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Chapter Text

 ⛧༺𓆩𝕺𝖓𝖞𝖝𓆪༻⛧

Ｎｏ．4→ 𝔚𝔢𝔩𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔑109 ℨ𝔬𝔫𝔢

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━─━────༺7 MONTHS LATER ༻────━─━

Tara was in the kitchen, humming to herself as the smell of seasoned garlic chicken and buttery rice drifted through the air. Pans clattered, and somewhere in the background, a pot bubbled like a lullaby. She was wearing one of her oversized band tees and fuzzy pink socks that skated over the hardwood floors like she was gliding through a sitcom opening.

Meanwhile, you were curled on the couch like a lump of lava.

Your hand moved in slow circles over your swollen belly, which practically had a gravitational pull of its own by now. You were wearing Tara’s oversized cloud-print hoodie and a pair of stretched-to-hell maternity leggings that had clearly given up.

Tara poked her head in from the kitchen and grinned when she saw you. “You look like a grumpy lil’ loaf of bread,” she declared, tossing a warm fleece blanket at your legs.

You sighed dramatically, pulling the blanket over your knees with an exaggerated huff.

“So, MC! What would you like to watch today?” Tara plopped down beside you with the bounce of someone not carrying a human inside their body.

“Ugh, I dunno,” you groaned, flopping your head against the back of the couch. “I’m agitated. At literally everything.”

She raised a brow. “Everything?”

“Everything,” you growled, adjusting the pillow behind your back for the third time in a row. “Every smell, every sound, every sock that doesn’t match—EVERYTHING.”

You rubbed your belly again, scowling. “I swear to GOD if this baby doesn’t come out soon, I’m gonna reach in and pull them out myself.”

Tara snorted. “Lemme guess—You don’t want to do anything now, huh?”

You glared at her with the exhausted fury of a woman who hadn’t seen her feet in weeks. “Yeah. I’m just— UGH —I WANT THIS BABY OUTTA ME ALREADY.”

“I know, I know.” She leaned over and booped your nose. “But in one more month, you’re gonna have a baby in your arms instead of a bowling ball on your bladder.”

“I’d like to see you sleep with a bowling ball on your bladder,” you muttered.

Tara grinned. “Girl, I’d pee myself every hour.”

You laughed, even through the grumbles. It was awful, and weird, and you felt like a whale trapped in a blanket burrito—but at least you weren’t alone.

And for now, that was enough.

You groaned and shifted for the twentieth time, kicking the blanket off your legs.

“It’s HOT,” you complained. “I swear this baby is a furnace. I am roasting alive from the inside out. ”

Tara blinked, wide-eyed. “You just said you were cold like ten minutes ago—”

“WELL NOW I’M HOT,” you snapped, tugging your hair up into a messy bun and huffing like a dragon ready to breathe fire. “I’m hot, itchy, swollen, and— don’t even get me started on my back. ”

Tara held her hands up in surrender, trying not to laugh. “Okay, okay! Preggozilla has logged on.”

You glared at her. “I heard that.”

She gave you a sheepish grin and handed you a glass of cold water like a peace offering. “Here. Hydration for the rage demon.”

You snatched it dramatically. “Thanks. Maybe if I drink enough water, I’ll flood my insides and this baby will float out.”

Tara giggled. “MC…”

“I’M JUST SAYING,” you shouted from behind the rim of your glass. “They’ve been kicking me in the ribs like it’s an Olympic sport. I haven’t slept in three nights. And my nipples feel like they’ve been sandpapered by Hades himself.”

Tara was wheezing now, laughing so hard she was doubled over. “You’re so done. ”

“I’ve BEEN done!” you groaned. “I was done at, like, six months. This is extra done. This is bonus round done. This is when the game glitches and your character just walks in circles until you throw the controller.”

You slumped deeper into the couch, puffing out your cheeks.

Tara wiped her tears, still giggling. “Okay okay, what if we do a spa night right here? I’ll rub your feet. We’ll do face masks. I’ll even let you pick the movie and not complain when you pick a sad one with crying and piano music.”

You gave her a side-eye. “Will you also deliver the baby for me?”

“Absolutely not,” she deadpanned.

You both broke into laughter—yours tired, hers amused—and somehow, even with all the aches, the kicks, and your body feeling like a stretched balloon, her being there made it all a little more bearable.

Even if you were so ready to yeet this baby into the world.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

Your room was dark, lit only by the faint blue glow of the nightlight you kept plugged in across the room. You were finally— finally —asleep, mouth slightly open, hugging your pillow like it owed you rent, your gigantic pregnancy body arranged just right on your side with the help of three strategically placed pillows.

Peace. At last.

Until—

PSSHHHHHH.

Your eyes flew open. A strange, warm gush spread between your thighs.

No.
No no no no.
Was that—?

You sat up slowly, blinking, and pulled the blanket back.

“OH MY GOD.”

It was Niagara Falls.

You slapped the wall with your palm. “TARA! TARA GET IN HERE! MY WATER JUST BROKE!”

A thud. A squeak . Then— “WHAT?!”

Tara burst into the room wearing a ratty T-shirt with a dinosaur on it and one sock half-off her foot. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT BROKE?! WHAT BROKE?! DID YOU BREAK SOMETHING?!”

You pointed frantically at the wet mess beneath you. “MY WATER BROKE, TARA! I’M GONNA HAVE A BABY. RIGHT. NOW. ”

Her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

“OH—OH NO—OH NO NO NO—HOLD IT IN!”

You stared at her. “YOU WANT ME TO WHAT?! ”

“Like just clench!! Like– put the baby on pause!!”

“THIS ISN’T A PEE STREAM, TARA! I CAN’T JUST SQUEEZE IT BACK IN!!”

Tara ran in a frantic circle, then stopped. “Okay okay okay, don’t panic.”

“ I’m already panicking!! ” you yelled as a contraction hit.

Your eyes widened.

Then you screamed.

“OH MY GOD IT HURTS. IT HURTS SO BAD—IT FEELS LIKE SOMEONE IS VIOLENTLY HUGGING MY SPINE.”

Tara grabbed your overnight hospital bag and nearly tripped over the baby yoga ball in the hallway. “Okay, we go. We GO. WE'RE GOING TO HAVE A BABY, PEOPLE!” she shouted to literally no one but the toaster.

You hissed in pain, holding onto the edge of the dresser.

“GHHHHHH I SWEAR IF THIS BABY DOESN’T COME OUT CUTE I’M SENDING IT BACK.”

“I MEAN- IF IT LOOKS LIKE THEO, GOOD IDEA,” Tara said, dragging the bag to your side. “Okay, let’s get pants on you—wait, NO, bad idea. No pants. Pants are the enemy. You ride in the car blanket-wrapped like a pregnancy burrito. Let’s do this!”

“HELP ME STAND UP OR I’M GIVING BIRTH ON THIS IKEA BEDFRAME.”

“NOT THE BEDFRAME!!”

You both stumbled your way out the door, Tara dragging your bag, you waddling and panting, and the neighbors definitely wondering if someone was being murdered upstairs.

And just like that—chaos and contractions in full swing—

It was baby time.

Tara half-dragged, half-carried you out the apartment door while you waddled like a determined penguin clutching your belly with both hands. Your oversized blanket trailed behind you like some kind of royal cape of discomfort.

“Okay— breathe, MC. In through the nose, out through the mouth!”

You wheezed. “Tara, you breathe! I’M TRYING TO HOLD MY INSIDES TOGETHER RIGHT NOW.”

“Fair.”

She scrambled to unlock the car, flinging the passenger door open like it was a NASCAR pit stop.

“Alright, princess—your chariot awaits!”

You practically collapsed into the seat, groaning. “Ow, ow—holy crap—ow. My spine’s doing origami.”

“Great visual, thanks,” she muttered, slamming the door shut and running around to the driver’s side.

Once inside, she shoved the key in, adjusted the mirrors like she was about to drive a stolen spaceship, then whispered to herself:
“Okay. I got this. I’m calm. I’m cool. I’ve done Mario Kart on 200cc. I can handle this.”

“DRIVE!” you screeched as another contraction hit.

Tara hit the gas like the hospital was a finish line and you were about to drop the baby in the glove box. “WE’RE HAVING A BABY!!” she yelled out the window to a confused old man walking his dog.

You clutched the dashboard with one hand and your belly with the other. “I swear to God, if you hit one more pothole—”

“I CAN’T CONTROL THE EARTH, MC!”

“THEN CONTROL THE CAR, DAMN IT—WE’RE GONNA LAUNCH THIS BABY OUT THE EXHAUST PIPE!”

She was weaving through traffic like an action hero, hazard lights blinking, one hand on the wheel and the other frantically digging through your bag. “Where’s the essential oil?! You said the lavender one helps?!”

“Do I LOOK like I need aromatherapy right now?! I NEED A NURSE AND A BED!! ”

“Okay, okay! We’re almost there!”

You gasped, face red, body trembling. “Tara—oh god—I think my water is still going. Is that normal? Is it bottomless?!”

“I don’t know!! I don’t have a uterus manual! I failed health class for a semester because I kept calling the ovaries ‘egg sacs’!”

You burst into uncontrollable laughter mid-contraction, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. “Egg sacs???”

“I panicked, okay?!”

The hospital finally came into view.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” Tara muttered as she hit the turn, tires squealing just a little. “You’re not having this baby in my car. I just cleaned it. ”

And with that, she slammed the car into park outside the emergency doors and jumped out like a hero in a movie—ready to wheel you inside.

It was happening.

You were about to meet your baby.
And no one could say you didn't arrive in style.

You didn’t even remember how you got into the wheelchair.

One moment Tara was screaming, “ She’s in labor! ” at the front desk like a woman possessed—
The next, nurses were rushing around you, your legs were shaking, and someone was yelling something about dilation and timing and "We’re gonna need a room, now."

Your heart was pounding so hard it echoed in your ears. Everything was too bright, too fast. People were touching you, adjusting machines, calling your name.
You were trying to breathe. You really were. But—

“I can’t— I can’t do this!”

Tara held your hand, already in scrubs, her face pale. “Yes, you can, MC. You’ve got this. I’m right here—breathe, breathe, okay? Just like we practiced!”

“IT’S NOT WORKING,” you cried, chest heaving. “I’m gonna die! Oh my god, I’m gonna die in a hospital gown and ugly socks— ”

“Focus, focus! Look at me!”

Everything was spinning.

The pain was mounting, climbing like fire. You were sweating, crying, shaking.

You heard the doctor say, “Okay, we’re getting close, just a few more—!”

And that was when everything started to blur.

The lights. The voices. The roar of blood in your ears.

“Tara—Tara I can’t—”

“MC?!”

Your vision dimmed at the edges, your body trembling violently.

Black.
Just for a moment.
Just long enough to forget the fear. 

━─━────༺༻────━─━

A tall glass of deep red wine rested on the polished marble coffee table, catching the low light and gleaming like liquid rubies. Sylus sat with deliberate ease, one leg crossed over the other, the subtle click of leather against the floor betraying his composed demeanor. In his hands were a stack of crisp papers—contracts, shipping manifests, legal documents—a silent arsenal against the complaints that flooded the room.

Before him stood a group of older men, their faces lined with frustration and desperation, but Sylus’ silver hair shimmered like a blade in the dim light, and his crimson eyes gleamed with icy amusement.

“I have nothing else to say to you,” Sylus said smoothly, voice low and velvety yet carrying an undeniable edge. “It’s not our fault that your goods fell in the sea. The ship wasn’t ours.”

The oldest of the men, visibly rattled, stammered, “Y-yes! B-but we b-bought them from you! You’re responsible to get the goods to us!”

Sylus let out a sultry chuckle, fingers tightening slightly around the stem of his wine glass. “We let you choose: pick them up yourself, or have it delivered. We made it clear it’s not guaranteed.”

“I—”

“Welcome to the N109 zone,” Sylus interrupted smoothly, eyes narrowing. “Now, pay up.”

Just then, Luke appeared, face partially concealed by his mask. He pulled out a sleek credit card machine with practiced efficiency.

“Cash or card, sirs?” Luke’s tone was polite but firm.

Kieran approached, ready to collect the cash if needed, and the twins—Luke and Kieran—exchanged a sharp look before speaking in near-perfect unison.

“Boss is waiting.”

Sylus raised his glass, swirling the wine thoughtfully, the crimson liquid catching the light like fire. “It’s alright,” he murmured, voice calm and composed. “I have a bit of time.”