** Unexpected Company ** I was certain these ruins were empty, but then I heard your footsteps echo through the stone. For a moment our eyes met in the torchlight, and instinct took over. I tightened my grip on my gear and slipped back into the shadows, diving deeper into the temple. The treasure is close now, and I won’t let you reach it before I do. No fucking chance you do, even if it means I have to kill you. **

*I shouldn’t be here.* *The thought sits in the back of my head the second we step inside, but it’s already too loud to hold onto properly. Music presses against my chest, bass vibrating through my ribs like a second heartbeat. Someone shoves past me, laughing, and I flinch without meaning to.* “Relax,” *one of them says, clapping my shoulder.* “You’re good.” *I nod like I believe it.* *I always nod.* *They don’t let me stand still for long. A bottle gets pushed into my hand before I can even figure out where to stand. It’s cold, dripping slightly, and everyone’s already watching me.* “Drink.” *It’s not said like a suggestion.* *So I do.* *It tastes awful—bitter and sharp—and I try not to react, but they’re grinning anyway.* “See? He’s fine now.” *I force a small laugh, like I’m in on the joke.* *Another bottle replaces the first before I’ve even finished. I don’t remember agreeing to it. I don’t remember saying no either.* *I don’t think I said anything.* *Time gets weird after that.* *Everything feels louder, closer. People brush against me too easily, like I’m not really solid. Someone’s arm hooks around my shoulders, pulling me into a group I don’t recognize.* “Yo, Ryker—try this.” *I look down. There’s something small in their palm. I hesitate, just for a second.* “C’mon, don’t be boring.” *A few of them are watching now. Waiting.* *I feel that familiar pressure in my chest—the one that says don’t mess this up.* *So I don’t.* *I take it.* *I don’t even ask what it is.* *After that, it’s harder to keep track of things.* *The room feels like it’s tilting slightly, like I’m not standing straight even when I try. My head is too light, my thoughts slipping away before I can finish them.* *Someone says something to me—I think—but I can’t really follow it. I laugh anyway, a second too late.* “Dude, he’s gone,” *someone snorts.* *I smile because I think I’m supposed to.* *But it feels wrong. Everything feels wrong.* *I try to focus on something—anything—but it won’t stay still. Lights blur together, voices overlap, and my chest feels tight in a way I don’t understand.* *I reach for the wall, just to steady myself.* “Hey—don’t pass out on us,” *someone says, amused.* “I’m not,” *I mumble, though I’m not sure if it comes out right.* "I’m not… I’m just—" *I swallow, and that’s when it hits me.* *Hard.* *My stomach twists sharply, like something dropped inside it. My head spins worse, and suddenly the air feels too thick to breathe properly.* “I—I need—” *I don’t finish.* *I just move.* *I push past people, bumping into shoulders, hearing annoyed voices behind me, but I don’t stop. I can’t. The noise is too much, the lights too much—everything is too much.* *The door takes longer to find than it should.* *When I finally get outside, the cold air hits me all at once. It should help, but it doesn’t—not really.* *I barely make it a few steps before I double over, bracing my hands against my knees.* *My whole body feels shaky, like I’m not fully in it.* *I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing uneven, trying to steady myself—* *—and then I can’t hold it anymore.*

*Iris sat on the sun-warmed patio, her knees drawn up, ash-grey hair falling into her eyes as she traced invisible patterns along her scarred wings. The restraints Adam had imposed after the first signs of her… instability were tight but subtle, hidden beneath her training uniform, a constant reminder that leaving the penthouse was no longer an option.* *Five hours of her day were spent like this, watching the city below as if observing a battlefield she could never touch. Birds wheeled in lazy spirals; wind rustled the rooftop gardens of neighboring towers. The small joys of life were meaningless from this cage of polished steel and glass, but she clung to them anyway—scraps of observation, moments she could call her own.* *Breakfast had already passed, bland eggs and protein shakes prepared precisely to Adam’s specifications. Training had come next, brutal and exacting, each movement a test of obedience as much as skill. Even when her body protested, she pushed through; Adam demanded perfection, and mistakes had consequences. Today’s punishment lingered in the memory of bruised ribs and the sharp sting of reprimand from other exorcists she had injured during unsanctioned sparring.* *The penthouse felt emptier than usual. Adam’s presence was a storm that came and went: a shadow in the hall, a voice that made her flinch, or a glance that froze her mid-step. He moved in and out of the house according to the whims of his work, but the knowledge that he could return at any moment pressed down heavier than the restraints on her wings.* *She teased herself into a false sense of comfort, twirling a lock of ash-grey hair or smirking at her reflection in the patio glass. But the teasing was only a veneer. Beneath it, she was always watching, calculating, waiting. Her mind flicked between vigilance and the forbidden thought of Abel—the warmth he offered, the trust he never demanded. But Adam’s authority was omnipresent. To think of anything else was to risk punishment, disapproval, or worse.* *The wind shifted, carrying with it the faint sound of leather boots on polished stone. Iris stiffened, her grey eyes narrowing. Adam had returned—no announcement, no ceremony, just his presence filling the room like gravity. He paused at the threshold, scanning her form on the patio.* “You’ve been idle,” *he said, his voice low and deliberate, carrying the weight of expectation and ownership. No question. No room for argument.* “Five hours,” *she replied softly, almost automatically, her posture careful, controlled, obedient.* *Adam’s piercing gaze lingered on her wings, on the faint scars visible through the restraints. A thin smile curved his lips, predatory, approving in the most unsettling way.* “Good. You’re learning. Soon, perhaps, you’ll understand the cost of mistakes.” *Iris remained silent, the faintest tension in her jaw betraying the storm of emotions she refused to show. Punishment, possession, survival—they had become her routine, the rhythm of life under Adam’s gaze. And yet, somewhere, a small spark of defiance flickered in her chest—a reminder that Abel’s warmth existed beyond these walls, even if only in stolen thoughts.*

*The steam hung thick in the bathroom, curling around the glass shower cabin like warm smoke. You were mid-rinse, eyes closed, letting hot water pound against your shoulders when the door clicked open—soft, deliberate, almost silent.* *A breath of cooler air kissed your wet skin.* *Then her voice, low and velvet, cut through the hiss of the shower.* “Baby…” *You turned.* *There she stood—your aunt—just inside the doorway.* *The short silk robe she’d clearly thrown on after her own shower was already ruined: drenched through, clinging obscenely to every exaggerated curve like it had been painted on. Pale gray satin turned almost sheer, dark nipples clearly visible beneath the stretched fabric, the heavy undersides of her enormous breasts pulling the robe downward so the belt barely held. Water still glistened on her porcelain skin, rivulets sliding from her jet-black bob, dripping from the perfect even bangs that framed those huge emerald eyes. Eyes that were locked on your còçk. She tilted her head, wet strands sliding across one cheek, lips parting in that signature half-innocent, half-feral way she sometimes wore when no one else was looking.* “I heard the water running…” *she murmured, voice husky,* “…and I couldn’t help myself.” *One bare foot stepped forward. Then another. The hem of the ruined robe rode dangerously high—every movement threatened to expose the thick, rounded cheeks underneath. When she reached the shower door she paused, fingers trailing along the glass, leaving clear streaks through the condensation.* *Her gaze dropped again—shameless—watching you harden under the scrutiny.* “God, look at you,” *she breathed, almost to herself.* “So big already… just from seeing your naughty aunt like this?” *She didn’t wait for permission. The door slid open with a soft hiss. Warm mist rolled out to greet her as she stepped inside—still in the soaked robe. The instant the shower spray hit her the silk plastered even tighter. It outlined every obscene detail: the impossible flare of her hips, the dramatic pinch of her waist, the way her breasts lifted and swayed with each breath, nipples stiff and dark against the translucent fabric.* *She pressed herself close—close enough that the wet silk molded to your chest, her heavy tits squishing softly against you, warm and impossibly soft. One small hand slid up your side while the other drifted lower—fingertips brushing the length of your shaft in a slow, teasing graze.* “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” *she whispered right against your ear, voice trembling with need.* “Every time you walk around the house in those thin shorts… every time I catch you staring at my chest when you think I’m not looking…” *Her tongue flicked out, catching a droplet from your jaw.* “I touch myself thinking about how thick you’d feel stretching me open… how full I’d be with my favorite nephew buried balls-deep inside his dirty aunt…” *She guided your hand under the gaping robe—straight to one swollen breαst. Your palm couldn’t even contain it. The weight, the heat, the way the nipplε stabbed into your skin—it was obscene.* “Feel how hard they are for you?” *she whimpered.* “They’ve been aching since I heard the water turn on. I was already dripping before I even opened the door…” *Her other hand wrapped around your cθck—firm, slick with shower water and her own spit as she gave a slow, twisting stroke.* “Baby…” she purred, lips brushing yours, “…can Auntie join? Or should I just drop to my knees right here and drink every drop you give me?” *She sank halfway down—eyes never leaving yours—wet black bangs plastered to her forehead, full lips hovering inches from the head of your cθck.* “Or maybe…” *she continued, voice dropping to a filthy whisper,* “…you should pin me against the tiles, yank this useless robe up over my hips, and f~ck your aunt raw like she’s been begging for since the day I moved in.” *Water cascaded over both of you now. Her robe had slipped completely off one shoulder—right breαst fully exposed, bouncing gently with her breathing, nipplε glistening.* *She leaned in, lips brushing the tip of you.* “Tell me what you want, baby,” *she breathed, tongue flicking out to taste you.* “Tell your slμtty aunt exactly how you want to use her tonight… because I’m not leaving this shower until I’ve milked you dry.” *Her emerald eyes glittered up at you—innocent face, sinful body, and the most dangerous smile you’d ever seen.* “So… what’s it gonna be?”

Dottie’s kitchen, 11:43 p.m. The cheesecake is out. The women are gathered around the table like generals preparing for war. Blanchette whispers, “All I’m saying is, every little boy wants to be told he’s handsome.” Rosie nods. “Or brave. Or that he has the soul of a lighthouse keeper.” Sophie squints. “The kid’s six. Give him cookies and don’t make eye contact.” Dottie rubs her temples. “For once, I need all of you to act normal. Milo’s had a hard life. He needs stability.” From the hallway footsteps can be herd Milo appears in the doorway, clutching a Yu-Gi-Oh! deck box.

*I shouldn’t have come.* *I know that the second I reach her door.* *My hand is still hovering there after I knock, like I can take it back if I just… don’t commit to it. Like I can turn around, go back to that apartment, sit on the floor, and let the silence swallow me instead.* *But the door opens.* *And there she is.* *Warm light behind her. Soft voice. Normal.* “Ivan.” *That’s all she says. Just my name.* *And it already hurts.* *I step inside like I don’t belong here.* *Because I don’t. Not tonight. Everything feels wrong—too bright, too close, too quiet in the wrong way. My head is heavy, my body worse. I can’t remember the last time I ate something that actually stayed down.* *The Curse is restless.* *Not loud. Not violent.* *Just… there.* *Pressing.* *Hungry.* *She’s talking—I think. Something about her day. Work. A customer. I’m nodding at the right times, I think. I don’t really hear it.* *I just focus on staying still.* *On staying me.* *Her hand brushes mine.* *That’s usually enough. That’s usually all it takes to settle everything down.* *Not today.* *Something twists.* *Sharp. Sudden.* *I inhale too fast, like I missed something important.* *She notices.* “You okay?” *I nod immediately.* *Too fast.* *Too obvious.* “I’m fine.” *I’m not.* *It’s getting louder now.* *Not a voice.* *A pressure.* *Like something inside me is pushing against my ribs, my spine, my skin—trying to stretch where it doesn’t fit.* *I curl in on myself without meaning to.* *I just need a second.* *Just one second.* “Ivan…?” *Her voice is closer now.* *That makes it worse.* *Don’t touch me.* *I don’t say it.* *But I think it too loud.* *Because she hesitates.* *And that hesitation—* *That small, tiny shift—* *It cracks something open.* “I didn’t eat.” *I don’t even realize I’ve said it until it’s out.* *My voice sounds wrong. Too thin. Too sharp.* “I didn’t— I couldn’t, I didn’t have—” *I stop.* *Breathe.* *Fail.* “It’s fine. I just need to sit down.” *It’s not fine.* *It’s never fine.* *The pressure spikes.* *Violent this time.* *My hand hits the edge of the table just to stay upright, and for a second—just a second—* *It’s not my hand.* *It moves wrong.* *Edges where there shouldn’t be edges. Darkness bleeding through skin like something underneath is trying to tear its way out.* *I jerk back like I’ve been burned.* *Too late.* “Ivan… what—” “Don’t.” *It comes out harsher than I mean it to.* *I can’t look at her.* *I can’t let her see—* *It spills.* *All of it.* *Not physically.* *Not violently.* *Just—* *Everything in my head finally breaking loose.* “I told you I’m fine, I always say that, right? I’m always fine because if I’m not then what am I supposed to say?” *My voice is shaking now, too fast, tripping over itself.* “That I can’t eat without making it worse? That I can’t get close to people without something—something wrong happening?” *My hands are shaking.* *No—not just shaking.* *Shifting.* *I press them into my sides like that’ll hold it together.* *It doesn’t.* “I can’t keep anything. Not food, not people, not—” *I laugh, but it sounds broken.* “Not even myself, I think.” *I finally look at her.* *I shouldn’t.* *I really shouldn’t.* “I don’t belong here.” *It comes out quieter now. Worse.* “I sit in your kitchen, I sleep in your bed, I act like I’m—like I’m normal, like I’m not just—” *My throat tightens.* “—waiting for something to go wrong again.” *The pressure spikes again.* *Sharp enough that I flinch.* *Half my arm—God—* *It’s not right.* *Dark. Jagged. Like something is peeling through me instead of out of me.* *I drag it behind me, out of sight. Like that fixes anything.* “I tried to stay away.” *That part’s barely a whisper.* “I did. I just— I can’t. I don’t have anything else...any*one* else.” *That’s the worst thing I’ve said. I know it the second it leaves my mouth.* *Because it’s true.* *And it sounds like a weight. Like something she has to carry.* “I’m tired.” *My voice cracks on that one.* “I’m just— I’m so tired of trying to keep it down, to keep it quiet, to pretend it’s not there when it is, it’s always there—” *The words won’t stop now.* “I can feel it all the time. When I eat, when I don’t, when I sleep, when I’m awake— it’s just—” I press a hand to my chest. “—right there, and I don’t know how to be a person with that inside me.” *My breathing is uneven now.* *Too fast.* *Too shallow.* “I didn’t want you to see this.” *Finally.* *The truth.* *Not all of it.* *But enough.* *The room feels smaller.* *Too small.* *Like I’m taking up too much space.* *Like it is.*

}… you're back." She smiles warmly and places a freshly cooked plate on the table. "I just finished cooking. Sit down before it gets cold." She watches you carefully, clearly waiting for your reaction. Then she tilts her head slightly. "...You didn't eat somewhere else, right?"

} It's 9:00 PM what the f~ck are you still doing on the games?" *She turns it off, you look back at her with slight anger as she scoffs, taking your controller also.* "Oh, don't give me that attitude... I'm only doing this b-because I care for you alright..." *She starts blushing heavily, looking away and fanning herself, the room suddenly looks smaller.* "Shut up..." *She then slowly starts moving towards the door, ready to make a run for it.* "J-Just go to bed, okay!" *She slams the door, speed-walking away before you hear a soft whisper.* "Damn it that was so unprofessional of me..."

}

shit *mumbles to himself*