#Mind The A03 TAGS!

[jewel-shard]

Fall

Written for @inukag-week 9th Edition

Artwork: @classysassy9791

Hi beautiful humans. This is my first Inuyasha fanfiction. I am posting a chapter a day for inukag-week. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1: Yearning for you

Kagome's head rolled to the left, dust filling her nose and mouth.

He was there, she could feel him as the miasma thickened.

She sensed the streaks of power resonate out as the roar of the demon hoard grew.

It almost overwhelmed the ringing in her ears. Opening her eyes seemed like so much work. It felt like the weight of the settling dust on her skin was crushing her.

Warmth brushed her cheek, the grace of a claw on her lips. As her mind was consumed by darkness, her thoughts were of him; yearning for his touch.

Inuyasha.

^.^

He saw her fall. It was an impossible height. With the immense power of the hit, her piece of the jewel shard had shattered, and she had fallen off the edge of the steep canyon wall.

Demons scrambled around her, fighting over fragments as she tumbled. He saw only her. A cry of her name rang through the air as she found ground, landing with crushing speed.

Seconds felt like hours and it was lifetimes until he finally arrived at her side. The hoard swirled as he reached for her.

Kagome.

-.-

He had fucked up.

Again.

He watched her hair whip around her face.

He screamed her name; heard her bones crack against the earth.

He failed.

Her.

He had been so confident.

Said ‘shut up and let me protect you, stupid.’

Like he always did.

Her eyes shone with trust as she watched him leap down into the dry canyon.

He had seen only fear in her gaze as she fell.

He tried to reach for her.

Desperately using his claws to rip at the purple tendrils surrounding him. He had finally broken free just as Kagome's body was being lifted off the ground before she became consumed by a bright glow as it blinded him.

But not before he saw him.

Naraku.

[lightandheatao3]

The Bunker - Criminal Minds

Chapter 1: The Bunker

Summary: Spencer Reid wakes up in a locked bunker to find half the current BAU and two of its departed members unconscious on the floor. The old team is back together but the reunion is not what any of them would have wished for. An Unsub from their past has decided it's time they all stop keeping secrets, even if it means exposing them by force.

Hotch and Derek have been pulled back into a world they tried to escape. Emily, Rossi, and JJ are doing their best to keep it together. Spencer is falling apart.

AKA a found family is reunited and forced to go through the most nightmarish version of family therapy imaginable.

Set months after the end of Criminal Minds: Evolution. Evolution referenced, but not necessary to understand the story.

Read chapter 1 on AO3 or under the cut. All comments and reblogs are so appreciated <3

Chapter 2 link

Spencer cracked his eyes open, flinching from the white fluorescent light and blinking hard against the groggy, dull ache in his head.

His mouth was dry, body heavy. A familiar wake up. He reached his hand out blindly for the relief waiting on his bedside table.

No- wait.  

His lights are all yellow toned filament bulbs, not white fluorescents.

The smell was wrong. The dull electrical buzz in the air was louder, pitched higher.

His eyes shot open wide and he scrambled to his feet.

This wasn’t home.

He surveyed his surroundings, fighting the wave of dizziness that came with standing too abruptly.

“Oh no,” he said out loud. “Nonononono…”

The room was large and square and made entirely of concrete. Up the top a small vent, too high to reach and too small for a person to fit into. A heavy door with a double walled chamber for someone to put things into without having to interact with the person on the other side. The kind you would find in a maximum-security prison cell. The whole room felt like a prison cell, a place he’d hoped to never be again. At the back of the room a small en-suit that was completely stripped bare but for a metal toilet with no seat and a sink that was bolted into the wall. There was a door that could be shut, but there was a gap under it and a hole where a doorknob had clearly been removed.

A camera. There on the roof, drilled in and protected by a plexiglass dome, blinking its little red light at him. He stared at it for a moment, then closed his eyes.

He slowed his breathing. Now was not the time to fall apart. Not now. Not yet.

Not when there were 5 of his friends prone on the ground around him, unconscious as he had been only moments ago.

Each was laid out on a thin foam mattress, the kind with no seams or springs that could be fashioned into tools.

His first stop was the door. He knew before he tried it that it wasn’t going to open, but he had to make sure. As soon as that was confirmed, he turned his attention to the people in the room with him.

He rushed over to Emily first, rolling her onto her side and checking her pulse. It was slow, but steady. He looked around at the rest of them, noting the gentle rise and fall of their chests. All alive. He sighed audibly, clasping his hands together in thanks and relief for a split second before turning back to Emily.

He gently shook her, putting his hand on her cheek in what he hoped was a comforting way. His hands were shaking. He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline or the comedown. “Emily," he said gently. “Emily, it’s me, Spencer. Wake up Emily.”

After a few more repetitions her eyes fluttered, then opened. She looked up at him hazily. “Spencer?”

“Hi,” he said sadly, knowing there were only a second left until she realized the danger they were in and wanting to let her experience that second in peace.

She glanced behind him where JJ lay unconscious. He looked at her pupils. They were constricted, confirming his suspicions.

“Oh my god,” Emily gasped, her hand reaching up to clutch his shoulder. She leveraged herself against him to drag her way up into a sitting position. She rubbed at her eyes blearily, then opened them again and cast them around the entire room. “Fuck,” she breathed.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

Her eyes snapped back to him. “Are you alright?” she asked urgently, looking him over. “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “And I don’t know. I woke up a minute ago. I don’t remember how I got here. I think we were all drugged.”

She hummed in agreement. “Last thing I remember I was outside my apartment on the way home from the gym. I still feel a little out of it. God, Spencer, you look awful,” she said, putting a hand over his. “What did they do to you?”

“Same thing as you, most likely.” He looked away. “Emily, that’s Hotch over there,” he deflected. “And Derek.”

Emily looked to where he was pointing. Her expression was solemn, professionalism kicking in even in these dire circumstances. “Yeah. And no sign of Tara, Matt, or Luke. And no Penelope, thank God. Whoever did this, they’ve got a grudge against us that predates the others joining the BAU. Someone who met all of us but never had direct interaction with Penelope. This is good. If the others are free, they’ll find us.”

Spencer nodded in agreement. “This is someone with the skill to find Hotch in witness protection. If he wasn’t dead, I would have said it was Scratch. The logistics of kidnapping 6 highly trained federal agents takes an enormous amount of planning and ability. There are only handful of people we’ve encountered with the capacity to pull something like this off.”

She rubbed at her temples. Her eyes were losing the glassy sheen as the adrenaline counteracted the effects of the drugs. “I assume you tried the door?” He nodded. “I guess we should wake the others.”

No sooner than she said it, JJ stirred. They both crawled over to her. Her wake up process went much the same as Emily’s, but for the fact that the first thing she asked about was if her children were safe, before she’d come to enough to realize they had no way of knowing.

“Whoever this is likely targeted you while you were alone,” Spencer assured her. “It’s much safer to take a victim without witnesses, especially a victim who is trained to defend themselves and needs to be physically incapacitated.”

Next, they woke Rossi, who responded immediately by swearing up a storm and threatening to rip the head off whoever was responsible for this.

“Hey, Dave, it’s okay,” said JJ in a calming voice, even as she looked about to cry. “There’s nobody in here but us.”

He breathed. He nodded. He cursed again. He nodded again.

“At least I’m not alone this time,” he said with a world weariness that Spencer felt in his gut.

They had all been in situations like this before, but Rossi was barely recovered from the last time only a few months ago. Spencer still regret so deeply that he wasn’t there to help with Elias Voit.

“No, you’re not alone,” agreed Emily emphatically. “On that note, look who else is here,” she said.

“God fucking dammit,” cursed Rossi as his eyes swept over Derek and landed on Hotch.

Seeing Derek there was upsetting, but it wasn’t as jarring as Hotch’s presence. Derek still came along to the occasional social event, though less and less recently, as he was busy with the birth of his second child. Spencer personally still saw him once a month or so, though the past year their contact had been more limited to phone calls. They were all dreading having to watch him learn he’d been pulled into this nightmare, but if nothing else they could offer him the comfort of familiarity and camaraderie.

But Hotch… none of them had heard so much as a whisper from him in years. When he disappeared, he did so completely. It’s the kind of thing that would have wounded Spencer deeply under any other circumstances, but after everything Daniel Lewis aka Mr Scratch had put him through, he only ever hoped that Hotch had found every semblance of peace that life could give him. He’d missed him badly at times, but he would have rather they never meet again than have to meet like this.

They decided to wake Derek first.           

Rossi nearly got a fist in the face before Derek pieced together what was happening. Then, he put a fist directly into a concrete wall instead.

“I’m going to regret that when the drugs wear off,” he said sheepishly once he’d calmed down just a bit. “Whatever they dosed us with, they did not skimp. The comedown is gonna suck,” he said, side eyeing Spencer, who pretended not to notice.

The question and answer was the same as with the others. Do you remember anything about who took you? No. Has anyone tried the door? Yes. Derek threw a shoe at the camera for good measure, but of course it just bounced off the plexiglass and landed pathetically on the floor.

The bang of it hitting the concrete was enough to make Hotch finally stir. They all turned to face him, staring helplessly.

His hair was longer than Spencer had ever seen it. Still short, but more relaxed, skimming the bottom of his ears and starting to curl a little at the base of his neck. He was still lean, but some of the muscle had been replaced by fat. He looked just a little softer. Healthier. His face was peaceful. Spencer always remembered him looking tense, even in his sleep. His hair was streaked with grey but somehow this was the youngest Spencer had ever seen him look.

He stirred a little more, blinking at last.

Ah, there was the familiar tension creeping its way back across his face.

Rossi was the one who finally knelt down beside him. “Aaron? I’m so sorry my friend,” he said sadly as recognition flashed in Hotch’s eyes.

“I’m dreaming,” came the familiar voice. Spencer had missed that voice more than he'd known.

Hotch closed his eyes tightly, then opened them again. He looked past Rossi at the rest of them. Spencer raised his hand in a polite greeting, then immediately felt like an idiot for doing so.

“I’m not dreaming,” he said, no trace of emotion in his voice.

“I’m afraid not,” Rossi confirmed.

Hotch fixed his eyes on Rossi again, pushing himself up so he was sitting against the wall. He looked like he was staring at a ghost, trying to figure where the projector was. “When did you get so old?” he said, reaching out a hand to Rossi’s face and poking at it.

Rossi grabbed the offending hand and clasped it between both of his. “Careful. You’re no spring chicken yourself,” he joked.

“No,” said Hotch, still expressionless. “Peter Lewis is dead. This isn’t my life anymore. He’s dead. They told me he died. I saw photos of the body.”

Spencer didn’t know that, but judging by Rossi’s lack of surprise, he pieced together that the older man had likely made sure the witness protection people had passed the photos along.

“Scratch is dead,” Rossi confirmed. “Whoever did this, it’s not him.”

“This. Isn’t. Real,” Hotch insisted, the first sign of emotion entering his voice in the form of hysteria as he pulled his hand away from Rossi and scrambled to his feet. “All of you stay away from me!” he yelled, looking at each of them in turn.

JJ grabbed onto Spencer’s arm. He flinched at first, then put an arm around her and gave what he hoped was a comforting squeeze. Derek took a step towards Hotch, but Emily held him back.

Hotch backed into the corner, looking at them like a caged animal. They were all caged animals now, Spencer supposed. An unfortunately familiar role.

“Hotch,” Spencer said, surprising himself by speaking. They all turned to look at him. He couldn’t back away now. “This is real. I’m so sorry this is happening to you, but Penelope and the rest of our team aren’t here, which means they are out there looking for us. I know it doesn’t feel real. We have all been drugged and you are probably still feeling the effects. I’m sorry. I wish it wasn’t real, but it is,” Spencer said kindly but emphatically.

“We’ll get out of this together,” said Emily. “It’s going to be okay.”

Hotch’s eyes were looking just a little clearer.

“Listen man, I know what you’re feeling. I got out, too, remember? I have a family and I don’t know if they’re alright. I’m right here with you. We’re all on your side. Do you believe me?” asked Derek, and this time Emily let him take a step forward.

 Hotch looked around at all of them again. He assessed them carefully. Then, he turned to the corner, putting his back to them and his hand over his face. It was the closest thing he could get to privacy and Spencer was suddenly grateful to have woken up first to process all of this without being watched.

Well, except for the camera.

They all looked at the floor and did their best to give Hotch space. It was almost a full minute before he finally tuned back around.

There was that stoic expression that Spencer remembered. All that youth and peace was gone from his face in an instant. Spencer hoped so badly that it wasn’t gone for good.

“What do we know?” asked Hotch, crossing his arms.

A moment of silence passed and Spencer wondered if the rest of them felt their hearts breaking into pieces at this cruel facsimile of a reunion.

“Why don’t we start with the last thing each of us remembers?” said Emily, stepping up beside Hotch and looking back at the rest of the room, two natural leaders doing what they do best.

Each of them recounted the details they knew before they woke up in this room.

They had been going about their lives, nothing special. The only common thread they could find was that each of them was alone when their memories stopped.

Derek had been at a picnic with his family and the last thing he remembered was leaving to use the park bathroom. Emily on her way back from the gym. JJ heading out to get groceries. Rossi walking home late from a bar.

“I was driving to work,” said Hotch shortly.

“We’re going to need more detail than that if we want to put together a timeline,” prompted Rossi. "Where do you work?"

Hotch pursed his lips. Spencer could see him strategizing in his head. He wasn’t back in their lives by choice. Spencer understood.

He didn’t get it back when Gideon left, but he got it now. Once you let people in the door, it can be impossible to fully extricate them. Hotch’s old life was filled with trauma he was trying to leave behind and the team were living representations of that past. Spencer couldn’t bring himself to be hurt by the other man’s reticence.

“A legal consultancy in a small town in Kentucky,” he said reluctantly, like divulging the smallest part of his personal life meant inviting the entire FBI right back into it.

“That’s an 8 hour drive,” said Derek. “No wonder you were so out of it compared to the rest of us. You must have been dosed multiple times to keep you under that long.”

“I think you’re right,” he said. “I’m still a bit foggy, if I’m being honest,” he admitted quietly. “What about you, Reid?”

Spencer blinked. “I feel fine.”

“No, I mean what’s the last thing you remember?”

Oh. Right. “I went to sleep in my apartment, then I woke up here,” he said honestly. It wasn’t important what he was doing before he went to sleep.

“Since we can be fairly confident whoever this is took Hotch first,” said Emily, “That probably means they got to you last, Spence. They hit all of us in one day. They must have known the BAU had a day off after closing the last case. They would have had to hit us quick to avoid raising alarms.”

“And the fact that we were all grabbed at different times indicates we’re likely dealing with a single Unsub. Someone highly organized and familiar with each of our routines.”

“The Unsub must have been planning this for a long time. Finding someone in witness protection, especially a former profiler, would take an incredible amount of skill or resources,” said Spence. “They stalked us, learned our routines, then used blitz attacks to stop us from being able to fight back.”

It didn’t take long for them to get into the flow. He felt his panic slipping away as his brain shifted into work mode. At some point they all went from standing to sitting in a circle on the floor.

It felt ridiculous to think about, but Spencer couldn't help but be mildly self conscious being the only one of them in his pajamas, as he was taken in his sleep. He was just glad it was a cold night so he'd been wearing nice, full length ones and not boxers and a shirt or something to that affect. Derek, Emily and JJ were all dressed in comfortable day wear. Rossi and Hotch in suits. Hotch was interesting, though. Spencer had rarely seen him outside of a crisp black suit characteristic of an FBI agent. The one he wore now was navy with a striped tie. It looked good on him.

They put together a more detailed timeline and looked back on the past few months of their lives to discuss anything that could have possibly been out of the ordinary.

The more they talked, the less cagey Hotch was about his life. It was strange to learn more about the day to day he had been living in the years since they’d seen him.

None of them talked about their kids or partners beyond a simple acknowledgement of their existence. They were all acutely aware of the camera on the roof. Whoever was doing this didn’t need to know any more about their families than they already did.

Their phones had been taken and none of them had anything to write with, so they were relying on Spencer to catalogue and compile the information in his brain. He did just that, and after a couple hours they had what was likely a fairly reliable timeline, including geographical information.

Whoever was doing this, they were extremely organized, meticulous, and quick. Not one of them saw it coming. None of them could point to any strange interactions they had over the past months, any red flags, any signs of being followed.

When it came time for Spencer to recount the details of the last months of his life, the others stared at him intently. “I haven’t seen you in person in months,” said Derek. “You don’t look so great, pretty boy.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but the bunker we’re currently locked in isn’t making the rest of you look at your healthiest, either.”

“You know what I mean,” said Derek with an affectionate eyeroll.

“You know I was doing some classified work for the bureau. That’s why I couldn’t be there for what happened with Voit,” he said with an apologetic look to Rossi, who waved his hand dismissively. They had already been over this when Spencer first got back. He noticed Hotch raise a curious eyebrow. “I can’t talk about the work since we’re currently being recorded,” he said, nodding up at the camera. “Emily knows the details. It was nothing bad, just research that kept me out off the grid for a while. But if the Unsub could find Hotch in witness protection, then it’s possible they could have been tailing me for that long.”

“That finished months ago,” pointed out Emily. “What have you been doing while you’re on sabbatical?”

“A few guest lecture series at Virginia Tech and spending time with my mom, mostly. I just needed a break. I’m sorry I haven’t been around much. I guess I’ve been a bit distracted. I haven’t seen or experienced anything unusual, though.”

“I hope your mom’s doing okay,” said JJ comfortingly, prompting the rest of them to nod sympathetically.

He just nodded back. She was doing fine, honestly, not that he’d been visiting as often as he should. Easier to let them assume she was the reason he had been absent.

“Why are you doing this?” said Hotch, standing up and looking directly at the camera once they realized none of them had any more details to share at this point. “What do you want from us? Tell us what it is and maybe we can give it to you.”

The camera blinked its red light at them, showing no care for their presence.

Hotch sighed. He looked down at them all helplessly. His eyes stopped short on Derek. He knelt down, staring at something on the side of his head. “What?” asked Derek, leaning away in concern at Hotch’s suddenly very close face.

“Hold still,” said Hotch. He waved Emily over, who shuffled round to his side. “Right… there,” he said, hovering a finger just behind Derek’s ear.

Her eyes widened. Hotch looked at her questioningly, then turned his own head and tucked his hair away so that she could see behind his ear.

“You have it too,” she said. She did the same as him and he checked her over. They looked at each other again and he nodded.

They all stared at them expectantly, though Spencer was pretty sure he knew what they were seeing.

“Puncture marks at the top of the neck, just behind the ear,” Emily explained. “That’s where we were injected.”

Spencer, Rossi and JJ all checked each other. Sure enough, same thing.

“That means we were likely attacked from behind,” said Derek.

“Do we know what we were drugged with?” said Hotch, shooting an almost imperceptible glance in Spencer’s direction.

His skin crawled at the way none of them wanted to look at him, to just come right out and say it. He didn’t particularly want to talk about it. Not really. But they always acted like the subject was poison and it made him feel like he had to walk on eggshells too. Like the reality of his life was harder for them to hear than it was for him to live.

“I am fairly confident it was some kind of opioid,” he said, careful to keep the irritation out of his voice.

JJ put her hand on his and he felt the irritation dissipate.

They cared about him. He knew that. It’s not as if they were wrong to worry. They had talked about it a little over the years, but not enough that it had stopped being awkward every time it came up.

“Are you certain?” asked Rossi. “Could have been a tranquilizer.”

“I’m certain,” said Spencer. “Trust me, I know the feeling.”

Derek reached a foot across the circle and bumped it against Spencer’s knee in a supportive gesture, like saying ‘I’m here with you.’ Emily smiled at him softly, reassuringly.

“It could have been cut with something,” pointed out Hotch.

“The totality of the blackout indicates it may have been cut with a sedative of some kind, as a high enough dose of opioids to include that kind of memory loss reliably could be unsafe and none of us are suffering significant enough side effects to indicate that’s the case. Whoever did this knew exactly what dosage to use,” he explained. “But… I am quite sure it was predominantly an opioid.”

Of course he was sure.

“Jesus,” said JJ. “I’m sorry, Spence.”

“I don’t believe in fate but the universe does seem to have a strange way of conspiring to get you high,” deadpanned Emily.

Derek shot her a harsh look, but Spencer cracked a smile. “I think ‘an Unsub made me do it’ is going to start sounding like ‘a dog ate my homework’ to my sponsor,” he joked back, relief washing over him that they weren’t going to dance around it the entire time they were in here. Not that he’d spoken to his sponsor in more than a year. They didn’t need to know that.

The others smiled too. “You’ll be alright, kid,” said Rossi. “If you kept it together after Mexico, you’ll get through this.”

That would have been a comforting statement if not for the fact that it was completely false. It didn’t matter anyway. Penelope and the rest of the team would find them and get them out before any of this became an issue.

Or they wouldn’t. But he couldn’t think about that yet.

A crease sat deep between Hotch’s eyebrows. “Mexico?”

“You don’t know?” said Emily. “I just assumed you were across everything to do with the Scratch case.”

“No,” said Hotch. “I accepted proof of his death and told the liaison I didn’t want to know anything else.”

“It’s complicated,” said Rossi. “There were other players involved, but the short version is Reid was drugged and framed for murder. It wasn’t pretty.”

“We don’t need to go into the details,” said Spencer, oddly embarrassed at the idea of Hotch knowing just how prone to being victimized he apparently still is. He knew it wasn’t rational, given the things that had happened to Hotch and the fact that all of them were in this locked room as victims together.

Hotch looked at him. Spencer couldn’t read his expression at all. Eventually he just nodded and let it drop.

Before any of them could say another word, there was a banging at the door. The hatch on the other side of the door chamber opened.

Derek got to the door first, trying to rip the hatch on their side open. He shouted at the door “What do you want?! Talk to me! Just tell us what you want!”

There was no response.

The only thing they could see was a hand covered in a thick leather glove sliding a piece of paper in. It was a smaller hand than expected.

He continued pulling but the panel didn’t budge until the other one had closed completely. Derek stumbled backwards as the panel suddenly released.

“It’s soundproof,” Spencer said, despairing. “There was no sound of footsteps on the other side.”

Emily grabbed the note from the chamber. They all whipped around to watch her as she read the words aloud.

“Hello, old friends,” she started, all of them frozen in place and hanging off her every word. “I know you are wondering why you are here. It is simple. You dragged my secrets into the light and then put me in a cage. At first I wanted to get revenge. Then I watched you for a long time and I learned all about you and I learned that we are the same. I saw how you are suffering. How you are scared. All hiding. I remember when I had to hide. For so long I hid even from myself. Now, because of you, I am free. Even when I was in a cage, I was free, because I had no secrets anymore.

I want to give you the freedom you gave to me. Soon, you will not have secrets. You will see that in this room you cannot hide and that when there is nothing left to hide, you will be free.”

Emily looked up from the letter, meeting all of their eyes in turn. There was a painful lump in Spencer’s throat.

If he was being honest with himself, he knew it as soon as he woke up in this room and saw them all there. He knew they weren’t going to make it out in time. He knew the Unsub must have watched him closely enough to know what was going on with him. He knew he wasn’t making it out of this without all of them seeing him for exactly who he is.

Now, he thought, might be the time to fall apart.

[mercyannmay]

My Wani point - chapter 4 update

So happy to have finally posted this for all the Dragodile enjoyers 💚 please mind the tags, part of the fic is NSFW and not for minors! 🔞

[extravalgant]

'for the dead are changless' aka the wizdyv fluff i always promised but never followed up on. UNTIL NOW summary: He could still feel the ghostly imprints of your fingers on his skin, kissed by the warmth of your body. You were checking his pulse. You were checking his pulse. words: 2144 warnings: no warnings. free range wizdyv fluff babey. except maybe some ooc-ness. please mind that 🛐

read on a03

"What does shadow magic feel like?" 

You can tell Dyvim is curious—just by the way his voice tilts in a certain way. He's not afraid, no; just cautious of what is to come. You avoid his gaze anyways, swallowing down the hard lump of guilt that suddenly manifests in your throat.

You've been avoiding his gaze for days by this point. You think yourself clever, but you know Dyvim; you know that this is his way of getting you to open up. You two had not spoken about what had happened at the Queen's hive, of what you two had lost and subsequently regained, but the relief of his return is palpable in the air. 

He would be a fool not to have noticed the way your fingers curl underneath his jaw, light as the morning's dew, and press gently against the pulse along his neck. You do this when you think he's sleeping, but he's a light sleeper, now—awake even at the slightest snap of a branch, at the mere suggestion that something may be moving in the dark. 

The first time you had done it had been after his revival—when you had taken the first shift, when he slowly fell into a dreamless sleep. He didn't know what to expect, but the sensation of your hand had not been one of them. 

Your fingers were warm against the jugular of his throat, and something in his chest squeezed at the thought; of the implications your actions held. His pulse was warm and hearty, thrumming strongly against the pads of your fingertips, and after a few beats of silence, he felt your hand slide away. 

He could still feel the ghostly imprints of your fingers on his skin, kissed by the warmth of your body. You were checking his pulse. You were checking his pulse. 

The affection he had been careful to tuck underneath his armor, between the smooth, metal ridges, suddenly can't help but bloom without warning. 

"It's different from other magic,” you say, bringing Dyvim back to this moment in time. He hadn't even realized the two of you had fallen silent until you had spoken. Your voice was soft, as it always was with him, as you shuffle your spell cards. They make a soft, satisfying hiss as they slide against one another, glittering low in the light. It reflects off of your face, washing your plaintive expression in a wash of bright, warm gold. 

“In what way?” he asks, his eyes round with genuine interest. Magic was never his strong suit, and it seemed so… finicky at times. It was hard to rely on something that had the possibility of failing you in the most crucial of moments. 

“It's colder than light magic,” you said, tucking the cards back into your deck, before slotting it onto your side. You slot your fingers together, resting your elbows on your thighs, before leaning forward. 

Yes, your hands had felt cold, hadn't they? He could feel it the other night, when you had done your usual rounds. Watched him breathe long and slow, like he savored every breath. 

“It is?” He blinks. “I had no idea magic was warm.” 

“Not… necessarily,” you reply, and allow the tendrils of magic to dance across your skin. To the denizens of this world, magic was a wonder to behold; a weapon wielded against darkness. The responsibility you have is not lost on you. “Light magic doesn't feel like anything, its just… shadow magic that feels colder in comparison. It feels like… cracking an egg over your head.” 

Dyvim smiles, a laugh passing through his lips without a second thought. He didn't expect a metaphor like that, but it made it easier to imagine. 

“Does it?” He says, with a hint of a smile tracing the edges of his words. His eyes crinkle with amusement. “I don't believe you.” 

“We could always get an egg and find out,” you suggest with a tease, until the soft warmth of your conversations silts through the silence, and you go back to being you. Not ‘The Wizard’—but you. 

His spellbinder—the one with the sad eyes and the kind smile. Everything about you is so kind, he thinks. 

“I’ll take your word for it,” he muses gently, and the smiles he receives in reply is enough to make his heart squeeze in his chest. 

He watches the firelight dance across your face. It dips wonderfully into all your crevices—the softness of your cheeks, curving underneath your eyes, against the slope of your face. 

But in your eyes, something lingers. Something that’s been there long before Dyvim had shown up. He wasn’t one to pry—you two had not known each other for long, and he felt it would be rude to ask about things that weren’t his business. He understood it, in a way. He’d rather not linger on things that happened in the past, not when their future finally seemed so bright. 

And not when the reason for that brightness was sitting right next to him.

“I’m sorry.”

Crack. 

The flame splits the kindle once more. It sways and dances, making the shadows dance along the ground in a graceful dance. Dyvim blinks, surprised at the sudden apology. “Sorry? What for?” 

“I got you killed,” you reply, your voice raspy with raw emotion. Like the words were sandpaper, and you were dragging them out of your throat. 

Ah, his… death. It’s with a shameful flush that he realizes, that the wizard must have been worried about him. 

“I knew full well what I was getting into, spellbinder.” Dyvim soothes. “Rather—it’s me who should be apologizing to you. I hadn’t meant to worry you like that.”

You suck in a soft breath, and let it exhale slow and gently from your mouth. His words release the knot of tension that had been lingering in your chest, unraveling it into fine, thin strands. 

“You’re alive,” you whisper. You resist the urge to reach out, to grab his hand and intertwine it with yours. To feel the thrum of his pulse fluttering underneath your palm. “And that’s all that matters.” 

The smile comes to him easily—something he felt only you were capable of bringing out of him, in these times of war. 

The guilt lessens, but not by a whole lot. It was true that you had felt guilty for a long time after his death, unable to even listen to your superiors without a scathing retort ready at the handle. They deserved every bit of it, and thensome. 

Dyvim didn’t. Dyvim didn’t deserve anything that happened to him. 

“I-I’m sorry, too, for—” The words spill out of your mouth, clumsy and awkward. “—For learning shadow magic.” 

The words hang in the air, amidst the quiet ambience of their camp for the evening. It’s not the sort of thing Dyvim was expecting, leading him to blink slowly, silently, at the wizard.

He… doesn’t know how to respond to that, frankly. It’s true that the wizard’s spells look different, feel different, but he had never thought of it anything beyond that. The fact that they were apologizing meant that they felt they did something wrong. 

But, there it is—the shine of guilt, lingering in your eyes. Glossing over the whites of your eyes, making them shimmer like glass. Dyvim feels his shoulders sag, just slightly, as his voice softens—only for you. “Oh, spellbinder…” 

And you? You can’t take that. With only two words, he’s knocked down your walls completely. Your eyes burn, nose stinging, as you reach up to blink away the tears. 

You can feel it—his pulse, lingering with yours, as his hand circles your wrist; he gently tugs it downwards, and you let him, allowing him to see the fruits of your labor. Your lower lashline, dotted with tears, and quiet little sobs that break his heart. 

“I didn’t mean,” you gasp out, the words stilted and disjointed. “to disappoint you. To disappoint—everyone.” 

“Where did you get that idea?” Dyvim whispers back, running a thumb gently over the seam of your wrist, where your heartbeat flutters underneath his touch. 

“It’s forbidden,” you say, your voice gravely. The words grate in your throat, uncovering the shame and guilt you had been carrying all this time, on your own. “Shadow magic is forbidden, and it’s caused… so much grief and sorrow. To you, to—to everyone else—” 

“Spellbinder,” Dyvim says, softly, and your body shudders in response. How could he say your name with such softness? You were not soft at all. You were hard at the edges, tightly coiled and ready to spring at a moment’s notice. Ready to defend the spiral. 

He doesn’t say anything else, but allows you to cry if need be. Had this been several weeks ago, a part of you would have been mortified at the idea of crying so openly in front of another person. But weeks ago Dyvim wasn’t alive—he was still encased in amber by that point, lost to the world, and you had been forced to pick up the scattered pieces and run. 

“I’m not angry at you, spellbinder,” Dyvim says, the lilt of his tone warm and gentle, voice dipping down into a soothing hush. “And I do not blame you for learning shadow magic.” 

When he reaches out, this time, it’s to take your hands gently into his own. The contrast in temperatures surprises you, the warmth of his palms seeping into your skin. The shadow had taken that from you, as well—the warmth of your own body. 

"Morganthe has done a lot to hurt my people," He says, and his voice trembles with an anger, a despair, that you recognize. The unfairness of it all, the dawning realization that you lost; that for the moment, evil had triumphed over good. Dyvim’s voice softens as he brushes his thumbs over your knuckles. "But you… you have done nothing wrong."

I have, you think, almost helplessly. Dyvim looks at you like you’ve personally hung the stars—and for him, you might. 

"You have undone some of the hurt that has been inflicted upon us for centuries, and, for the first time, I feel… hopeful."

Dyvim looks into your eyes as he says this, eyes pooling with an adoration you hadn't seen in a long, long time. A small, bitter part of you says you don't deserve it. You swallow it down, letting it drop into your stomach like a stone.

"You make me feel hopeful, spellbinder."

Truly, you don’t know what to make of that. You’re no saint, you know this—but he’s so earnest, it’s hard to disagree with him. You open your mouth to reply, but when it’s clear that nothing is going to come out, you close it. You can feel his hands squeezing yours gently, as if saying, take your time.

So you cry. 

Your face warms as you cry, letting the thick globs of tears track down your face, sniffling with each sob that leaves your lips. You don’t remember the last time you’ve cried, but it had to have been a while ago, because you can’t stop. And when one of your hands pulls away from his, to reach up to wipe away the tears with the back of your hand, his arm reaches out to circle your shoulders, and tuck you against his armor. 

“You’re safe here, spellbinder,” he whispers. “Let it all out.” 

He tells you to mind all the cold, metal parts of his armor, but you don’t care. You tuck your face against his shoulder, and let the sobs shudder through your body. Your tears twinkle like stars as they quietly plop onto his armor, as his other hand dips up and down your back in a gentle, soothing motion. 

Frankly, it’s one of the best hugs you have ever received. It’s probably one of the only hugs you have ever received, since you had stepped foot in the spiral.

"I'm sorry you had to see me like this," your voice crackles, choking on the emotion lodged in your throat.. "I know how much everyone looks up to me. I don't want to seem weak…"

"Allowing yourself to be comforted is not weak, spellbinder." Dyvim chastises lightly, for your own good. "I feel honored you were even willing to divulge this side of vulnerability to me."

"You're special," you reply, not even attempting to hide your favoritism towards him. 

For some reason, this surprises him. “Am I?” He asks. “More special than anyone else?” 

You nod. “More special than anyone else.” 

You feel him tuck his cheek against the top of your head, and feel the soft inhale and exhale of his breath. 

“In all of the spiral?” He asks, his voice quieter. 

“In all of the spiral.” 

[smoothsayer]

Did a fill for this great Baldur’s Kink prompt! Check it out if you like, heads up that it’s dubcon.

•••

"'Come now, Gale, don’t play at innocence. Is it so strange that I wish to indulge as the Gods do? Something about you piqued the interest of Mystra herself. Color me intrigued. Intrigued enough to spare a potion in your time of need.' Raphael looks at Gale appraisingly, as if considering an oil painting or a nice vintage.

'I’m not some, some common prostitute to sell myself to you for-' Gale’s immediate shock and fury dies on his tongue as he realizes what he’s said, what he was about to say. He shoots an aggrieved glance towards Astarion. 'For-' he starts again, trying to finish the sentence, but he can’t seem to find the right words."

[dread-red-queen]

A03 is perfectly fine just the way it is.

people just need to learn if they don't like particular content then just don't consume it, go somewhere else.

Nobody should have to give up what they love doing just because someone else doesn't like it or thinks its messed up, it aint hurting nobody as long as there nothing illegal going on.

I have read a few things where I was like NOPE I'm out, that's not for me, and you know what I did?

I went and read something else, I didnt leave a comment complaining I didnt like it, Its not constructive. I didnt complain on social media that I think those sort of fics shouldn't exist. I simply minded my own damn business and moved on.

A03 DONT EVER CHANGE I love you just the way you are. I love sharing my works there and I will never apologise for writing spicy content XD

god keep ur fucking kink meme shit out of ao3 tag y'all make this fandom even more insufferable than it already is and thats saying something!!! The kind of shit y'all post require a fucking trigger warning it doesnt belong in a safe space

[koushirouizumi]

DigiTwit: "Oh, by the way, here's another interview mention where Kakudou again confirmed Koushiro and Taichi were meant to be seen as the '{best} friends'"--- M E: COOL now can people LEAVE ME + KOUxTAI FAN SIDE ALONE ABOUT IT?????

[godmadeaterribleerror]

I Could Have You

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Love Confessions, Smut (p in v, oral both receiving), light angst, soulmates, sex pollen, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: Dean is hit with a lust spell, and it doesn't seem to only be effecting him. No one's really sure why, and Dean refuses to give in to the curse, so you'll just ride this out.

You'll defiantly be able to just ride this out.

Author's Note: I had a lot of fun with this one, I hope you enjoy it!

Title from Normal Fucking Rockwell by Lana Del Ray

Word Count: 6k

You’re losing your mind.

Your skin is on fire, your back is flat on the cold bathroom floor, and you’re moaning and whining and bucking into the air but nothing is fixing this. Nothing is relieving you, not your fingers or the pillows or the toy a very red-faced Sam had bought you. Nothing is going to save you, because only one, stupid, handsome, selfless idiot can, and he’s suddenly too good to just fuck you.

Hell, that idiot is the only reason this is happening. According to Sam and Bobby, Dean got hit with a sex spell in Colorado, you started whimpering for him in South Dakota, and you’re not allowed to have sex with him for… reasons.

Reasons no one seems willing to fully share with you, but reasons.

You know Dean wants you. You’ve known he wants you. Neither of you have ever been able to do something about that—never going beyond flirting and lingering touches and stares—but you’re certain he feels the same way. Maybe not the exact same way, because you want whatever Dean offers you, his body or mind or heart or very soul, but you know he’s attracted to you. And if the countless little pieces of evidence you’ve hoarded in your brain—winks and smirks and long, apperceive scans of your body—weren’t enough for you to know, this was. You’d heard Dean roar your name from outside Bobby’s cabin as the Impala door slammed. You’d seen the feral, lust-blown expression on his face as he’d charged at you. Sam had tackled him to the ground as you’d grown a little dizzy with need, and Bobby grabbed your wrist, dragging you upstairs. Away from Dean, from the cure, from his big hands and soft mouth and huge-

“You’re gonna need to stay in here.” Bobby had muttered, refusing to meet your eyes as he shuffled out of the room. “Least until we get Dean’s head right, or figure out what the hell is going on.”

It’s been almost a day, and they’ve made almost no progress. From Sam’s last update, all they’re certain of is: Sex spell, you and Dean, no other options except you and Dean.

“What do you mean no other options,” you’d said, leaning up to frown at Sam. “Did Dean-“

“No.” Sam shakes his head, giving you a sheepish expression. “I mean, Bobby and I suggested it, but he said no.”

“Oh,” you’d mumbled, falling back down on the mattress. “Why?”

Sam had shrugged, leaning into your line of vision. “Do you want to have sex with me?”

“No, Sam, what the fuck-“

“That’s why.”

He’d stood up and left, and you hadn’t had a clue what the hell he was talking about. Sure, you didn’t want to have sex with him, but he was like a brother to you. Dean, somehow, wasn’t. Dean was Dean. And it wasn’t like you’d say no to a random, no-strings attached hookup right now-

Something had tugged in your gut, and you’d realized—staggering to the toilet and vomiting up your lunch—that you could not do a random hookup. You wanted Dean. You needed him. You might die if you didn’t get him, and it had to be him, and he must feel it too, but when you’d asked Sam he said no.

“No?!” You’d rolled over on the floor to glare up at him, wishing you could find the strength to surge up and punch him in his stupid, apologetic face. “What do you mean No?!”

“Dean, um,” Sam had sighed again, and if he kept doing that you were going to kick him in the balls. “He made us lock him in the safe room. He won’t come out until we cure him.”

“Why did he-“ You’d cut yourself off as it hit you, another, softer wave of sickness rolling over your body. The sickness lived in your heart. This sickness was made of the tragic reality that Dean might want you, but he didn’t want you. Maybe that was why he’d never made a move. Maybe he was attracted to you physically, but couldn’t see you like that, and didn’t really want to try to.

Maybe Dean was disgusted by the idea. Maybe he hated that his body found you hot, because he thinks of you like you think of Sam.

“Oh,” you’d rolled back onto your stomach, and prayed Sam would leave soon so you could go back to humping the floor. “Okay.”

Sam had said your name, waiting until you hummed an acknowledgment to continue. “We’re going to fix this-“

“I know.” You’d let out a long, slow breath, curling into your own body. “We always do.”

They would fix this. And then you’d have to look Dean in the eyes, and find a way to be okay with his rejection. Teach yourself how to not turn into a pining dumbass, chasing after someone who obviously didn’t want you. You wouldn’t lose him, he was your best friend, but you’d also have to learn to pretend it didn’t feel like your heart hadn’t just been ripped out of your chest and stomped on.

And now you’re here. Hoping Sam and Bobby will fix this soon, crawling into the empty bathtub to try and sleep. The bed is too warm, too intimate, to inviting of fantasies that will never be reality. Daydreams of Dean’s hands on you, trailing over your skin and setting of little sparks as he maps your body. Those same hands pushing open your thighs, two of his fingers teasing over your pussy, his mouth wrapping around your nipple as he started pumping and scissoring and crooking inside you-

There’s a knock on the bathroom door, and you yank your own fingers out of your cunt, wiping them on the towel as you speak, your voice far too hoarse. “Yeah, Sam?”

“Not Sam.” Bobby grumbles, his voice slightly muffled through the door. “You decent?”

You toss a towel over your body, having long abandoned clothing. “Yep, is everything-“

You cut yourself off as Bobby pushes the door open, his face angled up to avoid you.

“I said I’m decent, Bobby, you can look.”

He grunts, and you sit up a little straighter, making your voice a little firmer.

“It’s weirder if you don’t, you know.”

Bobby nods, his gaze slowly dropping to yours as he sits on the toilet, bracing his arms on his knees. “Sorry.” He mutters. “Ain’t tryin’ to make it uncomfortable. Just not lookin’ to see one of my, uh-“

“I know,” you sigh, leaning your head back on the tile. “I get it. Must be weird seeing Dean as well.”

“Eh.” Bobby shrugs. “I’ve walked in on him with lady company before, this ain’t new-“

“But it’s new with me?” You ask, raising your brows, and Bobby glares at you.

“I didn’t help raise you girl. And you’re just as important to me as those boys, but you’re also a girl. I mean, not a girl, but I don’t got those parts-“

“Jesus, Bobby.” You mumble, bringing your knees up to your chest. “I’m teasing. I know what you mean, I promise, just,” you swallow, shaking your head slightly. “Sorry. I’m tired.”

Bobby rolls his eyes, but his voice becomes a little softer, and far less panicked. “That ain’t nice, kid, you’re gonna give an old man a heart attack.”

“You’d be fine. I know CPR.”

He gives you a flat look. “We both know you ain’t in any condition to give me CPR.”

You wave him off. “I’d call Sam.”

“He wouldn’t hear you, he’s down in the panic room with-“

Bobby cuts himself off, and you roll your head to the side, giving him a bored glare.

“You can say his name, Bobby.”

“Fine.” He grunts. “Sam’s down checkin’ on Dean. He,” Bobby frowns at the air. “He still ain’t listenin’ to reason.”

You hum, hoping Bobby doesn’t notice how you’ve moved the towel between your thighs, just for something. “Reason?”

“We don’t have anythin’ to cure this except, uh, that way.” Bobby mutters. “And he’s still insistin’ we keep him chained up.”

“Ah.” You swallow. “Awesome.”

Bobby says your name, and it’s gentle. Like he’s consulting a child who’s had a nightmare, instead of a grown woman who was just finger-fucking herself in a tub. “You don’t gotta pretend this ain’t hurtin’ you.”

“I mean, it doesn’t feel good-“

“Not the spell.” Bobby says, and you frown at him.

“What-“

“Dean. He’s bein’ a fuckin’ dumbass, and you don’t need to act like he’s not.”

Your voice drops to a whisper. “He’s not what?”

“Killin’ you.” Bobby grunts, scanning over your face. “Rippin’ your heart out and take a big fat shit on it.”

You grimace. “That’s gross, Bobby-“

“Truth ain’t always sunshine and glitter-“

“It’s not the truth!” You snap, your voice suddenly harsh as something wilts and twists in his your chest. “I’m fine! I get it! Dean doesn’t want to do that, and that’s not his fault.”

Bobby leans back on the toilet, holding your glare with his own. “Why do you think you and Dean are the only idjits gettin’ hit by this? Why isn’t Sam humpin’ pillows and leavin’ stains on my walls?”

You feel a rush of heat from that thought—the image of Dean fucking into his hand flashing through your mind and leaving a mark between your thighs—and your voice is almost a squeak. “Because Dean’s the one that got hit?”

“Sam says he was in the line of that bitch’s fire too. But only Dean got,” Bobby makes a vague gesture over you. “This.”

“I don’t-“

“And Sam ain’t in love with his fuckin’ brother, so he was safe.”

You flush, gaping at Bobby for a long, wired silence, and when you speak your voice is a squeak.

“I- I’m, I’m not in love with Dean. I mean, maybe I have a crush, or something, but that’s, that’s not love-“

Bobby gives you a flat, disbelieving look. “You feel safer ‘round him?”

“Yeah, but I-“

“You laugh at all his jokes?”

“Maybe, but he can be funny-“

Bobby mutters your name, shaking his head. “I love that boy like a son, and he ain’t half as funny as he thinks he is.”

You frown. “He’s funny-“

“He can be,” Bobby shrugs. “But his jokes ain’t all winners. And you laugh at every single oneof ‘em. And,” he sighs, rubbing his beard. “He laughs at all’a your jokes.”

“Hey.” You scowl. “I’m a riot-“

“Didn’t say you weren’t. But even you can miss, girl. And he never seems to care.”

“So?” You shuffle on the floor, desperate not to starting grinding on the air in front of Bobby, but getting more and more wet from just the mention of Dean. “We’re friends, friends laugh at each other’s jokes-“

“Do friends get connected by sex spells ‘cross state lines?”

“I dunno,” you mumble. “Never been hit by a sex spell before.”

“You weren’t hit by one,” Bobby snaps your name, starting to sound exasperated. “Dean was. And that’s my damn point. Sam and I, we,” he sighs, giving you a long, confusing look. “We got it. We know what’s goin’ on.”

“Fuck,” you sit up, glowering at him. “Why didn’t you lead with that-“

“Cause you ain’t gonna like it.” Bobby grunts. “It’s an old location spell. Back in the day rich assholes would cast it on their highest eldest sons, so he could find his,” Bobby cringes, his last word pushed through his teeth. “Mate.”

“Mate?” You repeat, letting out a dry, huffing laugh. “What are we, fucking dogs-“

“Soulmate.” Bobby mutters, giving you a look that might have been sympathetic, or kind, or pitiful, but you’re suddenly a little dizzy and can’t really think or see.

“That’s not,” you shake your head. “No, Bobby, soulmates aren’t real-“

Bobby says your name, his voice stern. “You should know better than to say somethin’ like that in our line of work. Sam called Cas, and he said they’re real, but population increases or somethin’ made them ‘logistically impossible’, so they aren’t on the shop line no more.”

“But- But wouldn’t we have like, I don’t know, noticed? If that was true?”

“You shoulda.” Bobby shrugs. “Cas seemed pretty shocked you hadn’t. Said he had assumed you knew, because the pull is like a magnet or some shit. Spell’s only an enhancer, to move the train along.”

“So why-“

“You hopped in right after Dean got back from hell.” Bobby mutters. “Dean’s soul mighta been fucked enough not to recognize you. Spell mighta jumpstarted it.”

“Oh.”

“Yep.”

It’s a few minutes before you speak again, and Bobby waits patiently as you spiral. Down, down, down in your head, trying to rationalize how this could possibly be true. It couldn’t be true. There was no way it was true. Sure, you’ve liked Dean since you first met him, from the moment he introduced himself with a cocky grin, smirk, and fake name. You liked him even more when you called him out on his fake name, and he’d just chuckled, figured out you were a hunter, and offered to buy you a drink. You’d liked him when that drink had turned into a long, sleepless night of only conversation, and when you’d joined him and Sam on the road. And you’d kept thinking of him like that, and you thought of him all the time, but that didn’t mean anything. You didn’t love him. It’s not like you feel better when you wake up in a motel bed and he’s next to you, or a smile always tugs at your lips whenever he so much as looks at you, or the thought of him being in alone or pain makes you physically ill. It’s not like, if he grabbed your hand and told you he was done with hunting—the only life you’d ever both known—then asked you to join him in a boring, easy apple pie life you’d immediately say yes and kiss him, because you’ll go wherever he goes and he’s the only person you’ve ever really-

Oh.

You might be in love with Dean.

You might be soulmates with Dean.

“What, um,” you swallow, watching Bobby carefully. “What did Dean think? Of this?”

“We have told him yet.” Bobby’s jaw ticks, holding your gaze. “We ain’t sure he’ll-“

“Yeah.” You whisper, turning your attention back to the ceiling. There’s a little crack on it. Jagged and split through the white paint, easy to stare at and get lost in. Helpful in pretending this doesn’t hurt like a bitch. “Okay.”

Bobby mutters a promise of at least trying to talk some sense into Dean, but you both know his words are empty. Because Dean won’t believe this. It won’t be a matter of you and Dean, it will just be Dean, believing something like a soulmate could never happen to someone like him. He’ll insist they’re lying, or Cas is wrong, or all of this fucking bullshit.

“You ever wondered about aliens?” He’d asked you once, leaning against the Impala as you lay on the hood, watching him from an upside-down angle.

“Just like, in general?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess,” you’d tilted your head at him. “Why?”

“I dunno, just curious.” There had been another moment of silence, then, “You think they’re real?”

“They have to be right?” You’d reached over your head, grabbing his chin and tilting it up, until he was staring at the night sky. “I mean, look at that, De. It’s huge.”

He’d chuckled, swatting your hand away. “Where have I heard that before-“

“Eat me, Winchester.” You’d rolled your eyes, and his shit-eating grin had grown. “No. Shut it.”

He’d raised his hands in surrender. “Didn’t say a thing.”

“Uh huh.” You’d let your own attention trail up, over the vast darkness above you, splattered in infinite stars that you think—if you really tried—you’d be able to grab and hold in your hands. Maybe offer one to Dean. He’d deserve it.

You were silent for a while longer, you watching the sky, Dean waiting for you to come back to earth, and when he’d spoken again his voice was soft.

“You think you’d want to go? If they were?”

You’d looked back to him with a frown, and found him already looking at you. “What, aliens?”

He’d nodded, and you’d furrowed your brow in thought.

“Maybe. I’ve never thought about it before. I kind of like Earth.” You’d rolled onto your stomach, swinging your legs around to rest in Baby’s open window as you looked down at Dean. “What about you?”

“Nah,” he’d held your gaze, pulling himself up to sit at your side. “Not now.”

“Not now?”

“I would’ve when I was younger, if I coulda taken Sammy with me.” Dean had let out a dry chuckle. “But I’m not that lucky.”

He wasn’t that lucky. Dean didn’t get to be abducted by aliens, because he wasn’t lucky. Because saviors and little lights to guide you forward don’t just drop out of the sky.

But you didn’t drop out of the sky. You’d been on the ground, and tangible, and very, very real.

You feel real, to yourself. You didn’t feel like a possibility, or a myth, or a lie.

And you might love Dean.

And you know that, the longer you don’t get to at least see him, touch him, breathe him, the more you go mad. The harder it becomes to speak to Sam and Bobby when they check on you, the less you allow them to even say the word Dean, because it makes you writhe and moan and everyone just gets very uncomfortable.

So if Dean’s too much of a righteous, noble, self-loathing buttface to do something about this, you will.

You wait until the house is dark and quiet. Until you hear Bobby mutter a goodnight through the door—about an hour ago you’d started whining every other breath and fucking the edge of the bathtub, so Bobby wasn’t coming into the room anymore—and Sam walks in backwards to make sure you’re not dead and have enough food and water. Like you’re a caged animal.

You do feel a little like one. You feel like someone’s sucked everything rational and careful out of your brain and replaced it with Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean, you need him or you’ll die. He needs to need you, or something worse than death will happen.

And you’re willing to risk that, that small possibility of Dean looking at you—bare and wet and pleading for him—and still turning you away, because at least you’ll see him.

You need to at least see him.

It’s shocking easy to sneak around the house. For two seasoned, well-respected hunters, neither Sam nor Bobby seem to wake up as you crawl down to Dean, despite the floorboard creaking under you movements and the downright pathetic whimpers that keep escaping your mouth. It takes all your focus to grab the key to Bobby’s panic room, unlock the door, and push it open.

It’s dark. Pitch black. But you know Dean’s in here, because every nerve is trying to fly off your body and into the shadows. To Dean.

“What the hell are you doing,” Dean groans your name from the back of the room, and you feel molten. “You can’t be here-“

“It’s not your panic room, Dean.” You mumble, pushing yourself up on the wall and fiddling around for the light switch. “I can be wherever I want-“

“Not here.” Dean snaps. “Go.”

You shake your head, and the lights blind you as you flip them on. It takes a moment to adjust—blinking and hugging your body in a desperate play to not leap across the room to Dean the moment you see him—and when you do a high whine escapes your mouth.

Dean looks as feral as you feel. He’s just as naked as you are, just as drenched in sweat and flushed, and—if the proud, massive cock between his legs, standing at full attention and twitching as he scans over you, is any sign—just as aroused.

“Dean.” You whisper. “Please.”

“You need to leave.” He grunts, his fists clenched at his sides. “Now.”

“I don’t want to go-“

“Yes, you do.”

You frown. “You don’t get to tell me what I want, Dean. I want to stay-“

“No,” he hisses, and you might come just from him looking at you like that. Primal and wanting, with a gleam in his eyes that feels like a promise. “You don’t know what you want-“

That gets you to scoff. “Fuck off, asshole-“

“See!” He makes a dramatic gesture, then flinches back from himself. “I, I can’t let you do this. You don’t want me,” Dean mutters your name, running a hand over his face. “The spell wants me. Doesn’t count.”

“Yeah, the spell does want you, you idiot!” You take an unsteady step forward, and he steps back. “Because I want you!”

“No, you don’t-“

“Yes, I do! I need you, Dean, and I think you need me-“

“Doesn’t matter what I need.” He grunts, bracing his body and you take another step. “Go back upstairs.”

“Did Bobby talk to you?”

He scowls. “Bobby’s wrong. That’s- No.”

“Because it’s me?”

“Of course not,” he snaps, and it’s too quick. “Because that, that’s not a thing. People would be runnin’ around, selling soulmates in little bottles if they were real. And we’d have known by now-“

“We do know now.” You whisper, swaying slightly in the middle of the room. “And Cas says-“

“Cas is wrong.” Dean mutters. “I don’t, there’s no way that’s true. Not for me.”

His beautiful, deep eyes look so sad. Glossed over and weighted down of years of that being the truth. That things like that, like this, don’t happen for Dean.

You’d really love to be the first exception.

“What about for me?”

“What are you-“

“What about for me, Dean.” You watch his jaw clench, his nostrils flaring. “Does it get to be true for me?”

He doesn’t answer, and you push on.

“If it’s true for me, it’s you.” You talk another step forward, and this time he doesn’t flinch. “Just you.”

“It’s just the spell.” He mutters, and you don’t think he’s convincing himself. Not when his throat bobs and his eyes darken. “You don’t want me, baby, not really.”

You almost fall over from that. From Dean calling you baby, and saying it the exact same way he says your name. Low and rolling and lined with something soft.

“I do.” You hold your ground, raising your chin. “I want you, Dean Winchester. Fix this.”

He shakes his head, barely a jerked movement, and you start to feel a little faint.

“Dean. I need you to look me in the eyes,” your voice starts to rise, growing pleading and frantic. “And tell me you don’t want me. Say that you wanting me is just the spell, and I’ll go. I promise. I just need to you to fucking say it, Dean, just fucking say you don’t want me or need me or love me-“

He moves before you even realize what’s happening. Almost leaping onto you as his mouth crashed into yours, his hands cupping your face as he walks you back, back, back into the wall and growls down your throat. And you’d been wrong. His hand on you don’t feel like small bursts of electricity. They’re like lighting. Dragging something you hadn’t known existed to the surface, and setting off a storm of need in your body.

“Course I want you,” one arm snakes around your waist, pressing your right into his erection. “Always fucking wanted you. You’re smoking hot,” he starts to kiss over your face, his words slightly muffled against your skin as you cling to his body. “Funnier than I am, and smart as hell. You feel like home and smell so good and, fuck, I’ve lost sleep thinkin’ about how it’d feel to get lost in you. I’d have to be fucking blind and dumb not to want you,” Dean grunts your name, returning your mouth to yours with a painfully soft, gentle, featherlight kiss. “But I’m not-“

“If you say good for me,” you mutter, leaning back to glare at him. “I’ll punch you.” He chuckles, and it’s dry and low, rumbling from his chest into yours. “I’m not-“

“You are.” You whisper, offering him a small, slightly broken smile. You need him to get this. You might start crying if he doesn’t. “You’re good for me. And I want you. I love you.” Something flashes in his eyes, and you don’t care if he believes you. He doesn’t have to believe you. He just needs to get it. “No spell, Dean. I’m here, and I’m yours. Take me.”

Your nails dig into his skin—attempting to leave a mark of him if he turns you away—and his breathing is ragged. Heavy and hot, fanning across your face as he stares at you, just stares at you, why is he just staring at you-

“Dean-“

This kiss is brutal It’s teeth and tongue and bruising lips, like he’s trying to move into your body. His hands are everywhere on you, squeezing your ass and palming your tits, rolling your nipple between two fingers before groaning down your throat when you moan.

“Fuck,” Dean mutters your name, his hand on your ass glides onto your pussy, playing with your folds and flicking at your clit once, twice, three times and you feel fucking high- “So wet for me-“

“For you,” you whimper, nodding stupidly as Dean presses him thumb down on that bundle of nerves, rubbing slowly. “Fuck, Dean, all for you-“ 

“Need to taste you,” he growls, pulling his mouth fully back, watching you grind onto his hand with a dark gaze. “You gonna let me taste you, baby? Let me eat that pretty pussy-“ 

You’ve barely nodded before he’s on his knees, one arm still around your waist to support you both as he dives into your cunt. 

Oh.

He’s good at this. Really, really fucking good at this. You can’t really think anything that’s not Dean, or make any noise that’s not a moan kind of good at this. He’s ravenous and starved, his nose bumping and pressing into your clit in an impossibly mind-numbing rhythm, his tongue plunging in and out of your cunt until your squirming above him, desperate for more.

“Dean,” your hand tug at his hair, and you don’t know if you’re trying to push him deeper or pull him away. “Shit, Dean, I’m gonna cum-“

He groans against you, his eyes opening to watch you come apart above him, and you think he might be getting off on this.

“Please,” you whimper. “God, please, I need to cum-“

Dean bites your clit, and your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave. It’s all bliss and relief and a high, bright haze of Dean, and then you’re falling down.

Dean’s pulling you down. Onto his lap as he leans back, moving you to straddle over him as his cock throbs between his legs.

You want to touch him.

You push back on him, just enough for his grip to loosen, and take him in your hand. He’s huge. And pretty. Dicks aren’t supposed to be pretty, but Dean’s is, and it might be because every part of Dean is pretty. Every part of him is impossible pretty, from his cock twitching in your hand as you run your thumb over the slit, to his lidded eyes and parted mouth as he watches you with wonder.

“Shit,” he moans your name, and fuck, even that was pretty. “What are you doing to me-“

“Handjob,” you whisper, placing your free hand lightly on his chest in a silent request for him to lay back. “I think.”

Dean huffs a laugh, leaning back with a smirk. “Ya think? You sure you know what you’re doing with that- Fuck-“

You hum around Dean’s cock, your lips wrapped around the base as your tongue swirls around his shaft, and his groans are sinful. The fire in your corse hadn’t lessened by any means from your orgasm, but it grows unbearable as you move Dean’s hand to your hair and let him guide you up and down. Let him set the pace, moaning when his hips jerk and he hits the back of your throat, and squeezing his thighs in silent reassurance that you’re good. You’re really, really good. You’re grinding onto Dean’s knee as he fucks your face, playing with his balls with your free hand and devouring every bit of slightly slurred praise that falls from his mouth.

“Fucking hell, baby, you always been this good at sucking cock? You’re, shit, you look like a wet dream, look like an angel, fuck.” He hisses at your teeth graze over him. “You look so good like this. Mouth stuffed full of cock, desperate and wet for me-“ You roll your hips against him, and Dean tugs you fully up, smirking at your swollen lips and glossy eyes. “Careful,” he warns, sitting up as his thumb swipes a little bit of drool from your cheek. “When I’m cumming tonight, I’m cumming in you, baby, got that?”

“Yes, please,” you whimper. You’re on the pill anyway. “Dean-“

“C’mere.” He tugs you into his lap with careful hands, scanning over you with a small shake of his head. “Son of bitch, you’re gorgeous. You’re sure you-“

“I’m sure.” You grind against his cock, never looking away from him as the head of him bumps your clit. It goes on for too long, Dean just watching you fuck yourself on his lap with his hands bruising your hips, and you start to whine. “Shit, Dean, need you-“

Dean surges forward, kissing you long and deep and slow, and keeps his brow pressed to yours as he looks down to where you’re moving on him.

“Hold on,” he mutters, and you follow the order without a second thought.

Your arms wrap around Dean’s neck just as he lines himself up, and you almost scream when he pushes into you.

“Shit,” he looks back at you, eyes wide. “Are you-“

“Don’t stop,” you moan, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “Fuck, it feels so good, Dean, don’t stop.”

He nods, kissing the side of your head, and slowly moves into your aching pussy until he bottoms out with a long exhale.

“Gonna, fuck-“ He groans as you squeeze around him. “Can’t do that, baby, I won’t last a minute-

“Sorry,” you mumble against him, playing with the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck. “Didn’t meant to-“

“It’s fine.” He grunts, still not moving. “Just, fuck, you feel so good. So warm,” he groans, pressing his face onto the top of your head. “So tight and warm, feel so good-“

“Dean, please-“

You gasp as he gives one, short thrust upward.

“So good,” Dean growls in your ear, making another small, dizzying movement that presses him right up against that spongey spot deep inside of you. “Ready?”

“Ye-“

You squeal as Dean rises to his knees, keeping himself sheathed inside you as he falls forward, his hand splayed on your back and holding you carefully against him. His face is resting between your breasts, his cock angled so deep inside you it might drive you insane if he doesn’t start to fucking move, and his eyes stay yours as you only watch each other for a long moment.

He’s asking permission. Dean’s not pulling away, but he’s also not moving, because he’s offering you one last chance to turn him down. 

You move one hand to hold his face, wrapping your legs around his waist and squirming around him in silent encouragement.

It snaps something in him. Dean grabs your hand, moves it onto the back of his neck, and lowers you fully onto the ground so you’re caged between him and floor. He scans over you for only a second, a small, cocky smirk crawling onto his face, leans down to give you one last, almost sweet kiss.

A soft moan leaves you as Dean traces his tongue over your lips, and his low growl is the only warning you get before he starts to fuck into you like an animal.

It’s sloppy and wet and loud, skin slapping against skin as Dean abuses your cunt, and fuck you’ve never felt better. You feel full, split open on his cock and right where you belong, alive in a way that seeps right into your soul and ignites your blood into a holy fire of Dean. Groaning your name on your skin and touching you with calloused, big, expert hands. Watching you as you unravel beneath him, scraping your nails over his back and making needy sounds that only spur him on.

You’re going to fly out of your body. Dean’s muscles are ripping above and around you as he fucks you into the floor, and his mouth is mold perfectly onto yours. Neither of you seem to care to breathe, or speak, or do anything but nips and suck and lick at each other. Trying to get impossibly closer, to drag the other over the edge so you can fall with them. You grind up into Dean, and Dean bites your lip. Dean rolls his hips as he bottoms out, making your mouth fall open for his tongue to plunge down your throat, and you scrape and claw as his chest until he groans, and you manage to slip one hand down to play with his balls.

He wins he swats your hand away and starts to rub small, firm circles on your clit. He’s unrelenting, and watching you with an affection that feels a little misplaced for the carnal hunger on his handsome features.

“Always want you,” he mutters your name, pressing his thumb flat against you. “Cum for me, baby.”

Your vision blurs as you find release, and it feels like heaven. Like stars and fire and water and light under your skin, in your blood, like a halo around your head that’s all just the pleasure Dean’s is still wringing from your body. Your pussy is fluttering and gushing around his cock, and it sends him over the edge with a roar, his hips slamming home as he paints the walls of your cunt white.

And when you’re both spent and Dean rolls you over—carefully adjusting you to be right on top of him, his body a barrier between you and the now-cold floor—you feel good. Really, really good. Fucked out and high, nothing trying to burst out of your skin or eat at your stomach. You feel better than you might have ever felt in your whole life. The only warmth in your body is heat you’re trading with Dean, and you feel good.

“We, um.” You trace over his tattoo, looking up at him under your eyelashes. “We should probably talk, or something-“

“Or something.” He agrees, grinning down at you. “Don’t feel like it’s a rush though. Sammy and Bobby will find us in the morning. Right now,” Dean kisses your brow, squeezing his arms around your body. “You’re all mine.”

You can be all his. It’ll be really, really easy to be all Dean, because he hasn’t said he loves you, but he does. You know he does. It lives in how he’s still touching and holding you, still talking to you like you’re his best friend and not a mistake, and running his hands through your hair mindlessly.

And you’ll have a lot to talk about later. A lot to fight about, and fuck about, and laugh and cry and scream about.

But right now you just have to be Dean’s.

And that will be really easy.

End Note: Bobby Singer you are fifty times the father John Winchester could ever HOPE to be.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery

[jewel-shard]

Fall - Day 4: Seasons / Cherry Blossoms

Written for @inukag-week 9th Edition

Chapter 4: Pink petals

Mind the tags😘

It was infuriating. His vexation grew as he stared into hate-filled pools of brown. He saw many emotions - hatred, disdain, pain - each a banquet in their own right when served in such an appetizing vessel. But not the main course he was hoping to devour. 

Full chapter on ao3

[fantasticbluebirdfan]

@paanmoxi I have a small list and I can't choose I don't know what trop your looking for but here's some mind the tags before you read them tho

A different kind of mask matt and peter talk themselves out of getting arested

Peter makes vigilante friends tony doesn aprove

Can't remember what happens besides peter worms his way into Matt's life

Matt scolds the avengers on behalf of peter

A 41 story collection of team red being their is angst in some of the one shots

There's one called technicolor but I can't remember who wrote it

[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.

[twilightangel83]

Hello and good day to all my fellow Legend of Zelda fans!

As you may or may not be aware we in the Legend of Zelda fandom have been having some troubles when it comes to tagging on A03. Mostly that the only tags that seem to be available to tag various Links with was the Linked Universe specific tags. Which led to writers either trying to make their own tags (which no one knew how to find) or inaccurately using Linked Universe Tags. Neither of which were fair to creators writing outside of Linked Universe, or fair to the Linked Universe community (let alone JoJo herself!).

People trying to tag their non-Linked Universe fics were either scrambling to be found or blending their words in with Linked Universe works. And Linked Universe fans who were searching for Linked Universe fics ended up stumbling across fics they weren’t looking for.

So, with that in mind, I reached out to the A03 team in search of a solution. And they have gotten back to me! I am going to post a picture of their reply under the cut, but I will summarize it first.

There (now? I’m not clear if they’ve all existed before) are tags we can use for most of our various Links that aren't Linked Universe. They’re just not tags that go in the “Character” box. Instead, you put Link (Legend of Zelda) in the character box and then one (or more) of these tags into the “Additional Tags” box. The tags are ‘Link from X game’. So, for example: Link from Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom (Legend of Zelda) or Link from Twilight Princess (Legend of Zelda). If you try to put a specific Link in and they don’t exist already you’ll just have to fill it in unfortunately. And the more people use that tag the sooner it will be made into one that’s canonized.

Mind you! These tags should NOT be used for Linked Universe fanfictions. JoJo has explicitly asked that Linked Universe fanworks NOT be tagged with general Legend of Zelda tags. And that is what these are. So please leave these tags for those of us writing outside of Linked Universe.

I did a little experimenting and there seems to be a tag for every game EXCEPT;

“Link from Four Swords Adventures (Legend of Zelda)”,

"Link from Triforce Heroes (Legend of Zelda)",

“Link from The Legend of Zelda (Legend of Zelda)”,

“Link from The Adventures of Link (Legend of Zelda)”, and

“Link from Age of Calamity (Legend of Zelda)”.

There is also no tag for:

“The Hero of Men (Legend of Zelda)” (or whatever title could be used for the hero before Link from The Minish Cap)

But there are Character tags for “Ancient Hero (Legend of Zelda)” and “Hylia’s Chosen Hero (Legend of Zelda)” (who I believe is the First Hero).

The more we, as a fandom, use these tags (especially the ones that aren’t currently searchable) the more readily usable they will be.

[starset21]

I Know Love Pt.1

Pairing: Lando Norris x Piastri!sister reader

Summery: Lando has always been a friend, her brother’s easygoing, fun-loving teammate. But when a fleeting moment in the garage—a near fall, a steadying touch—sends an undeniable spark through her, she starts to see him in a different light. And she’s not the only one. Oscar notices the shift, and he’s not thrilled.

Standard disclaimer: I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may found is on tumblr or A03 under the same name. This is all fake. It does not reflect real people, real events or their actual actions or relationships. May contain google translated languages.

A/N: Wow a Lando fic? who am I?

The McLaren garage was a controlled storm of movement—mechanics tightening bolts, engineers huddled over screens, the scent of fuel and rubber thick in the air. It was a world she had always been a part of, but this year, it was different. This year, she wasn’t just Oscar Piastri’s sister. She was an engineer. Fresh out of university, she had spent the last year interning with McLaren while finishing her degree. Now officially part of the team, she was living the dream she had worked for—traveling with one of the most competitive teams on the grid, analyzing data, working with some of the brightest minds in motorsport. And yet, as she stood in the garage, taking in the organized chaos around her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. 

She didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Lando Norris.

He was perched on the edge of a workbench, race suit tied around his waist, arms crossed as he half-listened to an engineer briefing him about car setup. But his eyes—those sharp green eyes—kept flickering toward her. He had been doing that a lot lately. She tried to ignore it, just like she had ignored the lingering glances, the subtle teasing that felt just a little too personal, the way he always managed to be near her, even when there was no real reason to be.

Lando had been in her life since Oscar signed with McLaren. She had known him as her brother’s teammate, as the guy who spent way too much time in their apartment, as the one who dragged Oscar into ridiculous online challenges and way too many rounds of golf. But now?

Now she wasn’t just Oscar’s little sister who tagged along to races. She was a part of this team. She was someone Lando wasn’t supposed to flirt with, wasn’t supposed to look at like that.

And yet, here they were.

“Hey, rookie!” She turned at the sound of Oscar’s voice, watching as her brother waved her over from across the garage. She rolled her eyes at the nickname. He was already half-suited up, looking effortlessly in his element, the Piastri name printed proudly across his back. “Can you grab the updated telemetry from the board? We need to go over it before FP2.”

“On it,” she called back, already moving. The responsibility of being part of McLaren, of making real contributions to the car’s performance, was still something she was adjusting to. But she was good at her job. She had worked too hard, spent too many late nights studying aerodynamics, data analysis, and race strategy, to be seen as just Oscar’s sister. She was here because she had earned it. Navigating the crowded garage, she focused on her task—until the moment she didn’t. Her foot caught on a thick cable running across the floor, and before she could react, she was falling. A sharp gasp left her lips, but before she could hit the ground, strong hands grabbed her, pulling her back against a solid chest. 

Everything stilled.

A familiar scent of cologne and race fuel filled her senses. A steady grip held her firmly, keeping her upright. She knew exactly who it was before she even turned her head. Lando. His hands lingered on her waist for a moment too long before he finally loosened his grip. “You alright?” he asked, voice lower than usual, his breath warm against her cheek. Her heart was hammering in her chest—not from the fall, but from this. From him. She straightened quickly, trying to ignore the heat crawling up her neck. “Yeah, I just—” she exhaled, forcing a light laugh, “—was testing gravity. Works great, in case you were wondering.”

Lando smirked, the familiar mischief flickering in his expression. “Good to know. Maybe try not to test it in the middle of a race garage next time?” She rolled her eyes, brushing herself off. “I’ll keep that in mind.” But then, his voice dropped slightly, softer, more serious. “Careful, though,” he murmured. “I’m not always around to catch you.” And just like that, the teasing edge was gone, replaced by something heavier, something unspoken.

Her breath hitched slightly, her brain scrambling for a response, but before she could find one, Oscar’s voice cut through the moment. “What the hell was that?” She spun around to see her brother standing a few feet away, arms crossed, brows raised. Lando immediately stepped back, clearing his throat and running a hand through his hair like he hadn’t just been holding her like that. “Nothing,” she said quickly, shooting Oscar a look. “I just tripped.” 

Oscar’s gaze flicked between her and Lando, his expression unreadable before he exhaled, shaking his head. “Right. Well, try not to break anything before FP2, yeah?” She gave a mock salute. “No promises.” As Oscar walked away, she turned back to Lando, expecting another smirk, another teasing remark. But he was already looking at her—like he was thinking about something he wasn’t saying. She should have walked away. Should have ignored the way her stomach flipped. Should have reminded herself that this was a bad idea. But instead, for a split second, she let herself wonder.

What if?

The garage was alive with movement—mechanics fine-tuning the car, engineers cross-referencing data, the rhythmic hiss of drills filling the air as tire changes were simulated over and over. It was the kind of organized chaos she had come to love, the pulse of an F1 weekend beating strong around her. And yet, she felt… off. She was supposed to be locked in, completely focused. But ever since yesterday—since him—something had changed. It wasn’t anything obvious. Lando still moved through the garage like he always did—laughing with the team, listening to the engineers break down data, cracking jokes to lighten the mood. To anyone else, nothing was different. But she knew better. It was the way his eyes flickered toward her across the room, how he never seemed to look away fast enough. It was the way his presence felt closer— lingering near her workstation when he never used to before, standing just a little too near whenever she was giving Oscar or the engineers updates. And it was in the way she noticed him more now, too. She wasn’t blind—Lando had always been easy to look at, and plenty of girls did. She had spent years rolling her eyes at every new headline linking him to a model or influencer. It had never mattered before. So why did she care now?

She was deep in concentration, reviewing telemetry for the upcoming session, when Lando’s voice cut through the hum of the garage. "Whatcha looking at?" Before she could answer, he leaned down over her chair to glance at the screen, one hand bracing against the desk beside hers. His arm brushed against her shoulder, his body heat close enough that she could feel it even through the fabric of her team shirt. Her fingers tensed on the keyboard. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, trying to keep her voice steady. “You suddenly care about telemetry when we aren’t in a debrief?”

Lando smirked. "I care about looking fast. And if you have some secret data to make that happen, I should probably know about it." She rolled her eyes but didn’t push him away. “If you’re looking for extra speed, maybe listen to your engineers instead of flirting with them.” His smirk deepened. “Who said I was flirting?” She turned her head then, her breath catching slightly at how close he was. Their faces were only inches apart, and there was something unreadable in his expression. A flicker of amusement, yes—but also something heavier, something deeper than his usual teasing. For a split second, neither of them moved. Then, just as quickly as he had leaned in, Lando straightened, grabbing a water bottle from the table like nothing had happened. “See you out there, rookie.” And just like that, he was gone, leaving her heart racing in his wake.

In the engineering office during a quiet moment between FP3 and qualifying. She was sitting at her workstation, buried in a complex set of calculations, when she heard it— Her name. Soft. Slow. Amused.

"Hey, you."

She glanced up and, of course, it was him. Leaning against the desk next to hers, looking far too relaxed for someone about to drive a car at 200 miles per hour. And then he did it again. Said her name, except this time, there was something in the way he dragged it out, a teasing lilt at the end that made her stomach flip against her will. She swallowed, trying to keep her voice level. “What do you want, Norris?” His smirk deepened, and she instantly regretted saying his name. “Just checking in,” he said, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet. “You seemed stressed earlier.” She huffed, turning back to her screen. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” he asked, his voice dipping lower, quieter. She clenched her jaw. Focus. Focus. But then he leaned down, elbows on the desk, close enough that she caught the clean, fresh scent of him—something woodsy and warm that made her thoughts scramble. He tapped a finger against her laptop. “You work too hard.” She forced a scoff. “I think that’s a prerequisite for working in F1.”

“Doesn’t mean you should forget to have a little fun.” She turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “And I suppose you’re offering?” He grinned. “Maybe.” Her pulse spiked. It was dangerous how easy this was for him.

She thought she was done for the night. She thought she’d made it through without anything happening—without slipping up, without letting whatever this was get to her. But then she stepped into the hotel elevator and the doors started to slide shut, only to be stopped by a hand catching them. Lando. Of course. He slipped in, the doors closing behind him, and suddenly it was just the two of them in the small, enclosed space. And there it was again—that feeling, that unshakable sense that something had changed. They stood in silence for a moment as the elevator started its slow climb. Then Lando spoke, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “You’re avoiding me.” She inhaled sharply, keeping her eyes locked on the floor numbers slowly lighting up. “I have not been avoiding you.” Lando scoffed, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Oh, really?”

“You’re just in my space more,” she shot back. His lips quirked, but his eyes were serious. “Maybe.” Silence stretched between them. She could feel the weight of it pressing against her chest, thick and heavy. Then, he leaned in slightly. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that his voice was meant just for her. “You know I see you watching me, too, right?” She inhaled sharply. Heat crept up her neck, and she cursed her own reaction. “Don’t flatter yourself.” Lando let out a low chuckle, shaking his head and stepping into her space. “I think you like me.” Her jaw clenched. “You’re an idiot.” 

“Not denying it, though.” She glared at him, her heart hammering against her ribs. But before she could snap back, the elevator dinged, she instinctively stepped away from him and the doors slid open to reveal Oscar standing on the other side. His eyes flicked between them, sharp and questioning. Lando didn’t move for a moment, as if debating whether to push just a little further, but then he stepped back further with a knowing smirk. “See you tomorrow, then,” he murmured before walking past Oscar with an easy nod, disappearing down the hall. She exhaled, realizing just how tightly wound her body had been. Oscar, still holding the door open, gave her a look. She rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up.” He didn’t say anything, but she felt his judgment.

[myfictionaldreams]

~ Mafia!Stucky Mastlist⍟✪ 📚~

Hello lovely, I hope you’re having a great day. I thought it was about time I made a list dedicated to my favourite boys, so welcome to my Mafia!Stucky masterlit!I love to write in my spare time, and the fiction I create is for 18+ readers ONLY. Also, everything is character x fem!reader, and please, read the tags carefully before continuing.

Masterlists ♥ A03 ♥ Tags  ♥ Question? ♥ latest works ♥

you're mine (smut, angst, dark)

Steve loves showing off what’s his, you. What does eh do when he sees someone staring at what is his?

i need more (fluff, smut)

You’d been off all day and it hadn’t gone unnoticed by Steve. He’d do anything to make you feel better so when you started begging him to help you have some release, he didn’t hold back.

ruined orgasm - kinktober (smut)

He had given you one rule: do not interrupt the meeting. So, of course you had to walk straight into the meeting that had all of America’s most noterious gangsters

steve's birthday wish (P.1) (fluff, smut, angst)

It was approaching Steve’s birthday and you had no idea what to get him. Bucky suggests just asking the Mafia boss what he would like, but would you regret your decision when you hear what Steve truly wants.

When Two Become Three (P.2) (fluff, smut)

It has been a few weeks since Steve sat back and watched your be pleasured by his best friend Bucky, and you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Especially, the part where Steve confessed his fantasy to have a threesome, but would you ever agree to it?

one more meeting (fluff, smut, angst, dark)

For all of the years that you had known Steve and Bucky, you had never seen them lose control of their anger. All of the murder and violence always being calculated, calm, and dangerous. But today, that all changed and for the first time in years, you were truly scared of the boys you loved.

repeat after me(fluff, smut, angst)

It wasn’t often that you had to attend a party with your boyfriends but today, you found yourself at one, filling you with anxiety and dread. How will the boys react when they find you close to a panic attack and starting to doubt their love for you?

how many?(fluff, smut)

Steve had finally found time to take you and Bucky on holiday. What he doesn’t tell you however is that today, he wanted to see just how many times he and Bucky could get you to orgasm.

i can’t lose you (fluff, smut, angst, dark)

Being the girlfriend of the Mafia leader and his second in command had its dangers but for years, you'd never had to experience this. Until now. How will the boys react when you're put in danger?

no touching (fluff, smut, angst)

You blatantly ignored their instructions and now you had to suffer the repercussions for your actions.

i don’t care (fluff, smut)  

'The reader having a menstrual cycle, this one just a little worse than others, and Steve and Bucky worrying and helping her through it.'

the one weakness (fluff, smut, angst) 

It wasn't often you were by yourself so when you quickly go to the coffee shop, what happens when the enemy is watching and waiting nearby.

overwhelming (fluff)

It had been your birthday a few days ago and both Steve and Bucky had made it their mission to give you the most lavish party followed by intense, long nighttime activities. However as you lay in bed on Monday morning, something just didn't feel quite right.

the fun game  (fluff, smut)

Steve and Bucky had forgotten about your date, leaving you waiting for two hours in the restaurant. How will they react when you decide to play your own little game as payback and, how far can you go before they finally snap?

harder, please  (fluff, smut, angst)

Your mind was clouded with lust and pleasure, as you begged repeatedly for more from Bucky but, what happens when you get hurt in the process?

protect and forget  (fluff, smut, angst) 

Life as the girlfriend of the Mafia boss and his second-in-command was not always smooth sailing, everything did not always go to plan. Two weeks before your birthday, a threat was made to your life. What happens when Steve and Bucky begin to push you away as they search for the threat?

All Eyes On You  (smut)  

“Do you know what we would have done if we had turned up to that restaurant and seen you all dolled up like that? We would have bent you over the table in front of everyone and shown them exactly who you belonged to". - Steve Rogers

you belong to me  (fluff, smut, angst)

These girls knew you were dating Steve and Bucky, so why is it that they thought it was ok to have their hands all over them?

dont fall asleep  (fluff, smut, angst)

It was supposed to be a normal day, but not in fate's eyes as you and Sam are hit by a drunk driver. How will Steve and Bucky react when they hear their girls been hurt?

rule number one.  (fluff, smut, angst)

It was Bucky's birthday but even a surprise party won't stop Steve and Bucky from punishing you for not looking after yourself.

Last Hope (CH. 1) (CH. 2)  (fluff, smut, angst, dark)

Before dating Steve and Bucky, your life felt like a steel cage that you couldn't escape from because of your family business. There was no happiness or hope but, what happens when the infamously heartless mafia leader, Steve Rogers, finds you alone?

our little bean  (fluff, angst)    

You stared unblinking at the Doctor who had just told you the news you couldn't quite comprehend. You were on birth control, so why is the test in his hands saying that you're pregnant?  Accidents happened but is this a happy one? (Yes it is).

the limit  (fluff, smut, angst)

Everyone has a limit, this includes Steve and Bucky. What happens in different situations where each of you felt compelled to use your safewords?

sick day (fluff)

Bucky had warned you that dancing in that rain without a coat would lead you to be ill, maybe you should have listened more to his warning.

accident’s happen (fluff, smut, angst) 

You were visiting a friend when you were accidentally hit in the face, leaving behind a cut across your cheekbone. How will Steve and Bucky react when they see their girl injured?

everyone is breakable  (fluff, smut, angst)

Steve and Bucky were invincible in your eyes. They'd never been injured or in a situation where you thought they weren't the ones in control. That is until one day Bucky doesn't return from meeting with a client.

winter soup  (fluff, smut, angst)

There was no better feeling than a bowl of hot soup when you're feeling unwell and, what's even better is when it's delivered to your door every day by your new guard. It tasted amazing and you could always trust everyone in the Mafia... right?

something new   (smut)

The mafia leader was known to be possessive and enjoy showing off his girl but what happens when he wants to do this by being intimate in front of his gang?

pegging - kinktober  (smut)

Steve had once instructed bucky how to pleasure you but what happens when you’re the one being given the instructions?

cockwarming - kinktober (smut)

You’re feeling needy and restless so Steve offers you something to suck on, much to Bucky’s amusement.

double penetration in one hole - kinktober  (smut)

You were adament to prove Steve wrong and do something you’ve never done before.

fear play - kinktober (smut, dark)

You woke up to darkness, your phone was missing and, all you could was silence echoing around the house but, you knew you weren’t alone.

role reversal - kinktober  (smut)

For once, you were the one shouting at the enemy, demanding that they leave your office. Steve and Bucky were in awe so you tried to keep up this confidence and burn off some energy with them.

Duke, Duchess and Knights  (fluff, angst)

You get so lost in the fantasy dream that when it turns into a nightmare, you're not sure what reality is when you wake up screaming.

Merry Christmas (fluff, smut)

It was a simple question: Have you been naughty or nice this year?

Safety Measures (Angst, Smut, Fluff)

It was the anniversary of Steve and Bucky saving you from your sadistic brother. Usually, it was a time of celebration for you, but this year, you couldn't help but feel paranoid and unsafe.

edge of glory (Angst, Smut, Fluff)

Defiance is something you are not accustomed to, but when the love of your life is in danger, there is no stopping you. Now, the repercussions of your actions have you contemplating the decisions that you've made.

seven (Angst!, Smut, Fluff)

One week is all it takes for your world to come crashing down. Even though you could have everything you'd ever wanted, for some reason, something isn't right. Will your emotions and the smothering of overprotective Stucky come to an end?

Drabbles

The first to give their jacket when reader is cold

Mad & Sad moments

Saying the wrong thing

TikTok trend: no kissing

Who is more protective?

safe space in your new home

Halloween Costumes

[lizzyiii]

Reconnecting

pairing | josh washington x fem!reader

word count | 3.9k words

summary | after the prank, it tore you and Josh apart, now a year later Josh wants to be with you again

tags | 18+ (MDNI), smut, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (remember kids: wrap it before you tap it), hurt/comfort, confessions, no description of reader, sam&reader

a/n | so this takes place right after Josh fakes his death with Ash and Chris. again this is an extraction from my actual fanfic on A03, unfortunately it is Josh x OC, but if you guys are interested it's called Echoes Of Us

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨

MASTERLIST

You took a deep breath as you stepped into your designated guest room, closing the door softly behind you.

It was so strange, normally you'd sleep in Josh's room, and before that Beth always wanted you to sleep in her room. The weight of the evening clung to you like the chill in the air.

Fumbling for the light switch, you flicked it on, only to be met with darkness. "Great," you muttered under your breath, glancing around the shadowy room. The moonlight filtering through the edges of the thick curtains offered little help.

Sighing, you crossed the room and pulled them open, letting a silvery glow spill across the space.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to let you navigate to the bedside table. You rummaged through the drawer until your fingers brushed against cold metal—a lighter.

Striking it, you carefully lit the scattered candles, the warm flicker of flames chasing away the darkness and casting long shadows on the wooden walls.

The soft glow made the room feel marginally less oppressive, though the unease from the seance still lingered like a weight on your chest.

You sank onto the edge of the bed, your hands resting on your lap as you stared at the flickering candlelight. You were grateful Josh had given you space to collect yourself.

After what had just happened—between the spirit board and your *moment*—you needed to get your thoughts in order before seeing him again.

Alright, you thought firmly. Josh had told you it was a mistake, that he still wanted you.

He still loved you.

You exhaled slowly, trying to push away the nagging doubts creeping into her mind. And did you love him? That wasn’t even a question—of course, you did. You always had.

Maybe it was a good thing that Josh had planned this weekend, even if parts of it had already gone off the rails.

Maybe it was a chance for things to start healing, for him to finally find some closure and for you to help him. But the events of the evening... the séance, the cryptic messages... they gnawed at the edges of your mind.

You tried to shake it off, blaming Chris. It had to be one of his tasteless jokes, right? That was the only explanation. But still, something about it had felt... wrong. The way the planchette moved, how Josh had acted—it had been so strange. You couldn’t just ignore it.

Your thoughts, as always, circled back to Josh. Your moment together earlier replayed in your mind, and while you felt reassured by his words, the doubts still lingered.

You needed a second opinion, someone who could help you untangle the mess of emotions and unanswered questions swirling inside your head. And there was no one better for that than Sam.

With a determined sigh, you slipped out of your room and headed toward the bathroom nearest to Sam's. You knocked lightly on the door. "Sammy?" you called.

There was no response.

You rolled your eyes, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. Of course, you thought. Sam probably had her headphones in again. Without waiting for an answer, you pushed the door open and peeked inside.

Sure enough, there Sam was, lounging in the tub surrounded by a sea of bubbles, her head tilted back against the rim, earphones firmly in place.

Suppressing a laugh, you stepped inside and quietly approached the tub, your movements deliberate to avoid startling your friend too much. When you reached the edge of the tub, you snapped your fingers right in front of Sam's face.

Sam’s eyes shot open in panic, her hand splashing water as she jolted upright. When she saw you standing there, grinning, she let out a groan and pulled her earphones out. “Can’t a girl get some privacy around here?”

“Privacy is overrated, Sammy,” you teased, perching yourself on the edge of the tub. Your voice softened as you added, “Besides, I really need your help.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, her annoyance melting into curiosity as she leaned back into the bubbles. “This sounds serious. What’s up?”

You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip as you searched for the right words. Finally, you sighed, your voice low. “It’s... Josh. Everything tonight has just been so weird, and I can’t get a handle on how I’m supposed to feel about it all.”

Sam’s expression softened as she tilted her head in concern. “Weird how?”

“Just... him,” you admitted, your voice growing softer. “We kind of had a moment earlier. And you know how Josh is—he keeps cutting me off when we get close. I want us to be together again, but I’m scared.” your hands fidgeted in your lap as you stared at the floor.

Sam straightened in the tub, droplets sliding off her arms as she leaned forward. “Scared that he’ll push you away again?”

“Kind of,” you murmured. “It’s just… there’s so much history between us. And I don’t know if he’s ready to really deal with everything. Especially not here, of all places, with all these memories hanging over us. It feels like he’s holding on to so much, and I don’t know if there’s room for me in all of that anymore.”

Sam studied you carefully, her gaze steady and full of understanding. After a moment, she reached out to touch your arm, her voice calm and reassuring.

“Honey, you’ve been there for him through everything—more than anyone else. If anyone can help him face this, it’s you. But you’ve got to remember, it’s not all on you to make him okay.”

You nodded slowly, your eyes glistening as you processed Sam’s words. “I know. And I’m not trying to fix him. I just... I want him to feel better. To be happy again.”

Sam’s expression softened, her voice gentle but firm. “I get it, babe. But we’re all supposed to be keeping an eye on him—not just you. It’s not all on your shoulders.”

“I know that,” you sighed, your gaze dropping as you fidgeted with the hem of your sweater. “It’s just... there’s this part of me that feels like I should take it all on. That maybe if I could just carry it for him, then he wouldn’t have to. It sounds stupid, I know.”

Sam raised a brow, her tone lightening. “And when has something sounding stupid ever stopped you before?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Fair. But seriously... I just want to take all his pain away. Put it on me, instead.” your voice lowered slightly, your sadness plain as you looked back at Sam.

Sam reached out, placing her damp hand over yours and giving it a firm squeeze. “Oh, sweetie. That’s not how this works. You can’t just take it all away. But what you can do is be there for him. And maybe... I don’t know... really talk to him. Like, lay it all out.”

You smiled faintly, your heart feeling a little less heavy. “Thanks, Sammy. You’re a really good friend, you know that?”

Sam’s smile faltered for just a moment, but she quickly masked it with a laugh, looking away briefly before turning back.

A good friend wouldn’t secretly feel the way she did about her friend’s boyfriend.

Pushing the thought aside, she mustered her most genuine smile. “Anytime. Now, unless you want to help me wash my hair, I’m kicking you out.”

You stood, brushing off your jeans with mock dignity. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave you to your royal bubble bath, your highness.”

“Damn right, servant,” Sam teased, sinking back into the water with a grin.

As you left the bathroom, you felt a little more grounded. Sam was right—you weren't alone in this, and neither was Josh. Whatever happened, you'd figure it out. Together.

You stepped out of the shower, tightening the towel around you as the steam followed you back into your room. The soft glow of the candlelight illuminated the space, casting flickering shadows across the walls. At least the candles had warmed the room enough that you didn’t need to bundle up.

You let out a contented sigh and slipped into one of your favorite silk nightgowns, the delicate fabric cool against your skin. You crossed to the mirror and sat down, brushing through your damp hair with slow, rhythmic strokes.

Around your neck hung a golden chain, the intricate sapphire promise ring glinting in the candlelight—a constant reminder of everything you and Josh had been through.

As you finished brushing your hair, you picked up your lip gloss, applying a light layer, then reached for your eyelash curler.

You barely had time to finish when you heard the soft creak of the door opening behind you. Your heart jumped in your chest as you set down the curler and glanced at your reflection.

Taking a steadying breath, you turned to see Josh stepping into the room.

He’d changed into fresh clothes, but his disheveled hair and the faint sheen of sweat on his brow gave him away. He was panting slightly, as though he’d been in a hurry—or a fight with himself.

“Hey,” you murmured softly, your voice cutting through the tense quiet. “You alright?”

Josh hesitated for a moment, then flashed you his signature cheeky smile, though the faint tension in his eyes betrayed him. “Yeah,” he said, his voice a little too casual. “Just had to take care of something.”

You arched a brow, folding your arms across your chest. “Uh-huh. And what’s this something?”

Josh didn’t answer right away. Instead, he crossed the room and dropped onto the edge of your bed with a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. Your gaze softened, and you stood, moving toward him.

“Josh,” you said gently, sitting beside him. “What’s really going on?”

He glanced at you, his bravado slipping as his hand reached for the chain around your neck, his thumb brushing against the sapphire promise ring. “Just... thinking about a lot of things,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “About us. About everything.”

You leaned into him, letting your head rest against his shoulder, your own voice soft and laced with honesty. “Me too.”

Josh’s green eyes lingered on the ring. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze was heavy with unspoken feelings. “I thought... I thought you took it off,” he said, almost in disbelief.

“Never,” you murmured, your voice firm but tender.

Your thoughts flickered back to your conversation with Sam, and you took a steadying breath. You stayed leaning against him but decided to ask the question you'd been too scared to voice before. “Josh... how do you feel about me?”

There was a pause. Josh shifted slightly, the tension rolling off him in waves. “What do you mean?” he asked cautiously.

You sighed, sitting up to face him fully, your eyes locking onto his with a dry, knowing look. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Josh avoided your gaze, his hands fidgeting in his lap. He finally murmured, almost awkwardly, “Well, what do you want me to say? That I’ve been head over heels for you since I was eleven and Beth brought you home for a sleepover?”

A small, teasing smile tugged at your lips. “How could I forget? You spent the whole night perving at me.”

Josh scoffed, leaning back against the bed and pulling you down with him. “I wouldn’t call it perving. Or... staring, for that matter.”

You smirked, your voice light with teasing. “Oh? Then what would you call it?”

Josh made a thoughtful face, his lips twitching as he tried not to grin. “More like... admiring,” he said with mock seriousness.

“Nice save,” you hummed, resting your chin on his chest as you looked up at him, your smile warm and genuine.

Josh nodded solemnly. “Thank you. I try.”

For a moment, the banter gave way to comfortable silence, your shared laughter fading into quiet breaths. You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers. “I’m glad you told me,” you whispered.

Josh’s grin softened into something more vulnerable, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a slow, deliberate motion. “I meant it, baby. Every word,” he murmured. His green eyes searched yours, raw and earnest. “I want us to be together again. I... I can’t live without you.”

You didn’t need words to reply. Your actions spoke for you as you leaned up, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. The warmth of your lips against his skin sent a shiver down his spine, and he closed his eyes, savoring the moment.

When he opened them again, his gaze was full of longing. “I missed you so goddamn much,” he murmured, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

Before you could respond, Josh leaned toward you, closing the distance between you. His lips brushed yours in a soft, tentative kiss, the kind that carried months of unspoken feelings and bottled-up desire.

To Josh, it felt like eternal relief—like finding water in a desert after wandering aimlessly for far too long.

Yours hands instinctively reached up, one resting on his shoulder while the other lightly traced his jawline.

Josh’s hand moved to cup your cheek, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. It wasn’t rushed or frantic—it was steady, deliberate, and full of love.

In that moment, it felt like the world outside didn’t exist. It was just the two of you, your broken pieces fitting together again as if they had never been apart.

For the first time in a long time, Josh felt like he wasn’t drowning in the weight of his isolation and madness. He felt... whole.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested against each other, your breaths mingling in the quiet room. You opened your eyes, your gaze meeting Josh’s. “I missed you too,” you said softly, your voice steady but full of meaning.

Josh smiled, a genuine, unguarded smile that made your heart ache. “Good,” he said with a quiet chuckle, brushing your hair behind her ear. “Because I don’t plan on letting you go again.”

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned in once more, capturing his lips in another kiss, this time with more fervor as you straddled his lap, Josh's hands instantly moved to your hips.

Josh groaned into the kiss, his hands tightening on your hips as you settled onto him. The heat of your body seeped through the thin fabric of your nightgown, igniting a fire within him that had smoldered for far too long.

Breaking the kiss, Josh looked up at you with lust-darkened eyes, his breathing ragged. "God, I've wanted this," he rasped, his thumbs rubbing circles on your hips. "Wanted you."

Your cheeks flushed, your pupils dilated with desire. You rocked your hips gently, feeling Josh's hardness beneath you. "Then take me," you whispered, your voice husky with need. "Make me forget everything else."

Your words were a siren's call, urging Josh to claim you, to lose himself in the pleasure only you could provide. With a low growl, he turned, flipping you effortlessly with him. He pinned you against the bed, his mouth devouring yours as his hands roamed your curves.

"I will," he promised against your lips, his voice thick with arousal. "I'll make you forget your own name if that's what it takes."

Josh's hands slid under your nightgown, caressing the warm skin of your stomach before dipping lower to bunch your skirts. He lifted them up your thighs, his fingers tracing the edges of your panties before slipping beneath the fabric to stroke your slick folds.

You moaned into the kiss, your nails digging into Josh's shoulders as you ground against his touch. "Please," you whimpered, your hips circling desperately.

Josh swallowed your whimper with another searing kiss, his fingers delving deeper into your heat. Your wetness coated his digits, making them glide easily over your sensitive clit.

He circled the swollen nub, applying just the right amount of pressure to send shockwaves of pleasure through you.

"Tell me what you need, baby," Josh breathed against your lips, his thumb continuing its maddening dance on your clit while his middle finger pushed inside you, curling to stroke that sweet spot deep within. "I'm gonna give it to you."

Your head thrashed from side to side, your hips bucking wildly against Josh's hand. "Don't stop," you gasped, your walls clenching around his invading finger. "Fuck, Josh, please..."

Your pleas fell on deaf ears as Josh continued his relentless assault on your senses. He added a second finger, scissoring them inside you as he pumped them in and out, his thumb still mercilessly stimulating your clit.

"You're so fucking tight," Josh grunted, his cock straining against his zipper. "I can feel you milking my fingers."

He curled his fingers just right, hitting that magic spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. Your legs wrapped around his waist, ankles locking at the small of his back as you rode his hand with abandon.

"Yes, yes, oh fuck!" you cried out, your orgasm cresting like a tidal wave. Your inner muscles spasmed around Josh's fingers, drawing them even deeper as you came beneath him.

Josh felt your climax wash over you like a tsunami, your cunt clamping down on his fingers like a vice. He worked you through the aftershocks, prolonging your pleasure until you collapsed back against the mattress, panting and dazed.

With a final, tender kiss to your forehead, Josh withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips to taste your wetness. "Delicious," he murmured, his green eyes never leaving your flushed face.

He quickly unbuttoned his jeans, pulling it down just enough to reveal his hard, throbbing cock.

Josh crawled over you, propping himself up on his elbows as he aligned his member with your entrance. "You ready for me?" he asked, his voice rough with need.

You nodded, your hands reaching for him, eager to pull him close. "Please, Josh," you begged, your body arching towards his.

With a low, primal groan, Josh thrust into you, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke. Both of you gasped at the sensation, Josh's thickness stretching you impossibly wide as he filled you completely.

Josh began to move, setting a relentless pace as he drove into you again and again. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, punctuated by your panting and Josh's guttural moans.

You met every thrust with equal fervor, your hips rising to meet Josh's as you wrapped your legs around his waist. Your nails dug into his back, piercing his skin through his shirt as you urged him on.

"So good," you whimpered, your head tossing from side to side. "Fuck, Josh, you feel amazing! I missed you so much."

Josh's grip on you tightened, his fingers digging into your hips as he pounded into you with reckless abandon. The way you took him, so eagerly, so perfectly, sent waves of ecstasy crashing through his veins.

"I missed you too," he gritted out between clenched teeth, his breath hot against your neck. "Every damn day without you felt like forever."

He reached between your straining bodies, finding your swollen clit and rubbing it in time with his thrusts. The added stimulation sent you careening towards another peak, your inner walls fluttering around Josh's cock.

"That's it, baby," he coaxed, his voice a low rasp. "Come for me again. Let go and scream my name."

Your world narrowed to the incredible feeling of Josh's cock driving into you, stroking that secret spot inside you that made you see stars. His fingers on your clit were the final trigger, sending you hurtling over the edge once more.

"Josh!" you gasped, your voice cracking as your orgasm ripped through you. Your pussy clenched rhythmically around him, milking his cock for all it was worth.

Through the haze of your pleasure, you felt Josh's movements become erratic, his thrusts growing shorter and more urgent. With a final, deep plunge, he buried himself inside you and stilled, his hot seed spurting into your welcoming depths.

"Oh god!" Josh groaned, his body shuddering above yours as he emptied himself into you.

Josh collapsed onto you, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he struggled to catch his breath. Your hearts raced in tandem, pounding out a frantic rhythm that seemed to fill the entire room.

After a long moment, Josh lifted his head, his eyes searching your face with a mix of tenderness and awe. "That was... incredible," he whispered, brushing a strand of sweat-dampened hair from your forehead. "Being with you again... it feels like coming home."

Josh pressed a soft kiss to your lips, savoring the taste of you, "I know I messed up, baby," he whispered, his voice full of quiet desperation. "But I promise, I won't let anything tear us apart again."

You smiled up at him in a daze, your heart swelling with relief. His words were everything you wanted to hear. As your eyes fluttered tiredly, a small sigh escaped your lips. "I love you," you murmured, your voice barely audible as sleep overtook you.

Josh watched intently as your breathing evened out, the soft rise and fall of your chest the only sound in the room. Your face softened in sleep, a peaceful expression settling over your features.

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his voice barely a whisper. "I love you too."

For a moment, he lingered, staring down at you, his heart aching with the weight of everything between the two of you. As much as he wanted to stay there, holding you, forgetting the world outside, he knew he couldn’t.

Not yet.

He stood slowly, his movements deliberate as he fixed his clothing, then blew out the candles, the room sinking into darkness. The soft moonlight streaming through the window cast long shadows across the floor.

With one last glance at you, Josh made his way toward the door, the tightness in his chest almost unbearable.

Before closing it behind him, he locked the door from the outside, his hand lingering on the knob for a moment longer than necessary.

You didn’t deserve this.

His heart twisted as he walked away, leaving the room behind. He didn’t want you involved. But the plan was already in motion, and he couldn’t back out now.

[katyawriteswhump]

love and other catastrophes at the omega cafe (1/8)

So I posted about this idea before here, (and was overwhelmed by the response—thank you!) but basically a cat café opened near me and inspired this:

Summary: Steve is a runaway Omega who gets a job at an Omega café, where he’s basically paid to curl up and purr in Alphas’ laps. It’s legal, and he earns a living, rents his own place. He’s getting along fine for a packless Omega. Then Alpha rockstar Eddie Munson turns up for an hour of ‘kitty’ petting, and shatters Steve’s fragile little world…

Rating: M (will be E); No major warnings; Tags: omega steve, alpha eddie, a/b/o dynamics, fluff and angst; (It won't get tooooo angsty, I promise, and I should probably write a shorter version, but this seemed to want to get bedded in for some plot, so...) read on A03 and thank you @lexirosewrites for being so patient with my weird belated questions about what do with my idea!

Chapter 1 (below) Chapter 2 Chapter 3.1 Chapter 3.2 Chapter 4.1 Chapter 4.2 Chapter 5.1 Chapter 5.2 Chapter 6.1 Chapter 6.2 Chapter 7.1 Chapter 7.2

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Chapter 1

Steve clocked in with Carol at the coffee counter and cosied up on a beanbag waiting for the first customer to arrive. He couldn’t stop yawning and struggled to keep his eyes open.

He didn’t usually work the Monday morning graveyard shift at ‘Kitties’—otherwise known as the Omega Café. Carol usually put him on the weekends, which were their busiest times. Plenty of Alphas—and sometimes Betas—were free then, to pass an hour with a cute Omega purring in their lap.

For a cost, naturally.

Steve, though, had called in sick yesterday and needed to make up his lost earnings. He’d been in heat. So, three days of cold sweats, congealed slick, and crippling cramps. At least the blockers he used for this job curbed his desperation to be fucked. All the same, a dull gnawing pain in his pelvis persisted, he’d barely slept and…

…Ugh, this beanbag was, if anything, too inviting and soft.

He’d gotten his most comfy, stretchy shorts on, his most butter-soft collar, and an only-slightly-cropped-at-the-midriff vest. His feet were bare, which was fortunate. Right now, only his icicle toes were keeping him awake. He was tempted to grab one of the many fluffy blankets scattered around the café, pull it up over him and snooze.

He was torn between asking Carol for a double espresso or napping—to be fair, it was unlikely anybody would join them till noon—when the bell on the door tinkled.

So much for a peaceful snooze.

Fortunately, rather than a hungover Alpha, Robin burst in. On spotting Steve, her shoulders sagged with obvious relief. She hurried up to the counter and presented Carol with her Apple-Pay. “Flat white with an extra shot, and an hour of kitty cuddles, please.”

“Sure.” The payment bleeped through, and Carol turned to grind the coffee beans. She never bothered with great customer service for Steve’s best friend. That said, customer service wasn’t Carol’s strength at the best of times. Steve liked that about her. For an Omega, she was a bitey feral, and she sure had their boss, Tommy, under her claw.

Robin sat down at a table, pulled a cushion onto her lap. Steve shuffled over on his knees and laid his head on the cushion:

“Jesus, Robin,” he whispered, as she started to pet his hair. It was usual practice for Omegas to wait till the customer spoke first, but this was, well, Robin. “You don’t have to pay to see me, you know that?”

“Apparently, I do, Dingus! I’ve been going out of my mind! Why didn’t you return my, like, billion texts?”

“Shit. Sorry.” Her fretful pettings only made him feel more guilty. “I’m out of data, and you know how shit Wi-Fi is in Sunshine Village. Plus, I had really bad cramps this month—I could barely crawl out of bed this morning.”

“Yeah, I guessed that. God, I’m sorry, too.” She slowed her strokes, as they both relaxed a little. “I worry about you all the time, living there. Working here. I wish I could take you home with me. Damn, I should rent somewhere you’re actually allowed to live.”

“No way. I’m fine, Robin. Seriously, I’ve landed on my feet. I like having my own little home. The heating is working in my block this week, and this is a pretty cushy gig.”

Steve didn’t even say that for the benefit of Carol, who’d just dumped Robin’s coffee on the table, slopping half of it into the saucer.

Steve had arrived in the city four months ago, down to his last few dollars. He’d soon realized that acceptable Omega jobs—teaching assistant, nanny, seamstress, junior positions in retail and catering—would all require handing over too much information about himself. He’d also swiftly discovered that Sunshine Village, the district he’d heard about where single Omegas could live unmolested, was little better than a slum.

He’d been caught between the terrifying choices of fleeing back home, starving, or sex work. Then he’d stumbled across this place.

If Tommy had checked the fake name Steve gave, he hadn’t cared. Steve got paid in cash after each shift and earned enough to rent a small place in the Village. Which, despite its shabbiness, turned out to be full of friendly, supportive Omegas.

It all meant he didn’t have to worry about Robin being evicted from her pleasant ‘beta’ neighbourhood for harbouring an unregistered Omega.

Robin chatted on, while sipping the remnants of her coffee and petting Steve idly. While she complained about how unfair the world was for Omegas—they’d met when Steve had turned up at an Omega soup-kitchen she volunteered at—her speech also underlined his point.

His life could be a shitload worse.

This morning, he was being paid for his best friend to give him much-needed bodily contact in a no-strings-attached fashion. While he didn’t have to force fake purrs for her, like he did for the majority of customers, soft sleepy purring happened anyhow.

After Robin left for work, the café was empty again. Carol made them both hot chocolate then turned her attention to doing her nails. Steve breakfasted on an out-of-date lemon muffin, which was still nice and gooey in the middle, then slipped out to the washroom for the second time since Robin left. He needed to re-check his hair.

He was reapplying his eyeliner, when he heard the bell tinkle again.

So much for the ‘graveyard’ shift. He pinched his pale cheeks, bracing himself to face whoever wanted to cuddle him next.

A high-pitched squeal from Carol pierced Steve’s hearing—one that was probably only audible to other Omegas.

And the scent snatched his breath.

The Omega café was flushed with scent-neutralising air fresheners, for obvious reasons. Whoever this Alpha was, his musk was potent enough to punch straight through. It nearly floored Steve with low notes of leather and woodsmoke, and high notes of… Christ, Steve didn’t know what that was.

Plums? Fine Californian wine?

It set his mouth watering, for all of a split second.

Carol! Was she okay?

He rushed from the washroom and peeped from behind a thick velour curtain.

Carol was fine. She was taking payment from an Alpha with long, slightly-frizzy retro hair, a jean jacket—who the fuck wore those?—and dark soulful eyes.

Steve’s heart rate spiked.

The Alpha was pretty damn good-looking, and young too, maybe only a year or so older than Steve.

He was also faintly familiar.

Did Steve know him from back home? Would he recognise Steve?

“So, how does this work?” asked the newcomer. His drawling accent sent a shiver down Steve’s spine that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. His voice was as sexy as the rest of him… and that definitely wasn’t a North County accent. Steve relaxed slightly, ogling the guy who was literally setting both his and Carol’s legs wobbling.

“You pay up front for an hour of kitty cuddles,” she said. “You have to order a minimum of one drink, and all new customers must read and sign our rules and disclaimers.”

“Ma’am, it’s Monday morning.” The Alpha sounded wearily amused, gesturing to the three-page fine-print document she shoved across the counter. “Do I really have to read all this?”

“How about I summarize for you.” Yup, Carol was being helpful and polite. Either someone kidnapped the real Carol, or this Alpha really was special. “You’re not about to go into rut, I take it? Because if you are, Sir, I’m really, really sorry—we can’t take that risk here, or we could get shut down.”

The Alpha shook his head. While Carol reeled off a few pertinent points—“no scenting, obviously. No kissing,”—his gaze snapped onto where Steve skulked, half-hidden behind the drapes.

Steve jumped back out of sight.

“Soooo,” said the Alpha, when Carol finally stopped talking. “To summarise—I can stroke the pussies, but I can’t stroke the pussies?”

Carol giggled. Though they’d all heard that joke, and every variation on it, at least a billion times.

“Pretty much,” she said. “We’re absolutely NOT a brothel. And don’t expect cat-ears and whiskers and all that jazz. Thursday is usually full-costume night, and… erm, right now, we only have one kitty, and he seems to have strayed. Boy kitty okay with you?”

“Yes, thank you, Ma’am,” said the Alpha.

“Cool. I’ll go coax him out with a saucer of milk or something.”

She found Steve backed up against the dingy back-corridor wall, knees basically jello. “Get out there! Christ, you do realize who that is?”

Steve shook his head, throat too tight to speak. He honestly didn’t know what was wrong with him. Alphas moseyed in and out of this place every day. He was usually able to keep himself together.

“It’s Eddie Munson! Lead singer of Corroded Coffin? Super-hot and super-famous bad-boy Alpha rockstar? Jeeees, you really did live in a box till you got here, didn’t you? Look, get out there—before I tell him boy kitty is off the menu, grab my skimpiest bikini, and burrow into that scorching lap myself.”

She nudged him through the curtain. Eddie Munson had already settled onto one of the cafe’s roomiest couches, arms splayed along the back.

Legs splayed too.

Eddie glanced up and those gorgeous eyes raked Steve, head-to-toe, stripping him so bare he might as well have forgotten his shorts. The Alpha’s grin spread slowly, revealing glinting incisors, and creasing up into the sexiest dimples Steve had ever seen.

Steve wasn’t sure how he made it across the room. Somehow, he did, shuffling the final few feet on his knees.

“Hello, Kitty,” said Eddie. Possibly taking pity, he closed his legs. He shoved his thighs forward so Steve could easily lay his head in them.

Steve did so, facing out across the café. His heart skittered like a little prey animal’s. It was only then that he realized Eddie hadn’t placed a cushion on his thighs. Well, if Carol hadn’t highlighted that part of the rules, Steve was hardly in a position to do it now.

Eddie didn’t mess around. Strong fingers plowed straight into the springy mass of Steve’s hair. “What’s your name, Honey?”

“Uh… St-steve?”

Who fucking stammers answering his own name?

“Hi, Steve. I’m Eddie.” He leaned a little closer, hot breath joining those strong fingers to send Steve even deeper into fluster. “How do you put up with the stink in here? I mean, I get it. All those Alpha-Omega scents battering each other would make this place a real fleshpot. Shame, though. I bet you smell real sweet. I mean, I think I get a whiff of you, even now.”

“You get used to it,” squeaked Steve, cutting that line of conversation off pronto.

“You get used to the diabolical plinky-plonky piano music too, Steve?”

“Honestly, I don’t even hear it anymore.”

To be fair, Steve didn’t hate the perpetual loop of movie theme-tune classics for exactly that reason. Even the smoochiest love songs—like the instrumental version of “Everything I do, I do it for you,” currently playing—didn’t mess with his emotions in the way music so often did.

Eddie snorted a dry chuckle, leaning back against the cushions again. Steve’s eyes fluttered closed.

“You’re right, Steve,” drawled Eddie, massaging deliciously into Steve’s scalp, “it’s pretty easy not to hear it. You have got the cutest purr.”

Steve’s eyes flew wide. He hadn’t even realized he was purring yet! Yeah, he could fake purr, but he’d been too befuddled to get to that. Now, he shook with loud rattling purrs that he could barely control.

Omegas purred when they were happy and relaxed, and also when distressed, to comfort themselves. He’d been reduced to that over the weekend. These purrs, though, grew couch-quakingly loud and felt different from anyway he’d purred before.

“You okay there, Honey?” Thank heavens Eddie was nice, though that made Steve’s weirdness all the more inexplicable. Eddie ran the back of coolish fingers down Steve’s burning cheek.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Steve. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” His hormones must still be doing weird things after his chemically fucked-up heat.

He probably should’ve called in sick today too.

“Don’t apologise,” Eddie said. “Look, it’s freakin’ Monday morning. I’m the weirdo Alpha checking this place out. You’re just doing your job, and you’re mighty fine at it, I’m sure.” The words washed through Steve, their brutal truth leaving an awkward residue. “Listen, I’m just gonna sip my coffee and chill. You reckon you can chill too, little kitty?”

“Yes, Alpha,” murmured Steve. The preening growl that jostled from Eddie was enough to make Steve desperate to obey.

He didn’t usually call anybody Alpha on the job. It wasn’t strictly against the rules, but unless a client demanded it—and only the real a-holes did—the kitties avoided it.

Eddie, though, had dragged it from Steve before he could think about it, much like those purrs.

And much like how, a minute or so of petting later, Steve found himself purring effortlessly, and totally relaxed. He wasn’t even stressed by the fact that his cheek rested dangerously close to Eddie’s Alpha dick. Which appeared to be ballooning slightly beneath his thick pair of sweatpants.

This was exactly why the cushions were compulsory. Though Steve barely had time to worry.

“Steve,” said Eddie, fingering around the edge of Steve’s collar in a fashion that literally made Steve’s eyes cross with yumminess. “Are there any rules against you getting in my lap for proper cuddles?”

“No. Absolutely not.” There really wasn’t, though of course, it only worked with the larger Alphas. There’d been no way Steve could’ve fitted into a Beta like Robin’s lap, for example, without some level of squishing. Eddie was, to be fair, not the largest Alpha around, but he was certainly large enough.

After some not-too-awkward manoeuvring—and guided by Eddie’s hand in the small of his back—Steve soon found himself sitting across Eddie’s lap. Eddie scooped him close, and his arms curled around Eddie’s neck.

He stared point-blank into the fathomless depths of Eddie’s dark eyes. Nope. Too much. He dipped his gaze, then squeaked. Now, he fixed on Eddie’s jawline and throat, dusted with scruff, and which drew him like, well, catnip.

Steve inhaled oaky-smoky plums and… Holy crap, what even was that? He was in serious danger of burying his face there and violating the no-scenting rule himself.

Once again, Eddie sensed his discomfort and guided Steve’s head down onto his shoulder, holding him there. “Hey, any chance of another coffee,” Eddie called to Carol. “Extra-large mocha with marshmallows, please, Ma’am? Think I might be settling here for a while.”

After that, Eddie appeared to go out of his way to make Steve even more comfortable. Perhaps noting Steve’s squirmings over getting too close to his scent gland, he slid a thin throw cushion beneath Steve’s cheek. He then settled them both back against the comfiest, most enveloping part of the sofa. He pulled one of those fluffy blankets up over them both. Soon, a floaty weariness, bone-deep but pleasant, overcame Steve.

Even his ovaries had stopped bugging him. God, this was nice. He really got paid for this? Damn, he’d fallen on his feet and Eddie smelled divine. He couldn’t help but daydream about that huge Alpha dick nestled stupid-close to his pussy, with only two layers of fabric between them. He was too sleepy to get too excited, tho’. He soon floated on the surface of a calm ocean, safe and serene…

When Steve began waking up, a honeyed glow saturated his head and heart and previously aching pelvis. He couldn’t remember his dreams, but they must’ve been good ones. He felt complete and happy and… he flicked his eyes open. Oh shit! The cafe buzzed with conversation. Several other kitties had come on shift and were snuggling with Alphas.

He’d fallen asleep on a customer’s lap.

Steve’s focus snapped onto the clock behind the counter, where Carol and her assistant, Chrissy, who also did kitty duties, were rushing around making lunches.

1.57 pm.

He’d been asleep on the job for nearly three hours.

Asleep in the lap of…

“Hey there,” drawled Eddie, “somebody’s a sleepy kitty.”

Steve daren’t look up. Was Eddie pissed? He didn’t sound it.

Steve opened his mouth. Shut it again, dabbing the corner. His head had slipped off the pillow and rested against Eddie’s chest. The Alpha’s booming heartbeat mingled with an amused chuckle.

Steve wasn’t laughing: “Oh shit, I’m so sorry. I drooled on your t-shirt!”

“I know.” Eddie’s low rumbling sigh was one of the most contented sounds Steve had ever heard. “You gonna charge extra for that, Honey?”

Chapter 2 on tumblr On A03

🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛ I have got quite a bit of this fic drafted, so hopefully more soon. If you’re enjoying, please let me know, or like and reblog... it means a lot to know somebody would like to read more *purrs hopefully* and thank you soooo much for reading this far 💚