Stitch X Novels & Stories

I answered, loosing the last button on my shirt, I was in a changing room actually. “ training!? Sorry to pry but what training is that? " I rolled my eyes. “ it's a training for the fashion competition, I'm sure you must have heard of it." I said as I put my clothes into my bag. “ you can sew!? I never knew " she exclaimed, I'm pretty sure it was fake. Walking past her, I turned “ well now you do" I answered. I stopped when I saw the bracelets on her hands. “ isn't that for Terrance " I said aloud. Stacy looked startled and then checked her wrists, I saw her blush.

"Hold still, little bird." The metal shears are cold against my skin. I press my back into the corner, the concrete biting into my spine. I can't breathe. I can't blink. I can only stare at the rusted blades hovering inches from my chest. The man—Stitch—smiles beneath his leather mask. His eyes are dead things, devoid of light. He closes the blades. SNIP. The fabric of my shirt tears. A long, vertical slit right down the center.

His dedication to being by my side, even in his own state of disarray, touched my heart. Turning my attention to the other side of the room, I spotted Stitch resting on a memory foam bed. His injured leg, the result of the attack, was bandaged and raised. He appeared peaceful, and I felt a surge of relief that he was on the path to recovery. Summoning all the strength I could muster, I attempted to sit up, only to be met with searing pain that made me gasp and wince. It was then that I realized the extent of my injuries.

Zay's POV "So you just do a regular knot at the end? There isn't some kind of special knot that has to be done?" I giggled at Celeste’s question. Xavier didn't want her to worry with helping with all of his work but he also didn't want her to be bored. Celeste didn't want to be away from Xavier though so she decided to help me. I was currently teaching her how to stitch up a wound and I have to say that she is a natural.

His expression shifted stoic, and I sensed that my attempt had not produced the desired effect. His sudden move caught me off guard. He grabbed my neck, pinning me to the couch. My heart raced, and with a tight grip on my neck, I managed to utter. "What are you doing?" The air in the room grew tense. “Isn't this what you wanted?” Using his left hand he ripped my inner gown. Making me feel vulnerable and scared. "Stop, please," I pleaded, tears streaming down my face. His grip on my neck tightened, and as he released me, I began to cough, desperately catching my breath.

He didn’t flinch away from her touch. You will need stitches, the doctor said quietly. Xavier exhaled. Do it here. The doctor hesitated. Xavier, stitches should really— Do it here, Xavier repeated, a shade more firmly. Cynthia swallowed hard, watching the doctor prepare the tools. Her heart tightened at the thought of him being in pain again. She caught Xavier’s good hand with hers, squeezing softly. His eyes found hers instantly, and some of the tension in his expression eased. The stitching was slow, meticulous. Xavier didn’t complain once, though his muscles tensed with each pull of the needle. Cynthia kept her gaze fixed on him, offering silent reassurance, the weight of the night still

“But before that, I was crazy. If it weren’t for Darius helping me focus on jewelry making… I couldn’t… I couldn’t live without sex anymore.” Anton hesitated for a while. Unsure what to say next. “And where is Darius?” She smirked. “Probably traveling around the world, who knows?” She shrugged. “He suddenly told me I should move to the US and manage a small store of my own.” “And the name, Maiden’s Rose Jewelry?” “I made that name for myself, so?” She gave him a judging glare as she crossed her arms. “Ah, no, that’s cool, actually!” He made a mental note to himself not to address her store as too “feminine” despite her appearance.

I looked away, feeling a cotton bud sweep across the gash on my palm. "The stitches have come apart, Sir. You need to see a doctor." Stacy said. Tbc…

The girl, too, had come to love him as her father and would bring him her favourite stuffed toy, a worn-out rabbit stitched because she refused any other, and stitched enough times to have acquired its own name—Stitch. She would place it in his lap as a subtle sign of trust, and he would, without even realizing it, stop whatever he was doing to play with her. She was a part of him, an echo of his own essence, and the more he saw of himself in her, the more he was drawn in even when he did not mean to.

Everyone said my wife, Zoey Harper, was an amazing wife and mom who'd do anything for me and our son, Leo. Leo's doctor warned us three times that he might not make it. Then he died. Zoey claimed she was overseas for work. She wasn't. She'd invited Peter Cole—the first love she'd never gotten over—and his family to our apartment for dinner. I came home carrying Leo's urn, ready to confront her. Instead, she tossed my luggage into the hall. "We have guests, and we're out of rooms. Go stay somewhere else for a few days."