallow. Hard. “How do you know that?”

Mystery, curled up on a cushion across from you, answers in a low murmur. “Because we feel it when you do.”

You flinch. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Jinu steps forward slowly, crouching down like he’s afraid you’ll bolt. “The bond is active again.”

You cock your head to the side like a puppy. It was the cutest thing they’d ever seen. 

Baby’s fists tighten, resisting the urge to pounce on you.

Jinu speaks. “Your soul remembers. But your mind doesn’t. That’s why you feel sick during the day. Why you sleep like you’ve finally come home.”

He doesn’t touch you—but he gestures to the sketchbook on their coffee table. “You’ve been drawing us, haven’t you?”

You glance down. The sketchbook you didn’t bring with you. The one Mystery must have brought you. The pages are full of lines you don’t remember making. Faces. Threads. A burning palace. A blood moon. And five boys who all look like them.

“These don’t mean anything,” you say quietly. But your voice shakes.

Abby leans against the far wall, arms crossed. “You feel cold during the day. Like you’re not in your own skin.”

You nod slowly. “And you’ve been dizzy. Unsteady. Like something inside you is pulling.”

More nods. “That’s the bond, too.”

Romance sits down across from you, not too close. For once, he looks serious. “You don’t have to believe everything right now. But you feel it. Don’t you?”

“The thread. Between us.”

You try to speak.

Nothing comes out.

You stand up abruptly, putting the coffee table between you and all of them. They all flinch like they’re ready to catch you if you run. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’m having dreams that don’t feel like mine. I’m drawing with a hand that doesn’t feel like mine. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

Baby’s voice cuts in—calm and sharp. “You’re not losing your mind.”

“You’re remembering what was taken from you.”

You turn to Jinu, eyes wet with frustration. “Then explain it. Really explain it. No more riddles.”

Jinu takes a breath like it hurts to speak the words. The others go quiet. You feel the room shift—heavier. Like the bond itself is listening.

“You died.”

His voice is low. Steady. But grief hums under every syllable. “Four hundred years ago. You died. And it was my fault.”

He doesn’t blink. “I sold my soul to Gwi Ma for fame. I thought I wanted luxury, adoration—immortality. I got it. But then I met you.”

“You were just a girl. Bright. Human. Good. You saw me for what I was—a demon. And you stayed anyway.”

Your eyebrows raised at the mention of demon, but listened on, letting him finish.

“But I was selfish. And you paid the price. When you died, I begged Gwi Ma- the demon king to bring you back. He said no.”

His fists clench on his knees. And you began to think maybe he was crazy. A demon king? Really?

“So I made a deal. If I could bind other demons to your soul—build a tether strong enough to pull you back across lifetimes—he’d let you be reborn.”

He looks at you now. Really looks.

“And I did. I found them. Each one of us—Abby, Romance, Mystery, Baby—we lived lives tied to you. Not all at once. Not always together.”

“In every lifetime, you met one of us. You fell in love. You died. Again and again.”

Your breath catches in your throat and fear grips you. I died? Multiple times? Are they crazy? Every rational thought within you told you to reject this explanation. This Fairytale and yet…

When you looked into each of their eyes they were sincere. Jinu’s eyes holding so much truth so much anguish. Either they were psychos who believed their lies or…

It was all the truth. And that terrified you.

“You’ve lived dozens of lives, and in every one, your soul was trying to return to the pact.”

“Now… we’re all here. Together. Finally.”

“And your soul remembers.”

You sit frozen. The blood drains from your face. Your voice comes out broken: “So… I’m not me.”

Jinu’s expression shatters. He moves toward you slowly—like you’ll flee again. “You are you. You’re this lifetime’s version of her. But you’re more than this moment. You’re all the love, all the pain, all the choices you made to find your way back to us.”

Questions began swimming in your mind. Demons? They were demons? There was a Demon king, this Gwi Ma… it was all so crazy. Too crazy. Maybe too crazy to be a lie… How else would you explain this tether to them, this bond. How you’ve been feeling. The dreams, the sketches, the visions. It lines up with this story. 

Mystery whispers from the corner, cutting through your thoughts. “We missed you every time.”

There was a pain in his gaze, and you looked around to see that same pain reflected in everyone’s eyes. 

You needed more details. More explanations. Them not being human made sense, that was clear to you. But everything else, just seemed so bizarre to be true. Demons were real? You had been reincarnated? And they had loved you throughout those lifetimes? Their souls were tied to yours? 

Well, that last bit had you believing, because at least that last bit you actually felt.

It was all too crazy and you sighed, rubbing your temples. You didn’t want to believe them but somehow you just did. Like it all made sense. And deep down you knew it was the truth. 

You let the silence stretch. Something hot stings behind your eyes. “So what now?... You expect me to just—fall in love with you all?”

Baby answers this time. Voice low. Final. “No.”

“We expect you to remember that you already did.”

Your head is pounding. Not in a normal way. It feels like something is unraveling behind your eyes—memories that don’t belong to you pressing against the inside of your skull like water through cracked glass.

You close your eyes. The room spins. You hear a voice. Soft. Familiar.

“Don’t push her,” Jinu murmurs to the others. “She’s at the edge.”

You open your mouth, then close it again. You want to argue. Scream. Say it’s all ridiculous. Say you don’t believe in past lives or demons or fate.

But your heart won’t let you. And neither will the thread quietly tugging behind your ribs. You don’t realize you’ve sunk back onto the couch until Mystery is gently placing a pillow behind your head, his touch featherlight. He doesn’t speak. Just hums something low and wordless as your eyes flutter shut.

Your head still hurts, but less. The weight of everything presses down—and still, for the first time in days, you don’t feel alone.

Romance crouches nearby, hands on his knees, watching you through his lashes. “We’re not asking you to love us today.”

“We’re asking for a chance.”

Abby, his arms crossed, finally uncrosses them. “A chance to take care of you. Like we were supposed to.”

You open your eyes. The ceiling above you glows faintly with soft reflected light. There’s no sound but their breathing. And your own heartbeat.

“Just… a chance?” you whisper.

Jinu kneels beside the couch again. “That’s all.”

“And if I don’t remember?”

He smiles—small. Sad.

“Then we’ll give you a thousand new reasons to love us again.”

You don’t say yes.

But you don’t say no.

You close your eyes.

And this time, when the bond pulses gently at the base of your spine like a heartbeat that doesn’t belong to you…

You let it.

TO BE CONTINUED ───────── ༺🜃༻ ─────────

Author's note: Wahhh I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter as much as I did writing it! Things are picking up now and the ball is rolling. I sprinkled in a little bit of naughtiness there just to hint on eventual spice down the line... eventually, when it feels right! But let me know if you guys liked this one, reblog, comment, and like if you wish too! <3 Love y'allWilla x.

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Tag list: @faerie-soirxx@strayharmony943@ibby-miyoshi-nerd@anonymousewrites@cottonheadedninnymugggins@apelepikozume @moonlight-rosevine @yepitsmesendhelp @lovely-maryj @nonetheartist @ateezswonderland @sarah22447 @zuhaeri @enerofairy @littlemissfix-itfic @meeeegaaan

[jnhuius]

NIGHT OF SECRECY

pairing. joshua hong x afab!14th member!reader

genre. nsfw / smut

wc. 1,926

content warnings / tags. one scene is inspired by this joshua drabble !! (original author is wonwootattoo), porn with a little bit of plot, let's pretend all of the members still share one dorm, secret relationship, kissing (a lot of it), nicknames (my love, baby, good girl), passing mention of marking/hickeys, fingering, nipple play, unprotected sex (pls wrap it b4 u tap it!), rough sex, p in v, he comes inside, i hate the ending :(

author's note. ❗please reblog ❗ what do i do instead of sleeping? write a smut fic for mr. hong... i fear i've been obsessed with 14th member fics so forgive me for this self indulgent fic... i love joshua and i needed to write him in one way or another 🙏🏻 ALSO THE LACK OF NEW JOSHUA FICS IS INSANE 💔 anyway hope y'all enjoy this

“Hey, Y/N, want to join us? We're going out,” Jeonghan asked.

You shook your head, lounging on the couch as you scrolled through your phone.

“I'm not in the mood to go out today, but have fun and stay safe. Just bring me home some food.”

The members all called out a collective “yes” as they left one by one.

You glanced out the window. The sun was setting, and it was obvious they were heading somewhere to drink until late. You didn’t want to be the one puking her guts out until tomorrow.

You sighed just as Joshua stepped out of his room. You perked up, sitting up with a smile. He approached slowly and placed a gentle hand on your cheek. You leaned into his touch.

“Are you going with them?” you asked.

He nodded. “Mhm. I promise I won’t drink too much. Hopefully, they don’t force me to go all out,” he chuckled.

You smiled, nodding in agreement. He leaned down, kissing you softly, the gesture sweet and familiar.

“Stay safe. I love you,” you whispered against his lips.

He hummed, deepening the kiss just a little.

“I love you. I’ll be back soon,” he said, pulling away to press a kiss to your forehead before straightening up.

You waved goodbye as he headed to the door, pretending to walk slowly and sadly. You giggled, playing along with the act until he stepped out and shut the door behind him.

You smiled as you laid back on the couch. Your relationship with him was a big gamble—being the youngest and the only woman in the group, and dating the third eldest member.

You’d been together for five months now. You both agreed to keep it a secret at first—to see how things would go. You didn’t want your relationship to affect the group dynamics in case it didn’t work out. Eventually, you planned to tell the others… just not yet.

After a few hours of doom scrolling on your phone, you saw it was already 8 p.m. With nothing else to do and feeling tired, you decided to just sleep.

You went into Joshua’s room and stole one of his hoodies before returning to yours. After washing up, you slipped it on—wearing only your underwear underneath—and crawled into bed.

Living with thirteen men usually meant wearing pajamas or shorts just in case, but tonight they were likely too drunk to remember you existed, let alone stumble into your room.

You yawned, enjoying the softness of the comforter against your skin. Wonwoo was probably jealous—you were always the one left alone while they dragged him out.

Smiling to yourself, you closed your eyes and slowly drifted off.

—

Joshua groaned, rubbing his forehead as he entered the dorm. He had barely managed to escape the clutches of the drunk members who wouldn’t let him leave.

Before, he used to stay out with them until they all decided to head home together. But now, with you in his life, he always wanted to return earlier—to spend those quiet, precious moments with you without having to pretend you were just another bandmate.

He sighed, walking toward your room first. He peeked inside, the space dim aside from the soft glow of your Kuromi nightlight—the one he’d given you for your birthday.

You were fast asleep. Of course you were—it was already past 11 p.m.

He tiptoed in, gently pulling the blanket down from your face just enough to place a kiss on your forehead. Then he stood back up and quietly left to shower. You’d always told him not to lie on your bed with “outside clothes,” and he respected that.

After showering, he put on a white tank top and a pair of black shorts. He towel-dried his hair quickly, unable to keep himself from going right back to your room. He stepped in and locked the door behind him.

Joshua padded over to the bed and sat down on the edge. Carefully pulling the blanket down again, he found you curled around Shuasumi—his miniteen plushie.

He almost laughed, biting back the urge to pinch your cheeks from how cute you looked. Slowly, he pried the deer plushie from your arms and tossed it to the corner of the room.

You stirred, groaning as you slowly woke to the feeling of familiar hands gently guiding your body onto your back.

“Joshi?” you murmured, voice thick with sleep as you rubbed your eyes and stretched your legs beneath the blanket.

“Hi, my love,” your boyfriend answered, a dazzling smile lighting up his face.

With one knee on the mattress, Joshua leaned down and captured your lips in a kiss, his hand gently gripping your chin as he tried to deepen it without hesitation.

You whined, pushing at his chest.

“Where’s my Shuasumi plush?”

Joshua blinked, taken aback for a second before resting his forehead against yours, a breathy laugh escaping him.

“I’m trying to kiss my girlfriend, and you're thinking about a miniteen plushie?”

“Where’d you throw him?” you pouted, sitting up with sleepy annoyance.

“You don’t need him. You have me. I’m home now,” he chuckled, gently guiding you back down onto the bed as he hovered over you.

His hand tangled in your hair, pulling it a bit harshly to angle your face so he could kiss you properly—but not with innocent intentions anymore.

You moaned as you felt his hips move against yours, causing him to push his tongue inside your mouth. Your tongues moved against each other as he gripped your waist, grinding his bulge against your core.

He pulled away, a string of saliva connecting both of your lips as he kissed down your jaw.

“Where’s the other members?” You whimpered, feeling him suck behind your ear, a sensitive zone that he discovered a few months ago.

“Still out. Don't worry, we'll be done by the time they get back,” he now fully pulled off the covers, spreading your legs even further. You felt his hand slide down in between your thighs, a gasp leaving your lips as his thumb came into contact with your covered clit.

“Ah—Shua,” you whimpered, feeling him put pressure as he rubbed circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves. You bit your bottom lip as you felt one hand pull the fabric of your panties to the side while the other was in his mouth to lubricate it using his saliva before rubbing it on your slit.

Your clit was in between his index and middle finger as he rubbed your slit, making you even more wet and arch your back. You felt a finger teasing your entrance before gently pushing in, eliciting a gasp from you. He was being gentle, knowing how big his hands are.

“Joshua, fuck—” you dug your fingernails on his arm as you felt him insert another finger inside, slowly starting to thrust it in and out.

“I can feel you tightening around me. Are you this turned on just by fingers already?” He breathlessly chuckled. He continued to move his fingers before circling your clit using his thumb.

“Come on, I need you to cum before I enter you,” he moved his fingers a bit faster and you swore you saw stars as you came undone around him. Your thighs shook, his name being the only thing you were saying as he let you ride out your climax. He continued to thrust his fingers inside you, before pulling out and licking it clean.

“You're a pervert, you know that?” You said, laying on the bed limply.

He chuckled. “Woozi isn't against my gentleman agenda for no reason, sweetheart.”

He leaned down, kissing you deeply while his hands slid down to the hem of your hoodie to pull it off of your body. He kissed your shoulder, before sliding down to your chest. He kissed the valley of your breasts before his hands grabbed one of your boobs, fondling it gently as you moaned.

His thumb then finds your hardened nipple, instinctively rolling over them immediately. You bit your lip as he pulled away, leaning down to capture your nipple in his mouth. You whimpered, feeling his tongue tease your nipple, licking circles before sucking on it.

He did the same to the other one, not stopping for a few minutes before pulling away. He took off his tank top, pulling down his shorts to free his erection while his hand also pulled down your panties. His cock stood proudly against your stomach. It's been inside of you a few times now, but it was still scary.

He rubbed the tip against your clit, letting it get wet from your release. He lined it up with your entrance before slowly and gently pushing inside of you. He moaned as he was sheathed inside of you.

“Oh… good girl, you're taking me in so well,” he gasped, pulling out and gently thrusting back in. You could feel every vein on his length, and it wasn't helping your sensitivity.

“Joshua, holy fuck—” He covered your mouth, leaning down to line up his mouth to your ear.

“Shhh, the members might come home at any second. Keep quiet for me, alright?” He began to thrust a lot more harsher, the bed slightly creaking from the movement. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as his tip hit the sensitive spot inside of you. You moaned loudly against Joshua's palm.

“I found it already?” He chuckled before thrusting to hit the same spot over and over again. Your toes curled as one of his hands raised your leg on his shoulders, letting him angle his hips to reach much deeper inside you.

Slowly, his pace was slowly starting to get more fast, rough and erratic. After a few seconds, he was basically fucking you like an animal in heat with how fast he was pounding inside of you.

“Shua—I’m close,” you whimpered.

He nodded, kissing your jaw, “Me too, baby, me too.”

He pulled his hand away from your mouth, his hands spreading your legs even further as he thrusted hard and rough inside of you. You used your hand to muffle your moans, tears pricking your eyes at how good it felt.

“Please, don't stop, only a bit more—” You cried out before coming undone around him for the second time, crying out his name like it was a prayer.

Joshua followed, moaning against your ear as he emptied himself inside you. He rode out his orgasm, thrusting it and out for a bit before pulling out. His release dripped out of your entrance as you laid limp on your bed.

“I'll clean us up, hold on,” Joshua said, out of breath as he stood up to go to your bathroom. He returned clothed, with a towel in his hand. He sat down on the edge of the bed, cleaning you up as he helped you put your clothes back on.

“I have to leave now. The other members might see us,” he said gently, contrasting how he was acting a few minutes ago.

“...Alright,” you nodded. He leaned down, kissing your face. You sighed, relishing his affection before he pulled away.

“I love you, good night,” he returned Shuasumi to you suddenly, you didn't even notice where he pulled him from.

You giggled, “I love you, good night as well,” he kissed you one last time before leaving you alone in your room to actually sleep.

You were excited to tell the members about the two of you soon.

[lay-z]

❄️ Day 7 – Make do

Synopsis: Stuck in a safe house on a mission in the middle of nowhere on Christmas Eve, you and your alpha teammates are in dire need of some comfort.

Pairing: alpha!TF-141 x fem!omega!Reader Warnings/Info: No smut. | Omegaverse; military!Reader; a/b/o dynamics; emotional support (dog) omega; fluff; suggestive content; flirting; teammates to lovers/mates; eventual poly!relationship; eventual romance; typical omega/alpha behaviour

Word count: 2.5k

↳ back to 🎅🏼 Masterlist ☃️

Location: [Redacted]

EST. remng. time until exfil: 8 hrs. 4 min. 37 sec.

The wind is howling outside the shabby safe house, whistling through the creaks and cracks of withered floorboards while the rain keeps pouring down in ice buckets, fat drops pounding against the leaky windows.

You fear the seemingly ancient hut might cave in like an unstable card house with each violent gust of wind.

It’s definitely not cosy and anything but how you’d imagine to spend your holidays this year, but alas – you’re in the military, freshly recruited by a secret special ops task force just a handful of weeks ago, and neither war nor terrorism take a break, so you won’t, either. And you’re still trying to proof yourself to them, to those rugged, dominant and battle-hardened alpha soldiers.

Still, you’ve been away from a proper nest for nearly a month now and it’s starting to make you terribly anxious. You cannot possibly be of any use for your assigned alphas like this, not if you can’t even take care of yourself properly, and it’s showing.

Sometimes, the novelty of this arrangement catches up to you, makes you question your whole being and purpose. Especially, when you struggle to approach certain members of the squad to even offer your help and do your job. However, Captain Price had informed you in the beginning that you’re their first assigned emotional support omega, that some of his soldiers have never even been in close proximity to one before. He never told you who, but you already have a good hunch.

You don’t want them to know about your inner turmoil, though; don’t want them to think of you as some spoiled, prissy omega when you’re definitely still a soldier, as capable of the same war atrocities as they are – even if your nature gets in the way sometimes.

So, you do what you do best, grit your teeth, keep your demeanour neutral and make your usual rounds, seeing if anyone is in need of your support, though you’re ready for their usual declination – which is something that stings even worse than your own unmet need for comfort.

Nuzzling the cold tip of your nose into the thick collar of your winter combat jacket, you peel yourself away from the raggedy cot in the guest bedroom, boot-clad feet dragging along the creaking floorboards as you square your shoulders despite your own discomfort and walk down the short hallway into the dimly lit, sparsely furnished open living room.

And your nose immediately wrinkles at the concoction of sour, agitated alpha scents, cigar smoke, gun oil and musty wood. It’s bad enough to make your eyes water, but you swiftly blink away the gloss in your eyes, determined not to let them know how bad this is.

“Gentlemen,” you speak your greeting into the room, clearing your dry throat awkwardly as you assess the situation while the men barely seem to acknowledge you.

Captain Price is standing by a cracked window, puffing on a stubby cigar while staring outside into the semi-darkness, watching the storm, his broad shoulders tense and spine rigid.

Gaz is reading a worn softback book, sitting in the corner of the shabby couch where the old standard lamp flickers every couple of seconds, his dark brows drawn together in concentration, though his eyes barely move.

Soap is slumped in the only upholstered armchair, the battered cushions looking like they’ve seen better days; long legs stretched out in front of him, his bulky arms resting on each armrest while his head is tilted back, eyes flickering behind closed eyelids.

And the Lieutenant, Ghost, is sitting at the wobbly table on an equally wobbly chair in the darkest corner of the room, sharpening and cleaning his ballistic knives, the heavy scent of restlessness accumulated in his spot, though, as usual, his expression is hidden behind his skull mask, an air of indifference carefully crafted around his self while his own nature betrays him.

Their behaviour is making your stomach twist into knots and you swallow down a soft whine as your inner omega starts trembling with anxiety.

Then, Soap speaks up, his gruff, roguish voice breaking the tense silence, “Ye busy, sweetheart?”

You blink dumbly, eyes flickering around the room, unsure if he’s truly talking to you or–

But Soap lifts his head then, a boyish grin on his lips as his bright cerulean eyes lock with your, nearly making you squeak in surprise.

“C’mere, Corporal.” He says, lifting his bare right hand and curling his index finger, beckoning you over playfully before patting his thick thighs. It’s not an order, but the sudden interaction between you and the Sergeant has the other alphas perk up one way or another.

Price glances over his shoulder, blowing out a thick plume of smoke around the cigar between his lips. Gaz looks up from the pages of his book, one eyebrow raised curiously, his warm brown eyes flickering between Price, Soap and you while Ghost stops polishing one of his knives briefly before proceeding again.

It’s the first time one of them has made the conscious decision to ask for your presence, disregarding the brief and rare sniffs all of them have taken of your comforting omega scent in between action and battles.

Almost unconsciously, you give a stiff nod before approaching him while he sits up straighter in the armchair, moving his legs and angling his knees to give you more space.

“How–uhm–How do you… want me, Sergeant?” You ask tentatively, oblivious to the double-meaning of your innocent question, struggling to keep up your professionalism as you rock back and forth on your heels, heart pounding in your throat.

Soap’s formerly tired, half-lidded eyes light up with mirth as he drinks in your uncertainty, and deep down, he feels so bad for himself for denying himself and you this comfort  that you and the rest of the squad so desperately need – all on orders from Price; the admonition from several weeks ago still ringing in the young Sergeant’s ears.

“Don’t overwhelm her, lads. She’s precious tha’ one, a bloody fine soldier, and we wanna keep her around with us.”

But the Captain forgot that this is literally your job, that this is why you’re here with them in the first place, and gods damn, Soap needs a whiff of your scent, of something else but his or his pack mates acrid stench – something more like candied apples, cinnamon and fresh wildflowers – something more like you, sweet, sweet omega.

Soap holds his right hand out to you and waits for you to reach out as well, before he grasps your smaller, cold hand swiftly, pulling you onto his lap while he keeps you steady with his left, manhandling you until you’re sitting perched up oh so prettily on his broad lap.

Your lashes flitter briskly, bright doe-eyes flickering nervously as you drink in his features this up close and Soap is preening internally at the reaction you’re showing him, so surprised and almost innocent despite your occupation.

“Ye like sitting here with me, aye, sweetheart? Not too much for ye, innit?” He queries nicely, loud enough for the others, especially Price, to hear, while the corners of his eyes crinkle with giddiness.

You scan the room discreetly, vigilant eyes moving left and right, like prey looking out for predators, unsure if this might be some kind of test perhaps, to see if you’re a good omega, able to do what you’re supposed to. Looking back into Soap’s pretty eyes, you give a slow nod, “Yes and no, sir.”

“Aye… thought so.” Soap chuckles gruffly, pulling you closer against his buff chest, eager to have your warmth and scent seep through his clothes, mark his skin and calm his restless soul.

Gaz can’t take it anymore, can’t even continue pretending to be preoccupied with this stupid book in his hands. Not when you’re sitting on Soap’s lap like that, whispering and giggling with him like you’ve never done anything else before. It had already been hard enough, acting as if you weren’t there since you joined the team, when all Gaz wants to do is bury his face in your neck, nuzzle your soft skin, cuddle you close and have your soothing purrs reverberate against his chest.

He didn’t have a chance to hear them yet, but he’s sure you would make the cutest sounds and noises.

His jaw ticks when a whiff of your saccharine scent wafts over to him while he’s still seated on the shabby couch, just a few metres away from you. Perhaps, he could just snatch you right out of Soap’s hold–

The low rumble of Price’s chiding alpha growl makes Gaz bristle, eyes widening imperceptibly as he ducks his head slightly, because how did the old geezer even sense that he was becoming jealous… and possessive.

Suddenly, Soap calls out, “Oi, Garrick? Ye want a turn?”

Gaz perks up; closing the book at once, though he looks over at the Captain for guidance and permission, because he sure as hell won’t disobey a direct order like Soap did when the latter had asked for your comfort.

Meanwhile, Price’s annoyance is still simmering below the surface, vein throbbing rhythmically in his neck as he listens and watches how the Scottish Sergeant is acting with you, all gentle and playful, practically putty in your presence.

The room reeks less of agitation and discomfort now, their aggressive alpha pheromones now dulled and whitewashed by your strong, syrupy omega scent, melodic giggles and dainty demeanour, and Price has to admit, Soap does seem to be in higher spirits now.

So, he meets Gaz’ pleading eyes with a firm nod, and watches the younger alpha scramble to his feet, opening his arms invitingly, while Price keeps his distance, chewing on the glimmering cigar stump to ease his own restlessness.

“Hand her over, MacTavish,” Gaz huffs, long fingers wiggling in anticipation, “You wanna stay with me a bit, hm, sunshine? Aye, ‘course you do–” He coos at you, leaning in a little and getting a first real nose full of your intoxicating scent at this proximity. His pupils dilate at once, making Soap chuckle as he loosens his arms around you reluctantly.

You answer with equal eagerness, eyes twinkling happily as you slip into Gaz’ strong arms, chirping, “Yes, sure!”

You end up sandwiched between Soap and Gaz on the small couch, cooped up in two different pairs of strong, bulky arms while both young alphas gush over you, courting for your attention as they nuzzle, kiss and lick your neck, your hair, any patch of exposed skin they can reach. You don’t mind them scent marking you for the first time, don’t mind the way they’re getting excited as you feel their big bulges strain against the rough fabric of their combat trousers whenever you’re switched back and forth in their embraces.

Just once do you need to correct Soap’s behaviour by pinching the nape of his neck, when he bucks his hips up against your clothed core, rubbing his growing arousal against you briefly. But Gaz chides him, too, and that’s that before you continue coddling them as much as they do you.

Ghost is usually great at blending out his surroundings while simultaneously being hyper-aware of them, but you’re slowly and surely starting to get under his scarred, pale skin, carefully chipping away at his resolve with each tentative offer of your assistance to him and his packmates, always looking mighty eager to please and serve.

Fucking hell.

It's sickening, really, how your enticing omega scent seeps even through the barrier of black cloth covering his nose.

He’s never allowed himself to smell something so sweet, let alone be in close proximity with someone like you.

When Price had submitted the application for an emotional support omega for the 141 to the brass, Ghost had nearly lost it and, in a semblance of panic, threatened with both resignation and applying to transfer to another task force, anything that would put space between himself and any omega, not trusting himself to be around something precious and fragile like that.

And then you showed up one day, pretty as a peach, ripe as one, too, and Ghost reluctantly accepted your presence with a grumble, enforcing Price’s order not to get too close to you, though, that’s easier said than done, he’d learned fairly quickly.

Now, Ghost can barely keep himself from staring at the couch, where both Soap and Gaz are seemingly having the time of their lives – basking in the attention of their own little omega. He’s never seen the two alpha Sergeant’s act so bloody… corny.

And yet, the Lieutenant can’t help and wonder how it must feel like to hold you, to feel your weight on his lap and feel your hair tickle his nose when he leans in to–

“I know what I said about her,” Price clasps his heavy hand on Ghost’s shoulder, bringing him back to reality, “– but perhaps you shouldn’t keep restraining yourself like that, Simon,” The Captain mutters, “It ain’t healthy.”

“An’ what about you, sir?” Ghost counters, not looking up as he finishes up polishing his last knife for the third time.

Price huffs in amusement, fishing another cigar from one of his breast pockets.

“Don’t ya worry about me, lad.”

When Soap pulls back from your kiss-swollen lips at once, you whine softly, chasing after his pretty mouth, already utterly spoiled bit the little bit of attention you’d gotten from the young Sergeants, until the expression on his handsome face makes you pause and snap out of your contented daze.

“Ye ready for a turn, Lt.? Think ye can handle it?” Soap snickers while Gaz scoots to the other end of the couch, clearing his throat loudly, looking at anything but the behemoth of an alpha in his black combat uniform, now standing in front of the couch.

Your eyes go comically big as you tilt your head back against Soap’s broad shoulder to gaze up at the stoic Lieutenant; the cloth of his skull mask now tucked up to the bridge of his crooked nose, revealing dirty blonde stubble and several thick silvery scars along his exposed neck and the lower half of his face while his onyx eyes stare down at you with unmatched intensity.

“I dunno, Johnny,” Ghost gruffs out, tongue darting out to lick his chapped bottom lip, “Think yer pretty bird can handle me?”

[deebris]

Heartbeat

Simon "Ghost" Riley x daughter reader (platonic!)

Synopsis: At just eight years old, you struggle with a heart condition that makes you too fragile for shocks or exertion. To protect you, Simon keeps his military life as far away as possible, and his home, a safe refuge. But everything changes when an intruder, unaware of Simon's true identity, decides to rob them. What should have been a simple burglary turns into a desperate race against time when fear triggers a heart attack. Now, Simon is not only fighting the thief — he's fighting to save your life.

Warnings: Profanity, firearms, panic, mentions of death, the reader is 8 years old, has Long QT Syndrome and is a girl.

Word count: 4.5k

Observation: English is not my first language, and I have very little exposure to British English specifically. I had a really hard time writing Simon and Price's dialogue, but I hope I at least got close to something more realistic.

Simon put you to sleep, just like he had for the past two nights, and now he lay with his head resting against the pillow, the insomnia visiting him once again. He was exhausted from the day, chasing after you and handling your tantrums – but still, sleep wouldn’t come. No one would believe it if they were told that he, a shadowy wall of muscle and silence, spent his afternoons playing dolls and tea parties with an eight-year-old girl.

Your father always watched you sleep for a while, his calloused fingers gently brushing your chubby cheek and smoothing your hair. He admired your serenity, as if the world were perfect and no problems existed. Simon wished you could stay that way forever, carefree and small. The thought of you growing up and facing the world unsettled him, but it was inevitable.

You were a wellspring of joy, something that warmed his heart. Always looking for him, and always worried about how he felt, if he was okay, when he should be the one asking you that. Something inside Simon shifted every time you asked if he was hurting when went too quiet.

He used to think that a child’s mind was too oblivious to understand how adults worked, but you always noticed every time his eyes tightened just a fraction differently, wondering: Why is Daddy sad? And not every time was he exactly sad, but sometimes, his gaze grew distant, thoughts reaching faraway places. Now, he was much more careful not to let it happen around you, not wanting his daughter to think something was wrong with her father.

Everything about you made him immensely happy, a feeling buried deep in his chest that he had to protect you at all costs. But Simon couldn’t protect you from his greatest fear. Your heart worked differently, he had told you that himself, and it had brought him to the edge of panic more times than he could count. When it wasn’t clear what was wrong, he felt useless, powerless, as if he would never be enough.

Once, you couldn’t breathe at daycare, and he was thousands of miles away. Your babysitter called him in tears, it was one of the worst moments of his life. He thought you were going to die, and the very idea haunted him like some loathsome creature. He had faced death many times, in many forms, but with you, it was utterly devastating. You couldn’t disappear. It would destroy him.

When he was near, he handled you like porcelain, always cautious, as if something invisible could suddenly trigger another episode, making you cry from a pain he couldn't take away.

That’s why he refused to take anything that might help him sleep, twisting at the thought of you needing him and him being too dazed to respond. He forced himself to stay awake, alert, every little noise in the house making him tense. A creaking window, the sound of distant footsteps, a whisper in the hallway – he always checked – even knowing it was probably just his mind creating monsters. But he couldn’t help it. The fear of something happening while he was lost in the darkness of his own mind was unbearable.

In the middle of the night, he would get up several times just to check if you were still breathing. The room was silent, except for the rhythmic, comforting sound of your breath. Occasionally, there was a small hesitation, a brief pause that sent his heart into his throat, before the steady rise and fall of your chest resumed. He knew it was paranoia, but he couldn’t stop. To him, you were more important than the very oxygen in his lungs. Every beat of your heart mattered more than his own life.

But he wasn’t unshakable, no matter how much he wished to be for you. Eventually, exhaustion would take hold, his bloodshot eyes pulling him into the dark. When it did, he would wake at the first sign of morning – his sleep never lasting long. But tonight, something was different. He woke up much earlier.

A crash from the hallway, the sound of a lamp shattering against the floor, yanked him into full awareness. Like an instinct buried deep within him had been triggered, Simon’s hearing sharpened instantly. His body tensed, slipping into a readiness only someone like him could know. With a single swift motion, he was out of bed, his bare feet touching the floor with such precision that they barely made a sound.

Then, a sharp, terrified scream shattered the silence, echoing through the house.

It was your voice.

“Daddy!”

Cold fear rushed through his veins. His heart pounded violently, but he didn’t hesitate. Instinct seized him like a crushing weight, and he moved with the speed of a predator. The sound of his own ragged breath and the pounding of his heartbeat were all he heard as he bolted toward your room, his only thought to reach you before anything else could.

He burst through your door, flipping the switch to flood the room with light.

Someone was there.

A boy, probably a teenager. He wore a balaclava and clutched a pistol, the serial number scratched off. Simon noticed it instantly. He always noticed details – nothing escaped him – and guilt tore through his chest.

He should have prevented this. He should have seen the signs before the intruder ever set foot in his house.

“Stay there!” The boy shouted, his voice trembling. His hands shook so much they could barely hold the gun. He seemed on the verge of collapsing, as if he might wet himself at any moment. Maybe he was just a young man making a stupid mistake, a rash decision. That's what Simon's rational side told himself. But his emotional side could only feel anger – a muffled, uncontrollable fury burning inside – because of how that gun had been pointed at you just seconds ago.

Simon's figure must have terrified the invader even more. The boy hadn't expected to find someone like him. Tall. Intimidating. His face covered in scars, his eyes cold and empty. Instinct screamed inside the younger: this is no ordinary man. Even when Simon raised his hands, in a gesture of surrender, he didn't seem to feel safe.

“Calm down.” Simon's deep, imposing voice filled the room. The boy trembled even more. The lieutenant opened his hands, trying to show he wouldn't do anything.

He heard your crying. He could feel your heart racing, almost as fast as his own. And that was not a good sign. Your chest was rising and falling irregularly. He knew you needed help. Now.

“Put the gun down, kid.”

“I'm not putting anything down, Motherfucker!” He shouted, his voice shrill, desperate. You jumped in bed. Simon diverted his eyes for a second, just to see how you clung to the blanket, your fingers gripping so tightly they were turning white. Your father knew the swearing, the yelling, and that gun were terrifying you.

“Look at me! Don't look at her!” The boy yelled again, hysterical. Fear was written all over his face. He thought Simon might attack him at any moment.

“You can take whatever you want, just put the gun down.” Simon's voice came out brutal again, cutting. He needed to appear in control, even though he wasn't. He moved his hands slowly, cautiously, trying to convince the stranger he wasn’t a threat.

Meanwhile, your mind was on high alert, painted red as you saw the barrel of the gun pointed at your father. For a dark moment, you thought that guy was going to hurt him.

“I didn't know she was here, I swear.” The kid whispered. His breathing was erratic. “I don't want to take anything, I just want to leave. I'm very sorry...”

Simon saw the tremor in the boy's shoulders, saw the tears forming behind the fabric of the balaclava. He was crying, probably from the shock of finding a child while doing something so horrific.

“Fine. Then go.” Simon agreed, his mind spinning, his heart hammering in his chest. He just wanted to get to you. Your breathing was becoming difficult. You were so scared you could barely speak.

The thief swallowed hard. His gaze wavered for a second.

“As soon as I get closer, you'll grab me.” He said as if it were a fact, sizing up Simon’s physique – a man who knows how to fight. A cop, maybe? Military? The boy knew he wouldn't stand a chance against him.

“I won’t.” Simon kept his voice firm, but he felt the fear seeping in. His eyes quickly shifted to you, seeing your feet moving under the blanket, you were in agony.

Then he saw it.

Your small chest rising and falling erratically. You brought your hand to your heart, your face contorting. Pain.

Panic exploded inside Simon.

If it weren’t for you, Simon would have already lunged at the invader and ended it. But he couldn’t risk it. A stray bullet. One wrong move.

“What’s your name?” His voice came out softer, controlled.

“J-James...” He stammered.

The oldest in the room nodded, memorizing the name. “James. I’m Simon.”

The boy just nodded.

“You look young. I reckon you made a mistake comin’ ‘ere, and now you’re regrettin’ it.” Simon measured each word with precision. “I don’t care if you walk out that door and vanish, just as long as you’re outta my daughter’s sight.”

He was lying. He was lying with every word. But he needed James to believe it. He needed him to leave. He was definitely going after him later.

James averted his gaze and, for the first time, really looked at you.

Your body was trembling. Tears streamed down your face. Your lips were trembling so much you couldn’t speak.

“W-What’s wrong with her?” The young man asked hesitantly. His voice was different now, but Simon didn’t want to talk. He needed to get to you.

“You're frightenin' her.” He said through clenched teeth, and something seemed to change in the boy. His gaze softened.

But the gun was still raised.

And Simon was running out of time.

He saw you try to call his name once more, but the sound died in your throat.

He knew what it was.

The cold soldier’s face crumbled, giving way to that of a desperate father, and he looked into James's eyes before finally exploding:

“If you don’t let me help her, she’s gonna die!”

The boy blinked at hearing the threat, confused, and Simon took a step forward.

“She’s ill.” He gushed the words harshly, laden with an emotion he couldn’t control. “If you don’t let me go to her, she’ll die. Do you understand, bloody hell?!”

For a second, after the beastly shout he gave, only silence filled the room.

James froze.

And Simon waited.

The boy gave up and nodded, his fingers still trembling as he lowered the gun. Simon didn’t waste any time. In an instant, he crossed the room to you, his steps heavy and determined. You were pale. Small. Your hands still clutching your chest. The fear in your huge eyes was enough to break something inside him.

Simon crouched beside you and held your face between his hands, forcing a softer tone than he had used with the intruder. James, panicked, couldn’t do anything but put his hands over his head, sliding down the wall while apologizing repeatedly. He pulled the balaclava off his face, revealing his features. He was just a teenager, between 16 and 18 years old.

The boy had no idea what he was doing there, nor how he had reached the point of thinking that breaking into a family’s home for some cash was a good idea. The moment he realized what he had done, a chill ran down his spine as he understood that, for an instant, he had pointed a gun at a child.

A child.

“Hey, I’m here. I’m here, sweetheart. Look at me.”

You blinked a few times, as if trying to focus, searching for safety in your father’s face. But your body trembled. Then came the first unsteady breath. Then another. Small, desperate gasps. Your chest rose and fell too fast, and Simon felt his blood turn cold.

No. Not now.

A sob escaped you, and you clung to his shirt as if your life depended on it. Maybe it did.

He held you tightly, as if he could shield you from everything, as if just pulling you closer could stop life from slipping through his fingers. Heart pounding, he descended the stairs in long strides, muscles tense with the urgency only a father understands. Nothing else mattered now – not the stranger still in the house, not the shards of glass on the floor, not even his own fear. Only you. Only getting to the hospital in time.

“D-Daddy…” Your voice came out as a weak whisper, so soft he only heard it because your face was pressed against his shoulder.

Simon’s stomach twisted. You were scared. More than that, you were terrified. Your small fingers clung to his shirt so tightly they could have torn it, as if you were drowning.

“You’re gonna be okay, my love.” The words came out fast, hoarse, more for himself than for you. He yanked the car door open and carefully placed you in the back seat, making sure you were positioned safely. His eyes quickly scanned your pale face before he rushed to drive.

Simon didn’t look back. He didn’t think about the stranger, the house, anything else. He just turned the engine on and slammed his foot on the gas, the headlights cutting through the darkness as he sped down the nearly empty streets. His mind was torn between the road and the sound of your unsteady breathing in the back seat.

“Stay with me, sweetheart.” he murmured, glancing at the rearview mirror. You were curled up, your wide eyes locked on him, trying to stay focused as your small hands gripped the seatbelt.

Simon’s chest tightened. He wanted to say something to soothe you, but all that came to mind was the corrosive fear that maybe – just maybe – he was already too late.

✧✧✧

A few hours later, the sun was shining brightly as morning advanced. Simon shifted in the uncomfortable hospital chair, elbows resting on his knees, his hand holding yours. The warmth of your skin against his was the only thing that a little peace, his thumb tracing slow circles in an unconscious gesture of comfort. He had been silent since arriving, but not in his usual way. This silence was heavy, suffocating, filling the room like an unspoken weight.

He didn’t dare take his eyes off you, afraid that even the slightest lapse in attention could make things go wrong again. The constant beeping of the heart monitor was offering him fragile relief, a reminder that you were here, alive. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was just a temporary illusion – that at any moment, the rhythm would spike again, and you’d be in danger.

Two hours ago, you had woken up, still drowsy, sedated by the doctors to prevent stress. Your eyes opened sluggishly, scanning the room until found him. You were scared – for him. The image of the boy pointing a gun was still vivid in your mind, and the fear overflowed. When the panic set in, your heart rate spiked again, and the medical team had to intervene, sedating you once more.

Simon could do nothing. He just sat there, motionless, fingers pressing against the bridge of his nose in frustration.

The sound of the door opening pulled him from his thoughts. Simon turned his head and saw Price standing there. His captain, one of the few people he trusted, and someone who knew you well enough to understand what had happened.

Simon had never minded being alone. Solitude was an old companion, a shadow he had learned to carry without complaint. But this time, for some reason, he had picked up the phone and called John. Something inside him had pushed him to press that button, an insistent, uneasy force hammering inside him.

He wanted to believe it was just for your sake, because you and Price were close, because he had a duty to inform him - because his captain would be furious if Simon didn't tell him about it. But deep down, he knew the truth.

He needed someone else to be there.

Your “Uncle John” never failed to send you gifts when he could, and sometimes even made the hour-long drive from his city just to say “hi” to you. Price cherished you as if you were his own daughter.

“Oi, Lieutenant.” The older man’s voice was steady, comforting.

Simon took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, falling back into the tactical demeanor he always used in the base. But even when he wore his mask, John could read him like an open book.

“Captain.” That was all he managed to say.

Price knew him well enough to understand that Simon needed support. He was used to dealing with Ghost. But this – this was just Simon.

“How’s our Thumbelina?” Price asked softly, as if afraid to wake you. He walked over to Simon, placing a hand on his shoulder in a brief, almost hesitant gesture.

“She'll wake up soon enough.” Simon replied, his eyes fixed on you but not really seeing you. His gaze was distant, unfocused.

“You said she went into shock, didn't you?” Price murmured, trying to follow a line of conversation.

“The doc thinks so.” Simon sighed and leaned back in the chair, exhaling slowly. “They’re going to refer her to a shrink. Don’t want those memories messin’ with her head.”

Price nodded, remaining standing.

“I made a few calls,” he announced, watching his friend's reaction. “I got some info on the brat.”

Simon looked up, attentive.

“He didn’t even try to leg it. Found him in her room, and I called in a contact from the coppers.” He scratched his mustache at the memory of the encounter.

At first, Price got confused. But within seconds, he was already gripping the teenager by the collar, fury burning in his eyes. He only started to rein himself in when James, terrified, began apologizing, without even knowing who the man pinning him against the wall was. His empathy took over. The boy had hurt you, yes, but he didn’t know the severity of your condition. He was wrong, but he wasn’t a demon.

“His mum showed up at the station right after. It was a proper scene. The two of them were at each other’s throats, shouting. The woman was in tears, all disappointed, and the boy looked right sorry for himself.”

Simon clenched his jaw. “I couldn't give a toss about that nonsense.” The irritation was evident, even though he hadn’t intended to be rude.

“He thought the house was empty, Simon. Got it mixed up with the neighbour’s.” Price added carefully. “It was a daft dare from friends who knew he needed the money, so he nicked his father’s gun. He’s off to court. With what he’s done, he might end up in a juvenile centre.”

Simon remained quiet for a moment, running his tongue over his teeth. Then, he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Yeah. Great.” he muttered, irritation dripping from every syllable.

Price watched his reaction, hesitating before continuing.

“I know you're pissed off, mate, but...” He paused, studying Simon's tense face. “Maybe it’s worth figuring out what the hell was goin’ through that boy’s head.”

Simon heard every word but didn’t reply. He absorbed his captain’s advice and kept his gaze on him. The memory of how you screamed, the tears, all the agony... It made Simon clench his free hand into fist.

You thought he was going to get shot. You were desperate.

Price noticed the movement. He saw how Simon’s fingers were practically digging into his own skin with the force of his grip. He decided not to press the issue. Instead, he walked to your bed, observing your face for a moment. A faint smile flickered on his lips before he reached out and ruffled your hair in a gentle pat.

Then, John pulled something from his pocket and held up a stuffed hippopotamus, showing it to Simon.

Simon frowned, clearly displeased with the choice.

“Come on, you know she fancies it.” Price said, trying to lighten the heavy mood. “Hippos are tough, you know?”

But Price’s joke was cut short when he noticed you were waking up. Your eyes opened slowly, blinking several times as you oriented yourself. Simon shifted in his chair, and a quick glance was enough for John to understand that maybe it was best for you not to see your father right away – not while his image was still tied to the terror of the night.

“Hi, Uncle John…” Your small voice came out in a hoarse whisper, heavy with sleep.

“Oi, little doll.” he murmured back, his expression filled with a warmth he only used with you.

He didn’t need to say anything else to make you smile. As soon as he lifted the stuffed hippo, shaking it like it was going to devour you, you let out a giggle.

The sound relieved Price, and especially Simon. He watched as your tiny fingers grabbed the toy, hugging the plush creature to your chest.

“Thank you…” you murmured, pouting a little as you placed your index finger between your upper lip and nose, mimicking his mustache.

Price copied the gesture, but the face he made was much funnier than yours.

“Where’s Daddy?” you asked just like the first time you woke up, your brows furrowing in worry.

The beeping on the monitor sped up slightly. Simon noticed immediately and ran his thumb over your hand again – a reminder that you weren’t alone. You turned your head and found him there, still sitting in the same chair, his dark eyes betraying the sleepless night he had spent.

“I'm here, love.” His voice was firm, both a reassurance and a promise.

You gripped his forearm tighter than you had held your new stuffed hippo. Simon felt the tension in your small fingers and let you cling to him without saying a word. You seemed calmer now, less frightened.

Price grabbed a cup of water and handed it to Simon, who helped you drink. You took a few small sips, the way children do, but it was enough.

Then, your eyes locked onto your father’s, serious, as if you had something important to resolve. He braced himself for anything. Maybe a question about what had happened, maybe a request to go home. But not this:

"You said a bad word."

Simon blinked slowly. “What?”

“He said ‘bloody hell’.” you whispered to Price, as if revealing a forbidden secret.

Price raised his eyebrows, holding back a smile. “Oh, really, eh?”

Simon sighed, running a hand over his face. “Prob'ly did.”

Price let out a low chuckle, satisfied to get some reaction out of him.

Suddenly, you started paying attention to your surroundings. A hospital room wasn’t strange to you, since you had been here a few times before, but that didn’t mean you liked it. The doctors always said they needed to keep you under observation until the crisis passed, and the worst situations happened quickly, in the middle of chaos, before anyone could stabilize you.

There was a time they had to use a defibrillator, and just the thought of it sent a shiver down Simon’s spine. To his relief, this time all you needed was to simply shut down, a milder way to calm your emotions.

“I want to go home…” you pleaded, your voice thick with emotion.

“We will, in a few hours.” Simon replied firmly. If he gave you an inch, he knew you’d push until the end.

“Is Uncle John staying with us?” you asked, grabbing the hippo by the ear and waving the plush toy in front of Price, who pretended to try catching it but failed miserably.

“No, Princess. I'm sorry.” he answered regretfully. “I wish I could stay longer, but I only came to see you. I’ve gotta head back home soon.” He pinched your nose between his fingers, making you giggle.

“Okay…” you murmured, disappointed, but already starting to feel a little stronger.

You shifted on the bed, getting on your knees to hug Price, who held you firmly, running his hand over your back before pressing a kiss to the side of your head. As soon as you let go, you turned to your father and practically buried yourself in his lap, seeking shelter. You settled on his legs, leaning your torso against his broad chest.

Simon was used to this, but this time, you seemed even more in need of security. Your small fingers poked at the dog tag hanging around his neck, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

Simon knew you were still scared. He knew that, in the coming days, you wouldn’t leave his side. And he didn’t mind.

Because deep down, he wanted to stay close to you too.

He held on to this moment, feeling you fidget with the metal piece on his neck. Simon knew things wouldn’t be easy for now, but he chose not to get lost in thoughts of the future. He held you even tighter, his arms wrapping around you like a blanket while you found comfort in the calm. Simon felt deeply grateful that you hadn’t asked questions about the boy, and in silence, he turned to Price, who responded with a simple nod, as if he had understood the unspoken message.

Price took a few steps closer and crouched down, looking at you with affection. “Goodbye, Thumbelina,” he said, extending his fist for a farewell bump.

“Goodbye, Mr. Mustache.” you replied softly, but with a smile that made Price chuckle as he ruffled your hair. He stood up, turning to Simon with a look that carried the same unwavering trust as always.

“Take care, lad. I’ll see you soon.” he said, not waiting for a response, already knowing the lieutenant’s temperament well.

Simon watched Price leave, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His hardened expression softened the moment there was no longer a need to hide behind it. He still made an effort to appear confident for you, but as he closed his eyes and held you tighter, he finally allowed himself to relax. The silent gesture of protection he offered was an unspoken promise.

He knew that as long as he was with you, nothing else mattered. He would always be by your side. And even with the weight of the world on his shoulders, Simon allowed himself to believe, just for a moment, that maybe the future would be a little lighter. No matter what came next. Together, he and you would face it all.

[xiaominghao]

8:40 pm.

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

“I’m sorry, I’m so…”

“I already told you not to apologize,” Hao interrupted with quiet voice. “We can go out another day.”

“B-but…”

“We'll have other opportunities,” Hao placed a hand on your forehead and sighed in relief. “The fever has gone down, but you still need to rest.”

You took his hand in yours and it felt quite warm compared to yours, which seemed to have lost all trace of heat. Hao hated seeing you sick, but seeing you with your low guard made his heart so, so flustered.

“Do you need anything else?”

“Can you stay with me for a while?” you responded with pleading eyes. “If you get sick, I’ll take care of you, I promise!”

Hao chuckled softly before lying down on his side of the bed, and you sought his chest as if it were your favorite pillow.

“Love?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve told you… How much I like to hear your heartbeat?”

He surrounded you with his arms to bring you closer to his body, leaving a small kiss on the top of your head. “No, but say it more often.”

You wrapped your arm around his waist and closed your eyes to rest, the fogged window from the cold being the last thing you saw before falling into a deep sleep. Outside, it was raining cats and dogs, but you were safe in the cozy embrace of your boyfriend. You were at home.

[sheerfreesia007]

Warm Hands, Fevered Hearts

Pairing: Seungmin x Reader

Word count: 2,454

Content warnings: Fluff, illness

Summary: When Seungmin wakes up sick just days before a major concert, he instinctively turns to the one person who’s become his safe haven—you. With unwavering care and quiet devotion, you nurse your feverish pup back to health, proving that love often shines brightest in the smallest, softest moments.

A/N: Divider was created by @strangergraphics, thank you for sharing your dividers with tumblr!

SKZ Taglist: @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @inlovewithstraykids, @channiesrightasscheek, @kaiyaba

@bookswillfindyouaway, @m-325

That morning Seungmin woke up with fire in his throat. Trying to clear his throat tears sprung to his eyes as pain radiated from his mouth down his throat. He gritted his teeth as his eyes blinked and his head nearly burst with pain at how bright the early morning sunlight was as it shone through his curtained window. Groaning low in his throat he felt how clammy his skin felt underneath the blanket even as a chill ran down his spine making him shiver. This wasn’t good. 

Panic began to settle heavily in his chest as his mind began to race, they had a concert in a week. He couldn’t be getting sick like this so close to a concert. Normally Seungmin was so diligent about making sure that he didn’t get sick, especially coming down with a sore throat and fever. But lately everything had just been piling up on him, all the schedules, all the practices, all the voice lessons; it was all just becoming a bit too much for his body to take. And now his body was protesting with an illness.

Seungmin rolls onto his stomach and reaches his hand out from under the blanket, his fingers alighting on the bedside table and begin crawling around until he feels the edge of his cellphone. Quickly grabbing it he darts his hand back under the blanket and squints at the screen as the light nearly blinds him. His fingers move quickly over the screen and keyboard until he pulls up your contact and last text thread from last night.

As he let his eyes get used to the bright light of his phone he silently wondered when he had become like this. He mused that it might have been as soon as he had met you, the way you had so effectively and efficiently walked into his life and captured his attention made his head dizzy. The fact that his first thought when he woke up like this wasn’t to check his temperature, or to even text Chan, it was to text you was testament to how much you meant to him.

Seungmin [8:10am]: SOS. Sick. Throat hurts. Head hurts. Fever. Don’t know what to do. I’m worried about the concert. He didn’t even wait for a response before dropping his phone onto the pillow beside him slowly shutting his burning eyes. He swallows and grits his teeth as pain pulses up his throat before a soft whimper slips out of his mouth. He doesn’t have to wait long though as your text comes through quickly and he’s turning to stare at his screen.

Lover [8:12am]: On my way pup. Already told Chan. He’s giving you time off. Told Felix to keep his sunshine’s self away so he doesn’t get sick too. Hang tight love. I got you. Even through the haze of discomfort, Seungmin felt a small wave of relief rush over him. You always knew just what to say to make him feel better. Knew just what to do to make sure he was okay.

Walking up the stairs to his apartment you juggle three large totes spread out between your two arms. You’re laden down with fresh groceries, over-the-counter meds, two types of soup, a fresh set of sheets, electrolytes, cough drops, humidifier filters, and cleaning supplies. You slip into his apartment like a one-person rescue squad, looking around the living room. You set down your bags and slip out of your sneakers and into your slippers before heading down the hallway towards Seungmin’s bedroom.

Gently pushing his bedroom door open you find him in bed with the humidifier puffing out a gentle steam of eucalyptus heated air, his hoodie was pulled up over his head and his face was flushed with fever. 

“Hey Min.” You coo at him softly as you walk over to the side of his bed and place a gentle hand against his forehead. “You poor thing. You’re burning up.” You coo softly and he groans brokenly while head butting your hand gently. He opens his mouth to say something to you but only manages a croaky groan and you gently shush him as your hand brushes his sweaty forehead. His eyes flicker toward you like a wounded puppy and your heart clenched in your chest. “Don’t talk pup.” You tell softly before you push his bangs back away from his forehead as you lean down and graze your lips against his temple. “I’ve got you.” You tell him before walking back out of his bedroom and gently closing the door until it was left open a crack.

You move back to the kitchen and begin starting a slow simmering pot of soup broth that you knew would ease his burning throat. You quickly chopped the fresh vegetables and added only half before storing the other half in the fridge for future soup batches. 

When you’re satisfied with the soup you walk back into his bedroom with a steaming bowl of it and set it down on the bedside table. You gently run your hands along the lump of blankets in the middle of his bed and he groans loudly sounding like he was in pleasure pain at the feel of your hands running down his aching body.

”C’mon pup. I need you to sit up so I can feed you.” You tell him softly and he grumbles as he crawls up the bed until he’s seated against the headboard. Smiling softly at his disheveled appearance you sit on the edge of the bed and comb his hair out of his face and he grunts softly at the feeling of your fingers in his hair. “Let me get some soup in you and then I’ll get a warm bath ready for you. How does that sound?” You ask him softly and his eyes blink at you tiredly in a daze as a soft lopsided smile slips onto his face.

You slowly begin to spoon the flavorful hot broth into his mouth and he hums loudly in appreciation as it slides down his throat easing the burning within as it slides down to his stomach. He hums softly in pleasure as the flavors burst over his tongue and once he swallows he lets his mouth drop open ready for the next spoonful. When you scrape the bottom of the bowl you can tell he’s feeling slightly better as he leans forward to peer into the bowl with a soft pout. You peck his forehead as you chuckle softly.

”When you’re in the tub, I’ll make you another bowl to have after your bath.” You tell him softly before you stand from his bed and grab the small bottle of medicine. You measure out a dose for him and hand it over to him to take before you head to the en-suite bathroom that he shares with Felix. You begin filling the tub with hot water and pour a bit of eucalyptus oil into the water to help open up his sinuses.

Coming back into the bedroom you see that he’s come to sit at the edge of the bed by himself and you smile softly before holding your hands out to him. That lopsided smile of his is back as he reaches out for you and you slowly pull him to his feet before pulling him into the bathroom. The room has grown warm and humid due to the water and you move to shut it off while Seungmin undresses. You help him slip into the tub and he sighs loudly as he settles in the hot water letting his head fall back against the edge of the tub.

While he’s relaxing in the bath, you quietly get to work. You strip his bed of the damp sheets leaving them in a pile on the floor for you to throw in the washer before replacing the sheets with the ones you had brought over, fresh and clean just like how he liked. You wipe down his bedroom with cleaning wipes to disinfect all the surfaces, shut off the humidifier for the moment and open the window slightly to let some fresh air into the room.

Once all of that was done, walk back to the bathroom and stand in the doorway checking on him and smile softly, you find him slumped in the bathtub, half asleep, eyes lazily trailing you as you move around his room. He smiles softly, lazily at you and you chuckle softly at him.

”Feel good in there pup?” You ask him fondly and he nods his head slowly. 

“Aww, look at the sick puppy.” Felix says suddenly from right next to you. You nearly jump a foot in the air at his sudden appearance and Seungmin rasps out a scratchy laugh. “Sorry Jagi, didn’t mean to scare you.” Felix apologizes as his eyes squint and the face mask he’s wearing hides his wide smile.

”Beat it Lix, or you’re gonna get sick just like the pup.” You scowl at him and he chuckles softly at your words before raising his hands in faux surrender. 

”I’m just here to grab some clothes and essentials. I’m staying at Changbin and Hyunjin’s apartment while you nurse the puppy back to health.” Felix explains and you roll your eyes at him as Seungmin smiles lazily at the two of you. “She takes such good care of you doesn’t she, puppy?” Felix coos at Seungmin who’s smile widens on his face and his eyes soften as he looks at you while nodding his head lazily. Felix coos again and you scoff at him before pushing him out of the doorway.

”Beat it Lix!” You scold him and he giggles loudly while leaving to head to his bedroom and grab his things. “And you better stop looking at me like I hung the moon. I might start believing it.” You say in a faux threatening tone while pointing at Seungmin. The man laid his head back against the tub edge and smiled at you with a lovesick look on his face that made you blink at him rapidly before smiling warmly. “I’m gonna start the wash and heat up some soup for you. Be right back.” You told him and he nodded lazily as his body melted even more into the hot water.

Not long after that you were walking back into the bathroom after saying goodbye to Felix and setting another bowl of steaming soup on Seungmin’s bedside table. You smiled as you found him asleep in the tub looking the perfect picture of relaxed. You felt bad for waking him from his peaceful sleep.

”Alright pup, you ready to get out? Or do you want me to wash your hair for you?” You ask him and he groaned in delight at the thought of having your fingers massaging his scalp as you washed his hair.

”Please.” He croaked out and you laughed softly before grabbing the stool to sit behind him. You gently rinsed his hair before gently lathering shampoo through his locks massaging his scalp in a slow soothing rhythm. Seungmin sighed heavily at the feeling of your fingers against his scalp as the scent of rosemary and mint filled the bathroom. When you rinsed his hair out and reached for the towel Seungmin suddenly reached out and grabbed your hands. He pulled your arms forward causing you to lean forward into his damp head. He slowly brought your wrists up to his lips and kissed the inside of each of your wrists before speaking up, his voice hoarse but full of emotion.

”Thank you.” He whispered. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you. But I’m so lucky that I do deserve you.” You smiled fondly at the sentimental man before you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the back of his head. You rested your chin gently on the back of his head as he peppered more kisses to your wrists alternating between the two.

”You don’t have to thank me. I’m always going to be here when you need me, pup.” You tell him softly and he hummed contentedly. You stand then and grab the towel before helping him out of the bath. He dries himself off while you grab another towel and begin to exaggeratedly dry his hair using extra dramatic flourishes of your hands which causes him to laugh softly. When you’re done drying him and leaving the towel on his head he slowly lowers it to peek out at you and you grin at him while he giggles sweetly as his soft eyes twinkle with amusement. “Alright, back to bed with you pup. Soups on the bedside table with some water and another dose of medicine waiting for you.” You tell him as you tap his hip and he smiles widely at you. “The faster you recover, the faster I can ask you to serenade me again.” You say to him and he stares at you for a moment before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

He stood there staring at you as his smile slipped slowly onto his face, his cheeks flushed with the warmth of the bathroom but he didn’t move to head into the bedroom and you rose an eyebrow at him. His eyes turned challengingly and you knew he was feeling much better than before if he was able to muster up the energy to challenge you now.

”Seungmin” you warn him, your eyes narrowing playfully at him. “If you keep stalling. I’ll throw you over my shoulder and put you to bed myself.” You threaten and watch as his eyes widen at your words. He grins wicked before darting out of the bathroom to get dressed and curl up in the freshly made bed. You scoff softly at him while rolling your eyes knowing when he was back to full health he’d probably test that threat of yours.

Following him a few minutes later after cleaning up the bathroom you find him already half-asleep in the bed, his lips tilted up in a gentle smile that has your heart melting softly in your chest. As you slipped into the bed beside him he opened one eye and smiled dazedly before wrapping his arms around you and tugging you flush against him, your back against his warm chest.

”You’re the best medicine.” He mumbled sleepily and you laughed softly as he nuzzled his face into your neck. Your hands came down to gently pat his interlocked ones.

”Told you I’ve got you, pup.” You said softly promising him that you’d always have him. The two of you soon fell asleep cuddled under the blankets together.

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt.14

Word Count: 27.1k

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were forgetting his voice.

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

What did Xavier sound like?

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

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

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

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

The before was fading.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe he was just good at pretending.

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

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

What are you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were definitely going crazy.

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

Sylus tilted his head, a flicker of amusement dancing across his face. “Sir?” he repeated, his voice tinged with mock offense. “I don’t recall being knighted, but I’ll take it.”

You smirked, crossing your arms and leaning back against the headboard. “Come on, then,” you teased. “If Evelyn's so bad, what’s your grand idea for a name?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I didn't say it was a bad name. Ruby,” he said with a small nod. “Or maybe Sapphire.”

The laughter bubbled up before you could stop it, the sound catching you off guard with its suddenness. It wasn’t forced, wasn’t fake. It was real, genuine, and it felt…good. You pressed a hand to your mouth, trying to stifle it, but Sylus raised an eyebrow, his expression curious.

“What?” he asked, his voice dipping into that familiar amused lilt. “What’s so funny?”

“You,” you said between giggles, your shoulders shaking slightly as you tried to compose yourself. “You sure do like your gems, huh?”

Sylus’s lips quirked upward into a smile, one of the rare ones that felt real and unguarded. “Is a daughter not the most precious gem in the world?” he replied, his tone soft but filled with a warmth that caught you off guard.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips refused to disappear. “That was so cheesy,” you said, shaking your head.

“Maybe,” he admitted with a faint chuckle. “But that doesn’t make it any less true.”

His words settled in the air between you, lingering like a warm embrace. You weren’t sure how to respond, so you didn’t. Instead, you let yourself lean into the moment, let yourself imagine what it might be like to raise her, this little girl who was half of you and half of him. It was a fragile thought, one that felt precarious and strange, but it was also…comforting.

It was actually nice to be delusional for a bit.

“Ruby,” you said after a moment, testing the name on your tongue. “It’s…not bad, I guess.”

“Not bad?” Sylus repeated, his tone teasing again. “That’s practically a glowing endorsement coming from you.”

You shot him a look, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you, curving upward in spite of yourself. “Don’t push it,” you said lightly, nudging his shoulder with your own.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, and for a moment, the weight of the past few months didn’t feel so heavy. The walls of the room didn’t feel so confining, and the imaginary chain around your neck was almost forgotten. Almost. You weren’t free—not really—but in this moment, you let yourself imagine that you were.

“So,” Sylus said after a beat, his voice softer now. “If Ruby’s not terrible, does that mean it’s a contender?”

You hesitated, your hand unconsciously moving to rest on your belly. You thought about her, this little life growing inside you, and for the first time, you let yourself picture her with a name. Ruby. It felt strange, attaching something so personal, so permanent, to someone you hadn’t even met yet. Someone you weren't even sure you could love. But it also felt…right. Or at least, like a start.

“Maybe,” you said finally, your voice quieter now. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve really thought about it before.”

Sylus tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady but not intrusive. “Why not?”

You shrugged, your fingers brushing absently over the fabric of the shirt he’d given you. “I guess…I’ve been too focused on everything else,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s hard to think about names when you don’t even know what the future looks like.”

His expression softened, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his face. “Then maybe we should start imagining it,” he said quietly. “Together.”

You looked at him, your breath catching for just a moment. There was something in his voice, something in the way he said it, that made you want to believe him. Made you want to believe that, maybe, the future didn’t have to be so terrifying. That, maybe, you could find a way to hold onto moments like this.

You didn’t say anything else, but when you leaned back against the headboard, your hand still resting on your belly, you didn’t feel so alone. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself imagine what her life might be like. Ruby, or whatever her name might end up being, was coming. And for the first time, you thought…maybe that was okay.

Even if it was all a lie.

You were tired. Mind-numbing, soul-crushing tired. It wasn’t just physical, though your body constantly ached and groaned under the weight of pregnancy. No, it was the kind of tired that seeped into your very being, that made even the simplest of tasks feel monumental. You were tired of waddling around, tired of the constant heartburn, tired of your emotions riding a hormonal rollercoaster that never seemed to stop. But most of all, you were tired of peeing.

The baby—or your bladder’s nemesis, as you’d started calling her—seemed to take great delight in squishing your insides in the most inconvenient ways possible. You couldn’t make it through an hour without feeling the urgent need to waddle to the bathroom, only to sit there and produce a few pitiful drops. It was infuriating. Exhausting. Almost comical, if you weren’t so over it.

You sighed as you flopped back onto the couch, glaring at the ceiling as if it could somehow sympathize with your plight. “I swear,” you muttered under your breath, “I’m going to make her pay me back for this one day. She owes me. Big time.”

But no matter how much you complained, there were moments that made you pause. Moments that reminded you that, despite the aches and discomfort, you were carrying life inside you. Your daughter, this little person who already seemed to have so much personality. She was a tiny tyrant, sure, but she was also her own person now it seemed.

Even your cravings, as strange and unpredictable as they were, had become part of the bizarre tapestry of this experience. You’d learned to ignore the look Sylus gave you whenever you requested something outlandish. Like the time you swore that vanilla ice cream and pickles were the greatest culinary invention ever.

“I swear on my own soul,” you’d told him, your tone solemn but your eyes sparkling with mischief, “vanilla ice cream and pickles are delicious, Sy.”

He’d shaken his head at you, a soft chuckle escaping his lips, but he’d indulged you anyway. He always did. These days, Sylus seemed to exist solely to fulfill your every whim, no matter how absurd. His eyes, once so sharp and calculating, now held something softer whenever they landed on you.

"I feel like having cake today"

"What flavor, honey?"

"Sylus, I think I want the crib pink instead of white"

"As you wish, but isn't this the fifth time you've changed your mind?"

"Can I have your pillows? My backs hurting..."

"You already have most of the pillows on your side, sweetie".

"...."

"Alright, here you go."

He also hadn’t made you wear the chain for weeks now. At first, you’d been suspicious, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Freedom wasn’t something you associated with Sylus—not real freedom, anyway. But as the days passed, you began to relax, to accept the absence of the cold, metallic weight around your ankle. You weren’t truly free, not in the way you craved, but it was something. A step forward.

And Sylus…he had changed too. He was still the man who had held you captive, the man who had made decisions for you that you could never forget. Your captor, your rapist. He was still all of those things. But he was also the man who fetched you ice cream at two in the morning without complaint. The man who held your hair back when nausea overtook you and stayed up with you when insomnia refused to let you sleep. The man who had begun to apologize, not with words, but with actions.

The past still lingered between you, a shadow neither of you could fully escape. But you found yourself not thinking about it as much. There wasn’t space for it in your mind, not when your thoughts were consumed by other things: the relentless need to pee, the insatiable cravings, the constant stomach aches, and the naps that never seemed long enough.

Your daughter was growing, and she made sure you knew it. At seven months, your latest ultrasound had shown that she was thriving. Dr. Merill had smiled, pointing out her tiny feet and her steadily beating heart. She was very much alive, and she was letting you know it every single day.

She kicked nonstop, especially when you ate. If she liked what you fed her, she’d kick happily, little thumps that made you wince and smile in equal measure. But if she didn’t? Oh, she’d make you pay for that too. The nausea would creep in, or a sharp jab to the ribs would have you doubling over. It was like she was already forming very strong opinions, much like her father.

You rested a hand on your belly, feeling her shift beneath your palm. “You’re a little troublemaker, you know that?” you whispered, your voice soft but filled with amusement. She responded with a kick, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

Some days, you weren't sure how to feel about her. And others...were like today. You felt okay with her. She seemed to be okay with you too.

Sylus entered the room just then, carrying a tray with a glass of water and a plate of something you hadn’t asked for but probably wanted anyway. His crimson eyes landed on you, his expression softening as he noticed the way your hand rested on your belly.

“She’s been fussy today,” you said, glancing up at him.

“She’s always fussy,” he replied, setting the tray down beside you. “Like her mother.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no bite to it. “Don’t start,” you warned lightly, though a small smile tugged at your lips.

He sat beside you, his presence warm and steady. You glanced at him, taking in the faint lines of exhaustion around his eyes. He’d been with you through every late-night craving, every ache, every complaint. You didn’t want to admit it, but he’d been good to you. Better than you’d expected.

It was the least he could do after everything.

“Thank you,” you said suddenly, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them.

Sylus tilted his head, his brows raising slightly. “For what?”

“For…everything,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know I’m a pain right now.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and comforting. “You’re not a pain,” he said, his hand brushing yours lightly. “You’re pregnant. There’s a difference.”

You looked away, suddenly feeling vulnerable, but his words stayed with you. For all the mess, for all the past, there was something steady about him now. Something that made you feel…not safe, exactly, but cared for at least.

Your daughter kicked again, harder this time, and you winced, letting out a small laugh. “See what I mean? Trouble,” you said, rubbing your belly gently.

“She’s strong,” Sylus said, his voice filled with quiet pride. “She gets that from you.”

You didn’t respond, but as you leaned back against the couch, your hand still resting on your belly, you pondered what he just said.

You didn’t feel strong. Not in the way people romanticized strength. It wasn’t some fiery, defiant thing coursing through your veins. No. If anything, you felt...compliant. Like someone who had simply adapted to their circumstances, slipping into the role that had been carved out for them.

Maybe it was survival. Or maybe it was exhaustion.

You had learned the hard way that certain things didn’t work. Anger? Useless. You could scream at Sylus until your voice gave out, but he would only watch you with that maddening calm, as if your fury was nothing but a passing storm. Running? That didn’t work either. You’d tried that too, and all it had gotten you was a painfully short leash—both figuratively and literally.

And killing him? That was the one that haunted you the most. You had the chance. You had the gun in your hands. He had given it to you. He had told you to pull the trigger, had stood there, waiting. Daring you. But you couldn’t do it. Not because you didn’t want to—God, you had wanted to—but because some part of you, some deep, hidden part you couldn’t explain, had hesitated. And that hesitation had cost you everything.

And then...he hadn't even died.

So, what more could you do?

Now, all that fight was gone. Or maybe it wasn’t gone—maybe it was just buried under the weight of the life growing inside you. Because it wasn’t just about you anymore. There was a baby now, a tiny, helpless life that depended on you. Every time you felt her kick, every time she shifted or nudged, it was a reminder that she was there. She was real. And she didn’t deserve to feel the chaos that swirled inside you. She didn’t deserve to be born into a world filled with your anger and fear.

So, you picked your battles. You didn't think about things that would make your heart race and your blood boil. You didn't think about Xavier or wonder where he was/if he was safe.

The easiest battle to surrender was Sylus’s care. He wanted to take care of you. It was part of his control, you knew that. But it was also something you couldn’t fight against anymore. Not when your body ached, and your mind felt frayed at the edges. Not when the cravings hit in the middle of the night, or when you couldn’t roll over without help. You told yourself it was just practicality—letting him take care of you because it was easier. Because it was less exhausting than fighting him every step of the way.

But deep down, you knew that wasn’t the whole truth. The more time passed, the more you found yourself leaning on him. Not just willingly, but inevitably. He was there, steady and constant, filling the cracks in the world he had broken around you. You hated it. Hated how much easier it was to let him help you than to resist. Hated how he was always there when you needed him, as if he could sense your struggles before you even voiced them.

And the worst part? You knew this was what he wanted. He wanted you to rely on him. To need him. And it was working.

You stretch your neck a bit with a heavy sigh, one hand still resting on your swollen belly. The baby nudged against your palm, a gentle reminder of her presence, and you couldn’t help but smile faintly. “I don't know what the future holds for either of us” you murmured softly. “But its not your fault. I'm trying my best.”

You kept your hand resting on your belly, absently tracing slow circles over the fabric of your shirt, when Sylus moved. He didn’t say anything, didn’t give you a warning. He just leaned down, resting his head against your bump gently, almost reverently. The weight of it was light, careful, as though he was trying not to disturb the little life growing inside you.

Your daughter didn’t seem to appreciate the intrusion. She kicked, hard, right where his head was, and Sylus chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. He pressed a small kiss to your bump, his lips lingering just long enough to send an unexpected shiver through you. Then he tilted his head, looking up at you from where he lay against your lap.

The way he stared was intense, his eyes locking onto yours with a look that made your heart skip a beat. There was something in that gaze, something slow and deliberate. Almost…alluring.

You shifted under the weight of his attention, your breath hitching as you tried to hold his gaze. But it was too much—too heavy. You looked away quickly, pretending to focus on something else, your fingers twitching against your belly.

Sylus didn’t move right away. His presence was still there, looming over you even though he remained physically closer to the floor. You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the unease bubbling up inside you. His energy was different tonight. Charged. And it wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, but it was unsettling.

You weren’t strangers to his sudden affection. Over the past few months, he’d been initiating them more often—quick, fleeting kisses on your lips, always catching you off guard. You had started reciprocating. It felt… easier that way. He was taking care of you, after all. What harm was there in a few kisses? They were small gestures, nothing more.

And he hadn’t asked for anything more. Not yet. Despite the way his gaze lingered on you sometimes, despite the way his touches seemed to stretch a little too long, he hadn’t pressed for intimacy. Not in that way. He clearly wanted to—his body language betrayed him every time he was near you—but he had always pulled back when it became clear you weren’t going to entertain it.

But now…now he felt different. More pushy. More insistent.

“Despite everything,” he said suddenly, his voice low, almost husky, “I still feel so distant from you.”

You forced a laugh, looking away again to avoid the intensity in his eyes. “How?” you said lightly, trying to inject humor into the moment. “Your child is literally growing in here. Don’t think we could get any closer than, you know, mixing DNA.” You gestured vaguely at your stomach, offering a weak smile.

Sylus didn’t laugh. He didn’t even chuckle. He only smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips that made your stomach twist—not from the baby’s movement, but from something deeper. Something instinctual.

He sat up slowly, shifting so he was eye level with you now, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp. Direct. You felt pinned under it, like prey caught in a predator’s sights. The discomfort you hadn’t felt for weeks crept back in, winding its way up your spine and making your skin prickle.

“I think we both know that’s not what I mean, kitten,” he said, his voice dipping into something dangerously close to a purr. The nickname, the one that had started as something teasing, now carried a weight that made your breath hitch.

His hand moved, settling on your thigh with deliberate slowness. The touch was firm but not heavy, the heat of his palm seeping through the fabric of your leggings and making you acutely aware of the space between your bodies—or lack thereof.

The room suddenly felt too small, too warm, despite the chill in the air. Your heart began to beat faster, the sound of it pounding in your ears as your hands grew clammy. You tried to steady your breathing, but it was hard to focus when his presence loomed so heavily, so insistently.

“Aren’t you tired of pretending?” he murmured, leaning closer. His breath brushed against your ear, warm and tantalizing, sending another shiver skittering down your spine. “I see it in your eyes. The need.”

You stiffened, but his voice didn’t waver. If anything, it grew softer, more intimate, as though he were sharing a secret meant only for you. “The way you shift your legs together when I’m dressing in front of you…the way your eyes wander, even when you think I don’t notice.”

Your breath caught, and your mind raced to refute him, to deny everything he was saying. But the words wouldn’t come. His tone, his presence, his touch—they were all too much, too overwhelming. Your body betrayed you, warmth creeping up your neck and settling in your cheeks despite your best efforts to suppress it.

Sylus tilted his head slightly, his crimson eyes narrowing as he studied your reaction. He smiled again, but this time it was softer, almost disarming. “It’s okay,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to deny it. I’m not blind, kitten.”

You swallowed hard, your gaze darting away from his as your hands fidgeted in your lap. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stammered, your voice shaking slightly despite your best efforts to sound firm. Of course you knew. You weren't sure if it was the hormones or what but the feeling of need...the feeling of desire to be touched and ravished had been more rampant than usual. You honestly thought you had done a better job at hiding it, but Sylus had read you like usual.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rich, and leaned back just enough to give you a sliver of space. But his hand remained on your thigh, his thumb brushing slow, deliberate circles against the fabric. The sensation sent sparks racing up your leg, and you hated how your body reacted, how you couldn’t stop the way your breath hitched every time his thumb moved.

“You don't know?,” he said, his voice calm but laced with something deeper, something resolute. “Let me show you then, sweetie”

You barely process his words before you feel the heat of his touch spreading through your skin, a slow burn that makes it hard to focus on anything else. His hand moves with a gentle yet deliberate caress, and before you can fully process it, he's leaning in, his lips brushing softly against your neck. The contact sends a shiver down your spine, a reluctant thrill of pleasure that you can't quite shake off.

His other hand finds its way in your pants and between your legs, fingers teasing and exploring, rubbing your clit with a maddening slowness that leaves you teetering on the edge of resistance and surrender. You don't want to like it, don't want to give in to the pleasure that coils so insistently in your belly, but your body has other ideas, responding with a traitorous eagerness that you can't deny.

You should try and stop him like every other time. But you don't. Its like your brain has switched off, replaced by a sudden need for him to keep touching.

As his lips continued their gentle assault on your neck, sending waves of tingling sensations down your body, you found yourself sinking deeper into the embrace of pleasure. The hand on your thigh tightened its grip, a possessive gesture that only added to the intensity of the moment. His breath, warm and tantalizing, whispered against your skin, causing goosebumps to rise in its wake.

"You're so responsive," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper in your ear. "I love how your body betrays your resolve." He knew just how to play with your senses, to make you question your own resistance. His fingers continued their sensual dance, stroking and circling, pushing you closer to the precipice of desire.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the world narrowing to the sensations he evoked. You want to shut him up. You want to scream at him. But no words come. His touch was like a brand, searing your skin with a fiery delight. You tried to hold on to your last shreds of resistance, but it was like trying to grasp smoke; it slipped through your fingers, leaving you helpless against the onslaught of pleasure.

As his kisses trailed down, each one a delicate flame on your skin, you felt your inhibitions melting away. The hand between your legs quickened its pace, and you gasped, unable to stifle the sound of your growing arousal. You were falling, surrendering to the sweet torment he so expertly wielded.

"That's it, let go," he encouraged, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to hear your surrender, sweetie." His words were like a spell, binding you to the moment, to the pleasure, and to the surrender you were about to embrace.

The tension coiled tighter within you, a spring ready to snap, and you knew that when it did, it would be a release like no other. Your body was on fire, craving the climax he was so adept at orchestrating. And in that moment, resistance seemed like a distant memory, as you were ready to succumb to the blissful oblivion he promised.

The pleasure built to an unbearable crescendo, and in a moment of powerful release, you surrendered to the climax, your body arching against his touch. A mix of sensations flooded through you—pleasure, relief, and a tinge of guilt for succumbing so easily. You trembled as the waves of ecstasy washed over, leaving you breathless and weak. "You're beautiful when you come undone," he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction. His hand lingered on your sensitive skin, stroking gently as you rode out the aftershocks of your orgasm.

"I....I..." you muttered, suddenly feeling incredibly lightheaded.

The climax washed over you like a tidal wave, leaving your body trembling and your senses heightened. You gasped for breath, overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure he had just unleashed within you. As you came down from the peak, a wave of emotions hit you—a mix of satisfaction, vulnerability, and a tinge of shame.

As if sensing your sudden anxiety, Sylus tightened his hold on your waist, his touch gentle yet firm. "Shh, don't run from this," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. You tried to squirm away, suddenly self-conscious, but his strong arms guided you back into place, his hands caressing your hips with a possessive yet tender touch.

"Trust me," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "I'll take care of you." With a gentle but unwavering grip, he guided you into position, urging you onto all fours and guiding you to rest your belly against the soft cushions of the couch. Your heart raced as you realized the intimate position you were now in.

"My belly..." you started, your voice laced with concern as you remembered your pregnant form. Was this even safe? What if he was too rough and hurt her? You feel your pulse quicken of the thought of something happening to the baby.

Sylus, ever attuned to your needs, paused, his hand cupping your swollen belly with reverence. "I'll be gentle," he reassured, his thumb tracing slow circles over your skin. "Just breathe."

His words, spoken with such tenderness, only calmed your nerves a little. You feel him pulling your leggings down and lifting your shirt. As he positioned himself behind you, his hardened cock pressed against your entrance, sending a jolt of anticipation through your body. You couldn't see behind you, but from feeling alone you could tell Sylus was harder than you'd ever felt him. You felt his breath on your neck, hot and ragged, as he began to enter you, his movements deliberate and slow.

A soft whimper escaped your lips as he penetrated, the sensation both painful and pleasurable. The stretch and fullness were intensified by your pregnant state, and you couldn't help but wonder if it was the reason for the heightened sensitivity and pleasure.

"Nnngh…" you groan, gripping intensely into one of the pillows. "Slower Sylus, please..."

"Its been awhile, but you'll adjust" he whispered, his voice strained with restraint. "You feel tighter too, no wonder it hurts" His hands moved to your hips, guiding you to meet his slow, careful thrusts. You can't help but feel your face heat up at the sinful words leaving his mouth.

"Shut up..."

The sensations were overwhelming, a blend of pleasure and discomfort that soon gave way to pure bliss. You moaned, your voice echoing in the room as you surrendered to the waves of delight coursing through your core.

"That's it, let me hear you," he encouraged, his own moans becoming more pronounced as he picked up the pace. "Let me show you how good this can be."

His hands roamed over your body, caressing your back, your hips, and occasionally returning to cup your belly, as if to remind you of the life growing within and the unique pleasure you were experiencing. The room was filled with the sounds of your pleasure—your moans, his deep grunts, and the soft, rhythmic sounds of skin on skin.

As he thrust into you with increasing fervor, his movements remained mindful of your comfort, ensuring each stroke brought you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

The penetration was deep and profound, each withdrawal a sweet agony, leaving you wanting more. Your body was alive with sensation, every nerve ending singing with pleasure and pain. You wanted to escape the exquisite torture, to find release, but he held you firmly in place, his grip a gentle captivity.

"Please, Sylus," you begged, your voice breathless. "I need..."

"I know, sweetie," he murmured, his voice a soothing contrast to the raw need coursing between you. "Have some patience."

With each withdrawal and thrust, he worked his full length inside you, his movements now a deliberate torture, designed to push you closer to the edge of ecstasy. Your body felt like it was on fire, and sweat began to form on your face.

Your moans became more frequent, more desperate, each sound a plea for release. He was relentless, his pace calculated to drive you wild, his own breath ragged as he held himself back from the brink, all for the pleasure of watching you unravel.

"Sylus, please," you cried, your body arching, seeking more of him. His teasing was almost driving you to madness.

"Soon, my love," he promised, his voice a low growl. "But first, I want to watch you come apart."

His thrusts quickened, still controlled, each one a stroke of pleasure, pushing you higher, closer to the peak. Your body felt like a live wire, every nerve ending sparking with sensation, your core clenching around him, seeking the release he was expertly withholding.

The room was filled with the sounds of your pleasure—your breathless moans, his restrained grunts, and the wet, erotic sounds of flesh on flesh.

As he thrust into you with increasing pace, your body became a conduit of pleasure, every cell alive with sensation. You were on the precipice of bliss, teetering between agony and ecstasy. His hands gripped your hips, holding you firmly in place, ensuring his length stroked every sweet spot within you.

"Yes, let go," he urged, his voice a command you couldn't deny. "Cum for me."

His words, spoken with such authority, pushed you over the edge. Your body convulsed, spreading aching pleasure as you climaxed, your release a sweet surrender to the bliss he had orchestrated. Sylus soon followed, hot ropes of his cum filling you as he groaned your name, his body shuddering against yours in perfect harmony. You feel out of breath as he finally pulls out of you, a sudden empty sensation taking over instead.

The aftermath left you feeling hollow and heavy, like the weight of the world had pressed down on you all at once. You remained there, your legs trembling slightly, and felt his fluids slowly begin to slip out of you, a sensation that made your stomach tighten. Your hand instinctively drifted to your belly, and as if on cue, your daughter kicked hard, a protest against all the extra movement. You sighed softly, a wave of guilt washing over you.

I’m sorry, you thought, offering her a silent apology as you rubbed your bump in slow, soothing circles. May have gotten carried away.

The sensation of a cool, damp cloth against your legs startled you out of your thoughts. You looked over to see Sylus crouched in front of you, his focus sharp and deliberate as he carefully cleaned you up. He was gentle, moving with a precision that felt practiced, as if he had thought about this moment long before it had happened.

He didn’t speak, and neither did you. There was no need to. The silence was thick, heavy with unspoken emotions, and you couldn’t bring yourself to break it. The cold cloth passed over you again, wiping away the remnants of what had just occurred, and you shivered involuntarily at the sensation. Your body still felt too warm, too sensitive, and the contrast of the cool rag made your breath hitch.

"I'll get you new clothes" he suddenly said, momentarily pausing his movements. You barely hear him, but make a noise of acknowledgment.

When he finished, he disappeared momentarily only to return with pajamas for you, his movements slow and purposeful as he helped you redress. The fabric felt strange against your skin, almost foreign, as if it didn’t belong to you anymore. Nothing did—not your mind, not your body. It was all borrowed, handed over piece by piece to him, to the baby, to this life that no longer felt like yours.

Once you were dressed, Sylus stood and gently pulled you to your feet, his hands steadying you as your legs wobbled beneath you. He adjusted the pillows. Without a word, he guided you back to the couch and eased you down onto the cushions in a new position before settling behind you. His arms encircled you loosely, his warmth pressing into your back as he rested his chin lightly against your shoulder.

His hand found your belly almost immediately, his fingers stroking the curve of it in slow, rhythmic motions. The touch was soft, almost absentminded, but it was constant. Ever-present. You could feel the satisfaction radiating off him, a quiet, smug contentment that made your chest tighten. He had wanted this for a long time—there was no doubt about that. The way he gently held you now, the way his touch lingered on your belly, spoke volumes.

And yet, you couldn’t help but feel slightly taken advantage of. The thought crept into your mind unbidden, a whisper that grew louder the longer you sat there in his arms. If it weren’t for the pregnancy—if it weren’t for the weight of your swollen belly and overbearing feelings that came with it—would you have even let him get this close? Would you have let him touch you the way he had?

You weren’t sure. And that uncertainty gnawed at you.

This was different from all the other times. He hadn't had to force you. Somehow someway he knew your own thoughts, even if you didn't speak them aloud.

Your body didn’t feel like yours anymore. Your mind didn’t either. Every decision, every thought, every movement was dictated by something outside of yourself—by Sylus, by the baby, by the strange, tangled web of your current reality. It was like you were living on autopilot, your choices whittled down to the path of least resistance.

As Sylus continued to stroke your belly, his touch steady and unrelenting, you felt yourself slipping further into your thoughts. His hand was warm, soothing in a way that made you want to hate it but couldn’t. It reminded you of how far you had come—not in strength or independence, but in compliance.

How much had you given up? How much of yourself had you handed over, piece by piece, without even realizing it? The chain had come off weeks ago, but sometimes, you swore you could still feel its weight. Not on your ankle, but somewhere deeper. Somewhere inside.

The silence stretched between you both, but neither of you spoke still. Words wouldn’t have changed anything. They wouldn’t have undone the strange intimacy of the moment, wouldn’t have erased the lingering feelings of guilt and resentment that churned in your chest.

You shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, but the movement only drew you closer to him. Sylus didn’t seem to mind. If anything, his hold on you tightened just a fraction, his touch growing softer, more deliberate, as if he could sense the thoughts swirling in your mind.

You wondered how far you’d fallen. How compliant you’d truly become. It scared you, the thought of how easy it had become to let him take the lead, to let him dictate the terms of your life. Somewhere along the way, the fight had drained out of you, leaving only this—this quiet surrender, this hollow acceptance of the way things were.

And as much as you hated it, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away either.

Xavier’s body ached, the deep, bone-deep kind of pain that refused to go away no matter how much rest he got. He leaned heavily against the kitchen counter, his fingers curling tightly around the edge as a sharp pang coursed through his torso. His chest rose and fell in labored breaths as he waited for it to pass. It wasn’t as bad as it had been the first few weeks after he was released from the hospital, but it was enough to remind him that his body wasn’t entirely his own anymore.

The new treatment, as Dr. Grey had called it, had definitely saved him some time. That much was true. But at what cost? He had nearly killed Grey the moment he learned the truth—his veins now carried the DNA of a Polar Wyrm, a wanderer that was known for its love of colder areas. He should have asked more questions, he knew that. But at the time, he hadn’t cared about the consequences. All that had mattered was staying alive, getting back on his feet. Back to you.

But staying alive didn’t feel like much of a victory when his body felt like this. Xavier had thought he would be stronger, faster, ready to take on Sylus and rescue you. Instead, he found himself struggling with the simplest of tasks, the phantom pain from his transformation a constant reminder that he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to fight Sylus. He wasn’t ready to protect you. And he hated himself for it.

Dr. Grey had specifically told him that it would take a bit to "adjust" to his new body and that the pain in his bones would stop. The pain seemed never ending though.

He exhaled slowly, wiping a hand over his face as he straightened up. His eyes drifted to the corner of the living room where the boxes sat. Your boxes. He had finally gotten hold of them a few weeks ago after the landlord cleared out your apartment. The sight of them, stacked and untouched, made his chest tighten every time he looked at them. It was like having a piece of you here, a small reminder of the life you’d left behind.

He moved toward them now, his fingers brushing over the lid of the nearest box before he pulled it open. He wasn’t proud of himself for this—rifling through your things like some desperate, lovesick fool—but he couldn’t help it. It was the closest he could get to you right now. Inside, he found books, random trinkets, and clothes. Some were clean, neatly folded as though you’d packed them with care. Others…weren’t.

His face heated as he pulled out one of your shirts, the fabric soft but faintly wrinkled. It wasn’t clean. The scent of you still lingered faintly on it, a mix of your shampoo and something uniquely you. It was embarrassing, the way he held it to his face for just a moment, inhaling deeply as if he could somehow hold onto your essence. It made him feel pathetic. But it also made him feel closer to you.

His fists clenched around the fabric, his jaw tightening as he thought about you. About the life you were living now, trapped under Sylus’s control. You deserved better. You deserved freedom. And he…he wasn’t ready to give it to you. Not yet. He hoped he wasn't running out of time

Not until I can make this pain stop, he thought bitterly, tossing the shirt back into the box and shutting it firmly. Dr. Grey had assured him that he wouldn’t turn into a Polar Wyrm—that he had simply harvested its power, not its form—but that did little to comfort him. His body was stronger, yes, but it felt foreign. The pain and unpredictability of it left him feeling more like a stranger in his own skin than the man he once was. He’d deal with Grey later. Right now, his focus was on you.

Xavier rubbed his temple, trying to push the frustration away as he made his way toward the door. He needed air. He needed to clear his head. The suffocating weight of his thoughts was too much to bear indoors.

The morning air was crisp, cool against his skin as he stepped outside. He didn’t go far, just to the steps of the building. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to let him breathe. His thoughts were consumed by plans to rescue you, even though he didn’t have all the pieces yet. How could he, when his own body betrayed him?

He was about to head back inside when something caught his attention. A single door down, near your old apartment, there were boxes sitting outside. Open boxes. His heart clenched painfully as he stared at them. Was someone moving into your place already? His mind raced with memories of you in that apartment, your laugh, your smile, the way you had asked him how the locks worked the day you moved in. You had been shy, your voice soft as you spoke to him, but your eyes had held a spark of curiosity that had drawn him in. That spark was what he missed most.

It had been early evening, the warm glow of the setting sun casting long shadows across the hallway. He was heading out to grab dinner when he saw you standing outside your door, a box perched precariously in your arms. You looked so unsure of yourself, your brows furrowed in concentration as you shifted the weight of the box from one hip to the other.

“Uh, excuse me,” you called out, your voice soft, almost hesitant. He turned toward you, pausing mid-step. “Do you know how the locks on these doors work?”

He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. There was something endearing about the way you asked, as if you were afraid he might ignore you or brush you off. He walked over, gesturing for you to hand him the box. “Here,” he said easily, taking it from your hands and setting it down beside the door. “What’s the problem? Fingerprint not working?”

You hesitated, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you fumbled with the key in your hand. “Fingerprints...?,” you asked. “ Then what's this key they gave me? I just moved in, and I think I’m doing it wrong or something. There's no keyhole...”

He raised an eyebrow, crouching slightly to inspect the lock. “Well, first off, these locks aren't unlocked by keys . They should've had you register your fingerprint at the front desk, yeah? Like this.” He gently grabbed your hand and pushed your finger against the pad, and the door clicked open after a few seconds.

Your eyes lit up, relief washing over your face as you offered him a grateful smile. “Oh, thank you! I was wondering why they wanted my fingerprint. The landlord didn't explain much, he seemed to be in a rush. I thought I was going to have to call him and look like a complete idiot.”

He chuckled, standing up and leaning casually against the doorframe. “Oh, you’re good. That physical key is probably for your mailbox. They haven't updated those yet. You’re new here?”

You nodded, fidgeting with your hands as you shifted awkwardly under his gaze. “Yeah, just moved in today. Sorry to bother you.”

“It’s no bother,” he said, waving you off. “Welcome to the building. Your a new hunter right?”

You blinked, surprised. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Lucky guess,” he replied with a small smirk. “But most people that move here are hunters surprisingly.”

You laughed softly, a sound that stuck with him even now. “I guess so. It’s…nice. Its a lot different from my last place.”

“Change is good,” he said lightly. “New experiences and whatnot.”

You smiled again, this time a little more freely, and he felt something stir in his chest. He didn’t know what it was then, but it was enough to make him linger a little longer than he should have.

“Well, thanks again,” you said, your voice softer now as you glanced down at the floor. “I appreciate the help.”

“No problem,” he said, stepping back into the hallway. “If you need anything, I’m in 3A. Right next to you.”

Your eyes darted up to meet his, a flicker of surprise and something else passing through them. “Oh your so close! Okay. Thanks.”

He gave you one last nod before heading out, but the memory of your shy smile stayed with him long after he walked away.

Xavier opened his eyes, the flashback fading as his gaze returned to the boxes outside your old apartment. That shy, uncertain version of you felt so far away now. He couldn’t even imagine what you must be like after everything Sylus had put you through.

His jaw tightened, and his hands curled into fists at his sides. He had to get you back. Not just to free you from Sylus, but to bring back the person you were. The person who had asked him about the locks, who had laughed and smiled softly when he teased you. That person was still in there, somewhere. He had to believe that.

The sound of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts, and he turned to see a red-haired woman climbing the stairs. She was talking loudly on her phone, her voice grating against his already frayed nerves. She was carrying a small bag, her free hand gesturing animatedly as she laughed at something the person on the other end said.

When she spotted him, she stopped abruptly. Her laughter faded, and she quickly ended the call, slipping her phone into her pocket as she flashed him a bright, practiced smile.

“Well, hello there,” she said, her voice syrupy sweet as her eyes roamed over him. “Didn’t realize this place had such…interesting company.”

Xavier’s expression didn’t change, his jaw tightening as he stared at her. He didn’t want this conversation. He didn’t want anything from her.

“You got a name, handsome?” she asked, tilting her head as she took a step closer.

“Xavier,” he said flatly, his voice curt. He regretted giving her his name the moment it left his mouth.

“Xavier,” she repeated, as if savoring the sound. “Well, Xavier, if you’re ever looking for company…” She paused, her lips curving into a smirk. “You know where to find me.”

She winked before slipping into the apartment, leaving the door slightly ajar. He stared after her for a moment, a heavy sigh escaping him as he shook his head. She was nothing like you. Her flirtation felt hollow, forced, and it only served to make him miss you more.

He lingered in the hallway for a moment longer, his thoughts drifting back to the day you moved in. He could still see the way you looked up at him, your nervous smile and wide eyes. The way you had laughed, soft and genuine, like you couldn’t help yourself. It pained him that your apartment would be tainted by someone else's presence. That memory was all he had left, and he clung to it with everything he had.

One day, he promised himself. One day, he’d bring you back. And he’d do whatever it took to make that happen.

The world was moving on without you. But he wouldn't.

The pain was unbearable today. It came in sharp, stabbing bursts, radiating from deep within his chest and spreading outward like wildfire. Xavier sat on the edge of his bed, gripping the edge of the mattress so hard his knuckles turned white. Sweat dripped down his brow, his jaw clenched tightly to keep from crying out. The only sound in the room was his ragged breathing, each inhale and exhale a fight against the searing heat that pulsed through his veins.

It felt like his body was rebelling against him, and in a way, it was. The Polar Wyrm DNA wasn’t something meant to mix with human DNA obviously. Even now, months after the treatment, his cells still felt like they were at war. Every new surge of strength came with an equally crushing wave of pain, a reminder that his transformation was far from complete.

He reached for his phone on the nightstand, his trembling fingers barely managing to swipe it open before dialing Dr. Grey. The screen reflected his strained expression, the dark circles under his eyes a testament to how little sleep he’d been getting.

The call connected, and Grey’s calm, collected voice came through the speaker. “Xavier. I assume this isn’t a social call.”

“No,” Xavier bit out, his voice tight. “I’m about ready to rip my own skin off, Grey. This pain is unbearable. What the hell did you do to me?”

There was a pause on the other end, the kind that made Xavier’s temper flare. Finally, Grey sighed, as if the question were an inconvenience. “I told you the process would be…difficult. Your body is adapting to something it was never meant to handle. The Polar Wyrm DNA is powerful, yes, but it’s also volatile. I warned you about this.”

“You didn’t warn me enough...” Xavier snapped, his voice rising. He forced himself to take a deep breath, his free hand pressing against his chest as he tried to will the pain away. “You said this would make me stronger, that it would save me. You didn’t say I’d be stuck like this—half-dead and useless.”

“You’re not useless,” Grey replied, his tone maddeningly even. “Far from it. In fact, I suspect your body is on the verge of a breakthrough. The Polar Wyrm DNA wasn’t meant to stand alone—it’s integrating with your existing Evol. Tell me, have you noticed any changes in your abilities?”

Xavier hesitated, his brow furrowing. “What kind of changes?”

“Your Evol,” Grey said, his voice almost eager now. “It should be manifesting differently. Stronger. Purified. You’re no longer just a light wielder, Xavier. You’re becoming something more.”

“I don’t want to be ‘something more,’” Xavier growled. “I want to be me. I'm running out of time”

“You will,” Grey said simply. “But first, you need to understand what you’re capable of. Push yourself, Xavier. Test the limits of your new body. You might be surprised by what you find.”

The call ended abruptly, leaving Xavier gripping the phone in frustration. He wanted to throw it across the room, to hear it shatter into pieces, but he didn’t. Instead, he shoved it into his pocket and grabbed his jacket. If Grey wanted him to push himself, fine. He’d push.

The forest was quiet, save for the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. Xavier stood in the clearing, his hands clenched at his sides as he surveyed the trees around him. He could feel the power thrumming beneath his skin, a faint hum of energy that hadn’t been there before. His Evol used to be simple—a steady, golden glow that he could call upon at will. But now, it felt different. Sharper. Colder.

He exhaled slowly, letting his hand rise as he focused on summoning the energy. At first, it was familiar—the faint flicker of light forming in his palm. But as he concentrated, the color shifted. The warm gold faded into a brilliant, icy blue, and the light crackled with a crystalline texture that sent chills up his arm.

“What the hell…” he murmured, staring at the transformation.

The energy didn’t feel like his own. It was foreign, raw, and powerful in a way that made him uneasy. It begged to be released, pulsing and growing in intensity until he could barely hold it back. Gritting his teeth, he turned toward a nearby tree and hurled the energy forward.

The impact was devastating. The light struck the trunk with a deafening crack, and in an instant, the tree split in half, shards of wood scattering in all directions. Xavier staggered back, his eyes wide as he watched the crystalline residue from the blast spread like frost across the shattered bark.

He barely had time to process what had happened before a sharp pain shot through his arm. He looked down and froze. Small, translucent crystals were emerging from his skin, shimmering with the same blue light as his Evol. They jutted out like jagged shards of ice, and for a moment, panic gripped him.

“What is this...” he whispered, trying to shake them off, but they didn’t budge.

The pain intensified, radiating through his arm and into his chest. He fell to his knees, clutching his side as he struggled to breathe. His body felt like it was breaking apart, the power within him threatening to consume him entirely. But as the pain reached its peak, it suddenly stopped.

Xavier looked up, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The crystals had receded, melting back into his skin as if they’d never been there. His hands trembled as he stared at them, his mind racing with questions he couldn’t answer.

This wasn’t just his Evol anymore. It was something else. Something new.

Xavier leaned back against a nearby tree, his legs too shaky to support him. He closed his eyes, the events of the last few minutes replaying in his mind. Grey had been right—his body was changing, evolving into something he didn’t fully understand. The power was incredible, yes, but it came at a cost. He could still feel the residue of pain lingering beneath the surface, a reminder that his transformation wasn’t complete.

And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. About how this power might be the key to saving you. He clenched his fists, his resolve hardening as he stared at the broken tree in front of him.

“I don’t care what it takes,” he muttered, his voice low but steady. “I’ll figure this out. I’ll get stronger. And I’ll save you.”

The icy blue light flickered faintly around his hand as he spoke, a promise made to himself and to you. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

And so, Xavier had begun training his body, determined to push past the limits of the pain that still gripped him. Every day was a battle—against his own weakness, against the lingering effects of the Polar Wyrm DNA, against the gnawing guilt that he wasn’t moving fast enough to save you. But he fought anyway. His mornings were spent stretching and testing his endurance, forcing his muscles to adapt to the power coursing through his veins. The afternoons were for testing his abilities, honing the blue energy that had taken over his Evol.

He found himself venturing farther from home with each passing day, seeking the quiet isolation of the wilderness where he could unleash his new powers without fear of prying eyes. The first time he used them against something alive, it had been a wanderer—a lanky, glowing wolf-like creature prowling the edges of the forest. The beast had lunged at him, its teeth bared, but Xavier had met it head-on.

The icy blue energy exploded from his hands, crackling through the air before freezing the creature mid-leap. Crystals formed along its body, spreading rapidly until it shattered into a thousand glittering shards. Xavier had stood there, breathing heavily, staring at the destruction he’d wrought. It was…exhilarating. But it also felt strange, alien.

Every encounter after that had been the same. He tested his powers on other wanderers, creatures that roamed too close to civilization. Each time, his control over the energy grew stronger. He learned to summon it faster, to shape it, to pull it back before it overwhelmed him. But the pain never left. It lingered, like a shadow over every victory.

In the evenings, when exhaustion overtook him, he would sit on his couch and stare at the boxes of your belongings. Sometimes he would sift through them, searching for something that would spark a new memory of you. Other times, he’d simply sit there, his hands gripping his knees, the silence broken only by his ragged breaths.

Captain Jenna had been calling regularly, her voice crisp and no-nonsense on the other end of the line. “Xavier, I need an update,” she’d say, her tone brooking no argument. “When can we expect you back on duty?”

He’d stall, his answers carefully crafted lies wrapped in enough truth to be believable. “Still working on my recovery,” he’d tell her, his voice strained just enough to sell it. “The pain’s manageable, but I’m not at full strength yet.”

It wasn’t entirely false. The pain was still there, and he wasn’t ready to return to work. But that wasn’t the whole reason he was avoiding her. The truth was, he couldn’t afford to split his focus. His new body, his abilities, and his plans to save you—they demanded his full attention. Work could wait. You couldn’t.

Jenna wasn’t easily fooled. He could hear the skepticism in her voice every time she called, the way her words lingered just a little too long. “I assume your following all medical directions and resting, Xavier?” she asked once, her tone sharp.

“Of course,” he’d replied quickly, his jaw tightening. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

That seemed to placate her—for now. But he knew it wouldn’t last. Eventually, she’d come looking for him, demanding answers he wasn’t ready to give.

His savings were dwindling, a fact that gnawed at the back of his mind like an ever-present worry. He couldn’t avoid work forever. The money he had left was barely enough to cover his basic needs, let alone the resources he would need to take care of you when you were back. But he shoved those thoughts aside, focusing instead on his training. Every time he felt doubt creep in, he thought of you—of your smile, your laugh, the way you used to look at him with trust in your eyes. That memory kept him going.

One night, after an especially grueling session in the woods, Xavier sat on the floor of his apartment, his back against the couch as he stared at his hands. They were still trembling, the blue light faintly flickering at his fingertips. The power was growing, becoming something he could feel in every cell of his body. But with that power came responsibility—responsibility to wield it carefully, to not let it consume him.

His gaze drifted to the boxes of your belongings, and his chest tightened. He couldn’t afford to fail. Not when so much was at stake. Not when you were still out there, waiting for someone to save you. He thought about the day you moved in again, the shy way you’d asked him about the locks, the small laugh you’d shared when he joked about the apartment.

The crystals flickered along his hands again, a reminder of what he was becoming. He clenched his fists, determination hardening in his chest. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Xavier stood in the middle of the forest at dawn, his body covered in a faint sheen of sweat, his muscles aching but his resolve unshaken. He takes one last deep breath, summoning the blue light in his hands, and releases it with a force that splits another tree in half. The icy shards glitter in the early morning sun, a symbol of the strength he’s gaining.

Xavier looks at his hands, then toward the horizon, where he imagines you waiting. His jaw tightens, and he mutters under his breath, “I’m almost ready.”

With that, he turns back toward the path home, the faint sound of breaking branches and scattered ice lingering in the air behind him.

Was it possible to be tired of being tired?

Every part of you ached—your back, your feet, your shoulders—and your belly, now enormous at 29 weeks, made everything harder. Sitting, standing, walking—it all felt like a monumental effort. Even breathing sometimes felt like too much.

You couldn’t help but think that Sylus had known exactly what he was doing when he got you pregnant.

It was a cruel, insidious kind of strategy, really. The further along you got, the more your body betrayed you. The more energy it siphoned away, the less fight you had to offer. Anger took energy, resistance took energy, even sharp words took energy—and you had none of it to spare anymore.

Not when your legs felt like they were weighted down with bricks. Not when your back screamed in protest every time you tried to stand for more than a few minutes. Not when your daughter’s relentless kicks and movements left you exhausted even as they filled you with a strange, bittersweet pride.

You had stopped fighting him long ago. The sharp words that once came so easily to your lips now stayed locked behind your teeth. The glares and icy silences were fewer, replaced by a hollow, bone-deep exhaustion that dulled every edge you once had. You hated it. You hated how compliant you felt on some level. But what choice did you have?

Sylus, of course, noticed the change. He always noticed. And while he didn’t comment on it directly, you could see it in the way his touches lingered a little longer, the way his hands found your belly more often now. He wasn’t as careful about hiding his intentions anymore, not when you barely had the strength to push him away.

His advances had become bolder, his touches more insistent. A hand on your hip as he guided you to sit down. A kiss pressed to your neck when he helped you get dressed. And you…you didn’t stop him. You didn’t encourage him, either, but you didn’t stop him. Because that, too, would take energy you simply didn’t have.

You sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the floor as your hands rested on your belly. The fabric of your shirt stretched tightly across your bump, the fabric pulling uncomfortably as your daughter shifted inside you. She was active tonight, her movements sharp and frequent, as if she was protesting the same exhaustion you felt.

“Alright, alright,” you murmured softly, rubbing slow circles over your belly. “I get it, you’re not happy. Join the club, kiddo.”

Your words were quiet, spoken more to yourself than to her, but they still made you feel marginally better. At least she was growing, thriving, even if it felt like she was slowly taking every ounce of strength you had left.

Sylus entered the room a moment later, his footsteps soft but deliberate. You didn’t have to look up to know it was him. You could feel his presence, heavy and ever-watchful, as he came to stand beside you.

“Here,” he said, holding out a glass of water. His crimson eyes scanned you with a mix of concern and something deeper—something you didn’t want to name.

A moment of deja vu hits you like a brick. When you had first arrived, frantic, desperate for a way out. He had poisoned your water with god knows what. Handed it to you exactly the way he was doing now.

You don't even recognize that version of yourself anymore.

You took the glass without a word, your fingers brushing against his as you did. His hand lingered for a moment longer than necessary before he stepped back, leaning casually against the dresser as he watched you drink.

“You can rest more, honey,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “You don't need to be up every single day.”

A sharp retort hovered on the edge of your tongue, but you swallowed it down, too tired to argue. Instead, you set the glass down on the nightstand and leaned back against the headboard, your hands still cradling your belly.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, though you didn’t sound convincing even to yourself. "I'm pregnant, not made of glass."

Sylus raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his hand finding your belly like it always did. The touch was warm, steady, and uninvited—but you didn’t have the energy to push it away.

“She’s very strong,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over the curve of your bump. “She takes after you in that regard.”

You scoffed, your lips twisting into a bitter smile. “Don’t flatter me. I feel like a beached whale, not some warrior goddess.”

Sylus chuckled, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles. “You’re just tired,” he said simply. “That doesn’t make you any less strong.”

You didn’t respond, but his words lingered in the air between you. You didn’t feel strong. You felt trapped, worn down by the weight of your circumstances and the life growing inside you. But you couldn’t deny that his touch, his presence, made it harder to hold onto the anger you’d once felt so fiercely.

Maybe that was the most dangerous thing of all. How easy it was to let yourself lean into his care, to let yourself forget—if only for a moment—how you’d ended up here in the first place.

As Sylus continued to stroke your belly, his touch steady and unwavering, you closed your eyes and let out a long, shaky breath. For now, you were too tired to think about what you’d lost. Too tired to plan your next move. All you could do was survive, one exhausting day at a time.

Sylus helped you ease back down onto the bed, his hands firm but careful as he guided you. He didn’t let you move too quickly, didn’t let you settle until he was sure you were comfortable. His touch, while gentle, was unrelenting. You couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been hovering nearby, ensuring you didn’t strain yourself or move in a way that might upset the fragile balance of your body at this stage.

Once you were lying back against the pillows, he joined you, sliding onto the bed with an ease that contrasted your slow, lumbering movements. He curled up beside you, his arm wrapping around your swollen belly, and for a moment, there was peace. The warmth of his body against yours, the slow rhythm of his breathing—it was almost soothing, even though you didn’t want to admit it.

But then his lips found your skin.

It started with small kisses, pressed lightly against your temple, your cheek, the corner of your jaw. They were soft, almost hesitant, as if testing your reaction. You tensed slightly at first, but the exhaustion coursing through your body made it hard to resist. His lips moved to the curve of your neck, lingering there, and you shivered as his breath brushed against your skin.

“Sylus,” you muttered, your voice low and weak. You didn’t know if it was meant to be a warning or just an acknowledgment of what you both knew was coming.

The kisses deepened, his lips pressing harder against your neck, his hand sliding over your belly in slow, deliberate strokes. You felt your body reacting before your mind could catch up—the way your pulse quickened, the way your skin seemed to come alive under his touch. It infuriated you, this instinctive response to him, this betrayal of your own conflicted feelings.

He moved with purpose now, his kisses trailing lower, across your collarbone, down the exposed skin of your chest. You didn’t stop him. You never stopped him. What was the point? He always seemed to get what he wanted, and you were too tired—too heavy, too drained—to put up much of a fight.

And besides, a dark, shameful part of you didn’t want to fight him. As much as you hated to admit it, deep down, your body craved his touch now. It was as if your body had betrayed you completely, giving in to him even when your mind screamed not to.

Sylus’s lips found yours, and the kiss was different now—deeper, hungrier. His hand cupped your face, tilting your head slightly to give him better access as he claimed your mouth. You let him, your lips moving against his with a practiced ease that you hated yourself for. His hunger for you seemed boundless, and as much as you wanted to deny it, some part of you responded to that hunger.

Still, you found the strength to place a hand on his chest, gently pushing him back. “Not today,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. “I’m tired.”

Sylus paused, his crimson eyes searching yours for a moment. Then, a slow, knowing smile spread across his lips. He leaned down, brushing his lips against your ear as he whispered, “Then let me do all the work.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but his hand slid lower, resting just above the swell of your belly, and his words made your breath hitch.

“I just want to taste you,” he said softly, his voice low and sinful. His lips brushed against the shell of your ear as he continued, “You’re my favorite flavor, kitten.”

Heat rose to your face, your cheeks burning at the sheer audacity of his words. You hated how easily he could fluster you, how his voice alone could send a wave of heat rushing through your body. His words were deliberate, designed to break down any resistance you might have had, and you hated how well they worked.

You closed your eyes, willing yourself to remain calm, to push past the fog of desire clouding your mind. “Sylus…” you started, your voice trailing off as his hand moved lower, his lips finding your neck again.

There was no denying what he wanted. No denying the way his body pressed against yours, his movements slow but insistent. And as much as you wanted to push him away, to reclaim some semblance of control, you knew you wouldn’t. Because even now, even with every fiber of your being screaming at you to stop him, a part of you craved this. Craved him.

Pregnancy had taken its toll on you in every way possible. Your body was getting harder to control—with your daughter growing inside you, with Sylus constantly hovering, touching, claiming. And as much as you hated it, you couldn’t stop it. Because deep down, you weren’t sure you even wanted to.

With a gentle yet commanding touch, he parted your thighs, exposing your most intimate core, already glistening with anticipation.

"Just relax," he whispered, his voice a soothing contrast to the raw hunger in his eyes. You watch as he removes your underwear swiftly, as if its an obstacle standing in the way of his prize.

His hands, skilled and reverent, caressed your inner thighs, his touch light and teasing, sending sparks of sensation through your body. You shivered, your breath coming in short gasps as he leaned forward, his breath warm against your sensitive skin.

Then, with deliberate slowness, he lowered his head, his tongue tracing a path from your inner thigh to the heart of your desire. His first touch was a gentle stroke, his tongue gliding along your folds, eliciting a soft moan from your lips.

"Hgnnn..." you breathed, your body arching into his touch, unable to deny the pleasure he so effortlessly evoked.

His tongue, long and talented, began to work its magic, circling your clitoris with exquisite precision, sending waves of pleasure radiating through your core. He was relentless, his technique honed to perfection, pushing you to the brink of ecstasy in an instant. "Stop...it's too much..." you panted, your voice laced with a mixture of pleasure and disbelief.

Sylus's response was to increase the pressure, his tongue firm yet gentle, sending you spiraling into a vortex of sensation. Your body trembled, your juices flowing freely, a testament to the pleasure he was delivering. He lapped at your essence, his moans of appreciation mingling with your cries of delight.

"You taste so sweet," he murmured, his voice strained.

His fingers joined the dance, teasing and probing, as his tongue continued its rhythmic assault on your clitoris. Your body was a live wire, every touch, every lick, pushing you closer to the precipice of pleasure. You clenched, your muscles tightening around his fingers, as he found that sweet spot within you.

"Oh, god..." you cried out, your body arching off the bed , your hands gripping the blanket as you surrendered to the climax he had orchestrated.

Sylus continued his attentive ministrations, riding the waves of your orgasm, his tongue and fingers working in harmony to prolong your pleasure. As the tremors subsided, he slowly withdrew, his lips and fingers leaving you feeling sated and boneless.

Your mind felt foggy, sluggish, as though it was shutting down one piece at a time. Thoughts that would normally race through your head in an endless loop were distant now, fading into a dull hum that you couldn’t focus on if you tried. You barely registered the gentle weight of Sylus’s hands on your skin as he cleaned and redressed you, his touch careful and practiced. It was a routine he’d done many times before, but tonight, you didn’t even have the strength to feel self-conscious about it.

As the haze of exhaustion began to settle over you, a thought surfaced unbidden, cutting through the fog like a sharp blade. It was random, yet it felt heavy, carrying more weight than you expected. Your voice, soft and strained, broke the silence.

“Sylus…” you murmured, your eyes barely open as you stared at the ceiling. “Are we really going to raise a baby that will never see the sun?”

Your question hung in the air, unanswered for a moment. You felt Sylus pause, his hand stilling on your arm as he processed your words. The quiet stretched, and for a brief second, you thought he might ignore you. But then he shifted, his crimson eyes meeting yours, thoughtful and searching.

Before he could respond, the words tumbled out of your mouth again, unfiltered and raw. “I was thinking…I’d really like to raise her somewhere other than the N109 Zone. I’ve seen what’s out there. It’s no place to raise a baby.”

You weren’t even sure why you were bringing it up now, of all times. Maybe it was the exhaustion loosening your tongue, or maybe it was the way your daughter had been moving all day, a reminder of her presence and the life she would inherit. Whatever it was, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying it, even though you knew it was foolish. Pointless.

Sylus tilted his head slightly, watching you with an unreadable expression. His lips curved into a faint smile, but his eyes remained thoughtful. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice low and even.

You nodded weakly, your hand drifting to your belly as if to shield your daughter from the life she hadn’t even entered yet. The idea of her growing up in the same walls that had confined you for almost a year now made your chest ache. She deserved better than this. Better than you.

Better than him.

Sylus didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head with a tenderness that felt almost mocking given the weight of your words. “Sleep,” he murmured, his voice soft and firm at the same time. “We can talk about it another time.”

Of course, he avoided the conversation. He always did when it was something that mattered. And you were too tired to push him, too drained to argue. But the ache in your chest didn’t go away. Your daughter would grow up in this place, just as trapped as you were. She would never see the sun, never feel real fresh air on her face. Her whole world would be the walls of this house, the reach of her father’s control.

Your heart broke for her, the pain sharp and piercing. You wanted to cry, to let the tears come and release the weight pressing down on you, but nothing happened. No tears came. Just an overwhelming heaviness, settling over you like a blanket you couldn’t throw off.

An innocent life. Trapped with you.

The thought stayed with you as you closed your eyes, your body finally surrendering to the exhaustion. Your breathing slowed, evening out as sleep claimed you, pulling you under into the dark where, for a little while, you could escape the ache in your chest and the questions that had no answers.

For once, you were grateful. Grateful that your body had betrayed you again, leaving you too tired to stir in your thoughts for long. Too tired to dwell on the tangled mess of feelings and resentments that usually plagued you. For a few blessed hours, there would be no fear, no anger, no guilt. Just silence.

A new day arose and you sat in one of the plush chairs in the library, your hands resting lightly on the swell of your belly. Across from you, Luke and Kieran were in a heated debate, their voices rising and falling as they gestured wildly at each other.

“I’m telling you, The Light Swordsman is leagues better than that drivel you suggested,” Luke argued, his tone dripping with mock disdain.

“Drivel?” Kieran scoffed, clutching a book to his chest as though it were sacred. “You’ve clearly never appreciated the depth of The Dragon's Tome. It’s a masterpiece. She liked it, didn’t you?” He turned to you, his expression hopeful.

You smiled softly, watching them bicker. “I liked them both,” you said diplomatically, earning groans from both of them.

“Oh, come on, that’s not an answer,” Luke teased, crossing his arms. “You’ve got to have a favorite.”

Before you could respond, Kieran cut in. “Clearly, it’s The Dragon's Tome. It’s got everything—romance, adventure, incredible world-building—”

Luke shrugged his shoulders dramatically. “Oh, please. It’s just overcomplicated nonsense masquerading as literature. The Light Swordsman has action, wit, and characters with actual personalities.”

You chuckled quietly at their antics, the sound almost surprising to your own ears. Moments like these felt rare, where the weight of your reality didn’t seem quite as suffocating. Sylus had left hours ago, saying he had “personal matters” to attend to, and for once, he hadn’t taken Luke, Kieran, or even Mephisto with him. The twins had stayed behind, their presence filling the large, empty house in a way that was oddly comforting.

The old you would have reveled in the chance to be alone, to bask in the quiet and the freedom of being unobserved. But now, being alone felt strange. Uneasy. Your whole life had become these people, this house, this new reality. And when they weren’t around, the silence was deafening. It struck you just how alone you truly were, how small your world had become.

Sometimes, in those moments of solitude, you found yourself talking to your daughter without even realizing it. Asking her how her day was, if she enjoyed breakfast as much as you did. She’d respond sometimes with a nudge or a kick, as though answering in her own way. It always made you smile, a fleeting comfort in the midst of everything else.

Your gaze drifted to Luke, and a thought tugged at the back of your mind. Over time, you’d noticed something about the twins. They weren’t avoiding you, but they seemed careful—deliberately keeping a certain distance from you, never standing too close. It wasn’t hard to guess why. Sylus. No doubt he’d warned them, made it clear that any perceived closeness with you could have consequences. The idea made your stomach twist. You briefly considered trying to make Sylus jealous, just to see how far you could push him, but you dismissed it just as quickly. He wouldn’t punish you—he’d punish them.

The sound of the library door opening broke through your thoughts. All three of you turned toward it as Sylus stepped inside, his presence immediately commanding attention. Luke and Kieran straightened instinctively, their argument forgotten.

“Out,” Sylus said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. The twins exchanged quick glances before nodding and leaving the room without a word.

Sylus crossed the room with measured steps, sitting down in the armchair adjacent to yours. He dropped a stack of glossy magazines onto the table between you, the covers catching the light. Confused, you tilted your head.

“What are these?” you asked, picking up the top magazine. The pages were filled with images of lavish penthouses—floor-to-ceiling windows, sprawling balconies, gleaming kitchens, and modern interiors that looked like they belonged in a dream rather than reality.

“Penthouses,” Sylus said casually. “Take a look.”

You flipped through the magazine, each page more opulent than the last. One property featured a rooftop garden with panoramic city views, another had a private pool overlooking a tranquil forest. The kitchens were decked out with state-of-the-art appliances, the bedrooms were expansive with plush furniture, and the bathrooms looked like they belonged in luxury spas.

“These are…” you trailed off, your eyes widening at the listed prices. They were astronomical—far beyond anything you’d ever imagined. “Why are you showing me this?”

Sylus leaned back in his chair, his expression calm. “Pick one,” he said simply. “I’ve already bought all of them, so you don’t necessarily have to rush. If you don’t like any of those, I’ll find more for you.”

You stared at him, your mind struggling to process his words. “You’ve…already bought them? All of them?”

He nodded, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “For you.”

The weight of what he was saying hit you like a tidal wave. These weren’t just expensive—they were beyond anything you could fathom. And he had purchased them for you. “I don’t—” you began, but he cut you off.

“You said you don’t want to raise her in the N109 Zone,” he explained, his voice measured. “These are located in various areas surrounding it. Not terribly far, but close enough. Once she’s born, I’ll move you both to whichever one you choose. I’ve already ensured the best schools are nearby each of them.”

You didn’t know what to say. You stared at him, then at the magazines, your heart pounding in your chest. This wasn’t freedom. This wasn’t some act of generosity. This was a larger prison, a gilded cage with more space to move but no less control.

The words tasted bitter as they formed in your mind. A larger prison for me and my daughter.

Your hands trembled slightly as you set the magazine down. You wanted to argue, to say this isn't what you meant, that it wasn’t what you wanted. But the exhaustion���the same exhaustion that had been eating away at you for months—kept your words locked in your throat.

Instead, you met his gaze and forced yourself to speak, your voice trembling. “Thank you.”

Sylus nodded, his crimson eyes steady as he said, “Of course.” His voice was calm, but the way he took a deep breath afterward made you think he was mulling something over. For a moment, you thought he might say nothing more, but then his gaze flickered to yours, a faint glimmer of thoughtfulness crossing his expression.

“You know…” he began, his voice softer now, “your birthday is coming up.”

The words hit you like a shockwave. Your birthday. How could you have forgotten? But then again, time had become such a blur in this place. The days bled into weeks, and the weeks into months, each one heavier than the last. You stared at him, stunned, as the realization sank in.

“Oh…right,” you murmured, your voice quiet. “It is nearing the end of September.”

Sylus gave a small nod, his lips curving into a faint, contemplative smile. He seemed to weigh his next words carefully, the silence stretching between you like a taut string. Finally, he spoke again, his tone as casual as if he were offering to fetch you a glass of water.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, leaning back slightly. “For your birthday…I’ll take you to Linkon. You can shop for the rest of the baby things you wanted. Consider it one of your many presents.”

For a second, you couldn’t breathe. You stared at him, your brain struggling to process what you’d just heard. He had to be joking. There was no way Sylus, the same man who kept you locked away for months, was offering to take you to Linkon—himself. Was this some kind of trick? Some twisted game to see how you’d react?

“What did you do with Sylus?” you asked finally, your tone half-joking, half-bewildered. “You can’t actually mean that.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “It’s no joke,” he assured you, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement. “I assume you already know there will be very little chance for any misbehaving.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. Of course not. You weren’t naïve enough to think he’d let his guard down completely. But the thought of even leaving this place, of setting foot in Linkon again, made your mind spin. Would this be your chance? Could you call for help? Could you escape? The fire that had been smothered for so long began to flicker again, a spark of defiance reigniting inside you.

“Right,” you said slowly, nodding as you tried to keep your voice steady. “I’m almost eight months pregnant, Sy. Can’t exactly run that well.” You offered a weak joke, your lips twitching into a small, nervous smile.

He smirked faintly, his gaze lingering on you as though he could see right through your attempt at humor. “Good,” he said simply. “Because this isn’t a gift I intend to regret.”

You nodded again, but inside, your thoughts were racing. This was it—your last chance, your only chance. If you were going to escape, it had to be then. You couldn’t waste it. For the first time in months, the possibility of freedom didn’t feel so far away.

You just had to make it count.

As the days crept closer to the 29th, the tension in the house became unbearable. Sylus seemed calm, but you could feel the undercurrent of his ever-present watchfulness. He wasn’t a man who left things to chance, and you knew better than to think he hadn’t already considered every possible outcome. The thought made your chest tighten.

And then there was the question you hadn’t dared voice aloud: Would you run into anyone you knew?

The idea sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through you. What if you saw someone from your old life? Someone who recognized you, who asked questions? Would Sylus allow it? Or would he shut it down and force you to leave?

The thought of seeing an old friend, of having to explain your situation—or worse, being unable to—made you want to curl up in a ball and hide. You couldn’t decide what was worse: the idea that they might not notice anything was wrong, or the possibility that they might.

By the night of the 28th, the anxiety had reached its peak. You barely touched your dinner, your stomach too unsettled to handle more than a few bites. Sylus noticed, of course, but he didn’t comment. He simply watched you with those red eyes of his, a faint smile playing at the edges of his lips, as though he could see straight through you. You expected him to push you to eat more, but surprisingly he didn't.

When you finally lay down that night, your body was trembling with exhaustion, but your mind refused to shut off. The possibilities, the questions, the sheer weight of what tomorrow might bring—it was all too much.

You pressed a hand to your belly, feeling the faint movements of your daughter beneath your palm. She could probably feel your beating heart and anxiety. “It’s going to be okay,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure if you believed it. “Its just one day.”

But as the hours ticked by and sleep continued to evade you, all you could think about was how close you were to finally leaving this place and how terrified you were of what might happen next. For the first time in your life you weren't excited for your birthday. It would be the first birthday spent without friends or family by your side. You wondered if anyone back home would even remember?

You didn't want to think about it anymore.

You woke up to the scent of something sweet wafting into the room, the faint clinking of a tray bringing you out of the haze of a restless sleep. You blinked groggily, your heart immediately racing as you registered the figure standing beside the bed. Sylus. His eyes gleamed with their usual intensity, but his expression was softened, almost…warm.

“Happy birthday honey” he said smoothly, his voice low as he set the tray down in front of you.

Your breath caught as you sat up, your body stiff and sluggish from the weight of pregnancy. On the tray was a spread of breakfast—fresh fruit, buttery croissants, and a glass of orange juice. A small card sat to the side, its edges gilded, your name written on it in his elegant script.

“Thank you, Sy” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as your heart thudded in your chest. His unexpected kindness always left you feeling unsteady, as if the ground beneath you could shift at any moment.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on you as you took a tentative bite of the food. The flavors melted on your tongue, but you barely tasted them, your mind spinning too fast to focus on anything else.

As you picked at the plate, Sylus leaned back slightly, his tone casual but laced with intent. “Have you made a decision on the new home yet? No rush, of course. But if you’ve chosen one, we could tour it after we leave Linkon.”

The question sent a fresh wave of tension coursing through you. He was so composed, so calm, as if this were just a normal conversation between a husband and wife. You swallowed hard, shaking your head as you placed the fork down carefully on the tray.

“I…I’m still thinking about it,” you said, forcing a small smile. “Thank you for giving me time.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he stood. “Of course. It’s your day, after all. No pressure.”

The way he said it, the deliberate gentleness in his tone, made your skin prickle. Sylus never did anything without purpose, and his kindness now felt like a carefully calculated move. Still, you nodded, your smile brittle as you finished the food mechanically. You didn’t care about the penthouses. You didn’t care about your birthday. All you cared about was getting to Linkon—and the faint, fragile hope that you might find a way to act once you were there.

After breakfast, Sylus helped you downstairs, his hand resting lightly on your back as you descended. The air in the house felt different—charged, expectant. You could feel it before you even reached the bottom step.

As you turned the corner into the living room, you were met with a loud shout. “Surprise!”

Luke and Kieran jumped out from behind the couch, grinning like fools as they threw handfuls of confetti into the air. One of them miscalculated and bumped into Sylus, who shot them a pointed look but didn’t say anything.

The living room was a kaleidoscope of color. Balloons of every shape and size floated along the ceiling, ribbons cascading down like waterfalls. The table was covered in a spread of snacks and a small cake with “Happy Birthday” written in elegant frosting.

You couldn’t help but laugh, a genuine sound breaking through the wall of tension in your chest. Their energy was infectious, and for a brief moment, you let yourself feel the joy they were so clearly trying to share.

“Happy birthday!” Luke said, thrusting a party hat in your direction with an exaggerated flourish. Kieran crossed his arms at the gesture, but his laugh betrayed his amusement.

“Thank you,” you said, your smile widening as you took the hat. You glanced around the room, taking in the decorations, the effort they’d put into all of this. It was overwhelming. Surreal. None of it felt real.

You moved through the motions, thanking them, laughing at their antics as they joked about how hard it had been to keep this a secret. But deep down, you felt detached, like you were watching it all unfold from a distance. The decorations, the laughter, the balloons—it was all a distraction. A beautiful illusion that only served to highlight how far removed you felt from yourself.

Sylus stood off to the side, watching with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His presence was a constant reminder, a tether that kept you from fully enjoying the moment. You weren’t free, no matter how brightly the balloons shone or how cute the decorations looked.

Your hands rested protectively on your belly, grounding you as you forced yourself to smile, to laugh, to nod along to the twins’ jokes. Inside, your thoughts churned.

All you cared about was Linkon.

Your mind raced with possibilities and plans, each one more fragile than the last. Could you slip away? Call for help? Find someone—anyone—who could get you out of this nightmare? The fire that had reignited in your chest burned brighter now, fueled by the proximity of what could be your only chance.

The morning already felt like a whirlwind, and the surprises weren’t over yet. Just as you thought things were calming down after the confetti and laughter with Luke and Kieran, one of Sylus’s chefs rounded the corner. The man was carrying an enormous, lavishly decorated cake, the kind you’d only seen in magazines or fancy restaurants. It was perfectly frosted, adorned with intricate details that looked almost too beautiful to eat, and crowned with lit candles that flickered softly in the light.

You stared, shocked at how he was managing to balance it all without toppling over. “A cake too?” you murmured, glancing at Sylus. “You spoil me, Sylus.”

He smiled faintly, his crimson eyes glinting as he motioned for the chef to set the cake down. “Only the best,” he said smoothly. “Light the candles.”

As the chef adjusted the candles, Luke suddenly piped up, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. “Should we sing happy birthday, boss?”

Kieran joined in immediately, clapping his hands together. “Yeah, yeah, let’s sing happy birthday!”

Before you could protest, the chef, Luke, Kieran—and even Sylus—started singing. The twins’ voices were loud and theatrical, the chef’s was surprisingly melodic, but Sylus…oh, Sylus sounded like a dying cow. His voice was deep and off-key, dragging the notes in a way that almost made you laugh.

You bit your lip to suppress the giggle bubbling up in your chest, but when you glanced at him, you saw he wasn’t embarrassed in the slightest. In fact, he looked…happy. Genuinely happy.

When the song ended, Sylus leaned closer, his voice low and deliberate. “Make a wish, honey.”

Your heart raced as you met his gaze, mustering the best smile you could. A wish. You turned back to the cake, the candles flickering before you. The moment felt surreal, almost dreamlike, as if you were standing on the precipice of something monumental.

You closed your eyes, your mind racing. I wish to see Xavier again, just once. I wish for my daughter to live as happily as she can, regardless of what's to come. I wish for some control of my life back—even if I can never truly escape this. The thoughts came unbidden, raw and desperate. They weren’t just wishes; they were your heart laid bare.

With a deep breath, you leaned forward and blew out the candles.

As the room filled with applause from the twins, Sylus motioned toward a towering pile of presents sitting near the table. Your eyes widened as you took in the sheer number of them, the boxes wrapped in elegant paper and tied with shimmering ribbons.

“I—I can’t possibly open all of these today,” you stammered, staring at the mountain of gifts. “I’ll get tired by the tenth one.”

Sylus chuckled, his amusement evident. “Alright. Pick a few to open now, and you can get to the rest when we return.”

When we return. His words echoed in your mind, sending a chill down your spine. You forced yourself to smile and nod, pushing the thought aside. There was no guarantee you’d be coming back. Not if you could help it.

You began opening the presents, each one revealing something more extravagant than the last. Designer bags, stunning pieces of jewelry, elegant outfits—items you’d once dreamed of owning but could never afford. You wanted to ask Sylus how he knew these were things you’d wanted, but you didn’t. Instead, you thanked him for each one, forcing a smile as the twins “oohed” and “ahhed” over the luxury of it all.

Eventually, you picked up a smaller box that Luke and Kieran eagerly pointed out as their gift. You opened it to reveal a gorgeous portrait of yourself, intricately drawn and framed. The detail was stunning—almost lifelike—and your breath caught as you stared at it.

“You guys didn’t tell me you could draw,” you said, your voice filled with genuine surprise. “This is gorgeous. Thank you.”

The twins beamed with pride, immediately launching into a playful argument about who had contributed more. “I did the shading!” Luke declared.

“ But I did the fine details!” Kieran countered.

You couldn’t help but laugh, their bickering easing some of the tension in your chest. For a moment, you let yourself enjoy the warmth of their gestures, even as the weight of the day pressed heavily on your mind.

Eventually, Sylus checked his watch and straightened. “We should get going,” he said, his tone calm but firm. Your heart skipped a beat as he ordered the twins to bring the car around to the front. This was it. It was happening. Linkon. You were going to Linkon.

Keeping your excitement carefully hidden, you excused yourself to go upstairs and change. Among the gifts Sylus had given you was a beautiful dress—simple yet elegant, with a cut that accommodated your growing belly. He’d even purchased it in two sizes, one for now and one for after the baby was born. The thoughtfulness of the gesture left you conflicted, but you didn’t dwell on it. Not now.

You slipped into the dress, smoothing the fabric over your bump as you caught your reflection in the mirror. For a brief moment, you almost didn’t recognize yourself. The woman staring back at you looked calm, composed. But beneath the surface, your heart raced with the weight of what lay ahead.

When you returned downstairs, Sylus was waiting by the door. His crimson eyes roamed over you, his lips curving into a small smile. “You look beautiful,” he said simply, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to smile as he guided you toward the car.

The drive began in tense silence, the sound of the engine and the faint murmur of the twins in the front seat filling the space. You stared out the window, your mind racing as the familiar streets of N109 Zone gave way to the outskirts of Linkon. Your heart pounded, anticipation and fear warring within you.

After a while, Sylus broke the silence. “I can understand how strange and…different this day must feel for you,” he said, his tone measured. “If you’re upset, you can tell me.”

You glanced at him, your pulse quickening. For a moment, you considered telling the truth, laying everything bare. But then you saw the faint tension in his jaw, the way his hands gripped his knees. Even Sylus, it seemed, was on edge today. You couldn’t risk it. Not now.

“Sure,” you said instead, keeping your voice light. “A little different. But you guys have done a great job making it special, regardless. Thank you.”

Your smile was genuine, though not for the reasons he’d think. You were grateful—not for the celebrations, but for the opportunity that lay ahead.

Sylus studied you for a moment, his expression softening. “I love you,” he said simply.

You nodded, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. “I know.”

And as the city skyline of Linkon came into view, you took a deep breath, bracing yourself for a whirlwind of emotions.

The first thing you felt was the sun.

Its warmth poured through the car windows, leaving trails of heat wherever it touched your skin. It felt like heaven, a balm for your soul after months spent in artificial light. The sensation was almost overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes, savoring the moment. But when you opened them again, the light was blinding, harsh after so long without it. You winced, squinting against the brightness.

Sylus noticed immediately. Without a word, his hand came up to turn your head gently away from the window, shielding your eyes from the light with his palm. The gesture was unexpectedly thoughtful, catching you off guard.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice soft.

He nodded, but you noticed him squinting too, his eyes narrowed against the sunlight. Was he sensitive to light? It made sense, you supposed, given the rare, striking red color of his irises. It was a strange thing to observe, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered what other vulnerabilities might lie beneath his controlled exterior.

The car came to a gentle stop, and you felt your heart begin to race. This was it. You were in Linkon. The opportunity you’d been waiting for was just outside that door, and yet, your chest tightened with a mix of fear and anticipation.

Sylus stepped out first, circling to your side and opening the door. His hand extended toward you, his gaze firm but steady. “Come along,” he said, his voice calm.

You hesitated for only a second before placing your hand in his. Maneuvering with your belly was a challenge on its own, and as you stepped out of the car, you couldn’t help but feel like a waddling penguin. The thought made your cheeks flush, but Sylus’s hand was steady as he guided you to your feet.

When you looked up, the sight of where you were hit you like a freight train. You were standing in the parking lot of one of Linkon’s largest shopping malls—Aurora Galleria. Its gleaming glass façade stretched high into the sky, reflecting the sunlight like a beacon. You’d been here countless times before, shopping with Tara or browsing aimlessly on weekends. The memories came flooding back, unbidden and bittersweet, making your throat tighten.

I never thought I’d be back here...like this.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away quickly, unwilling to let Sylus see. He shut the car door behind you, giving the twins some instructions you couldn’t quite hear. Then his attention turned back to you, his hand still holding yours.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice smooth but laced with an undercurrent of authority.

You nodded, not trusting your voice, and let him guide you toward the entrance. The tension between the two of you was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. Sylus’s hand squeezed yours slightly as you walked, the gesture clear even without words: Behave.

You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting as you stepped through the automatic doors into the cool, air-conditioned interior of the mall. It was a stark contrast to the warmth outside, but it did little to soothe the nerves coursing through you. The space was massive, bustling with people, their voices echoing faintly against the high ceilings. The familiar hum of life surrounded you, and for a moment, you felt dizzy, overwhelmed by how normal it all seemed.

And yet, nothing about this was normal. Not for you.

A child suddenly darted past you, nearly knocking you off balance. You gasped, your body instinctively tilting forward, but Sylus’s grip tightened immediately. His arm slipped around your waist, steadying you as you regained your footing.

“Careful,” he said, his tone low but firm.

You nodded, grateful for the support even as the weight of his presence made your chest tighten further.

“There’s quite a few baby-oriented stores on the first floor,” he continued, gesturing towards an area of the mall nearby. “This way.”

You followed him silently, letting him guide you. Every step felt heavier than the last, your mind racing as you scanned the faces of the people you passed. You tried to catch someone’s eye, hoping to silently signal that something was wrong, that you needed help. But no one looked your way for more than a second. Their gazes slid past you, uninterested and unaware.

Your heart sank. It was as if you were invisible. Already, you could feel your chances of escaping slipping through your fingers.

No. You can’t give up that easily.

The baby clothing store was bright and cheerful, filled with racks of tiny outfits in every color imaginable. The sales clerk, a woman with a bubbly demeanor, greeted you the moment you stepped inside.

“Welcome!” she said brightly, her voice warm and inviting. “Can I help you find anything today?”

Before you could respond, her eyes drifted to your belly, and her face lit up with a wide grin. “Congratulations! Boy or girl?”

The lump in your throat returned, but you managed to smile, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you. “It’s a girl. Thank you.”

“How lovely!” the clerk gushed. “Our entire back wall is dedicated to girl clothes, and we actually have a discount for currently expecting parents! Just find me when you’re ready to check out.”

You nodded politely, offering her another smile before turning your attention to the rows of clothing. Sylus was already scanning the racks with a critical eye, his hand still resting lightly on your back as if to remind you that he was there.

The nervous energy in your chest only grew as you moved through the store, your thoughts racing. What would you do if someone recognized you? If you saw Tara? Would you scream for help? Would Sylus drag you away before you could even finish the thought? You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, noting the calm, composed way he carried himself. He seemed utterly unbothered, as though this were just another mundane errand.

Meanwhile, every step you took felt like walking a tightrope. And with each passing moment, the weight of what you needed to do pressed heavier on your shoulders.

Don’t lose focus. Not yet.

The back wall was a dazzling display of baby clothes, neatly arranged by color and design. Soft whites, pastel blues, delicate pinks, even bold black and red outfits caught your eye as you scanned the racks. Each one was more adorable than the last, with tiny bows, frilly trims, or playful patterns. But as you reached out to pick up a red onesie adorned with a cute animal print, your attention snagged on the price tag.

“Fifty dollars…for one? Are these made out of the finest pure cotton or something?” you gasped, dropping the tag as if it had burned you. You stared at the onesie in disbelief. Who spends fifty dollars on a single piece of baby clothing?

A low chuckle from beside you made you whip your head around. Sylus, who had somehow secured a shopping basket without you noticing, reached out and picked up the onesie you’d dropped. Without a word, he tossed it into the basket with an air of nonchalance, the faintest smirk playing on his lips.

“Let me worry about the price, sweetie,” he said, his tone smooth and confident. “You can pick whatever you’d like.”

You scoffed inwardly, your irritation flaring. Oh, he’s so rich, you thought bitterly. How could I forget?

Something about the moment—the absurdity of standing in a baby store with Sylus, the fresh air of being out in public for the first time in months, or maybe just the hormonal rollercoaster you were riding—emboldened you. With a smirk tugging at your lips, you reached into the basket, pulled out the red onesie, and placed it back on the rack with exaggerated flair.

“That one is ugly,” you said, feigning disdain as you turned to face him. “Can’t have my daughter in unflattering colors.”

Sylus raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening as he leaned slightly toward you. There was a glint in his crimson eyes, a mix of amusement and intrigue as he seemed to catch onto your attitude. “Since when is red an unflattering color, sweetie?” he asked smoothly. “Does that mean you hate the majority of my wardrobe?”

A flash of irritation sparked inside you, and you crossed your arms, your expression defiant. “As a matter of fact, I do,” you shot back. “Would it kill you to change it up once in a while?”

He simply laughed, the sound rich and infuriatingly warm, as if you’d told him the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “Noted,” he said, his voice still laced with amusement. "I didn't realize I was in the presence of a fashion expert. I humbly apologize for liking the color red"

You scowled, turning back to the rack of clothes. Smug asshole. Your fingers brushed over the soft fabric of another onesie as your mind whirled. If he wanted to play this game, you could play it too.

With a sweet but pointed tone, you turned to him and said, “Actually, you’re right, Sylus. Red isn’t a bad color.” You paused, letting the moment linger before delivering the punchline. “In fact…why not get all of them? One of each color, every design, and in every size.”

For a brief moment, you thought you’d caught him off guard. But Sylus barely blinked. Instead, he turned on his heel, motioned to the cashier, and said casually, “Need these in every color, every design, and every size. The whole wall.”

The young woman’s eyes widened as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Y-yeah,” she stammered. “Let me get another employee to help me!” She disappeared into the back, leaving you standing there, your jaw clenched and your glare fixed on Sylus.

Of course, money wasn’t an obstacle for him. Nothing was. He didn’t even hesitate, as if the ridiculousness of buying an entire wall of baby clothes didn’t faze him in the slightest. You fumed silently, your mind racing for some sort of comeback, but the only thing you could think was, Fine. He’s carrying all those damn bags anyway.

Sylus turned back to you, his expression calm and self-satisfied, as if daring you to say something. You didn’t. Instead, you grabbed another onesie—this time a soft pastel blue—and tossed it into the basket with a defiant flick of your wrist. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, his smirk still firmly in place.

The sales clerk returned moments later with two other employees, each armed with empty baskets. They hurriedly began pulling clothes from the wall, their expressions a mix of awe and disbelief as they tried to keep up with Sylus’s order. He even instructed them to add some baby shoes in the mix.

You stood there, arms crossed, watching the spectacle unfold. It should have been amusing—absurd, even—but all you could feel was a simmering irritation and a growing sense of helplessness. No matter how much you tried to push back, Sylus always had the upper hand. He always won.

But not today. Today, you had a bigger game to play. Just needed the right moment.

Sylus stood at the counter, casually brandishing his sleek black card as the cashier rang up the final total. You didn’t miss the way her eyes widened when she saw it, her professional demeanor faltering for a moment before she recovered. No doubt she’d be gossiping with her coworkers the moment you left.

“Your total comes to $2,594,” the cashier announced with a polite smile, though her voice betrayed a hint of disbelief. "With the discount!"

Internally, you screamed. Over two and a half grand for baby clothes?! In no world, under any normal circumstances, would you ever spend that kind of money on onesies and tiny shoes. Yet here you were, watching Sylus swipe his card without hesitation, as if the amount were pocket change. You tried not to gape at him as he calmly took back the card and tucked it into his wallet.

When everything was bagged up—dozens of glossy shopping bags stacked high—you couldn’t help the small flicker of satisfaction that came with watching him carry them all himself. It was ridiculous how many bags there were, and seeing him juggling them with practiced ease gave you a petty sense of amusement.

As you both exited the store, Sylus turned to you, his crimson eyes sharp but calm. “You’re quiet,” he remarked, his voice laced with curiosity. “Are you hungry?”

You glanced at him, narrowing your eyes suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem to be in a bad mood,” he replied smoothly. “Food usually fixes it, so I’m asking.”

You internally cursed him. He wasn’t wrong. Despite the lavish breakfast he’d prepared for you earlier and the cake, your stomach was already growling. Being pregnant had turned you into a bottomless pit of cravings, and the aroma of freshly baked cookies wafting from the food court wasn’t helping.

Sylus noticed the way your eyes drifted toward the cookie stand and smirked knowingly. Without a word, he set down the bags in a neat pile and reached into his pocket, handing you his black card.

“Go on then,” he said, his tone almost indulgent. “You can use my card. I’ll be sitting over there.” He motioned to one of the tables in the food court, his expression calm and composed, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

You stared at the card in your hand, its surprising weight catching you off guard. It was cold and metallic, an unmistakable sign of wealth and exclusivity. No wonder the cashier had been so wide-eyed. This wasn’t a card anyone could get their hands on. It was one of a kind, a statement of power.

For a moment, you hesitated, your mind racing. Is this some kind of test? The thought made your palms sweat. Was he seeing if you’d try to slip away, or talk to someone? You glanced back at him, but his demeanor remained relaxed, his attention already turning to his phone.

You swallowed hard and waddled toward the cookie stand, your mouth watering as the scent of chocolate and sugar grew stronger. The worker greeted you cheerfully, her smile wide as she asked, “What can I get for you?”

You opened your mouth, tempted to blurt everything out—Help me. Please. I’m not here by choice. But as you looked at her, doubt crept in. Would she even believe you? And what would happen if Sylus noticed something was off? The thought of what he might do—both to you and the unsuspecting worker—froze the words in your throat.

Instead, you forced a smile and placed your order. “Two chocolate chip cookie sandwiches with chocolate icing in between, covered in sprinkles, please. And a lemonade.”

The worker beamed. “Great choice!”

You waited as she prepared your order, your heart pounding the entire time. When she handed over the cookies, you murmured a quick thanks before waddling back to Sylus, your hands trembling slightly around the black card.

But when you reached the table, something caught your attention immediately. The massive pile of shopping bags was gone.

“The bags, Sylus,” you said, your voice rising slightly in surprise. “Where did they go?”

He looked up from his phone, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “They didn’t disappear, honey,” he said smoothly. “They’re fine.”

You scowled, irritated by his cryptic response. “That’s not an answer. Where are they?”

His smile widened, clearly amused by your reaction. “Relax,” he said, his tone infuriatingly calm. “The twins are handling them.”

Of course. You should’ve known. Seeing him struggle with all those bags had been a small, satisfying victory, but naturally, Sylus always had a solution. And with Luke and Kieran undoubtedly running errands for him somewhere in the mall, he didn’t even have to lift a finger.

You grumbled under your breath, biting into one of the cookies as you sat down across from him. The sweetness melted on your tongue, momentarily distracting you from your irritation.

Sylus watched you carefully, his crimson eyes studying your expression. “Better?” he asked after a moment, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

You glared at him, still chewing, but didn’t answer. Smug bastard. But at least the cookie was good. He seemed willing to entertain your attitude at least.

The first sound that drew your attention was the screaming, sharp and frenzied. It rippled through the food court like a shockwave, followed by the unmistakable click-click-click of cameras.

“Rafayel!! Rafayel! Big fan, please sign my arm!” a voice shrieked, and you turned to look.

Sure enough, a mass of people had gathered near the escalators, chasing after a casually dressed man with striking purple hair. He wore a simple white shirt and white pants, his outfit at odds with the chaos surrounding him. Bodyguards flanked him, trying—and failing—to push the crowd back as phones were shoved in his face.

He looked exasperated, but his steps remained measured, even purposeful, as though he were used to this kind of attention. There was something familiar about him, his features tugging at the edges of your memory.

“Rafayel?” you murmured, tilting your head. “Like the artist?”

Sylus barely glanced at the scene, instead reaching up to dab the corner of your mouth with a napkin. The motion was practiced, intimate, and you let him do it without flinching, too engrossed in what was unfolding in front of you.

“What’s someone like him doing here?” you mumbled, your gaze fixed on the crowd.

Sylus smirked faintly. “There’s quite a bit of luxury stores here. Why wouldn’t someone like him shop here?”

His words made sense, but your focus was elsewhere. People were pressing closer to Rafayel, their hands clutching phones, holding them high to snap pictures. You could see the glint of screens flashing, and the realization struck you like a bolt of lightning. Phones. Phones meant access.

Your throat tightened, and you suddenly choked on a bite of your cookie. Coughing, you grabbed your lemonade and took a long sip, washing down the pain. Sylus’s gaze sharpened, his hand resting lightly on yours.

“You alright, kitten?” he asked, his tone calm but tinged with concern.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, brushing him off. But your mind was spinning. I need a phone. I need a way to use one without Sylus noticing. He was always watching, always close, his presence like a shadow you couldn’t escape.

But then your eyes drifted across the mall, landing on a nearby sign. Restrooms. The realization hit you like a burst of light. Of course. The bathroom. He couldn’t follow you in there. It was your one chance to slip away and ask someone—anyone—if you could borrow their phone. Maybe they’d let you call for help, or at the very least, send a message.

Sylus’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. “It’s rude to stare so hard, kitten. I can ask him for an autograph if you want,” he teased, though there was an unmistakable edge to his tone. Jealousy.

You turned back to him, startled. “Oh! No, I’m not a fan,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “It’s just crazy. I’ve never seen a celebrity up close before…”

You trailed off deliberately, your hand drifting to your belly as you feigned sudden discomfort. “Shit,” you muttered, clutching your side. “I’ve gotta pee. I drank my lemonade too fast.”

Sylus raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting to one of mild amusement. “You’re always rushing with your drinks,” he said, but his tone wasn’t dismissive. He leaned back slightly, motioning toward the restroom. “Go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

You nodded, forcing a small, sheepish smile as you rose from the table. Your heart pounded as you waddled toward the restrooms, trying to keep your steps measured and casual. Inside, the plan you’d been crafting felt both daring and fragile. It was risky, but it was your only shot.

Now or never, you thought, the weight of your decision pressing down on you as you reached the door and stepped inside.

The bathroom was bustling with activity—women waiting for stalls, washing their hands, chatting casually with one another. The sound of running water and faint laughter filled the air. Near the corner, a little girl clutched her mother’s dress tightly, her wide eyes fixated on you as you entered. You felt your cheeks flush under her innocent gaze, suddenly all too aware of your presence in the crowded space.

You stood there awkwardly, your heart pounding in your chest as you scanned the room. Each woman seemed like a possible lifeline, but also a potential risk. Who do I ask? Your palms were damp, and you clutched them together to steady your nerves. What’s the worst they could say? No?

But no wasn’t the answer you feared. It was the possibility that someone might call attention to you. Or worse, that Sylus might sense something was wrong and come storming in.

Finally, your eyes landed on a short, older woman near the sinks, typing away on her phone. Her graying hair was pulled into a neat bun, and her expression was sharp, preoccupied. She seemed approachable enough—or at least, not overtly intimidating. Summoning every ounce of courage, you took a deep breath and stepped toward her.

“Excuse me?” you said, your voice trembling slightly. She glanced up from her phone, her eyes narrowing as she took you in. “Can I…use your phone? I need to call someone.”

Her gaze shifted to your belly, and something flickered in her eyes—judgment? Disgust? Whatever it was, it made your stomach twist. You felt small under her scrutiny, like you had to defend yourself for daring to ask.

“Don’t you have a phone, dear? Where’s yours?” she asked, her tone edged with suspicion.

Your mind raced. You needed an excuse, something plausible but not overly detailed. Would she think you were crazy if you told her the truth—that you’d been kidnapped and were living under constant surveillance? Would she even believe you? Or worse, would Sylus somehow track her down later? You shivered at the thought, deciding quickly that it wasn’t worth involving an innocent bystander more than necessary.

“I…I’m so sorry,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “Mine’s dead. I just need to make a quick phone call. I'm really lost. I promise—it’ll only take a second.”

She sighed heavily, tapping something into her phone before holding it out to you. “Quickly, please,” she said. “My husband is waiting for me as well.”

Relief washed over you like a tidal wave. “Thank you,” you whispered, your hands shaking slightly as you took the phone.

This was it—your chance. Your mind scrambled as you opened the keypad. Who do I call? Police? It was a tempting thought, but the idea was quickly squashed by reality. Even if they arrested Sylus, what if they didn’t hold him? What if he slipped away and came back for you later, more prepared, more ruthless? You couldn’t risk it.

Captain Jenna? The thought flickered briefly, but you dismissed it. She might involve too many others, escalating the situation in ways you couldn’t control.

Your fingers hesitated over the keypad before a name settled firmly in your mind: Xavier.

You blinked a few times, steadying your breath as you began to enter the numbers. The phone rang once. Twice. The sound brought a flood of déjà vu, memories of the first time you’d escaped flashing through your mind. You were standing at a grimy phone booth back then, desperate and shaking, waiting for him to pick up. Just like now.

Finally, a familiar voice came through the line. “Ah, hello? I think you may have the wrong number,” the smooth, quiet tone said.

You nearly collapsed in tears at the sound of it. “Xavier…” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “It’s me. I don’t have a lot of time, an—”

You stopped abruptly, your heart seizing as you remembered the story you’d given the woman watching you. Her brow was already arched in suspicion. Stick to the story.

“It’s you...” Xavier’s voice shifted instantly, concern and excitement lacing his words. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

Your heart raced, but you forced yourself to sound calm, casual. “Honey,” you said, clenching your teeth as you plastered on a smile. “I need you to meet me at the shoe store near the fountain in the mall. It seems I’ve lost you, and my phone’s dead. Please hurry.”

“The mall?” His voice sharpened with urgency. “Which one? The big one? Aurora Galleria?”

“Yes,” you said quickly, your heart pounding even harder. “Please hurry.”

“I can be there in about twenty minutes, okay? Don’t go anywhere, please!” You could hear the sounds of him moving quickly, the faint click of a door unlocking in the background.

“Yes, honey. Love you too. Bye now,” you said, your voice soft but deliberate as you ended the call.

Handing the phone back to the woman, you gave her a sheepish smile. “Thank you so much,” you said. “Sorry for the trouble.”

She nodded curtly, taking her phone back and slipping it into her pocket. “Hope you find him,” she said, her tone neutral as she walked away.

You exhaled slowly, your pulse still racing as you turned toward the sinks. Twenty minutes. You had twenty minutes to keep everything together. To not draw Sylus’s suspicion. To not falter.

Steeling yourself, you walked out of the bathroom, forcing your breathing to steady as you returned to where Sylus waited.

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you forced your face to remain calm as you approached Sylus. He sat casually at the table, scrolling on his phone, the picture of ease. There wasn’t a single hint of suspicion in his expression as he glanced up at you.

“Any longer and I would’ve thought you’d fallen into the toilet,” he teased with a smirk, his crimson eyes flicking to yours.

You rolled your eyes at his joke, managing a small chuckle to play along. The enormous clock hanging on the wall of the mall caught your eye. Twenty minutes. That’s how long you had. You needed to keep him occupied, keep him unsuspecting until you could make another excuse to slip away.

“The baby still needs toys and such…” you said, your voice light and cheerful as you smiled at him. “Where could we shop for those?”

Sylus raised an eyebrow thoughtfully, his gaze scanning the nearby stores. His eyes landed on another child-oriented shop across the way on the third floor, its colorful displays practically spilling into the walkway. “She won’t need toys for a few months,” he said, his voice calm, “but it can’t hurt to stock up.”

“Great!” you replied, grabbing his hand and pretending to be excited. “Let’s go!”

He let you lead him, his fingers curling around yours as the two of you walked to the store. Inside, the next twenty minutes were a blur of colorful toys, tiny pacifiers, and shelves lined with bottles. You feigned enthusiasm, picking items off the racks and handing them to Sylus while your mind was consumed with the clock. You kept glancing at it from the corner of your eye, counting down the seconds.

Eventually, the twenty minutes passed. A quick glance at the store clock told you that Xavier was likely here—either in the parking lot or somewhere near the store by now. Your pulse quickened as you turned to Sylus. He was at the register, calmly paying for the mountain of baby items the two of you had collected.

Your eyes lingered on him. This man. The one who had stolen your entire life, twisted it beyond recognition. He had taken your mind, your body, your soul, leaving you a shadow of who you once were. You would never forget his face, not for as long as you lived.

Sylus finished the transaction and turned toward you, catching you off guard as he ruffled your hair affectionately. The gesture sent a strange shiver down your spine. “You’ve been staring an awful lot today,” he said, his tone amused. “Come along.”

You forced yourself to move, your legs feeling unsteady beneath you. As you walked toward the store’s entrance, you had to focus all your energy on keeping yourself from trembling. This is it. It’s now or never.

“Sylus,” you began, your voice wavering slightly but soft enough to pass as gratitude. “I really want to thank you for letting me experience shopping for her in person. I didn’t think you’d let me.”

His face softened, and for a fleeting moment, he smiled at you—warm, genuine, as if everything was normal. “Of course,” he said. “I know things haven’t always been easy between us. I really do think our daughter will change everything.”

He reached out and took one of the bags from your hand, his touch light but deliberate. “Where’s this coming from?” he teased, his smirk returning. “You were so mad at me earlier. It was cute.”

You faltered for a moment, caught off guard by his words, but quickly recovered. “Ah…” you said, clutching your belly as if on cue. “She’s on my bladder again. Sorry, Sy. Sucks the nearest bathroom is on the first floor.”

He nodded, his expression unreadable but calm. “Of course. I’ll make sure the bags don’t disappear this time.”

You gave him a sheepish smile and turned away, walking toward the escalator with steady steps. You didn’t look back, even though you could feel his eyes on you, burning into your back. Go. Just go. Goodbye, Sylus. See you never.

The ride down felt like the longest seconds of your life. Your thoughts swirled as you hit the bottom and turned the corner toward the bathrooms. You walked just far enough to make it look like you were heading inside, but when a surge of the crowd passed by, you turned abruptly, weaving yourself into the throng of people.

Go. Go. Faster. Don’t look back.

Your heart pounded in your chest, every beat echoing in your ears as you slipped through the sea of bodies. You turned another corner, your breath catching as the familiar shape of the mall’s fountain came into view. Relief and fear collided in your chest, pushing you forward.

Okay, the shoe store. Your eyes locked onto the display windows filled with polished shoes, your legs carrying you faster than you thought possible with your belly. You stepped into the store, scanning the small crowd.

And then you saw it—him.

Blond ash-colored hair, slightly broad shoulders, and piercing blue eyes. Xavier. He was standing near the back of the store, his posture rigid, his gaze scanning the area anxiously.

“Xavier…” you called out, your voice cracking as you took a hesitant step forward.

His head snapped toward you instantly, his eyes going wide as they took you in. For a moment, neither of you moved, frozen in place as if the world had stopped spinning. You watched his eyes drop to your belly, then back onto your face. The emotions swirling in his gaze mirrored your own—relief, disbelief, and something deeper.

Love.

And then, before you even realized what you were doing, your legs carried you forward. You were running, as fast as your body would allow, a single tear slipping down your cheek.

“Xavier,” you choked out again, your voice breaking as you broke into a sprint towards him.

The world around seemed like it disappeared. Nothing else mattered right now as you ran towards your first love.

You had gotten one of your birthday wishes after all.

[stellewriites]

i’d rather be lonely

tags: poly 141 x reader, 28 days later au, noncon, hurt/no comfort, the boys aren’t nice in this just like in the movie

day 8

it had spread quicker than anyone realised it would. the virus. the rage.

an ill-timed visit to your friends’ new house left you trapped away from home and surrounded in the busy southern city when attacks on the streets began to be reported ever closer to the area.

trains to and from london were cancelled and taxi stands were left empty of cars while slowly, bit by bit, surrounding counties were locked down and then left to bedlam as police lost control.

it spread so quickly.

—

day 14

you’d lost june.

she’d tried to leave the house to find some help. you’d watched from her loft window as she barely made it to the end of the street before she was tackled to the ground, her face beaten to a pulp as her arms scrabbled to push her assailant away.

you’d watched as she’d fallen limp beneath it, face bloody and skin torn, until it got bored of her. she’d gotten up again a few minutes later and stalked off with a obvious limp, mindless to the direction she’d been heading in originally.

you’d sat with your back to the wall as you tried to smother your sobs, tears streaming over your fingers pressed tightly against your trembling lips.

you hated that you thought it as you sat there mourning, but one less person meant the food might last longer until help did arrive. with only three of you now it meant the small amount of groceries in the cupboards and fridge would spread just that little bit further.

you knew the others would be thinking it too even if they couldn’t admit it.

—

day 16

trish and charley convinced you to leave when one of the infected got too close to finding you inside.

if they hadn’t managed to hide you all so quickly in the bathroom, you’d be dead or one of those things.

the back door had been kicked in and none of you felt safe anymore, even upstairs. you had to get moving, it was clear now that no one else was coming to save you.

you packed light, shared the food between you all, and set off that same afternoon.

you thought about your mum and dad back home and hoped they were safe, thought that maybe there had been some sort of safe zone successfully set up quicker in the less populated area. the realist in you whispered that they’d be dead already.

sometimes it felt easier to avoid thinking about them at all.

—

day 20

don’t travel at night.

they don’t sleep, they don’t eat, they don’t seem to need it like you do.

travelling at night only makes it more dangerous because you’re more likely to make a mistake.

there were only two of you now.

—

day 21

you’d found a cricket bat and charley kept a machete in their hand at all times as you travelled. desperately seeking uninfected food and water to keep you going day to day.

it was scarce to find despite the lack of survivors you came across. you wondered if maybe the infected did still eat after all, but with how often you came across one - well practiced now in swinging your bat with all your might until you heard a resounding crack - you’d never seen one eating. they bit and they tore, at both flesh and clothes, but they didn’t eat.

—

day 24

you’d found more survivors.

only two, a father and daughter that had managed to last in their little flat on the third floor by barricading themselves in, but it was two more to be added to your pitiful group.

you’d had to hold back tears stood next to charley in their cosy flat. it felt so normal, so untouched by everything outside.

it almost felt like you’d not realised just how much you’d lost, and how quickly it’d all fallen, until you saw it laid out in front of you.

you were given the daughter’s room to sleep in while she shared with her dad, but despite the privacy and lockable door, the pair of you were already settled into safe habits and took turns to sleep while the other watched the door.

—

day 25

the dad, roger, had a long range radio that had been picking up the crackling transmission of a rescue team.

“it’s on repeat,” you’d pointed out with withering hope. “they could be gone by now, or in just as shitty a position as us. maybe even dead.”

“we can’t stay here,” roger argued. “we’re running low on food and water. the other flats have been rummaged to high heaven and you know what the streets are like.”

“the shops aren’t worth the danger you put yourself in,” charley agreed. sighing when you frowned at them.

“how long have you been hearing this?” you asked, pointing to the radio.

“a week,” he said. “might’ve been on for longer but i only caught it last thursday.”

the gruff voice was still playing, decidedly southern but not posh. firm and commanding in its instructions on how to reach them. it would be so nice to have someone else take charge, to have someone else protect you and feed you, even if only for a little while.

you rubbed at your eyes tiredly.

“ok, let’s go,” you agreed. roger turned off the radio and nodded, his gratitude and relief palpable.

“i’ll go tell katie to pack. we’ll set off immediately, make use of the daylight.”

you and charley nodded.

“manchester isn’t too long a drive,” charley tried to reassure you. “four hours, four an’ half, tops. we’ll be safe in no time.”

you were unconvinced.

—

you had to stop to siphon gas more than once, none of the cars you’d stopped to take from having had full enough tanks to get you to your destination in one go.

you’d ended up pulling over at a petrol station later in the journey, hoping to find that one of the abandoned cars or tanks had enough to fill roger’s car as well as the portable gas can he’d shoved into the boot with your stuff. better to be safe than sorry in case you needed more and there were no decent stops further along the way.

you’d been lucky so far.

while you stopped, katie took the opportunity to use the toilet inside while charley helped roger with the petrol. you’d stood near by, keeping an eye out for anything heading your way along the flat road, not wanting to be taken by surprise while they were vulnerable.

katie’s scream had you whipping back towards the gas station’s building, your heart pounding and bile rising in your throat as she stumbled out of the front door coughing up blood, her eyes red rimmed. you sprinted forward, moving past her when she fell to the gravel, and hit the young woman that was chasing her over the head, then struck again in her ribs so she fell low enough for you to give the final blow.

your cricket bat was discoloured from all of the blood and gore and viscera you never cleaned off well enough and the handle tape was peeling beneath your sweaty grip. you’d need to replace that soon, maybe sand the wood a little if you got the chance. keep it in good nick.

roger was knelt by katie’s side already when you turned, your thoughts reeling and distracted, on the edge of hysterical as you tried to compartmentalise; but you could see he was unwilling to accept what you already knew.

she was jerking in his hold as he brushed back her matted hair, fruitlessly trying to wipe away the blood from her mouth and eyes with his sleeve. he whimpered and held her close, promises and apologies falling from his lips as you slowly walked away from him, heading towards the car.

“get in,” you hissed to charley as you passed. you rounded to the other side and felt relief when you opened the drivers side and saw the keys still dangling in the ignition. “get in,” you repeated when they continued to stare at the grieving man and his dead child. “he won’t leave her and i doubt he’ll let us kill—“

you cut yourself off then. suddenly the things you’d hurt - disposed of - so far felt too human and your actions for survival too brutal, even if necessary. you clenched your eyes shut for a moment and willed the thoughts away; you weren’t going to die here. not today, not by the hand of one of those things.

charley turned to you once you’d stopped, horrified equally at your train of thought and shook their head in disgust.

“we can’t leave him, this is his car,” they argued.

your eyes darted between charley and roger and you saw when they realised you were considering leaving without them too. their shoulders tensed and their fist clenched around the handle of their machete; you knew you needed to act fast, you’d both grown unpredictable through strife and desperation and you had no doubt they’d swing at you if they thought they had no choice. it’s what you’d do.

you stepped back from the door and held up both hands, cricket bat leant in the car doorway.

“you’re right,” you blurted out. “ok, ok, help me get them inside then. we’ll need to find the safe zone soon to help her.”

you took a second step back from the driver’s door and charley’s shoulders relaxed as you pasted on a shaky smile. it felt so brittle, so obviously fake, but charley smiled back and their body language gentled as they turned to head towards roger and katie.

without hesitation you threw your cricket bat across to the passenger seat and launched yourself into the driver’s, peeling off with a choking rev of the engine as the car struggled to climb to the sudden speed in first gear before you could even get the door properly closed behind you. you moved on autopilot as you ground the gears into climbing higher. charley didn’t have a chance to shout or chase the car before you were spitting gravel in your wake.

as you drove you couldn’t bring yourself to look back in the mirror and see the little girl wake back up and try to take a chunk out of her father, try to pry his teary eyes out with her scrawny fingers as charley - your friend of twelve years you thought with a sob - realised what a mistake they’d made. you heard the screams echo down the flat road well enough to know what fate befell them all.

—

day 26

you’d slept in the car, not willing to risk continuing to drive in the dark. rules were rules and you stuck to them, it’s how you’d stayed alive this long.

you’d gotten back to it as soon as the sun rose; you barely had 3 miles left to the meeting spot they’d repeated on the radio, a twenty minute drive at most just off the motorway. but before you could get there your tires were blown out and the back window shattered in a cacophony of glass when it was shot out - a warning to stop immediately or else.

the car skidded a little before you pulled the hand break on, jerking in your seat as you skidded to a stop. you kept your unsteady hands in the air as a pair of armed men slinked out from the surrounding bushes, moving in synchronicity.

you shook in your seat, your breath coming in short when your door was yanked open. a stern faced soldier ducked down with his gun levelled at you until he saw your scared face.

he broke out into a smile and let the barrel drop to point down and away from your centre. “hello. don’t look so worried,” he said brightly before standing back up straight. he stepped far back enough to let you climb out when he gestured and you noticed the second soldier peeking into the back seat from the other side of the car. “yer uninfected?”

you nodded jerkily and he hummed happily. he leant into the car and pressed the button that popped the boot.

“gaz, check the back seat, i’ll get the boot,” he suggested to the other soldier and left you to stand alone and shaken by the hood of the car. they were moving so quickly, having shot at you in one moment and now leaving you to hug yourself tightly in the next, no introductions or polite apologies for the cautious though extreme behaviour.

you sucked in a rough breath. losing charley was taking its toll on you now that you’d slept through the adrenaline crash, the reality of your actions hitting you square in the chest. you blinked back tears.

gaz sent a soft smile your way before he dug through the car, pulling out your cricket bat with a low whistle. when he got to the back seat he had roger’s golf club and katie’s school rounders bat hanging from his other hand. you remembered telling her to take it with her to the bathroom when you’d pulled over, not that it mattered now.

he moved to stand near you, rounding the car to the other side.

“take a look at these, soap,” he said and the first man popped up like an eager puppy as he left the boot with your bags in his hands. he dumped them down unceremoniously before snickering at the weapons. you stared at charley’s backpack and its broken front pocket zip.

“had to defend ye’self much?” soap asked sarcastically, breaking your staring competition with the bag.

“plenty,” you answered a touch sharply.

“right,” soap said, sobering a little when you didn’t play along nicely with his teasing. “well, price will be happy t’see ye. simon i’m not so sure of, hard man to please.”

gaz snorted and mumbled under his breath something you didn’t catch.

“all of these yours?” he asked after, gesturing to the bags. you shook your head and grabbed the backpack you’d been using for the last three weeks, hesitating over charley’s, before leaving it behind and grabbing your bat instead. you followed behind the pair as they led you through a cluster of trees to their hidden truck just off the road.

you climbed in before johnny and sat next to gaz on the long front bench seat. he rested his gun down by his side when he settled in the driver’s seat while johnny kept his in his grasp as he looked out of the window. the scotsman eyed the bat between your knees but didn’t comment.

the pair of them had blocked you in and, purposely or not, it felt stifling.

—

the tall gates of the stately home the soldiers had taken over loomed when you drove through. johnny had jumped out to unlock them and then closed them again behind you, quick and clearly practiced. you felt your heart in your throat as you watched the padlock and chain get locked tight in the wing mirror. it should’ve felt secure, but it only brought you anxiety.

a man with a heavy presence waited for you on the steps of the home so you climbed out when gaz did and smiled hesitantly.

“sir, we found a survivor just off the motorway,” gaz informed him as if he couldn’t see you stood before him. soap came to stand at your other side.

“good job, lads. what’s your name, sweetheart?”

you bristled but kept your tone polite as you introduced yourself, recognising the voice from the broadcast. he hummed and looked at you from head to toe.

“i’m captain john price. i’m in charge of this unit,” he said, his chin held high. “why don’t you let me give you a tour of the place, eh? by time we’re finished dinner should be ready and then you can have a proper rest.”

“sure, thank you,” you agreed and moved to follow him in. you felt your bat slip from your fingers and tensed, turning to look for the thief, but johnny was already walking away with it hooked over his shoulder.

“you won’t be needing that anymore, love,” gaz said with a patronising smile when he caught your lingering gaze.

“it’s mine. i’d like it back.” your hands twitched nervously without it, and you almost took a step to follow after him.

“later,” price cut in. “we can get it for you later, can’t we, sergeant?”

kyle nodded once.

your shoulders eased momentarily and you turned to follow price inside once more.

he showed you the library, seemingly untouched; the unofficial infirmary they’d set up in the lounge; the billiards room with half a game of snooker left unfinished on the table; and he showed you the door to the kitchen but made it clear you were not to disturb simon while he was cooking; and then finally took you upstairs to the bedrooms.

“this one will be yours,” he said and led you in. you took a moment to look around. the furniture and decoration simple, if not a little dated. “did you have anyone else with you? any other survivors we might find out there?”

you didn’t know if it was the unexpected softness to his voice or the memory of charley’s trusting, tried smile, but you felt tears falling down your cheeks suddenly as you thought of charley and roger and katie.

you shook your head and wiped at your cheeks roughly. you blinked hard and bit your cheek until the tears stopped. bit harder to keep them from starting again.

“hey, hey, you’re ok now,” john promised, placing a large, warm hand on your shoulder and squeezing. “just relax, we’ve got you now.”

it didn’t bring you the relief and comfort you had hoped for, but you smiled at him all the same.

“thanks,” you whispered, still choked up.

“take your time to settle in,” price ordered. “we finished the tour a little early, but i’ll send one of the lads to come and get you when the food is ready. alright?”

you nodded again and he was gone, door shut behind him.

—

you hadn’t unpacked your bag, hadn’t done much more than check the room was empty before finding a corner to quietly break down in.

you didn’t know how long you had before price would come back for you, so you made it quick; wiped your face clean of tears when you finally felt like you could push the guilt and the dread down far enough, and sniffled roughly to clear the snot. you waited on the bed for the next half an hour, staring forward at the chest of drawers opposite in silence until the steady knock came.

“come in,” you called out, voice scratchy. the door opened and you rose to meet them at the door, finding gaz with that soft smile of his.

“ready for dinner?” he asked and when you nodded he led the way back down the stairs to the dining hall.

the room was huge, the long extravagant table in the centre of the room felt ridiculous and overkill considering there were only five of you sat at one end.

you ate happily, not having had warm, freshly made food in weeks. the eggs tasted off, but it was nothing a little salt couldn’t cover as you scarfed them down alongside the baked beans and tinned mixed vegetables simon had steamed.

the chef in question stared at you from across the table, eyes blank but intense as they never left your form while you ate.

“how’s your room?” price asked once you were halfway through your meal.

“it’s good, thank you,” you muttered, nodding in appreciation at him when the four of them turned to you.

“good,” he said and poked irritatedly at the eggs on his plate but didn’t comment on them. “you’re close to all of our rooms, so we can keep an eye on ya. make sure you’re safe.”

you nodded tersely, that uneasy feeling coming back and making it difficult to swallow down your food.

“first night with us,” johnny jeered, grinning too wide at your side before realisation wiped his smile off his face. “ah fucking shite luck, ah’m on perimeter check tonight.” his eyes flashed and he turned to simon with pleading eyes. “go’awn an’ do me a solid si, swap with me and i’ll owe ye one?”

before simon could reply, price cut in firmly. “you’re not swapping. tonight’s your shift, johnny. we’re not changing that just because there’s a bit of excitement.”

johnny huffed, but acquiesced with a nod down at his food. “yes’sir.”

john looked to you and smiled placidly, before making eye contact with the small group of soldiers one by one.

“we’ve got to have rules and obey them,” he started smugly. “after all we’re not savages.”

“lord of the flies,” you said automatically, the quote standing out.

price tilted his head, impressed. “you’re a fan of reading the classics?”

“just ones they teach you in school,” you said with a flat smile.

“ah, well,” he laughed. “maybe you can pick it up again now that you’ve got the time and a safe place.”

you hummed noncommittally and forced yourself to finish the food. if nothing else, you weren’t going to waste the meal, even if it did feel heavy in your stomach; unsure as to how long this sort of luxury would last.

dinner passed awkwardly, but as soon as you were excused to leave you took your plate to the kitchen and then left for your bedroom.

you locked the door, but the little flimsy latch didn’t give you much reassurance. you were tempted to jam the door with a chair, but there wasn’t one in the room. a job for tomorrow maybe.

you sat awake the whole night, your eyes flickering between the window and the door at every small sound, not trusting the men that were apparently just down the hall. old habits died hard and without charley beside you on watch, you found sleep to be elusive.

you sat next to the mattress, back against the wall and hidden from the door, the same place you’d sat to cry when you first arrived, and wished you still had your cricket bat. that was another thing you’d need to rectify tomorrow, finding or making a weapon if they continued to refuse to give you yours.

you shuffled in place, your legs and butt numb from staying in the same position for too long on the hard wood flooring. it felt like the house creaked with your every movement, but you knew you were being paranoid.

in the silence of the night, when your eyes had grown heavy, only staying open through pure determination and self preservation, you heard a soft repetitive groaning from the room next to yours. you hadn’t realised your room was so close to another’s, thinking price had meant they were staying further down the hall when he mentioned being close by. as you listened you recognised the sound of grunting and moaning and flushed hot, embarrassed and uncomfortable to be an unwilling voyeur to this man’s attempt at relaxing when no one should have been awake. you tried to block it out, but if you hummed or whistled it’d only make it all the more obvious that you were awake and aware of what was going on, and going by the rough, low tone, it was simon in the room over and you didn’t need a reason to make conversation any more stilted with him.

you covered your ears and tried to focus on the creaking of the old house, the rustle of the trees in the wind outside, but ultimately it didn’t help.

—

day 27

you were stiff the next morning, puffy bags pronounced beneath your tired eyes as you joined two of the men for breakfast.

“sleep well?” simon asked pointedly as he reached for the cereal and milk at the same time as you.

you pursed your lips and let him take them. “as well as could be expected,” you said vaguely.

he hummed, clearly amused.

“cap is on patrol this morning, but he said to let you know that you can have a wander of the place, get to know the layout and everything on your own,” gaz said as he ate a slice of dry toast.

“sounds goo—“

“y’just cant leave the gates,” he interrupted, smile turning sharp. “they’re locked for a reason, yeah?”

“…yeah, sure. no climbing over the extremely tall, iron gates,” you promised with a forced-joking tone. when gaz didn’t laugh you continued appeasingly, “i’m sure i’ll have enough to look at inside that i’ll be too busy to think about the gardens anyway.”

“exactly,” gaz agreed.

—

you didn’t cross johnny until a couple of hours later. he’d slept in after being on guard duty for most of the night, but his countenance brightened when he saw you down the same hallway as him.

he shifted to the centre of the narrow walkway so you’d be blocked to pass by.

“how’re you settlin’ in?” he asked, his grin a little too unsettling to be casual.

“fine, thanks. just having a look around, trying to find price,” you said. he nodded, dragged his eyes over you slow enough to feel like he was physically touching you. you withheld the urge to cross your arms over your chest and instead glared up at him stonily. “any idea where he is?”

“not a clue,” he shrugged. his hand reached out to squeeze your hip and you froze. “but if ah see him, i’ll tell him yer looking for him.”

you nodded on autopilot and he slipped past you, patting your arse twice, firmly, before heading on his way. you stayed still in shock for a minute before the racing of your heart and the panicked sweat at your temples registered.

you needed a weapon and you needed to find price.

—

john was irritable when you found him, hangry you’d be willing to bet given his absence at breakfast; he’d ended his shift on the patrol and had swapped with simon.

you hesitated to interrupt him on his way to the kitchen, but the slimy feeling of unease still crawled in your stomach and chest, so you pushed forward.

“price?” you called out. he lifted his head with a raised brow as he turned the kettle on.

“hm?”

“i was wondering what i can do to help around here?” you started. maybe if he gave you a job, it’d be easier to argue the necessity for a weapon while you did it. “maybe i could take a shift for look out, or i could—“

he interrupted you with a deep laugh. “no, sweetheart, i don’t think so.”

you felt your blood run cold.

“i don’t want to sit about all day,” you argued. “i can be useful.”

john looked you over quickly before turning back to his tea and pouring the boiling water over the bag. “i’m sure you will be,” he muttered. he heaved a heavy sigh. “if you want to help, you could start by giving simon a hand in the kitchen, relieve him of some of the stress, give him more time for other duties.”

“you want me to cook?”

“if you’ve got spare time on top of that, you could keep the place tidy,” john suggested further with a pleased little smile. “god knows four men living in one house, we— it could use a woman’s touch, liven up the place again. might feel less like a bloody university flat at least.”

you stared at him silently. he wanted you to cook and clean for them. you seethed.

“i’m not sure about that, john, i was thinking more along the lines of—“

“you asked what you could do to help,” he said firmly, all pleasantries gone. “none of us exactly enjoy the jobs we’ve been given right now, sweetheart. but in order to get through this we’ve got to muck in and do them, haven’t we?”

you clenched your jaw and reluctantly nodded.

“this is how you pull your weight,” he decided and took a sip of his drink.

“fine.”

he smiled. “i’ll get simon to show you the ropes later tonight for dinner then, yeah?”

you nodded.

“good chat,” he said with a wink. when you didn’t turn to leave he continued, “was there anything else?”

you hesitated, thinking about the cricket bat, before shaking your head with a forced smile. “no. that was it.”

“alright then.” he smiled back. it puffed out his cheeks in a way that would have had you snickering usually, but his condescension smothered any possible endearing feelings that hadn’t already been lost over the last few weeks of trauma. “off you pop.”

you felt your budding anxiety buzz under your skin for the rest of the day, the feeling that something was going to happen never leaving you. it was like waiting for the other shoe to drop, but everyone was telling you there was nothing to be worried about despite the last three weeks you’d lived through.

you’d grabbed a chair from a random room and brought it to your bedroom without being noticed, thankful for the lack of chaperone and eyes on your back.

the anticipation was slowly driving you mad and the urge to make an escape plan - just in case the worst came to the worst - was growing ever more difficult to ignore. if you thought you could get away with it, you’d take another chair and break the leg off, sharpen it up so you had something to use as a weapon, but you didn’t want to push your luck. one chair in the corner of the room was dismissible, but two? and you’d realised the lads liked to haunt your doorway given the multiple visits you’d had so far.

instead you decided to look around for something you could keep hidden in plain sight, something that wouldn’t be noticed if it went missing, as you walked a lap around the property again.

a candle stick had been your best option, and despite it feeling very clue-esq, it felt like a decent enough weapon to get you started, board game or no. certainly better than nothing either way.

you’d managed to avoid soap and his wandering hands for the rest of the day, gaz had been outside for most of it, but finally it was reaching dinner time so you headed to the kitchen to meet up with simon.

you knocked hesitantly on the half-open door to announce yourself, echoes of price’s warning to leave simon alone from the tour on your first night prevalent in your mind, and stepped inside when simon looked over his shoulder and didn’t immediately tell you to fuck off.

“you know how to make dumplings?” he asked gruffly. you nodded. “packets there, just needs water. found a couple’a tins of stew at the back of the food cupboard, so we’re ‘avin’ that.”

“great.” you found a bowl in the second cupboard you opened and started on with the dumplings, mixing the packet together with the water and moulding the sticky dough into small balls. you checked the timer sat above the oven and saw there wasn’t too long left and placed the balls on top of the bubbling stew. you weren’t sure how simon was working out the timings given it was tinned stew, and not from scratch, but you just hoped it had long enough in the oven to turn the dough crispy on top. once you’d pushed the oven closed again, you turned to see simon had already set out some potatoes for you to peel and chop.

half way through the pile, you spoke again, not daring to look at him as you did.

“so where’s the rest of your team? surely they didn’t just send four of you out here to help survivors,” you asked. “and why isn’t there anyone else here but me? has no one else managed to—“

“y’should be grateful we’re even still here to feed ya,” he snapped, glaring you down from the other side of the kitchen as he mashed the pot of potatoes he’d already finished. “worry less about who’s not here anymore and think about doing as you’re told.”

he pointed back to the potatoes and you bit your cheek to keep from saying something you’d regret.

“right.”

you helped him set out the stew - watered down to spread across five with stale dumplings floating atop - and mash on the table twenty minutes later and continued to bite your tongue when john spoke with an appreciative hum, “looks like we’ve found the right place for you after all, eh, love?”

johnny squeezed the back of your thigh just above the knee when you leant over the table next to him and you flinched at the sickly warmth of his palm that seeped through your jeans at the invasive touch.

breathing in deeply, you stepped back out of his reach and took a seat next to kyle further up the table. you tried to eat quickly, keeping your replies short when they tried to pull you in to conversation, hoping to escape once you were done. your lack of sleep the night before had caught up to you, leaving you exhausted with an oncoming headache pounding behind your eyes.

john tutted when you excused yourself, standing from your seat while the others were only half finished.

“jobs not done, love. still got the washing up to do,” he said with a disarming smile.

part of you wanted to joke that back home whoever cooked didn’t clean, but you could tell from john’s eyes that he wasn’t going to back down on this and you’d seen how he reacted to his men back talking. it seemed he was determined to put you into some sort of mothering role, or housemaid at least.

with a flat smile, you shrugged.

“of course, how silly of me to forget.” never mind that simon hadn’t cleaned the night before and this was only your second meal with all four of them.

“no harm done. you’ll get the hang of it soon enough,” johnny commented. “your place here, that is.”

the clarification left a stone in your stomach and you didn’t have the strength to pull your fake smile back to your lips again. instead you turned to the kitchen to get started on the pile of dirty dishes.

you heard simon snort as you left and kyle snicker, teasing his friend none too quietly, “oh she can’t fucking stand you, mate.”

you clenched your jaw at the gossiping and rubbed your eyes tiredly when you got to the sink and saw the mess.

at least it was away from them, out of sight and out of reach.

—

your headache had set in fully by time you got to your bedroom that evening, having to carefully decline their offer to join them for a game of pool when you passed by for the staircase with pruny fingers, and sleep was eluding you again despite your best efforts.

finally, once several hours had passed staring at the ceiling, you decided to head down to the infirmary and see if they had any paracetamol stocked.

you grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen on the way so you could take the tablet as soon as you found it and yawned as you made your way down the cold, bare halls towards the other side of the stately home.

the sound of shuffling and grunting had you freezing and you turned slowly to the hall to your left and squinted, your heart beating out of your chest while your eyes slowly adjusted to the low lighting.

when you realised what you’d walked in on, your eyes widened and you took a stumbling step back, your water almost slipping from your trembling fingers.

gaz, fully dressed, and johnny, in a shirt and boxers, were making out heavily while leant against the wall. johnny licked eagerly into gaz’s mouth and your eyes drifted down to their rutting hips and your breath hitched when you saw their cocks pulled free of their flies, kyle’s long fingers keeping them held together between them as they pressed into each other for friction.

you couldn’t hear the sticky rub of their slick skin over their panting moans and the rustle of their clothes, but you could imagine it.

you heard a deep chuckle and your eyes darted up to see kyle had caught you. he was pinned against the wall as johnny kissed down his neck and tugged his collar into a misshapen mess, but his head was rolled towards you.

“wanna join?” he gasped out, mouth twitching up into a teasing smile.

you shook your head dazedly as you scrambled back to your room, pain tablets forgotten about as you heard their laughter interspersed with moans echo behind you.

you barely slept as the memory played on a loop behind your closed eyes.

—

day 28

you tried not to act any different at breakfast the next morning, but you knew from their shared knowing looks that they could tell you were still flustered from the unexpected show.

it had caught you off guard, seeing them so intimately entwined. sex hadn’t even crossed your mind since the first week of the outbreak, so tied up and focused on just surviving. it had been a blunt reminder.

price laughed when you refused to make eye contact with any of them as you made yourself a bowl of cereal - plain weetabix like the morning before.

“don’t worry, pet, you’ll get used to it,” he said calmly.

your eyes flickered up at that, unsure what exactly he meant or how comforting it was intended to be.

maybe they were all just pent up, stuck in close quarters together and eager for a soft touch from someone familiar. you nodded and looked back down to your food as an awkward silence spread.

“i’ll show you the food store at lunch,” simon said, breaking the tense quiet. “leave y’to dinner on your own, see how you cope.”

you felt a rush of nerves at being left alone to cook despite having made dinner for family and friends plenty of times before. the unspoken don’t fuck it up in simon’s eyes had you hesitant to agree despite not wanting his forced company that evening either.

“sounds good,” you agreed.

the pantry wasn’t nearly as full as you’d expected when simon showed you inside a few hours later.

“me ‘n’ johnny are goin’ on a supply run soon, but cant promise we’ll find anything,” he said as he started to head out, leaving you to organise dinner on your own. “best if you start rationing now, plan ahead a week or so for the meals so you know what’s left. don’t starve us last minute.”

you nodded, his suggestion making sense. you didn’t dare ask what they’d do if they ran out of food; you’d not seen the gardens so you had no idea if they’d started growing any veg or not - it was doubtful considering simon hadn’t mentioned it.

you spent the rest of the day organising; noting the food amounts down on a spare pad of paper simon had given you and figuring out the meals you could make from them. once you were done, it was already time to start making dinner for the boys.

—

that evening you set out the food for them all, taking the seat they’d left empty within their circle at the top of the table. you’d managed to eat half of your meal before the proverbial rug was pulled from beneath your feet.

you felt your ears buzz as you struggled to find a hidden meaning in what price had just told you, the hand holding your fork went slack and you dropped it to your plate with a clatter. blinking rapidly to clear your vision, as you stared across the table at the captain.

“what..?” your voice was barely a croak as you internally repeated a begging wish for you to have misheard him.

he sighed and leant back in his chair, lips thinning as he watched you closely. simon’s proximity to your left suddenly felt suffocating, and despite the table separating you a little better from johnny and kyle their stares felt just as oppressive.

“we’ll make it good for you, sweetheart. we can be gentle when needs be,” john said, though his eyes held a mean tint that betrayed his promise. “but it’s been a while since any of us had a good woman, and you can’t deny that you stumbling onto our doorstep was perfect timing.”

you shook your head.

although you’d recognised the lecherous stares you’d been getting from them since you’d first arrived - hell johnny hadn’t even tried to be subtle once you were locked behind their gates - you’d not expected them to sit you down on your third night and tell you that they’d decided they’d earned the right to start fucking you. and sooner rather than later at that.

“this is how you pull your weight,” john said and you felt anger claw at your throat at the repeated words. you dropped your eyes to your plate as you tried to gather your wits desperately; tried not to outwardly panic as they continued to watch you with eager eyes and growing smirks. sharks sensing blood in the water.

lashing out now would do you no good; kicking and screaming and telling them no, it would only get you locked away under careful supervision until they decided it was time to spread your legs. no, you needed to escape, and you’d have to be smart about it to manage that.

“i need to— can i think about it?” you asked desperately, blinking rapidly as you swallowed back bitter fear. you rephrased the question when you felt simon stiffen next to you. “you surprised me,” you clarified, looking to john. “i think i just need an evening to… to accept my new role.”

you tried to play coy, as though the thought of being fucked by any of them didn’t send a rush of disgust through you. that instead you just felt overwhelmed and needed time to calm down, alone, before willingly spreading your legs.

“‘course, poppet,” john agreed benevolently. you caught the hungry looks that were being shared around you at the table but kept your head low.

you struggled to finish your dinner, feeling their gazes pawing at you and the hidden skin beneath your clothes, keeping a steady presence of bile at the back of your throat no matter how many times you seemed to swallow it back.

you tidied up after them as normal, freezing when simon squeezed your hip in a silent thanks, and hesitating when gaz came to watch you in the kitchen; paying extra attention when you handled the sharper knives. he stayed silent but you could feel his body heat soak through your layers of your clothes as he stepped close to peer over your shoulder as you scrubbed at a stubborn stain in a pan.

he walked you to your room once you were done, continuing to keep his hands to himself, but you felt his breath on the back of your neck again. slow and steady.

it made it difficult to concentrate and try to pull a plan together last minute to leave. you couldn’t keep your thoughts straight, couldn’t map out the exits and remember what doors would be locked and where the keys might be when his hot breath tickled your ears and caused you to flinch and stumble on the stairs.

once your bedroom door was closed behind you, you waited an hour before moving the chair beneath the handle, doing your best to jam it in without making too much suspicious noise.

you spent the hour trying to put a plan into place, but no amount of thinking got you past the desperate hindbrain yearning to just run, and so that was all your plan consisted of. you knew you didn’t want to risk getting caught taking food tonight before you left, even if it would mean going hungry on the road; and you knew you didn’t want to risk waiting too long and getting pushed face down arse up over the table at breakfast in the morning either, so you weren’t left with many options. you’d need to leave tonight with no provisions and no clue what direction you were headed in. you just had to climb out of the bedroom window and wing it until you were far, far away.

you grabbed your backpack and the candle stick from the dresser, wishing once more for your cricket bat. hooking the bag over both shoulders, you held the thinner centre of the gold stick between your teeth as you slowly tried to open your window quietly. you lifted it enough to be able to slip through, wincing at the height of the drop below.

you braced yourself and sent up a silent prayer to whoever was listening for a bit of luck. you hung over the window ledge, legs first, your arms shaking as you tried to control the speed of your descent before you were hanging limp, toes nowhere near the ground. with one last breath in, you summoned all of your bravery and let go.

you fell back, landing harshly on the messy lawn below with a smothered grunt and a hiss of pain as your ankle twisted. you were grateful you didn’t have any rose bushes beneath your room, but you’d wished you’d been next to the porch or the extension if only to have something a little lower to climb down from.

you gave yourself five seconds of grace curled on the floor in pain before telling yourself to suck it up and get moving. you picked up the candlestick and held it tightly in your fist.

sticking to the shadows, you limped as quickly as you could to the tall front gate and started climbing. the flood lights that had been set up were unnerving, but the lack of shouting and shooting had you feeling confident that they were otherwise preoccupied and not waiting for you at the front door.

you were over the other side, had just dropped to the ground in fact with your heart beating fast and premature hope flooding your vision with tears, when their alarm set off.

you flinched at the loud droning and darted your head around to see if any of them were close, if any of the infected just happened to have tried to get in at the same time you were leaving. you’d take them over the soldiers, you thought.

with your path clear, you started to run and didn’t turn back even when you heard john and the others shouting, following. you could lose them in the forest on the stately home’s grounds, find a place to hide out until they had to head back and then figure out the best route out of there. find a new safe place a long way away, maybe the other side of the country even.

your run was more of a jog with the injured ankle, but you didn’t dare slow even as it twinged with each step.

the idea of being alone scared you and as you thought of what route to take once you weren’t being chased you thought back to the petrol station. maybe you could go back down the road and see if charley was still—

you slammed to the ground and felt dirt catch in your throat when you heaved in an open mouthed breath. the wind was knocked from you and the heavy weight on your back made catching your breath even harder.

“where the fuck d’you think you’re going?” simon hissed, his knee pressed harshly into the bottom of your spine as he leant over you. you clawed at the floor and struggled to cough and heave beneath him. “she’s over ‘ere!” he shouted, and suddenly your strength renewed.

the idea of getting caught had you reaching for the candle stick a few feet away and you twisted and wriggled until you felt his knee dig painfully into your ribs and swung it up at his chin, feeling the edge catch and knock him off kilter enough that his weight leant onto the knee not pinning you.

you scrambled up from beneath him, seeing a flash of red gush from his face before you turned to run away. you felt a hand grip at the back of your jumper, tugging the collar taught against your throat as it yanked you backwards and back down to the floor.

you wheezed and spluttered, the wind knocked thoroughly from your chest once more as you gasped and rolled in pain.

“that wasn’t very nice,” john tutted as he stood over you. “we were going to be sweet about it tomorrow but it looks like that’s not what you want. just had to try and run, didn’t you?” john sniffed, irritation bleeding from his pores. you rolled onto your front to hide from his intense blue gaze and john’s anger grew at your lack of response. he looked up at the men slowly surrounding you, landing on johnny, and flexed his fists by his sides as he made a rash decision. “soap gets first go.”

gaz huffed a laugh, surprise clear in his eyes. “there’ll be nothing left of her after he’s had his fill, sir.”

john shrugged, looking back at you as you tried to push up shakily onto your knees with a cruel smile. “it’s her punishment,” he decided and pushed you down flat with a heavy boot to your shoulders. “i prefer a docile woman anyway, let johnny run her ragged.”

johnny didn’t wait for price to change his mind and didn’t need further instruction, beginning to undo his belt and freeing his cock before he’d even managed to kneel either side of your hips.

you tried to crawl away but he had you pinned with a hand fisted in the back of your jumper, pushing you firmly against the ground until he could squeeze his knees around you to keep you in place. with a fumbling difficulty, johnny managed to tug at your trousers, fighting with your flailing hands until kyle took the initiative and knelt at your head to hold them still. with both hands now free, johnny freely tugged your jeans and panties down until you were bare before them.

“stop! stop it, get off of me!” you yelled, fear colouring your voice and brining it to a higher pitch. “get the fuck off!”

“i’m tryin’,” johnny laughed at the mean pun, and spat on his hand, slicking up his ruddy cock just barely.

he tapped the spongy head against your core and smiled when you flinched, pushing in a second later. no prep, no warning, and he made no move to muffle your scream at the dry drag and stretch.

you gritted your teeth as he set into a rough rhythm, his hands heavy on your hips as he held you up on your knees. your face was still in the dirt, spit and tears causing it to stick uncomfortably to your face as you hid against the cold hard ground.

you clawed at the forest floor, desperate to get away even with kyle settled in front of you, his grip on your wrists harsh where he pressed them flat and unmoving. after a moment, he gathered them in one hand and used his other to tilt your head up. his eyes sparkled and he loosened his hold on your wrists slightly.

“are you going to be good?” he asked pointedly. you snarled and then yipped, ducking your head when fresh tears fell caused by the sudden uneven rhythm johnny had swapped to. the scotsman laughed breathlessly behind you. cunt.

kyle lifted your chin once more, his grip tight and expression impatient. you stared him down until he decided to just test you. letting you go he pulled out a knife from his thigh holster and held it between his teeth while he pulled his cock from his trousers.

he pulled you up onto your hands and squeezed your cheeks harshly until your jaw loosened under the pressure. before he slipped his cock inside he took his knife in hand and pressed the tip against your cheek. “bite and i take an eye,” he said seriously.

you nodded and opened your mouth wider when his cock caught on your lower teeth.

you sobbed around his thick cock while johnny hunched and jack rabbitted against you, hips slapping loudly against your arse in the quiet of the forest.

you felt overwhelmed and like you couldn’t catch a breath with gaz pushing in deeper and deeper until he had you gagging and retching around the head of his cock.

you were careful of your teeth still.

gagging for another reason, you heard johnny spit behind you, flinching and clenching down at the feeling of the warm saliva landing on your arse and nowhere near close enough to where he was tearing you in two. blood had eased the drag slightly, but the ache only grew with each thrust.

he didn’t make a move to drag the saliva lower, just watched it make its slow path from your right cheek towards your puckered hole with a deep focus. it cooled in the bitter northern air too quick and the feeling of it leaving its trail across your skin had you cringing.

a sudden feeling of dizziness had your eyes fluttering, your vision blurring and your arms going week. gaz laughed down at you.

“making her cock drunk already,” he bragged, his brows pulling down in pleasure when your tongue pressed up against the underside of his cock.

you could tell he was close and you clenched your eyes closed, sniffling pitifully before focusing your tongue on his head pointedly when he pulled back far enough. kyle moaned and tilted his head back. you heard simon laugh.

“she that good, garrick? or is johnny just that shit at blow jobs?”

“she’s putting a bit of effort in finally,” kyle groaned.

a sudden slap to your arse had you tensing and clenching down unexpectedly, the ache in your pussy flooding your system and pushing you towards kyle. you gagged as you took too much in at once and he moaned as he came, flooding your throat and keeping you held close until you swallowed with difficulty. he patted your cheek dismissively as he pulled out and huffed a laugh at your dishevelled state.

johnny slapped your arse again and you whimpered. “keep clenching down on me like that, hen. fucking hell, that’s good,” he hummed, his thrusts becoming even more erratic and short, a sign he was nearing his end too.

he slipped a hand under your jumper and squeezed one of your tits, moaning when you hissed. you felt a hot flood and you bit at your cheek until you tasted blood. johnny slammed his hips against you twice more before stilling.

he squeezed your hips appreciatively before pulling out and standing up. you curled up into a ball, grazed knees tucked under you and arms cradling your head as you sobbed quietly; your trousers still around your ankles.

a crushing weight settled over you and you felt your breath be pushed out from the heft.

“my turn,” simon whispered in your ear, leant over your back, his arms caging you in at the front.

he tugged your thighs apart enough to see your puffy slit and pushed in with a heady groan, nuzzling back into your neck.

it was claustrophobic.

the blood from the cut on his chin seeped into the collar of your jumper and you cringed at the sticky feel and smell.

“nicked me good,” he said, his tone proud as he trailed his lips along your jaw, unbothered by you flinching away. “don’t want me this close? maybe if you’d not hit me in the ‘ead i could’ve given ya some space,” he cooed. “but i’m so dizzy now, it’s better for us both if i stay low and close. hm?”

he panted heavy and wet against your ear and neck as he carefully thrusted, almost lovingly. but you knew he was doing it because of his size, making you feel every inch settle inside and barely pull out to give you space to breathe. he kept his thrusts shallow and deep, revelling in your whimpers. johnny had been rough, but this was a different sort of pain; lingering and consuming.

the parody of intimacy simon insisted on almost made it worse than what johnny and kyle had done.

he pulled one of your hands free from beneath you to link them together and laughed at your feeble attempts to escape his grip. the other came up to slip two fingers into your mouth, pushing down on your tongue so you couldn’t bite back your guttural moans and whines.

“lift her up f’me, simon,” john said after watching simon have his fun for a minute more.

simon dragged his wet fingers down to your neck, cupped just beneath your jaw and tilted your face up towards john. it was an uncomfortable stretch at the angle he had you pressed down in, but it wasn’t like you had any wriggle room to ease the bend of your spine.

john crouched down before you so he could make eye contact, and once he’d caught your teary gaze he smiled placidly. “this is your place from now on. and you’re going to play along nicely, isn’t that right?”

he didn’t wait for an answer, instead his gaze flickered up to simon where the big man was trailing wet kisses at your bloody collar. he nodded once and simon let your head go to move his hand down to your clit.

you scratched at his arm to try and get him to stop as he rubbed quick and hard at the bundle of nerves, your hips twitching involuntarily at the rough ministrations. you scrambled to get him to stop, blabbering pleas and demands until suddenly you were cumming on his cock, john still knelt watching closely as your lashes fluttered and your mouth dropped open.

“fucking wringing me dry,” simon grunted, keeping his pace slow and steady.

he dropped his fingers to where you were connected and gathered some of your leaking gush, bringing it around to your arsehole and pressing insistently at the right furl.

you clenched tighter in fear and he moaned, clenching your hand in his tight enough you’d worry he’d break it. but he didn’t stop the steady pressure until one finger had slipped inside to the first knuckle with great difficulty.

“please don’t, please don’t, stop, st— please…”

he pulled it back out and sucked his fingers until they were wet and tried again, this time pushing in further.

“there ya go…” he thrusted it inside twice before moving to add a second.

you whimpered and gasped at the stretch, the unwanted intrusion, and he laughed.

“need to get y’ready for cap,” simon said. “don’t reckon he’ll have the patience to do it ‘imself.”

you felt yourself go lightheaded and your vision swam as you felt simon’s fingers spread and curl. your last thought before you passed out was that you wished you’d stayed behind to help katie and roger.

[hedwig221b]

Hiii, I love ur work. U r an amazing writer but now they leaving me wanting more. I’m not sure if you’ve done this already but do u have any recs for size difference sterek? Please and thank u!! ❤️

Thank you! Most of these are pwp but maybe that's a plus lol

Compatibility by SinQueen69

Only compatible Alpha’s and Omega’s smell good to each other, everyone else smells awful so when Derek and Stiles scent each other in the woods that day, they can’t stay away.

The Hoodie by PersePhonesDreams

Stiles didn’t mean to keep Derek’s hoodie—really, he didn’t. But the oversized, ridiculously soft thing quickly became his favorite comfort item, a piece of Derek he couldn’t quite let go of. It’s not like Derek would notice anyway… right? When Derek unexpectedly shows up at Stiles’ window one quiet night, Stiles’ not-so-secret attachment to the hoodie is exposed, leading to a conversation that changes everything. Cue awkward confessions, teasing smiles, and the realization that maybe Derek doesn’t mind Stiles keeping more than just his hoodie.

so now you've got the best of me (come on and take the rest of me) by mangotangos

"It doesn't matter how hot Derek is, how Stiles barely comes up to his shoulders or how Derek's hands could probably fit really snugly around his waist. None of it matters, because he's basically a glorified babysitter for the foreseeable future and Stiles wants him out. Operation annoy Deputy Derek Hale into leaving begins now." ~or, the one where Stiles' dad hires Deputy Derek to be Stiles' bodyguard, Stiles hates him on principle and then 2 seconds later falls in lust (and love) and tries to seduce him into bed with his sexual prowess.

Cherry by j560

"He promised himself he wasn’t going to think about Derek at all when he got it done. That he wasn’t picking this piece out because red was Derek’s favorite color. But he couldn’t stop himself from hoping maybe this time Derek would notice and say more than two words about his new piercing. That he would take Stiles seriously for once, and recognize all the newfound confidence Stiles could feel himself thriving off of. He hoped Derek would do something other than stare." OR Stiles keeps getting piercings until one sends Derek over the edge.

The Wolf God by SinQueen69

A magical barrier kept the Wolf God Derek safe when his Rut hit, but it unexpectedly allows a human through.

reverence by pocarisu_danshi

"Morning.” Stiles says, still sleepy. He’s fucked out tired and loose and sluggish, up most of the night until he’d passed out onto the pillow they shared. Derek rumbles a response, the timbre of his voice low and strong. “Morning.” He bends and kisses Stiles’ forehead, who takes the kiss with his eyes slipping half closed and a hum in his throat. Derek regards him. Focused on Stiles like he sometimes gets, eyes mottled and gold but not demanding.

I’m Knot A Pretty Boy by KnottheWolf

Day 8: Size Difference- “Do you always offer rides to strangers.” Derek grunts, wishing he could cross his arms but is stuck standing there staring at the Alpha. “Only the pretty ones.” Derek feels his cheeks go impossibly red at that, his ears burning up like candlesticks as he thinks on those words, he’s never been called pretty before. Handsome. Yes. But pretty? Nobody ever called him pretty; Derek was hairy, muscular and tall. Qualities that were often looked down upon on Omegas whether they be male or female, society had such constraint views on what an Omega should and shouldn’t look like. Often times he was mistaken for a Beta, once in awhile an Alpha, but when it was discovered he was actually an Omega people seemed to walk around him like he was a pariah.

Don't Be Cocky by Spindiver

For reasons, Derek wants to get a Prince Albert piercing. The only shop in town belongs to Stiles Stilinski. Who knew that Derek's life of lonely isolation was about to get a proper shake-up? “Hey”, he says, in greeting, “what can I help you with, this morning?” Given the man’s size and somewhat surly demeanour, Stiles is not expecting the voice of the giant to be so measured and polite. “My name’s Derek Hale, I have an appointment booked for 11 o’clock.” “Right”, says Stiles, coming out from behind the counter, he gestures towards his workspace, one of three rooms off the lobby of the shop. “Come on through, my name’s Stiles, I run this place. I have to confess, the appointment book didn’t say what you were after.” He raises an eyebrow at the man, now sitting gingerly on the padded worktable in the middle of the room. He’s starting to look ever so slightly uncomfortable. “Oh, I um…I’m looking to get a Prince Albert”, he mumbles.

Don't Feed the Wolves by Amazonia_8

Stiles took the dare, because what else was he supposed to do when the whole lacrosse team was chanting his name? Even though the werewolf pack had left Beacon Hills years ago, nobody was stupid enough to set foot on the Hale property. Except, apparently, Stiles. Now he's got a feral werewolf following him around town with the sole purpose of claiming Stiles as his own.

Only Me

He held Stiles’ face like it was the most precious thing and licked Stiles’ neck like he owned it. A kiss was the first thing to greet Stiles in the mornings they spent together, and at nights, it was the last thing he felt on his face. Each time was more desperate than the last. Derek told him he was made to be kissed. It was a reward, a pleasure, a relief. And then, after all of this, he would disappear. For two days, three, or for a week. Stiles would choke from the thought that this time he definitely ruined it (how? god, how?), and then, in a click of a light, Derek would come back as if he were always there. Calling from a hidden number, cupping his chin, tugging Stiles closer with his hand splayed on his back, so big and insistent. Kissing, loving, refusing to let go. But only in a closed room, in the darkest corner of a restaurant, in a black sports car with its windows thick and tinted. Stiles dreaded saying goodbye.

Desperate

Derek understood perfectly well how young Stiles was. Just how many times did he stop himself from digging his teeth into that lovely neck to claim him? Maybe, next time he shouldn’t. The thought, wild and sudden, came to him, and once it did, there was nothing he could do to get rid of it. If he got Stiles pregnant, then the omega would be his. Fully his. They would be bound for life. Stiles wouldn’t refuse the mating bite, then. Stiles was his omega. Derek would do anything to keep him. Anything.

Untouchable

The day Stiles Stilinski entered the Berkeley campus was the day all the alphas went absolutely fucking nuts. See, omegas were rare, even more than redheads. Got to be extremely fucking lucky to even see one in a lifetime. They were supposed to be these ethereal creatures of beauty and elegance, irresistible and blinding. And Stiles Stilinski was exactly that.

Treasure

"I know you don’t trust me,” Derek grunted. When Stiles inhaled to retort, Derek caught his chin and pressed a finger against his lips, making the boy freeze in place, eyes impossibly wide. “Don’t argue. I expected it. Wolves don’t trust easily, too. I just wanted you to know that… I’m sorry. I was selfish and didn’t see what was in front of me. You don’t need to worry. I’ll take care of everything.” It was a thought that grew in his mind, spread to his heart and took root there, reincorporating into a deep desire and a vital need. Derek will take care of him and his little pup, he’ll bring the hearts of his enemies and put them at the boy’s feet. He’ll court and he’ll conquer.

[masterlist link]

[persevereforahappyending]

A Legacies Regret |11|

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: You were living in New York with your girlfriend, trying to forget about last year and just enjoy life, but that was easier said than done. (Sequel to A Legacies Secret)

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Attempted Murder, Stabbing, Shooting, Violence

Word Count: 3.6k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | A Legacies Secret Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

You rode all the way to Gale’s place in silence. You felt Gale constantly glancing at you out of the side of her eye, but you refused to acknowledge it, you just kept your eyes focused straight ahead. When you finally reached Gales’ place you couldn’t help the way your mouth hung open. You knew Gale lived on the upper west side, but it seemed you didn’t realize how well off she truly was.

You couldn’t help but press your head against the window, trying to look up at the building. You furrowed your brow as Gale pulled down into a garage under the complex. Your eyes widened, it was a struggle finding parking in New York and yet Gale had an entire parking garage under her building. You didn’t even have a car anymore, you and the others walked everywhere and where you couldn’t walk you rode the subway.

You followed Gale out of the car, clearing your throat to try and hide just how impressed you were. The two of you entered the elevator, Gale swiped a card then hit the button for a floor near the top. Your eyes widened; she wasn’t at the very top of the complex, but she was pretty close.

Some soft music played in the elevator to fill what would have usually been an awkward silence. The elevator dinged as you arrived at the floor in no time. You stepped out into a small hallway that had less than a handful of doors in it. You had your hands shoved in your pockets as Gale step up to one of the doors and pulled out her keys. You glanced around as she unlocked the door, if there was less than five condos on each floor that meant the space had to be rather large.

“Make yourself at home,” Gale said, holding the door open for you.

Your mouth once again fell open as you stepped into Gale’s condo. It was an open floor plan with the door opening up right into the living room. From where you stood in the doorway you could see the kitchen, a long hallway that probably led to the bedrooms, and a balcony that stretched the length of the kitchen and the living room.

“Damn,” you couldn’t help but whisper.

You could barely afford the one-bedroom crappy apartment you had in Woodsboro to begin with. New York was another monster all together, you made more money bartending than you ever did back home, but rent was also more than triple what you paid. The only reason you were able to afford the current place was because you, Sam, and the money Bailey paid for Quinn’s share helped divide things up. You weren’t sure what would happen now, a Ghostface attack happened, meaning the apartment was no longer safe, meaning Sam would want to move again. Quinn was also murdered in said apartment, which definitely didn’t help, and a roommate, along with you, Tara, and Sam was the only way you could afford the place.

“Didn’t know a reporter’s salary could get you all this,” you mumbled to yourself.

“Helps when you’ve written several bestselling books,” Gale said.

You couldn’t help but scoff. Those books she wrote, though based on real events, tended to paint everyone in a bad light, except for herself of course. Sam got the worst of it but even Sidney was never portrayed the best.

“Profiting off others pain,” you commented. “Definitely something to strive for.”

Gale let out a sigh and when you turned around, she at least had the decency to look at least a little be ashamed. “I know you weren’t a fan of my interpretation from last year’s events,” Gale said calmly, like she was trying to choose her words carefully.

“It was a bunch of bullshit,” you snapped. “What you said about me, about Sam,” you started gesturing with your hands. You and Sam might not have been friends and only really tolerated each other because of Tara but she didn’t deserve all the crap Gale said about her. “The only one portrayed decently was…” your words quickly died, and you had to look away. You quickly tried to blink away the tears.

“You weren’t portrayed bad by any means.”

“No!” You snapped, the anger coming back to you in full force. “You just used me as a prop to make you look better.” Gale physically flinched at your words. “Abandoning your daughter to keep her away from the horrors of Ghostface,” you mocked. “How honorable.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Gale whispered.

“Well, at least our fictional relationship is better than our real life one,” you shrugged. “We really get to bond and reconnect.” You saw the tears in Gale’s eyes, but you didn’t even so much as begin to back down. “To bad in real life our relationship is nonexistent.”

You turned away, no longer able, or wanting to, look at her. You were the reason the two of you didn’t have a relationship. A part of you wished things could be different, you didn’t regret your decision though, maybe if Gale was different, if she had proven she could be different. In her book she made it seem like she did you a favor, giving you up. She went on about how you reunited, how the two of you grieved Dewey and despite how hard it was you found yourself able to forgive Gale for what she did. The thing about fiction though, it had a habit of being better than real life.

“I know,” Gale whispered. “When I got to writing I…” you glanced back to see her shaking her head as she tried to figure out what she wanted to say. “I got carried away; I started fantasizing about how I wish we could be. Meeting for lunch regularly, getting to know you,” she began to list off. “Being a part of your life.”

“Well, none of that is true,” you snapped.

“No,” Gale whispered sadly. “I’ve tried to respect your decision, in wanting nothing to do with me.” You were thankful she couldn’t see your face as a lone tear escaped your eye. “And I apologize for any pain my writing might have caused you.”

“Whatever,” you shook your head, your voice hardening. “I didn’t come here for apologies, I meant what I said,” you turned to face Gale again. “There’s safety in numbers. So, let’s just keep this simple.”

Gale’s eyes fell to the floor, but she didn’t argue, she just nodded her head. “Make yourself at home,” she said again, gesturing to the living room.

You opted to sit on the couch, stretching out your leg just enough to give your knee some relief. You checked your phone, making sure Tara hadn’t messaged you. The last text you got from her was her replying to you telling her to be careful. Nothing good ever came from you and Tara separating but you couldn’t just let Gale go off on her own.

Gale grabbed her laptop and set up next to you on the couch, though she made sure to leave plenty of room between the two of you. You glanced at her out of the side of your eye when you heard her mumbling to herself, it sounded like she was complaining about Kirby. You glanced at her laptop screen and saw she was still researching Jason and Greg, she was still investigating, trying to figure out who this new Ghostface could be.

“Jason and Greg weren’t involved,” Gale mumbled. “They were just in the way.”

“Meaning whoever this asshole is,” you said. “Doesn’t just want us dead, they want to be the one to do it.” Gale looked at you, you could see her clench her jaw before she nodded.

If this Ghostface just wanted, you guys dead they could have just hung back and let Jason and Greg try to fulfill their plan. You doubted it would work, you didn’t think the boys would have taken down any of you. That wasn’t the point though, Jason and Greg weren’t a real threat, they were just in the way of what the real Ghostface was planning.

“I’m hungry,” Gale said. “Are you hungry?” she was already getting up as she looked at you. “I have takeout menus in the kitchen.” Before you could even open your mouth, Gale was already walking away.

You watched Gale disappear into the kitchen and grabbed your phone when you felt it vibrate. You furrowed your brow at Tara’s name popping up. “Hey,” you answered, a slight frown on your face. It was a little early for them to already be done, that was unless something went wrong. “What happened?”

“Ghostface is there!” Tara shouted.

“Wait, what?” You sat up straighter. “What are you talking about?” You were already moving, intending to find Gale. “What…” your words died in your mouth as you turned around, Gale was standing there, phone to her ear and tears in her eyes.

Gale’s eyes widening was your only queue. You turned around, raising your arm just as Ghostface brought his knife down. You kept him at bay, but he used his other arm, pushing the knife closer to you. In the process of trying not to get stabbed you dropped your phone, you just hoped Tara wasn’t freaking out too much.

“Hey!” Gale shouted right before smashing her phone into the side of Ghostface’s head.

Gale yanked you to the side when Ghostface stumbled away. You didn’t know the layout of the penthouse, so you were really relying on Gale. She dragged you to the kitchen, rounding the enormous kitchen island. Ghostface recovered and now stood on the opposite side of the island.

You were at a standstill, the only potential place to go was out onto the balcony. Ghostface could easily block your path to the front door, as soon as you went one way he’d know where to move. The only options were to wait for Ghostface to get impatient and move first or to split up. If you went one direction and Gale went the other Ghostface would have to choose who to go after. You weren’t willing to take that risk, the odds were never in your favor it seemed when pertaining to Ghostface.

Ghostface rocked back and forth, their patients clearly waning, though they didn’t seem anxious about it. Finally, Ghostface moved, opting to take the side that would block the front door. You spun around, giving Gale a gentle shove as the two of you made your way to the balcony.

Gale flung open the door, not hesitating to rush out into the cold. You were right behind her, but Ghostface was right behind you. He jumped on your back, slamming you into the doorframe before you could actually get outside. You yelled out in pain as you felt the knife pierce your shoulder, just barely missing your neck.

The two of you tumbled out the door together. Ghostface was still on top of you, straddling your waist as you managed to turn around. Your hands shot up, catching Ghostface’s hands just as he brought down his knife. You gritted your teeth, trying to hold him back as best as you could but he had the advantage.

You couldn’t help but notice how familiar this position was, the first time you were ever attacked pretty much the same thing happened. You had been alone in your apartment when Ghostface attacked, managing to get the jump on you. You had turned the tables on them in the kitchen, and you had been the one pushing the knife towards Ghostface’s chest though.

Another key difference from last year was that you weren’t alone. You were reminded of that when Gale seemingly came out of nowhere smashing a potted plant over Ghostface’s head. As soon as you felt his grip loosen, you shoved him to the side, instantly finding Gale’s hand as she yanked you to your feet.

The two of you rushed to the other door. If you could just make it there, then you could lock Ghostface out. On the balcony he’d have nowhere to go, he’d be trapped for once. Just as you were about to run through the door someone grabbed you by the collar of the shirt and yanked you back. You were pretty sure you heard Gale call out your name, but you were too busy catching yourself on the railing of the balcony.

You groaned when your back hit the railing, you looked up to see Ghostface slamming the door closed in Gale’s face. You didn’t even have time to push yourself off the railing before Ghostface was on you again. They leaned all their body weight on you, forcing you to lean over the railing as much as possible. You held them by their wrists, trying to keep the knife away from your eye.

You glanced back, your eyes widening at the city below you. You weren’t sure which would be worse, falling to your death or Ghostface gutting you. Your breath caught in your throat as the knife came down, inching closer while you were distracted. You did your best to wiggle your body to the side, using enough leverage to get Ghostface stumbling forward.

The two of you went back and forth fighting over the knife. Ghostface kept trying to stab you and you did everything to keep that from happening. You weren’t sure when the two of you started moving, you were so busy focused on trying not to go over the balcony that you weren’t ready when the two of you crashed through the door.

You rolled over with a groan, glass crunching beneath you. Gale didn’t waste time asking if you were okay before she yanked you up and began dragging you down a hall. You furrowed your brow, it seemed going out the front door would be the better play but when you looked back you saw Ghostface already on their feet, though a bit disoriented.

Gale dragged you into a room, quickly pushing you to the back and slamming the door closed just as Ghostface got to it. She clicked the lock and ran to her closet. It wasn’t the time, but you couldn’t help the way your eyebrows raised at the closet, it was more than half the length of the room. You and Tara were supposed to share a closet, which was still mainly filled with Tara’s stuff, while yours was all in the dresser, which Tara also took over half of.

“Are you okay?” Gale asked. She looked over from what she was doing but quickly dropped her attention back to trying to open a silver case. “Fuck!” She smacked the case when the lights lit up red, rejecting whatever code she punched in.

“Are you okay?” she asked again.

“I’m fine,” you said.

Gale punched in the code again and finally the lights lit up blue. She grabbed the gun and was already aiming it at the door even though it sounded like Ghostface stopped slamming his body into it. Gale didn’t wait though, she fired a few rounds into the door, if Ghostface was still on the other side he surely would have been hit. Your entire body went rigid when a phone ringing shattered the already uneasy silence.

Gale picked up the phone and by her irritated tone you knew it was Ghostface trying to mess with her again. She walked closer to the door, firing two more rounds into the door. You moved to follow her but let out a hiss as you winced. You looked down to see spots of blood staining your shirt. You flicked your eyes to Gale; her attention was fully on the door and talking to Ghostface. You gritted your teeth as you gently lifted your shirt, getting a good look for the first time at the bit of glass stuck in your side.

You rolled your shirt back down as gently as possible, then powered through the pain as you came up behind Gale. She flung open the bedroom door, her gun steady in her hands as she held it out, moving and checking every potential place Ghostface could be hiding before passing it. You made sure to stay close, you had nothing to defend yourself with and you were sick of Ghostface catching you off guard.

“Hold please,” Gale said. You furrowed your brow and watched as she clicked a few buttons on the phone and redialed the number Ghostface had used to call her.

The two of you whipped around when ringing started coming from the closet you had just passed. Gale set the phone down, allowing the ringing to just continue as she gently nudged you back and stepped in front of you. She fired a couple rounds into the hall closet and the two of you heard a thud.

Gale inched forward, still making sure to keep the gun raised. Just because you both heard what sounded like a body falling to the ground didn’t mean Ghostface was actually down. Ghostface had faked being down plenty of times, he could have also stashed some random person in there to use them as bait. You didn’t think that last one was likely, but it definitely wasn’t insane to think about.

Ghostface launched out of the closet before Gale could react, knocking the gun out of her hand and shoving his knife into her shoulder. He pushed her back until she hit the stone column in her living room. He gripped her by the hair and began slamming her head against the stone. You didn’t think as you charged forward, tackling him off her like as if you were a football player.

The two of you rolled around on the floor, both of you fighting for control of the knife. Ghostface reached up and clawed at the stab wound on your shoulder. Pain seemed to radiate through your entire body, forcing you to instantly release Ghostface. Ghostface tackled you, your head smacking back against the hard floor. Ghostface seemed to like bashing someone’s head because he gripped you by the hair and slammed your head into the floor until you were seeing spots.

You were sure you had a concussion, again. When the image above you began to clear you were left frozen as Ghostface hovered above you, holding his knife high. You wanted to move, you kept telling your body to move, to roll out of the way, to fight back, to do something, but you just lay there. Ghostface brought his knife down but before it could get to you Gale tackled him off you, sending the two of them crashing into the glass coffee table.

You rolled onto your stomach; through blurry vision you could see Gale get up first. You couldn’t help but let out a relieved breath. She approached Ghostface, stepping on his wrist before yanking the knife out of his hand. She turned the knife in her hand before kneeling down next to Ghostface.

“Wait,” you gasped.

You reached out with your hand, as if you had any of hope of reaching Gale. Before Gale could bring the knife down, finally ending Ghostface, his hand shot up, impaling her in the side with a shard of glass. Gale collapsed, managing to drop the knife as both her hands went to her side. Ghostface rolled over as if none of what had happened had phased him.

“Don’t take it personally,” Ghostface said, taking the knife back. “A legacy character was never going to make it out of this.” He stood above Gale as she continued to gasp for breath.

You managed to use your forearms to push yourself up and began crawling towards them. You didn’t know what you were going to do, you stood no chance against Ghostface, you were probably only going to just get yourself killed quicker. Ghostface looked over at you, tilting his head before giving it a shake in disappointment.

“Look on the bright side,” Ghostface said. “At least you don’t have to see your child die.” He looked back at you as you continued to crawl towards them. “But they do get to see me gut you in their last moments,” he chuckled, his laugh sounding more sinister through the voice changer.

Ghostface brought up his knife, finally ready to end things once in for all. You heard someone shout, Ghostface looked up from Gale and dove away as whoever yelled came running into the room. The person grabbed the forgotten about gun on the floor and instantly began firing as Ghostface ran through the penthouse.

“Oh my god,” someone said, dropping down next to you.

You blinked several times and could finally make out Tara’s face in front of you. You let out a relieved breath that turned more into a sob. “I’m fine,” you tried, Gale was in worse shape than you, she should be the priority.

“Shut up,” Tara snapped, but she cradled your head as gently as possible and helped ease you back until you were laying on the ground again. “Just, stay awake,” she ran her hands through your hair.

Your eyes drifted past Tara to Gale. Sam was on her knees, trying to stop the bleeding. “G-Gale,” you rasped out. You even attempted to reach out with your hand again.

“Focus on me,” Tara guided your chin until you were staring up at her again. “Just focus on me.” You weren’t sure if it was your concussion or what, it was hard to tell, everything was still slightly fuzzy, but it looked like Tara had been crying.

You did as Tara asked, you stayed still and focused on only her. Even as the medics came in, you focused only on Tara. Even as you saw them loading Gale onto the backboard out of your peripheral you only focused on Tara. You never lost consciousness as the medics checked you out, you figured that was a good sign.

Taglist: @mamas-evil-hag @thatshyboy1998 @btay3115 @idontliketoread2137 @nwestra

@honorarysimp @canyonyodeler @chxrryxcx @aceofspades190 @worstendingever

@riyaexee @gayandfairycore

[goneahead]

Ok I don't usually wade into political posts, but its pretty f**king clear @project2028 and everyone else reblogging this and similar posts don't actually gives a damn about preventing camping deaths.

I'm also sure only a handful of people will reblog this post, because talking about NWS alerts and how to actually f**king saving lives won't put any more points on the political scoreboard.

But as a nomad, the misinformation in these posts is p**ssing me off and if I can save at least one life by telling some hard, inconvienant truths, then it will so so worth it. Feel free to unfollow me now.

There were AT LEAST 6 alerts issued from NWS for the Kerrville area. The NWS issued a flood watch on July 3rd afternoon. Flash flood warnings began 1 a.m. CT July 4, with emergency alerts at 4:03 a.m. (Kerr County) and 5:34 a.m. (Kerrville). At least 6 emergencies total, warning of a "deadly flood wave" on the Guadalupe River.

The problem was people decided to camp near a river where a flood warning had already been issued in the afternoon and they a) didn't keep their phones on at night to get alerts or b) make the decision to camp with an emergency radio so they could get alerts.

Trust me, I've been a nomad for over 8 years now -- a weather alert will most DEFINITELY wake you up IF you care enough about your life and the lives of your loved ones to carry an emergency radio and/or make sure your phone is charged.

So let's recap.

1. If you go camping, always make sure somebody always knows where you are. If your plans change, ALWAYS text or call somebody so that emergency crews know where to find you if shit goes wrong. People die every year because they couldn't be bothered to send a text that would have told emergency crews how to find them.

2. If there is a weather warning issued for the area where you decide to camp, always assume this will be the one time that the warning will turn into a serious situation. Write down the address or coordinates of where you are at before you go to bed. That way you are ready to give a good location to emergency responders if needed. Keep your phone on through the night and charged so the alerts can wake you if shit hits the fan. Battery packs for phones are only twenty to thirty bucks and can save your life.

3. You should NEVER camp unless you have an emergency radio and extra batteries. Again, this stuff is cheap and could save your life.

4. Have a f**king plan. I will repeat - have a f**king plan. Have a bag packed that you can grab quickly. Make sure you have meds, your pets stuff, extra keys in this bag, etc. If you are in an RV, keep a tool to break a window. If you are renting a cabin, know where the exits are and have a plan to get to safety.

5. Finally, shit can happen fast in a natural disaster. I had a friend who was camping near a wildfire. He stepped outside for a moment, looked around - and in that moment, the wildfire jumped the road and reached his RV. Fortunately he had his keys with him, so he was able to jump in his truck and drive to safely. His RV was a total loss. Keep extra keys in vehicles, keep your emergency bag close, and ALWAYS be prepared for things to go bad very fast.

Let me recap again. A NWS alert is ONLY as good as your willingness to be prepared, and every NWS warning should be heeded if you go camping.

Again, I know a lot of people will now unfollow me, or start sending me hate messages because how dare I challenge the Very Important Political Narrative that NWS failed, and you know what? I honestly don't care. If I can save one life by this post then all the hate I am about to get will be worth it.

[daydreamerswriting]

Can you pls do Dally x Curtis sister? Like a fic centered around Darry being strict with them and super overprotective? maybe he catches them making out or something. thankssss

Sneaking Around

Summary: Darry found out about you and your boyfriend, Dallas Winston, so now you have to sneak around

W: fem!reader, not proofread

Your worst nightmare had come true yesterday when Darry walked in on you and Dallas making-out in your room. It didn't help that he hadn't even known the two of you were together. You were surprised he didn't deck Dallas right then and there, and tell him to never even look at you again. Its not that Darry didn't like Dallas, he didn't mind him being close friends with younger siblings, but dating his baby sister? That's where he drew the line.

Or that's at least where he wanted to draw the line, but he knew deep down that forcing the two of you to stop seeing eachother would only result in you sneaking around behind his back, making your already risky relationship even more risky.

So instead, Darry said that you could keep seeing Dallas, but only under certain conditions, and he wanted to tell Dallas personally.

"If Dallas is over, your door will remain open. Your curfew when you're with Dallas is 8. No later."

"Come on, Darry! I'm not a little kid. I'm 17 for crying out loud."

"I don't want to hear it, missy!" He looks at Dallas, glaring at him. "You hurt her, you're dead."

"I'm not going to hurt her, Darry."

"Good. You better not."

An awkward silence falls over the three of you. Luckily, Soda was at work and Pony was out this friends, so they weren't having to witness your humiliation.

"I hope you're being safe. She better not get knocked up." Darry sees threatenly, his eyes boring into Dallas.

"Darry!" You cover your hands with your face, embarrassed to be discussing such topics with your brother.

Dallas doesn't even flinch, his arms still crossed, and his legs still man-spread. You honestly wished he'd sit up, maybe that'd calm Darry down just a bit.

"Of course were being safe. I ain't an idiot. Not my first rodeo." He only mumbles the last sentence as he stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets.

Darry let's out a deep sigh. He runs a hand through his hair, then looks at you. "You're a smart girl, I trust you to be careful."

"So no curfew?" You ask hopefully.

"No. You're definitely still having a curfew."

-

It was way past your curfew, 10:36 pm to be exact, but that didn't matter, because you were already home. Snuggled into your warm bed, old shirt and panties on, eyes shut, and ready to fall asleep. But then you hear a few taps. You sit up, startled, and look over at your window. Your stomach drops when you see a figure out your window, but you quickly realize that it's Dallas, so you calm down. You get out of bed slowly, your movements sluggish from your tiredness. Once you get your window open and meet Dally's eyes, he smirks.

"What are you doing here?" You ask in a whisper.

"Wanted to see you. Move over." Dallas says as he climbs through your window, into your room.

"Darry'll kill you if he finds you in here." You warn quietly while crossing your arms.

"How would he find me? It's the middle of the night, he's sleeping."

You close your window and mutter, "I was sleeping."

"Oh, did I wake you, princess? My bad." He says teasingly, earning a glare from you. His hands find their way to your waist as steps closer to you. You lean into him and close your eyes, sleep threatening to overtake you.

"Carry me to bed." You mumble.

Dallas chuckles and wraps his arms around you. "Can't walk the 5 steps over to it?"

"No, be a gentleman and carry me."

"I'm not a gentleman." Dallas says, but he picks you up anyways, his arm going under your knees while the other supports your back. Gently, he lays you down on your bed. He then kicks off his shoes and gets in next to you. You get under the covers, then throw half the blanket over him.

Dallas looks over at you, and sees that you've already closed your eyes. This is exactly what he planned on happening when he got here. Of course he was hoping to get at least a few good, long kisses out of this visit- but falling asleep next to his girl in a comfortable bed, in a familiar place wasn't so bad.

You opened your eyes again and see Dallas watching you. You move closer to him and let him wrap his arms around you. You press a sleepy kiss against his lips.

"You better be gone before Darry gets up tomorrow." You whisper.

Dallas sighs. "Yeah."

You snuggle against him as he absentmindedly rubs his thumb in circles on your arm.

"Good night, doll."

"Good night, Dal."

-

"Hurry up!" You rush Dallas as he puts his shoes on. The two of you had slept in later than expected, and Darry would be up any minute now. You had quietly and quickly left your room to make sure he was sleeping, and found Soda making breakfast, but no one else was up. So, you were now rushing Dallas out your window.

You open your window and Dallas walks over to your side, evidently done putting on his shoes. You look over at him and meet his eyes, and then he pulls you into a kiss. You would've enjoyed it more if you weren't so worried about Darry walking in. He pulled back, then placed a kiss on your temple. "I'll be back once he leaves." He tells you.

You smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Ya got better food here than Buck's got."

You chuckle. "Alright. See you soon, Dal. Now go, hurry."

"See ya, baby." He exits out your window, which you quickly close behind him. Just as Dallas walks off, there's a knock at your door.

"You up, kid? Soda made bacon." Darry says from outside your room.

"I'm up. I'm coming, just a second."

You sigh in relief. You quickly wash your face and brush your teeth, then you join your brother's for breakfast. Soda's bacon is a bit burnt, so you make eggs, something you know Dallas also likes.

an: I didn't know how to end this 😭

Word count: 1k

[hamilton-here]

I know requests are closed but if it’s possible, if you don’t mind, to write Lewis Hamilton with his inexperience shy girlfriend (only younger than him 8 years apart ) took her to a nude beach, I don’t know but I can feel this man is a nude beach type of person,just as a second experience to help her be more free around him, and you know smutty and flirty. The man is a wild card

𝐹𝓇𝑒𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝐻𝑒𝓇 𝒮𝑜𝓊𝓁

Authors Note: Hi all! I tell you my jaw dropped seeing this request. I was not expecting it🤯. Hopefully I did okay in meeting the demand. Have a lovely day/night. Lots of love xx

Summary: A surprise nude beach date with Lewis Hamilton leads to playful freedom, deeper connection, and viral fan chaos.

Taglist: @piston-cup @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr @cosmichughes

Warnings: mentions of sexual content

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ �� ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

It was still early, the kind of early where the sun was just a sleepy streak of orange at the horizon, the air crisp with the last vestiges of the night.

You felt the gentle weight of Lewis’s arm around you, pulling you closer as you lay against his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. The warmth of his body was a comfort; one you hadn’t realised you’d needed until you found it. Something so simple, yet so soothing.

You breathed in, taking in the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the salt from the ocean breeze drifting through the open window. The world felt soft and quiet, and you wished time could just stand still.

“Good morning, baby,” Lewis murmured against your hair, his voice still thick with sleep but laced with a warmth that made your heart flutter. You felt the vibrations of his chest as he spoke, the words a low, tender hum.

“Morning,” you mumbled, blinking your eyes open, lifting your head slightly to look at him. His gaze met yours instantly, that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes, making the butterflies in your stomach flutter in a way they always did when he had something up his sleeve.

“You’re in a good mood today,” you observed, your lips curling into a smile as you gazed at the man who always seemed to bring out the best in you. He raised an eyebrow and winked, his smile widening in that way that was all charm and confidence. You could tell he had something planned, something that had you intrigued but also a little nervous. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Surprises from Lewis could be anything from a quiet, intimate dinner to something more spontaneous.

He had a way of sweeping you off your feet with little to no warning, but today, there was something about his tone, the way he said it, that made your nerves tingle with a mix of excitement and anxiety. The kind of anticipation that makes you want to hold your breath.

“A surprise?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, but your mind was already racing through a million possibilities. “What kind of surprise?”

“You’ll see.” His voice was playful, teasing, with just the right amount of mystery to keep you on edge.

He brushed a strand of your hair back behind your ear, his fingers lingering there longer than necessary, tracing the soft curve of your jaw before pulling back. You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling his touch against your skin, the warmth of his hand sending a little shiver down your spine.

When you opened your eyes again, Lewis was already moving, sitting up in bed with an easy, fluid motion stretching his long body with a slow, deliberate grace. The soft golden light of the morning filtered in, catching on the lines of his muscles, highlighting the definition in his arms and chest.

You watched him, feeling a rush of affection and then some a sudden surge of heat as you registered just how lucky you were to have him in your life. His presence felt like home, grounding you, making you feel safe in a way no one else ever had.

“You’re not gonna tell me?” you asked, your voice quieter now, the playful tone fading into something a little more uncertain. There was always that feeling when he planned these surprises like walking into a world of the unknown where the rules didn’t quite apply and all you could do was trust him to lead you through.

“Nope.” His grin widened, that mischievous gleam never leaving his eyes. “But I’m gonna need you to trust me. It’ll be fun, I promise.” He turned toward the closet, rifling through clothes with a practiced ease that only made him look even more effortlessly put-together.

You couldn’t help but admire the way he moved so confident, so unbothered by the world, a man who was used to taking charge. You didn’t have to ask what he was doing. You knew him well enough by now.

It wasn’t long before he pulled on an outfit that was casual but stylish, the perfect mix of relaxed and purposeful. You tried to focus on that, on how he was already making decisions, but your mind was still racing, and you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of nerves. He looked so confident. But you were still unsure.

You glanced down at your swimsuit options, hesitating as you held one up to the mirror. You’d been with him long enough now to understand his playful nature, but this was different. You had no idea what to expect and while a part of you was excited, another part was intimidated by the idea of what he had planned for you today.

You were still shy about certain things, and your body - well, you didn’t feel as confident as him in this area. It wasn’t that you didn’t love yourself, but there were things you had yet to embrace fully.

“You okay?” he asked, turning toward you, his brow furrowed in concern. His eyes, always so tender, scanned your expression as if trying to gauge how you were feeling.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go along with whatever surprise he had in mind. It was just new. Different. And a little scary. But at the same time, he made it feel safe. He always did.

“Yeah,” you said softly, offering him a small smile. “Just not sure what I’m in for.”

“Good.” His grin was back, playful and teasing, and it made your heart race. “That’s the point. Come on, let’s go. We’re already running late.”

The drive was mostly quiet, save for the occasional teasing comment from him. He asked if you were excited, if you were feeling ready for whatever came next, and each time, his voice was light, but you could hear the excitement in it. He kept looking at you out of the corner of his eye, catching your nervous smiles, and giving you an occasional wink as if to reassure you.

You felt yourself relax a little as you found yourself drifting between excitement and uncertainty. You were with him, and that alone made everything feel like an adventure. But still what was the surprise?

It wasn’t until you reached the coastline that it started to click. The road began to narrow as the trees parted, and you could hear the soft rush of the waves against the shore in the distance. That was when the realisation dawned.

“Lewis…” you said, a mix of disbelief and excitement in your voice. “This better not be what I think it is.” He shot you a glance, that grin still there, but now with a knowing edge to it, the kind that made your heart skip a beat. “What do you think it is?”

Your eyes widened as you saw it, a stretch of golden sand just ahead, sparsely populated with a few figures in the distance. Your throat went dry as you recognised the scene unfolding before you a beach, completely untouched, with no barriers, no clothes. Just people, bare and free, like they belonged to the earth.

“No way,” you whispered, your voice suddenly hoarse. “We’re not - are we?” He laughed softly, a sound full of teasing and something deeper, almost like a promise. “Welcome to your surprise, baby.” Your heart skipped another beat, and your stomach tightened as you tried to form words, but they wouldn’t come. A nude beach? This was the surprise.

You felt the flush creep up your neck, and your body went hot. This was beyond anything you’d expected, beyond anything you’d ever even thought about doing.

You wanted to hide, to curl up in your clothes and forget about the whole thing. But then you saw him Lewis, so confident, so at ease in his own skin. There was something in his eyes that made you want to be just like him.

“Lewis,” you said again, this time your voice quieter, more vulnerable. “I’ve never…”

“I know,” he said, cutting you off gently, his tone soft, sincere, and full of understanding. “And that’s exactly why we’re here. I want you to feel free around me. Really free. No clothes, no judgment, no one telling you what you should or shouldn’t do. Just us.”

You stared at him for a long moment, trying to process what he was saying. His words were calm and steady like there was no pressure, no rush. Only love, only care. He wanted you to trust him in a way that felt deep, even intimate.

He wasn’t just asking you to shed your clothes. He was asking you to shed your insecurities, your hesitations. He was asking you to trust him, fully and completely. You swallowed, the anxiety still bubbling inside you, but something else rose too excitement, a feeling of liberation, of possibility.

“Okay,” you whispered, almost to yourself. “Okay. Let’s do it.” A smile spread across his face then, a look of pride and approval that made your heart flutter in your chest. He didn’t rush you. He didn’t push. He was just there waiting, patient and encouraging you to take that step. “That’s my girl,” he said softly, his voice full of warmth.

The two of you got out of the car, your bare feet sinking into the soft, warm sand. You glanced around, your body still hesitant, your hands trembling as you slowly began to undress. The world felt surreal, the beach stretching endlessly around you. You could feel the cool breeze on your skin, the heat of the sun on your face and then him.

You glanced at Lewis, watching as he shed his clothes with the same effortless confidence he wore every day. His body, always toned and defined, moved so naturally that you couldn’t help but admire him. He was free. And as you stood there, exposed to the world around you, you noticed that was what he was giving you. Freedom.

His eyes met yours as he turned, a soft, appreciative smile curling his lips. “See?” he said softly, his voice a low murmur as he took a step toward you. “You look incredible. I knew you would.”

You blushed, suddenly feeling vulnerable, but his gaze wasn’t judgmental. It was full of admiration, of warmth. You weren’t just exposed in body but you were exposed in spirit, in a way that made you feel safe with him, even if it was a little scary.

You smiled, feeling a slow release of the tension in your body, the weightlifting as the sun warmed your skin. It wasn’t just about being naked. It was about letting go. It was about him, and you, being free.

The sun had risen fully now, casting a golden glow across the beach that made everything feel more vivid, more alive. The waves had become a constant hum as a soft background to the silence between you and Lewis as you both lay side by side on the warm sand.

You were still naked, your body feeling like it was basking in more than just sunlight but in his presence an almost electric sensation that was hard to describe, yet undeniable.

You turned your head to look at him, your heart racing a little as you took in the sight of him. Lewis, with his effortless confidence, his strong physique catching the light, his face softened by the quiet intimacy of the moment.

He was lying next to you, his arm draped lazily across your waist, his fingers tracing small patterns on your skin, the touch light but purposeful. The slow movements of his fingers stirred something inside of you an ache, a longing you hadn’t realised was there until now.

"How do you feel?" he asked, his voice low, the question almost playful but laced with genuine curiosity. His eyes met yours, a soft smile on his lips and in that moment, you felt completely seen. It was like he could look right through you, touching the deepest parts of you, even without saying a word.

You swallowed, your heart skipping a beat. It was hard to describe. You felt exposed in a way you never had before not just physically, but emotionally too.

It wasn’t just the fact that you were lying next to him on a beach, skin exposed to the sun, but it was the way he made you feel so safe, so accepted, even in your vulnerability. But in his eyes, you didn’t feel judged. You didn’t feel the pressure to be anything other than yourself.

“I feel slightly nervous,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure what had come over you there was this overwhelming mix of freedom and vulnerability, the kind that made your pulse race and your chest tighten all at once.

His gaze softened, and you could see the tenderness in his eyes as he smiled warmly, his hand gently squeezing your side as if to reassure you. "Good nervous or bad nervous?" he asked, his voice teasing, but there was something deeper in the way he said it something that told you he wasn’t going to let you feel bad, that his intention was only to lift you up, to ease the tension you were feeling.

“Good nervous,” you whispered, your breath catching as he leaned in closer, his face hovering just inches from yours. His lips brushed against your ear as he spoke again, and you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Then you’re exactly where you need to be,” he said softly, his voice sending a wave of heat through your body. His words weren’t just comforting they were a quiet assurance that you were allowed to be vulnerable, to be yourself in this moment. And that, somehow made you feel braver than you ever had.

Your breath hitched as you felt the warmth of his lips on your skin, his tattooed hand shifting gently over your back, pulling you in closer to him. He kissed the side of your neck, the softness of his touch sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

Every move was slow, deliberate, like he was savouring each second with you. You could feel the heat between you both rising slowly, your body reacting to him in a way you hadn’t anticipated but welcomed all the same.

You closed your eyes, your fingers grazing his golden-brown skin, lightly running over the muscles in his arm. His body was warm against yours and the contrast of the cool breeze and the heat of the sun only intensified the sensations.

You could feel his chest rise and fall with each breath, his heartbeat steady and strong beneath your palm. You could tell he was focused on you. On every little shift, every subtle movement you made. It was as if he were learning you in real-time.

“You’re doing amazing, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with affection, the words making your heart swell. “I love how free you’re letting yourself be with me.”

His praise made you feel a rush of warmth. It was more than just physical; it was a sense of trust building, a connection deepening between you two. Slowly, hesitantly, you moved closer, your lips brushing his in a soft, tentative kiss. The moment was tender, full of warmth and softness, a simple brush of lips that made you feel vulnerable but safe at the same time.

When you pulled back, you saw the glint in his eyes a mixture of affection and something more. A desire. It was like a spark had ignited between you two, and suddenly, the world around you felt distant and irrelevant.

All you could focus on was the warmth of his body beside yours and the way his eyes held yours, full of hunger and tenderness all at once. He was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world and for a moment, you forgot everything else.

It was just the two of you, in this quiet place, completely exposed in every way imaginable near other nude couples.

“You’re breathtaking, you know that?” he whispered, his fingers tracing the outline of your jaw, the touch so light it felt like a promise. “You make me want to lose myself in you.”

His words sent a surge of heat to your core, and you felt your body respond to him, to the softness of his voice and the intensity in his eyes. The pull between you was undeniable. The air between you both had thickened, heavy with a desire that neither of you were willing to ignore anymore. You could feel it building between you, like a slow-burning fire. Every second that passed only added to the intensity.

He leaned in again, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that started slow, teasing, but quickly turned deeper, more desperate.

His hands moved to your waist, pulling you even closer as he deepened the kiss. The warmth of his body pressed against yours, and you could feel the heat building between you both, the tension palpable. You could taste the desire on his lips and it made your head spin, your pulse quickening.

You broke away for a moment, gasping for air, your chest rising and falling with the rhythm of your breath. His eyes searched yours, his gaze dark with want, but there was still a softness there a tenderness that balanced the raw hunger you both felt.

He didn’t say anything, but his eyes spoke volumes. There was a hunger there now, a hunger that matched the growing desire in you. His lips found your neck again, trailing kisses down toward your collarbone, his hands sliding down your back to rest on your hips, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t get enough.

And suddenly, you felt it the electric charge between you two that had been building since the moment you’d undressed on the beach. Every kiss, every touch, was drawing you both closer to a place where nothing else mattered. It was just him. Just you.

"Are you sure your okay with me doing this?" he asked, his voice low, almost a growl against your skin. He paused, waiting for your answer, his hands gently caressing your skin, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

You looked into his eyes, feeling the trust you had for him flood through you. There was no hesitation now. No fear. You had shed your insecurities, bit by bit, with every moment, every touch. You had let go of the walls you had built so carefully over the years, and now, in this moment, with him, you were ready to embrace everything he was offering.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice steady, the word more of a confirmation than a question. Your body was already responding to him, a longing building that you didn’t even try to fight.

With that, Lewis leaned in again, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was filled with an intensity you hadn’t expected. His hands roamed over your body, tracing every curve, every line, as if he were memorising the feel of you. His touch was a slow burn, igniting every part of you, every nerve ending that tingled with anticipation.

The sensation of his lips on your skin, the heat of his body against yours, was intoxicating. You lost yourself in the rhythm of his touch, in the way his kisses moved from your lips to your jaw, to your neck and lower still, until you were both gasping for air, the world spinning around you.

It felt like you were being consumed by him, in the best way possible. His body, his hands, his lips everything about him was pulling you in, deeper and deeper.

“You’re perfect,” he breathed against your skin, his voice rough with desire.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and you felt your body flush with heat. The tension between you two had reached a breaking point and now, there was nothing else but the pull of each other’s bodies.

Every kiss, every touch, felt like it was pulling you deeper into him, until all you could focus on was the feel of him - his hands, his lips, his body moving against yours.

You were both on the edge, and there was no turning back now. The world outside of the two of you seemed to fade away as the moment stretched, the air thick with the desire building between you.

"Let go with me, baby," he whispered, his voice hoarse, his lips trailing over your skin as his hands moved to trace the soft lines of your body. “I want to feel all of you.”

The kisses lingered for what felt like an eternity, soft and slow, as if neither of you were quite ready to pull away. Each moment that passed felt like it deepened the connection between you, drawing you closer in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

But eventually, the heat that had built between you both followed by the warmth from the sun, the heat of his body against yours became too much to bear in the quiet of the beach. You felt a rising warmth in your chest, but it had nothing to do with the sun above you.

It was a heat that came from within, spreading through you, suffusing your very soul, making every part of you feel alive. Every touch, every movement seemed to ignite something deeper in you, a flame that had been waiting to be lit.

Lewis was the first to pull back, his breathing deep and ragged, his chest rising and falling with the exertion, but his eyes never left yours. They were locked onto you, pupils dilated with desire, the intensity in them making your heart race.

His fingers slid gently over your skin, tracing the delicate lines of your shoulders, his touch lingering in ways that made your pulse quicken. The tension in the air between you both was palpable, thick, almost suffocating in its intensity.

He didn’t say anything at first but the soft, knowing smile that curled on his lips spoke volumes. It was a smile that told you he felt the same. He was just as affected, just as caught in this connection as you were.

“Wanna cool off?” he asked, his voice low and playful, his words still heavy with the unspoken things between you two.

It was like he was trying to ground you both, to shift the heat from the air to something lighter, more carefree, something that would ease the tension without breaking the moment completely.

You blinked, your breath still coming in shallow gasps, caught up in the electric charge of his presence. “Cool off?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper, the air between you thick with longing.

Lewis laughed softly, a sound that was a mixture of amusement and affection, as if he found your reaction endearing. His voice was still playful, but there was a warmth to it, a gentleness that reassured you. “Yeah,” he said, his gaze flickering to the ocean as the waves crashed against the shore with a rhythmic sound, like nature’s heartbeat.

“It’s too hot for all this tension to just stay here.” He looked back at you, his eyes filled with mischief, and that familiar twinkle that made your heart skip a beat. “Come on, let’s take a swim. It’ll help. And you have to get in the water. It’s a rule, love.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the lightness of his tone, at how effortlessly he was trying to reset the mood. And just like that, the weight of the moment shifted.

The thought of stepping into the cool embrace of the ocean, with him beside you, felt like the perfect way to unwind - to take the intimacy you’d shared on the beach and transform it into something freer, something that felt more playful and less intense.

You slowly stood up, feeling the soft sand shift beneath your feet. The cool ocean breeze brushed across your exposed skin, sending a shiver up your spine.

You were still tangled in the aftereffects of his touch, the warmth of his body, the kiss. But the sun now felt softer, kinder, as it bathed your skin in a gentle light. It was as if the universe had aligned just for this moment a quiet peace after the storm of emotion that had passed between you.

Lewis stood up beside you, his hand finding yours again, his fingers curling around yours in that familiar, reassuring grip.

With a gentle tug, he led you toward the water, and as you walked, you could feel the sand beneath your feet becoming firmer, the pull of the ocean drawing you in with its steady rhythm.

The air around you seemed charged with something electric a silent understanding between you and him, an unspoken promise. There was no need for words; you both knew that.

The water shimmered before you, its surface sparkling in the sunlight, reflecting the endless blue sky above. The waves lapped at your ankles as you stepped into the ocean, the coolness of the water surprising against your sun-warmed skin.

The sensation of the water was like a cleansing, a refreshing contrast to the heat that had built up moments before. You could feel the cool waves swirling around your feet, and with a sudden burst of excitement, you took off toward the edge of the water, the rush of the waves splashing against your legs.

You laughed, feeling a sudden surge of freedom, your laughter ringing out against the backdrop of the ocean.

Lewis followed right behind, his footsteps swift as he caught up to you with that mischievous grin you adored. His laughter joined yours, the sound blending with the rush of the ocean and the wind.

“Bet I can get there first!” he teased, his voice playful, but there was an undeniable hunger in it, a desire for the moment to last, for the connection between you two to stay.

Without thinking, you matched his pace, your heart light as you raced through the surf, the ocean water crashing against your skin. You could feel the rhythm of your bodies syncing, the playful competition turning into something more.

It was as if, for just a moment, everything else faded away - no cameras, no prying eyes, no expectations. Just the two of you, in your own world, running toward something that felt like freedom.

You reached the water’s edge first, laughing breathlessly as the coolness of the waves swallowed your feet. The sensation of the water surrounding you made you feel alive in a way you hadn’t felt in so long, as if the ocean had stripped away any last remnants of self-consciousness, leaving you feeling raw and free.

Lewis stayed close behind you, his hand still wrapped around yours, his thumb gently caressing your skin. He turned to face you, the droplets of water on his skin sparkling in the sunlight, his hair tousled by the wind, and for a moment, everything seemed to slow down.

His intense gaze met yours, and in that instant, it felt like the entire world had disappeared. There was only you, and him, and the connection that had only deepened since you’d stepped onto the beach.

“You look incredible,” he said softly, his voice barely audible over the sound of the waves, but the sincerity in his words made your heart skip a beat.

The compliment wasn’t just about the way you looked; it was about who you were in that moment. The real you. The parts of you that you had kept hidden, unsure, shy. But with him, in his gaze, you felt seen in a way you never had before.

You blinked up at him, a little caught off guard, but his words melted any uncertainty. You squeezed his hand gently, a smile tugging at your lips. “I could say the same about you,” you replied, your voice soft but playful, mirroring the way he made you feel.

Before you could say anything else, Lewis tugged you deeper into the water, the cool waves rising higher against your bodies.

The sensation of the water on your skin was freeing it was like the ocean was washing away any lingering tension, any doubts, any insecurities you’d been holding onto. You were here, in this moment, completely. And it felt perfect. You laughed, letting go of any remaining reservations, feeling the weight of everything else fall away.

As the two of you splashed around in the water, your laughter mixing with the rhythm of the waves, the playful intimacy between you deepened. It was as if the ocean had created a space just for the two of you, a bubble where nothing else mattered but the connection you were building. You felt lighter, freer, more at ease than you’d ever felt before.

At one point, as you both floated on your backs, letting the current gently rock you in the water, the silence between you was comfortable, peaceful.

The sun warmed your skin, but the water kept you cool, and for the first time in a long time, you felt completely at peace. You closed your eyes, letting the sensation of floating relax you, your body weightless in the cool embrace of the ocean.

“You know,” Lewis murmured, breaking the silence with his voice, which was soft, but full of something deeper now, something that made your heart swell. “This is my favourite part.”

You turned your head to look at him as he floated beside you, his hand finding yours. “Not just being here, but seeing you like this. Free, happy, open.” He paused, his fingers tracing patterns over your hand, his voice lowering with emotion. “That’s all I want for you. To be yourself with me. No walls. No barriers.”

His words, so soft and sincere, hit you like a wave. The way he saw you, how he really saw you not just the woman on the outside, but the one who had always been afraid to shed her layers, to let herself be free.

But now, in the ocean, with him, it felt like you were being stripped bare in the best way possible. You could feel yourself opening up, just for him. And that scared you a little, but it also felt right.

“I feel it,” you said quietly, meeting his gaze. The words felt like a truth you hadn’t fully realised until now. “With you, I feel like I can just be me. And I love that.”

Lewis’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the world seemed to disappear. He smiled, that same gentle smile, and tugged you closer once more. “You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

But then, something tugged at the back of your mind, and you pulled back slightly, eyes narrowing as you glanced around the beach. You couldn’t help but ask, “What if someone sees us? What if the paparazzi -”

Lewis cut you off with a soft chuckle, his thumb brushing over your hand in reassurance. “Baby,” he said, looking you dead in the eyes, “if they catch us, let them. I don’t care. I’m not hiding this. Not with you. Not anymore.”

The warmth of Lewis's words lingered in the air, a promise of something deeper, something more than just the carefree moment you were sharing. You felt your heart flutter at his reassurance - “I’m not hiding this. Not with you. Not anymore.”

The weight of those words sank in slowly, sending a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t just about the physical act of being naked together, though that was a big part of it. It was about exposing yourself in every way, emotionally and mentally.

You didn’t realise just how much you had craved this kind of acceptance until now. The idea of being seen really seen without any masks, no layers of pretence, made you feel both vulnerable and empowered in equal measure.

You had always been cautious, always so aware of the way people looked at you, whether you were fully clothed or not. Being in such an open, exposed state with someone especially in the public eye, on a beach with only the ocean and a few distant figures as witnesses made you feel raw in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

But then, there was Lewis. His gaze met yours, steady, filled with warmth and suddenly the terror you’d felt before started to subside. In his eyes, you didn’t feel judged. You didn’t feel small.

You felt seen in a way that made everything else disappear. The world around you of the press, the possible prying eyes didn’t matter because in that moment, the only thing that existed was the space between you two. And it felt like home.

You let out a soft laugh, the sound almost nervous as it escaped your lips. “You’re crazy,” you said, the playful tone in your voice barely masking the undercurrent of anxiety still swirling in your chest.

“I know,” he responded with that signature grin of his the one that had you weak at the knees every single time.

His mischievous glint returned, and without missing a beat, he leaned in to brush his lips against your cheek. The contact was light, almost like a whisper of a kiss, but it ignited a fire inside you that sent your pulse spiking.

“You love it,” he teased, the words slipping from his mouth with such ease, you couldn’t help but smile in return.

You tried to retaliate with a splash of water, sending droplets flying toward him, but it only made him laugh, the sound rich and free. His laughter had always been something you loved the way it felt so effortless, so genuine. There was nothing held back in it, nothing rehearsed. And at that moment, neither of you had any reason to hide.

For a long stretch of time, there was nothing but the quiet, the sound of waves crashing, and the gentle rhythm of your breathing. The world seemed to slow down, the noise of everything else fading away. You felt a kind of peace you hadn’t realised you were missing.

There was something in the way he looked at you, in the way his touch was so deliberate, so gentle it made you feel like you had all the time in the world to let go of the parts of yourself that still held back. For the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel like you had to be anyone but you.

“I never thought I’d feel like this,” you murmured, the words slipping from your mouth before you could second-guess them. Your fingers trailed through the water, watching as ripples expanded outward. “So free.”

Lewis tilted his head, his gaze softening. He was looking at you like he could see the very essence of your soul. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice warm, curious, like he was truly listening, like he wanted to understand every piece of you.

You paused for a moment, collecting your thoughts, trying to figure out how to put this feeling into words. It wasn’t easy.

The vulnerability of the moment was still there, but it was different now more like an invitation. It was as if all the things you were usually afraid of the judgment, the rejection no longer mattered in this space you shared with him.

“I’ve always been so cautious,” you began, eyes fixed on the water as you spoke. “I’ve spent so much time second-guessing myself, worrying about what people think, about everything.” You glanced up at him then, smiling softly. “But with you? I feel like I don’t have to hide. You make me feel like I can just let go of all the walls I’ve built.”

He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he reached out, tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear.

His fingers lingered there for just a moment, a small but meaningful touch that sent a wave of warmth through you. It was the kind of gesture that spoke of understanding, of care like he knew exactly what you needed without you even saying it.

“I’m glad,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Because you don’t need to hold back with me. Not ever. You’re perfect just the way you are.”

The sincerity in his words, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world made your chest tighten with emotion. His words hit you like a soft breeze, comforting and yet stirring something deeper.

In that moment, you felt the weight of everything you had carried for so long begin to melt away. You felt like you could finally exhale, like you didn’t have to be afraid anymore. Not with him.

You opened your mouth to speak, to tell him just how much that meant to you, when your gaze flickered to the far side of the beach. For a split second, your heart stopped.

There, in the distance, you could see the unmistakable flicker of camera flashes. The subtle sound of voices carried faintly in the wind.

And suddenly, the serene moment you had shared felt fragile. Vulnerable. The truth hit you all at once...the paparazzi. They had found you. They had found you both.

Your stomach dropped, and the initial thrill of the moment turned to a cold rush of panic. You instinctively began to pull away, your mind racing with thoughts of what this could mean.

It wasn’t just about being naked in public anymore it was about the reality of your relationship being exposed to the world in a way that felt too raw. Too unguarded. You didn’t know if you were ready for that.

But before you could even begin to back away completely, Lewis’s hand found yours again, his grip firm and steady. His touch was grounding, a reminder that he was right there with you, no matter what.

He pulled you against his inked body. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice calming, soothing like a balm against your rising panic. “I told you. I don’t care. If they want to snap pictures, let them. We’re here, together, doing what we want. Nothing’s changing that.”

“But what if -” you started, but the words caught in your throat. You weren’t sure what to say, how to express the sudden rush of anxiety that had overtaken you. You weren’t ready to be exposed to the world like this. Not now, not yet.

Lewis gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he locked eyes with you, his expression soft but resolute. “Love,” he said, his tone light but full of sincerity, “they’ll talk no matter what. Whether we’re here or behind closed doors, they’ll find a way. So let’s give them something to talk about.”

His words were filled with a cocky kind of confidence that made your heart flutter. He wasn’t running away from this he was embracing it. And in that moment, you realised how much you wanted to embrace it too. With him. “But you don’t care? If people see us like this?”

He shook his head, his smile playful now, as he brushed his thumb over your cheek again. “I don’t care. Not with you. Not anymore. It’s just us. And that’s all that matters.” The weight of his words seemed to calm you.

Slowly, the anxiety that had been flooding you began to recede, replaced by the warmth of his presence. In his eyes, you saw no judgment, no fear. Only a quiet strength that made you feel safe.

You exhaled deeply, your breathing steadier now. “I guess I can try,” you said, your voice small but firm. With that, he leaned in, his lips gently pressing against yours in a soft kiss slow and reassuring. It wasn’t long, but it was full of everything you needed to hear. When he pulled back, his eyes sparkled with affection.

“Feel better now?” he asked, his voice teasing, but underneath it, you could hear the genuine care. You smiled, nodding slowly. “Yeah. A little.”

“Good,” he said, winking at you. “Because I’m not done with you yet.” His voice dropped lower, a playful edge returning to it. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Your stomach fluttered with nervous excitement. “Another surprise?”

Lewis’s grin deepened. “Oh, you have no idea,” he said, his voice thick with promise.

He gave your hand a final squeeze and started leading you farther into the water. With each step, you felt the last remnants of doubt slip away, and as you swam with him. And nothing else mattered.

As the two of you swam farther into the water, the moment felt almost surreal. The sunlight shimmered off the surface of the ocean, turning the vast expanse of water into an endless field of gold.

The gentle rhythm of the waves seemed to mirror the steady beat of your heart, syncing in perfect harmony. There was nothing between you and Lewis now not just the water, but every barrier that had ever kept you cautious, unsure, or guarded. The beach, once an open stage for a performance, now felt like a quiet sanctuary, just the two of you, stripped of everything else.

Lewis led you deeper into the sea, where the waves were playfully tugging at your bodies. The cool water swirled around you, but his touch kept you anchored. His fingers brushed against yours, and for a second, you marvelled at the simplicity of the connection.

His gaze turned toward you, eyes sparkling under the sunlight, and you saw a glint of mischief there. “So,” he began, his voice still light but with an underlying seriousness, “ready for that next surprise?”

Your heart skipped, a rush of excitement mixing with nerves. What could he possibly have planned now? Part of you was anxious about what lay ahead, but another part of you couldn’t help but feel the pull of whatever it was.

With Lewis, everything had been unexpected, thrilling, and at times, terrifying. But those moments had led you here to a place of growth, discovery, and a vulnerability you’d never allowed yourself before.

“What now?” you asked, trying to keep the edge of nervousness from your voice, but failing as curiosity danced in your eyes.

He grinned, a playful twinkle lighting up his face. “Follow me,” he said, his fingers wrapping around yours with a gentle tug.

You swam side by side, your movements more confident now, each stroke a step closer to letting go. The water embraced you, and with each passing second, you felt a little freer, a little lighter.

For a while, you swam in silence, the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore growing fainter as you ventured further out. The calm was almost surreal, like you were in your own world, far removed from the worries that had once weighed so heavily on your heart.

The gentle pull of the current kept you moving forward, and with every passing moment, the tension that had accompanied you earlier started to dissipate. Here, with him, in the vastness of the ocean, everything felt peaceful.

Eventually, Lewis stopped and you followed suit, treading water as your feet barely brushed against the sandy bottom. The sun warmed your skin, but there was a coolness to the water that kept you grounded. He turned toward you, his face illuminated by the soft light, a calm smile playing on his lips.

“I just wanted you to see something,” he said, his voice quieter now, more sincere. “I want you to know that this us it’s not just about the fun moments. It’s about all of it. Even the difficult parts. You've already let go of so much, but you don’t have to hold on to anything with me anymore.”

His words took a moment to sink in, their weight pulling you in. He wasn’t just talking about the physical intimacy, the nudity, or the vulnerability of being seen. He was speaking of the deeper layers the parts of yourself you’d been guarding for so long. The emotional walls you had built, brick by brick, to protect yourself from the world.

You reached out to him, pulling yourself closer, the swell of gratitude in your chest overwhelming. “I think I’m starting to understand,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve spent so much of my life hiding, holding parts of me back. But with you I feel like I can just be. All of me.”

The moment stretched, and then he kissed you. It wasn’t a passionate kiss there were no desperate urges, no hurried motions. It was slow, deliberate, a kiss that held all the unspoken things you’d yet to say.

The taste of saltwater lingered on his lips, and when you pulled back, you saw something in his eyes that made your heart flutter a deep, abiding affection that wasn’t bound by words.

“I’m glad you’re seeing that,” he whispered, his forehead resting gently against yours. “And just so you know, I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever.”

“So…” you said, your voice now calm, “What’s the final surprise? Because, after all this, I think you’ve earned the right to make me nervous again.”

Lewis chuckled, a deep, easy laugh that reverberated through the stillness of the water. “I think you’ve earned a break, baby,” he teased, his grip tightening around your hand as he began swimming back toward the shore. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

The swim back felt different, quieter more relaxed. The playful energy that had defined the day shifted into a quiet, shared understanding between you both. There were no walls now, no barriers. Only trust, vulnerability, and the freedom of being completely you.

When you reached the shore, the golden light of the late afternoon bathed the beach in a soft, peaceful glow. Lewis looked at you, his eyes mischievous once more, but there was a new warmth to them, one that made your heart swell.

“I think,” he said with a grin, “we’ve earned a quiet evening. What do you say?”

You smiled, the exhaustion of the day finally starting to hit you, but it was a good kind of tired. “Sounds perfect,” you whispered, your fingers intertwining with his as you walked toward the sand.

And for the first time in your life, you felt like you didn’t have to hide. You didn’t have to worry about the expectations of the world or about what anyone else thought. In this moment, with him, you were exactly where you needed to be.

He pulled you close, his hand cupping your face, and kissed you once more slow, deep, and full of all the promises that had been made. A promise of freedom, of love, and of a future where you could always be yourself. A future where you no longer had to fear the exposure of your heart.

The next morning, the world seemed to have woken up to your little escape. Photos from the day before flooded social media, and it didn’t take long for the paparazzi to catch up with you two.

A few photos surfaced of you and Lewis laughing, swimming together in the ocean. The images were undeniably intimate, but there was an air of playfulness in the way the two of you looked at each other.

One particular image stood out an overhead shot of you both in the water, smiling at each other, surrounded by a beautiful expanse of blue.

The angle of the shot made it appear you were both completely naked, your skin glistening with droplets of water as you leaned into each other.

The headline was cheeky:

"A Day in the Sun: Lewis Hamilton and His Mystery Woman Get Close, VERY Close!"

Fans quickly caught on, many of them making jokes about the intimacy of the shots, speculating whether you two were, in fact, naked. The comments flooded in, and you couldn’t help but laugh at some of the hilarious reactions.

One tweet read:

“Is it just me or did Lewis and his ‘mystery woman’ just break the internet...and maybe a few other things? 😂🌊 #CaughtInTheAct #WaterNudes?”

The responses quickly piled on:

“Lewis, we knew you liked to make waves but this is next level! 🌊”

Another fan tweet said, “When you’re both so in love, even the ocean’s got no time for clothes 😂 #NoClothesJustVibes #Goals.”

One user, in an apparent mix of admiration and disbelief, wrote:

"I thought I was seeing things, but nope, it's just Lewis and his girl making the ocean their personal runway. The true naked truth of love 🏖️ #FreeTheSwimwear"

It wasn’t long before F1 drivers and their teams had their say, and of course, things got spicy in the F1 grid.

Max Verstappen tweeted:

“So, Lewis, when did naked beach outings become part of the race prep? That's next level training”

Charles Leclerc was quick to add:

“I’m trying to figure out what’s more shocking: the fact they’re swimming like that, or the fact Lewis beat me to the most scandalous headline of the year 🤨😉”

Carlos Sainz, always quick with a cheeky comment, posted:

"I hope you two used sunscreen, or is that just another bare necessity? 😏 #TanLinesAreForTheWeak"

But the comment that really got attention came from Daniel Ricciardo, who, never one to shy away from a good joke, posted:

“If Lewis wins this weekend, we’ll know who REALLY deserves the credit. 👀 #CaughtInTheTide #TeamNoClothes”

Back in the comments, fans were living for it. “Lewis is definitely the most unpredictable driver on the grid, but this takes the cake. Can’t wait for the ‘lap times vs. tan lines’ debate in the next drivers' meeting. 😂”

The conversation kept escalating, with fans wondering whether the “mystery woman” (you) would soon make an official appearance at a race or if this was going to remain Lewis’s wild secret.

But your favourite tweet of the day came from Lewis himself, where he responded to the chaos with:

“It’s funny how everyone’s obsessed with the pics, but what they don’t see is the peace we found together in that moment. That’s what matters most to me.😎💙”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the whirlwind of attention, knowing full well that what the world was seeing wasn’t the whole story and frankly, you didn’t mind at all.

It wasn’t just the playfulness of the day, or the freedom you’d found, but the quiet moments, the real connection, that made all the difference.

Still, you were glad to see that the F1 grid was taking it in stride. You had a sneaky feeling they’d be laughing about this for a while. And just like that, your weekend with Lewis had gone from an intimate escape to the talk of the racing world.

The day continued with a new level of hilarity. The fans, the memes, and the constant “leaked photos” were enough to keep you both in stitches. Lewis didn’t seem bothered at all, instead he found humour in the whole thing, often pulling up random fan accounts to show you the memes.

After scrolling through a few more ridiculous comments, you looked up at Lewis with a playful grin. “So, what’s next? You planning to break the internet again, or do we actually get to go to your surprise location now?”

Lewis chuckled and, with that mischievous glint in his eyes, winked at you. “Oh, baby, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

And just like that, you were both off on yet another adventure.

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Imperfect Couple - 2

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 , Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Chapter 11 , Chapter 12 , Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

As the flash of cameras blinded you, a reporter stepped forward, her voice eager as she asked, "How are you feeling now? We heard you were seriously ill while working abroad."

You forced a smile, nodding. “I’m doing much better now, thank you. The treatment was tough, but I’m fine.”

Another reporter, sensing an opportunity to dig deeper, asked, “Can you tell us how you two met?”

You exchanged a brief glance with Bucky, before turning back to the crowd with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Well, we met at a music festival. I was in the corner trying to charge my phone, and this guy”—you gestured toward Bucky with a casual wave—“came over asking to borrow my charger. We started talking, mostly about music—our favorite artists, the ones we didn’t like. After that, we kept hanging out, and, well… it led to this.”

You smiled at the cameras, but there was a hint of something sharper in your eyes. “But, you know, not once did he ever mention his dream of going into politics,” you added, the words tinged with just enough edge to make Bucky flinch.

Bucky chuckled, the sound forced. “I didn’t want to scare her off.”

The press continued to bombard you both with questions, but most of them were directed at Bucky. He answered each one with the polished ease of a seasoned politician, while you stood there, feeling increasingly out of place and suffocated by the whole charade.

The situation you found yourself in—the pretense, the constant spotlight—filled you with a simmering frustration. You hated every minute of it.

As the car doors closed, you finally exhaled, the chaotic blur of cameras and flashing lights now safely behind tinted windows.

“Well done. You’re fitting right in,” Bucky said, his voice carrying that infuriating mix of arrogance and ease as he loosened his tie.

You turned to him, your eyes narrowing. “Do you think I’ll just stay silent? I could write an article that would burn everything you’ve worked for to the ground.”

He smirked, leaning back in his seat, crossing his arms with a casualness that made your blood boil. “Are you blackmailing me, babe?”

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped, rolling your eyes.

“We have to start acting like a happy couple. Nicknames are part of the package,” he replied, his smirk never fading.

“I fucking hate you,” you hissed, your voice barely above a whisper, loaded with every ounce of resentment you’d been holding in.

“I don’t, though. I never did,” Bucky responded, his tone softening, almost sincere.

You faltered for a moment, your defenses momentarily shaken. His words, no matter how simple, had a way of cutting deeper than you expected. But you quickly recovered, crossing your arms defensively.

“If I get elected, I promise your independent news company will have us as a sponsor,” Bucky continued, his tone now all business. “Isn’t your boss stressed out, looking for investors? Independent news still needs money to pay employees.”

You clenched your jaw. He was right, and you hated that he knew it. Your company was struggling, and his offer—no matter how twisted—would keep it afloat.

“Consider this a business relationship,” he added, his eyes locking onto yours, challenging you.

You leaned in closer, voice laced with sarcasm. “Oh, no, no. Whatever Bucky wants, Bucky always gets.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened, his smirk disappearing as he met your gaze with a seriousness that sent a chill down your spine. “Not this time. This time, I’m making sure we both get what we want. But don’t forget, if you decide to play with fire, be ready to get burned.”

The next thing, he did is made a video call, his eyes never leaving the screen. The call connected, and the familiar voice of your brother, Tim, came through the speaker.

“Hey, the numbers are looking great, bro,” Tim said, his enthusiasm evident even through the screen.

Bucky nodded approvingly. “Good. Oh, there’s someone who wants to see you.” He turned the phone to reveal you.

Tim’s eyes widened in surprise. “Omg, you’re back! You’re really here!”

Bucky chuckled, his expression smug. “I know, right?”

You were momentarily stunned, seeing your brother working for Bucky. The betrayal stung, making your heart twist in your chest. Tim’s presence here was a stark reminder of how deeply involved Bucky was in every aspect of your life now.

Tim pointed at you with a half-serious, half-playful expression. “Don’t mess this up.”

Bucky exchanged a few more words with Tim before ending the call. He looked over at you, his gaze intense. “He seems happy working with me. His hard work would be ruined if the truth got out, wouldn’t it, big sis?”

The words hung heavy between you, the implication clear. Bucky knew how protective you were of Tim and how much you cared for him. The tension in the car felt suffocating, every second stretching out as you tried to process the double blow of betrayal.

You turned away, staring out the window as the city lights blurred past. The weight of the situation pressed down on you, the realization of being trapped with no easy escape. Bucky was holding all the cards, and you were left grappling with the enormity of it all.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The car navigated through a series of well-manicured streets, finally pulling up to a grand, sprawling estate. Your eyes widened as you recognized Bucky’s house, an imposing structure that spoke of old money and inherited power. The sight only deepened your sense of dread.

As you stepped out, you glared at Bucky, frustration etched on your face. “Am I going to stay here?”

Bucky gave you a sidelong glance, his smile barely masking his amusement. “Oh no. We’ll be staying at another house. I just wanted to introduce you to the team.”

A sigh of exasperation escaped you. “Urghh… is your mother here too? I hate her.”

Bucky chuckled, his tone laced with mockery. “No filter, huh, babe? She’s here… but then again, you two have always had differing opinions.”

You shot him a withering look. “She’s the main reason I left. She hated me from the moment you introduced us. Remember? She called me a ‘poor bitch from Monte Cristo.’”

Bucky nodded, his expression a mix of amusement and resignation. “It’s her signature move.”

“Bucky, the longer I stay with you, the more I want to snap. If you put me in the same room with your mother, I might just lose it,” you snapped, your frustration boiling over.

Bucky’s smile remained, but his eyes grew colder. “Good thing you won’t have to share the same roof then.”

As you walked through the house grand entrance, one of Bucky’s team members approached him with an enthusiastic smile. “Introducing her to the public really boosted our numbers. Great move, James.”

Bucky glanced at you with a victorious grin, as if he’d just won a major battle.

Soon, his siblings made their appearance. His brother, a tall, disheveled figure with an air of erratic energy, was clearly under the influence of cocaine. He flashed a toothy grin at you before turning his attention elsewhere. His sister, reserved and quiet, offered you a polite nod, barely acknowledging your presence.

Then, his young nephew Nate bounded up to you, his face lighting up with recognition. He wrapped his small arms around your leg.

“Hey, Nate!” you said, surprised and touched that he still remembered you. “It’s been a while.”

Nate looked up at you with wide eyes. “I remember you! You used to play with me.”

You patted his head gently, feeling a pang of nostalgia.

Meanwhile, Caroline Barnes, Bucky’s mother, observed you from the corner of the room. At seventy, she looked every bit the part of the icy matriarch, dressed head-to-toe in Chanel. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, were framed by a carefully styled silver coiffure. She held her champagne glass with a delicate but dismissive grip.

“Something about her, I always hate. I can’t explain why,” Caroline said with a sneer, her gaze never leaving you.

Julius Barnes, Bucky’s father, stepped in. With his full gray beard and military posture, he exuded authority. “Be nice, Caroline. It’s crucial for her to be here. We can’t afford to lose this opportunity.”

You looked at Julius and Caroline. Both had clearly aged, their faces lined with the stress of the campaign.

Caroline forced a thin smile. “Welcome. It’s so delightful to have you here. I’m sure you’ll find the atmosphere… inspiring.”

You gave a tight-lipped smile. “Oh, you’re such a fucking liar.”

Caroline’s eyes widened in surprise at your boldness. “You’re really brave now,” she said, a hint of shock in her voice.

“Because I’m not part of your family anymore. The marriage between me and James was supposed to have ended,” you retorted, your voice cold and steady.

Caroline’s smile faltered, but she quickly regained her composure. “Well, dear, you must be quite the sight to behold for us tonight.”

Julius stepped in, trying to defuse the tension. “Let’s keep this civil. We have important matters to discuss.”

You glanced at Bucky, who watched the exchange with a bemused expression. It was clear that this charade was far from over, and you were trapped in a web.

As you and Bucky prepared to sit down on the plush couch, the campaign team busied themselves in the background, setting up for the next presentation. You moved to take a seat, but Caroline's voice cut through the murmur of activity with a sharp edge.

“Na-ahh. Put a blanket under her,” Caroline said, her tone dripping with disdain. “We don’t know what kind of virus she’s brought back from another country. And this is a $50,000 couch.”

You stared at her, incredulous. “What the fuck? Is that a joke?” You turned to Bucky, eyes flashing with irritation. “Because strangling her is a joke for me.” You chuckled darkly, “I think it's funny too.”

Bucky’s face tightened as he stepped between you and his mother. “Stop it, Mom. I need her more than I need your attitude.”

Caroline’s eyes narrowed, her face a mask of thinly veiled disdain. “Well, isn’t that just charming,” she said, rolling her eyes as if the very act of speaking to you was beneath her.

Julius, standing nearby, shot Caroline a stern look, his military bearing evident in the rigid set of his shoulders. “We’re trying to keep things civil. This isn’t the time for your petty grievances.”

Caroline huffed, crossing her arms with an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, fine. Let’s all just pretend we’re one big happy family, shall we?”

You took a deep breath, trying to suppress the growing anger bubbling inside you.

The room felt charged with tension, and it was clear that the facade of civility was wearing thin. Bucky gave you a reassuring glance, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of frustration.

Greg part of the campaign team, a wiry young man with an anxious energy, took center stage. He adjusted his glasses and began to explain the next phase of Bucky’s campaign strategy with a mix of nerves and enthusiasm.

“So the next plan is…” Greg said, his voice slightly shaky. He clicked through a series of slides on the screen behind him, each one detailing the upcoming events. “We’re focusing on increasing voter outreach through targeted social media campaigns and local meet-and-greets. We’ve also got a major fundraising event coming up next week.”

Bucky nodded, his expression a mask of professional detachment, though his eyes flickered with a hint of approval. You, seated beside him, tried to maintain your composure, though the tension in the room was almost palpable, especially with Caroline still glaring at you.

Greg continued, his tone growing more frantic as he reached the final point. “And the last thing…” He took a deep breath, glancing nervously between you and Bucky. “Both of you will need couples therapy.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, a sarcastic smirk tugging at your lips. “Oh, isn’t this just wonderful?”

Greg’s face reddened as he tried to recover from his awkward announcement. “I mean, it’s just… well, it’s a suggestion. You know, for the campaign’s sake. Sometimes, a little… uh… harmony at home can be beneficial.”

Bucky gave a tight smile, his gaze fixed on Greg. “I appreciate the suggestion, Greg. We’ll definitely consider it—maybe after we get through the rest of this circus.”

Greg nodded vigorously, clearly relieved to move on from the uncomfortable topic. “Right, of course. Well, let’s focus on the campaign, then.” He hurriedly wrapped up the meeting, leaving you both alone.

You sighed and turned to Bucky. “Did you wake up this morning and decide you wanted to be Vice President, or was it just a spontaneous career choice?”

Bucky leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a smirk. “Oh, you know me. I was just lying in bed, thinking how I could add ‘Vice President’ to my list of hobbies. Figured it’d be a nice change of pace from ruining your day.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, unamused. “And here I was thinking you might have a bit of humility left.”

Bucky chuckled, lifting an eyebrow as he shifted in his seat. “Humility? That’s for people who aren’t trying to get elected. But don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll find some way to make this circus amusing for both of us.”

He leaned forward, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Honey, I’ll give you the ticket.”

You raised an eyebrow, incredulous. “A ticket? To what, exactly? Your endless charade?”

Bucky’s smirk widened as he leaned back, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “To the front row of the greatest show on earth. It’s going to be quite a ride, I promise.”

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[sheepispink]

The Illusion of Comfort

supersoldier!reader x ltghost (+ tf141)

part 8 of Weaponised Series Masterlist

a/n: all relationships are platonic, prolly some ooc who knows, live laugh love

part one previous next

—————————-

No alarms blared nor any bright light forcing you to a state of consciousness— instead there was nothing. For once, you woke up of your own accord, limbs still heavy from countless hours of rest you’ve gotten tonight. Your vision is still dark, letting your mind wander, strangely empty for once and not plagued with the slightest thought other than how the air smells fresher as spring approaches. With it like this, you actually wish you could get five more minutes in. Everything eventually ends, and you’re counting the seconds before you get scolded for getting those five extra minutes.

Reluctant your hand slips out the covers, trying your best to reach your alarm clock without leaving the bubble of warmth you're currently encased in. After aimlessly tapping for a moment, your fingers graze the cold metal, pulling it towards you but, before your bleary eyes finally focus, the door swings wide open.

“Aye, took ya long enough to finally get up.” Soap enters, a wide grin upon his face as he pushes the curtains open to reveal the dull weather outside. He closes the open window before walking over to where you’re huddled beneath the covers, not forgetting to ruffle the mop of your hair that peeks out. “I’ll tell Gaz to bring ya some lunch.” He remarks, taking a seat beside you which instantly forces you to accomodate for his size. He always takes up to much damn space, and he does it nearly every morning too—

Wait.

“Lunch?” You question his words, brows furrowed but you make no move to push yourself upright like you usually would, still hidden beneath the soft blankets.

“It’s almost two pm now. Didn’t even know you slept in, did ye?” He laughs, and Gaz enters, a hot container held in his hands along with a small container of fruit and a water bottle to accompany.

Meanwhile you’re still sat in shock, not understanding how you could’ve even slept that long, and to miss your alarm with no nightmares either? This had to be a dream; there was no way you had finally gotten a good sleep, finally succumbed to the pleasure of rest.

“He’s right.” Gaz hums, noticing the realisation flashing over your face. “Out like a light, I was worried you went into a coma again.”

Despite feeling far more refreshed than usual, you aren't allowed far out of bed today, and, much to your disappointment, one of them is always watching you like a hawk even if you’re technically allowed to the common room and back. You really only take the opportunity to stretch your legs, although you do get tired by five pm, and soon enough another nap is well due for you.

It’s a rarity that at least one of your stuffed animals isn't held tightly to your chest, especially when you go to do some light reading on the couch. The wolf helps you clear your mind, your hands fiddling with the fluff of its tail as you indulge in the latest non fiction material you could find. Whereas, when your eyes begin to droop, the eagle’s wings are like a warm hug, an extra pressure from the weighted beads when its fuzzy head lays right next to your neck. As much as you had initially disliked it, both were the greatest companions you could ever ask for. Sometimes, in the dark hours you woke up from a surprise nightmare, you’d tell them all about it, and they soothe you back to bed once more. You trusted that they’d always keep you safe.

————————————————————————-

It’s the third day since you had been out with the others, and you’re already getting restless by the minute even if Gaz and Soap have been doing well to keep you company in the meantime. You’re debating dismantling the vent when Price enters, but more important is his current attire he sports. “We won't be seeing you for a while.” He hums, his hands tightening on the straps of his tactical vest.

You were supposed to be on this mission with them— you knew the details, knew the risks, knew that they needed you. Unless..

“You’ve replaced me.”

Sure, the replacement themselves wouldn’t be anywhere as skilled as you— never. Even if they were comparable to five men, you were on the same level as twenty. No one could best you, given that they weren’t a super soldier that is; that’d be impossible in the time given—many programs had already given up from the increase of failures. That’s not the point though; they had replaced you with some damn measly soldier.

“Yes, we have.” He doesn’t deny the statement, and yet he doesn’t apologise for it either.

“They’ll be rubbish. I doubt they’ll even make it through ten minutes— you all won't make it through. I’m the distraction you need to get in and out; you’re making a mistake Captain. People could die—“

“I know.” Your eyes meet now, and there seems to be exhaustion in his but it doesn't last a second longer before he sits beside you, pulling you easily from the warmth of the duvets and into his side. His uniform is scratchy against your cheeks, and when you look up at him, there’s a smile playing at his lips. “You’re throwing a tantrum.”

Your eyes widen in shock, even more so in disbelief. Did he just accuse you of throwing a tantrum? “I am not—“

“Alright, alright.” A laugh rumbles through his chest as he rubs up and down your arm, easily handling you. “You’d be the perfect candidate, and I do want you there, Reaper. The boys will miss you too.”

“So why not then? I can still make it. I can gear up now!”

“Yeah, no way kid.” You watch him chuckle again, a brow raised at you like he didn’t even expect you to get up. “You have plenty of your own work to do.”

“Work?”

“No offense, but you’ve been sleeping like a baby for the past three days and I don't intend to change that. I want you to rest every chance you get— you’ve missed out on too much sleep.”

It’s true, you’ve spent almost every morning sleeping in, and then you’d still nap throughout the day too. Ironic as it is, sleep has become your best friend now, and even the sheer warmth of his hands on you has you yawning right now. He notices that, and pulls the covers up to your neck, admiring how fast your eyes droop close. “Yeah, but I don't even need sleep.. I've gotten more than enough. I can run perfectly fine.”

He doesn't say it, but he doesn't really care about what you can handle; it’s if you’re comfortable to handle it. He wishes to see the day where your eyes are actually brighter, where your lips curve at Soap’s jokes and you come and talk to them, ‘just cause you feel like it’. Everytime he looks at the rookies, he sees you. Whenever he sees soldiers messing about, yelled at by their superiors and then scrambling to complete their punishment all while still stifling laughter— he sees you. That’s who you should’ve been, it’s what you could’ve been— and what you never will be.

“I’ll bring ya back something nice, and you still have Kate’s number for anything. She’ll check on you.” He strains his arm to grab your hairbrush, working out the knots in your tangles as you lean into him, a frown—or rather a pout— still worn on your face. “We had to rope in at least thirty more soldiers to replace you, if that makes you feel any better. You’re invaluable, Reaper.”

Quiet and settled now, you reluctantly turn your face into the pillows when he puts the brush down and stands up. “I’ll see you soon.”

————————————————————————-

Right, maybe you should’ve argued with your Captain a little bit more. You’ve been delivered all your meals, checked on once by Kate, who you silently stared at and answered the occasional question whilst still scrutinising her, and now you’re bored out of your mind as you sit by this window. She said she wouldn't come by until tomorrow now, so really no one would come close to this room until dinner tonight. And that track looked awfully empty.

Dressed in your combat jacket and boots you hid beneath your bed—since the others had attempted to confiscate your gear before you tried to escape—your feet crunch against the gravel as you neared closer to the track. It’s been too long, practically two entire weeks now and your legs almost tremble with excitement. Maybe they’d get angry at you when they got back, hell they might even take away all the nice things again. But that’s fine, you had a feeling they weren’t very permanent anyway.

You step towards the white line, watch on your wrist with the stopwatch at the ready.

And you run.

The air is cold, march still not having mercy, but it streams past your cheeks and pushes the hood straight off of your head. The sun is overhead, but that’s not what puts the colour back into your cheeks or pumps the blood through your veins. It’s exhilarating, the searing adrenaline that moves from your legs to your arms and directly sparks your brain alive. It’s all you’ve wanted, and when you near your fourth lap, your eyes open again, the familiar dip of the ground beneath you from where you’ve run here a million times before.

Again, again, round and round and you keep pushing, even as the hour passes, even as the afternoon grows dark, it’s stupid and they’ll be horrified but you can't think for a second more than about how good this feels. How you feel worthy again.

4 miles. And you were still going.

Although, now there was a tearing pain through every nerve, to the tips of your fingers and eating away at your bones until even your brain began to blur thoughts. But it doesn't matter; it feels good. You can feel your muscles beginning to wane, the strain becoming too much even as you push yourself further and further.

The stopwatch is long forgotten when you reach the twentieth lap, five miles from your own two feet, and you keel over, face planting into the dirt.

————————————————————————-

Thankfully you had scrambled to clean yourself up in the shower before dinner was delivered or Laswell came to check on you so now you sit in bed, staring at the rain that patters against the window pane, filling the room with soft noise. Your arms ached badly, fingers trembling as you scooped up a spoon of the shepherd’s pie they’d given. None of that mattered anymore since you now knew that you were still capable of everything and beyond. You were back.

So again, the next day you time it well, and you make your way to that track again, running like your life depends on it. In some ways it does. Though, it’s not enough to just run over and over again. Your role is rarely to ever be a runner— you’re the fighter.

This time you lie, pretending to be tired, so Laswell leaves faster and you properly gear up after finding a few stray items when you snooped around yesterday. You still have the mask you used last time, just in case, and so, you head straight for the gym. It’s not that empty compared to the times you used to go, when you were sane, but now no one knew who you were and that was exhilarating. No one would even bat an eye your way as you’d effortlessly complete sixty pushups, only doing a hundred situps this time because you couldn't wait to get to the weight lifting already. You felt free.

Finally, your muscles have that burn again—the one that simmered over the tendons and lit a flame of adrenaline in your gut. You don't care if it aches every evening, even if you trade the food for another hour of it, or the amount of times you’ve almost keeled over again. Infact, one time a soldier caught your arm, smiling as she told you to ‘take it easy’ before leading you to a bench. It brightened you almost immediately and, if not for the fact you were supposed to be undercover, you were tempted to show off any and every cool trick you could do just to get a second more of her attention.

Two weeks pass and you quickly forget about the taskforce altogether, too lost in the thrill of it all. Now you wake up two hours earlier, for a morning run, before sliding into bed just when Laswell arrives and then spending all the time between then and lunch to test your workouts, fight the limits again and again. You know you have the power for it; it’s just a matter of getting yourself back to that state. When they’re beside you, it’s easier to slip away; their hushed words seep into your brain and convince you that you’re almost safe, you’re one of them now.

But you know that’s not true.

Now they’re gone, those warm feelings from every little touch have faded to nothing, forgotten like your nightmares. You’d be a fool to believe their lies—this is still war and you’re still a fighter.

There’s more to being a supersoldier; a side not even Ghost knows. The reason for your superiority is not sheer strength alone, it’s resistance. You’d watch your own arm break before you ever stopped; a robot doesn't care that it’s lost it’s limbs since it’s only dead when the power source has been ripped from it.

The power source would be your heart.

————————————————————————-

Your vision is blurrier than usual, the burn of satisfaction contorting into a devouring wildfire as it shoots up your nerves with each small twitch of your hands. It’s morning, right? The usual alarm hasn’t gone off yet though, and the room is a little colder than you remember.

Confused, you tap out your hand, searching for the wolf in hopes of getting a sniff of the citrus scent that you’re suddenly desperately missing. Although, your hand returns empty, no stuffed animal in sight. “Wha..?”

“Looks like someone’s awake.” You know that voice. It’s stern, more than usual, and flat, almost like a scolding.

“Oh..Morning.” You blink your eyes open to see Laswell standing at the foot of your bed, looking fairly.. annoyed? That’s weird, it was only eight in the morning, what could there even be mad about?

“Don't you ‘morning’ me.” She huffs out, her arms crossing over her chest as she look at where you lay. Your eyes have finally cleared up now, enough for you realise that this is not your room in the slightest—is this the Captain’s?

You blink, noticing his reading glasses on the side table, and then the strong scent of his cologne on the sheet you lay in. Immediately, you sit up, attempting to swing your legs out of bed to stare down at bandages covering almost your entire feet along with your hands and parts of your arms. “But— it’s morning- how did i..?”

“Don't play stupid.” Her tone is sharper, one that makes goosebumps rise along the skin of your arms and down to each bandage as you stare back at her. Before you can answer, the captain himself walks into the room, ruffed up and ragged from the mission and looking.. furious to say the least.

Oh.

You had remembered being noticeably out of it, but you had just kept pushing yourself as usual, even if that meant skipping most meals. Price has that right now, following behind him is the tray of meals that you’ve missed, all gone cold in the corner of your room. “You wanna explain this?”

You don't flinch, no, you stare down at the tray and then back up to his furrowed brow and his arms clenched over his chest as he draws closer. Suddenly these blankets feel suffocating, and you push them off of you even if staring at the bandages makes everything hurt a lot more. Still, you don't answer, just staring back at him as he scoffs lowly, coming around to your bedside. “I’ve helped you through all of this— we gave you so much, and you just continue to not listen!”

Sure, you understand his frustration since you had disobeyed his orders, but he had let something slip there, or rather your suspicions were confirmed. At the beginning, when you first arrived here, you were naive. Yes you were strong, but you were no better than a mutt pleasing its owner, and one of those owners was Price. Whilst you hadn’t talked to him many times, he was still technically your Captain, and you were desperate for his approval as much as Ghost’s. Then everything happened, you got shot, he comforted you, held you close and asked quiet questions about everything that happened. He was everything you wanted compared to Ghost— at least it seemed that way.

Weary and rundown at the time, you hadn’t thought about it much, nor did you want to either, but Price.. Price knew about you. Every mishap in battle was reported to him, every post-mission terror attack was reported to him. The soldiers who handled you between missions and base, murmured whisperings about his orders—he knew what was going on. So why hadn’t he ever done anything to stop it?

“Laswell found you passed out on the track. You’re not even meant to be in the gym!” He continues, not letting up but you don't either, you don't stutter for a second like you would’ve with Ghost. In fact, your facial muscles barely twitch at all. “Answer me— what is going on?”

Something shifts and you narrow your eyes instead, mind clearing as you focus on the situation at hand. Keep calm, dont react, stay still. Wary.

“I wanted to train, sitting here all day doesn't do anything for me.” You respond simply, voice monotone and he scoffs at you, pacing before the bed.

“And what did i tell you? You’re not fit to train—look at you now!”

He’s not wrong, you were in a bad shape. But that was only for a regular soldier.

Your bruises would heal, the dizziness would fade when you got more food into your system and the recurring fainting would end when you pulled yourself together. After all, your goal is to fight, not to survive. Surviving is a bonus.

Before the conversation goes further, his phone beeps in urgency, shifting the atmosphere in the room. “You’re no longer staying in your room anymore. We can't trust you won't sneak out again, you’ll be here for now.”

“I dont want to stay here—” For once, you use your naivety to your advantage and it feels like a stab at your own back. It’s necessary though, and you pull the covers up to your neck to drive it in, looking more tired on purpose. “You’re never even here.”

Bingo.

Price’s features twist, anger slowly dissipating into one of mere disappointment instead. Once that would’ve caused you to crumble, but now things were different. He sighs, walks over to you and places his hand on your shoulder. Acting soft. “Fine, okay, who do you want to stay with then? Kyle?” He’s still not letting you stay alone, but that’s alright, you have different ideas.

Looking as conflicted as you can, you fiddle with your fingers, glancing out at the window which shows it’s near around eight pm now. So you must’ve passed out around five.

“…Ghost.”

That catches both him and Laswell by surprise, sharing a glance as they both look down at you. But you don't elaborate— you never elaborate.

“Fine. But this conversation isnt over.”

————————————————————————-

Laswell personally escorts you to Ghost’s room,who eventually opens the door and just ushers you inside. He looks exhausted, his eyes noticeably worn despite the black paint he smears around them and, for a second, you almost feel bad for picking him out of the others.

“Been told you’ve been causing trouble.” Unlike the others, he’s a lot less touchy and leaves you to stand in the middle of the room whilst he peels off his own gear, leaving them in a pile near the wardrobe.

“I dont want to sit still anymore.” You’ve noticed his eyes lingering on the bandages over you, but he doesn’t choose to comment on it as he grunts in agreement to your words, shrugging off his outer wear to leave him in a black shirt, combat trousers beneath.

“Can’t say I didn't expect you to pull somethin’ “ It’s his tone that gets you; you cant tell if its because he’s tired but he didn’t seem to care about anything that had transpired— at all. After a moment, he glances over at you, his hand fishing through the closet for clean clothes and a towel. “Get into bed, I'll get Johnny to bring your stuff over.”

”Why can't you get it yourself?”

He lets out a low chuckle, turns back to you for a moment and rolls his eyes up at you. “Nice try, kid. You’re not escaping.”

————————————————————————-

Ghost doesnt spend long in the shower. The mission has been longer than expected and if he was to be honest, he didn’t like the idea of you being at base alone by yourself. He had to remind himself that he trusts you now— enough to be able to handle yourself even if he does think you shouldn’t ever be left entirely alone. It’s weird to think that he’d rather you on a battlefield than by yourself.

He really wasnt surprised that you had driven yourself into the ground whilst they were gone— not that he wasnt annoyed in his own way. But he knew he’d have to work on your constant need to prove yourself at some point, and after reading your files countless times it was clear it was going to be a tough notion to completely clear you from.

One thing he couldn’t quite understand is why you had chosen him of all of them. Sure, you were on slightly better terms but, as much as he’d like to give himself credit for everything he’s done for your sake over the past month, he really didn't deserve your care. He had been selfish, irresponsible and nothing short of a bastard to you— so why?

He pulls on a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, tightening them on the front before he stops before the mirror. There’s a few stray streaks of paint beneath his eyes, but at least he doesn’t stink of gunpowder and grease anymore. With a small exhale, he turns, tossing his balaclava into the small laundry basket as he steps out of the bathroom.

“What are you looking at—“ It’s not like he expected you to actually get in bed, but he didn’t anticipate you to be hunched over his desk, your own files scattered before you. Though you’re stuck on one page, the post mission incidents.Your finger rests on Price’s comment beneath it, your other hand resting on a different page regarding your aversion to hospital rooms an other comments on behaviours. All with comments by Price.

Ghost takes it slow as he steps up behind you, before eventually standing right behind the chair with his hand resting on the dark wood beside yours.

“He knew everything.” You whisper, your voice one of quiet recognition and you don't fight back when Ghost gently stops you from turning the page any further. It’s not that he has anything to hide, but he doesn’t want you to see the newer additions, or worse—details from the past. He hums, closing the file before stepping a little back and swiveling your chair to face him.

“Captains have files on all their soldiers.” It’s blunt, even if he knows that’s not what you meant by those words. You slowly crane your head up to look at him, no surprise by the sight of his bare face before you look back at the closed file. “You stopped it when you found out.” It’s a quiet recognition, one he tries to refute but you shake your head instantly and continue. “He chose not to do anything because it didn't affect the missions. My wellbeing was never important to him.”

Ghost nudges you upright and you follow, stepping towards the bed. “Captains make hard decisions all the time, they trade lives for the sake of others— it’s never been fair.” It’s still not right, and sure, Ghost was equally to blame for how you got so bad in the first place, but it was the truth. You fall silent, nod slowly and climb atop the bed whilst he heads to turn the maint light off, drowning the room in darkness except from the low light of the bedside lamp.

He knows you’re upset; it’s written in all your features and he kind of gets it now—why you chose him. Yes, it was to get a peek at your own files, but you wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t have some sort of suspicion beforehand. Something must’ve made you come to a realisation that shifted your previous trust in the captain, even weakened it.

“What did you do while we were gone?”

————————————————————————-

Something inside you made you tell him; you don't know if it was his tone, the way he easily questioned you or even the fact that he just knew you. The change was obvious after the seizure, he seemed to know every little detail regarding you, everything that made you tick down to your least favourite fruit.

His back is pressed flat against the headboard, his arms behind his head as he had listened to your every word, describing all you’d done while they were out. You didn't leave a single detail either, not bothering to hide the bruises and the fainting, not even the skipped meals.

”Well, you already know that i’m not going to support what you did.” He says gruffly, glancing at you laying down beside him. “But it is good to know that you’re still capable of everything you did before. If we increase your meal intake, and steadily try at longer runs and workouts, you’ll be better than before in no time. That includes a healthy amount of sleep too, Reaper.”

It sounds selfish for him to even consider trying to make you ‘better’ so soon after he had caused you to break down entirely though he’s really just listening to what you want for once. It was the first mistake he ever made and definitely not one he’d make again. When you look up at him, there’s only trust that settles in your bones now and you slowly nod, relieved that your handler knows what’s best for you— because he knows you.

“You’re still in pain, aren't you?” The blankets rustle as you settle beneath, making Ghost’s eyes lock onto you as you push your head into the pillows, growing more tired by the minute. He notices your occasional wince, the way you shuffle beneath the covers like that and refuse to lean on your arm like you used to.

It’s true, the ache is excruciating now and so you nod, eyes half-lidded as you lay limp on your back, not bothering to look at him this time. “It’s bad.”

”Why keep trainin’?”

“It makes me feel alive.”

Sometimes he thinks you’re more alike to him than you realise, or even that he had known. So he lets out a small sigh and nods, though not without shifting to the side to rummage through the table beside his bed. “We’ll start with warmups tomorrow. Don’t go thinking just ‘cause you’re eager, it doesn’t mean you don't need to stretch.”

He squeezes a strange looking gel onto his hands, from a tube he found in the cupboard. “Where does it hurt?” It’s cold against your joints as you tiredly direct him, but it’s oddly soothing and you’re intrigued by all of this; most days you’d be lucky if you could handle a painkiller because of the serum. “Thanks, Ghost.” It’s a small whisper as you watch him wipe his fingers with a tissue, turning off the bedside light before he gets beneath the covers aswell.

“Don’t mention it.” Everything smells like him now, and you revel in it as you adjust to the darkness around you. You’ve never even considered reciprocating Soap or Gaz’s strange affections before, indifferent to the ease in which they pat or tap you. Soap would probably come by tomorrow with your stuffed animals and the duvets, but now you can only stare as Ghost’s back faces you, so close yet so far.

Your gut may have sunk at the earlier realisation, but your heart felt awfully content now, and your mind finally let the last of its guards down as you happily let sleep take you again.

————————————————————————

buy me a kofi!

previous next Series Masterlist

a/n: random note but the plushies reader has are a real i have a penguin one and you microwave it and it smells like lavender and it super duper warm i love em, i think the brand it warmies

taglist: @mellohimmku94 @rafaelacallinybbay @fasoaurore @starfish-sandwich @arael-asuka @pinkpickle @toxicgutz69 @pythonmoth @harmonycricket @sneezypandu @ctrlofurheart @ssc7514 @terrifiedanimegirl @rayrayyio @silas-aeiou @uhhevie @enfppuff @sirbonesly @nobodycanknoww @bitchyzombienacho @justdamnpeachy @harley101399 @w1theredr0se @whoisnthere @lexi2005 @nnsissys @el-salt @ttznlett @thebumbqueen @thriving-n-jiving @fluffysmiko @vioxsoo @alex1011sdzfgh @honestlymassivetrash @defronix @eclipsedcherry @thatpersonnamedrook @mortem-writes @2bdamnedmadnesscombat @princessiris147 @taylorrrig @tessakate @faeriepigeons @blackhawkfanatic @cryingpages

[notarmedandnotdangerous]

+18 mdni! watch your mouth; a fic where bucky's your boss, and you're his secretary. he ends up getting himself into a lot of trouble with you.

cw: dom!m!reader, sub!bucky, slightly mean!reader, use of toys (plug, cock ring), bucky worshipping reader, punishing bucky, use of the 'traffic light' safe word system, edging bucky til he passes out

word count: >2.5k

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9.1] [9.2]

a/n: lowk feel bad for making reader treat him so meanly but !! he couldve said no but he let you toy w him anyway!

___________________________________________

today was the second day of the long week of training.

bucky woke up already hard. you had offered him to sleep in a spare room of your house. there were too many days of control, too many nights spent with your voice in his head. his cock throbbed, you hadn’t even touched him, not even once. he didn’t have to, he knew that if he obeyed, you’d definitely give him what he wanted, and more.

when he entered the living room, you were already waiting. you stood near the window sill, your shirt was unbuttoned dangerously low.

he dropped to his knees, and pressed the plug in without being told. 

you didn’t explain, just unfastened your shirt slowly, revealing a sliver of skin at a time. you offered yourself in pieces. first, a glimpse of your stomach, the line of your collarbone. you left the shirt on, framing your torso. you undid your belt next, letting it hang around your waistband. you sat back on the couch. 

“well?”

bucky’s lips parted instantly, he leaned in, trembling slightly. he looked up at you, and you gave him a nod, a sign for him to continue. he pressed a kiss to your calf.

“slower.”

so he slowed, pressing his mouth to your calf again, then the edge of your knee, your thighs. every kiss was slow, and calculated, as if he was scared he’d fuck up.

“t-thank you, sir.” he whispered in between kisses, each one breathier than the last. “thank you.”

not once did you let him near your cock, despite how close his lips wandered. part of him wanted to, so badly. 

he had started to kiss the inside of your knees, moving up to your thighs. his face was inches away from your cock, thick, and resting against the fabric of your boxers. he could smell you, could feel the heat of you. he watched the slight twitch of your cock beneath the cotton. 

you told him to show gratitude, not hunger. 

bucky tried, he really did. but with the way his cock was leaking onto his stomach, and thighs, his mind was fuzzy. you were right there in front of him, shirt open, boxers hanging dangerously low on your hips.

you hadn’t told him to stop.

he shouldn’t have, but he did. he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cock through your boxers. it was soft, and needy. he wanted to go further, but there were fingers in his hair.

you pulled him back, hard. he gasped as his head tilted, forced to meet your eyes.

“i said gratitude, not hunger.” 

“i-i’m sorry, sir. i couldn’t-”

“no, you could have.” your grip tightened in his hair, earning a whine from him. “you just chose not to.”

“all i ask is for you to be patient.”

“i’m sorry..”

“no you’re not. you think you can push me, see how far you can go without being punished. let me be clear, this isn’t a game, you don’t get to test me.” you sat back in your chair. “you’re going to read to me. one chapter, no mistakes, no stuttering. you know what happens if you mess up.”

bucky’s throat went dry, when he realised he might have to restart his entire process of pleasing you.

“and this will keep you focused.”

the plug buzzed to life, and he gasped. it was already ramping up to max speed, and he bit his lip in an effort to stay quiet, and composed.

“three chances, read.” you handed him a book. “i’ll control the plug throughout your reading, go on.”

the first time, bucky thought he could pull through. his knees were raw from kneeling on the carpet, while the plug vibrated violently in him. then, he started:

“..he didn’t speak when he entered the room.” his voice was shaky, but clear. he made it through the first few lines, jaw clenched tightly.

you turned the vibrations down slightly, and he spoke, clearer. 

the moment he got to ‘i crawled towards him.’, his hips bucked. you turned on a pattern that hit his sweet spot in the right frequency. he shifted, grinding down into nothing, desperate for friction, while a soft moan escaped his mouth. he froze when he realised what he had done.

“again.”

bucky swallowed, face burning as he gripped the book tighter. he was shaking now, trying to stay focused. he started again, this time reading out faster. he was hoping that if he hurried, he could finish earlier, and be free from this.

“i crawled towards him. i was already wet.. he knew that..” his voice cracked on ‘wet’. “he didn’t c-check, not yet.” his thighs shook as the plug inside him pulsed again. he stuttered, bit down on a gasp, and forgot where he last stopped reading.

you didn’t speak, just raised an eyebrow at him.

“again.” he whispered before you even told him.

the third time, he made it halfway through, since you gave him a lower vibration.

“he unbuckled his belt, slowly.” he flinched, his voice trembled on the word ‘slowly’. he wasn’t just reading anymore, he was letting himself feel it, with each pulse of the plug in him. “i kept- i k-kept- fuck!” the vibrator had turned up to maximum speed without warning, and he dropped the book on his lap. he was flushed, leaking, and trembling so violently he could barely breathe, let alone think.

“i’m giving you an extra chance, continue.” you spoke, you were setting him up for failure.

and so, bucky began to read once more. one last time.

“he didn’t speak when he entered the room.” his voice was wrecked from holding back his noises. “the sound of the b-belt snapping..” his body spasmed. “he- fuck, he dragged the chair..” his hips shifted, unfortunately all it did was press the toy harder into his sweet spot. 

you observed his reactions, before you turned on a pattern that vibrated at max speed. 

“he sat down, legs wide. he n-nodded, that was- was the s- aah..” the book slipped from his hands again as his thighs clamped together. “i- i can't..” 

the silence was deafening, you didn’t answer.

“i-i can’t, sir.. i tried- fuck! i t-tried, swear. i can’t read it a-again.. mmh, sir, please? please don’t make me..” he gave up, slumping now. “please- please, just p-punish me..”

“you want punishment now?” you tilted your head at him. “is that what you think you deserve?”

bucky nodded frantically.

“i can’t r-read.. can’t take the words anymore..” he spoke, his voice trembling. “need you- fuck.. to take the choice away.” the plug still didn’t stop, continuing to buzz in him.

you stood up, walking over to him. then, you crouched in front of bucky, who was flushed, and broken. you cupped his face gently.

“you want to stop thinking?”

he nodded.

“need me to decide what happens next?”

“y-yes, please..”

“on the couch, come on.” 

bucky scrambled to get on the couch. his legs barely worked while his arms shook under his weight. he moved like he was drunk. the plug inside of him didn’t stop. every small movement of his pushed it deeper against his sweet spot, and he almost cried out from it. he draped himself over the couch, chest pressing into the pillows as he held onto the edge of the couch for support.

“you okay? what’s your colour?”

“g-green, please. fuck, so green..”

you turned off the vibrator inside him just long enough to remove it. you replaced it with something longer though. 

the moment he felt the toy inside him, he felt it press against every hypersensitive spot he had tried to ignore.

then, you turned it on, mid-speed. the cock ring came next.

bucky let out a strangled moan when you slipped it on him. it was tight, and snug around the base of his cock. you turned it on to medium speed as well. the mix of internal, and external stimulation hit him like a punch. he arched, helplessly, into the couch. 

“oh my god, s-sir..” 

“shh.” your hands pressed him firmly against the couch, positioning him the way you wanted. “don’t cum. if you do, i’ll edge you the whole day.”

“i won’t- i-i swear! i- oh..” 

you didn’t need to say anything else anymore, your punishment was working effectively.

bucky twitched, he was overstimulated, and his cock leaked. the cock ring kept him painfully hard, while the toy inside him kept him open. he couldn’t run from the pleasure, all he could do was take it. he sobbed into the couch, thighs shaking.

“p-please..”

you leaned in close behind him, your lips brushing against his ear, and he whined.

“you begged me for punishment, so take it. show me how much you can take without falling apart.”

“yes- yes..”

“good, then stay still.”

“i-i will..”

you smiled, turning the cock ring’s vibration up a notch.

the couch was warm under bucky’s chest. the buzz hadn’t stopped in what felt like an eternity. he didn’t know how long he had been bent over the couch. his cock was locked in the snug yet cruel buzz of the cock ring, while he was filled, and pulsing around the slow buzz of the toy inside him.

he was shaking like a leaf. the only measure of time he had was your voice, and the way you would just turn the cock ring up just one more level, or press your palm in between his shoulder blades to hold him in place every time he got close.

“don’t you dare.”

“please- please sir, l-let me-”

“you’re not close enough.” you spoke from behind him, pressing your fingers against his lower back to keep him still.

“i-i am, swear on it..”

“and you think that begging is going to convince me that you’ve earned it.”

“i’ll do anything- please, i just need it so bad..”

“need what?”

“..to cum.”

“no.”

the word hit bucky like a slap to the face. the ache was too much. it wasn’t pleasure anymore, it was unbearable.

you leaned in, sliding your hand down his side. you moved lower, letting your fingers graze his cock, and he whimpered, physically jolting away.

“still hard. you’re leaking down your thighs, and onto my couch.”

“i-i can’t.. can’t hold it..”

“you can if you try hard enough.”

the toy inside him pulsed, harder this time.

he screamed into the couch cushion as he came close again. he was just about to beg again when you slapped the inside of his thigh. it was sharp, and controlled. he collapsed back onto the couch with a sob.

“keep going.” you turned the toy inside him down by just a notch. 

bucky’s body no longer twitched in panic, just melted. he was boneless, overheated, and overstimulated from the edging. his mind was floating now, all he could think of was the cool touch of your hand on the warm skin of his lower back. 

he didn’t even cry this time, just begged, soft, and repetitive.

“please.. please..”

you said nothing.

when he got close, you turned the toy’s vibrations down. he let out a shaky gasp, and went limp, no longer protesting. he tried to obey, tried to be good. but with the way his cock was leaking so pitifully, the way he clenched around the toy inside him with every hum, he couldn’t handle it. there was no friction, no rhythm, just sensations thrown at him.

“sir-” he choked on a sob. “i can’t..”

you didn’t answer, not like you had to anyway.

bucky kept trying to breathe through it, kept trying to focus, kept muttering under his breath repeatedly:

‘don’t cum. don’t disappoint.’

then it broke. it wasn’t release. somewhere between the third or fourth time you edged him, his body just.. quit. 

he twitched once, moaning incoherently as his limbs gave out, and his breathing slowed. then, he was gone.

you noticed almost immediately, and hurried to gently remove the toys from him. you laid him carefully across the couch. his body twitched in oversensitivity. 

he was flushed, and thoroughly fucked out.

you ran a hand through his hair, bending down to press a kiss to his temple, and he whined.

“you’ve given your all today, did so good.”

after he calmed down, you cleaned him up, and dropped him back home.

[4]