#AHHHH I NEED TO PET HIM

[killuaisaprincess]

🐈‍⬛🩷🎀🐈‍⬛🩷🎀🐈‍⬛

[alastor-simp]

Alastor x Reader - Sleeping On His Lap

Here is my attempt at a Alastor x reader fanfiction. Took me awhile to kinda get into his character so please don't be mad if Alastor seems a bit off. Enjoy!

Sigh, it was another eventful day at the Happy Hotel, or Hazbin Hotel as it was now called as a certain deer demon decided to change the name. You had spent all day doing certain tasks around the hotel such as helping Charlie create posters for the hotel, clean the rooms with Nifty, break up the brawl between Vaggie and Angel Dust as he had pissed her off one too many times and organize the bar for Husk as he was passed out drunk. You could have refused to do these things, but you enjoyed helping people, so it made it all worth it.

You had started working at the hotel after you had saw Charlie singing on the 666 news about the hotel and redeeming demons, only for her idea to be made a laughing stock upon everyone who watched the broadcast. You actually had mixed feelings about the whole redeeming thing, seeing as you weren't sure if someone like you could be sent to heaven, despite not being a very big criminal during your time when you were alive, but apparently doing a little shoplifting is enough to send you a one way ticket to hell. Charlie's words did inspire you a little bit, so even if you felt that you couldn't be redeemed, others probably had a better chance, so you decided to head to the hotel and ask for a job after the broadcast was cut off from the brawl with Charlie and Katie Killjoy. You were hired in a split second and immediately pulled into a bear hug by Charlie, and then introduced you to the others.

Back to the present, you began to feel extremely exhausted from moving around everywhere, so you headed over to one of the rooms with the long couches so you could take a rest. Heading into one of the rooms, you peeped around and saw that no one was there, which made it better as you really needed some peace and quiet. Heaving a deep sigh, you sat down on the couch, turning and falling back, as you laid your body down, with your head facing the front of the couch. "What a long day", thinking to yourself as your eyes slowly began to close and you were lulled into a deep sleep.

**2 Hours Later**

As you were sleeping, you felt the sensation of someone petting your head, the soothing feeling had awoken you a bit, but you quickly fell back asleep at the warm touch. You could feel that you were holding something in your dreams, and you assumed it was one of the pillows on the couch, so you brought it closer to your face and nuzzled it. "Mm, smells nice ", as the scent from the pillow was making you more relaxed, as it reminded you of a being in the middle of a deep forest. After sleeping for 30 more minutes, you slowly began to open your eyes, and try to make out what was in front of you. Expecting to see a pillow, you saw red stripes in front of you, "Huh?" As you were still trying to make out what was in front of you, a loud voice interrupted your thoughts: "Ah, awake now are we?", said a static voice above you. Eyes opening wide, you looked up from your position and saw Alastor staring down at you with his trademark smile. Slowly, you began to piece together that you were laying on his lap, and nuzzled into his chest as you were sleeping. "AHHHH", jumping up from your position, you rolled off his lap, and your body fell to the ground as you stared at Alastor in shock, as he continued to look at you with his glowing eyes, amused at your reaction. "Um, h-how long was I sleeping on your lap?", you softly asked, as your face was red, but your eyes were showing fear, as you remembered that Alastor did not like to be touch, and you happened to hug him in your sleep. "HAHA, For quite a while, darling. It was a very busy day, I assume?", Alastor said as he placed his arm on the armrest of the couch, and his hand against his cheek, smiling even wider.

Nodding your head, you slowly got up from your position, and started apologizing to Alastor, eyes aiming towards the ground and fingers twiddling together. Alastor raised an eyebrow and wondered why you were apologizing, to which you answered that you had hugged him in your sleep, and that he made it very aware that he did not enjoy physical contact from someone unless he initiated it, feeling extremely bad if you made him uncomfortable. Listening to you, Alastor's smile relaxed to a small grin as he looked at you with gentle eyes. He did admit that he was not use to being touch by others, and was quite surprised from the sleep hug, but he didn't detest it as much coming from you, which boggled his mind completely. It must be due to your kind and innocent nature that made him react different around you, as he was used to more of the common riff raff being terrified of him or trying to battle in a turf war, but how you were with him, made his black heart melt.

Feeling that Alastor was upset as he didn't respond to your apology, you quickly excused yourself and began to head over to the door to leave. A loud SNAP was heard and before you knew it, you had been teleported back on to the couch, this time being seated on Alastors lap. "A-Al, what are you doing?!", your face began to become as red as his hair, while your eyes stared at Alastor in shock. Smiling at you, Alastor moved his hand to your chin and tilted your face up: "There is no need to apologize, darling. If I had been upset about you hugging me, you possibly w̩͉͍̱̍̂̉̊o̫̼̐̎̋͜u͚͌l̳̓d̠͉̗͋̔͞'̼̳̣̼͊̏̾̾t͜͝ ͕̱͐͠ḇ̅e̙͗ ͍͓͔̱͍͛̔͌͘͞a̝̜̘̎́͒ḽ͒í̱̙̈́v̧̌e̠͠ ̢̹̜́́̈̀ͅr̲͇̳̅̽͌i̩͈̒̅ĝ̲̦̎ẖ̛̳̲͙̀͌̽͘ͅt͉̅ ͖̞͍̞́̋͛͛ň͚̫̦́͂̿͟o̱͌w̡̕" he said, as his eyes flashed for a second into radio dials. "However! I am not opposed to be touched by you. So no need to apologize, my dear.", Alastor said as he continued to smile at you widely, but his glowing eyes were looking at you softly, letting you know that he was not angry with you. Feeling shy, you turned your head away from Alastor, muttering a soft okay, as your heart was beating rapidly. "Smile my dear!" Alastor said as he moved his hand from your chin to your cheek, to have you look at him again. Baring through the embarrassing situation, you gave Al a small smile, which pleased him. "You always over do it, darling. While Charlie and I appreciate your efforts at helping the hotel, it does no good to work yourself to the point of fatigue. If you are ever feeling exhausted and need a break, don't be hesitant to come find me, as my radio tower is open to you. Understand, my dear?" said Alastor, as he leaned closer towards you, making you flustered again.

Nodding your head was enough to let Alastor knew you understood as he chuckled, while sliding you off his lap, and as he stood up from the couch. "Now then, we should probably head back to the lobby before the others get worried about our lack of presence.", He said, as he straighten his coat out, while turning towards you, extending his hand out for you to take it. "Yeah we should", as you grabbed his hand, and made your way with him back to the lobby. You were still trying to process what just happened between you and Alastor, but you feel like you both have become much closer then before, and you didn't mind it one bit.

[xazse]

Ahhhh I loved your reader hybrid works, literal chefs kiss 😩🤌 can you pls pls pls do a bunny! Reader x Suguru and Satoru

You can’t!

Synopsis: Poor Bunnygirl and puppyboySatoru are experiencing the worst heats ever, good thing their owner Suguru is there to take care of them.

Notes: Hi I decided to bring in our Puppy!BoySatoru if you don’t like it just let me know and I’ll revise this entire thing for you!!

Pairings: Puppy!HybridSatoru x Bunny!GirlReader x Suguru

Warnings: Hybrid!Reader + smut + humping + Hybrid!Satoru + drooling + licking + penetration + lots of cum very nasty + Suguru is a good owner + collars

Suguru is exhausted when he read online that getting a hybrid would take a lot of work they weren’t lying especially Bunnygirls and Puppy!Boys.

He thought he would be ready and prepared, it should be a walk in the park! Of course bumps and falls would occur but with someone as patient as Suguru everything will turn out fine.

A year in everything was so fucking perfect, You and Satoru listened so well he really lucked out with the two of you. Most people would complain on online forums that handling was the hardest thing.

The issues started arising when you and Satoru started getting needy, you were kinda independent before but now you both are always on or under Suguru, you both felt the need to always have your hands on him, roaming his body and even touching each other. More issues started to come when it felt like you and him were so feverish and always sore.

A quick google search brought Suguru to the page of hybrid heats. It happens often and can be unpredictable, it’s slapped in his face and he isn’t sure what to do

“Please-Suguru hurts so bad..”

He surely wasn’t expecting to walk into the scene he’s seeing right now, Satoru laid on his back with you atop him, tears are brimming in both your lashes it looks like you two have been crying and whining for the longest time.

You’re in nothing but panties and a thin tank top with him sporting just his underwear. Satoru’s cock is fully hard pressed agains’t your cunt so snugly and he’s already made a mess: his cum seeping through.

It looks like this is what you two have been doing for all this time, just grinding against each other. He feels terrible, he hadn’t taken the time to fully explain what would be happening to your bodies.

He makes his way over to his dumb pets and you both follow so obediently, leaving each others arms to fully envelope in his. Satoru starts licking and sucking on his neck, he isn’t shy to rub his cock so blatantly, smearing his thick load even more.

He needs to teach his hybrids how to pleasure themselves whilst he isn’t here, he stops Satoru from his suckling. He gently has you lay down admiring just how cute you look, your ears are standing at full attention but your hazy eyes aren’t all there.

He pulls off your sticky panties, a clear line of your cum visible when they’re discarded.

He’s met with an even messier sight when admiring your pussy, your folds are glistening as well as his fingers when he teases your little clit.

Suguru positions Satoru in front of your spread legs, he isn’t sure what to do with himself besides following Suguru’s every direction.

Suguru dips his fingers in your cunt again, guiding them to Satoru’s mouth he has him suck them clean.

Satoru absolutely loves the taste of you, he groans so lewdly as he’s lapping up what’s left of your essence.

When he finishes that up Suguru grabs Satoru’s leaky cock with a rough grip and taps it a few times on your soddened clit, this elicits a few moans out of the both of you. It feels so good already, and yet Suguru can’t wait to show you both just how good cumming feels.

He guides Satoru’s hips pushing his sensitive pink tip past your tight entrance.

“Ahh..ngh…”

The whimpering starts, poor puppy Satoru’s brain can’t comprehend this feeling, he knows the pleasure part of his brain is needing more but his body wants to pull away at the same time, he’s scared at how wet and hot it feels. He isn’t telling Suguru to stop so he continues.

His bunny isn’t fairing any better, you’re gripping the pillows for dear life as a fat cock, something foreign pushes inside of you for the first time.

Suguru sets a slow nice pace, hands still on Satoru’s hips guiding him inside of your wet cavern and out again and again. He’s doing all the work but he doesn’t mind one bit.

Suguru pauses working Gojo into you and lets him feel you, for real this time. Your walls are twitching and clamping down on him so hard.

He slides down into the crook of your neck and cries right there, it’s such a sad sight but so arousing at the same time.

“Cmon Toru, gotta make bunny feel good too.”

Satoru listens and begins licking your sensitive neck, he knows that’s a weak spot of yours, always triggering it when he’s roughhousing with you. His hips begin speeding up, the wet sounds of your cum mixing together and being slammed against one another is loud and bounces off the walls.

You cry out loud letting Suguru know that you feel weird, your tummy feels weird and it’s hurting. He reassures you and says to just let it go.

Suguru teases and grabs Satoru’s balls, head diving into his first load of the afternoon, it’s a good bit of cum he produces, Suguru is going to spend a good hour cleaning the both of you up!

[autumnmatt]

𝘨𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺.

summary: matt is playing fornite with his two brothers and he gets to loud when he keeps losing, causing his girlfriend to wake up from her slumber.

classification: fluff

warnings: kissing, pet names, suggestive language, use of y/n

it was about 3 in the morning and you were fast asleep in yours and matts bed, snuggled up in a blanket with matts stuffed pug mr. wrinkleton tucked under your arm.

matt on the other hand was in the middle of a very intense fornite match with his brothers nick and chris. there were about 10 people left in that match and your boyfriend was very determined to win.

all was going good during the game play until him and his brothers came across this very sweaty team. “on me on me!! these kids are good I need backup quickkk” matt yelled to nick and chris through his headset.

he then faced one of the opposing teammates but of course he lost the battle between them and got knocked. “FUCKKKKK” he screamed out of frustration. nick also got killed a little while after matt did by the same person.

y/n wasn’t that much of a heavy sleeper so when he started to yell out, she shifted in bed a little opening up her eyes to see what the yelling was coming from.

she looked up and saw the bright screen in front of her with fornite being played along with her boyfriend sitting in his gaming chair banging on the desk from just getting killed. she puts the blanket over her head and closes her eyes in an attempt to fall back asleep.

“CHRIS DUDE YOURE SO BAD THOSE KIDS WERE ASS” matt yells, slamming his controller on the desk making a very loud sound that could be heard throughout the room.

y/n tossed and turned once more slowly losing the battle of getting back to sleep. so she got up, yanked the covers off of her body, and started sleepily walking over towards matt, dragging her feet with every step she took.

once she made it over to the chair where he sat she stood there, waiting for matt to realize she was standing here. and once he did he could see the pout forming on her lips, instantly feeling guilt for being so loud so late at night.

“oh baby I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” he frowned, muting his mic and taking his headset off then holding his arms out to her and patting his lap, inviting her to come sit down.

she straddled him and rested her head on his shoulder, enjoying the comfort of his warm body and taking in his familiar scent, the scent she loved most.

“go back to sleep baby, I promise I’ll keep it down”. he said and kissed the top of her head, wrapping his arms around her so that he could still have access to the controller also slowly rubbing up and down on her lower back.

“come to bed with me.” she groaned into his shoulder. she was already strarting to fall back asleep.

“of course I will baby.” he smiled taking his hands off the controller putting the headset on one last time to tells his brothers his was going to sleep. he shut of his computer, put his headset and controller up and gently picked her up to bring to the bed.

you wrapped your arms around his neck to prevent yourself from falling out of his arms. your face now buried into his chest.

he set you down on your side of the bed before walking over to his pulling the blanket over the both of you and situating the pillows so they were at a comfortable position under your heads.

you faced him for a few seconds to say your goodnights. you kissed his lips lazily before speaking. “goodnight I love you.” you spoke up, resting your head onto his chest and wrapping your arms around him.

“goodnight I love you too baby”. he said before wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him. he kissed your forehead before you slowly drifted off to sleep in each others arms.

a/n: AHHHH I think this is so cute. my 2nd story on here, thank you so much for the love on my first story and definitely send me some requests. hope you enjoyed this fic, love you all!!!

taglist: @stayingstromboli @conspiracy-ash

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[cosmicporos]

What would Arcane characters call their partner? What pet/nicknames would they use?

AHHHH THIS IS SO CUTE! Thank you anon :3

Synopsis: A lot of little cut scenarios where arcane characters call you by cute pet names!

Characters: Sevika, Vander, Silco, Caitlyn, Ekko, Viktor

((awkward Ekko x reader, Teasing Viktor x reader (he calls you an airhead…))

Warning: Angst for Silco, called you “Pet” but ends with comfort!

Not proofread

Sevika

Nicknames for you: Darling, Dear, Sweet thing, Babe, Dove.

Okay maybe I’m over sentimental but imagine her calling you Dove because you bring her so much peace in life. So you’re quite literally her little peace dove.

Sevika leaned against the bar, her mechanical arm resting on the counter as she watched you move around the room. It wasn't anything special-just you tidying up after a long day-but to her, it was everything. "You know," she started, her voice low and gravelly, "you've got this way of makin' the world feel... quieter."

You paused, glancing at her with a small smile. "Yeah? That a good thing?"

She smirked, pushing off the bar to walk toward you. "It's a damn miracle, is what it is. You don't know what it's like Dove… how loud it gets up here." She tapped her temple with a finger, her gaze softening. "But then you show up, and it's like everything just... stops."

Your cheeks warmed at the sincerity in her voice, but you kept your focus on folding a stray cloth. "I didn't think I was doing anything special."

Sevika snorted, stepping closer. "That's the thing. You don't even try, and still... you're it for me. My peace. My little Dove."

Vander

Nicknames for you: Peach, Love, Sweet Pea, Darling, Sunshine, Lass/Lad.

The Last Drop was unusually quiet. The usual clatter of mugs and background chatter of conversation was replaced by the occasional cough or sniffle from the makeshift beds spread around the common room. Powder, Mylo, Claggor, and Vi lay bundled in blankets, their fevered faces flushed as they sipped the herbal tea Vander had brewed.

"Peach," Vander called softly, his deep voice cutting through the stillness as he approached you. You were perched on a low stool, dabbing a cool cloth against Powder's forehead. He knelt beside you, resting his broad hand on your shoulder. "You've been fussin' over them all day. Why don't you take a break, huh? Let me handle things for a while."

"I'm fine," you said, though your hands trembled slightly as you wrung out the cloth."They need us."

He tilted his head, giving you that steady, knowing look of his. "And I need you to take care of yourself, Peach. You're no good to anyone if you run yourself into the ground."

Powder stirred, her small hand reaching out to grab yours. "Don't go," she mumbled, her voice weak.

You smoothed her hair back, glancing at Vander. "See? They need me."

Vander sighed, his lips twitching into a faint smile despite himself. "Stubborn as ever," he muttered. "Alright, Peach. We'll do this together, then."

Silco

Nicknames for you: Darling, Precious, lovely, Pet, Beloved.

After Jinx’s fiasco over at Topside it was obvious Silco was more than simply stressed.

In fact tension in the room was palpable, suffocating as it weighed down on your chest. Silco's piercing gaze bore into you, his lips pressed into a thin line. You'd overstepped-at least, in his mind-and now his sharp tongue was letting you know it.

"Stay out of matters you don't understand, pet," he snapped, the word cutting and cold as it left his mouth.

You flinched, the sting of his words settling deep. Your jaw clenched, and you refused to meet his gaze, instead focusing on the cracked edge of the table.

“I was—I was only thinking about Jinx.” You gulped down the bile that burned in your throat. “Temporary keeping her from missions is keeping her safe.” You spoke finally looking up at him with your wet pathetic eyes.

The silence that followed was deafening. Silco's breath hitched as he realized what he'd said, the regret settling in almost immediately. His tone had been cruel, and the look on your face drove a pang of guilt through his chest.

“I apologize…” he said softly, his voice no longer harsh. "That was... uncalled for." He spoke as he stood up, fixing his cuffs as he walks over towards you.

Silco stepped closer until he was within arm's reach. "I shouldn't have said that. You didn't deserve it," he murmured, his voice low and steady. “You mean too much to me for me to speak to you that way."

When you still didn't respond, he hesitated for a moment before tilting your chin up with his gloved fingers, forcing your eyes to meet his mismatched ones.

"Forgive me," he whispered, his tone sincere. "You are not my pet. You are my beloved. The only one who stands beside me, who understands me."

Caitlyn

Nicknames for you: Petal, Cheeky one, Muffin, Trouble, Dearest.

Flour completely dusted the countertop and your face as you tried to knead the dough. Caitlyn stood across from you, her sleeves rolled up, an amused smile playing on her lips.

"Petal," she said, tilting her head, "you're supposed to knead it, not wrestle it."

You huffed, brushing flour from your cheek. “It's sticking to my hands! I’m not sure how else I’m supposed to tackle this.”

Caitlyn chuckled and walked over, gently taking your hands in hers. "Here, let me show you." She guided your movements, her hands warm and steady.

When the dough finally started to cooperate, you couldn't resist smearing a bit of flour on her cheek. She froze, then slowly raised an eyebrow. “Trouble," she murmured, her voice teasing.

You grinned, backing away. "You love it."

Her soft laugh filled the kitchen as she grabbed a handful of flour. "Oh, I do. But you're not getting away with that."

Ekko

Nicknames for you: Firefly, Sugar, babe, baby, Cutie

You sat on a spinning chair in ekko’s workshop mindlessly spinning while watching him work. He was trying to fix a circuit board, but his focus seemed to drift in your direction. You caught him glancing at you a few times, his brow furrowed as though he was thinking of something important.

After a moment of silence, Ekko cleared his throat, his usual confidence wavering slightly. He set down his tools and looked at you with a small smile, hands shoved into his pockets. "Hey, uh... can I tell you something?" he asked, voice a little too casual.

You raised an eyebrow at his sudden and strange behavior. "Sure. What's up?"

He scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. "Well, I've been meaning to call you something... I dunno, it's just, uh, you're always so sweet, you know?" He glanced up at you briefly, cheeks turning faintly pink. “So, I was thinking... Sugar?"

There was a long, awkward pause. You blinked, processing the nickname, unsure how to respond. "Sugar?" you repeated, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Really?"

Ekko's face reddened even more. "Yeah, I mean-because, uh, you're sweet... like sugar? You know?" He shrugged, clearly flustered now. "It's not like, weird, right?"

You couldn't help it you laughed, the sound light and teasing, but not unkind. "I don't know, Ekko. It's a bit... unexpected," you said, still grinning.

His gaze shifted, suddenly looking embarrassed. "Okay, okay, I get it. That was dumb, huh? Just trying to be smooth, but I guess it's not my thing." He shifted uncomfortably.

against his arm, your smile softening. "It's cute," you said, voice warm. "But I think you can do better."

He met your eyes, a sheepish grin finally breaking through his awkwardness. "Yeah? You think so?…Well, I'll keep working on it then."

Viktor

Nicknames for you: Beautiful, Trinket, Dearest, Cheeky, Airhead, Sweetling.

You were fiddling with a complicated piece of tech, the gears and wires all tangled in a way that made your focus drift. Viktor stood beside you, watching with a raised eyebrow as you muttered to yourself.

"Careful, darling," he teased with a sly smile, his voice smooth and mature. "An airhead might break something important."

You shot him a playful glare, a little flustered. “I'm not an airhead! Besides…I'm working on it!" you said, trying to hide the embarrassment in your voice.

Viktor chuckled, reaching over and gently fixing the wires with practiced hands. His tone softened as he met your gaze. "I didn't mean it, Sweetling. You're far from an airhead. You just... get a little lost in your thoughts sometimes." He smiled warmly. “And I think it's kind of endearing."

You felt your heart warm at his change in tone, the teasing replaced by something far more tender. "Geez thanks, Viktor." You pouted and sighed out quietly.

He smiled and chuckled softly, his hand now brushing against yours. "Anything for you, Sweetling."

HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED IT<3 thanks so much for all the support on my last post :>

FEEL FREE TO LEAVE A REQUEST AND COMMENT IF YOU ENJOYED IT! (I love reading comments and any feedback!)

[lokissweater]

“i would never lie to you.”

{toge inumaki x f!reader}

summary: inumaki’s always coming home to you from missions coughing up mass amounts of blood and completely overdoing it while fighting curses with his cursed speech technique. and no matter how many times you tell him to be careful, he just doesn’t, arguing with him, giving him the cold shoulder, and completely unaware of the reason behind why he fights so hard when he’s out there— that reason being of course… because of you.

warnings: angst, fluff, cursing, toge and reader have a lil argument but it’s more the aftermath, slight sexual mention but it’s literally once and nothing LOL, no smut!, toge thinks he’s not doing enough SNIFFF, angst with comfort, toge is DEVOTED to you, aged up characters, pet names, afab!reader.

word count: 2.3k

authors note: short n sweet one!! wanted to give you guys a break from my MLA format essays i always make y’all read LMFAOOO!! this one is SHO SOFT AHHHH :] i hope this keeps you guys fed in the meantime while i write the next one! i love you and i love you all ALWAYS MWAAHH <33

————————————————————————

toge inumaki hates it when you don’t talk to him.

as if he doesn’t do that enough already, toge absolutely despises when you both get into arguments or heated discussions and you turn a cold shoulder to him— needing space to unwind and prevent yourself from lashing out even more, to let the situation simmer down.

he understands it. believe him he does— you’re upset and angry and you need time to cool off… but toge is stubborn and needy and just doesn’t care, needing you and only you, him going absolutely crazy at the silence in your shared apartment that he was starting to hear random ringing in his ear drums.

so as he sat on the couch, eyes unblinking as they stared off into the darkness of the living room as the sun had already began to set, you upstairs locked away— he wanted nothing more than to open his mouth and let his cursed speech force you to come downstairs and talk to him.

but he didn’t, though the thought was definitely tempting, as toge vowed the day that he laid eyes on you to never ever use his cursed technique on you, even if it was harmless, an oath he wanted to carry with him until his very death bed and until he was six feet under.

his ears perked up then at the quiet sounds of the upstairs room door knob twisting and clicking open, soft padded footsteps making their way down the hall and closer to where he was, feet sticking against the cold tiles of the kitchen floor.

at the sight of you with your hair a little disheveled, your eyes so red and puffy, and an arm wrapped around yourself as you rummaged through the fridge looking for fuck knows what and not sparing a single glance at him— toge felt like a fifty pound gutting weight was resting on his chest and crushing his heart.

you had both argued about something you always seemed to circle back to almost every week. but this time, you were sick and tired and fed up, seeing as toge was never going to try and understand the situation at hand through your worried eyes.

every time toge was out for a mission, you would spend your days anxiously throwing yourself over the couch or trying to keep yourself busy with random activities like baking or scrapbooking (which you deemed later meaningless), all within the sole purpose of trying to get your mind off of your boyfriend and the recklessness he always seemed to pull while on missions, regardless of how much you begged and pleaded with him to be more careful and aware of his health.

toge inumaki had such a powerful and lethal cursed technique that frightened and astonished you all at the same time, a conflicting feeling to have when he had to leave you in the middle of the night or during the early hours of the morning to run around and fight curses… but always coming home to you warm and loving and safe.

but not right now.

not when toge had literally come home this morning with not even two steps in the door and he was already on his knees, coughing up strings and loads of crimson blood, it pooling on the floor as he had used his cursed speech to the highest degree today and had you a crying mess thinking he was dying.

and he always did that. always. today was just the worst of them all, him without a fault coming home with excruciating pain in his bruised and clawed up throat, the cough syrup medicine he usually downed like water having absolutely no effect anymore as you scrambled around every time trying to find a solution, toge brushing off your distressed and frightened rambling as if his health wasn’t a big deal, and as if how much it affected you wasn’t a big deal either.

upon you closing the fridge, toge slowly stood from the couch and carefully walked over to you, his throat still in pieces but his mind lurching and guilty over how upset you were at him.

he slowly raised a gentle hand and placed it on your shoulder, you shaking your head somberly in response— your back to him.

“i don’t wanna talk right now toge i’m sorry…” you mumbled, rubbing over your tired sore eyes.

he squeezed your shoulder, insisting.

but you only shook your head again.

toge huffed and placed both hands on your shoulders this time, physically turning you around to face him— his eyes soft and his eyebrows pinched together in pure concern for you.

you peeked up reluctantly, but the sight of his face and the events from earlier flashing through your mind only made your bottom lip wobble and the bottom of your palms shoot up to dig into your eyes, more stinging tears flooding in and slipping through the corners of your closed lids.

his heart fucking broke.

“why don’t you care toge?” you hiccuped. “i worry myself sick every time you leave for a mission and— and that’s fine because it’s what you do but you never take care of yourself!”

he gently pried your shaking hands away from your eyes and wiped your tears softly with his thumbs, caressing your cheeks after— wishing so badly, more than anything in this fucking world, to just be able to speak to you like a normal human being instead of resorting to words scrambled on a piece of paper or text messages on a screen.

he gently placed a little timid peck to your nose before releasing your face and fumbling around in his pockets for his phone, tapping it awake once he retrieved it and opening his notes app to write out a sentence.

he flipped and faced the screen towards you, the brightness making you squint a bit.

“i do care i swear. i just always forget when i’m in the middle of it and i’m sorry baby.”

“so you keep forgetting after what feels like the fifteenth time i’ve told you?” you wiped more tears from your cheeks. “how— how do you think it makes me feel when you come home and you’re coughing up blood all over your clothes and the furniture huh? all over me?”

he sighed softly through his nose and went to type again, but you continued.

“i get scared toge that one day you’ll push yourself way too far and then you just won’t come home. you scare me when you cough up so much blood like that!—”

toge tugged you in then with his unoccupied hand and wrapped his arms around you, pushing your head in and stuffing your face against his chest— the scent of his freshly washed t-shirt filling your nose as you cried softly.

fuck he felt like such a douche.

he typed for a moment behind your head, a pit in his stomach that only grew in size the longer he heard your little sniffles.

toge pulled back a bit, his arms still keeping you in place but just enough so that he could lower his phone and show you his message.

“please please don’t cry. i’m really sorry okay i really am and honest to god this won’t happen again.”

you nodded meekly and he flipped his phone back, quickly typing again and showing you once he finished.

“i feel like you think i don’t care but that’s not true at all. part of the reason why i try so hard when i work is because the more curses i fuck up the safer you’ll be when you’re out there without me.”

you laughed a bit at his wording, and he beamed at that, typing.

“i love you pretty girl. and im sorry i always get blood everywhere.”

“oh i don’t care about the mess baby, i care about youu,” you whined lightly and wrapped your arms around his torso, pulling him in tight.

“and i love you too, a lot… like an embarrassing amount that strips away my dignity.”

he chuckled boyishly and pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, his body stuttering slightly as a single thought grazed his mind— the same thought that’s been in the crevices of his brain since he asked you to be his.

you felt his tension and pulled back.

“what?”

toge bit the inside of his cheek and looked down at you, his weight shifting as he contemplated telling you something he didn’t want to burden or upset you with, the pad of his thumb softly rubbing over your chubby cheek.

you quirked an eyebrow. “what? are you cheating on me?”

he burst out laughing and shook his head, kissing your forehead before dropping his hand from your cheek and pulling out his phone again.

he typed for a minute then showed you.

“me not being able to speak to you like a normal boyfriend should or respond to you whenever makes me freaking useless. so i push myself out there to keep you safe because that’s literally the least i can do for you, since i can’t even do the bare minimum.”

you gasped softly. “toge huh? this is—”

he shook his head once more and you stopped as he typed again.

“i always try to make you laugh with the things that i do or whenever i text you because i’m afraid that one day you’ll get tired of me not being able to talk to you and you’ll leave. which is also something i would never blame you for and understand.”

your heart squeezed in the worst excruciatingly way possible, completely baffled and mortified to the fact that toge was thinking about things like this and wholeheartedly believing it without you noticing or him saying anything to you about it.

he typed again.

“that’s why i cosplay as gojo when i leave for missions and come back a dumbass with blood in my mouth. that’s why i forget when you tell me to be careful because the need to be something for you is way fucking greater.”

“togeee!” you sobbed, bursting out crying like a little baby as you were moved and haunted by his words simultaneously, your arms engulfing him as he desperately shot his hands out and quickly wiped your tears again, shaking his head frantically as if pleading with you not to cry.

“how could you ever believe that?” you nudged him away and hiccuped, your eyes serious. “why haven’t you told me about this? everything you just said is literally propaganda.”

he chuckled, but you could tell he wasn’t convinced.

“toge, why do you think i’ve been with you for so long? do you think i’m just dicking around?”

“dicking around on my dick?”

you swatted his phone away. “no! not right now.”

you both shared a small giggle, twinkling eyes looking at each other.

“if i felt like you weren’t doing even the bare minimum, i would’ve been gone before you had the chance to put this ring on—”

his gaze drifted down to the black shiny heart promise ring on your ring finger that you held up for him, and he smiled softly.

“baby what you do for me everyday is above and beyond the bare minimum. i’m happy. i’m so happy to be with you that you not doing enough has never crossed my mind and it never will.”

you slid your arms around his neck and pulled him down a little, gently. “i’ve never cared about your ability to speak. i fell in love with you, who you are, and the fact that i did without you having to iterate words to me? olympic sport.”

toge rolled his eyes playfully at your comment, and you stood on your tippy toes and kissed the tip of his pretty nose then. “all men do when they talk is lie anyways…” you tilted your head. “but i know you’ll never lie to me.”

“never.” he mouthed silently.

he bundled you up in his arms and lifted you like you were nothing, him carefully leaning in and pressing his lips to yours as if you were a fragile little thing— kissing you so devotedly, warmly, his forehead resting against yours once he pulled apart after greedily getting his daily fix of you.

“i know your job as a jujutsu sorcerer pays the bills and comes with you putting yourself in difficult situations… and my job doesn’t even compare, but please don’t overdo it for my sake. i want you to come home, okay?”

you know it’s selfish… he should be saving lives no matter the cost.

but he was your man. was it so bad to just want to keep him for the rest of your days? to get the chance to grow old with him, and buy a little quiet house on the country side like you always joked about in the late hours of the night with him? drinking cool glasses of lemonade on the porch?

“please don’t always be the hero.” you whispered guiltily. “but if you must… just keep me in mind while you do it.”

you’re always on his mind. he hopes you know that.

toge breathed softly through his nose and smoothly set you back down, the pads of your feet making contact with the icy tile flooring as his hands dragged up from around your waist to the sides of your head, him pushing a hard kiss to your cheek as if to seal your request.

“do you promise?” you mumbled.

he pulled back and held his little pinky out for you, and you giggled, linking yours with his firmly.

“you can’t go back on it okay? you used your pinky it’s legally binding!” you warned, a silly smile on your face. “don’t lie to me and break it.”

toge grinned and leaned towards you as he bent down a bit— your gaze locking with his as he looked at you at eye level with his hands on his knees, him mouthing his next words, slowly.

words that made your cheeks buzz a cutesy pink, words that he took seriously, and words that tied you to him and the little house by the countryside he wanted so badly with you, as those words solidified how much he truly truly loved you— him hoping you always knew.

“i would never lie to you.” he mouthed.

taglist!! <33: @saebaey

[aceisew]

AHHHHHHHHHHH SO CUTE IM CRYING THESE RE AMAZING DRAWINGS!!

LOOK AT ZIM!! LOOOK AT THE DIB!! SO CUTE AJJJ!! HIS ANTENNAE THE FQCES THE STYLE IS SOSOSOSOSOS GOOD AHHHHHH!

ZADRS COME GET YOUR JUICE PSPSPS

[hoshigray]

this shit came in my mind but imagine reader ties toji wrist behind his back and teases him like touching herself n shit and he’s desperate and hard asf but reader not giving him any frictions just small touches to get him riled up and somehow toji unties the rope and rest in peace her and her pussy 🪦💕

we all love hardcore dom toji with degrading and oversim kink 💕💕

yes we do, yes we do~

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: hardcore dom! Toji x fem/afab! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - restricted movement (m! + f! receiving); use of rope - teasing - Daddy kink - masturbation (f! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - impact play (pussy + ass slaps) - backshots position - multiple orgasms - degradation (broad, slut, whore) - dumbification - clitoral play (licking/sucking) - overstimulation - use of a BDSM collar - pet names (baby, good girl, mama). 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.4k

He has a salacious grin plastered on his face. “You know it’s gonna take more than just one lil’ rope, right?”

You giggled, “Well, guess we’re testing your limits tonight.”

Toji sits on his knees on the hardwood bedroom floor, wearing nothing but his grey sweatpants, his bulky arms constricted behind his back as his wrists are restrained by a red rope, additionally tying his thumbs together. Other than this lies a black collar that slings around his neck, a leash that you twirl around your pretty fingers is connected to the ring part. 

You sit at the edge of the bed, wearing your undies and an oversized sweatshirt — his sweatshirt that you snatched the moment he took it off. Your eyes look down at him, a thing that rarely happens. And now that it’s happening, you take your time savoring it. “Just sit there and watch. No touchy, and no breaking that rope.”

He quirks a brow up. “Who made ya the one givin’ orders around here?”

“Me, of course; I’m the one who tied you up,” you lightly tug the rein, prompting Toji to bend a little closer. His jade eyes darken, and you can’t fight the smile that creeps on your face. “Be a good boy and enjoy the show, all right?”

He doesn’t answer, just watching you begin. You start by spreading your legs, exposing the region of your inner thighs and the cute design of your stripped panties. Your fingers crawl down to underwear, swiping up and down on the material to push between your vaginal folds. The wetness warming up causes a spot to form.

You can see Toji’s eyes follow every movement, tilting his head when your forefinger rubs a circle on your clothed clit. Your fingers then decide to sneak inside your undies, your wet cunt meeting your intruding digits. He glances back to your face when you release a soft moan and chuckles. “Enjoyin’ yourself, mama?”

“Mhmm, and you?” Your toes go to his chin, lifting his head. 

The action had his smirk broaden. “Ya sure gettin’ a kick outta this, huh.”

You don’t give him a response – you don’t need to. You’re in control now; he’s the one who should behave and do his part. Your foot then twiddles down to Toji’s sweatpants, pressing and sliding on his groin. It makes his breath hitch. “And what if I am?”

“Mmmph…Don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish, baby.” Fuck, the way he looked at you was making you turned on. Even if he’s limited to moving, his dominant side doesn’t falter. It makes you want to tease and push his buttons more.

You lie on your back on the bed, stuffing your fingers in your mouth to bathe them in saliva before returning inside your panties. The self-lubrication makes it easier to slide in your forefinger, a gasp leaving your lips at the insertion. Your toes curl on the tent of his sweatpants, which only get firmer with every second. 

You bring the collar of his shirt to your nose; the cologne remains and attacks your nostrils. “Mmmm…Ahhhh, fuuck…” your voice muffled from the sweatshirt, concealing your puffy lips after pressing on your clit with your thumb.

Toji watches you masturbate before him; he has no choice but to. His bulge becomes more and more annoying to push off, wanting to touch himself and revel at the view of you relieving yourself thinking of him. Hell, the image of your damp panties ticks him off, wanting to rip that skimpy material off himself to feast on your cunt all he wants. Fuck this rope, man…

And he stands by that thought when you warp the leash around your palm and tug it roughly, pulling Toji’s face closer between your legs. The squelching commotion made by your fingers ringing his ears. Fuck, it was so dirty, and he loved it. You peer down at him, “How’s the view down there?”

He scoffs with a bitten lip. “Oh, y’re such a fuckin’ tease, sweetie. You have no idea what y’re gettin’ y’reself into.” 

The sentence humors you. “What makes you say that?”

With a twinge of his lips, Toji straightens his posture and reveals his hands are untied, the red rope clutched in the grasp of his right hand. And the look on your face when he shows you? Priceless.

“Huh!?” You exclaimed with widened eyes! “B–But I made sure to tighten it—“

“I told you,” he gets up on his two feet while his hands undo the collar around his neck. Now, he’s looking down at you; the shiver slithering down your spine at the darkened emerald look he gave you was stomach-dropping. “Gonna need more than one rope. Now, let’s see who’s really gettin' a kick outta this…” 

Damn, you could only chuckle nervously. I’m so fucked.

Yeah, you are. 

Now you’re screaming your heart out from Toji using your body to how he sits fit, his mouth now ravaging your soapy folds and his tongue flicking up and down roughly on your clit. Your hands are tied to your back, your legs propped up by one hand and the other curled around with the leash connected to the collar around your neck. 

“—Ahaahhn!! Ohhhh!! Fuckin—Gahhhh…!” You could barely utter a word, Toji sucking the soul out of you through your essence. You almost choke on your tongue, back arching at the aggressive laps at your cunt.

“Stay still,”  he slaps on your chasm, and you cry at the impact. 

“Hoohhh!! T–Tojiii, please—Ohhhh!!” Another harsh smack; God, you choked on your spit. 

“That ain’t my name,” stern emerald eyes convey a commanding aura. “Actin’ all dumb on my tongue like a slut, can’t even follow an easy rule.” 

“…Ahhhh, I’m sorry, Daddy, I’m ‘orryyy…!”

“Hmph, good girl.” He praises – the only kind thing he’s done outside of the onslaught of teases and sucks he’s done to your body, forcing you to come for the third time in a row. 

“AHHCK!! D-Daddyyy, stooop!! It’s ‘oo muchhh!! Too muuuch—“ your words slur out in helpless cries, not being taken seriously by the man between your legs. 

Although, it’s necessary because your slit is going to need to provide as much slick it can to accommodate the girth of Toji’s raw cock penetrating inside you. Fuck, you could never mentally prepare yourself for him, being full of him every single time. Clenching around his length like crazy, wailing out for him like a porn actress.

Toji’s fucking you from behind — your head smushed to the pillow because his hand pushes you by the neck. On all fours, your arch propping your ass up, the quick strokes of his pelvis have his dick scrape your walls euphorically, all the while gripping your asscheeks like a toy. He’s had you climaxed four times already, and he’s going to get that fifth one unquestioned.

“Fuuuuck—Hic…!” Tears stream down from watery eyes, and pornographic whines squeak out from you.

“—Hnngh! Fuck, clenchin’ on my dick like a real whore, mama,” he gives your ass a swift smack, forcing you to cry and the gushy walls of your vagina to clamp onto him again. “Shiiiit, fuck, I’m gonna cum…”

You can feel it, too; the climb of your own crescendo is soon. “Me toooo, I wanna cummm, Daddy, please, I wanna—Ahhaaaah!!” He slaps your butt again – the sting on your skin causes more tears to fall. 

Toji doesn’t give what you want – no, sir. He removes his cock quick, and a choked mewl clogs your throat when he pulls the leash, yanking you towards him.  “Heh, fuckin’ broad; who said you can cum with me?” 

God, he’s so mean. I fucking love this so much! “—Khhh…Please, Daddy, I wanna cum so baaad, pleaseee…!”

“Oh, really?” His patronizing tone with his gruff voice was such a hot combination. Still holding onto the strap, he brings you up from his grip. You’re practically choking on your saliva, thanks to this damn collar.  “Did ya learn y’r lesson, hmm?”

“Mhmm! Yesshh, I’m sho sorryyy,” holy fuck, you gotta be looking so dumb right now; eyes rolling up with drool coming down your chin.

Not for Toji; it was the sight he wanted to see. And now that he does, he’s thoroughly satisfied. Finally, he releases the leash, having you fall to the pillow with no grace, drawing in of breath. He inserts his cock back into you with a hum, and another slap to your ass makes you jerk. 

“So good fr’ me always, mama…”

hehehe~ it's been a while since I've done impact play *grins*.

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – dividers from @/hitobaby.

[kurooh]

OOO OMG I DONT KNOW IF YOU WRTIE FOR DENKI, but if you do, could we PLEASE get some morning wood action. im talking denki wakes up and its full shaft bro. he either grinds into you, or jerks off cause ur away, creative freedom! 😇 LMAKDOAOAA okay im leaving now

⊹₊˚. SNOOZE ! — mornings with kaminari denki

warnings: 18+ content — mdni, gn! reader, consensual somnophilia, grinding, light fluff, pet names.

xoxo, juno: nonnie come back 😭 this is like a month late ahhhh, i hope you see this

“babyyy, you just look so good,” denki murmurs into the slope of your shoulder, voice sleepy and soft. “it’s too early to be losing my mind right now.”

engrossed in your dream, you let out a sigh and barely shift against him. he thinks your quiet snores and even breaths are so cute, but his palm coasts down your side and lands on your hip. it’s late enough for the sounds of the morning rush to have passed already, but too early to get out of bed just yet.

denki probably couldn’t even get out of bed in this condition, though—neglected and heavy, his cock is as hard as a steel flagpole between his legs. it’s just so sensitive this morning that he’s too aware of the precum bubbling at the tip and the extra heartbeat that can’t seem to stop increasing.

he experimentally tickles your stomach with his fingers, light as the brush of a feather—and you shift again, pressing your ass into him before moving away. it’s only a simple touch, the kind that would ordinarily do everything but make him sick to his stomach with desire, but denki chokes out a gasp.

“if you just—if you knew,” he says dumbly, curling his fingers into your hip and pressing his crotch into your ass, “how easy it is for you to make me crazy. i never used to be this hard when i woke up, but you fucking—ooh, you changed me.”

truthfully, denki doesn’t even know what the fuck he’s saying.

he’s still half asleep and just disoriented from such a rush of testosterone through his body, but he still feels the need to talk to you. it’s difficult to understand what’s coming out of his own mouth with the way all of his brain cells are exploding with bliss—in an attempt to keep himself grounded, he nibbles at your shoulder and tucks his nose into your skin.

of course, this does nothing but make the friction on his cock feel even better. your natural smell mixed with faint traces of your soap makes him nothing short of feral.

“babe, babyyy,” denki cries, fingers digging into your skin as he humps your ass more desperately, “‘m no good at talking, really. that’s your job—haa, shit—i know it’s not good to assign jobs during sex unless it’s for a blowjob, but it’s your thing! i don’t even know how you don’t get confused in the middle of it, but that’s why it’s your thing, i—fuck!”

denki knows he’s absolutely done for when he feels that familiar tightness taking root in his balls. your ass is just so perfect, so plump and perky and wonderful to get off on. it’s good, so damn good, and the relief that washes over him in warm waves with every stroke is even better—denki’s gonna cum, and he’s gonna cum hard.

stray tears fall down his cheeks as it occurs to him, just how fucking filthy he’s being—so desperate, all for you and only for you. denki’s actually about to cum, and he just needs one final push to successfully make it over the edge. although he’s hazy with so much lust that it’s excruciating, he does notice the intentional press of your ass against him.

you’re awake, and you’re helping him out. oh god, you’re even whispering sweet, sleepy nothings to him to encourage him to cum—denki squeezes his wet eyes shut and emits a whine so loud it may not even be considered human.

“oh fuck, oh fuck,” denki’s sobbing now, fingernails digging into your skin as if you’ll fade away like a dream, “gonna cum, baby—ugh, you feel so fucking good—can’t hold it..”

with one final rut of his hips into your ass, denki cums. a series of shudders rock his whole body and leave his hands shaking uncontrollably, until you envelop them in your own to calm him. spent and too weak to get up and change his soaked boxers, denki curls into your side, still coming down from his hysteric euphoria.

“sorry i . . made a mess,” he heaves out, chest working hard to breathe, “i’ll clean it up.”

an easy laugh slips out of you as you fully turn to cuddle him. “you better. anyway, would now be the right time to ask what the hell got into you?”

he’s falling asleep again. “it’s always you. like, just seeing you beside me when i wake up—i can’t.”

“denki, i think it’s time to get up. alarm’s going off in less than five minutes.”

“don’t care,” he huffs, pulling you in with the last of his strength before you can pull away. “if you stay, i’ll make it worth your while when i can feel my legs again. they’re numb.”

“okay, but what does that have to do with—”

denki clears his throat and peels an eye open. “silent snuggling time. just snooze the alarm and relax with me, babe.”

[ramp-it-up]

Cassandra’s Muse

Summary: Your job is to distract and read all who dare to go against Cassandra. And you take pride in your work

Word count: 2.5 K

Pairing: Deadpool x Reader; Wolverine x Reader; Johnny Storm x Reader; Deadpool x Wolverine x Johnny Storm x Empath Reader

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. S MUT Not Beta’d. DEADPOOL X WOLVERINE SPOILERS AHEAD of this line!Read at your own risk. S MUT! Morally Grey reader, sex worker reader, reader is an empath, lots of dark emotions, group sex, oral (m & f receiving) pansexual touch and intentions (it's Deadpool, folks) explicit sex acts, raw p in v (wrap it up), anal sex (f receiving) rough sex, dvp, squirting, copius amounts of cum, bukakke, after care. Reader has pet names from each hero: Sweets, Sweetie, Sweetheart.

A/N: Ok. I had to do it. If you inspired this, you know who you are, you menace. 😘 This occurs within an imagined scene between the scene where Pyro captures Johnny, Wade and Logan and when they were delivered to Cassandra Nova. This is pure filth. Let me know you like it by liking, commenting and reblogging!

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

————

“Let me put your hair up for you. So pretty.”

Wade Wilson cooed down at you to the music of his shackles clinking as he gently pulled your cloud of hair up and out of the way. 

“Need to have a clear view of you hoovering that anaconda.”

Your lips were stretched around Johnny Storm’s thick, tan cock as his blue eyes stared down at you and a steam of eloquent pornography flowed from his lips.

“Mm. That throat is so gatdamn tight Sweetheart. Can’t wait to fuck that tight little wet gash of yours. Holy shit, that’s good. I know you can take it deeper. I know you can. Such a sweet little innocent slut for us.”

He had no idea. You were in service to Cassandra. She called you her muse, a tool to service her future victims so that when she felt their minds up, she had something more to get off on. You were her little slut, her psychic empath who fed off of other’s joy and you loved your job.

Giving others joy got you off something fierce. The fact that Cassandra loved it and that kept you alive was an added bonus.

Johnny’s hand snaked around the back of your neck to encourage you to take more of him. You looked up at him, eyes wide with tears streaming down your cheeks, while saliva escaped from your stretched-out lips.

“So pretty for us like this, Sweetie.”

Wade’s mask almost seemed to be emotive as he looked down on you, his long fingers fisting his cock with increasing speed as he watched you take Johnny down. It was disconcerting that he was completely naked except for his mask, but that was none of your business. He was sincere, despite the sarcastic monologue.

“I’ve always wanted to say that in real life and not just in my 1D/Destial crossover fanfics on Tumblr. Username is MrsLarryDestiel (no spaces) if you want to follow.”

Wade was leaning over to Johnny, who had steam rising from his head as he gazed down at you with devotion. You felt his amusement at this entire scenario. You tried to smile back around him, even though you knew his affection was only due to your skill.

After all, you’d just met him less than an hour earlier. 

“Get your hand off my ass before I burn it off, Wade.”

“Was just trying to help you push it in her tiny little mouth. Wasn’t trying to cop a feel of what looks a lot like America’s Ass, not really,” quipped Wade who was stroking and looking down at Johnny’s derriere.

Before anyone got injured, you pulled off of the hot one’s dick and licked Wade’s thick plum shaped tip.

“Sssss. Ahhhh, yes!”

 Wade groaned and threw his head back.

 “Suck that dick like your life depends on it, Sweetie. It may be our very last night on earth. I mean, in the void.”

You sensed no fear in Wade, only irreverence.

You followed his direction and opened wide as he slid his long, thick, Deadpool dick along your outstretched tongue. Wade was still talking, of course, even as he made eyes at Logan, who was lurking on the edges of the light, pulling on his dick with two hands and making low, almost indiscernible grunts. 

Now there were about a thousand different emotions coming off him, irritation, rage, despair, grief, a deep sadness, and foremost right now, need and frustration. You tried to watch him through your tear-filled eyes.

Wade and Johnny took turns with your mouth as Logan just moved nearer, his large, impressive cock raging against those impossible abs. His stare, and his body, made you drip even more in the dirt floor of the cave they were captive in for the night.

You needed him inside you, to at least extinguish his need. But yours was growing too.

“Why don’t you relax over there while we get her ready, Mr. Grumpy Pants. Little Miss Triple Threat looks like she’s almost ready to take three cocks at once in all of her holes.”

The Wolverine grunted, but went to a spot just a few feet away and reclined against a cave wall as he continued to handle himself.

Wade looked down at you and stroked your hair again, stage whispering to you as you deep throated Johnny’s cock down your throat.

“I know he seems like a party pooper and not down for this at all, but the fact that his beautiful meat is hard and leaking precum, which is delicious, bee tee dubs, oh, AND HE'S NAKED, means he definitely is.”

You smiled around the dick in your mouth and nodded as you pulled off Johnny, a string of saliva connecting you three as Wade grabbed you by the hair and plunged down your throat, barely giving you time to take a breath.

As you choked, you could see Logan jacking off faster from the corner of your eye as you swallowed Wade whole. Even with the mask, you could tell when his eyes rolled back into his head as you took every single inch.

“Get over here and sit on my dick.”

You were surprised at Logan’s voice, not having heard much of it during his ride in the cage, except to tell Wade and Johnny to shut up. Currently, his tone was more intense and raspy with desire.

You did as you were told and the action moved from the fireside to where Logan was reclining. 

“Move the fuck around, asshole.”

Wade stomped his foot.

“That’s what I’m trying to give you, Wolvie, baby.”

But he moved from in front of you so that you could take your throne.

“C’mere.” 

Logan reached up for you, the tender gesture a contrast for the crude situation you are in: fucking these men because it was the last night of their lives, which it almost surely was. You knew when Pyro let you into the cave halfway to her lair where they stopped for the night that no one escaped Cassandra.

You almost felt sorry for them. But when you read their emotions, you sensed no fear in these heroes. Only a myriad of other things including pent up tension, stress and desire for you. And for freedom. Or at least the sensation of being free.

Fucking all three of them would free your own soul, if only for the short time you would spend with them. They were all fine, and they looked like they would be a good time. If they only knew that your purpose was distraction, to keep them busy and not trying to escape.

If you searched their emotions hard enough you might find that they knew what you were about, and that they didn't care.

You accepted the offer of Logan’s hands and settled on his muscular thighs, glancing at the other men stroking themselves by firelight to the sight of you stretching yourself around the thick head of Logan Howlett, the Wolverine’s, cock.

Their attention only made you wetter and you slid further down Logan’s thick staff than you thought you could. When Johnny and Wade each grabbed a nipple as you whined and got even slicker the sensations allowed you to encase that extra inch at the base of him.

You were so full, not having been stretched like this in a while with a human, visually pleasing partner in a long time. You moaned in pleasure and closed your eyes, biting your lip at the delicious sting of taking him.

Logan looked up into your eyes and then commanded you with that deep, sexy voice.

“Open your eyes, look at us, and bounce on this cock Sweets.”

The smack on your ass spurred you on as Johnny leaned against the wall, watching your tits bounce as he jacked himself, and Wade got behind you, straddling Logan's thighs and rubbing them. You thought you knew what was coming next as you felt Wade’s hot breath on your shoulder as his hard length slid through your slick folds. But you were surprised as he entered you, although not in the hole you expected.

Within a few seconds, Wade was nestled deep within your cunt, cock alongside Logan’s in your snug sleeve, making you mad with pleasure. An obscene groan from you accompanied Logan’s warning to Deadpool.

“Watch it fuck face.”

Loan’s voice was husky, and there was a glimmer of a smirk as he grasped your breasts, roughly pulling on your nipples. Fear of his claws coming out and injuring you caused the contractions of pleasure in your belly to quicken, even as Wade sassed him back.

“You can fuck my face later buddy. Right now, let’s both concentrate on fucking this beautiful, nice, accommodating lady’s beautiful, nice accommodating cunt..”

The two men fell into an oddly synchronistic, sinful rhythm, both of them filling you to the brim in the best way possible, sexy groans finally replacing the smart words coming from Wade and literal grunts and groans coming from Logan.

Johnny moved, filling your mouth and causing your moans to vibrate around his shaft as Logan and Wade fucked you stupid.

“Holy fuck!”

Johnny rasped as you started sucking his balls, your legs shaking as Logan and Wade pounded you into oblivion. You feel a tremendous pressure and you tried to run from what was coming, but Wade’s fingers were circling your clit and Logan’s hands are around your waist, his mouth latched onto your left nipple. That and the feeling of Johnny’s fingers massaging your scalp collided to make your impending doom come much more quickly.

You pulled off of Johnny's unit to scream.

“Oh shit, oh shit, ohhhhhh shitttttt, I- I- I- I’m cummingggg!”

“Holy shit, she's gushing like Old Faithful all around us!”

You soaked Logan as you squirted, seemingly never endingly, all over. everywhere. Wade slipped out of you and so did Logan, but instead of giving someone else a turn with your pussy, Logan growled in your hair and pitched you forward onto his chest with his hands underneath your thighs. 

“Want that ass.”

You clenched around nothing as Logan lifted you up and squeezed your ass cheek in order to give his hard, thick cock access to your puckered hole. You were so wet that he kept slipping around until you felt Wade reach in and grab Logan’s dick, pumping it a couple of times before guiding it home inside your tight ass.

You saw the sneer, and you heard the ‘schnick’ of Logan’s claws coming out and Wade’s giggle as he explained. 

“Just trying to help with the mission, Boss.”

You didn’t care about any of it as your head lolled back on your shoulders because Logan was filling you up deliciously.

Wade retreated and pulled his mask up to lick his fingers. He and Johnny resumed stroking as they watched Logan pounding you mercilessly from below, your cum making it embarrassingly easy. You locked eyes with him, and grabbed the tufts on top of his hair for purchase as you screamed and came again, just from his cock in your ass.

"Ahhhhh! Shittttt!"

“Mmmmnhhh! Incoming, Sweets”

Logan’s cum spurted inside you and began to leak out around his cock, making you even messier than before.

“Ugh. Fuck. So good.” 

He kissed your forehead as he softened inside you, then lifted your thigh to slide out from underneath you. You braced yourself on the wall as you tried to catch your breath and savored the feeling of him dripping down your legs and the peace, if only momentary, emanating from his soul. You didn’t realize that your eyes were closed until you felt  a new desperation accompanied by a hand on your arm and two hands on your ass. 

“Don’t usually go for sloppy seconds, but I’ll take it tonight.”

Johnny’s sparkling blue eyes and sincerity held you captive. His tender kiss on your lips distracted you as you felt Wade’s hands on your ass and you lowered yourself down around Johnny’s long cock.

Johnny slipped easily inside you because Wade and Logan had stretched you out, but he was so hot, literally, that you quickly clenched down on him. Your hands caressed his shoulders and trailed down his sternum and his happy trail to where you were connected. 

The way he looked at you from under his long eyelashes made you want to give him a show. You bit your lip and circled your clit, earning a groan and an appreciative stare from him as you started to ride. 

You sensed a sudden a wave of mischievousness from Wade and felt his tongue in our ass. He moaned, sending vibrations up your spine as he caused you to clench around his wet muscle and Johnny’s cock. He slurped you up, and pulled away momentarily to come up and whisper in your ear.

“Mmmm. You and Logan taste so good. You’re doing amazing, Sweetie.

He was down again and licking you clean, causing irritation to emanate from Johnny.

“I’m tryna cum, here, Wilson. Stop licking my balls, you jerkoff.”

Wade came up and wiped his mouth.

“So sorry, that was a total mistake. Didn’t mean to touch your huge, full, sexy balls with my velvet tongue. Not at all, Johnny.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m trying to concentrate on this Sweetheart right. Here.”

Johnny kicked Wade away, stroked upward to make you moan, and then grabbed you by the neck as he flipped you over onto your back, grasping your thighs and folded you in half like a pretzel. 

“You ready to take this hot cock?”

You nodded enthusiastically as Johnny Storm began to fuck you relentlessly, his long cock reaching that magic spot inside you as you tightened around him, much to your chagrin.

It was going to be over too soon. You wanted him to use you longer.

“Mmmmph, Darlin’ I feel you, still so tight around me even after these two knuckle heads fucked your cunt silly. Should be loose, but damn, girl. C’mon. Cum for me like you did for Wolverine and Wade. Gimme that shit.”

Johnny reached down and strummed your clit, as Wade came and held your legs in place, his oddly beautiful cock hard against his abdomen. You stretched your neck and teabagged him, earning a choked, garbled moan, and no words from him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Logan standing over you and stroking his hard-for-you-again dick.

“Shit, shit, sheeeeiiittttttttt this pussy is so good. Fuck!”

Johnny pulled out and stood over your body as you scrambled up on your knees to open your mouth for your reward. The men gathered around you as first Johnny spurted white, hot cum all over your face, then Logan jerked on your tits, rubbing his bulbous tip all over your nipples, and Wade just sprayed everywhere as he watched the show.

You collapsed on your knees, wiping your face as strong arms lifted you up and took you to the other side of the cave and started washing you off with a bucket of water that had been warming by the fire. You looked up into Logan’s eyes and he avoided your gaze, concentrating on getting the cum out of your hair.

“You can rest now. We’ll cook up this bird that Pyro threw in here for food and you can sleep for a while.”

You sensed genuine tenderness, and another spark of a future need within him. You knew that they would wake you up for more than food later.

And you were more than okay with that. 

So you just smiled at him as his hand trailed the water down your body, this moment a respite for all of you, in the chaos of Cassandra’s world.

——

If you liked it, hit Reblog!

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt.16

Word Count: 30k...

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, forced pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, tw if u have tokophobia, pet names like kitten, sweetie, honey, threats with a gun, tw for birth, bodily fluids (although kept vauge i felt i should add a tw anyways), mentions of blood, tw for labor

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh @eliasxchocolate @nozomiaj @xmiisuki @sylus-kitten @its-regretti @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 @nyumin @kiwookse @anisha24-blog1 @weepingluminarytale @riamir @definitionistato @xxhayashixx @adraxsteia @hargun-s @cayraeley @xxfaithlynxx @palomanh @spaceace111 @euridan

AN: This is on A03! This chapter was a doozy to write. And its 30k... thats what took so long! Also there is a birth scene (it’s not that graphic but still, be warned!) Reminder that the baby nor reader/mc have specific skintones. Imagine them how'd you like. Enjoy :3

“No,” you said coldly, refusing to let yourself fall for it. “If you really cared, you’d leave me alone.”

Sylus didn’t respond immediately, but you could hear his steady breathing on the other end of the line, a subtle reminder that he was still there—still looming over your life, even from miles away.

“I can’t do that,” he said after a long pause, his voice filled with quiet determination. “You’re mine, kitten. I’ll always come for you.”

See my masterlist for the previous parts!

Sylus strode up the sleek metal stairs of his private jet, the soles of his polished shoes clicking sharply against the aluminum. The faint hum of the engines warming up filled the quiet night, blending with the distant sound of waves crashing against the shoreline. He checked his watch—a sharp, precise movement—his expression impassive as the glowing hands ticked forward.

Seven hours and fifty-four minutes to Goldwood City.

Time was precious, and Sylus despised wasting it. Yet, here he was, boarding a plane and leaving you behind when you needed him most. The thought soured his mood, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. He didn’t like the idea of being away from you, not when the birth was so close, not when your body was bearing the weight of his daughter. But he wouldn’t be gone long. He’d make damn sure of it.

This mission wasn’t a choice—it was a necessity.

He took his seat near the front of the cabin, the plush leather chair creaking softly as he leaned back, his mind already dissecting the details of the plan. The tablet resting on the table before him blinked to life with a touch of his finger, casting a pale glow over his sharp features. Names, faces, locations—an entire network of filth sprawled across the screen, anchored by one name: Vincent Morrell.

The bastard responsible for commissioning the organ trafficking ring that had nearly ruined you. He had enlisted a woman named Serene Grey, a shadowy figure known for her ruthless efficiency, to abduct countless women in a desperate attempt to find a suitable match for his dying wife. The thought of Vincent Morrell’s cold calculations—treating the love of his life as no more than just a commodity to spare one, only deepened Sylus’s resolve.

The memory flickered across his mind, unbidden but vivid. The look in your eyes when he’d finally found you, the nightmares that haunted your head. You didn’t talk about it much anymore, but you didn’t have to. Sylus knew every scar, every broken fragment of what they’d done. He’d already erased Reese from existence for daring to touch you, and now he had the chance to do the same to Reese’s father.

The thought brought a flicker of satisfaction to his cold, calculated mind. Reese had been weak, arrogant, relying on drugs to keep his life afloat. But Vincent? He was the head of the snake, the architect of the operation that had dared to mark what belonged to Sylus.

And now, Vincent Morrell had become a loose thread—one Sylus intended to cut.

Sylus adjusted the cufflinks on his sleeves, the small, engraved pieces of jewelry glinting faintly under the cabin lights. His gaze drifted toward the window as the jet’s engines roared to life, the faint vibration coursing through the cabin a welcome reminder of progress.

“Goldwood City in seven hours and thirty five minutes, sir” the pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom.

Sylus didn’t respond, his eyes narrowing as his mind shifted to the finer points of his plan. Vincent’s desperation to save his dying wife had made him sloppy, careless. The man had taken the bait without a second thought—a whispered rumor of a rare, illegal protocore capable of miraculous healing. Sylus had dangled it just close enough to whet his appetite, and Vincent had all but begged for the meeting.

How easy. Sylus was no fool when it came to the complexities of human emotions. A man’s heart, no matter how guarded, became his greatest vulnerability when tied to a woman he cherished. The desperation, the raw, unbridled need to protect, could unravel even the most calculated minds. It made them predictable, reckless. Vincent Morrell was no exception—his wife’s life dangled in the balance, and that fragile thread had become a noose Sylus was all too willing to tighten.

A grim smile tugged at Sylus’s lips. Vincent probably thought he was walking into a business negotiation. A trade. He didn’t realize it would be his last mistake.

Leaning back in his seat, Sylus closed his eyes for a moment, letting the hum of the engines drown out the weight of his thoughts. He didn’t allow himself to linger on the fact that you were miles away, in a house guarded by men who could never care for you the way he did. He wouldn’t allow doubt to creep into his mind.

This wasn’t just revenge—it was a message. A warning to anyone who thought they could take what belonged to him.

When he opened his eyes again, the gleam in them was as sharp as a blade. Goldwood City awaited, and so did Vincent Morrell.

Sylus would make this quick.

The flight goes mostly uneventful. The interior of the jet exuded quiet luxury—plush leather seats arranged in a spacious layout, polished mahogany accents gleaming under the soft, amber glow of the dimmed cabin lights. Outside, the vast expanse of the night sky stretched endlessly in every direction, a sea of velvety black dotted with distant stars that glinted like shards of ice against the darkness.

It was the kind of serene atmosphere designed for peaceful reflection, but Sylus’s mind was far from tranquil. Each passing minute seemed to remind him of what he was leaving behind and what lay ahead. The soft vibration of the engines beneath his feet only heightened the restless energy coursing through him, his thoughts flitting between the present mission and the future he had long envisioned. It was a perfect setting for quiet contemplation, yet Sylus’s mind was anything but still.

He pulled out his phone periodically, messaging Luke and Kieran to check on your condition. His lips curled into a faint smirk when Luke responded with an update: you were pouty and visibly agitated. It didn’t surprise him in the slightest. You were nearing the end of your pregnancy, your discomfort likely growing by the hour. He could picture you pacing around the house, arms crossed, grumbling under your breath with that familiar fiery expression. The mental image brought a quiet chuckle to his chest. Even when irritated, you had a way of commanding his attention completely.

He typed out swift instructions in response, his tone precise and commanding: ensure she’s eating regularly, make certain she has everything she needs, and cater to her every whim. He didn’t care if you requested a specific dish at midnight or demanded a walk in the cold evening air—your desires were to be met without question. Satisfied, he shut off his phone and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes against the faint cabin light.

For a fleeting moment, the surreal weight of it all washed over him. In just a few short weeks, he would hold his daughter in his arms—a child he’d dreamed of for longer than he cared to admit. A baby girl. He had spent countless nights obsessing over what she would be like, what she would look like. Would she inherit your sharp wit or his piercing gaze? Would she be quiet and observant, or would she cry easily, her temperament as demanding as her mother’s? The thought brought a flicker of amusement to his lips.

It all felt strangely distant yet inevitable. His life had always been about control, about taking what he wanted and bending the world to his will. But this…this was different. This was something he couldn’t entirely predict, and despite the unfamiliarity of it, he welcomed the unknown. For once, the future didn’t seem like a puzzle to solve but a gift waiting to be unwrapped.

His musings were interrupted by a sharp, irritated caw from the corner of the plane. Sylus’s crimson eyes snapped open, narrowing slightly as he spotted Mephisto fluttering toward him. The crow's movements were awkward and agitated, its wings flapping with clear irritation.

“You’re the one who insisted on resting your wings,” Sylus said, his voice low and clipped, tinged with faint amusement. “Don’t complain about the consequences now.”

Mephisto let out another disgruntled caw, hopping onto the armrest beside him and fluffing his feathers indignantly. The bird’s beady eyes glinted with irritation, as though it fully understood the jab. Sylus rolled his eyes, signaling to the attendant stationed discreetly at the far end of the jet. The man, clad in an immaculately pressed uniform, stepped forward with practiced precision, his expression neutral and composed.

“One glass of Gin Fizz,” Sylus ordered, his tone as sharp as a blade. “Very little ice.”

The man gave a polite nod, disappearing into the small galley without a word. Sylus turned his attention back to the crow, his fingers brushing idly against the edge of the leather armrest. "We'll be there soon. Then you can fly as far as you'd like," he muttered, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as Mephisto tilted his head, unrepentant. The bird let out a soft croak in response, seemingly satisfied with the acknowledgment.

Sylus leaned back once more, his gaze drifting toward the window. The world outside was vast and indifferent, a stark contrast to the tightly wound control he maintained over his life. But even now, as the jet sped toward Goldwood City and the mission awaiting him, his thoughts remained tethered to you and the tiny life growing within you.

"Just a little longer," he murmured to himself, closing his eyes once again. "Then everything will be as it should."

Sylus’s jet touched down smoothly on the private runway, the whir of the engines gradually fading into silence as the aircraft taxied to a halt. Outside, the city of Goldwood stretched out beneath the dawn sky, its skyline gleaming with a mix of modern opulence and old-world grit. He descended the steps of the jet with practiced ease, the brisk air brushing against his face, sharp but invigorating. His long coat trailed slightly behind him as he made his way across the tarmac, each step deliberate and assured.

There was no need for the usual pomp or pretense here. The entire runway, and indeed the small airport itself, belonged to him—one of his many acquisitions over the years. His influence extended far beyond the city’s limits, a network of properties and safehouses woven into the very fabric of Goldwood’s underworld.

Rather than heading straight for a car, Sylus entered a discreet, private entrance that led into the lower levels of his hotel. The building loomed overhead, a towering structure of steel and glass, exuding both modern luxury and an air of impenetrable security. To the public, it was one of the city’s most prestigious hotels, a beacon of wealth and exclusivity. But to Sylus, it was much more—a carefully curated fortress where he could operate without interference.

Mephisto had long gone, no doubt stretching his wings across skyscrapers by now.

He bypassed the grand lobby, where polished marble floors gleamed under the glow of crystal chandeliers, and took a private elevator to the top floor. The ride up was smooth and silent, the soft hum of the elevator barely audible over the rhythmic beating of his heart. As the doors opened, he stepped into his personal suite, a sprawling expanse of minimalist elegance. The walls were adorned with abstract art, muted tones blending seamlessly with the sleek furniture. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city, but Sylus paid little attention to the glittering skyline.

With a wave of his hand, soft music began to play from the built-in sound system, the warm, crackling notes of an old jazz record filling the room. He moved toward a vintage record player perched on a low table, carefully adjusting the needle to let the next track begin. The sound enveloped the space, a calming yet deliberate backdrop to his thoughts.

As he settled into a high-backed leather chair, a soft knock sounded at the door. "Enter," Sylus said without turning, his voice steady and commanding. A moment later, the door opened to reveal his personal chef, carrying a silver tray laden with a carefully prepared meal. The scent of freshly seared steak and roasted vegetables wafted into the room, mingling pleasantly with the faint aroma of leather and polished wood.

The chef approached with measured steps, placing the tray on a nearby table before retreating with a respectful nod. "Your meal, sir," he said quietly before exiting the room, leaving Sylus alone once more.

Sylus took a moment to savor the aroma before picking up his fork and knife. The first bite was exquisite, the flavors rich and perfectly balanced—a testament to the chef’s skill. Yet, as delicious as the meal was, his mind remained focused on the task ahead.

He didn’t have the protocore just yet. That was the true objective of being in the city so soon, tracking down the elusive artifact before his scheduled meeting with Vincent later in the week. The protocore, a rare and highly sought-after relic, was rumored to possess near-miraculous healing properties. For Vincent, whose wife’s life hung by a thread, it was the ultimate prize. For Sylus, it was the perfect bait.

Rumors had been circulating for weeks about the protocore’s appearance at an exclusive underground auction, a shadowy event known only to the wealthiest and most dangerous individuals in the network. Securing an invitation had been the easy part—now came the real challenge: ensuring he left that auction with the artifact in hand.

Tomorrow, the auction would commence, and there was no time to waste. Every move counted, and Sylus was nothing if not methodical. He allowed himself a brief moment of stillness, his crimson eyes narrowing as he contemplated the task ahead. Soon, very soon, he would have what he needed to finally end this chapter and protect what was his.

The night of the auction arrived, soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses filled the expansive auction hall, muted by the distance from where Sylus sat high above. The private balcony he occupied offered a perfect vantage point, granting him an unobstructed view of the opulent, dimly lit room below. People milled about in elegant attire, each of them donning elaborate masks that concealed their identities. Some wore animal-themed masks, others bore intricate designs of gold and silver filigree, but all carried an air of wealth and danger.

Sylus leaned back in his chair, half of his own face hidden beneath a golden bird mask that gleamed faintly in the low light. In one hand, he swirled a glass of deep red wine, the liquid catching the flicker of candlelight as it moved lazily within the crystal. His gaze drifted across the room, watching the masked attendees as they whispered, schemed, and observed.

The auction had gone on for what felt like hours. The auctioneer, an older man with a booming voice and a flair for the dramatic, called out item after item—rare weapons, ancient artifacts, paintings that were no doubt stolen from private collections or museums. Each time a new piece was wheeled onto the stage, Sylus’s interest waned further. He found the entire display predictable, even tiresome.

His thoughts began to wander, drifting away from the glittering scene below to something far more important—you. According to the twins, you had spent the day cooking together, a simple, domestic activity that brought a faint, almost imperceptible smile to his lips. The thought of you in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, laughter echoing softly as you prepared a meal, stirred something warm and possessive within him.

Still, the idea of you cooking with another man, even if it was one of the twins, irked him slightly. He knew Luke and Kieran had no ill intentions-they were loyal to him, and more importantly, they respected you. Yet, a part of him bristled at the thought. He had vowed to be better, to curb some his possessive instincts. This was part of that effort. He took a long sip of his wine, the taste rich and dark on his tongue, as he reminded himself of the promise he had made to you.

His musings were abruptly interrupted when a large platform was wheeled onto the stage, drawing murmurs of anticipation from the crowd below. Sylus’s eyes sharpened, his attention snapping back to the auction as the item he had been waiting for was finally revealed.

The protocore.

Suspended within a cylindrical glass chamber, it hovered weightlessly, its surface glowing with a faint, ethereal green light. The room seemed to hold its breath as the auctioneer stepped forward, gesturing dramatically toward the artifact.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer began, his voice echoing through the hall, “behold the Emerald Protocore! One of the rarest and most sought-after cores in existence. With rumored restorative properties that surpass even the most advanced medical technology, this protocore is said to heal injuries, extend life, and grant vitality to its bearer.”

Sylus’s eyes narrowed, the gleam of the floating artifact reflected in his crimson gaze. The anticipation in the room was palpable, tension hanging thick in the air as the auctioneer announced the starting bid.

“We begin at five billion,” the auctioneer declared. “Do I hear five billion?”

A hand shot up immediately from the crowd below. “Five billion,” the auctioneer acknowledged, his tone gleeful. “Six billion! Do I hear six?”

Sylus’s lips curled into a faint smirk as the bidding began in earnest. Hands rose rapidly, voices calling out higher and higher numbers. The price climbed steadily—seven billion, nine billion, twelve billion. The competition was fierce, as expected. Only the wealthiest and most powerful individuals in the world had been invited to this auction, and it was clear they intended to fight for the prize.

“We have fifteen billion! Going once, going twice—”

“Seventeen billion,” a masked bidder called out, his voice calm but firm.

Sylus waited, his fingers tapping idly against the edge of his wine glass. He had no intention of jumping in too soon. This was a game of strategy, and he always played to win. The numbers continued to climb, the atmosphere growing tenser with each new bid.

“Twenty billion! Do I hear twenty-five?”

“Twenty-six billion,” Sylus finally tapped the screen in front of him, his bid appearing in bold digits on the display above the stage.

The room went quiet for a brief moment, all eyes turning toward the private balcony where Sylus sat. He didn’t react, merely raising his glass slightly as if in silent acknowledgment.

“Twenty-six billion!” the auctioneer cried, his voice rising with excitement. “An impressive bid! Do we have a counter?”

“Thirty billion,” another voice called out from below.

Sylus’s smirk deepened. Good. He enjoyed a challenge. Without hesitation, he tapped the screen again.

“Thirty-five billion.”

The back-and-forth continued, each bid coming faster than the last. Thirty-seven billion. Forty billion. Forty-five. The tension in the room was electric, the air thick with anticipation. Sylus remained composed, his demeanor cool and unshaken as the numbers soared higher.

“Fifty billion” he entered with finality, the bold digits flashing across the screen. The room fell into a hushed silence, the weight of the staggering number settling over the crowd. No one moved, no one spoke.

The auctioneer paused, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of a counter. When none came, he raised his gavel high.

“Fifty billion, going once…going twice…sold! To the gentleman in the golden mask!”

A polite round of applause broke out below, but Sylus paid it no mind. His eyes remained fixed on the protocore as it was carefully wheeled offstage, his mind already calculating his next move. The artifact was his. All that remained was ensuring it reached his hands safely.

He took one last sip of his wine, savoring the moment. The hunt had been successful, but the game was far from over.

“Prepare the transport,” he said quietly into his communicator. “I want eyes on every entrance. Nothing leaves this building without my approval.”

The night was still young, and Sylus knew better than to lower his guard just yet.

As the applause died down and the crowd dispersed into smaller clusters of murmuring onlookers, Sylus descended from his private balcony, his steps measured and purposeful. The auction might have been over, but the real game was just beginning.

He moved through the crowd with ease, his golden bird mask catching the glint of chandeliers overhead. Several masked figures approached him, eager to exchange pleasantries—or perhaps gather information. Among them was a man dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit, his mask crafted to resemble a snarling wolf, gleaming silver in the dim light.

“Congratulations, Sylus,” the man said, his voice smooth but carrying an unmistakable edge. “Fifty billion is a steep price, even for someone with your…reputation.”

Sylus’s lips curled into a faint smile beneath his mask. “A steep price for some. A calculated investment for others,” he replied, his tone calm, almost bored. He extended his hand, and the man took it without hesitation.

“All’s fair in the game of money, wouldn’t you say, Sylus?” the man continued, gripping Sylus’s hand firmly. His fingers tightened in an iron grip, an unmistakable attempt at intimidation. Sylus met the challenge without flinching, his expression unchanging as he returned the handshake with a force of his own.

The faint crack of bones was barely audible over the low hum of conversation around them, but Sylus felt it clearly—the subtle give of the man’s fingers beneath his unyielding grip. The man tensed, his body going rigid with pain, though he made no sound. His pride wouldn’t allow it. Instead, his eyes locked onto Sylus’s, silently begging for release.

Sylus chuckled softly, a low, dangerous sound that carried an air of amusement. “Indeed,” he said, his voice as smooth as silk. “All’s fair.”

He held the man’s hand for a moment longer, just enough to make his point clear, before finally letting go. The man took a step back, subtly flexing his injured fingers while maintaining a composed façade. Despite his silence, it was obvious to Sylus that he was rattled, his earlier bravado shattered.

“Good game,” Sylus added with a faint smirk, turning away without waiting for a response. The man said nothing, his pride keeping him rooted in place as Sylus walked off, victorious in more ways than one.

Some time had passed, and with still a day or two remaining before his scheduled meeting with Vincent, Sylus found himself meticulously inspecting the protocore once again. The artifact was undeniably genuine—its faint green glow pulsed steadily within its containment unit, casting an otherworldly light across the dimly lit room. Even Sylus, with his carefully tempered emotions, couldn’t ignore the subtle effect it had on him. There was something about its presence that made the air feel lighter, more vibrant, as though it carried a hint of life itself.

Satisfied with his inspection, Sylus gave strict instructions to his men to keep the protocore under maximum security until the time came. No one, save for a select few, even knew where it was being stored. He wasn’t about to take any chances.

Now lounging in his private suite, Sylus swirled a glass of dark red wine in his hand, the rich aroma filling his senses. The distant hum of the city outside was barely audible through the reinforced glass windows. Despite the calm atmosphere, a familiar itch tugged at his mind—a restlessness born not of danger, but of curiosity. The kind of curiosity that gnawed at him whenever he thought of you. Were you resting properly? Were you being taken care of properly? These thoughts had a way of creeping in, no matter how focused he tried to remain on his mission.

He leaned forward slightly, the rim of the wine glass brushing against his lower lip as he stared into the swirling liquid. The weight of the moment settled over him, a rare stillness that only deepened his longing. Without further hesitation, he reached for his phone, his fingers moving with practiced ease as he dialed Luke’s number. The line barely rang twice before Luke answered, his voice cheerful and energetic.

"Yes, boss!" Luke said, sounding as though he had been expecting the call.

"Is she sleeping?" Sylus asked without preamble, wasting no time on idle chatter. He glanced at the clock—6 PM. It was around the usual time for your midday nap, a routine he had come to know well.

"No, she’s awake. She’s been complaining of, uh…Brax…ten? Hits?" Luke replied, stumbling over the unfamiliar words.

"Braxton Hicks," Sylus corrected smoothly, taking a measured sip of his wine. His lips quirked in mild amusement.

"Yeah, that! I’ll tell ya, boss, I’ve been so on edge lately. I thought I was gonna have to deliver a baby the other night..." Luke admitted nervously, his usual bravado replaced by genuine concern.

Sylus chuckled softly, a low, rich sound that conveyed both amusement and exasperation. These idiots…they meant well, even if they were woefully unprepared for such a scenario. Still, it reassured him that they were vigilant, keeping an eye on you as instructed.

"I assure you, delivering babies is not part of your job description," he said, his tone light yet authoritative. "Now, put her on. I want to speak to her."

"Right away, boss!" Luke said, his voice brightening again before the line went silent for a brief moment.

Sylus leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine once more as he waited. A faint smirk played at the edges of his lips, but beneath the outward calm was a subtle tension. He hadn’t heard your voice in days, and though he trusted his men, nothing could truly ease the restlessness that settled in his chest when he was away from you. The line clicked, and then—

"Hello?" your voice came through, slightly groggy but unmistakably yours.

A quiet relief washed over him at the sound. He hadn’t realized just how much he needed to hear you until that moment. Even from miles away, your voice had a grounding effect on him, steadying the swirling thoughts in his mind. The weight on his shoulders eased slightly, as though the mere sound of you could pull him back from the edge of his constant vigilance.

"How are you feeling, honey?" Sylus asked, his voice softening in a way it rarely did with anyone else.

You sighed, the faint sound of shifting fabric accompanying your words. "Tired. These weird fake contractions are no joke. They keep waking me up."

You sounded so adorable when you complained. Sylus wasn’t sure what it was, but when you grumbled and whined to him, it made him feel an intense urge to fulfill your every need. To fix all of your problems. There was something strangely satisfying about hearing you vent to him, trusting him enough to share your frustrations.

"They’re normal," Sylus assured, his tone steady and calm. "Your body is preparing for the real thing. Just a little longer, and it will all be over."

"Easy for you to say," you muttered, a hint of irritation in your voice. "You’re not the one carrying around a bowling ball."

Sylus chuckled again, the sound genuine this time. "Fair point. Still, you should rest as much as possible. If anything feels unusual, you’ll let the twins know immediately."

"Yeah, yeah," you replied, the tiredness in your voice evident, but you at least seemed to be a little more at ease. He silently wondered…did you miss him as much as he missed you? You had said that you don't love him, that it was a lie. But you also said you didn’t hate him either…that you didn’t know how to feel sometimes. What could he do to change that?

Still, he didn’t dare ask the question for fear of the answer. Some things were better left unspoken, at least for now.

For a moment, Sylus said nothing, simply listening to the sound of your breathing on the other end. That simple, quiet connection was enough to ease the knot of tension that had formed in his chest over the past few days. He found himself savoring it, reluctant to let the moment end.

"Good," he finally said, pausing briefly before adding in a softer tone, "You’re doing well. I’ll be back soon."

"How soon is…soon?" you murmured, your voice trailing off slightly. "It’s been a lot."

He felt a sharp pang in his heart at your words, the weight of them sinking deep into his chest. You sounded undeniably drained, your voice carrying a fatigue he couldn’t ignore. Did you actually long for him like he did you? The thought gnawed at him, stirring something both tender and painful. Guilt began to creep in, a cold, unwelcome presence that made him silently curse himself for even entertaining the idea of leaving you alone in the first place. He had told himself this mission was necessary—that it was about securing a safer future for you and the child you carried—but now, in the silence that followed your words, he questioned whether his absence was worth the toll it seemed to be taking on you.

Yet, he couldn’t allow doubt to derail him. This had to be done. The thought of ridding the pests of your past—the ones who had dared to hurt you—was too tempting, too important to abandon. If he could eliminate the lingering shadows that haunted your life, perhaps you could finally find some semblance of peace. And that, more than anything, was what drove him forward.

"I know sweetie" he said quietly. His voice carried a gentleness, as though he wished he could bridge the distance between you with words alone. "I’m just wrapping up some stuff here, and I’ll be back before you know it."

There was a small silence from you for a few short moments, as if you wanted to say something more. He waited patiently, despite his growing anticipation.

"Alright then, I’m going to take a nap. See you later," you said, your voice soft but tired, as though every word carried the weight of the past few days. There was a pause, a faint rustling on your end, before the sound of the phone being handed over to Luke became clear.

He sighed. Of course, with everything going on, there was still much work to close the distance between you two. He shouldn't have expected otherwise.

"Talk to ya later, boss!" Luke said brightly, his tone attempting to mask the tension from earlier. Sylus could hear the faint sound of your footsteps retreating in the background, likely heading off to finally get some rest.

With that, the call ended, and Sylus placed the phone back on the table. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and let out a slow exhale. The faint smile lingered on his lips for a moment, but it didn’t entirely banish the weight of concern that remained. There was still much to be done, but for now, the sound of your voice was enough. Soon, very soon, he would be back where he belonged—with you, and with the life he was determined to protect.

The wine sat forgotten beside him as he leaned back in his chair once more, his thoughts already drifting to what lay ahead. No matter what obstacles remained, he would see this through. Because in the end, nothing mattered more than you, and the family he was building.

Sylus arrived at Vincent’s private estate as afternoon fully claimed the sky, casting a veil of orange light over the sprawling property. The grand gates opened with a mechanical hum, revealing a long driveway flanked by perfectly manicured gardens. The estate itself loomed ahead, its tall windows glowing with soft, golden light. Despite the inviting atmosphere, Sylus remained on guard. Every movement here was calculated, just like the man he was about to meet.

As the car came to a halt, Sylus adjusted his cuffs and stepped out, his eyes briefly scanning the area before following the butler waiting to escort him inside. Sylus walked through the grand hallway of Vincent’s estate, the soft glow of antique lamps casting long shadows over the dark wood paneling. Every corner was meticulously curated—gold-framed portraits of Vincent’s family lined the walls, each one exuding an air of wealth and status. Sylus’s eyes flicked over the paintings as he followed the butler toward the study. One, in particular, caught his attention: a portrait of a child, with striking features and messy hair.

Ah. This must be Reese as a young boy.

Sylus allowed himself a brief smirk. Vincent had taken great care to display these portraits prominently, as though to remind every visitor of his family’s legacy. But to Sylus, it only confirmed what he already knew: Vincent was a man desperately clinging to appearances. A man whose carefully constructed façade masked the rot beneath.

Interesting.

The butler leading him stopped at the entrance to a grand study, opening the door with a slight bow. Sylus stepped inside, his gaze sweeping the room with practiced ease. The crackling fire cast long shadows over the dark oak bookshelves that lined the walls, their shelves packed with leather-bound volumes that looked more decorative than well-read. A crystal decanter glinted on the side table, half-filled with amber liquid, while the faint scent of burning wood added a comforting warmth to the space.

Vincent turned from the fireplace as Sylus entered, a practiced smile already in place. “Sylus,” he greeted warmly, spreading his arms in a gesture of welcome. “Glad you could make it.”

Sylus returned the smile with one of his own, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Please, sit,” Vincent said, gesturing toward a pair of leather armchairs near the hearth. “Can I pour you something?”

Sylus inclined his head slightly, lowering himself into the nearest chair with deliberate grace. He rested one arm on the chair’s polished armrest, his fingers tapping lightly against the leather. “Wine will do.”

Vincent poured two glasses, handing one to Sylus before settling into the chair opposite him. He raised his glass in a casual toast. “To new ventures.”

Sylus clinked his glass lightly against Vincent’s but didn’t drink. Instead, he swirled the deep red liquid, watching how it clung to the sides of the glass. His mind was already working, piecing together what little information he’d gleaned so far. The portraits in the hallway had been deliberate, a carefully curated display meant to project an image of familial pride. But something about it felt off. Reese’s face had been too prominent, his image too recent. Sylus suspected that Vincent wasn’t displaying a legacy—he was mourning a loss.

“I couldn’t help but notice the portraits in the hall,” Sylus said casually, breaking the silence. “Your son?”

Vincent’s expression flickered briefly before he nodded, taking a sip of his wine. “Yes, my son Reese. He was a good boy once. Smart, driven. But…” He trailed off, his gaze growing distant. “Things change. He got caught up with the wrong crowd—drugs, bad influences. You try to guide them, but at some point, they make their own choices.”

Sylus tilted his head slightly, feigning a thoughtful expression. “That must be difficult. Watching someone you love spiral like that.”

“It is,” Vincent admitted, setting his glass down on the small table beside him. “It’s been hardest on my wife. She worried herself sick over him. And now he's gone.”

Sylus noted the way Vincent’s jaw tightened ever so slightly at the mention of his wife. There was something guarded in his tone, a subtle hesitation that didn’t escape Sylus’s attention. He stored the detail away for later use.

“I suppose I’ll be finding out what that’s like soon enough,” Sylus said after a pause, his voice light but deliberate.

Vincent arched a brow, clearly intrigued. “Oh?”

Sylus allowed a faint smile to touch his lips. “I’m expecting a child of my own very soon. A daughter.”

For a moment, Vincent’s expression softened, genuine emotion flickering in his eyes. He chuckled, lifting his glass in a half-toast. “A daughter, huh? You’re a lucky man. I always wished I’d had a daughter. Would’ve given her the world.”

Sylus filed that comment away, noting the wistfulness in Vincent’s tone. He wondered, briefly, if Vincent’s regret stemmed from something deeper—some failure he hadn’t yet admitted to himself. But he didn’t press the issue.

“Perhaps things would’ve been different,” Sylus mused aloud, his tone carefully neutral.

Vincent gave a slight nod but didn’t elaborate. Instead, he took another sip of his wine, as though retreating into his thoughts.

Sylus allowed the silence to stretch for a moment before steering the conversation back. “Stress like that must be hard on your wife,” he said, his voice carrying just the right note of concern. “I imagine it’s taken a toll.”

Vincent’s eyes darkened, and Sylus caught the brief flicker of something—guilt, perhaps?—before the man spoke. “It has. She’s battling cancer. The doctors say she needs a new kidney and liver if she’s going to have any real chance of survival. That’s why this deal is so important to me. I need her to live.”

Sylus leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine once more. He didn’t respond immediately, letting the weight of Vincent’s words hang in the air. There was something off about the way Vincent spoke—his tone was too measured, too practiced. Before Sylus could probe further, a sudden knock at the door broke the moment.

“We're busy, come back later” Vincent called, his irritation barely concealed.

The door suddenly swung opened to reveal an older blonde woman with sharp features and blazing eyes. She stormed into the room with an air of indignation, her hands clenched at her sides.

“Vincent, you said you’d only be a few minutes!” she snapped, her voice cutting through the room like a whip. “I’ve been waiting long enough.”

Vincent’s composure cracked, irritation flaring across his face. “I told you not to come in while I’m conducting business.”

“That’s no way to talk to your wife!” she screamed before turning on her heel and storming out, slamming the door behind her.

Sylus’s eyes followed her retreating figure, his expression carefully neutral. But inwardly, unease prickled at the edges of his mind. That woman didn’t look sick. There were no signs of frailty, no visible indication of someone battling a life-threatening illness. Yet Vincent had just spoken at length about his wife’s dire condition.

Something wasn’t adding up.

Vincent sighed heavily, rubbing his temples before turning back to Sylus. The firelight cast long shadows across his face, accentuating the weariness in his expression. “Apologies for that,” he muttered. “Emotions run high in these circumstances.”

Sylus leaned back in his chair, resting his glass of untouched wine on the armrest. He didn’t speak, choosing instead to observe Vincent in silence. His sharp crimson eyes flicked to the door where the woman had stormed out, her angry words still hanging in the air like an echo.

"That’s no way to talk to your wife!".

The pieces didn’t fit. The woman who had just left was far from the image of someone fighting for their life. Her complexion had been healthy, her stride strong. There had been no trace of sickness in her voice or demeanor. Yet Vincent had painted a picture of a wife on the brink of death, clinging to hope by a thread.

Sylus’s instincts prickled with suspicion. Something was off, and he had a sinking feeling he already knew what it was.

“Look,” Vincent said, exhaling slowly as though bracing himself for judgment. “Man to man…I know what you must be thinking. I’ll explain.”

Sylus arched a brow, gesturing slightly with his free hand as if to say, Go on. He maintained an air of polite curiosity, though inwardly, his mind was already racing, calculating the implications of what he was about to hear.

“It’s not my wife who’s sick,” Vincent admitted, his voice low and strained. He reached for his glass, taking a long sip before continuing. “It’s…my mistress. She’s the one with cancer.”

There it was.

Sylus didn’t react outwardly, keeping his expression neutral. But beneath the surface, a flicker of disgust stirred in his chest. He wasn’t shocked—he’d dealt with men like Vincent before, men who cloaked their deceit in noble intentions. But hearing it spoken aloud, seeing the casual way Vincent justified his betrayal, made Sylus’s disdain sharpen.

“I know how it sounds,” Vincent continued quickly, as though trying to preempt any criticism. “Cheating is wrong, yes, but…I love her. I can’t watch her die. My wife—she doesn’t know. And I intend to keep it that way.”

Sylus leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on the armrest as he steepled his fingers. His crimson eyes locked onto Vincent’s with an intensity that made the older man shift slightly in his seat.

“How long has this…arrangement been going on?” Sylus asked, his voice smooth but carrying a subtle edge.

“Five years,” Vincent admitted, his tone defensive. “I never intended for it to get this complicated, but things happened. Life happened. I love them both, but I can’t lose her—not like this.”

Sylus remained silent, letting Vincent’s words hang in the air. The fire crackled softly in the background, filling the void as the tension between them grew thicker. He could see the desperation in Vincent’s eyes, the way his hands gripped the glass a little too tightly, as though holding onto it would keep everything from falling apart.

“I see,” Sylus said at last, his tone measured. “It’s…a difficult situation.”

Vincent exhaled in relief, clearly mistaking Sylus’s neutrality for understanding. “Exactly. You do what you have to, right? That’s why this deal means so much to me. I need the protocore. It’s her only chance.”

Sylus swirled the wine in his glass, watching the dark liquid slosh against the sides. He didn’t drink. He never intended to. The game Vincent was playing was clear now—a game of betrayal, fueled by misplaced loyalty and selfishness. Sylus had no sympathy for men like him, but he knew better than to show his hand too soon.

“Of course,” Sylus said smoothly, lifting his glass in a silent toast before setting it down untouched. “You’re doing what you believe is necessary. I can respect that.”

Vincent relaxed slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing. He poured himself another glass, clearly emboldened by what he perceived as Sylus’s agreement.

But Sylus wasn’t done yet.

“Though,” he said after a moment, his tone casual but pointed, “I imagine it must be difficult keeping something like this hidden. Secrets have a way of…unraveling.”

Vincent’s hand stilled briefly before he resumed pouring, the faintest hint of unease flickering across his face. “I’ve managed so far,” he said, his tone a little too brisk. “She doesn't suspect a thing.”

Sylus offered a faint smile, leaning back in his chair once more. “I'm sure she doesn't.”

Luck. Sylus didn’t believe in it. Men like Vincent relied on luck, on the hope that their lies would remain undiscovered, that they could continue juggling their fragile lives without consequence. But luck always ran out.

For now, Sylus played along, letting Vincent bask in the illusion of control. But as he watched the man across from him, he couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of contempt. Vincent claimed to love both women, yet his actions spoke of cowardice and selfishness. He was no better than the men Sylus had crushed underfoot in the past—men who believed they could cheat fate with charm and wealth.

Sylus leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled as he observed Vincent closely. The older man’s initial air of confidence had begun to waver, subtle cracks appearing in his polished façade. It was almost amusing—how quickly a man could shift from composed to cornered when the right pressure was applied.

“You’ve always been good at balancing appearances, Vincent,” Sylus said, his voice calm, almost conversational. “A loving husband. A grieving father. And yet, behind it all…someone willing to trade women for profit.”

Vincent’s glass paused mid-air, the amber liquid inside trembling slightly. He forced a tight smile, setting the glass down with a faint clink. “I’m not sure what you’re implying, Sylus.”

Sylus’s eyes gleamed in the firelight, a dangerous glint flickering in their crimson depths. He leaned forward slightly, his tone still smooth but carrying a razor-sharp edge. “I wonder…how would your wife react if she knew the real reason you’ve been so…preoccupied? Not just with your mistress, but with the blood you’ve spilled to keep her alive.”

Vincent’s expression hardened. “Careful,” he warned, his voice low. “You’re crossing a line.”

Sylus didn’t flinch. If anything, his smirk widened, a predator toying with its prey. “Oh, I haven’t crossed anything yet. I’m merely stating the obvious. Reese got in over his head, didn’t he? He didn’t just ‘fall in with the wrong crowd.’ He was the wrong crowd.”

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the distant crackle of the fire. Vincent’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white against the leather armrests. There was no more room for pretense—Sylus had laid the truth bare, and Vincent knew it.

Still, Sylus wasn’t done. He leaned back again, exuding a sense of calm control that only heightened the tension in the room. “It must’ve been difficult,” he mused aloud. “Keeping that kind of operation hidden for so long. Juggling the demands of your little empire while ensuring no one pulled at the wrong thread.”

Vincent’s jaw tightened. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sylus chuckled softly, the sound devoid of humor. “Don’t I? I’ve seen men like you before, Vincent. Desperate men. Men who cling to power, thinking they can cheat fate. But fate, you see…” He tapped the rim of his wine glass with a finger, the faint ping echoing ominously. “Fate has a way of catching up with you. Secrets—they don’t just unravel. They unravel you. And once the first thread is pulled…” He let the sentence hang, the implication clear.

Vincent’s breathing had grown heavier, his composure slipping further with every word. He was no longer the confident businessman who had welcomed Sylus into his home. He was a man standing on the edge of a precipice, staring down into the abyss.

“What do you want?” Vincent finally asked, his voice strained.

Sylus’s smile faded, replaced by a cold, calculating expression. “Simple. You’ll give me exactly what I came here for. No games. No double-crosses. And in return…” He let the silence linger for a moment, watching as Vincent hung on his every word. “I won’t pull that first thread.”

Vincent visibly paled, the color draining from his face as Sylus’s words sank in, each one landing like a deliberate blow. His fingers twitched against the armrests of his chair, his grip tightening momentarily before he forced himself to relax. The air in the room seemed to shift, thickening with unspoken tension. He cleared his throat, masking the tremor in his voice as he struggled to maintain some semblance of composure.

“Well?” Vincent said, his voice strained and tight, each word sounding as though it had to be dragged from his throat. “Spit it out, then. What did you really come here for? And…what do you mean Reese was?”

Sylus tilted his head slightly, crimson eyes gleaming with something dark and unreadable. The firelight cast long shadows across his sharp features, accentuating the cold detachment in his expression. He leaned back in the chair, steepling his fingers as though contemplating how much to reveal. For a long, excruciating moment, the only sounds in the room were the faint crackle of the fire and the steady ticking of the ornate clock on the mantel. Sylus let the silence stretch, knowing full well that it would gnaw at Vincent’s fraying nerves.

Finally, he spoke, his tone casual but laced with menace. “The woman you’ve been commissioning to steal those girls—Serene Grey. Where is she?”

Vincent blinked, clearly caught off guard by the abrupt shift in topic. His brows furrowed in confusion as he processed the name. “Serene…?” he repeated slowly, as though the mere mention of her brought with it an uncomfortable weight. Sylus didn’t miss the flicker of hesitation in his eyes, nor the way his fingers tightened around the armrest once more.

“She’s a slippery little thing,” Sylus continued, his voice as smooth as silk, every word carefully measured. “Been evading my sights for a while now. But that ends today.” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze never leaving Vincent’s. “You’re going to tell me exactly where she is.”

Vincent’s expression hardened, his mouth drawing into a thin line as he squared his shoulders. “And what makes you think I know where she is?”

Sylus gave a low, mirthless chuckle, the sound devoid of humor but rich with something far more unsettling. He leaned forward further, the predatory gleam in his eyes growing sharper. “Come now, Vincent. You’ve been playing this game long enough to know how it works. You commission someone like Serene Grey for these organs, and you keep tabs on her to make sure she doesn’t turn on you. Don’t insult my intelligence by pretending otherwise.”

Vincent opened his mouth, perhaps to deny the accusation, but Sylus raised a hand, halting him before he could speak. There was no point in entertaining false protests. Sylus wasn’t here to negotiate—he was here to extract the truth.

“And as for your son…” Sylus said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, each word delivered with deliberate precision. “Not sure if you’re aware, but he was supplying these women to Serene. For crack, of all things. Small world huh?”

Vincent’s face twisted, a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and mounting rage flickering across his features. Sylus let the moment hang, savoring the weight of his revelation before continuing.

“One of those women,” Sylus said softly, his voice barely more than a murmur, “just so happened to be the mother of my child.”

The room fell deathly silent. Vincent’s eyes widened, and for a split second, a flicker of something close to panic crossed his face. But before he could form a response, Sylus leaned back again, a wicked grin spreading across his face like the blade of a knife glinting in the firelight.

“And he…ultimately paid the price.”

The silence shattered as Vincent shot to his feet, his eyes blazing with fury. The fire behind him cast long shadows across the room, making his figure seem larger, more imposing. But Sylus remained utterly unfazed, his grin never wavering.

“You…bastard,” Vincent hissed through clenched teeth, every syllable dripping with venom. “So it was you who killed my son?”

Sylus didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as blink. Instead, he calmly lifted his glass of wine, swirling the liquid lazily as though Vincent’s outburst was nothing more than an amusing spectacle. “He left me no choice,” Sylus said smoothly, his voice devoid of remorse. “Actions have consequences, Vincent. Your son learned that the hard way.”

Vincent’s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white with tension. For a moment, it looked as though he might lunge across the room, driven by sheer rage. But something stopped him—perhaps it was the icy calm in Sylus’s eyes, or the chilling realization that he was entirely outmatched.

“You cold-blooded—” Vincent began, but the words caught in his throat, strangled by the weight of his own fury.

Sylus tilted his head slightly, his grin fading into something colder, more calculating. “I understand this must be difficult for you,” he said, his tone mockingly sympathetic. “Losing a son is…tragic. But you should know better than anyone—business is business. Reese chose his path, and he paid for it.”

Vincent’s breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling with barely contained rage. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife, every second stretching out like an eternity. His mind raced, torn between the burning desire for vengeance and the grim realization that Sylus held all the cards. Attacking him outright would be suicide, but letting him walk away after admitting to killing Reese? That felt impossible to stomach.

“You think you can walk in here, threaten me, and leave without consequence?” Vincent growled, his voice low and dangerous, each word laced with barely restrained fury.

Sylus raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of amusement flickering across his face. “Threaten you?” he repeated softly, his tone almost bored. “No, Vincent. I’m giving you a choice.” He leaned forward once more, his crimson eyes locking onto Vincent’s with an intensity that made the older man freeze. “Tell me where to find Serene Grey, and this ends here. No more blood. No more…unraveling secrets. I'll even be so gracious and help you save your dear mistress.”

Vincent’s jaw clenched tightly, his eyes darting toward the door as though considering summoning his guards. But deep down, he knew it wouldn’t matter. Sylus wasn’t a man who could be intimidated by force. He was smarter, faster, deadlier—and Vincent wasn’t willing to gamble on who would walk away if things turned violent.

“You’ll regret this,” Vincent said at last, his voice low and seething with barely concealed rage. “I’ll help you. But don’t think for a second that this means we’re done.”

Sylus inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the terms of the unspoken agreement. “Of course not,” he said smoothly. “We’re far from done. But for now…I’ll consider it a gesture of goodwill.”

Vincent’s hands still trembled slightly as he reached for the decanter, pouring himself another drink with far less precision than before. He downed the glass in one go, as though trying to steady his fraying nerves. Meanwhile, Sylus remained perfectly composed, watching him with the cold detachment of a man who had already won.

Vincent set his empty glass down with a sharp clink, the tension in his shoulders evident as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. His expression was a mixture of begrudging acceptance and simmering resentment. Sylus’s unflappable calm only seemed to heighten his frustration, but he knew he had no choice—Sylus held the upper hand.

“She’s been operating out of a private estate about twenty miles outside the city,” Vincent said at last, his voice low and taut. “You’ll find her there. She keeps her movements quiet, doesn’t stay in one place for long, but I’ve…kept tabs on her.”

Sylus arched a brow, the faintest flicker of approval crossing his features. “Efficient,” he murmured, though his tone carried a hint of condescension. “I assume you’ve spared no expense in ensuring she doesn’t slip away from you?”

Vincent shot him a glare but refrained from responding to the jab. Instead, he reached into a drawer, pulling out a small folder and sliding it across the table toward Sylus. “Here’s everything I have—addresses, known associates, recent sightings.”

Sylus took the folder with a measured nod, flipping it open to scan the contents. Inside were photographs of Serene Grey, a woman with cold eyes and a cunning smile, alongside detailed reports of her movements and operations. He noted the precision of the intel, silently acknowledging Vincent’s thoroughness.

“This will do,” Sylus said, closing the folder and setting it aside. He leaned back in his chair once more, exuding the same aura of effortless control that had unnerved Vincent from the start. “You’ve made a wise decision, Vincent.”

Vincent let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “Wise? Hardly. You backed me into a corner.”

Sylus’s lips quirked into a faint smirk. “It’s better to be cornered than crushed. You still have options. Play your cards right, and you might even come out of this unscathed. So long as you cease this trafficking operation of course.”

Vincent didn’t respond immediately. He poured himself another glass of whiskey, his hands steadier now, though his mind was anything but. The revelation about Reese’s involvement in Serene’s operations had hit harder than he wanted to admit. He had known his son had problems—had even suspected him of dabbling in criminal circles—but hearing it confirmed, and by the man who killed him, was another matter entirely.

After a long silence, Vincent spoke again, his tone quieter, more contemplative. “She’s dangerous, you know. Serene doesn’t just disappear because she’s afraid. She disappears because she’s planning something.”

Sylus regarded him with interest, his fingers drumming lightly against the armrest. “Planning what?”

Vincent hesitated, as though debating whether or not to share more. But something in Sylus’s gaze made it clear that withholding information wasn’t an option. “Word is, she’s been trying to secure something big. Something…rare.”

Sylus’s eyes narrowed slightly. He had heard whispers of Serene’s recent dealings, but nothing concrete. “Go on.”

Vincent took a slow sip of his drink before continuing. “A shipment of illicit protocore. High-grade. She’s been brokering deals with some unsavory types—mercenaries, rogue scientists, the works. If she gets her hands on those cores…” He trailed off, the implication hanging heavily in the air.

Sylus didn’t need Vincent to finish the thought. Protocores, especially ones of high purity, were highly sought after in the underground market. They could enhance abilities, extend life spans, and, in the wrong hands, wreak untold havoc. If Serene was involved in something like that, it wasn’t just a matter of personal revenge anymore—it was a potential threat on a much larger scale.

Not that he cared much about illegal protocore trading. Its part of how he built his own empire. However getting his hands on them himself didn't sound like a bad idea.

“Interesting,” Sylus murmured, his mind already calculating the next move. He stood, picking up the folder and tucking it neatly under his arm. “I’ll handle it.”

Vincent rose as well, though his movements were slower, wearier. He fixed Sylus with a hard stare, his expression unreadable. “If you find her…do what you have to. But leave my name out of it.”

Sylus gave him a cold, knowing smile. “Of course. Discretion is a given.”

Sylus then dug into the pocket of his suit and pulled out the Emerald Protocore, it shining in its glass container. He dropped the container on a desk, watching Vincent eyes light up.

"Say hi to the mistress for me. I'm sure she'll appreciate the gift"

Without another word, Sylus turned and made his way toward the door, his steps deliberate and unhurried. Vincent watched him go, the weight of their encounter settling heavily on his shoulders. As the door closed behind Sylus, Vincent reached for his glass once more, downing the remainder in one swift motion.

Sylus stepped outside Vincent’s estate, the bright afternoon sun casting sharp shadows across the pristine driveway. The light glinted off the sleek black car waiting for him, but the warmth of the day did little to temper the cold fury bubbling just beneath his calm exterior. Mephisto swooped down from a nearby tree, perching on his shoulder with a soft flutter of wings. The bird ruffled its feathers, letting out a low, disgruntled caw.

Sylus absentmindedly reached up to stroke the birds head, his thoughts already elsewhere. He had done what he came here to do—secured the protocore and struck a deal that, at least for now, kept Vincent’s meddling contained. But something about the encounter still irked him. The man’s desperation, his hollow excuses for deceit—it grated on Sylus in a way he hadn’t anticipated. And now, as he stood there in the afternoon light, a new thought took root in his mind, one that grew darker with every passing second.

He pulled out his phone, dialing a secure number. The line clicked, and a voice answered, steady and efficient. “Yes, sir?”

Sylus’s eyes narrowed slightly, his tone even but carrying an unmistakable edge. “Vincent’s plane trip—make sure it ends in tragedy.”

There was a pause, the person on the other end clearly processing the order before responding carefully. “Understood, sir. How would you like it handled?”

“Mechanical failure,” Sylus said, his voice cold and deliberate. “Something plausible. Nothing too obvious. And ensure the wife survives.” He paused, considering his next words carefully. “She’ll finally be free of his lies, and with him gone, there’ll be no more distractions.”

“Yes, sir. And the timing?”

“The trip is in a week” Sylus ended the call without waiting for a response, slipping the phone back into his pocket. He rarely reconsidered decisions once made, but something about Vincent’s situation—the false life he led, the deceit woven into every aspect of his existence—had struck a nerve. Perhaps it was because Sylus himself had no patience for such duplicity, or perhaps it was because, despite all his flaws, there was one thing he had always been certain of: loyalty.

Cheating on the woman you vowed to protect? And for what? Selfish love? The thought made his stomach turn.

At least Vincent’s wife would be free now. And as for the mistress? Sylus had no interest in her fate. He had given Vincent the protocore—what happened beyond that was no longer his concern.

Just as he turned to step into the car, his phone vibrated again in his pocket. He frowned, glancing at the caller ID: Luke. Without hesitation, he answered, pressing the phone to his ear.

“Speak.”

There was a brief pause, followed by Luke’s voice—uneven, trembling, and clearly panicked. “Boss. I—I’m sorry. Please, I’ll fix this.”

Sylus’s brows furrowed instantly, a flicker of unease settling in his chest. Luke’s tone wasn’t just nervous—it was bordering on frantic. “What are you even talking about, Luke? Fix what? Is she okay?”

“I—uh—she’s on foot right now,” Luke stammered, each word coming out more frantic than the last. “With a gun.”

Sylus’s entire body went rigid, his mind racing as those words sank in. On foot? With a gun? His heart rate spiked, but his voice remained dangerously calm. “What kind of joke is this? I told you to only call me if her water broke,” he said slowly, his tone low and laced with tension. “So unless—”

“No, it’s not a joke!” Luke interrupted quickly, the fear in his voice palpable. “It’s…I left my gun in my coat pocket. After I spilled soda on her, I gave her the coat, and…she found it. She pointed it at us and threatened to shoot herself if we didn’t let her go.”

Sylus’s grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles turning white. His blood began to boil, a mix of fury and something far more dangerous—panic. “You what?” he growled, his voice dangerously low, each word carrying the weight of barely restrained rage.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen!” Luke said quickly, his words tumbling out in a rush. “She just—she ran off before we could stop her. She’s on foot, boss. But I swear, we’ll find her.”

For a moment, Sylus said nothing, his mind racing through every possible scenario. You were out there, alone, heavily pregnant, armed, and clearly distraught enough to threaten your own life. The thought sent a wave of cold dread through him, but he forced himself to stay focused.

“I’ll deal with you both later,” Sylus said after a tense pause, his tone colder than ice. “For now, keep calm. There’s a tracker embedded in her engagement ring—I can see her location easily.”

Luke exhaled shakily, clearly relieved that there was a way to track you down. “What do you want us to do, boss?”

Sylus’s jaw clenched as he fought to keep his emotions in check. Anger, fear, frustration—all of it threatened to boil over, but he couldn’t afford to lose control now. He needed to get to you. Fast. Serene would have to wait.

“I’ll send you both her coordinates,” he said, his voice hard and unyielding. “I can be back in about eight hours. By the time I arrive, I expect her to be back safely. No exceptions.”

“Yes, boss,” Luke said hurriedly, his voice trembling slightly. “We’ll get her and the baby back. I promise.”

“You already failed me once,” Sylus said darkly, his tone cutting like a blade. “Don’t let it happen again.”

Without waiting for a response, he ended the call and lowered the phone, his hand still clenched tightly around it. His heart pounded in his chest, the residual anger mingling with a growing sense of urgency. He opened the tracking app, watching as a small blinking dot appeared on the map. You hadn’t gotten far yet—good. That gave him some time.

The thought of you, heavily pregnant and vulnerable, wandering alone with a gun, filled him with a growing sense of dread. He was a man who controlled everything in his world—his business, his empire, even life and death when necessary—but right now, the one thing he valued most was beyond his immediate reach. Anything could happen out there. You could get injured, go into labor, run into a Wanderer...

Gritting his teeth, Sylus inhaled sharply and turned to the crow perched on his shoulder. Mephisto ruffled his feathers, sensing the rising tension in his creator's demeanor.

“Mephisto,” Sylus said, his voice low but commanding, each syllable cutting through the air like a blade. “Hurry back to the N109 Zone. I want everything within a hundred miles scanned—every road, every path, every possible hiding spot.”

Mephisto let out a sharp, piercing shriek, his beady eyes gleaming with understanding. Without hesitation, the crow spread his wings and launched into the sky, disappearing into the afternoon light with powerful beats of his wings. Sylus tracked his ascent for a moment, watching as the bird soared higher, becoming a dark speck against the bright expanse above.

He climbed into the back of the waiting car, his expression cold and unreadable as he barked a sharp order to the driver. “Back to the airfield. Now.”

“Yes, sir,” the driver responded without hesitation, pulling away from the estate at high speed.

As the car sped down the long driveway, Sylus leaned back in his seat, his fingers drumming restlessly against the leather armrest. His thoughts were entirely consumed by you—your safety, your well-being, and his daughter. The very thought of something happening to you made his blood run cold. His mind was already working, calculating the fastest way to reach you. Eight hours. It was too long, but it would have to do.

And when he found you—when he brought you back—you wouldn’t be leaving his sight again.

Not for a long, long time.

Your breath came in short, sharp gasps as you stumbled down the uneven dirt path, your hands instinctively cradling your swollen belly. Every step felt like fire shooting through your feet, your muscles screaming in protest, but you didn’t dare stop. Not yet. You couldn’t. The weight of your baby pressing down on your abdomen made it harder to move with any real speed, and the burning ache in your lower back only worsened with each passing second.

Your daughter kicked fiercely, almost as if she could sense your distress. You winced, pausing briefly to press your hand against your belly, trying to soothe her. “It’s okay,” you whispered through gritted teeth, though you weren’t sure who you were trying to reassure—her or yourself. “Just a little further…”

You scanned your surroundings frantically. The area felt eerily familiar—broken streetlights lined the path on either side, and just ahead, you noticed a clearing that tugged at your memory. Of course. You’d been down this way before, during your last escape attempt. Back then, you had taken the path leading toward the corner store. That was how you had ended up with Reese. In that basement. You weren’t about to make the same mistake twice.

Without hesitation, you veered off in the opposite direction, away from the familiar route and deeper into the unknown. The air was thick with tension, every rustling leaf and snapping twig setting your nerves on edge. No doubt Luke and Kieran had already alerted Sylus, and he was probably tracking you right now. You could almost feel the weight of his gaze, like a shadow looming over you, relentless and unyielding.

Your heart pounded wildly in your chest—not just from the physical exertion, but from sheer fear. You knew what Sylus was capable of. He wouldn’t stop. He never stopped. He always found you.

You tried to push the thought from your mind, focusing instead on placing one foot in front of the other. But it was getting harder. Every few steps, a sharp, tightening pain rippled through your belly, stealing your breath and forcing you to slow down. Braxton Hicks, you reminded yourself, though that knowledge did little to ease your growing anxiety. You couldn’t afford to stop, not when freedom was finally within reach.

After what felt like an eternity, you spotted a bus stop up ahead. Relief washed over you, though it was fleeting—there was no telling when the next bus would arrive, and you couldn’t linger too long out in the open. Still, your legs threatened to buckle beneath you, and the burning in your chest demanded a moment’s rest. You staggered toward the bench, collapsing onto it with a quiet groan as you leaned back and closed your eyes for a brief second, trying to catch your breath.

The baby kicked again, harder this time, and you grimaced, placing both hands on your belly as if to calm her. “I know, I know,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “We can’t stop for long. Just give me a minute…”

Your entire body ached—your feet throbbed, your back felt like it was on fire, and the relentless pressure in your lower abdomen made it almost impossible to think straight. You wiped the sweat from your brow with the sleeve of Luke’s coat, which was now damp and clinging uncomfortably to your skin. Despite the cool afternoon breeze, you felt unbearably hot, every breath coming out ragged and shallow.

Just when you thought you couldn’t push yourself any further, the low rumble of an approaching engine caught your attention. Your eyes snapped open, heart leaping with a mix of hope and trepidation as a bus rounded the corner and slowed to a stop in front of you.

The doors hissed open, and the driver—a middle-aged man with graying hair and a tired expression—leaned slightly out of his seat, eyeing you warily. “You got any money?” he asked, his voice gruff but not unkind.

Panic flickered in your chest. Of course, you hadn’t thought about money. “Please,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, raw with desperation. “I don’t…I don’t have any money. I’m pregnant, and I’m homeless. I just need a ride—just a few stops, to get closer to my-er mom’s house.”

Was the lie convincing enough? You hoped so. Your sure you looked a mess by now.

The driver’s eyes flicked down to your belly, taking in your disheveled appearance—sweaty, exhausted, clearly in pain. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and you held your breath, silently pleading with him. If he turned you away now, you didn’t know what you’d do.

Finally, he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before jerking his head toward the interior of the bus. “Alright, get on. But just a few stops, you hear me?”

Relief flooded through you, so overwhelming that you nearly burst into tears. “Thank you,” you whispered, forcing yourself to your feet despite the burning protest of your muscles. You climbed the steps carefully, gripping the rail tightly to keep your balance as another wave of Braxton Hicks contractions tightened your belly.

Once you were on board, you made your way to the nearest seat and sank down heavily, letting out a shuddering breath. The driver glanced at you in the rearview mirror but said nothing more as he pulled away from the curb, the bus lurching forward with a groan of its engine.

For the first time since your frantic escape, you allowed yourself a moment to relax—if only slightly. The bus rocked gently as it moved, the familiar motion oddly soothing despite the chaos still swirling in your mind. You rested a hand on your belly, feeling the baby shift beneath your touch. She was still moving, still kicking, which meant she was okay for now.

But you weren’t out of danger yet. You knew that. No doubt Sylus was already on your tail—he always seemed to know exactly where you were, no matter how far you ran. You didn’t have much time, but at least now, with the bus covering some of the distance, you had a chance.

You had to be much smarter than last time. This would definitely be your last chance. God knows what Sylus would come up with next if he got you again. A cage maybe...? The thought made you shudder.

As the bus rumbled along the uneven road, you tried to steady your breathing, one hand gripping the seat tightly while the other remained protectively on your belly. The baby had calmed down somewhat, but you could still feel her shifting restlessly beneath your palm. The rhythmic rocking of the bus helped ease the burning ache in your legs, though your heart continued to pound, each beat a reminder of the ticking clock.

You hadn’t lied about being in pain—you were. Everything hurt. But the part about going to your mom’s house? That had been pure desperation. You hadn’t seen your mom in years. She was dead. Still, it had been enough to convince the driver to let you on, and that was what mattered.

Leaning back against the cracked leather seat, you glanced out the window, your eyes scanning the passing scenery. The streets were familiar but distant, hazy memories of another life surfacing briefly before fading away. You tried not to think about Sylus, but it was impossible. You knew him too well. He wouldn’t rest until he found you. Even now, Mephisto could be nearby, tracking your every move.

Your hand drifted to the ring, the weight of it feeling heavier than usual. It had once been a symbol of something you didn’t fully understand—Sylus’s obsession, his possessiveness. Now, it was a constant reminder that you were never truly free. You wanted to rip it off, toss it out the window, but you hesitated.

No. The ring could be useful. You could sell it for money right? Use the money to hop on a ferry and go overseas...to get as far away from Sylus as possible. Yeah that made way more sense than just tossing it.

“You sure you don’t have a husband looking for you?” the driver’s voice broke the silence, startling you slightly.

You turned to find him watching you in the rearview mirror, his brow furrowed in concern. It took you a moment to realize what had prompted the question, and when you did, your heart skipped a beat. Shit. The ring. You had been looking at it. How to explain how a "homeless" pregnant woman had such an extravagant ring?

“I…” You hesitated, your mind scrambling for an explanation. “Please,” you said quietly, avoiding his gaze. “You don’t want to get involved. For your own safety, just drop me off at the next few stops. I can’t say much more.”

The driver’s eyes flicked to the ring again, his concern deepening, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he gave a reluctant nod, his hands tightening slightly on the steering wheel as he turned his attention back to the road.

“Alright, lady,” he muttered. “But you be careful. Whatever mess you’re running from…I hope you find a way out.”

You didn’t respond, your fingers tightening around the edge of the seat as you stared down at the ring on your hand. The cool metal felt heavy against your skin, a constant reminder of the danger lurking just behind you. Every decision felt like a gamble, each one carrying risks you couldn’t fully predict. All you could do was keep moving and hope that, somehow, you could stay one step ahead. As the bus rumbled on, you leaned back against the cracked leather seat, trying to ignore the gnawing fear in your chest. You didn’t know what lay ahead, but one thing was certain—you couldn’t stop now.

The bus rumbled to a stop at the corner of a quiet, empty street, the brakes hissing as it came to a halt. You blinked, startled out of your frantic thoughts by the sudden stillness. The driver turned slightly in his seat, his weary eyes meeting yours through the rearview mirror.

“This is where I stop for you, miss,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with quiet finality.

For a moment, you just stared at him, unable to process the words. Your heart sank, a heavy weight settling in your chest. No, this can’t be it. It’s not far enough. You wouldn’t make it more than a few miles on foot before Sylus or the twins caught up to you. You needed to cover more ground, and you needed to do it fast.

“Please,” you said, your voice trembling as you pushed yourself to your feet, gripping the seat in front of you for balance. “I’m sorry, but…I really need to get out of the city.”

The driver’s expression softened slightly, but he shook his head. “I can’t. I’ve already taken you further than I should’ve. I need this job, miss. Please, just step off the bus.”

Desperation clawed at your throat, making it hard to breathe. You could feel the baby shifting restlessly inside you, as if she could sense your rising panic. This isn’t enough. I won’t make it. I’ll be caught. The thought sent a jolt of fear through you, making your hands tremble as you tried to think of something—anything—that could change the driver’s mind.

“I can give you my ring as compensation,” you blurted out, your voice cracking with urgency. You held up your hand, the engagement ring glinting faintly in the dim light. “It’s really expensive—”

The driver raised a hand, cutting you off with a sorrowful expression. “I’m sorry, miss. I can’t take that. I’m not looking to rob a pregnant woman, and I can’t lose my job. Please, just step off the bus. I can call an ambulance or take you to a hospital if you really need it, but I can’t drive you any further.”

Your heart pounded harder, every beat echoing like a ticking clock in your ears. You didn’t have time for this. You didn’t have time to wait for kindness or hope for mercy. Sylus could be closing in on you this very second. Every second you spent arguing was another second lost.

“I don’t have time for this!” you snapped, your voice rising in pitch as tears began to blur your vision. “Please! I’ll do anything. I need to get out of the city—for me and my baby’s safety!” You could hear the desperation in your own voice, the raw panic threatening to consume you.

Tears streamed down your face now, hot and fast, and your hands shook uncontrollably as you clutched at the seat in front of you. You could feel the driver’s hesitation, see the sympathy in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be enough.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated quietly, but his voice had hardened, resolved. “Please step off the bus. I don’t want to have to drag a pregnant lady off, but if you don’t get off willingly, I’ll have no choice.”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat as those words sank in. He was serious. He wasn’t going to take you any further. You didn’t have time to beg. You didn’t have time to argue. Time was running out, and you knew—you knew—that if you stepped off this bus, it was over. Sylus would find you, and everything you had done to escape would be for nothing.

Something inside you snapped.

Your fingers instinctively went to the pocket of Luke’s coat, wrapping around the cold metal of the sleep gun. You pulled it out in one swift motion, leveling it at the driver before you could second-guess yourself.

His eyes widened in shock, and his hands shot up in the universal gesture of surrender. “Whoa, whoa! What the hell are you doing?” he said, his voice rising in alarm. “Put the gun down! You don’t want to do this.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, and the words felt foreign, hollow, like they didn’t belong to you. Your hands were trembling, the weight of the gun cold and terrifying, but you didn’t lower it. “You seem like a nice man, but either you drive me out of here…or I’ll drive myself.”

The driver stared at you, his expression a mixture of fear and disbelief. “Look, I don’t know what kind of trouble you’re in, but threatening me isn’t going to help you.”

“I don’t have a choice!” you shouted, your voice breaking as more tears spilled down your face. “You don’t understand—I can’t go back. I won’t go back.”

For a brief moment, silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the engine. The bus driver looked at you, really looked at you—at your tear-streaked face, your trembling hands, the sheer desperation radiating from every part of you. Slowly, he exhaled, lowering his hands slightly.

“Okay,” he said carefully, his tone calm but wary. “Okay. Just…calm down. Don’t do anything rash.”

You didn’t respond, your grip on the gun tightening as your heart raced wildly in your chest. You couldn’t believe what you were doing. The old you would have never—never—pointed a gun at an innocent person. But that version of you was long gone. This was survival. Nothing else mattered now.

“Just drive,” you whispered hoarsely, your voice trembling with emotion. “Please.”

The driver hesitated for a moment longer, then, with a reluctant nod, he turned back toward the wheel. The bus lurched forward again, the engine groaning as it picked up speed. You didn’t lower the gun, keeping it trained on him, your mind spinning with fear and adrenaline.

You didn’t recognize yourself anymore. You didn’t know who you were becoming. But none of it mattered—not now. The only thing that mattered was getting out of the city, getting as far away from Sylus as possible.

And you would do whatever it took to make that happen.

The bus rumbled along the deserted road, the engine’s low hum filling the tense silence between you and the driver. Your hands gripped the gun tightly, your knuckles white, though every passing second made it harder to ignore the gnawing guilt creeping up your spine. The man hadn’t argued, hadn’t tried anything. He was just driving, his eyes flicking nervously to the rearview mirror every so often, clearly hyper-aware of the weapon pointed at him.

You felt awful—wretched, really. Here you were, holding a gun to the head of someone who had shown you nothing but kindness. Someone who had stopped his bus for a visibly pregnant woman, taken her on board despite her lack of money, and now…now he was being forced to drive to God knows where under threat of violence.

But you couldn’t lower the gun. Not yet.

Every instinct in you screamed to keep it raised, to stay alert, because the moment you let your guard down might be the moment it all ended. Sylus’s reach was far. You couldn’t risk stopping now. You couldn’t afford to trust anyone—not fully.

The silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive, broken only by the occasional creak of the bus and the sound of tires rolling over uneven pavement. You stared out the window, the scenery blurring past in muted shades of gray. Your heart still pounded in your chest, though the initial rush of adrenaline was beginning to wear off, leaving behind a hollow, aching exhaustion.

“Look,” the driver said suddenly, his voice cautious but steady, breaking the tense quiet. He didn’t turn to face you, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. “I could take you to Linkon. It’s the next city over, not too far from here. You’d be able to find a safe place there.”

You froze at the mention of Linkon, a surge of anxiety tightening your chest. Linkon. Where Xavier was. Where you had spent that brief, fleeting moment of happiness before everything went to hell again. The idea of going back there was tempting—painfully so—but you knew it wasn’t an option. Going to Linkon would only put Xavier in more danger, and you couldn’t live with yourself if that happened.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I can’t go back there. I just…I can’t.”

The driver glanced at you briefly in the mirror, his brow furrowing in concern. “Okay…anywhere else, then? You name it.”

You hesitated, uncertainty gnawing at you. You didn’t have a destination in mind, only a desperate need to keep moving, to stay ahead of whatever storm was undoubtedly coming. “Just…anywhere but Linkon,” you said quietly, your voice trembling slightly. “And preferably not a major city. Somewhere quieter.”

The driver nodded slowly, eyeing the gun in your hands before turning his attention back to the road. Despite the tension in the air, he remained calm, his voice steady as he replied, “I got just the place. A small town a little further out. It’s quieter, like you asked.”

You swallowed hard, a flicker of gratitude stirring in your chest despite the guilt still weighing heavily on you. Even now, with a gun pointed at him, this man was offering to help. The realization made you feel sick to your stomach. What kind of person had you become?

“Okay,” you whispered, the word barely audible over the rumble of the engine. You glanced down at the gun in your hands, your fingers trembling slightly. For a brief moment, you considered lowering it, but fear held you back. You couldn’t take the risk.

“Please…just buckle your seatbelt, ma’am,” the driver said gently, his tone more concerned than fearful. “I don’t want you or the baby getting hurt.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. Despite everything—the fear, the tension, the threat of violence—he was still thinking about your safety. It was such a simple request, one that shouldn’t have made your throat tighten with emotion, but it did. You weren’t used to kindness anymore. Not real kindness.

With trembling hands, you reached for the seatbelt and pulled it across your body, clicking it into place. The baby shifted slightly inside you, as if responding to the sudden pressure, and you placed a hand over your belly, trying to calm the restless movement.

“Thank you,” you murmured, though you weren’t entirely sure who you were thanking—the driver for his patience, or yourself for not breaking down completely.

The driver gave a small nod, his gaze focused on the road. “You don’t have to tell me what’s going on,” he said quietly after a moment, his voice calm and measured. “But whatever it is…life always finds a way to sort itself out again."

You didn’t respond. What could you say? That you were being hunted by a man who would stop at nothing to claim you as his own again? That you had escaped only to find yourself lost, with no real plan or destination? That you were terrified—terrified for yourself, for your baby, for whatever future lay ahead?

Instead, you sat in silence, your eyes fixed on the road ahead, the weight of everything pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. You didn’t know what was waiting for you at the end of this journey, but one thing was certain—you couldn’t go back. You couldn’t let Sylus find you.

Not now.

Not ever.

"Boy or girl?" the driver asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the tense silence like a gentle nudge.

You froze, caught off guard by the question. It felt strange—foreign, even—to be spoken to like this, in a way that wasn’t demanding, controlling, or laced with hidden motives. You had forgotten what simple, human interaction with strangers felt like. Disregarding the time spent with Xavier, it had been so long since you were alone, truly alone, without Sylus looming in the background.

For a brief moment, you didn’t know how to respond. Your mind reeled, still teetering between fight and flight, and this unexpected moment of normalcy felt almost surreal. Yet, something about the driver’s casual tone, his genuine curiosity, calmed you just enough to find your voice.

"Uh…girl," you finally said, rubbing your belly instinctively. "She’s a girl."

The driver gave a small nod, his eyes flicking briefly to the rearview mirror before returning to the road. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, softening the lines of his weathered face. "That’s nice," he said quietly. "Have you decided what to name her?"

You blinked, startled once again by the simplicity of the question. A name. Something that should have been joyous, something that should have been decided after endless happy debates over baby name books and hopeful dreams for the future. But for you, it was different. The idea of naming your baby was tangled in a web of uncertainty and fear, weighed down by everything you had been through.

Your mind swirled with the names that had crossed your thoughts before—Evia… Ruby… Names you had once clung to in moments of hope, names that had flickered like fragile flames in the darkness of your captivity. But now? Now, the thought of naming her felt overwhelming, almost unbearable.

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers brushing lightly over the curve of your belly as you tried to keep your voice steady. "I honestly… I don’t know if I’m planning on keeping her," you admitted, the words coming out quieter than you had intended. Each one felt like a knife twisting in your chest. "Maybe…maybe her new parents will want to name her, y’know?"

The moment the words left your mouth, a tightness gripped your chest, and you felt a familiar sting in your eyes. You blinked rapidly, trying to push back the tears threatening to spill. But it was no use. The more you tried to suppress the emotion, the more it clawed its way to the surface, raw and relentless.

The driver didn’t say anything right away, but you caught the subtle way his hands tightened on the wheel, his expression shifting slightly. It wasn’t pity—thank God, it wasn’t pity—but something closer to understanding. Empathy, maybe.

"You’ve got a lot on your plate," he said after a moment, his voice softer now, more thoughtful. "But…if it means anything, whatever you decide, it’s clear you care about her. That counts for something."

His words hit harder than you expected, and you found yourself gripping the edge of the seat to steady yourself. You didn’t know this man, and he didn’t know you. Yet, in that moment, his words carried a weight you hadn’t realized you needed to hear. You weren’t sure if you believed him—if caring was enough—but for a fleeting second, it felt like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t entirely alone in this.

Still, you couldn’t let yourself dwell on that thought for long. There wasn’t time. You had to keep moving, keep running, because the moment you stopped, Sylus would catch up. And this time, you knew there wouldn’t be any escape.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to push down the lump that had formed there. "Thanks," you muttered, though you didn’t entirely know what you were thanking him for. Maybe for not pressing further, maybe for not asking questions you couldn’t answer.

Or maybe just for being human.

A few hours passed in silence, the bus rolling steadily along the deserted road. The tension in your chest began to ease slightly, though a nagging sense of unease still lingered at the back of your mind. You knew this brief calm wouldn’t last. Sylus was out there, and he was coming. It was only a matter of time before he caught up.

"We’re almost there," the driver said after a while, his voice breaking through your thoughts once again. "It’s a smaller area, like you asked. Should be quiet enough for you to rest for a bit."

You nodded, offering a quiet "Thanks" as the bus began to slow. Despite everything—the fear, the guilt—you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of gratitude toward the driver. He didn’t have to help you. Hell, you’d pointed a gun at him, and yet here he was, still offering a helping hand.

As the bus came to a gentle stop, the driver turned to you, his expression cautious but kind. "This is where I’ll drop you off. There’s a diner a couple of blocks down if you need something to eat. And… well, there’s a police station nearby if you change your mind about needing help."

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of the police station, and a cold wave of panic washed over you. A police station. Shit.

Your eyes darted to the window, and sure enough, you could see the telltale red-and-blue lights of the station’s sign glowing faintly in the distance. He’d brought you close—too close. You hadn’t been expecting this. You couldn’t involve the police. Sylus wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone who got in his way, and you couldn’t live with more blood on your hands.

"Thanks," you said quickly, forcing yourself to sound calm even as your pulse raced. You unbuckled your seatbelt and grabbed the edge of the seat, pushing yourself to your feet with a strained effort. "I appreciate it."

The driver nodded, watching you carefully as you made your way to the front of the bus. His eyes flicked briefly to the gun still clutched in your hand, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he offered a quiet, "Good luck, miss. Stay safe."

You didn’t respond, too focused on the rising panic tightening in your chest. As soon as your feet hit the pavement, you turned away from the bus, your heart pounding wildly in your ears. You needed to move—fast. You couldn’t risk staying here, not with the police station so close.

But you didn’t get far before the panic fully set in. What if they saw you? What if Sylus had people watching nearby?

Your breath hitched, and without thinking, you broke into a run. The weight of your belly made it difficult, each step sending jolts of pain through your body, but you didn’t care. You had to get away, had to put as much distance between yourself and the police station as possible.

The world around you blurred as you ran, your mind spinning with fear and desperation. You didn’t know where you were going—only that you couldn’t stop. Not yet. Not until you were sure you were safe.

You slowed your pace, gasping for breath as the adrenaline began to ebb away, leaving behind a gnawing ache in your legs and a heavy, almost unbearable pressure in your lower back. You pressed a hand against your belly, feeling the baby shift restlessly inside. She wasn’t kicking as hard now, but the movement was constant, as if reminding you she was still there, still depending on you.

For the first time since you bolted off the bus, you allowed yourself to stop. Just for a moment. Your eyes darted around the unfamiliar streets, taking in the quiet surroundings. The town wasn’t bustling, but it wasn’t deserted either. A few cars passed by on the narrow streets, and clusters of people walked in and out of nearby shops, chatting and laughing as if everything in the world was perfectly fine.

You envied them.

To them, this was just another ordinary afternoon in their quaint little town. But for you? This was survival. Every second counted. Every decision mattered. You couldn’t afford to waste time, but right now, you didn’t even know what your next move should be. You were truly on your own. Just you…and your daughter.

Your eyes flicked down to your belly, and for a brief moment, you rested both hands on it, feeling the subtle, rhythmic movement beneath your palms. “We’ll figure this out,” you murmured quietly, as if speaking to her could somehow calm your racing thoughts. “I promise, okay? We just have to make smart decisions. No more mistakes.”

Easier said than done. The weight of your situation pressed down on you like an invisible vice, and your mind spun with all the things you needed to do. Find a place to rest. Get food. Figure out where to go next. But first and foremost…money. You couldn’t keep relying on threats and luck to get by. Pointing a gun at people wasn’t a long-term solution. It had worked with the bus driver, but sooner or later, it was bound to land you in serious trouble. You couldn’t risk that—not when you had a baby to protect.

Your gaze dropped to the ring on your finger, the glint of the expensive ring catching the late afternoon sun. Right. First things first. Gotta secure some money.

You sighed, sliding your thumb over the ring absentmindedly. Pawning it seemed like the best option, but it wasn’t exactly easy to do that without drawing attention. You looked like a mess—disheveled, sweaty, and clearly out of place in this neat, quiet town. The long coat Luke had given you only added to the strangeness of your appearance, making you stand out even more.

And you were starving. The dull, empty ache in your stomach was becoming harder to ignore, and the thought of trying to find food without any money only added to your growing anxiety.

“This is gonna be tough,” you muttered under your breath, glancing around at the buildings lining the street. Most of them were small businesses—cafés, bakeries, and quaint little shops. Nothing that looked remotely like a pawn shop or jewelry store. You needed to find someone who could point you in the right direction, but asking a stranger wasn’t exactly something you wanted to do. The less attention you drew to yourself, the better.

Still, you didn’t have much of a choice. You couldn’t keep wandering around aimlessly forever. Swallowing your hesitation, you scanned the street for someone who looked approachable. After a moment, you spotted a woman walking toward you, carrying a small shopping bag. She looked friendly enough—mid-thirties, casually dressed, with a kind face that didn’t seem too wary of strangers.

Steeling yourself, you took a deep breath and stepped forward, forcing a nervous smile. “Excuse me,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the tight knot of anxiety in your chest. “I’m sorry to bother you, but…do you know where I could find a jewelry shop around here?”

The woman paused, blinking in mild surprise before offering a polite smile. “Oh, sure. There’s one just a couple of blocks down that way.” She pointed to a street branching off to the left. “It’s called Oak & Gold. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” you said quickly, relief washing over you. You didn’t linger, turning in the direction she had pointed and making your way down the street as quickly as you could manage without drawing too much attention.

The area remained relatively quiet as you walked, your eyes darting to each building you passed. Despite being a smaller town, the streets were clean and well-maintained, with neatly trimmed hedges and colorful flower boxes lining the windows of some shops. It was nice—too nice, really. You couldn’t help but feel out of place, like an intruder in someone else’s picture-perfect life.

But you didn’t have time to dwell on that. You had a mission. Find the jewelry shop, pawn the ring, and get enough money to buy some food and figure out your next move. Simple, in theory. In practice? You weren’t so sure.

Your stomach growled loudly, and you winced, pressing a hand against it in an attempt to quiet the noise. Just a little longer, you told yourself, though you weren’t entirely sure if you were speaking to yourself or the baby. We’ll get something to eat soon. Just hang in there.

After a few more minutes of walking, you finally spotted the shop—a small, elegant storefront with a wooden sign hanging above the door that read Oak & Gold Fine Jewelry. You paused for a moment, staring at the building as a fresh wave of anxiety washed over you. This was it. Once you stepped inside, there was no turning back.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. You can do this. Just get in, sell the ring, and get out. No one has to know anything. Just act normal.

With that thought in mind, you squared your shoulders and pushed open the door, the soft chime of a bell announcing your arrival as you stepped inside.

The soft chime of the bell overhead echoed through the small jewelry shop as you stepped inside, the sound immediately making you more aware of your surroundings. The interior of the shop was warm and well-lit, with gleaming glass display cases arranged in neat rows. Each case was filled with glittering treasures—rings, necklaces, earrings, and bracelets that sparkled under the soft overhead lights. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and something metallic, like the scent of freshly cleaned silverware.

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes scanning the room nervously. The atmosphere was quiet, almost too quiet, amplifying the sound of your heartbeat thudding loudly in your ears. You didn’t belong here. That much was obvious. Between your disheveled appearance, the oversized coat draped awkwardly around you, and your protruding belly, you stood out like a sore thumb among the neat, polished surroundings.

Near the front of the store, a teenager stood behind one of the display cases, idly scrolling through her phone with a bored expression. Next to her was an older man, likely in his late fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a kind but sharp gaze. As you approached the counter, he looked up, his eyes immediately flicking to your swollen belly before settling on your face.

"Welcome!" he said, his tone friendly but curious. "Haven’t seen your face around here. Visiting?"

You swallowed nervously, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. Despite his casual tone, there was something in his eyes—an alertness, a quiet calculation—that made you uneasy. Still, he didn’t comment on your appearance, didn’t ask questions you weren’t ready to answer. Instead, he offered a polite smile, waiting patiently for you to speak.

"Ah, yeah… just stopping by. Seeing new things…y’know," you mumbled awkwardly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Your hands trembled slightly as you reached for the engagement ring on your finger, sliding it off carefully. The weight of it felt heavier than usual, as if it carried all the tension of the moment. You placed it on the counter, the metal glinting under the bright lights.

"Um…I need gold. Or cash. Whatever you guys use around here," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

The man’s eyes widened as he picked up the ring, turning it over in his hands with a look of astonishment. He brought it closer to his face, inspecting it carefully. The teenager glanced up briefly from her phone, giving the ring a disinterested glance before going back to scrolling.

"I won’t lie," the older man said slowly, his tone a mix of disbelief and curiosity. "I don’t know where you got this ring, but…this costs a shit ton, miss. I don’t think I even carry enough in the store to give you for something like this."

Your heart skipped a beat, panic beginning to creep in at his words. Shit. This wasn’t going as smoothly as you had hoped. You had expected questions, sure, but you hadn’t anticipated this—him being suspicious about the ring’s value. The last thing you needed was to draw more attention to yourself.

"Um…that’s okay!" you said quickly, forcing a nervous smile. "I’ll take whatever you can give me. I need at least 20k though…"

The man set the ring down on the counter, his expression shifting from astonishment to something more cautious. He eyed you carefully, as if trying to piece together the story behind the expensive ring and the desperate, disheveled woman standing before him.

"Twenty grand?" he repeated, his tone skeptical. "Miss, this ring is worth at least a hundred grand…probably way more. I can’t in good faith only give you 20k for something like this."

He slid the ring back across the counter toward you, his brows furrowed in concern. "Look, if you’re in trouble or something, there are other ways to get help. I can’t just give you 20k for a ring like this. It doesn’t add up."

Your chest tightened, and a wave of panic surged through you. Does he think I stole it? The thought made your heart race even faster. You couldn’t afford for anyone to call the police, couldn’t afford for anyone to ask too many questions. You needed the money, and you needed it now.

"Please," you said, your voice trembling with desperation. "I really need the money. I don’t need its full value—I don’t even care about the ring. I’m about to have my baby, and I need some things for her. I promise it’s fine. Just…please."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. You hated this—hated feeling so vulnerable, so powerless. But you didn’t have a choice. This was survival, and survival meant swallowing your pride and doing whatever it took to protect your baby.

The man’s expression softened slightly, though the wariness didn’t entirely leave his eyes. He glanced at the ring again, then back at you, as if weighing his options. After what felt like an eternity, he let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Alright," he said reluctantly. "I can’t give you 20k in cash right now, but I can give you 10k upfront. The rest I’ll need to wire through a bank transfer. You got a bank account?"

You hesitated for a moment before nodding. You didn’t have a personal bank account anymore—Sylus had seen to that—but you remembered opening a small account in another name years ago, one you had used for emergencies. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. A quick stop to an atm to withdraw the rest and you'd be good.

"Yeah…I do," you said quietly.

"Okay," the man said, giving you a long, searching look before turning toward the back of the shop. "Wait here. I’ll get the cash and bring out the paperwork for the transfer."

You exhaled shakily, a mix of relief and lingering anxiety washing over you. You had managed to convince him, but it hadn’t been easy. Still, you couldn’t relax yet. Not until you had the money in hand and were far away from here.

As the man disappeared into the back room, you glanced down at your belly again, rubbing it gently. "Almost there," you whispered, more to yourself than to the baby. "We’re almost there."

Sylus glanced at the time displayed on his phone—just over four hours since he had taken off. The journey was dragging on far longer than he liked, every passing minute an agonizing reminder that you were still out there, beyond his reach. He tapped open the tracker again, watching the small blinking dot marking your location. You had stopped moving a little bit ago, somewhere in Brunswick, a quiet little town far from the bustling cities he was accustomed to.

The stillness of the tracker unnerved him. Were you resting? Hiding? Hurt? His mind spun through possibilities, each one more unsettling than the last.

“Luke, Kieran—update,” he said sharply, connecting to the twins through the communicator in his ear.

Luke’s voice crackled through the line, tense but composed. “We’re about an hour outside Brunswick, boss. Still no sign of her, but we did manage to track down the bus driver she…uh…borrowed transportation from.”

Sylus’s brows lifted slightly in surprise. “Borrowed?” he repeated, his tone edged with curiosity.

“Well…” Luke hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. “She, uh, held him at gunpoint. Took control of the situation, made him drive her further than his route allowed. He was pretty shaken up, but he didn’t call the cops—figured it was safer to just let her go.”

Sylus leaned back in his seat, a smirk curling at the corners of his mouth. You? Holding someone at gunpoint twice in one day? It wasn’t exactly a scenario he would have expected from you, but then again, desperation had a way of pushing people beyond their limits. Instead of anger, he felt a strange flicker of pride. That’s my girl, he thought, amusement mingling with admiration. You were learning how to survive, how to fight back in your own way.

“Impressive,” he murmured, more to himself than to Luke. “She’s resourceful. Good.”

Luke, likely sensing Sylus’s mood, cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh, yeah. Anyway, we’re keeping an eye on things. Shouldn’t be long before we catch up. You want us to approach her if we find her?”

“No,” Sylus said firmly. “You’ll wait for me. Don’t spook her. Just observe from a distance and report back if anything changes.”

“Understood, boss,” Luke said before the line went silent again.

Sylus’s fingers drummed idly against the armrest, his mind already racing ahead. You were clever, but you were also tired, stressed, and heavily pregnant. He didn’t need brute force to bring you back—he needed patience. He would let you think you had a chance, let you tire yourself out. And when the time was right, he would step in.

By the time Sylus’s jet touched down at the private airstrip near Brunswick, night was beginning to settle over the horizon, casting long shadows across the tarmac. He didn’t waste a second, striding down the steps with Mephisto perched silently on his shoulder. The bird’s sharp eyes gleamed in the fading light, already scanning the surroundings as if sensing his creator's urgency.

Sylus pulled out his phone, checking the tracker once more. The dot hadn’t moved in hours, remaining stubbornly fixed in the same spot. He didn’t like it. You were on the run, constantly moving—why would you stop now?

“What are you up to, kitten?” he muttered under his breath, his crimson eyes narrowing in thought.

“Sir, the car is ready,” his driver announced, approaching with a respectful nod.

Sylus barely acknowledged him, sliding into the sleek black vehicle waiting nearby. As the engine roared to life, he leaned back in his seat, fingers steepled in thought. You had stopped moving, and that worried him more than if you had been constantly on the move. Were you planning something? Had you found a temporary place to hide? Or worse, had something happened to you?

“Drive. Quickly,” Sylus ordered, his tone sharp and unwavering.

The car sped off, cutting through the quiet evening air as they made their way toward Brunswick. Sylus’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, but beneath the tension and worry, there was a single, undeniable truth: he was close. So close to finding you, to holding you again. And once he did, he wouldn’t let go. Not this time.

Mephisto let out a low caw from a branch, as if sensing his creator's determination. The crow had been dispatched ahead of the car, already flying toward the town to scout the area. He hadn’t been able to catch a glimpse of you yet, but that didn’t matter. It was only a matter of time now.

Soon, very soon, you would be back where you belonged.

The town of Brunswick was all but asleep by the time Sylus’s sleek black car pulled into the narrow street leading toward Oak & Gold Fine Jewelry. The late night had fully settled in, casting long shadows over the quiet town. Most of the shops had closed, their windows dark and their entrances locked, save for a few late-night diners and convenience stores still welcoming customers. The crisp night air carried a faint chill, but it was the quiet that unsettled Sylus more than anything—the kind of quiet that meant people were minding their own business, trying not to attract attention.

As the car crept down the street, Sylus noticed the occasional head turning, curious eyes peering at the unfamiliar vehicle. He could practically hear their whispers—Who’s that? Some kind of government agent? FBI? Maybe a politician? The polished, luxurious car didn’t fit in here, and neither did he. He didn’t care. Let them talk. Let them speculate.

He was here for one thing, and one thing only—you.

His fingers gripped the phone in his hand, the blinking dot on the screen still fixed at the jewelry shop. Oak & Gold. He narrowed his eyes, considering his next move. Had you convinced the owner to let you stay there for the night? Maybe you’d thought it was a safe place to hide. Or, more likely, you had decided to pawn off something valuable. His jaw tightened at the thought.

The ring.

Logically, Sylus knew why you would do it. You needed money, and the engagement ring was worth far more than most people in this town could comprehend. It was a smart move on your part—practical, efficient. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier for him to accept. That ring wasn’t just a shiny object. It was a symbol. A promise. A mark of what you meant to him. And now you’d tossed it away like it was nothing.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to let go of the irritation gnawing at him. It doesn’t matter, he told himself. I can buy you a thousand rings just like it. What matters now is finding you.

The car rolled to a stop across the street from Oak & Gold. Sylus stepped out without hesitation, the sound of his polished shoes striking the pavement echoing in the quiet night. His coat flared slightly as he moved, the cool breeze tugging at the edges. He crossed the street in long, measured strides, his sharp crimson eyes locked on the figure standing at the shop’s entrance—a man in his late fifties, fumbling with a set of keys as he locked up for the night.

Sylus didn’t slow his pace. He closed the distance quickly, placing a firm hand on the man’s shoulder before he could even register his presence.

The man jumped, his eyes widening in alarm as he turned to face Sylus. “Jesus, man!” he yelped, clutching his chest. “You scared the hell outta me.”

“Let’s have a chat inside, shall we?” Sylus said smoothly, though there was a cold edge to his voice that left little room for argument.

The man chuckled nervously, trying to mask his unease. “Look, I don’t have any money. Not much to rob, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Sylus’s eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light, a hint of amusement flickering across his sharp features. “After you,” he said, gesturing toward the door.

The man hesitated, glancing around the empty street as if contemplating whether to call for help. But something in Sylus’s gaze—something cold, unyielding—made him think twice. With a resigned sigh, he unlocked the door and stepped inside, flicking on a small desk lamp that cast a warm glow over the shop’s interior.

Sylus followed him in, his gaze sweeping over the room. The shop was small but well-kept, with polished glass display cases lining the walls and shelves filled with various pieces of jewelry. The faint scent of wood polish and metal lingered in the air, mingling with the quiet hum of the overhead lights.

“So, uh…what do you want?” the man asked, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to appear confident. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone as tall as you before. You play basketball or something?”

Sylus didn’t bother responding to the weak attempt at humor. Instead, he pulled out his phone, holding it up so the man could see the blinking dot on the screen.

“I don’t want trouble,” Sylus said calmly, though his tone carried a subtle menace. “But according to this, there should be a girl here. Where is she?”

The man blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Girl? Plenty of girls come in here every day. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sylus’s patience was wearing thin. He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Then I’m sure you won’t mind if I tear this little place apart until I find her—or until your memory jogs.”

As if to emphasize his point, Sylus raised his hand slightly. A polished trophy from one of the shelves floated into the air before crashing into the adjacent wall with a loud bang, shattering a glass display case and scattering jewelry across the floor.

“Woah, woah—okay!” the man yelped, raising his hands in surrender. His face was pale, beads of sweat forming on his brow. “Look, I swear, I don’t know much! There was a pregnant girl who came in earlier. She had an expensive ring—begged me to give her cash for it. I gave her 20k, and she left. That’s it! She’s not here!”

Sylus studied him for a long, tense moment, his crimson eyes gleaming with an intensity that made the shopkeeper visibly tremble. The air in the room felt thick, suffused with an almost tangible pressure that seemed to weigh down on the man’s chest. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, sweat gathering at his temples despite the cool night air filtering through the shop’s open doorway.

“Produce the ring,” Sylus said again, his voice low and measured, carrying a quiet menace that left no room for negotiation. “Now.”

The shopkeeper stumbled back a step, nodding quickly. “Y-Yeah, yeah, okay. Just gimme a second,” he stammered, turning toward the counter with clumsy haste. His hands fumbled as he opened a drawer, rifling through its contents with a frantic urgency. Each second felt like an eternity, the tension in the room stretching taut as Sylus remained perfectly still, his gaze locked on the man like a predator watching its prey.

Finally, with a faint clink of metal against wood, the shopkeeper pulled out the ring. He turned slowly, holding it up for Sylus to see. The band gleamed faintly under the dim light, and though the man’s hands were shaking, the ring itself remained steady, as if mocking the gravity of the moment.

“See? Here. This is the ring, isn’t it?” the man said, his voice wavering as he held it out further toward Sylus, desperate to prove he wasn’t hiding anything.

Sylus stepped forward with an almost lazy grace, reaching out to take the ring from the man’s trembling fingers. He held it up between his thumb and forefinger, turning it slowly so the firelight reflected off its polished gems. There it was—the symbol of a promise, now nothing more than a pawned object traded for survival.

The weight of it felt heavier than he remembered, though he knew that was absurd. The ring hadn’t changed. What had changed was the context—the fact that you had willingly parted with it, reducing it to nothing more than a transaction. Despite himself, Sylus felt a flicker of something…unpleasant. Annoyance? Frustration? He couldn’t quite name it, but it gnawed at him all the same.

Time was slipping through his fingers like sand, and every second wasted was another second you slipped further from his grasp. The thought sent a flicker of irritation through him, though Sylus’s expression remained perfectly composed. He had little patience for delays, and even less for dead ends.

Sylus turned to leave, his polished shoes making barely a sound on the wooden floor, but before he could reach the door, the man’s voice rang out behind him, hesitant but tinged with indignation. “Hey! You can’t just—”

“I’ll give you twenty thousand,” Sylus interrupted smoothly, without even turning around. His voice was cool, indifferent, as though the sum he mentioned was pocket change. He reached for the door handle, pausing only briefly to glance over his shoulder. “Plus more for the damage. It’ll be delivered by tomorrow. Thanks for your time.”

The shopkeeper’s mouth opened slightly, as if to protest further, but no words came out. He was left standing there, stunned, watching Sylus’s retreating figure disappear into the night. The glint of shattered glass and scattered jewelry reflected faintly in the dim light, a quiet testament to the storm that had just passed through.

Outside, the cool night air greeted Sylus like a whisper, crisp and biting against his skin. He paused on the sidewalk, allowing himself a brief moment to collect his thoughts. The town was eerily quiet now, the streets nearly deserted save for the occasional flicker of movement behind curtained windows. A faint breeze stirred the air, carrying with it the scent of old stone and damp earth.

Sylus pulled out his phone, his gaze narrowing as he stared at the blinking dot that had once guided him directly to you. Now, it was useless. Static. Still. He clenched his jaw, forcing down the frustration rising in his chest. You were gone, and without the tracker, he had no immediate way of knowing where you had gone next.

His mind raced through possibilities. You were smart—he had always known that. Resourceful, determined. But you were also heavily pregnant, vulnerable in a way that made every passing minute a risk. Anything could happen out here. You could run into trouble, get hurt, go into labor too far from help. He hated the uncertainty, the inability to predict your next move. It gnawed at him, an unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the ring you had pawned. It was cold against his skin, a bitter reminder of how far you were willing to go to escape him. Kitten, where have you scurried off to? he thought, his lips curving into a faint, humorless smile. Was I really so terrible that you’d rather freeze in the night than be by my side?

A sharp whistle pierced the quiet night, and within seconds, Mephisto descended from the sky, his dark wings cutting through the air with silent precision. The crow landed gracefully on Sylus’s outstretched arm, his beady eyes gleaming in the dim light.

“Go,” Sylus commanded softly, his voice low but firm. “Keep looking.”

The bird let out a shrill caw before taking off once more, disappearing into the shadows above. Sylus watched him go, his expression unreadable, though beneath the calm exterior, his mind churned with anticipation. Things were getting serious now. He didn’t know where you were yet, but one thing was certain—he would find you. It was only a matter of time.

And when he did, there would be no more running.

No more hiding.

You were his, and soon, very soon, he would have you back in his arms. He'd lock you away forever if he had to. You'd have his baby and everything would be right in the world again. His perfect, curated world.

With that thought, Sylus strode back to his car, his movements purposeful and precise. There was still work to be done, and though the night stretched on, he had no intention of resting until you were found.

The hunt had begun. And Sylus always caught his prey.

The hours since you’d left the pawn shop had felt like an eternity. The weight of the cash tucked inside your coat—far more than you had ever held in your life—seemed to grow heavier with every passing minute. You clutched the envelopes tightly against your chest, your fingers gripping the edges so hard they ached. It wasn’t just money. It was survival. The only thing standing between you and whatever came next.

Earlier, things had felt slightly more hopeful. You’d managed to grab a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich from a small deli tucked into the corner of a quiet street. The warmth of the food had been comforting, even if only for a short while. You’d even thought ahead, wrapping up a few extra sandwiches to carry with you in case you didn’t get another chance to eat soon. But that had been hours ago. The warmth had long since faded, replaced by the bitter chill of the night creeping in through your coat. The weight of reality was settling in once more.

You had sought refuge in the local library after the sun had set, grateful for the brief reprieve from the cold. The place had been warm and quiet, filled with the scent of old paper and polished wood. For a moment, you’d almost felt safe, hidden among the rows of books and the soft murmur of people flipping pages. But now, the library was closed, and you were back out on the streets, exposed and unsure of what to do next.

The thought of finding a motel crossed your mind, but the idea filled you with unease. Staying in one place, even for a night, felt like inviting danger. Like leaving a trail too obvious for Sylus to miss. You had no doubt that he was searching for you by now. No doubt that the twins were on your trail. And worst of all, you knew Mephisto—the damned bird—was probably scanning the area from above. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel him. The thought made your skin crawl.

Still, you had to do something. You couldn’t stay out in the open all night, not like this. The cold was biting, each gust of wind cutting through your coat like a blade. You weren’t just thinking about yourself anymore—you were thinking about your daughter, growing inside you, kicking occasionally as if to remind you that she was there. You had to keep moving. You had to find somewhere safe.

You spotted a bench near city hall and made your way toward it, your legs aching with every step. Sitting down heavily, you wrapped your coat tighter around yourself, clutching it for warmth. The wind howled through the empty streets, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to close your eyes, trying to think.

What now?

Your mind raced with possibilities, each one more desperate than the last. You could try walking out of town—find a road that led somewhere remote and hope to hitch a ride. But the thought of being stuck out in the open, miles from anywhere, was terrifying. You could keep wandering the streets, but that was just as dangerous. And then there was the motel option, the one you kept circling back to despite the risk. At least it would be warm. At least you’d have a bed.

You let out a shaky breath, your hands trembling slightly from more than just the cold. Every decision felt like a gamble, and you were running out of time to make one. You couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that Mephisto was close. That Sylus was close. He always had a way of finding you, no matter how far you ran.

Think, think, you told yourself, glancing around the darkened street. Most of the shops were closed, their windows dark, their doors locked tight. The only signs of life came from a distant diner, its neon sign flickering faintly in the distance. The idea of stepping inside was tempting—food, warmth, people. Safety in numbers. But it wouldn’t last long. You couldn’t hide forever in a diner.

Another gust of wind blew through the street, making you shiver violently. Your daughter kicked again, a small but insistent reminder of the stakes. You pressed a hand to your belly, whispering softly, “Just a little longer, okay?”

But as you sat there, clutching your coat and feeling the weight of the cash against your chest, a chilling thought crossed your mind: You can’t keep this up. Not forever. Sooner or later, Sylus will catch up. And when he does…

You didn’t let yourself finish the thought. You couldn’t. Instead, you forced yourself to stand, your legs protesting the movement. You had to find shelter. Somewhere warm, somewhere hidden. Somewhere that wouldn’t feel like walking into a trap.

First things first, you thought. Get inside. Get warm. Then figure out your next move.

You took one last look around the empty street before making your way toward the distant glow of the diner. You didn’t have many options left, but for now, it was better than freezing out here. Better than waiting to be found.

And as much as you hated to admit it, a part of you knew that time was running out.

The bell above the diner door let out a soft chime as you stepped inside, the warm air immediately wrapping around you like a blanket. You took a deep breath, inhaling the comforting scent of coffee, fried food, and freshly baked bread. The fluorescent lights buzzed quietly overhead, casting a warm glow on the worn red booths and checkered floor tiles. A faint hum of conversation floated through the air, but the diner was far from crowded. Just a few late-night customers nursing cups of coffee or finishing off their meals.

You hesitated for a moment by the door, scanning the room. No familiar faces. No sign of Mephisto’s dark wings or any lurking shadows outside. Just regular people going about their lives. It felt… odd. You had been so consumed by fear and the need to keep moving that you’d almost forgotten what normalcy looked like.

“Come on in, hon,” a voice called out, breaking you from your thoughts.

Your eyes landed on an older woman standing behind the counter, wiping down a tray with practiced ease. Her short, curly hair was streaked with silver, and she wore a faded apron over her floral blouse. She had a kind smile, one that reached her eyes, though there was a hint of weariness in her expression—like someone who’d seen her share of long days and longer nights.

You managed a small, tired smile and made your way toward the counter, your legs feeling like lead beneath you. As you sat down on one of the stools, you noticed a name tag pinned to her apron: Clara.

Clara…You thought to yourself how her name almost rhymed with Tara. Your heart ached at the thought of your friend—of the life you had left behind. Tara had always been there for you, through thick and thin. You missed her more than you could put into words, but there was no going back now. That life was gone. All that mattered now was keeping your daughter safe.

“You look like you’ve been through the wringer,” Clara said, setting the tray aside and pouring you a fresh cup of coffee. “Long day?”

“You could say that,” you replied, wrapping your hands around the warm mug. You weren’t much of a coffee drinker these days, but the warmth felt good against your chilled fingers.

"Oh...uh. I can't have coffee. I'm pregnant" you say, eyeing the cup with an awkward smile.

Clara leaned on the counter, her eyes flicking briefly to your belly. “How far along are you?”

“Almost thirty eight weeks I think,” you answered, the words coming out quietly. “Almost there.”

She smiled gently. “ You can have a little coffee. It won't hurt the little one, I promise. Must be tough, traveling around at this stage. Most women would be resting up, nesting at home.”

You swallowed hard, the mention of a home cutting deeper than she probably intended. “Yeah…well, I don’t exactly have that luxury right now.”

Clara’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a look of quiet concern. She didn’t press, though, instead changing the subject. “Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”

You hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. “Not yet,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just…I need a place that’s not in town. Somewhere out of the way.”

Clara studied you for a moment, her expression thoughtful. Then she gave a small nod, as if coming to a decision. “I might have something for you. I own some land some hours from here, got a little farmhouse on it. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s clean and quiet. You can rent it for a while if you’d like.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden offer. Suspicion flickered in your mind. You’d been on edge for so long, constantly looking over your shoulder, that trusting a stranger felt…dangerous. Especially after what you'd been through with Reese. But at the same time, what other choice did you have? You couldn’t stay in Brunswick for long. Sylus would find you. He always did.

“I don’t know…” you said hesitantly, glancing down at your coffee. “That’s…really kind of you, but…”

Clara waved a hand dismissively. “I get it. It’s not easy trusting people these days, especially when you’ve got a little one on the way. But I promise, I’m not looking to scam you or anything. I’ve got my own life back here in Brunswick—taking care of my sick father and running this place. The house is just sitting empty. Figured it might be of more use to you than to me.”

You still felt wary, but there was something genuine in her tone. She didn’t seem like someone who meant you harm. If anything, she seemed like someone who had simply lived long enough to know that sometimes, people just needed a little help.

“Okay,” you said quietly, meeting her eyes. “Thank you. I…really appreciate it.”

Clara smiled again, this time with warmth. “Good. Finish your coffee, and we’ll head out in a bit. Don’t worry about a thing—I’ve got some baby stuff at the cabin from when my daughter was little. You’re free to use whatever you need.”

The mention of baby supplies eased some of the tension in your chest. You hadn’t had time to think about those kinds of things yet, and knowing there would be something waiting for you at the cabin was a small relief.

Still, you couldn’t completely shake the suspicion lurking in the back of your mind. Don’t get too comfortable, you reminded yourself. Stay alert. If something feels off, use the gun if you have to. You can’t take any risks—not now.

As you finished your coffee, Clara grabbed her keys and coat, nodding toward the door. “Come on. Let’s get you settled before it gets too late.”

You followed her out to the parking lot, where a beat-up old pickup truck waited. The seats were worn, and the faint smell of leather and pine filled the cab as you climbed inside. It wasn’t luxury by any means, but it was warm, and that was all that mattered right now.

As Clara started the engine, the soft rumble filling the cab, she glanced over at you. “Boy or girl?”

You hesitated for a split second, caught off guard by the simple question. You were still getting used to having normal conversations with people. It was honestly still super jarring.

“Girl,” you said softly, placing a hand on your belly. “I'm having a girl.”

Clara smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Girls are great. I always wanted another one, but…life had other plans.”

You managed a small smile in return, though the mention of family tugged at something deep inside you. For a moment, you let yourself imagine a future where things were different. A future where you didn’t have to keep running, where you could raise your daughter in peace. But the thought felt too distant, too fragile.

The rest of the drive passed in silence, save for the occasional hum of the tires against the road. As you gazed out the window at the darkened landscape, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this cabin could buy you some time.

But even as that thought crossed your mind, you kept your hand close to your coat pocket, fingers brushing against the cold metal of the gun. You couldn’t afford to let your guard down—not yet. Not until you were far, far away from Sylus.

The drive to the cabin took a few hours, passing through several small towns and quiet stretches of countryside. Clara’s truck rumbled steadily along the narrow roads, the soft hum of the engine blending with the occasional distant sound of crickets or rustling leaves. You watched the world blur by through the window, fields giving way to clusters of trees and then more open fields again. It was peaceful—eerily so. You hadn’t felt this kind of calm in what felt like forever, but it was hard to let your guard down entirely. Every passing mile felt like a gamble, as though Sylus could be right behind you, closing in fast.

“Brunswick and the towns around here are pretty close-knit,” Clara said, breaking the silence. She kept her eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel. “We’re technically neighbors, just a couple of hours apart, but you’ll notice right away how much quieter it is here. Folks mind their business.”

You nodded absently, clutching the coat tighter around you as your fingers brushed against the envelopes stuffed with cash. The warmth of the truck’s heater made the cold feel distant, but you couldn’t shake the tension knotting in your chest. You knew this peace wouldn’t last forever, but for now, you had to take what you could get.

Eventually, the truck slowed as Clara turned onto a long dirt road lined with overgrown trees and shrubs. After a few more minutes of driving, the house came into view—a small, quaint farmhouse nestled in a clearing. It wasn’t much, but it was worlds better than sleeping on a bench or wandering the streets aimlessly. The farmhouse was simple, with a pale yellow exterior and a modest porch that wrapped around the front. The roof looked sturdy, and the surrounding land stretched far enough that you felt a bit more secure, knowing you were far from prying eyes.

“Here we are,” Clara said, turning off the engine and stepping out of the truck. You followed her, your boots crunching softly against the gravel driveway as you took in your surroundings. The air was crisp and clean, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth. Despite the late hour, the sky was clear, stars scattered across the dark canvas above.

Clara led you up the steps and unlocked the door, pushing it open with a soft creak. “It’s small, but it’s cozy,” she said, stepping aside so you could enter first.

You walked in slowly, taking in the space. The interior was simple but welcoming—wooden floors, white walls, and modest furnishings that gave the place a warm, lived-in feel. The living area was combined with the kitchen, separated only by a small counter. A single hallway led to what you assumed was the bathroom and bedroom.

As Clara guided you through the place, you found yourself comparing it to the one Xavier had hidden you in. This place was larger, more open, less like a prison and more like…a temporary home. You didn’t want to think about Xavier right now, though. Shaking off the thought, you focused instead on the framed pictures lining the hallway walls—Clara and what you assumed was her daughter, smiling brightly in various candid moments.

“Where’s your daughter?” you asked, your eyes lingering on one photo of a little girl holding a stuffed bear.

“Oh, she’s with her father in the big cities,” Clara replied, her tone light but carrying an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite place. “I get so busy with my father and the diner, I figured she could use some time with her dad, y’know?”

You nodded, following her into the bedroom. It was simple, with a single bed pushed against the wall, a small dresser, and a window overlooking the back of the property. “It’s not much, but it’ll fit two people,” Clara said, standing by the door. She hesitated for a moment before adding, “Not saying you have to stay here when you have your baby or anything, but…the offer’s there.”

You turned to her, feeling a pang of gratitude. “I really appreciate it, Miss Clara. Thank you.”

Clara gave you a soft smile and nodded. “Come on. Let me show you where I keep the baby stuff.”

She led you to a small storage room at the end of the hall. Inside were neatly stored baby items—an old crib, bottles, blankets, and a few onesies folded on a shelf. “All clean, just so you know,” Clara said, running a hand over the crib’s wooden frame. “I kept them for the memories, but they’re yours to use if you want.”

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. This woman—a complete stranger—was offering you so much kindness when she had no reason to. “Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice thick with emotion.

“One more thing, hun,” Clara said as she closed the storage room door. “I can’t be driving hours back and forth to visit, so you’ll be on your own for days at a time. Gotta save on gas. But I’ll bring enough food when you give me the money. I’ll even drop by tomorrow with some supplies to get you started. I hope that’s okay?”

You nodded, feeling strangely grateful for the privacy. “That’s fine. I… appreciate it. Really.”

Clara smiled again, though there was a hint of weariness in her eyes. “I just know how it feels,” she said softly. “Couldn’t leave a pregnant woman alone at night, not when she’s about to pop.”

Her words made you smile, despite the tension still coiled in your chest. You followed her back to the living area, where she picked up her coat and keys, preparing to leave. But before she did, you remembered something important.

“What if there’s an emergency?” you asked, your voice tinged with worry. “How can I get back to town?”

“Oh!” Clara said, pausing by the door. “I’ve got my father’s old car parked out back. Keys are in the drawer by the kitchen. He doesn’t use it anymore since he lost his vision, so I figured I’d store it here. If you know how to drive, you’re free to use it. I won’t restrict your freedom.”

You stared at her, at a loss for words. The idea of having a way to escape, even if you didn’t plan on using it right away, was a relief you hadn’t expected. “Thank you. I…I don’t know what to say.”

Clara chuckled softly. “You don’t have to say anything, hun. Just take care of yourself and that baby, okay?”

With that, she gave you one last smile before stepping outside and disappearing into the night, leaving you standing in the middle of the house. The weight of everything hit you at once—exhaustion, relief, fear, hope. You were truly on your own now. Just you and your daughter. But for the first time in a long while, it felt like you might actually have a chance.

Still, you couldn’t let your guard down. You made a mental note to check the car first thing in the morning and keep your gun within reach at all times. Sylus was out there, and you knew he wouldn’t stop until he found you.

But tonight, at least, you could rest. Just for a little while.

The days passed quietly, a welcome change from the chaos you had left behind. True to her word, Clara brought food and supplies as promised, enough to keep you comfortable without needing to venture back into town. You had begun to settle into the rhythm of this temporary refuge, grateful for the space to breathe and the chance to rest, though your mind remained vigilant.

Clara had been surprisingly accommodating, asking few questions and never prying into your past. You supposed you should be relieved by her discretion, but a small, nagging voice in the back of your mind kept whispering that this peace couldn’t last. Nothing ever does.

The deal you struck with her was almost too good to be true—$500 a month to cover everything, including the gas for her weekly visits. You were shocked by how cheap it was, but you didn’t question it. At the very least, it bought you time. Time to think, time to prepare. And most importantly, time to figure out your next move without Sylus breathing down your neck.

The place itself was simple but cozy, and the lack of modern technology was oddly comforting. No cameras for Sylus to hack into, no smart devices that could be traced. Even the old television in the living room had antennas that required frequent adjustment to pick up a signal. It felt like stepping into a different era, one where things were slower, simpler…and harder to find.

On the morning Clara arrived with her brother to clear out some old boxes from the garage, you were sipping on a cup of lukewarm tea when you heard it—a shrill caw that sent a jolt of fear straight through your chest. You froze, your hand tightening around the mug as your heart began to race. The sound was unmistakable.

It can’t be…It can’t be.

“Hey, what’s wrong, hun?” Clara’s voice pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts. She nudged your shoulder gently, giving you a puzzled look. “It’s just a crow. You scared of ’em?”

You forced a laugh, trying to mask the rising panic in your chest. “Oh, um…I guess you could say so. Something like that.” You tried to sound casual, but your voice wavered slightly, betraying your nerves.

Clara didn’t seem to notice. She simply chuckled and went back to sorting through the boxes with her brother. Meanwhile, you set down the mug and moved toward the window, your eyes scanning the treetops outside. There, perched on a high branch, was a small murder of crows. They looked normal enough—just ordinary birds, not mechanical scouts sent to track you down.

You let out a slow, shaky breath, relief washing over you in waves. Not Mephisto. Just regular crows. You’re safe…for now.

“We’re heading back to town now, dear,” Clara called out from the front door, dusting off her hands. “You stay safe, alright? If you need anything, there’s a landline in the kitchen. I left my number on the counter. Call me if there’s an emergency.”

You forced a smile, waving as they loaded the last box into the truck. “Thanks, Clara. See you in about a week.”

“Take care, hun!” Clara said cheerfully, climbing into the driver’s seat while her brother waved from the passenger side. You watched as the truck rumbled down the long dirt road, disappearing into the distance. The sound of the engine faded, leaving only the quiet rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of birds in its wake.

Alone again.

You stood on the porch for a moment, staring out at the trees that surrounded the cabin. The air was still, almost unnervingly so. Despite the warmth of the morning sun, a chill crept down your spine. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming—something you couldn’t see yet but could almost sense, like the calm before a storm.

Nevertheless, you pushed the thought aside and headed back inside. Focus. That’s all you could do. Keep moving forward, keep surviving.

Clara had brought some loose-fitting women’s clothes with her last visit, simple but comfortable. You changed into a clean set, grateful to be out of your old, worn clothes. They weren’t stylish by any means—mostly oversized shirts and stretchy pants—but they fit, and that was all that mattered. You appreciated that Clara hadn’t pried into your situation. She truly seemed to mind her own business, something you couldn’t help but admire.

Still, you couldn’t completely relax. There had to be a catch, right? No one was this kind without wanting something in return. But Clara didn’t seem the type to harbor ulterior motives. Maybe she was just… genuinely good. The thought felt foreign, almost strange, after everything you’d been through. People like Clara didn’t exist in the world you had grown accustomed to—Sylus’s world. A world where kindness was a tool, a means to an end, and trust was a currency far too expensive to spend lightly.

You paced the small living room, the floorboards creaking softly beneath your feet. Your gaze wandered to the pictures on the wall again—Clara and her daughter, smiling in various snapshots. A life untouched by the kind of chaos you were running from. It made you wonder what kind of life your daughter would have if you managed to escape Sylus for good. Would she grow up in peace, free from the shadow of danger and control?

You pressed a hand to your belly, feeling the faint stir of movement beneath your palm. Maybe giving her up and leaving would still be the better plan? How far would you have to go to ensure her safety if you did give her up?

Just a little longer, baby girl. We’ll figure this out.

For now, all you could do was wait and hope that Sylus was still far behind.

The days stretched long and quiet, the silence of your new reality gnawing at you. It had been a few days since you last saw Clara or anyone else, and honestly, the loneliness was getting to you. You had never experienced true isolation like this before. Back at Sylus’s estate, even when he wasn’t there, the house had been full—staff moving about, the twins keeping watch, and Mephisto always lurking nearby. Eyes were always on you. You had grown used to it, almost dependent on the constant presence of others, no matter how suffocating it could feel.

But here? It was just you and your unborn daughter, and the weight of that solitude pressed heavily on your chest.

You tried to keep yourself busy, filling the hours with mundane tasks—cleaning, bathing, and eating in front of the small, outdated TV. The channels didn’t pick up much, mostly local news and a few old sitcoms that barely held your attention. Still, the static hum of the television provided some background noise, breaking the oppressive silence of the cabin.

Occasionally, you would spot a few barn cats prowling around the lawn outside. Their sleek forms darted through the tall grass, hunting bugs and mice. You started leaving scraps of your dinner for them whenever they came close, hoping they might stay a while. But they never did. They always ate quickly before disappearing into the shadows again, leaving you alone once more.

The loneliness had a way of making your mind wander. You caught yourself staring at nothing for long stretches of time, lost in thought. Sylus has to still be looking for me…right? Or maybe he already found me and hasn’t made his move yet…?

A more sinister thought crept into your mind: What if Clara was part of a trap?

You frowned, turning onto your side and staring at the ceiling. The possibility gnawed at you, but you tried to push it away. Clara had been kind, patient, and genuine—nothing like the calculated manipulations of Sylus’s world. Still, the paranoia lingered, refusing to fully dissipate.

You let out a bitter laugh, covering your eyes with one hand. “Wow… I’ve really lost it,” you muttered to yourself, shaking your head. You had never been this paranoid in your life. But then again, you had never been this alone before. And on top of that, you still had to give birth. The thought alone was terrifying.

You knew labor was supposed to hurt, but how much? Would you even make it to a hospital in time if something went wrong? What if Clara didn’t come back when she said she would? You tried to keep calm, but the fear was always there, lurking in the back of your mind like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

Clenching your fists, you closed your eyes and focused, willing the faint yellow sparks of your Evol to flicker to life in your palm. They appeared slowly, crackling softly like static electricity before fading away again. You stared at your hand in mild disbelief. It’s been ages since I used this…

Your Evol wasn’t exactly built for combat. It wasn’t like Sylus’s raw, destructive power or Xavier’s light-based weaponry. No, yours was subtle—an ability to enhance the strength of others’ Evols, amplifying their power when you resonated with them. It was useful in the right situations, but utterly useless when it came to defending yourself.

Would it have made a difference if I had used it back then? you wondered, your mind drifting back to the fight between Sylus and Xavier. You had frozen, standing there like a helpless child, too overwhelmed to act. Even if you had resonated with Xavier in that moment, would it have been enough? Or would it have just pushed your heart beyond its limits?

You sighed deeply, placing your hands on your belly, feeling the reassuring movement of your daughter within. “We’ve got to figure this out, kiddo,” you whispered softly, rubbing slow circles over your bump. “I’m scared too, but we can’t let it stop us. We’ll get through this. Somehow.”

But even as you tried to reassure yourself, doubt crept in. You didn’t have a plan. You didn’t know what came next. All you had was a temporary roof over your head and a growing fear that Sylus was closer than you dared to believe.

You stared at the ceiling again, your thoughts swirling in endless circles. How much longer do we have before he finds us? You didn’t know. But what you did know was that you couldn’t stay paralyzed by fear. You had to be ready. For whatever came next. You kept the gun under your pillow.

You definitely weren't afraid to use it.

The ache in your chest had been steadily worsening, and with every passing minute, it became harder to ignore. You paced the cabin, one hand clutching your belly while the other pressed against your sternum, hoping the pain would subside. Maybe it’s the stress. Maybe it’s Protocore Syndrome acting up again, you thought, grimacing. It had been worse whenever Sylus wasn’t around, but you refused to entertain the idea that it had anything to do with missing him. That was absurd.

Still, the pain was getting to be too much. You needed something—anything—to ease the discomfort. Maybe Clara could help. You rushed over to the landline, your fingers trembling as you dialed her number. The phone rang once…twice…and then clicked.

“Ah, hello! Sorry to bother, but my chest really hurts. Do you think you could—”

“Your chest?” The voice on the other end wasn’t Clara’s. It was smooth, familiar, and unmistakable. “What’s wrong, kitten?”

You froze.

The phone nearly slipped from your grasp as your heart skipped a beat. For a moment, you were too stunned to speak, your mind reeling in disbelief. Sylus. How the hell did he…?

“Cat got your tongue?” Sylus’s voice came through again, softer this time, but laced with concern.

Your shock quickly turned into rage, the heat rising in your chest overpowering the ache. “Leave me the fuck alone!” you snapped, gripping the receiver tightly, your voice trembling with anger. “I swear to God, if you come near me—”

“Now, now, don’t yell,” Sylus said gently, his voice carrying that maddening calm. “It’s not good for your heart. I’m just calling to see how you’re doing. It seems you’ve hidden in a place even I can’t find. You could make this easy and just tell me where you are, sweetie. I’m worried.”

Your mouth went dry, and anger flared in your chest, momentarily pushing the fear aside. Worried? How dare he. After everything he had done—after everything you had been through because of him—he had the audacity to sound concerned?

“Ha!” you spat, your voice trembling with both fury and disbelief. “As if…why would I willingly throw myself into another one of your punishments?”

There was a silence on the other end of the line, long enough for your heartbeat to fill the void in your ears. You expected him to snap back, to grow angry, but when Sylus finally spoke, his voice was softer than before, almost…tender.

“Honey,” he said quietly, as if trying to soothe a frightened animal. “Do you honestly think I’m going to punish you? I just want you to be safe. You’re about to give birth, and you running away doesn’t anger me. I only care about you and our daughter.”

You clenched your jaw, your grip on the receiver tightening. His words might have sounded genuine, but you knew better. You had to know better. He always knew exactly what to say to make you second-guess yourself, to plant that tiny seed of doubt in your mind.

“No,” you said coldly, refusing to let yourself fall for it. “If you really cared, you’d leave me alone.”

Sylus didn’t respond immediately, but you could hear his steady breathing on the other end of the line, a subtle reminder that he was still there—still looming over your life, even from miles away.

“I can’t do that,” he said after a long pause, his voice filled with quiet determination. “You’re mine, kitten. I’ll always come for you.”

"You fucking basta-"

“I just want to know if you’re taking care of yourself,” Sylus interrupted gently, his tone calm, almost soothing. “Landlines are a lot harder to track, y’know. If it makes you feel better, I don’t have your location, so don’t panic or get yourself worked up. I just know a few tricks…and happened to get lucky.”

His words made you bristle even more. Lucky? How dare he act like this is just some game?

There was a brief pause on the line before Sylus continued, his voice quieter now. “Are you eating? How’s the baby?”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. The nerve of this bastard, calling you like this, pretending to care—acting concerned when he was the reason you were in this mess in the first place. Rage bubbled up in your chest, your grip tightening on the phone until your knuckles turned white.

“Fuck you,” you spat, your voice shaking with emotion. “I’m alive, aren’t I? That’s all you care about, right?”

There was silence on the other end for a moment, and you imagined Sylus leaning back wherever he was, thinking carefully before responding. “That’s not true,” he said softly. “I care about more than that. I care about you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself not to cry. His words, as soft and gentle as they were, only made things worse. He had always known how to twist your emotions, how to play the part of the concerned lover even when he was the source of your pain. And yet, a small part of you hated how much you wanted to believe him, how much you wished things were different.

“You don’t get to do this,” you said, your voice quieter now but no less sharp. “You don’t get to act like you care after everything you’ve done. Just…leave me alone.”

There was another pause, longer this time. When Sylus spoke again, his tone was careful, measured. “I already said I can’t do that, kitten. You know I can’t. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Well, I am,” you bit out. “Now stop calling me.”

“I won’t call again, if that’s what you want,” Sylus said gently. “But you should know…I’ll still be looking. And I will find you. Not to hurt you, but because I want to protect you. To be there for you. You and our daughter.”

You couldn’t hold back the bitter laugh that escaped your lips. “Protect me? From what? You’re the only threat I need protection from, Sylus.”

His voice remained steady, though you thought you detected a hint of sadness in it. “Believe what you want. But if something happens, call me. Please. You have this number.”

In a fit of rage you slammed the phone back into the receiver, gripping the phone with trembling hands. You stared at it for a long moment, your mind spinning in a whirlwind of emotions—fear, anger, confusion.

I will find you.

Sylus always had a way of getting under your skin, of making you doubt yourself even when you knew you shouldn’t. And now, with his words lingering in your mind, you couldn’t help but feel the ache in your chest worsen, as though the weight of his presence still hung over you, even from miles away.

With a shaky breath, sank down onto the nearest chair, cradling your belly. Focus. Breathe. You have to keep moving forward. You can’t let him win.

How easy was it to trace the owner of a landline number? Did phonebooks still exist? Would he find Clara and threaten her? Fuck you felt like you were spiraling now. Hearing his voice made your heart beat erratically and you began to sob. Deep down, you knew that Sylus wasn’t going to give up. And the terrifying part? You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep running.

The decision had been weighing on you for days, but you finally made up your mind. You couldn’t stay here any longer. As much as you had come to appreciate Clara’s kindness, staying would only put her in danger. It made you sad—Clara didn’t deserve any of this, and a part of you hated that your life had brought chaos to her quiet little world. Still, it was for the best. You had to keep moving, keep running, and leaving meant ensuring she wouldn’t get caught in Sylus’s grasp.

You sat on the edge of the bed that night, checking the bullets in the gun Luke had so carelessly left behind. Six bullets. It’s not enough… but it’s enough, you thought grimly. Enough to slow Sylus down, enough to at least make a statement before he dragged you back to your gilded cage.

Setting the gun down on the nightstand, you lay back on the bed, trying to relax. But sleep didn’t come easily. Every time you closed your eyes, the same thoughts played over and over in your mind—Sylus’s voice on the phone, his promises, his relentless pursuit. You tossed and turned, anxiety gnawing at you, until exhaustion finally claimed you.

You didn’t know how long you’d been asleep when a sudden crash jolted you awake.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you sat up, wide-eyed and disoriented. The sound had come from the backyard—a loud, metallic clatter that sent a chill down your spine. Shit, did he find you already?

Grabbing the gun, you crept toward the back of the farmhouse, every step deliberate and silent. The cold night air seeped through the cracks in the windows, and the shadows seemed to stretch longer than they should. As you reached the back door, you peered out through the glass, your breath hitching at the sight before you.

It wasn’t Sylus.

It was something far worse.

A Wanderer.

And not just any Wanderer—a Sawshredder. Its hulking form loomed in the moonlight, leathery wings spread wide, jagged metallic edges glinting ominously. Its eyes gleamed with an unnatural light, and its claws dug deep into the earth as it stalked closer to the house.

You didn’t have time to think. Raising the gun, you fired multiple bullets into the creature. The bullets hit their mark, causing the creature to screech in pain, a shrill, metallic wail that echoed through the night. But the shots weren’t enough to stop it.

Shit. Shit. Panic surged through you as you realized the house wouldn’t hold up for long. The Sawshredder was already clawing at the walls, tearing through wood and shingles with terrifying ease. You couldn’t stay. You had to run.

Without another thought, you bolted out the front door, the cold night air biting at your skin. You ran as fast as your swollen belly would allow, each step a painful reminder of how close you were to giving birth. The forest loomed ahead, dark and dense, but it was your only chance. If you could lose the creature in the trees, you might survive.

But the Wanderer was fast. Too fast.

Its heavy footsteps pounded behind you, and you could hear its labored breathing as it closed in. You stumbled, nearly falling, but managed to keep going. The pain in your belly was worsening, sharp and relentless, but you didn’t dare stop. Not yet.

Then, it happened.

Your foot caught on a root, and you went down hard, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs. You tried to scramble to your feet, but the Wanderer was already there, looming over you, its eyes gleaming with predatory intent.

You raised the gun again, but your fingers trembled as you pulled the trigger—nothing. Empty. The gun clicked uselessly in your hand.

Is this really how it ends? you thought, despair washing over you in heavy waves, each one more crushing than the last. You were too tired to fight anymore, too weak to keep running. The cold, damp forest floor beneath you felt like the only certainty left, and as your body trembled with exhaustion, you knew you couldn’t move another inch. The pain in your belly was unbearable, your breath came in short, ragged gasps, and the icy fingers of fear wrapped tightly around your heart.

You closed your eyes, your mind racing through flashes of memories—Tara’s warm laughter, Clara’s kind smile, Xavier’s gentle gaze, and Sylus…Sylus’s haunting voice, the way he had always loomed over your life like an inescapable shadow. All those moments, all the twists and turns, had led you here, to this dark, terrifying forest, alone and hunted. I’m sorry… The words echoed in your mind, meant for everyone you had ever cared about. You were sorry for failing them, sorry for not being strong enough.

And then…

A strange silence fell over the forest.

The pounding of the Sawshredder’s heavy footsteps stopped abruptly, the screech of its metallic wings fading into the night. Confused, you hesitantly opened your eyes, expecting to see the creature lunging at you—but it wasn’t. Instead, it stood motionless just a few feet away, its massive form looming in the pale moonlight.

You watched, breath caught in your throat, as the Sawshredder’s eyes began to dilate and contract rapidly, almost like it was struggling to process something. The faint glow in its eyes flickered erratically, as though its circuits—or whatever unnatural mechanism kept it alive—had been scrambled.

It didn’t make sense.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a frantic rhythm that echoed in your ears. The Sawshredder’s gaze, once filled with predatory intent, now seemed…unfocused. Confused. As if something had broken its singular drive to hunt you down.

Then, its gaze shifted downward—toward your belly.

You froze, too terrified to even breathe. The baby kicked wildly inside you, a flurry of frantic movements that seemed to intensify the longer the creature stared. The Sawshredder tilted its head slightly, the eerie metallic sheen of its eyes reflecting the faint glow of the moon. It took a single step closer, its jagged claws scraping against the ground with a shrill metallic screech.

Your pulse spiked, fear gripping you tighter than ever before. You instinctively placed a protective hand over your belly, feeling your daughter’s strong kicks beneath your palm. She was moving more than ever, as if reacting to the creature’s presence, or sensing the danger surrounding you both.

But the Sawshredder didn’t attack.

It simply stood there, its breathing heavy and erratic, each exhale releasing a faint plume of vapor into the cold night air. Its eyes remained locked on your belly, flickering in a way that was almost… reverent. Almost as if it could sense something—something beyond what you could comprehend.

Why isn’t it attacking? The thought raced through your mind, wild and desperate. It didn’t make any sense. This creature had chased you relentlessly, tearing through the forest with single-minded intent, and yet now…it was hesitating.

Seconds stretched into what felt like hours as you remained frozen in place, too terrified to move, too confused to understand what was happening. The Sawshredder took one last, lingering look at your belly, then slowly began to back away. Its heavy wings rustled as it folded them tightly against its body, and with a final, labored breath, it turned around.

And walked away.

Just like that.

You stared in disbelief as the creature disappeared into the shadows of the forest, its massive form blending seamlessly with the darkness. The tension in your body refused to ease, your muscles locked in place as you tried to process what had just happened.

What the hell was that?

You gasped for air, each breath shaky and uneven as your heart thundered in your chest. Relief came in a sudden, overwhelming wave, leaving you trembling as the realization sank in—you were alive. Somehow, against all odds, you had survived. In all your years of being a Hunter, never had a Wanderer just left like that.

But the moment of relief was short-lived.

A sharp, searing pain tore through your abdomen, doubling you over as a cry of agony escaped your lips. You clutched your belly, the pain unlike anything you had ever felt before—intense, all-consuming, as though your entire body was being wrenched apart from the inside.

No, no, no…not now. Please, not now.

Panic set in as you realized what was happening. The stress, the fear, the running—it had triggered something. Contractions. Early labor.

Tears blurred your vision as you leaned against a nearby tree, your fingers digging into the bark for support. “Please… just hold on,” you whispered desperately, your voice shaking. “Just give me more time…”

But the pain didn’t stop. Another contraction hit, even stronger than the last, and you cried out, sinking to your knees. The cold ground bit into your skin, but it was nothing compared to the unbearable ache radiating from your core.

You couldn’t stay out here. You had to get back to the farmhouse, had to find a way to call Clara, to get help before it was too late. Forcing yourself to your feet, you took a shaky step forward, then another, each movement agonizing.

“Come on…just a little further,” you whispered through gritted teeth, willing yourself to keep going. The farmhouse wasn’t far. You could make it. You had to make it.

But as you stumbled forward, another wave of pain hit, and the world around you blurred. Time was running out, and deep down, you knew…this was only the beginning.

You barely managed to stumble through the farmhouse door, each step a monumental effort as the sharp, searing pain in your abdomen refused to relent. Every contraction felt like a tidal wave crashing through your body, dragging you under, leaving you gasping and trembling. You clung to the walls for support, your breaths coming in ragged, shallow bursts, sweat dripping down your brow and soaking your clothes.

By the time you reached the bedroom, you were crying openly, tears of pain and fear blurring your vision. You collapsed onto the bed, clutching your belly as another contraction tore through you, this one stronger than the last. The intensity of it left you breathless, your mind reeling as you tried to make sense of what was happening.

This can’t be right. It’s too soon. It’s not supposed to happen like this… Panic gripped you tightly, but there was no time to dwell on it. Your body was taking over, forcing you to surrender to the primal, all-consuming process of labor.

Your trembling hands reached down, struggling to remove your pants and underwear, every movement slow and labored. The fabric clung to your sweat-drenched skin, and each second felt like an eternity. The ache in your lower back was relentless, a dull, throbbing pain that radiated through your entire body, while your abdomen tightened with excruciating pressure.

It hurts… oh God, it hurts so much… You clenched your teeth, trying to brace yourself for the next wave of pain, but nothing could have prepared you for the sheer intensity of it. It felt as though your body was being torn apart from the inside, a searing, burning sensation that left you shaking uncontrollably.

Time lost all meaning. All you could do was endure, ride the pain as it surged through you, again and again. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears, and you found yourself gasping for air, desperate for relief that wouldn’t come.

Is something wrong? The thought crept into your mind, but it was quickly drowned out by another agonizing contraction. You tried to focus, tried to gather your thoughts, but it was impossible. The pain was too much, too overwhelming, and your body felt like it was spiraling out of your control.

Your vision swam, dark spots dancing at the edges of your sight. You felt a strange mix of pressure and burning, as though something was shifting deep inside you. A part of you knew that this was it—your daughter was coming, ready or not—but the terror that accompanied that realization was almost paralyzing.

“I can’t… I can’t do this…” you whispered through gritted teeth, tears streaming down your face as another contraction wracked your body, stealing what little strength you had left.

The world around you blurred further, sounds and sensations becoming distant, muted. You tried to hold on, tried to stay conscious, but your body had reached its limit. The pain, the fear, the exhaustion—it was all too much.

As the darkness closed in around you, your last conscious thought was a desperate plea. Please… let her be okay. Just let my baby be okay…

And then everything went black.

The sound of crying pierced through the thick fog clouding your mind. It was shrill, insistent, and ear-splitting, cutting through the haze of exhaustion and pain like a blade. You stirred, feeling like your entire body had been reduced to jello, heavy and useless. Where…?

Your vision blurred as you blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of your surroundings. Slowly, shapes came into focus, and then—there she was.

Your daughter.

Writhing and crying on the hardwood floor between your legs, tiny limbs flailing, her little face scrunched up in distress. Shit. A surge of panic shot through you. How long had you been out? Minutes? Hours? You had no way of knowing, but it didn’t matter. She was here, and she was alive.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry,” you whispered, voice trembling as tears welled up in your eyes. You forced your groggy mind into action, adrenaline pumping through your veins. Your limbs felt sluggish, weak, but you pushed through it, reaching down to scoop up the wailing newborn. She was slick with fluids and blood, her tiny body warm and fragile in your shaking hands.

Your heart pounded as you stumbled around the room, searching desperately for something—anything—to wrap her in. Your fingers finally found a blanket draped over the armrest of a chair. You clumsily wrapped her up, hands fumbling as you tried to keep her secure despite the mess covering both of you. The umbilical cord dangled between you both, slightly swinging as you moved. Blood, sweat, and other fluids clung to your skin, but you didn’t care. Nothing mattered except the tiny life in your arms.

Is this right? Am I doing this right? You wrapped her as best as you could, securing the edges even though your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She continued to cry, her tiny face scrunched up, and you didn’t know what to do.

You sat heavily on the couch, holding her close—not out of instinct, but because you didn’t know what else to do. The room felt too big, too cold, too…surreal. Everything about this moment felt off, like you were trapped in some bizarre dream you couldn’t wake up from.

The crying didn’t stop, and a wave of helplessness washed over you. What now? What am I supposed to do? You had no idea how to soothe a baby. You didn’t know what she needed, or if she was okay. All you could do was rock her awkwardly, whispering soft nonsense in a trembling voice.

“Shh…it’s okay…” you said, your voice wavering as you tried to calm her. You weren’t sure if babies even liked being rocked, but it seemed to help a little. Her cries softened into whimpers, though she continued to squirm in your arms.

She was so small, yet somehow bigger than you had expected. Her tiny fingers peeked out from the blanket, curling and uncurling as if testing the air around her. You could see tufts of hair already sprouting on her head, the same shade as yours. You stared at her, taking in every little feature, every little detail—the curve of her nose, the shape of her cheeks. She looked so much like you.

And yet…

You couldn’t help but notice the traces of Sylus in her face, subtle but undeniable. The shape of her eyes, the faint curve of her chin, the shape of her lips. As much as you wanted to ignore it, there he was, etched into her tiny features. She looked...human? No giant claws or green skin. It relieved you. Was Sylus just human then? He couldn't be...not after-

To your surprise, she whimpered, her tiny eyes fluttering open for the first time. You froze, heart stopping in your chest as you caught a glimpse of her gaze.

A crimson red, just like his. Milky and unfocused, as all newborns’ eyes were, but unmistakably red nonetheless.

Your breath caught in your throat, and tears welled up in your eyes again. Not from joy, not from fear—just from sheer, overwhelming disbelief.

This is real. She’s real.

But instead of feeling the rush of love or relief you thought you might feel, all you could manage was a numb sort of bewilderment. You didn’t know how to process it. Everything about this moment felt… wrong. Off. Like you were too far removed from it to truly feel anything.

You weren’t ready for this.

You hadn’t been ready for any of it.

Tears streamed down your face as you stared at her, your emotions too tangled to make sense of. You didn’t feel joy. You didn’t feel relief. You didn’t feel disgust or anger or fear.

You felt…shock.

Nothing but pure shock.

Months of suffering. Months of pain, of running, of hiding, of fighting. All of it had led to this moment. To this tiny, fragile life in your arms. Its not like you hated her. How could you truly hate an innocent baby in all this? But this was all surreal. It had happened so fast you couldn't process it.

You rocked her mechanically, your mind struggling to catch up with reality. “You just came out of me,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “This is fucking crazy…”

Your daughter whimpered again, her tiny fingers twitching beneath the blanket. You watched her with wide, tired eyes, still too dazed to comprehend what had just happened. You had given birth. Alone. In a strange farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. And now, here you were—holding your daughter, with no idea what to do next.

“I…I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted softly, your voice breaking as more tears fell. “I don’t know how to do this…I'm sorry.”

She didn’t answer, of course. She just continued to breathe, her little chest rising and falling steadily, her tiny hand curling against the fabric of the blanket. She was here. She was real. And for now, that was all that mattered truly.

But even as you held her, a deep, gnawing fear crept into your chest.

What now?

Would Sylus find you? Would he take her from you? Would you even survive long enough to figure out how to be a mother? You didn’t have answers to any of those questions, and the uncertainty was crushing.

For now, though, you were alive. And so was she. All you could do now was figure all of this out. To survive.

And somehow, that would have to be enough.

[buntanteen]

svt fic recs list <3 - jeonghan birthday edition - sfw & nsfw ver.

summary: in honour of jeonghan's birthday, 29 fic recs for his 29th! :3 sfw & nsfw hannie reader insert fics:)

contains: 18+ nsfw (mdni!!) majority is afab reader

✩ svt writing & fic rec masterlist ✩

✩ sfw section✩

❥ seventeen as boyfriends: jeonghan edition - @fairyhaos

YES HE WOULD BE SO SWEET AND CARING THANK YEWWWW

❥ DATING JEONGHAN INCLUDES…. - @svtswhorehouse

THE CUTEST SILLIEST MOST FUN LIL BOYFRIEND EVER AHHH

❥ BOYFRIEND JEONGHAN WHO… - @mangocustard16

YES HE'D BE THIS KIND OF BOYFRIEND AHHHH

❥ seventeen members as love tropes: yoon jeonghan (fake dating) - @ssentimentals

aww he's so nervouss and sillyyy

❥ how jeonghan loves you slowly - @pepperonidk

*sobs in my hands* THIS IS SO SWEET?!?

❥ yours - @aubaee

CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS IS ONE OF MY FAV TROPES AHH

❥ 5:05am - @xiaominghao

*screeches in soft hours with hannie*

❥ 22:17 - @lvlystars

PLEASEEEEE I NEED TO DECORATE JEONGHAN'S HAIR IT'D BE SO FUNNN AND CUTEE

❥ enchanted - @hansslut

this is the cutestttt shit and i just know that hannie would actually be happy about this irl. i'm planning on getting a lil pet rock too to keep me company heh

❥ sick leave - @cxffecoupx

i cACKLED at him blaming reader for being sick like??? ofc hannie would do that i shouldn't even be surprised kjfbgkdj

❥ my hairstylist - @seuonji

LEMME STYLE HANNIE'S HAIR PT.2!! this was so cute~

❥ date w jeonghan in paris - @etherealyoungk

i would love a lil outside overseas date with jeonghan so muchh 🥺

❥ [10:02pm] - @mangocustard16

needing just someone's presence after a long day sounds so niceee. sleepy hannie sounds adorable

❥ jeonghan when you don't enjoy your birthday - @lovingseventeen

as someone who doesn't actively celebrate my own birthday, i really related to this. i love how hannie was finding different reasons to gift give dkfjgbdjk

❥ home is wherever you are - @mangocustard16

*sniffles* i miss him so much :,)

✩ nsfw section ✩

❥ best friend jeonghan - @mountainficss

going from such a confident lil teasing shit to all shy pliant lil thing?? ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL MEEEE??

❥ big dick jeonghan - @boofeine

(op's account got suspended so the fic isn't available :/) i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i- when wuh huhkfbckj

❥ soft dom! jeonghan - @hannieehaee

*screams into the abyss*

❥ sub jeonghan - @mountainficss

fuck he'd sound so pretty all desperate like that, wouldn't he?

❥ tease jeonghan - @mountainficss

i think i'd combust or implode if jeonghan teased me cuz holy shit ifhbkjk

❥ MEANIE! JEONGHAN - @svtswhorehouse

*gets on me knees* PLEASE JUST ONE CHANCE DUDE

❥ boyfriend jeonghan headcanons (sfw and nsfw) - @wifeyoozi

...yep that's exactly him

❥ jeonghan jerking off to you - @mountainficss

he'd look and sound so pretty if this happened jbigkkvfnkjbs

❥ jeonghan & mirrors - @cherrybr4t

*screams into the void pt.2*

❥ with a bow - @jjunberry

when he when uwhjgkfdbk whenjfdbd

❥ come right back - @keij0h

i really need hannie to come help me um *ahem* relax kjdfgb

❥ bite - @hannieehaee

the flirty teasing?? the confidence?? the yoon jeonghan scheming?? i loved it!!

❥ sub jeonghan + dry humping - @mountainficss

completely obsessed with how desperate jeonghan felt in this

❥ boyfriend!jeonghan headcanons (sfw & nsfw) - @buntanteen

yep, i'm recommending my own fic jdkbgdkfj i hope people enjoy it :3

bun note: happiest of birthdays to our dear lovely hannie!! i love you so much, i didn't realise how much comfort you would give me this year. your lil sound effects and mannerisms have stolen my heart. thank you my dearest for being you and for being our island of serenity. i hope everyone was able to celebrate jeonghan's birthday well! <3 ς(.-‿-)

[vhaos-chaotic-writing]

ahhhh hi!! If your requests are still open, could I please have Yandere hcs of transformers prime Optimus and Megatron(separate) with a gn reader? If you want you can also add in a random character for Yandere hcs as well! Thank you for your time have a good one!

(Turns around the with the most evil smile of them all) Now we getting freaky!! (•ˋ w ˊ•) Hue-hue-hue !

Yandere!Optimus Prime & Yandere!Megatron (TFP) Headcanons!

WARNING: Yandere behaviour, stalking, typical violence from the series and a little bit more, kidnapping, a lil mention of body horror (not sure if it counts). Reader is Gender Neutral.

OPTIMUS PRIME

I will classify Optimus as a Protective, soft worshipper yandere that has a little hint of uncanny valley (I'll talk about this in a moment).

Optimus' life is sadly surrounded with tragedy as he tries to keep a hopeful light on top of his helm for the sake of not giving up and letting down the Autobots.

We now how Optimus is always mourning and yet keeping his helm up, being strong for the others, being idolized by others and having the fate of "the chosen one" written all over him when... he never asked for it.

And he is tired. It's like he is always walking in the middle of the darkness with not a single path to take - lost, feeling like he is losing himself piece by piece... until You arrived.

As a beacon of light.

He has lost too many loved ones - friends, teammates... but deep down, silently, always thanked Primus to have taken anyone else and not You.

I think Optimus' yandere personality would be like Akemi Homura's love for Kaname Madoka - everytime he sees you, he sees nothing but light. Hope. Perfection. Your existence brings nothing but pure happiness and warmth.

The yandere to always kneel in front of you and hold your hands, thanking you for existing and deem him worthy enough of having your presence near him.

If you are a cybertronian, he would pray to Primus for the day to come he finally confesses his love for you, and you share said feelings too and become his Conjux Endura, in this life and the next one.

If you are a human, he would feel this burning need to become your guardian, your protector. His little safe space from the war and battles, always asking you things about your world and about you, promising you with every breath he takes he is going to keep you safe.

Either as a cybertronian or human, he is not letting you anywhere close to battles. He can't lose you. He won't lose you.

Remember the Uncanny valley thing I said? I see Optimus as this kind of yandere that forgets that he is existing in the same place as you - and stares. Just... stares.

The only thing that is giving out he is still living is how his optics move little by little, remembering everything about you again and again, his systems replaying his promises to you and why he keeps fighting, why he is willing to sacrifice the others and himself - to protect you.

Imagine the Yuri stare moment from Doki Doki Literature Club. Yeah, that is the Uncanny Valley I'm talking about.

Following you, stalking you - and you don't actually see him at first (How when he is just the size of a giant?). You move, you go from place to place, room to room. Until you finally find him, peaking from somewhere. Staring at you as you are swallowed by the shadow he casts upon you.

"My spark... my deity. My one and only." He whispers as he gently snuzzles his helm against your helm/torso as he holds you closely to him.

MEGATRON

Megatron gives me the vibes to be a yandere that changes from a type to another.

Definitely an aggressive yandere, but transitions from sadistic-possessive to delusional-paranoiac with the past of times and the events you live with him.

Megatron can see as much as he wants that he only wants a 'strong significant other' by his side and that he 'will not stick to a weak individual' - if he falls and falls hard it is done for him.

You are going to be in this situation of being seen as an equal but also as a pet or possession he owns in his optics.

Definitely kidnaps you - no matter if you are a human or cybertronian, either part of the Autobots, neutral or a Decepticon.

Is not afraid to threaten you or even hurt you (but not that much, he wants you still alive, after all - he can't love you if you are no longer breathing).

Actively reminds you he owns you.

"You are MINE. I will tear any bot's throat if they ever think they can take you from me - so you better think carefuly the moment you open your mouth, dear. Unless you want to see energon or blood all over the place."

The transition I told you about would happen only if your life is put in danger and actually get too close to die.

Imagine if you are hurt, bleeding and bruised but still breathing, totally gonna survive and live another day. Megatron is not a mech to feel fear. But Primus - he felt a dread and despair as he kept processing what happened, hugging you against his chestplate as his system spirals deeper and deeper, his need to possess you becoming paranoia.

If you are a cybertronian, Megatron is going to start having ideas about... merging his spark with yours - but in a sense fusing, becoming literally one - you'll be his spark as he becomes your body.

"You'll become the energon running inside of my system, my software and system, the spark - that way, no one will take you away from me."

If you are a human, will get Soundwave, Knockout and Shockwave to work on a project - to build you a cybertronian body and fuse you with it, defying the laws of your lifespan and finally making you one of his kind.

"There you are... stop crying, my dear. You are perfect now - and as long as I live, you will live. My conjux endura."

My baby brain hurts, had a headache for like 3 hours. (っ´Ι`)っ Vhaos out!

[daytaker]

The Gang React to You Petting Their Hair

Lucifer

"I am only going to say this once: stop."

You get one warning. One. If you do not cease and desist, he is throwing you out of his study, so help him Diavolo's Dad. No, he does not like it. No, not even a little bit. You really aren't going to stop? You're just a glutton for punishment, aren't you?

....You're very lucky he's too busy to hurl you bodily from this room. He'll just endure it for now.

Mammon

"Hah?! What's the big idea?! This is the revered hair of THE Great Mammon, I'll have you know. So that'll be 100 Grimm a touch, thanks! ....Hey, no, wait, why'd you stop?"

Once he's done turning bright red and clearing his throat, he'll try to capitalize on this whim of yours by offering you a discount on hair touches. A very poorly-planned scheme, because you're not going to pay to do something he'll start begging you to keep up as soon as you stop.

Oh, so Mammon is willing to let you touch his high-value hair for free? You're so honored. What a good boy you are, Mammon. (You can expect a bit more sputtering and some denials that he is anything like a good boy, but bro's into it big time. If he had a tail, it would be wagging.)

Leviathan

*shrieks in confused, touch-starved otaku*

Wait, no, he didn't say to stop! What's with these mixed signals? Petting his hair then stopping just because he shrieks a little bit? Did you want to touch his hair or not? Is it greasy? Oh god, when did he last bathe? ...It was only the other day. You have no reason to be disgusted. You're just a bigoted normie who assumes all otaku are crusty and gross!

Ahhhh?!?!?!?! Again?! Fine! Just don't change your mind again, because that's super confusing! And yeah, obviously he's blushing, you're petting his head and it feels nice and kind of tickles! ....Mm.... You know, once he's settled into it, it's really relaxing, actually...

Fast forward an hour or two and he's probably conked out with his head in your lap, drunk on affection and mostly asleep.

Satan

"What exactly do you think you're doing?"

It feels weird. Why are you doing that? Wait, you're petting him? Like he's....a cat? Hmm. Interesting. He'll allow it. But you should do it properly. None of this mussing his hair around with wild abandon. You have to be gentle and use small movements. Maybe use your knuckles? Gently though. There, that's it.

So this is what it feels like. Admittedly, he probably wouldn't take kindly to this if anybody else was doing it, no matter how well they imitated proper cat-petting technique. But you're a special exception, so in the future, if you feel the need to do this, just let him know. And for the love of all things unholy, don't breathe a word about this to his brothers.

Asmodeus

"Oh, you like my hair? Isn't it soft? I'll show you the conditioner I use."

Asmo loves having his hair played with! Or brushed, or combed, or tugged (just not too hard, please!) His hair is silky smooth thanks to a mixture of his natural good looks and his shampoo/conditioner combination. He'll let you borrow them if you're interested. Your hair will look amazing! And it'll feel even better!

This is cozy. He'll just settle in and let you do this as long as you want. Careful you don't get too handsy; he knows how irresistible he is.

...Well, maybe if you're a little handsy he'll let it slide, but just because it's you.

Beelzebub

"Are you....petting me?"

Kind of weird, but it feels nice, so he isn't complaining. It's a little bit embarrassing, just because it makes him feel a little bit like a puppy, but then again, who doesn't like puppies? He'll be able to continue to go about his day not minding you petting his hair now and again. The only awkward part is how damn tall he is. You might need to keep a step stool handy.

Belphegor

"Nnngh, knock it off...! ... ... ...I changed my mind, do it again."

His initial reaction to being woken up to you stroking his head is annoyance, because dammit, he was sleeping. But once he shakes the cobwebs out of his brain, he'll realize that it actually felt really good and he could absolutely fall asleep under these circumstances.

He'll wait a little while, hoping you'll give it another try of your own accord, but if you don't, he'll eventually cave and grumpily ask you to do it again.

Diavolo

"Hahaha... That's enough, now."

He isn't actually a fan. Maybe it's the fact that he's a prince and has been acting as an autocrat more or less for centuries, but being stroked like an adored pet feels really degrading. Of course, he won't hold it against you, but seriously, stop.

Barbatos

"Are you finished playing around quite yet?"

Another one who isn't into this at all. He's more than happy to spend his free time petting you, if that's what you're interested in, but he is a petter, not a pettee. Read into this what you will.

Solomon

"You're so forward!"

Solomon likes it very much. Too much, possibly. Are you flirting with him? There's something incredibly intimate about touching someone's hair, don't you think? No, please, continue.

Simeon

"Um, what are you doing? ...As long as you're enjoying yourself, I guess!"

Simeon is more bewildered by this than most. Like, are you trying to scratch an itch for him? Is this one of those "viral memes" he's heard so much about? Well, it feels nice, and it isn't as if it's hurting anybody. He'll indulge you for now.

A little to your left, please. Ahhhh, that's the spot...

Luke

"Hehe, that tickles... Hey! Is this a Chihuahua joke?!"

It feels kind of nice, but as soon as he takes a second to think about it, he realizes that you're treating him at best like a little kid, and at worst, like a dog, and he isn't having any of that. He'll scold you for treating a Celestial being so casually, remind you that he's actually a lot older than you, technically, so who's the real baby, and secretly pine for more pets for the rest of his life.

[snail-day]

The Assistant Program

TW: Yandere Behaviors, Manipulation, Dub Con, Getting frisky (they're fucking) in the backseat of a car...Pet name: Puppy, pup. Mean sugu. Cum play? (Very brief). overstimulation.

Yan!Geto x Assistant!Reader

WC: 4k

a/n: Ahhhh, geto is rotting my brain again. There's something about him NOT being allowed to defect that has me frothing. I wrote a blurb earlier about this but was never actually able to get the idea into words until recently.

What if Geto Suguru hadn't crossed the line that night? If he hadn’t succumbed to the darkness, yet still nursed a quiet, simmering disdain for nonsorcerers—a festering grudge that earned him more than a few wary glances from the higher-ups.

Their answer to his "problem"? The Assistant Program.

It was Gojo who delivered the news, all lazy smiles and half-hearted reassurances as he clapped Suguru on the shoulder. “Think of it as a little help for that summer fatigue you’ve been dragging around,” he quipped, though Suguru caught the faint edge of caution in his friend’s gaze.

Suguru only smiled in response, his usual gentle expression betraying none of the irritation boiling beneath the surface. His dark eyes, framed by long lashes, glinted with something unreadable as he watched Gojo walk away.

And then, there was you.

A grade four sorcerer. Not someone who belonged in his orbit, freshly graduated like him with an incredibly low grade. A novice in comparison to his strength—a mere puppy forced to share missions, long car rides, and quiet evenings with him.

You were annoyingly bright, a contrast to the brooding aura he so often carried. Your cheerful demeanor and the way you fidgeted nervously around him should have grated on his nerves. At first, it did. Suguru wasn’t sure whether to laugh at your naivety or sneer at your eagerness to please.

How could you grin at him so freely, as if the thought of erasing all nonsorcerers didn’t run through his mind like a broken record?

But as time went on, he began to notice the little things. The way your gaze lingered on him, captivated by the dark cascade of his hair that framed his sharp features. The way you’d steal glances at the broad span of his shoulders, the way his uniform hugged his tall, lean, but muscular frame.

He didn’t miss how your voice softened whenever you said his name, how you leaned closer without even realizing it when he spoke. It wasn’t long before irritation twisted into something far more dangerous.

You weren’t just a puppy anymore. You were his puppy

Suguru made it a game—seeing how far he could push you, how much he could demand, and how readily you would obey. His long, calloused fingers would tug lightly at your sleeve when he called you into his apartment late at night, his dark eyes narrowing with faux vulnerability as he claimed he was having “certain thoughts.”

Bleary-eyed, still fumbling to tie your coat, you’d show up on his doorstep, tail wagging in that metaphorical way that made his chest tighten. “Is everything okay, Sugu?” you’d ask, concern dripping from your voice, as though you weren’t the one being dragged into his games.

He’d usher you in with that same gentle smile, his long hair slipping over his shoulders as he draped an arm around yours. “I just needed some company,” he’d murmur, leading you to the couch, where he’d pull you into his lap with ease that left you breathless.

At first, it was innocent—or so you told yourself. He’d hold you close, his broad chest warm against your back, his deep voice wrapping around you like a lullaby as he claimed he needed comfort. But as the nights wore on, the boundaries blurred.

This time, his lips pressed against your neck, his large hands firm on your waist as he whispered, “Aren’t you supposed to service my every need, little puppy?”

You stiffened, your hands pressing lightly against his chest, but the solid muscle beneath your touch only reminded you how much stronger he was. “Suguru, this… this isn’t part of the contract.”

His soft chuckle was like velvet, wrapping around you and pulling you under. “Contracts are flexible,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours.

The kiss was light at first—a fleeting touch that left your breath hitching. But then his tongue traced the curve of your lower lip, coaxing you to part them. You hesitated, and he didn’t wait, slipping inside and deepening the kiss. The sensation was overwhelming, his movements deliberate and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to unravel you.

Your mind grew hazy, a mix of exhaustion and the intoxicating warmth of him seeping into your senses. His fingers slid up to cradle the back of your neck, holding you in place as if he feared you’d pull away.

When he finally broke the kiss, his lips lingered just above yours, his warm breath fanning your flushed skin. “Good puppy,” he murmured, a dangerous glint in his dark eyes as satisfaction curled his lips into a faint smirk.

You didn’t leave his lap for the rest of the night. Every time you shifted, his hands tightened on your waist, keeping you firmly nestled against him. He pressed kisses to your lips, slow and deliberate, each one leaving your mind hazier, your resistance dissolving like sugar in water.

By the time you finally stumbled home, your head spun, replaying the events of the night like a broken record. Something felt… wrong.

But Suguru didn’t seem to think so.

The next day, he acted like everything was perfectly normal, lounging in the corner of the room during a briefing, his gaze tracking your every movement. When you finally mustered the courage to approach him, he greeted you with a sly smile, as if he had been waiting.

“About last night,” you started, voice trembling slightly.

“What about it?” he interrupted smoothly, tilting his head with feigned curiosity. “We’re together now. Isn’t that obvious?”

Your breath hitched. “Together? That wasn’t—”

“Stop overthinking it,” he said, his tone soft but firm, like he was addressing a child. He reached out, brushing a stray hair from your face with a gentleness that made your stomach twist. “You’ve been there for me all this time. It’s natural for us to take the next step.”

You blinked at him, trying to process his words. “But I didn’t—”

“You didn’t what?” he asked, his voice dropping just slightly. The warmth in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something colder. “Don’t tell me you’re going to deny me now after everything I’ve done for you. After everything we've done for each other. ”

The words hit like a slap, his tone dripping with quiet reproach. He let the silence hang heavy between you before sighing, the sound laced with disappointment.

“I see,” he said finally, leaning back with a detached expression. “I must have misread things. I thought you cared about me. But if this is how you really feel, then…” He trailed off, letting the weight of his unfinished sentence fill the air.

Your heart clenched. The idea of Suguru pulling away felt unbearable, like a void threatening to swallow you whole. Before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out. “No, it’s not like that!”

His lips curved into a smile, slow and calculated. “Good,” he said, his hand reaching out to tilt your chin up. “I knew my puppy wouldn’t disappoint me.”

From that moment on, he took control of your life in ways so subtle you barely noticed at first. A comment here, a suggestion there—little nudges that steered you further into his orbit.

“You shouldn’t overwork yourself,” he’d say with a faint frown, slipping your phone from your hands. “Let me take care of things for you.” And just like that, he’d rearrange your schedule, leaving you dependent on him for even the smallest tasks.

When you hesitated to stay late after missions, he’d fix you with a soft look that somehow made your chest ache. “You wouldn’t leave me all alone, would you? After everything we’ve been through? What if I end up doing something...?”

That final phrase was the words that always left you at his beck and call. You didn't want him to be executed, he was a good man after all.

Every move he made was calculated, each word a thread tightening the web he had spun around you. And the worst part? No matter how much you tried to resist, you always found yourself falling back into his arms, his lips ghosting over your ear as he whispered, “Good puppy.”

Sometimes, after swallowing a particularly vile curse, Suguru’s mood was dark and volatile. It clung to him like a shadow, his sharp edges cutting deeper into those unfortunate enough to cross his path. But tonight, his frustration found its focus on you.

You barely had time to settle into the backseat when his hands pulled you onto his lap, his grip firm, almost bruising. His lips found yours immediately, kissing you with a frantic desperation that left you breathless.

“Disgusting,” he muttered against your lips, his breath hot and heavy. The faint bitterness of his words contrasted with the soft graze of his lips, warm and plush, leaving a shiver in their wake. “You don’t know how lucky you are. You don’t have to taste it—any of it.”

Your hands instinctively pressed against his chest, trying to steady yourself. Beneath your trembling palms, his body was firm, his broad, muscular build radiating a comforting heat despite the tension that simmered just beneath the surface. But his grip tightened, his long fingers digging into your waist like a warning.

“Shh,” he murmured, his tone deceptively soothing as his tongue slipped past your lips, tasting, devouring, claiming. His dark eyes, framed by long, silky strands of black hair that cascaded over his shoulders, bore into yours with an intensity that left you breathless. His hand, large and calloused yet gentle, trailed up to your jaw, tilting your face to deepen the kiss, leaving no room for protest.

“You understand, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice low and coaxing, vibrating against your lips as his breath fanned over your flushed skin. His thumb brushed lightly along your cheek, the roughness of his touch sending goosebumps down your spine.

“I need this, puppy,” he continued, his words curling around your resolve like a leash. “I need you to take it away—the taste, the filth. Make me forget.”

His words carried a vulnerability that twisted something deep inside you, sending a shivers down your body. Part of you knew you should push back, should reclaim some semblance of control, but the way his hands moved—slow, deliberate, his strong fingers tugging at the edges of your sorcerer uniform—left you pliant under his touch.

“Suguru, we shouldn’t…” you whispered weakly, your voice faltering as his lips brushed along the curve of your neck, the heat of his breath leaving your skin tingling. The way he nipped at the soft skin.

“You’re such a good puppy,” he murmured, his voice softening into something almost tender as his hands roamed lower, pulling you closer, pressing your body against his. The faint scent of his cologne—earthy and subtly sweet—lingered in the air, intoxicating you further. “Always trying so hard to please me.”

Your breath hitched as his tongue slid against yours, his kisses growing slower, deeper, impossibly intoxicating. The silky strands of his long hair tickled your cheek as he leaned closer, each movement deliberate and all-encompassing.

The tension in your body ebbed away, replaced by a warmth that seeped into your very core. You stopped resisting, your hands no longer pushing him away but clutching at his broad shoulders instead, your fingers tangling briefly in the smooth fabric of his shirt.

“There we go,” he murmured against your lips, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “That’s it. Good puppy. Let me take care of you.”

The praise sent a dizzying rush through you, leaving you feeling weightless and tethered all at once. The way his lips trailed along your jawline, the way his hands held you firmly yet with a gentleness that belied his strength—it left you unable to think of anything else.

By the time your uniform slipped from your shoulders, pooling in soft folds around your waist, you were pliant in his arms, melting into him like he had always wanted. His long, dark hair brushed against your skin as he leaned forward, his lips trailing along your collarbone with a reverence that made your chest tighten.

“See? Isn’t this better?” he whispered, his voice a dark lullaby as his lips pressed against a sweet spot on your neck, before sucking a mark. “This is where you belong. With me.”

And though a flicker of doubt lingered in the farthest corner of your mind, it was drowned out by the warmth of his touch, his kiss, and the way his deep voice curled around your name, making you feel like nothing else mattered.

Because, deep down, you wanted to please him.

And Suguru knew it.

He knew it in the way your body yielded to him, how your soft whimpers filled the air as he slowly eased you onto his cock, every inch stretching you to fit him perfectly. It was as if he was made for you, stuffing you full, hitting that sweet spot with practiced ease as he would gently roll his hips upwards. His large hands guided your hips with steady precision, his strong build towering over you, making you feel so small yet so protected in his hold.

“So cute,” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress as he drank in every gasp and tremble, his dark eyes tracing the way your body moved with him. “You’re perfect, puppy. My perfect little thing.”

His long fingers tightened their grip on your waist as your breath hitched at his praise, the words wrapping around your mind like a leash, pulling you deeper into his control. Bringing a hand over to smack the fat of your ass just to hear that sweet whimper. His lips found your neck again, pressing feather-light kisses to your skin, each touch leaving you trembling with a need you didn’t know you had.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his voice laced with a sweetness that only made the possessive edge beneath it more apparent. “Just like that. You’re so good for me, aren’t you?”

Your hips moved instinctively, rolling against his in a rhythm that he controlled with the firm grip of his large hands on your waist. His fingers, calloused yet careful, dug into your skin, grounding you against the steady friction that sent jolts of heat through your body. The low, satisfied hums rumbling from his broad chest mingled with your soft moans, which he eagerly muffled with his lips.

“You’re mine,” Suguru murmured, his voice dropping into something darker, more vulnerable. His dark eyes, half-lidded beneath long, inky lashes, bore into yours with an intensity that made your heart twist. His smooth, dark hair, damp with sweat, clung to his temples as he leaned closer, brushing stray strands from your cheek with an almost gentle reverence. “Do you understand that? You belong to me.”

The way he said it made your heart stutter, a flicker of something raw and uncertain threading through his tone. It was fleeting, quickly replaced by the intoxicating confidence that had always defined him, but it was there—a crack in the armor he never let anyone see.

“And if you ever leave me…” His lips, warm and impossibly soft, brushed against your ear as he spoke, his voice low and dripping with quiet menace. “I’ll find you. No matter where you go, no matter who you run to, I’ll bring you back. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

His hips rolled against yours, punctuating each word with a slow, deliberate thrust that left you gasping. His broad shoulders shifted beneath your trembling hands, his muscles taut as though holding back the full force of his need. “But you wouldn’t leave me, would you, puppy?” he asked, his tone softening, almost tender, as his lips found yours again. His dark eyes searched your face, his long hair framing his sharp jawline as though daring you to deny him. “You wouldn’t do that to me.”

You shook your head, your thoughts too scattered to form words. His kisses deepened, his tongue sweeping over yours as he swallowed every moan, every gasp, while his hips began to move with increasing fervor.

“Good,” he whispered, his lips curling into a wicked smile against your skin. His teeth grazed your collarbone briefly before returning to your neck, pressing slow, deliberate kisses that left you trembling. “Because I’d ruin anyone who tried to take you from me.”

The promise in his words sent a shiver down your spine, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care—not when his hands held you so tightly, his firm grip anchoring you as though you might slip away. Not when his voice dripped with honeyed praise, rich and deep like a melody meant only for you. Not when the way he moved against you left your mind spinning with nothing but him. Not when you were this close.

He kissed away every gasp, every whimper, his words sinking into you like a mantra you couldn’t escape. “And I’m yours. Always.” Those words came out with a whole list of rambles, as his pace quickened. The angle of his hips driving into you with full force and practiced care.

His hands never faltered, guiding your hips with deliberate care at first, his strong fingers curling around your waist as though he could mold you to him completely. He let you set the rhythm briefly, watching through half-lidded eyes as your movements made you shiver and sigh in his arms. But when your legs trembled with exhaustion, when your pace faltered, he took control entirely.

“Just trust me,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his grip tightened, pulling you flush against his broad chest. The heat radiating from him seeped into your skin, leaving you breathless as his voice dipped lower. “Be a good puppy and let me take care of you.”

And you did. You melted against him, your cheek pressing into the firm warmth of his shoulder as his hands moved your hips for you, his pace quickening until you were left clinging to him helplessly. The shift in control left you hazy, your thoughts scattering as his low hums rumbled through your body like a steady heartbeat.

“Look at you,” Suguru cooed softly, his voice dripping with praise as his hips snapped upward to meet yours. His dark lashes fluttered briefly, framing the heated look in his eyes as his lips brushed over your temple. “So perfect, so obedient… You’re such a good puppy for me, trusting me like this.”

You felt yourself unraveling under him, the steady rhythm of his movements and the way his hands held you firmly, securely, driving you closer to the edge. His lips ghosted over your neck, pressing soft kisses that left your skin tingling, his whispers weaving through your mind like a spell. You weren't sure who was the addicted one anymore at this rate, he was just so intoxicating. You didn't even care what you were agreeing to by being his.

“You’re fucking mine,” he repeated, his voice trembling with something raw, almost desperate. His dark eyes, half-lidded and glinting with intensity, burned into yours as his hips rolled faster, his breathing growing heavier with each movement. “No one else can have you. No one else can make you feel like this. Say it, puppy. Say you’re mine.”

The plea in his voice, the sheer force of his presence, left no room for hesitation. His long, dark hair clung to his damp temples, strands brushing against your flushed cheeks as you gasped, “I’m yours,” your voice trembling, your words barely more than a whisper.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his tone thick with satisfaction, a wicked smile tugging at his lips as his strong hands tightened their grip on your hips. His pace quickened, each thrust more deliberate, more insistent, as though he were imprinting himself into every part of you.

Your body tensed, trembling in his hold as heat overwhelmed you, his relentless movements pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You cried out softly, clinging to his broad shoulders, your nails digging into his taut muscles as waves of pleasure rippled through you.

Suguru groaned, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as he buried himself deeper, his release following yours in a shuddering rush. His hands gripped your hips firmly, holding you against him as though afraid you might slip away, his strength grounding you even as your limbs went limp in his arms.

His head dropped to your shoulder, his long lashes brushing against your skin as his breaths came in heavy, uneven pants. The heat of him radiated against you, his broad chest rising and falling as he clung to you, his fingers now stroking your back in slow, almost reverent movements.

He pressed a final kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if sealing a vow. “You’ll always be mine,” he whispered, his voice low, possessive, and tinged with a vulnerability that cracked through his usual confidence. For a fleeting moment, it was as though he feared the very idea of losing you.

And as you lay against him, too worn to think, too lost in the haze of his touch to resist, you felt the weight of his words settle over you like a chain you couldn’t break—and, in some part of you, didn’t want to.

It wasn’t like Suguru was a bad partner by any means. In fact, he was perfect. Almost too perfect.

He was like a man pulled straight out of a drama, always knowing exactly what to say, what to do, to make you melt under his touch. He made you feel good, even if the acts he coaxed you into were sometimes a little embarrassing, leaving you flushed and breathless in his arms.

“Good pup,” he’d murmur with a satisfied smirk as he filled you to the brim over and over, the praises rolling off his tongue like honey. He had a way of making you crave his approval, of making you feel special—his and his alone.

And after he consumed another curse, when the bitterness lingered in his mouth, he’d find you, need you. He’d kiss you deeply, claiming your taste as his salvation, before trailing his lips down your body, leaving you trembling beneath him.

When he reached the place where he craved you most, his tongue would glide between your thighs, his movements deliberate, calculated. His firm hands gripped your hips with a strength that kept you from squirming too much, though the way you trembled beneath him only fueled his need to have his tongue buried inside you. Suguru reveled in the way you gasped and moaned, your body arching into him, surrendering to his touch. He’d drink your juices as if they were the key to getting that awful taste out of his mouth, his tongue teasing and coaxing until you fell apart, only for him to push you further, again and again.

He especially savored the moments when you gushed on his tongue, your legs quivering, your hands clutching at his hair or the sheets. He’d slow down just to torment you, letting his tongue flick against your sensitive clit in slow, lazy kitten licks, watching as your body writhed, overwhelmed by the overstimulation. Tears would pool in your eyes, your vision blurry as you looked down at him, and Suguru would grin, knowing he had reduced you to this state.

But his favorite indulgence came after, when he pushed himself back inside you, filling you completely once more. When he was spent, he’d make sure nothing went to waste. Suguru would lean down, his tongue slipping between your folds to lap up the white sticky mess he left behind. The act was as much for him as it was for you, his gaze locking onto yours as he gathered the mixture of your arousal and his release. Then, with calculated slowness, he’d spit the warm substance onto your tongue, his voice a low growl as he commanded, “Swallow it, pup. Every drop.”

But Suguru wasn’t always this intense, this insatiable. He had a sweet side, one that wrapped around you like a warm blanket on a cold night.

He’d hold your hand as you walked together, his fingers lacing with yours in a way that felt almost innocent. At night, he’d pull you into his chest, his arms a protective cage as his breaths evened out, soft and peaceful. His presence was comforting, grounding, even if you sometimes caught a glimpse of something darker lurking beneath.

Your parents adored him.

The first time they met Suguru, he was the picture of charm—polite, attentive, and disarmingly sweet. He brought your mother flowers, complimented her cooking with such genuine enthusiasm that she beamed for the rest of the night. He helped your father carry groceries without being asked, engaging him in an easy conversation that left your dad chuckling over some shared joke.

“He’s wonderful,” your mother whispered to you that evening, practically glowing. “The kind of man every parent dreams their child will marry.”

And for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe it.

After all, Suguru was wonderful. He made you feel seen, wanted, cherished. He kissed away your doubts, held you like you were the most precious thing in the world. But beneath his sweetness, there was something possessive, something all-consuming that clung to you like a shadow.

You tried not to think about it too much—the way his smile tightened when someone got too close to you, the way his hand on your waist sometimes felt like a claim. Because when he held you at night, his voice soft and full of love as he murmured how much you meant to him, it was easy to forget the weight of the chains you wore

[kathaelipwse]

New hair color │ SKZ {OT8}

Pairing: Stray Kids x GN!Reader (OT8)

Requested: Yes

Word Count: 859 words ; Reading Time: 5-ish mins Warnings: Flirty banter, shameless thirsting, playing with their hair, mutual teasing, mild suggestiveness

Synopsis: When Stray Kids show up with freshly dyed hair—you’re done for. Completely. Utterly. Shamelessly obsessed. You can’t keep your hands (or your compliments) to yourself, and they know it. But what happens when they start teasing you back? It’s a war of flirtation, and you’re losing beautifully. Author's Note: The way I went absolutely feral over their specific hair colors (I need help. ASAP.) They really said "let’s give the people a crisis." Like they knew we would be down bad- I’m not okay. Enjoy this mess.

Bang Chan (.......BLONDE AH BLONDE-)

You were practically draped over him, fingers threading through the fresh strands like you were hypnotized. “You have no business looking this fine,” you mumbled, tugging gently at the hair near his nape. Chan tilted his head, eyes playful. “You’ve been touching my hair for fifteen minutes. Is this a new form of worship?” “Maybe,” you murmured. “I’m just trying to memorize every inch.” He leaned in, voice lower. “Should I be concerned… or flattered?” You smirked. “Depends. Are you gonna keep looking like my favorite sin?” His lips curled into a grin. “If this is your reaction, I might dye it again next month—just to see you lose your mind all over again.”

Lee Know (AHHHH! PURPLE LINO- GET HIM BACK TT)

You didn’t even greet him. Just reached up and grabbed a handful of freshly dyed perfection, sighing like you were in pain. “You’re gonna ruin me.” Minho chuckled. “Over hair?” “Over you. This color is giving ‘boyfriend who breaks hearts and knows it.’” He quirked a brow. “Good. I like when you get a little desperate.” You narrowed your eyes. “That sounds like a challenge.” He smirked. “Is it working?” “Unfortunately for my dignity? Yes. Now shut up and let me touch it before I combust.”

Changbin (THE FADDED BLUE AND GLIMPSE OF BLONDE- *dies*)

“You’re not real,” you whispered, staring at him like he just walked out of a music video. “You’re… I don’t even have words.” Changbin smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “You’ve said that five times now.” “Because I can’t stop looking at you! You’re walking boyfriend propaganda.” He stepped closer, voice teasing. “Is this how you flirt? Obsessively petting my head and gasping every five seconds?” “Yes,” you replied instantly. “And don’t act like you’re not loving every second.” He grinned. “I won’t lie. It’s cute how weak you are for me.” You squinted. “Weak? Baby, I’m feral.”

Hyunjin (Please tell me I wasn't the only one who went CRAZY over this-)

You ran your fingers through the strands like you were admiring art. “This is illegal. This hair? The sharp jaw? The smug face you’re making right now?” Hyunjin smirked. “You’re looking at me like I’m dessert.” “You are dessert.” “Then why haven’t you taken a bite?” Your fingers paused. “Hyunjin.” He leaned in, lips ghosting near your ear. “I’m just saying… you keep touching me like that, and I might start thinking you’re serious.” You smirked back. “Oh, baby. I’ve been serious.”

Jisung (THIS. THIS IS IT. AND THE FADDED BLUE LATER THO-)

“Jisung.” “Hmm?” “You need to stop doing this.” “Doing what?” You grabbed both sides of his face. “Existing with this hair color. It’s messing with my self-control.” He grinned. “You have self-control? Since when?” You gasped dramatically. “I’m trying to be normal about this but look at you.” He wiggled his brows. “You wanna run your fingers through it again, huh?” You didn’t even deny it. “Yes. And maybe cry a little. You’re too powerful.” He leaned closer. “Good. I like being your weakness.”

Felix (.....AHHH DAYUM I NEED THIS BACK)

Your hands were in his hair before you even said hi. “How does it feel to be God’s favorite?” Felix laughed, tilting his head so you could touch more. “You’re ridiculous.” “You’re ridiculous. This hair is ridiculous. Your face is ridiculous.” He gave you a teasing pout. “So dramatic. Should I walk in slow motion next time?” “Yes. With wind machines. Shirt slightly unbuttoned.” Felix chuckled, brushing your hand with his. “You’re kind of obsessed with me, huh?” You met his gaze, totally shameless. “Baby, I’m hopeless.”

Seungmin (my shyla- ahh I love him-)

“You’re evil,” you said the moment he walked in. Seungmin raised an eyebrow. “What’d I do now?” You pointed. “That hair. That smirk. The way you know what you’re doing to me.” “Oh?” He stepped closer, cocky now. “You mean this?” He ran a hand through his own hair, slowly. You bit your lip. “You’re doing this on purpose.” “I don’t have to try. You’re already obsessed.” “I am not.” “You’re stroking my hair like it’s a rare animal. Be honest.” “…Fine. I’m obsessed. Happy now?” He grinned. “Very.”

Jeongin (THE LIGHT PINK-)

“I don’t know who you think you are,” you muttered, shamelessly raking your fingers through his new hair, “but I am not okay with this level of attractiveness.” Jeongin grinned, all smug charm. “Really? I thought you’d handle it better.” “You dyed it. You styled it. You smirked at me when you walked in. It’s like you’re trying to kill me.” He tilted his head innocently. “You make it sound like I planned this.” You stared. “Did you?” He chuckled. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” “…If you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna do something reckless.” “Good. I like when you get reckless.”