#THE RING LUKE WANTED TO STEAL??

[anxious-bisexual-0]

UPON CLOSER INSPECTION

IT IS HIS MIDDLE AND RING FINGER HE DOESN’T USE

Kinda blurry but

HE USES HIS THUMB TO PULL THE DRESS UP AND POINTER FINGER TO MOVE THE HAIR

COLIN DID IN FACT SPIDER-MAN HER

THE RING. THE RIIIIIIIIIING.

( @dollypopup you inspired me to investigate…)

[zephyrchama]

It was late evening when your DDD started ringing. An unusual time for someone to call unless they were either drunk or in mortal peril. This occasion happened to be the latter.

Karasu's caller ID flashed a photo of Luke across the screen after the first ring. The angel was always early to bed and early to rise and never called without good reason, so you scrambled to answer, moving so fast that your finger slipped and you initially missed the right button.

"Hello?" you said. It took a moment for the call to connect.

"Hi... Sorry, umm, is now a good time?"

Luke sounded close to tears. He was trying to keep himself composed for your sake, but the distressed warble in his voice betrayed him. By the sound of things, he wasn't in his bedroom. He wasn't even in the living room or kitchen of Purgatory Hall. It was somewhere small, where his voice echoed off the walls.

"Luke, are you okay? Where are you?"

You recognized the sound of splashing water when he sniffled just before responding, "I'm in the bath."

It was an odd answer, but at least he was somewhere safe. So, why was he crying?

"Did Solomon feed you anything weird?"

"No, that's not it." Luke took a deep breath and winced. The sounds of agitated water accompanied his explanation. "You see... Simeon got a new shampoo that smells like cloudberries, and I really wanted to try some. Just a little bit, honest! But it came out of the bottle really fast, and it fell into my eyes." The crying began in earnest. "It really hurts and now I can't get it out of my eyes and Simeon's going to find out I used his shampoo without asking."

You felt slightly thankful that Solomon wasn't using the little angel as his food taster, but his small sobs over such a small matter made your heart ache.

"I'm going blind as punishment for stealing Simeon's shampoo," he confessed.

"Hey! Hey, no you're not! It's going to be okay!" you assured him. "You're not going to go blind. Listen. Turn on the faucet and try to splash some clean water in your eyes. Also, keep crying."

The sound of a running faucet could be heard through the phone. "Why? Will my tears prove that I'm repenting and weaken the punishment?"

"It'll... uh, yeah? Yeah, sure. It will also rinse the shampoo out of your eye so they stop stinging, but it'll do that, too."

There was a soft thud as Luke set his DDD down, followed by several minutes of loud splashing noises and weeping. He was having a tough time. You tried to be encouraging, unsure if he could hear you or not, by chiming in with the occasional "you're doing great!" and "hang in there!"

The tears came to a stop and Luke turned the faucet off. There was a beat of silence, followed by him exclaiming from afar, "it worked!"

He picked the phone back up. "It worked! I can see again! It doesn't hurt as much! Thank you! I'm so glad I called." The boy sounded like he was crying again, this time in relief. He had his usual cheery demeanor back.

"Everything OK now?"

"Yeah! I really owe you. I have to go tell Simeon what I did now, but I'll properly thank you tomorrow at school."

You wondered what sort of treats he would present. A drain popped open and you heard the water swirling away. Your muscles were still tense from concern, but the emergency had been swiftly dealt with.

"Glad I could help. Be sure to get lots of sleep, okay? You need to rest your eyes."

You could tell Luke was nodding even if you couldn't see him. "Got it!"

"Good night, Luke."

"Good night!"

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt. 17

Word Count: 32.3k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, forced pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, tw if u have tokophobia, some mentions of blood and other fluids from birth, pet names like kitten, sweetie, honey, threats with a gun, extortion, xavier appears

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh @eliasxchocolate @nozomiaj @xmiisuki @sylus-kitten @its-regretti @ve1vet-cake @starkeysslvt @yarafic @prince-nikko @iluvmewwwww75 @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 @lilyadora @nyumin @kiwookse @anisha24-blog1 @weepingluminarytale @riamir @definitionistato @xxhayashixx @adraxsteia @hargun-s @cayraeley @xxfaithlynxx @palomanh @spaceace111 @euridan @malleus-draconias-rose @athoieee

AN: This is on A03! Hi guys!! I missed yall! I've been soooo busy with uni and getting a crap ton of assignments and projects thrown at me that I haven't had much time for tumblr!! Then once I finally had free time I caught Covid LOL. Thankfully I'm starting to feel better now. Btw the dividers are made by me!! Ive started messing around with photoshop and want to make my own dividers. Hopefully they look ok! Ok enough yapping, enjoy! I lowkey cried making this chapter ngl...

“You can’t ever leave me,” he continued, his tone as smooth as velvet but laced with an unshakable finality. “Even if it means I have to keep you pumped full with my children forever. Can’t run with all eight of them, can you?” The words hit you like a blow to the chest, stealing what little air you had left. Your entire body trembled beneath him, a rush of panic and revulsion coursing through your veins. Tears welled in your eyes, hot and blinding, spilling over as your voice cracked under the weight of your fear and fury. “I hate you!” you screamed, your voice raw and desperate. “I’ll never let you take me! Or her! Never!” But Sylus didn’t flinch. He didn’t recoil or lash out. He didn’t even blink. Instead, he smiled—a slow, chilling smile that spread across his face like poison. There was no anger in his expression, no cruelty. Just calm, calculated possession.

Check my masterlist for the previous parts!

The air in the room was suffocating, heavy with tension and the faint scent of whiskey. Luke and Kieran stood at rigid attention near the door, their usually cocky demeanor replaced by something more cautious—fear, even. The quiet ticking of a wall clock amplified every passing second, each one feeling more precarious than the last. They shifted slightly on their feet, trying not to attract too much attention.

Sylus sat in an armchair in the middle of the dimly lit room, his long frame sprawled casually, but his posture was deceiving. He exuded calm, yes, but it was the kind of calm that hinted at a predator lying in wait. The room itself was nondescript, just another hotel suite, but it had been transformed into a nerve center of activity. Maps of Brunswick lined the walls, papers were scattered across the desk, and a laptop hummed softly nearby, displaying live surveillance feeds from the area. Yet none of it had yielded what he wanted.

You.

He swirled the glass of whiskey in his hand absentmindedly, his crimson eyes fixed on nothing in particular. The alcohol burned his throat with each sip, though the familiar sting did little to dull the simmering anger coursing through him. He had been drinking more in the past few days than he had in months, each glass a silent concession to the mounting frustration. The pawn shop had been his last real lead. After that, the tracker on your ring was useless now, and even Mephisto, with his aerial surveillance, had failed to catch so much as a glimpse of you.

The crow was efficient, but he wasn’t infallible. He couldn’t enter buildings, couldn’t see through walls. And Sylus was beginning to realize that you were smarter than he had given you credit for initially. You’d chosen a place to hide where technology and brute force could only get him so far. He hated to admit it, but you’d done well. For now.

The faintest sound of glass cracking broke his reverie. He glanced down and realized his grip on the whiskey glass had tightened to the point of nearly shattering it. Amber liquid seeped through the faint fracture, dripping onto his fingers and pooling on the table. Luke, ever the more talkative of the two, audibly gulped as the sound of cracked glass seemed to echo in the room.

“Boss…” Luke began, his voice shaking slightly. “We’re so sorry. She must’ve—”

“Silence, Luke,” Sylus said coldly, cutting him off without even looking up. He set the cracked glass down on the table, the faint clink echoing in the oppressive quiet. His eyes finally lifted to look at Luke, and the intensity in his gaze was enough to make the younger man take an instinctive step back.

Kieran, standing slightly behind his brother, remained silent but no less tense. Sylus’s calm demeanor was always more terrifying than his outright anger. They had seen him lash out before, seen the destruction he could unleash when he was truly enraged. But this cold, measured version of him—the version that stared at them now—was infinitely worse.

“Don’t expect any breaks until she’s found,” Sylus said evenly, his tone devoid of emotion. “And I’m docking both of your pays until then.”

The words landed like a guillotine, and Kieran stiffened visibly. Luke shifted a bit as if he wanted to protest, but one sharp look from Sylus silenced him. The twins exchanged a glance, their masks hiding the expressions etched with a mixture of fear and shame. Still, this was much better than the alternative punishments they could've endured...

Sylus leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together as he studied them. “Get me another glass,” he said after a moment, his voice low but commanding.

Luke jumped into action, practically tripping over his own feet as he made his way to the minibar in the corner of the room. His movements were quick, almost frantic, as he fumbled with the bottles. Kieran stayed rooted in place, his eyes darting nervously between Sylus and the table littered with maps and photographs beneath his mask.

Sylus tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair, the rhythmic sound filling the silence like a ticking time bomb. His gaze drifted to the map pinned to the wall, the last known location of your tracker staring mockingly at him. Brunswick. You had managed to slip through his fingers there, and the thought of you wandering the streets, clutching your belly, filled him with a mix of frustration and something dangerously close to anguish.

Did you honestly think you could outrun him? Did you think he wouldn’t find you? Sylus exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening as he forced the thought aside. It didn’t matter. He would find you. It was only a matter of time. He had found you before, and you hadn't even had the extra weight of pregnancy slowing you down back then.

Luke returned with a fresh glass of whiskey, setting it down on the table with a trembling hand. Sylus reached for it without a word, swirling the liquid as his eyes remained fixed on the map.

“You’re dismissed,” he said finally, his voice clipped.

The twins wasted no time leaving the room, their footsteps echoing down the hallway. The moment the door clicked shut, Sylus took a slow sip of his whiskey, the burn doing little to ease the tension coiled in his chest.

“Time is ticking, kitten,” he murmured, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Let’s see how far you can run.”

A few more days had dragged by, each one testing the limits of Sylus’s patience and resolve. Nothing had come to fruition despite his tireless efforts, and it was beginning to wear on him. He had spent countless hours combing through the sparse security footage available in Brunswick—a town so technologically outdated it barely had enough cameras to cover its streets. Still, it was better than nothing, and his team had managed to hack into what little surveillance was there.

It was during one of these marathon sessions of reviewing footage that he finally caught a glimpse of you. His eyes locked onto the screen as his heart gave a faint jolt. There you were, walking into the town’s small library. You were bundled in Luke’s coat, its oversized frame swallowing your smaller figure. Despite the layers, you were still shivering slightly, and the way you rubbed your belly with one hand only made Sylus’s chest tighten.

“There you are,” he murmured under his breath, the words slipping out without thought. You looked so lost, so fragile, and the sight ignited a strange mix of emotions in him. Anger at your stubbornness for running, guilt for the circumstances that had driven you to this point, and something softer—an aching need to pull you back into his arms where you belonged.

Hours later, the footage showed you exiting the library. The streetlights bathed you in a faint, golden glow as you paused just outside the doors, your movements slow and deliberate. You glanced around nervously before walking over to a nearby bench. Sylus watched as you sat down, your hands resting protectively on your belly. He could practically see the gears turning in your head, the way your eyes darted around as if trying to calculate your next move.

And then, just as quickly as you had appeared, you stood up and walked out of the camera’s range, disappearing once again. Sylus exhaled slowly, the tension in his chest tightening further. It was almost like losing you all over again, and it stung more than he cared to admit.

“Fine,” he muttered to himself, closing the footage window on his laptop. He had the geo-location of the camera and the exact street. It was enough. He would simply send his men to comb through every building and possible location in that area. If it meant finding you, he didn’t care how long it took.

Reaching for a folder on the desk, his phone suddenly buzzed, the shrill sound cutting through the quiet of the hotel room. He glanced at the screen, and his brows furrowed slightly when he saw the name: Dr. Merill. The doctor wasn’t someone who called often, but given the situation, Sylus had been expecting this eventually.

For a brief moment, he hesitated. He didn’t want to speak to anyone who might remind him of the gravity of your situation. But then, with a sigh, he picked up the phone and pressed it to his ear.

“Sylus speaking,” he said curtly, flipping the folder shut with one hand as he leaned back in his chair.

“Just calling to check in,” Dr. Merill’s voice came through, calm and professional. “I was wondering if you’d planned an at-home birth or if you intended to use a facility? I know the circumstances of your… relationship are tricky, but I’d like to be prepared. The birth can be extremely hush hush either way.”

Sylus’s jaw tightened slightly. The reminder of your absence, of how precarious everything was, set his teeth on edge. He decided to get straight to the point.

“There’s no need for that right now,” he said sharply. “She’s missing.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, and when Dr. Merill spoke again, there was an edge of concern in his voice. “Oh my. I’m sorry to hear that. I’m assuming she’s still pregnant?”

“As far as I know, yes,” Sylus replied, his tone clipped. He turned to stare out the window of his hotel room, his eyes scanning the streets below. His reflection in the glass stared back at him, eyes filled with something he refused to name. “But no doubt the added stress of running away could result in pre-term labor, correct?”

The words tasted bitter on his tongue, and he hated the image they conjured in his mind. He pictured you somewhere cold and alone, screaming and crying in pain as you gave birth without anyone to help you. His brows furrowed deeply, and he rubbed his temple with his fingers as if he could erase the thought entirely.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Dr. Merill admitted, his tone cautious. “And given her current weakened state, I’d say I’m even more concerned that something medically significant could go wrong and she’d be alone. I don’t mean to worry you, of course, but—”

“You don’t need to sugarcoat it,” Sylus interrupted, his voice dropping lower. “Tell me how long I have.”

The doctor hesitated again before answering, “Give or take… a week or two, at most. It’s difficult to say for certain when exactly itll happen, but she’s close.”

Sylus exhaled slowly, his hand tightening into a fist on the armrest of his chair. A week or two. Maybe less. The clock was ticking, and the thought of you enduring labor without him—or worse, something going wrong—made his stomach twist.

“Thank you, Dr. Merill,” he said, his voice colder than he intended. “I’ll handle it.”

“Of course,” Merill replied carefully. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to assist.”

Sylus hung up without another word, tossing the phone onto the desk. For a moment, he just sat there, staring at the blinking dot on the map. You were close. He knew you were close. But time wasn’t on his side, and neither was luck. If he didn’t act decisively, he risked losing everything.

“Kitten,” he murmured to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. “You're a lot more stubborn than I thought”

His crimson eyes burned with determination as he reached for his glass of whiskey. The hunt was far from over. It was only just beginning.

Sylus spent the next few hours scouring the streets, stopping at every possible lead you might have left behind. His footsteps finally brought him to the library—the one place he’d seen you on the surveillance footage before you disappeared again. The building was unassuming, small compared to the libraries he was accustomed to in the cities. Its brick façade was weathered by time, and the glass doors bore smudges from countless hands. The faded sign above the entrance read, Brunswick Public Library. It seemed like the kind of place where people came to escape reality for a while—quiet, simple, unremarkable. But to Sylus, it was a potential goldmine of information.

He entered with several of his men trailing behind him, their sharp gazes scanning the surroundings. The air inside smelled faintly of old paper and dust, mingling with the sterile scent of cleaning products. Rows of mismatched bookshelves lined the space, interspersed with outdated computers and worn-out armchairs. A few patrons lingered near the shelves, their heads snapping up at the sight of Sylus and his entourage. Whispers began to ripple through the room.

"Who’s that guy?" "FBI, maybe? He looks important…" "Or dangerous…Look at the size of him!"

Sylus ignored the murmurs, his long strides taking him straight to the front desk. His polished shoes clicked against the scuffed linoleum floor, and the whispers faded into a tense silence as he reached the counter. Behind it sat a middle-aged woman, typing away at a computer with the kind of practiced disinterest that came from years of routine. She didn’t even glance up when he approached.

"Returns aren’t done at the front anymore," she said flatly, her fingers continuing to clack against the keyboard. "There’s a new system for book returns near the door."

Sylus leaned down slightly, his presence towering and unignorable. He tapped a single finger on the desk, the sound sharp and deliberate. "If I happened to be returning a book from ten years ago," he said smoothly, his voice carrying an edge of menace, "how much would my fine be?"

The woman’s fingers froze mid-typing, and her eyes darted up at Sylus with a mix of confusion and mild irritation. Her annoyance quickly melted away, however, as her gaze traveled upward—up and up until it landed on his face. She blinked, her expression shifting to one of surprise, her brow furrowing slightly as though trying to place him.

“My goodness,” she finally said, clutching her chest in a dramatic fashion. “You’re…tall! What are you, a basketball player?”

Sylus resisted the urge to roll his eyes, his patience already razor-thin. Instead, he straightened his back, exuding a cold, unshakable authority that made the air around him feel heavier. "I’ll cut to the chase," he said, his tone sharp enough to make the woman flinch slightly. "There was a pregnant woman in here a some time ago. Shes very far along, wearing a long coat, about this tall." He gestured vaguely with his hand. "I need to know if she mentioned where she was headed next."

The woman’s brows knitted together, and she folded her arms across her chest, clearly not intimidated enough to abandon her sense of defiance. "Pregnant woman?" she repeated, her tone skeptical. "Look, mister, I don’t keep tabs on every person who walks in here. And unless you’re police, I don’t see why I should help you."

Sylus’s jaw tightened, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. The faint tension in his posture was enough to send a ripple of unease through the room. He leaned closer, his hand gripping the edge of the counter as he spoke in a low, measured tone. "She’s my fiancé," he said, feigning a hint of desperation in his voice. "She’s missing, and I’m worried about her. If you have any information, now would be a very good time to share it."

The woman hesitated, her defiance wavering slightly under the weight of his gaze. Before she could respond, a younger male assistant rolled his chair over from a nearby workstation. His nervous energy was palpable, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt as he cleared his throat.

"Uh, sir?" the assistant stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I…I think I know who you’re talking about."

Sylus’s attention snapped to the young man, his sharp gaze pinning him in place. "Go on," he said, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable undertone of command.

The assistant swallowed hard, glancing nervously at his coworker before continuing. "She came in a few days ago," he said, his words tumbling out in a rush. "Asked me for recommendations on pregnancy and birthing books. I showed her to the maternity and health section over there." He gestured toward a cozy nook in the corner, where a cluster of beanbag chairs surrounded a small shelf of health-related books. "She stayed there for hours…until closing."

Sylus’s gaze followed the assistant’s gesture, landing on the corner of the library. The beanbag chairs looked deflated and worn, the small bookshelf stuffed with outdated titles on health and wellness. He could almost picture you there—curled up awkwardly in one of those chairs, one hand resting on your belly while the other turned the fragile pages of a pregnancy manual. His jaw clenched at the thought.

Were you really that desperate? The notion hit him like a punch to the gut. You had come here, to this tiny, rundown library, to prepare yourself for one of the most terrifying and vulnerable moments of your life—all alone. No doctor, no midwife, no one to reassure you or guide you. You had been reading birthing books, scouring for answers, planning to face labor and delivery on your own. Did you feel like you had no choice? Were you scared? Of course, you had to be. The thought of you, terrified and struggling, filled him with a cold, simmering rage—not at you, but at the situation that had driven you to this point.

His hands curled into fists at his sides as his imagination ran wild. Had you rubbed your belly in that corner, whispering soft reassurances to your unborn daughter while fighting back tears? Had you been overwhelmed by the medical jargon, scanning page after page, trying to decipher what to expect? Sylus couldn’t bear the image. You were supposed to be cared for, supported, protected. You shouldn’t have had to step foot in this shabby little library to learn about childbirth on your own. You shouldn’t have been alone, period.

The assistant’s voice broke through his thoughts, hesitant and nervous. "She…seemed really focused. Sat over there for hours. I, uh, offered to bring her water or tea, but she declined. She just kept reading until we had to close up."

Sylus exhaled sharply, the sound low and barely audible. Of course, you would refuse help. Stubborn as ever. You had always been strong, determined, fiercely independent—but this wasn’t strength. This was desperation, and it pained him more than he cared to admit. He could imagine you sitting there, putting on a brave face, forcing yourself to learn everything you could because you had no one else to rely on. And that thought? That hurt worse than anything else.

And honestly? The thought of this man offering you anything, much less talking to you at all made him want to break his neck right here. Of course, he refrained.

The ghost of a sigh escaped his lips as he turned back to the assistant. "And after closing?" he asked, his voice steady but colder now, barely masking the emotions bubbling beneath the surface.

The assistant shook his head, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I didn’t see where she went after that, sir. She just…left. No mention of where she was going."

Sylus stood there for a moment, his sharp eyes staring into the distance, the image of you leaving this library alone burned into his mind. Wrapping Luke’s oversized coat tighter around yourself, shivering in the cold. His kitten, scared and alone, carrying his child, walking into the night as though the weight of the world rested on your shoulders. Did you think no one cared? Did you think he didn’t care?

Sylus’s fingers curled slightly against the counter, his frustration mounting. He was so close—close enough to feel the ghost of your presence lingering in the room—and yet, once again, you had slipped through his grasp. His eyes bore into the young man, searching for any sign of deceit, but the assistant’s trembling form seemed genuine enough.

Straightening, Sylus nodded curtly to his men, signaling for them to begin leaving. He turned back to the assistant, his expression softening ever so slightly as he spoke. "If you remember anything else," he said, his voice quieter but no less commanding, "anything at all, you’ll call this number." He handed the young man a card, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air.

Without waiting for a response, Sylus turned on his heel and strode toward the exit, his men following close behind. The whispers resumed as soon as he was out of earshot, but he paid them no mind. His thoughts were consumed by one thing and one thing only: you. You were close—he could feel it. And no matter how far you ran, no matter how well you hid, he would find you. It was only a matter of time.

As Sylus closed in on the exit, the air around him felt heavier. The assistant, and the older woman at the desk visibly relaxed as he moved toward it. His men followed in his shadow, their presence casting a long, foreboding aura across the quiet library. The room seemed to exhale a collective sigh of relief the moment Sylus reached the door. The faint chime of the bell above it announced his departure, but even as he stepped outside into the brisk evening air, his sharp hearing caught the hushed whispers behind him.

“Thank you, Matthew…” the older woman murmured in a voice so low it was nearly inaudible. "I thought he was about to hit me. Did you call the police? He’s very…shady."

There was a soft shuffle, as though the assistant was fidgeting nervously. "I don’t know, Miss,” Matthew replied, his voice trembling slightly. “But something tells me the police won’t stop him. He’s not… normal. We shouldn’t get involved.”

Sylus paused just outside the door, his hand resting on the cool metal frame. Their words didn’t anger him—they intrigued him. The woman’s fear, the assistant’s unease—it wasn’t just his appearance or the tension in the room that unnerved them. They’d felt it, that instinctual warning that came from being in the presence of a predator.

People always did.

A slight smirk tugged at the corner of Sylus’s lips as he straightened his coat and pushed the library door shut behind him. He’d spent years honing that effect, the ability to radiate quiet menace without needing to raise his voice or make an explicit threat. But he also knew it had its limits—fear alone wouldn’t lead him to you.

The whispers continued, faint but audible through the glass. “What if he comes back?” the older woman asked, her voice quivering. “We should…we should tell someone, just in case.”

Sylus’s smirk disappeared, replaced by a sharp, calculating expression. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he mulled over their words. If they called the police, it would only complicate things—not because he feared them, but because unnecessary attention could spook you if you were still nearby. He couldn’t risk you catching wind of his presence and disappearing again.

Adjusting the cufflinks on his shirt, Sylus turned to his men. “We move now,” he said, his voice clipped and commanding. “Search the streets near here. Every café, every motel, every alley. If she’s nearby, I want her found. Unharmed. Not a single scratch.”

His men nodded, splitting off into the shadows like hounds released from a leash. Sylus stood still for a moment longer, glancing down the street. The lights from the shop windows glowed faintly against the dimming sky, the town settling into an almost eerie quiet. His thoughts flickered back to the image of you in the library, flipping through pages of birthing books, your shoulders tense with worry. The vision made his chest ache with a feeling he couldn’t quite name.

You were here. You had been here. And if you’d left, you wouldn’t have gone far.

“Sweetie…” Sylus murmured under his breath, his voice low and edged with determination. “Where are you hiding?”

Straightening his spine, he strode down the street, the whispers in the library fading behind him. They were right about one thing—getting involved wouldn’t stop him. Nothing would.

Sylus returned to his hotel room as the rain began to drum steadily against the windowpane. The muted glow of the city’s lights barely pierced the stormy night, and the low rumble of thunder in the distance mirrored the storm brewing in his chest. His search for you had yielded nothing concrete—only fleeting traces of your presence, tantalizingly close yet agonizingly out of reach. Frustration clung to him like a second skin, and he sought solace in routine.

He strode over to the record player nestled on a small table by the corner of the room. Sliding a vinyl disc from its sleeve, he placed it carefully on the turntable and set the needle down. The soft, melancholic strains of a classical piano piece filled the room, its delicate notes a temporary balm for his fraying nerves.

Never in his life had he struggled so much to find simple traces of someone. You were being extra careful this time, clearly.

Just as he sank into his chair, savoring the faint relief the music brought, an insistent rapping broke the atmosphere. His eyes flicked to the window, narrowing at the sight of Mephisto perched on the sill, his metallic feathers glinting in the dim light. Rain dripped from the bird’s beak, and its glowing red eyes stared at Sylus with what could almost be described as irritation.

Sylus chuckled softly, the sound low and devoid of humor. “Eager to escape the rain, are we?” he murmured, standing to unlatch the window. With a swift motion, he opened it, and Mephisto hopped inside, shaking off the rain like an indignant dog. Droplets scattered across the room, and the crow let out an exasperated series of caws, as if voicing his displeasure with the weather.

“It’s a good thing you showed up,” Sylus said, closing the window behind him and shutting out the storm. He turned back to the bird, his tone shifting to something more matter-of-fact. “It’s time for a little maintenance. Not like I have much else to do at the moment.”

Mephisto’s caws grew sharper, almost as if protesting. The bird flapped its wings briefly, hopping away from Sylus’s reach with a mechanical whir. “Don’t be like that,” Sylus chided, crossing his arms and watching the bird’s antics with mild amusement. “You knew this was coming.”

The crow’s protests dwindled into begrudging silence, its head tilting as if to say, Fine. Have it your way. Sylus smirked, scooping up the bird with practiced ease and carrying him over to the desk. He reached for a toolkit tucked into the drawer, setting out an array of small wrenches, screwdrivers, and oil canisters.

He adjusted his chair slightly, his long fingers deftly unscrewing a tiny bolt from Mephisto’s outer shell. The mechanical crow had been his most loyal companion for years, serving him well in countless missions. But tonight, his intentions were different. This wasn’t just routine maintenance—this was preparation, a personal touch for the life he was about to welcome into the world.

Carefully, he lifted Mephisto’s casing and set it aside, revealing the intricate network of gears, wires, and circuits that powered the bird. The scent of machine oil and metal filled the air as he reached for a small bottle of lubricant, meticulously applying it to the crow’s joints. The familiar motions brought him a strange sense of calm, though his mind was far from at ease.

As he tightened a loose screw near Mephisto’s left wing joint, his thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the future. Soon, very soon, his daughter would be here. His daughter. The words still felt foreign in his mind, though they filled him with a rare warmth. He could almost see her in his mind’s eye—a tiny, delicate figure wrapped in soft blankets, her little hand gripping his finger with surprising strength.

Would she have your eyes? Your smile? The thought sent a pang through his chest, a mix of longing and regret. He should’ve been there with you now, protecting you, ensuring you were safe and cared for as you neared the end of your pregnancy. Instead, he was here, chasing shadows and trying to bring you back.

His hand hesitated briefly over a small compartment in Mephisto’s chest. With a soft click, it popped open, revealing a slot for the protocore. He removed the old one and replaced it with a newer, more advanced one, ensuring the bird would be more efficient in its flying abilities. But that wasn’t all. From the corner of his toolkit, Sylus picked up a tiny, specially designed module—a music player he’d built weeks ago.

The idea had come to him one night as he lay awake, envisioning the life he wanted to build for his daughter. He’d thought of the quiet moments—rocking her to sleep, her soft breathing against his chest, the world reduced to just the two of them. Mephisto, with his tireless loyalty, could play a part in those moments. The bird, a tool of surveillance and strategy, would now also be something softer, something comforting. He carefully slotted the module into place, ensuring it was securely connected to the crow’s internal systems.

As he tightened the last screw to secure the music feature, Sylus allowed himself a small, fleeting smile. The lullaby function was a simple addition, but it felt deeply significant. It was a way to bridge the gap between his harsh, pragmatic world and the innocence of the life he was about to meet. He could almost hear the gentle strains of a music box melody filling a quiet room, soothing his daughter to sleep. Perhaps you’d be there, too, watching with that skeptical but affectionate gaze of yours.

He shook his head slightly, snapping himself out of the daydream. There was no point in indulging in such fantasies—not until he had you both back where you belonged. Yet, the thought lingered, stubborn and unshakable.

Hours passed as Sylus continued his work, his focus unwavering. He adjusted Mephisto’s wings, ensuring their mobility was flawless, and fine-tuned the sensors in his eyes for better visual clarity. Every movement was precise, deliberate, as if the act of repairing the bird was a reflection of his desire to piece his own fractured world back together. Sylus leaned back in his chair, wiping his hands with a cloth as he watched Mephisto blink to life.

The bird’s eyes glowed brightly, its head twitching as it recalibrated his systems. He let out a triumphant “Caw! Caw!” and flapped his newly oiled wings, testing his restored mobility.

“Welcome back,” Sylus said dryly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. Mephisto preened, seemingly pleased with his upgrades. “Now, let’s see if the new feature works.” Sylus leaned forward slightly, his voice carrying a soft command. “Mephisto, play a lullaby.”

The bird tilted its head, his glowing eyes flickering faintly as if processing the request. There was a brief pause, the sound of faint whirring emanating from his body, and then the first gentle notes of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star began to play. The tune was soft and delicate, like a music box, its simplicity filling the room with a bittersweet warmth.

Sylus closed his eyes, letting the sound wash over him. In his mind, he pictured holding his daughter for the first time, her small body cradled against his chest. He imagined the way she might yawn or squirm, the way her tiny hand might reach out to him. The thought brought a tightness to his throat, an unfamiliar ache that he didn’t quite know how to name. And then there was you—your face, your voice, your presence that haunted him even now. He wanted to hold you both, to keep two of you safe, to rewrite the chaos of the past months into something that resembled a future.

When the song ended, Mephisto let out a soft, inquisitive caw, as though asking for approval. Sylus opened his eyes, his expression unreadable as he stared at the bird. “Not bad,” he said quietly, leaning back in his chair. His fingers picked up the glass of whiskey on the table, but he didn’t take a sip. Instead, he stared out the window at the rain-soaked streets below, the faint echo of the lullaby lingering in his mind.

“You’ll play that for her one day.” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the storm outside.

The town seemed endless, a maze of possibilities where you could be hiding. But no matter how far you ran, no matter how well you thought you’d covered your tracks, Sylus was certain of one thing.

He would find you. And when he did, he would never let you go again.

Mephisto perched on the desk, his glowing eyes watching Sylus intently, as though he understood the weight of those words.

The knock at the door was sharp and insistent, pulling Sylus from his thoughts. He set his glass of whiskey down and glanced toward the door, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Enter," he called, his voice calm yet commanding.

The door creaked open to reveal Kieran, his bird-like mask slightly askew as he stepped inside. His chest heaved, and his breathing was uneven, as though he’d just run a great distance. Even in the dim light of the room, the excitement radiating off him was palpable.

“Boss!” Kieran said, his voice breathless yet eager. “We have a lead.”

Sylus straightened in his chair, his fingers idly brushing against the edge of the desk. “Go on,” he said, his tone smooth but tinged with a subtle urgency.

Kieran stepped further into the room, practically vibrating with excitement. “There’s a diner nearby,” he began, barely able to contain himself. “One of the women who worked there mentioned something about a pregnant girl staying at a farmhouse to her brother. She let it slip during a conversation, but when we tried to press her for more information, she clammed up. Seemed…very hush-hush about it all of a sudden. Too suspicious to ignore.”

Sylus’s eyes sharpened, and for the first time in days, a genuine smile curved across his lips. Relief flooded his chest, spreading through him like a long-awaited balm to his fraying patience. Finally. There was no way this was a coincidence. A pregnant girl hiding in a farmhouse? It had to be you.

His fingers tightened slightly on the desk, the faintest tremor of anticipation running through him. “You’re certain?” he asked, though the answer was already evident in Kieran’s confident posture.

Kieran nodded vigorously. “I am, boss. It lines up. The woman wouldn’t give up anything else, but it’s clear she’s hiding something. We’ve got her cornered, and I can lead you there.”

Sylus leaned back in his chair, his mind already racing. He’d known it was only a matter of time before things went his way, and now the opportunity was finally within reach. His earlier frustrations melted away, replaced by a razor-sharp focus.

“Good work,” he said, his voice carrying an edge of approval. “Make sure the car is ready. I’ll be down shortly.”

Kieran gave a quick nod, his eagerness evident in the way he all but dashed out of the room to carry out the order.

Sylus stood, rolling his shoulders as he glanced toward the desk where Mephisto perched, watching him with his glowing red eyes. “Looks like the waiting game is over,” he murmured, straightening his jacket as he moved toward the door. His steps were deliberate, every movement exuding purpose.

As he left the room, the storm outside seemed to intensify, the rain lashing against the windows as if mirroring his growing anticipation. Soon, he would have you back. And this time, there would be no escape.

Sylus pushed open the diner’s door, the small bell overhead jingling softly as he stepped inside. The warm scent of frying bacon and stale coffee wafted through the air, but his focus was immediately drawn to the scene at the counter. One of his men was interrogating a middle-aged woman, her face flushed with irritation as she gestured emphatically.

“I’m telling you, it was just a slip of the tongue! She’s my niece, not some random!” the woman barked, crossing her arms defiantly. Her voice carried a sharp edge, and her posture screamed exasperation. Her tirade paused momentarily as she heard the door chime, her sharp eyes narrowing as Sylus stepped inside.

“Oh, great! There’s more of ya! Your buddy’s already bothering my customers—now you’ve brought reinforcements?” she snapped, throwing her hands up in frustration. “Just leave! For crying out loud.”

Sylus adjusted his jacket and calmly made his way to a nearby booth, his movements measured and unbothered by her hostility. Sliding into the vinyl seat, he clasped his hands together and leaned forward slightly, his crimson eyes fixed on her. The intensity in his gaze was softened only by the faint smile curling his lips, though it was far from reassuring.

“We don’t wish to interrupt your business, ma’am,” he said smoothly, his tone polite but carrying an unmistakable undercurrent of authority. “But you see, the woman we’re looking for is of great importance to me. Your cooperation would be…appreciated.”

Sylus gave a brief description of your features and what you were last wearing, but she simply rolled her eyes.

The woman, who seemed unfazed by his imposing presence, raised an eyebrow and snorted. “First of all, my name’s not ‘ma’am.’ It’s Clara. Get it right. And second, I don’t gotta tell you or your goons a damn thing,” she said, taking a deliberate drag of her cigarette. Her defiance was palpable, her demeanor unshaken despite the clear tension in the room.

Sylus studied her for a moment, his expression unchanging. Her stubbornness was mildly amusing, and he allowed a soft chuckle to escape his lips. She was a tough one, that much was clear. Still, he doubted she’d been much trouble if you truly were under her care. He leaned back in the booth, his gaze cool and calculating.

“I understand,” he said evenly. “This must be stressful for you. However, I’d like to propose a deal. Fifty thousand in cash for any information on the woman we’re seeking.” His voice remained calm, almost casual, as though he were suggesting an innocuous business arrangement rather than attempting to buy her out.

"Given immediately of course."

Clara’s eyes narrowed, and she planted her hands firmly on the counter, leaning toward him. “Who do you take me for?” she snapped, her voice rising. “That’s my niece! I’m not about to sell her out to some weirdo with a fancy suit and a gang of lackeys. God knows what you’re planning!”

“Go ahead. Try to wave your money around somewhere else. Ain’t gonna work here, buddy!”

Before Sylus could respond, Clara punctuated her anger by spitting at his feet. The wad of saliva landed just inches from the polished leather of his shoes, a wet splatter against the worn linoleum floor. The sound seemed louder than it should have been in the now-silent diner. Every eye in the room shifted between Clara and Sylus, waiting, tense with anticipation, for what would happen next.

Sylus’s gaze lowered, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the spot where her spit had landed. The movement was slow, deliberate, the kind of motion that made it clear he wasn’t ignoring the insult—he was acknowledging it. Time seemed to stretch unbearably as he remained still, staring at the ground as if weighing his response. The air felt charged, oppressive, like the moment before a storm.

When he finally looked up, his expression was unreadable, his sharp features calm yet dangerous. Clara met his gaze head-on, her chin raised defiantly, her body language radiating a kind of reckless bravery. She’d made her point, and she wasn’t backing down, but even so, the slight tremor in her hands betrayed her nerves.

Sylus tilted his head ever so slightly, a faint, unsettling smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The contrast between his calm demeanor and the oppressive weight of his presence was enough to make a few customers shift uncomfortably in their seats.

“This is…” he began, his voice smooth as velvet, yet laced with something sharp and dangerous, “rather disappointing.”

The simplicity of the statement carried an unsettling finality, as though he were speaking to a child who had failed to meet his expectations rather than a woman who had just spit at him. He straightened to his full height, towering over Clara and everyone else in the room, and began brushing off his jacket with slow, deliberate movements. The gesture was almost casual, but there was a precision to it, a hint of control that was impossible to ignore.

“But I understand,” he continued, his tone calm, measured, and far too composed given the circumstances. His eyes flicked over Clara, taking in every detail of her stance, her expression, the subtle quiver in her jaw that she likely thought she’d hidden well. “Loyalty is…admirable.”

He let the words linger in the air, his voice softening slightly as if offering her a compliment. But the underlying menace in his tone was unmistakable, and everyone in the room felt it. Clara’s expression didn’t waver, though a flicker of uncertainty crossed her eyes for the briefest of moments.

Sylus stepped back, his hands sliding into his pockets with a grace that belied the simmering tension beneath the surface. “It’s a rare quality these days,” he added, his gaze never leaving Clara’s. “But rare qualities often come at a cost, don’t they?”

The room was suffocatingly quiet as Sylus turned on his heel, his movements fluid and unhurried. He strode toward the door, the sound of his polished shoes against the linoleum floor echoing in the silence. His men followed closely, their sharp eyes flicking between Clara and their boss, but none of them spoke.

Clara stood rooted to the spot, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her jaw clenched. She didn’t say another word as Sylus reached the door, but her eyes burned with a mixture of defiance and unease. The other diners and customers watched the scene unfold with bated breath, their gazes darting between Clara and the imposing man who had just been so casually insulted.

As Sylus reached the door, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder with a faint smirk. “Enjoy your evening, Clara. It’s a nice little diner you have here.” His tone was polite, almost conversational, but there was an unmistakable edge to his words—a quiet promise that this wasn’t over.

He motioned for his men to follow, and they did so without hesitation, their heavy boots echoing against the diner’s tiled floor. The room remained silent as the group exited, the bell on the door jingling faintly as it swung shut behind them.

Clara remained where she was, her arms still crossed, her jaw tight as her brother approached her cautiously.

“You think that was smart?” he muttered, his voice low but tinged with worry. “Spittin at a guy like that?”

“He needed to know I don’t scare easy,” Clara snapped, though her voice wasn’t as steady as she would’ve liked. She reached for another cigarette, her fingers trembling slightly as she lit it. “And I don’t regret it.”

Her brother glanced toward the door, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t know, Clara… Something about him. He’s not like the usual riffraff that comes around here.”

“Let him try something,” she said stubbornly, exhaling a puff of smoke. “I’m not scared of men like him. I dealt with those kind of men before".

Outside, the rain poured steadily, drenching the streets and forming shallow puddles on the cracked asphalt. Sylus stopped just short of the car, his gaze fixed on the neon lights of the diner sign reflected in the water. His calm demeanor had not wavered, but there was a simmering intensity in his eyes that his men knew better than to question.

“Keep an eye on her,” Sylus said, his voice low but commanding. “I'll have Mephisto tracking her every move. And you two…” He turned his gaze to Luke and Kieran, who stood at attention despite the rain soaking their suits. “Do a deep dive on everything you can find about this…Clara. Where she lives, who she associates with, what her connections are. Be prepared for anything.”

“Yes, boss!” they replied in unison, nodding behind their bird masks.

Sylus finally slid into the car, his fingers drumming against his knee as he stared out at the rain-slicked streets. They were closing in, he could feel it. You weren’t far now, and Clara’s defiance wouldn’t change the inevitable.

Sylus sat in the plush armchair of his hotel suite, his gaze fixed on the rain streaking down the window. His fingers traced the edge of his glass absently, the remnants of whiskey untouched. The room was dimly lit, quiet except for the soft crackle of the record spinning in the corner—a slow, haunting melody that only amplified the weight in his chest.

He had spent days combing through every scrap of evidence, piecing together your trail. Tailing Clara had proven to be lackluster so far, she hadn't even left town yet. Though the twins had dug up some very interesting information on her. Mephisto, despite scouring the skies once more, had failed to catch sight of you. You definitely weren't in town anymore.

His men were following faint whispers and dead ends. He had instructed them to monitor every hospital in a 100 mile radius for any recent recorded births of newborn girls. But every hour that passed without progress was like a tightening noose, and yet he refused to show it. Composure was his weapon, his armor. But even he couldn’t ignore the ache growing in his chest.

You were out there, somewhere. Alone. Pregnant.

Sylus exhaled slowly, setting his glass down on the table with more force than he intended. A faint crack spread through the delicate crystal, but he ignored it. He had cracked a bunch of glasses so far out of pure frustration. His focus was on the desk before him—a small array of equipment spread out meticulously. Tapping into landlines in a radius as outdated as Brunswick hadn’t been difficult, but it had been tedious. He had been listening for hours, catching only irrelevant snippets of conversations. Most people had moved on to cell phones, but he had banked on the idea that you, in a remote farmhouse, might rely on older means of communication.

Then, he finally heard it.

“Ah, hello! Sorry to bother, but my chest really hurts. Do you think you could—”

His breath hitched, sharp and immediate, his entire body going still as the familiar sound of your voice filled the room. For a moment, he thought he had imagined it, that his mind had conjured your voice to taunt him in his desperation. But no, it was you. Your tone carried a trembling edge of discomfort, the exact cadence of your words unmistakable. Sylus’s hand tightened around the phone receiver, his knuckles whitening. A flicker of relief—raw and unguarded—shot through him, mingling with an almost overwhelming ache.

You were alive. You were speaking. And for the first time in days, you weren’t just a figure on a screen or a phantom in his thoughts.

He barely registered the next words coming out of his mouth, his voice soft yet urgent, as though afraid you might disappear if he spoke too loudly. “Your chest?” he interrupted, the sharp edge of his concern cutting through the air. “What’s wrong, kitten?”

He could imagine you now, frozen on the other end of the line, your shock palpable even through the silence. He closed his eyes for a fleeting second, relief washing over him again—but it wasn’t enough to soothe the simmering tension in his chest. You weren’t safe, you weren’t with him, and the sound of your voice only made the ache sharper.

The silence stretched, the faint static of the landline filling the gap, and his grip on the receiver tightened. “Cat got your tongue?” he asked again, his tone gentler now but tinged with an unmistakable vulnerability. Despite himself, a flicker of longing crept into his voice, betraying the iron-clad control he so carefully maintained.

And then your response came, sharp and venomous, cutting through the moment like a blade. “Leave me the fuck alone!” you snapped, your voice trembling with rage. “I swear to God, if you come near me—”

“Now, now,” he interjected smoothly, forcing his voice to remain calm even as your anger formed a greater ache in his heart. He leaned back in his chair, his free hand coming up to rub at the tightness forming at his temple. “Don’t yell. It’s not good for your heart.” His lips pressed into a thin line, his mind racing to piece together the fragile moment. “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.”

Worried. The word hung in the air, heavy with meaning. He meant it more than he cared to admit, but he could already hear the scoff building in your chest.

“Ha!” you spat, disbelief and fury dripping from your tone. “As if…why would I willingly throw myself into another one of your punishments?”

The accusation hit harder than he expected, though he masked it well. His jaw tightened, his mind replaying every moment that had led to this. Did you truly believe that’s what he wanted? His fingers flexed against the phone, his voice softening as he leaned forward again.

“Honey,” he said, his tone a rare blend of tenderness and exasperation. “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.”

He paused, the weight of his own words settling over him. He could hear your unsteady breathing on the other end, could picture you clutching the phone with trembling hands. The thought made his chest tighten further. He wanted to reach through the line, to hold you, to convince you that you didn’t have to keep running. That you never had to run in the first place.

“No,” you said coldly, your voice sharp and unyielding. “If you really cared, you’d leave me alone.”

Sylus didn’t respond immediately. The line crackled faintly with static, but he could still hear the rhythm of your breathing on the other end, shallow and uneven. It was a sound that tightened something deep in his chest, an ache he couldn’t quite suppress. He exhaled slowly, his grip on the receiver firm but controlled. Even from miles away, he could feel your defiance—your fury. He admired it, in a way, even as it frustrated him.

“I can’t do that,” he said at last, his voice soft but resolute. “You’re mine, kitten. I’ll always come for you.”

The words hung in the air, their weight unmistakable, and Sylus knew they would provoke you. He braced himself, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips despite the tension thrumming beneath his skin.

“You fucking basta—”

“I just want to know if you’re taking care of yourself,” Sylus cut in smoothly, his tone gentle yet unshakable. He shifted in his chair, his crimson eyes fixed on the window as he spoke. “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.”

Lucky. The word was carefully chosen, designed to downplay the extent of his efforts to reach you. It wasn’t entirely true—he had poured countless hours into chasing this faint lead—but he didn’t want you spiraling. Not yet. Not until he had you back where you belonged. He let the silence stretch, listening intently for your response, hoping for something—anything—that would tell him you weren’t hurting yourself out of stubborn pride.

Then he broke the silence again, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Are you eating? How’s the baby?”

The question was simple, but the act of asking it stirred something raw within him. He pictured you, clutching your belly, maybe curled up on some cold floor without food or warmth. His chest tightened at the thought. The baby. His baby. He wanted to believe you were keeping yourself safe for her sake, but your defiance worried him. How far would you go to prove a point? Would you risk your own health just to spite him?

He leaned forward, his elbow resting on his knee, his free hand brushing through his hair. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this…powerless. Every fiber of his being was wired for control, but right now, the only thing he could do was keep you on the phone. Convince you to listen. Convince you to trust him, just enough to keep yourself alive until he could find you.

“Fuck you,” you spat, your voice breaking under the weight of your emotions. “I’m alive, aren’t I? That’s all you care about, right?”

He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly through his nose. “That’s not true,” he said, his voice quieter now, carrying an uncharacteristic gentleness. “I care about more than that. I care about you.”

The silence that followed felt suffocating, your skepticism tangible even without words. He could feel the barrier you had put up, the walls he had driven you to build, and the thought clawed at him. Was this his fault? No, he told himself. He had done what was necessary. He had protected you, even if you didn’t see it that way.

“You don’t get to do this,” you said, quieter now but no less sharp. “You don’t get to act like you care after everything you’ve done. Just…leave me alone.”

“I already said I can’t do that, kitten,” Sylus replied, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. “You know I can’t. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Well, I am,” you snapped, the fire back in your voice. “Now stop calling me.”

There was a long pause. He considered his words carefully, knowing this might be the last time he heard your voice for a while. Finally, he spoke, his tone softer than before. “I won’t call again, if that’s what you want. 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.”

Your bitter laugh rang through the line, sharp and cutting. “Protect me? From what? You’re the only threat I need protection from, Sylus.”

The words hit their mark, sharper than any blade, but Sylus didn’t let it show. “Believe what you want,” he said quietly. “But if something happens, call me. Please. You have this number.”

The line went dead. Sylus sat there for a long moment, the silence of the room enveloping him as he set the receiver down. The ache in his chest hadn’t lessened—in fact, it had only grown. You were alive, but you weren’t safe. And until you were back in his arms, he would never stop searching.

Sylus sat back in the dim light of his hotel room, the flicker of the city outside casting long shadows across his face. He tipped his glass back, the sharp burn of whiskey sliding down his throat, but it did little to dull the ache gnawing at his chest. His nerves were raw, his thoughts scattered. No one—no one—had ever driven him to the edge like this. On the outside, his expression was stone-cold, his eyes unyielding, but inside…inside he was a storm of chaos.

He reached for the bottle and poured another glass, his hand steady despite the fire raging in his veins. The memory of your voice on the phone echoed in his mind, a haunting melody he couldn’t shake. The anger in your words, the defiance—it clawed at him, driving him to drink more, to try and calm the madness building inside him.

This Clara woman. The name lingered bitterly on his tongue as he downed the next glass. She had to have you. There was no other explanation. It wasn’t coincidence. It was her meddling that had you hiding, keeping you and the baby away from him. The thought of you, pregnant with his child, under another’s roof—it ignited something feral in him. Clara wasn’t just keeping you from him. She was ruining everything.

But it wasn’t just her that left him seething. It was you. He told himself he wouldn't be angry with you, and he wasn't fully. But god it was frustrated him to his core.

His jaw tightened as he poured yet another glass, the amber liquid rippling under his gaze. How could you leave at a time like this? The thought rattled in his mind like a broken mantra. Throwing yourself into danger—for what? Did he not provide well enough for you? Did he not protect you, give you everything you could possibly need? His hand clenched around the glass so tightly that he was surprised it didn’t crack like the rest.

Was it the hormones? The thought crossed his mind briefly, though it felt like an excuse. He knew he wasn’t a perfect man—far from it—but he hadn’t been that bad, had he? No, there had to be more. Something deeper. Something he hadn’t seen coming.

And yet, even as frustration bubbled under his skin, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about you, about the time you stood before him, declaring your love in front of Xavier. He closed his eyes, and for a brief, fleeting moment, he could feel your lips on his again. Soft, warm, yielding. He had felt the fire in that kiss, the passion. He had felt you give yourself to him, even if just for a moment. And when he’d wrapped his arms around you, it had been more than just possession—it had been triumph.

You chose me, he thought bitterly, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. In that moment, nothing else in the world had mattered. Not Xavier, not the lies, not even the inevitability of the situation. You had chosen him, and it had been the purest form of happiness he had ever felt.

But now? Now, you had ripped that happiness from him. You had shattered the illusion. You had run, throwing yourself into danger like some reckless fool. Did you even realize how precarious your situation was? Waving a gun at people in broad daylight, pregnant and vulnerable—it made his blood boil to think of it. You were lucky, so damn lucky, that he’d already paid someone to erase the footage from the bus. If he hadn’t, who knows what kind of situation you might be in right now.

I’m the one cleaning up all your messes. Because I care about you. Because I’m responsible for you.

Anyone else might have laughed at the absurdity of it, but Sylus didn’t find it amusing. He saw the danger in it, the recklessness that could’ve gotten you killed—or worse. He’d paid a small fortune to ensure the footage was erased, scrubbing away any trace of your actions.

Why? Because that’s what he did. He protected you, even from yourself.

No one else in the world would’ve done that for you, and yet, here he was, covering your tracks, cleaning up the fallout of your decisions. It wasn’t out of obligation, no. It was because you were pregnant with his child. Because you were his. And that meant something. It meant everything.

You might have been running, fighting to stay away from him, but Sylus knew the truth. He was the only one who could truly take care of you. Not Clara. Not Xavier. Him. And the fact that you couldn’t—or wouldn’t—see that gnawed at him in a way nothing else could.

He rubbed his temples, letting out a low sigh as the thoughts churned in his mind. He had sacrificed so much already, bending his rules, softening his nature, all for you. And yet, here you were, throwing yourself into chaos, dragging his child along with you. Did you even realize what you were doing? How much he was trying for you? For her?

He rubbed his temples harder, his teeth grinding against each other as he tried to rein in his spiraling thoughts. Why did you leave? The question gnawed at him, refusing to let him rest. Did you really not trust him? Was he truly so unbearable in your eyes?

He slammed his glass down on the table, whiskey sloshing over the edges as a low growl escaped his throat. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were supposed to stay. To build a life with him and the baby. To be safe, protected, and adored.

He grabbed the whiskey bottle again, pausing briefly as his mind wandered back to the phone call. The way your voice trembled, the anger and fear laced through it—it wasn’t hatred he had heard. It was pain. Hurt. Exhaustion. And that realization, as much as he hated to admit it, carved a hole through his chest.

No matter how much he wanted to be angry at you for this, no matter how much your defiance infuriated him, Sylus couldn’t shake the truth. He didn’t just want you back because of control. He wanted you because, without you, nothing felt right.

It was himself that he was truly mad at.

You were his anchor in a world that otherwise felt too hollow.

He loved you. What had started as obsession had bloomed into an emotion he never thought was possible for a fiend like him.

And he would have you back, no matter what it took.

You had finally forced yourself to get up, your entire body feeling like it had been run over by a freight train. But you had no choice—your daughter needed you. The umbilical cord still connected the two of you, a fragile and grotesque reminder of the bond you shared, but one that couldn’t remain uncut for long. One of the books you had read, back at the library, had mentioned that leaving it uncut for too long could lead to complications. You clung to that fragment of knowledge like a lifeline, despite how much the words in those books had overwhelmed you at the time.

Careful not to tug on the cord, you steadied yourself as you walked through the bloodied chaos of the farmhouse, scanning frantically for scissors. Each step sent a fresh wave of ache through your legs and abdomen, but you gritted your teeth and pressed on. Your daughter’s cries echoed on your chest, high-pitched and relentless, making your chest tighten with every passing second. You cursed yourself under your breath for being so unprepared. How could you not have scissors? How could you be this careless?

Your search came up empty, and you were out of time. Panic clawed at your throat as you realized you’d have to improvise. You grabbed a knife from the kitchen, its blade duller than you’d have liked but better than nothing. Returning to the couch, you set down your baby, carefully unwrapped the bundle of blankets surrounding her, trying not to jostle her too much. She immediately let out an ear-splitting wail, her tiny face scrunching up as if she could sense your hesitation.

“I’m so sorry,” you murmured, your voice trembling as tears pricked the corners of your eyes. “Just hold on, okay? I’ll be fast, I promise.”

Your hands shook as you positioned the knife against the cord, working slowly and methodically to avoid cutting too close to her delicate belly button—or slicing yourself in the process. Her cries grew louder, piercing your ears, and you felt your stomach churn with guilt and terror. Finally, the knife finally cut through the cord, and the severed piece fell to the floor. You pulled the other end out of you. Relief washed over you like a wave, and you exhaled shakily, wiping the sweat from your brow.

But the relief was short-lived. Your daughter continued to scream on the couch, her tiny fists flailing as her cries filled the room. The sound was unbearable, each shrill wail slicing through your nerves and making your heart pound harder in your chest. You froze, staring at her with wide, panicked eyes.

What do I do next!?

Your mind was a foggy mess, every thought tripping over itself in a jumbled cacophony. The books didn’t prepare you for this. Nothing did.

The placenta! Right. The placenta was supposed to come too, wasn’t it? But…how to get it out? Had it detached already? Wasn’t that supposed to happen naturally? Or did you have to do something? Your daze deepened, and for a moment, all you could hear was the sound of her crying and the rush of your own panicked thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, your voice breaking as tears slipped down your cheeks. You bent down and scooped her up into your arms, cradling her against your chest. “I’m such an idiot. You’re cold. I’m so sorry.”

You rushed toward the bathroom, your feet slipping slightly on the blood-streaked floor. Your whole body was trembling, and you tried to push the thought of how much blood you were losing out of your mind. None of it mattered—not the mess, not the pain, not the dizziness threatening to topple you over. The only thing that mattered was keeping her safe, keeping her warm.

Reaching the bathroom, you stumbled toward the sink, fumbling to turn on the tap. Warm water poured out, and you carefully tested it with your fingers before holding your daughter closer. She was still wailing, her little face strained and scrunched, her tiny body trembling. You could see that she was smeared in fluids and blood, her delicate skin slick and sticky. You didn’t even have proper baby soap—just an old bar of mild hand soap sitting in a dish on the counter.

“I’ll make this quick,” you whispered, more to yourself than to her. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Gingerly, you eased her into the sink, supporting her head and neck with one hand while your other hand gently rinsed her off. Her cries didn’t stop, but they softened slightly as the warm water cascaded over her tiny body. You worked as quickly and carefully as you could, washing away the mess and trying to keep her warm. Your movements were clumsy and uncoordinated, your exhaustion making it hard to focus. But somehow, you managed to clean her up, wrapping her tightly in a fresh towel as soon as you were done.

You sank to the bathroom floor, clutching her against your chest as your tears fell freely now. She had stopped crying, her little whimpers the only sound in the room. You held her close, rocking her gently as you tried to catch your breath. The enormity of what had just happened began to sink in, and for the first time since she was born, you let yourself feel the weight of it all.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you whispered to her, your voice shaky and raw. “But I promise, I’ll try. I’ll keep you safe, no matter what.”

Your daughter let out a tiny, almost contented sigh, her head resting against your chest. It was enough to make you believe, if only for a moment, that maybe—just maybe—you could do this.

The feeling of calm was very short-lived.

As you scoured the bedroom for the baby clothes and diapers Clara had so thoughtfully left for you, your daughter began to whine. At first, it was just a small noise, barely a fuss, as she squirmed against your chest. You tried to ignore it, assuming she was just getting used to her new environment. But the whining didn’t stop. It quickly grew into a louder cry, her little face scrunching up as her mouth opened wide in protest.

“What now?” you muttered, panicked, as you gently laid her on the bed. Her tiny hands balled into fists, her little legs kicking in frustration. You saw her sucking on her hand—a cute gesture at first—but it did nothing to calm her cries.

“Okay, okay, let’s get you dressed first. You’ll be warm, and then…I’ll figure it out,” you said, your voice trembling as you rummaged through the small pile of baby clothes and diapers. They were plain and white diapers, free of patterns or labels to distinguish sizes, leaving you to just grab the first onesie and diaper your hands touched. You spread them out on the bed, eyeing them like they were some kind of puzzle.

“Front? Back?” You turned the diaper over twice, squinting at it before settling on a side and hoping for the best. “This has to be right.”

Your daughter’s cries grew louder, and you felt a pang of guilt twist in your chest. Were you taking too long? Were you already failing her? “I’m going as fast as I can,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to her, as you carefully picked up her wriggling form. “It’s okay, baby girl. This will be warm. You want to be warm, don’t you?”

You tried to keep your voice calm and soothing, but it wavered as tears pricked at the edges of your eyes. With shaky hands, you lifted her to get her diaper on, and guided her tiny arms into the sleeves of the onesie, wincing every time she let out a sharp wail. She wailed with every little movement, her face reddening as if the whole process was an unbearable ordeal. You paused, staring at her tear-streaked face, and wondered if you were hurting her. Were you being too rough? Did babies cry this much all the time, or were you already screwing up?

Tears began to spill down your cheeks as your shaking hands snapped the buttons of the onesie closed. “It’s okay, sweet girl. Mommy’s trying her best. I promise, I’m trying,” you whimpered, wiping your tears so you could see what you were doing. “You’re warm now, see? That’s better, right?”

But it wasn’t. The moment you lifted her back into your arms, she started screaming even louder, her tiny lungs producing a sound far bigger than her little body should have been capable of. You rocked her gently, pacing back and forth in the room, bouncing her as you’d seen mothers do in movies. “Shh, shh, it’s okay. Mommy’s here,” you whispered, though the tears in your voice made the words sound hollow. Her cries didn’t cease.

“Waaaah! Waaaaah!”

You felt helpless, completely lost. The weight of the moment pressed down on you like a crushing wave, and for the first time since you’d held your daughter, the overwhelming sense of failure hit you square in the chest. Tears streamed down your cheeks as her cries only grew louder, shriller, piercing through what little resolve you had left. You clutched her to your chest, rocking her frantically, trying to do something—anything—to soothe her.

“I don’t know what to do,” you sobbed, your voice trembling with desperation. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

She didn’t calm. Her tiny body wriggled in your arms, her face red and scrunched in frustration, and all you could do was hold her tighter. You whispered apologies into her soft hair, hoping somehow the sound of your voice would ease her, but it didn’t. Nothing did.

As you paced the room, your foot hit something on the floor, making you stumble slightly. You gasped, clutching your daughter tighter to your chest as your eyes darted downward. There, near your feet, was a bottle—small, clear, rolling slightly from the impact. It must’ve fallen out of the cabinet earlier, completely overlooked in your frantic search for supplies. You stared at it, realization dawning slowly.

“Oh my God…” you breathed, your voice hitching in relief. A small, tearful laugh escaped your lips as you looked down at your still-screaming daughter. “Mommy’s such an idiot, huh? You’re hungry. Of course. You’re hungry.”

Setting the bottle down on the bed for a moment, you sat on the edge, still clutching your daughter to your chest. She hadn’t stopped crying, her tiny fists still flailing, her legs kicking out against your arms. You stared down at her face—red and streaked with tears—and felt your chest tighten. She was so small, so delicate, so utterly dependent on you. And you…you didn’t know what you were doing.

“I’m sorry, baby. Let’s try this, okay? I’m new at this too,” you whispered, your voice shaky as you pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. You hesitated for a moment, your mind flashing back to the books you’d read. They’d said breastfeeding was natural, instinctual, something your body and your baby would know how to do without being taught. But as you looked at her, squirming and wailing in your arms, a wave of doubt washed over you. What if they were wrong? What if you couldn’t do this? What if she couldn’t? Was there even enough milk for her? Would you fail at this, too?

Your hands trembled as you adjusted your shirt, exposing your breast. The cool air against your skin made you shiver, but the feeling was quickly drowned out by the overwhelming pressure of the moment. You tried to guide her tiny mouth to latch, but her cries didn’t let up. If anything, she seemed even more frustrated, turning her head away and squirming against your hold. Her little fists pounded against your chest, her movements wild and uncoordinated.

“Waaaah! Waaaah!” Her cries pierced through you, sharp and unforgiving, like daggers to your already fragile nerves. You bit your lip, trying to keep from sobbing again. The last thing she needed was for you to completely fall apart.

“Shh, shh. Please, sweetheart, just try,” you murmured, your voice breaking as you stroked her soft cheek with your thumb. “I’m so sorry, I’m not good at this. I’ll get better, I promise. Just…just give me a chance.”

You adjusted her position, angling her tiny body the way the books had described, but every time you thought you were close, she turned her head or whimpered louder. Frustration bubbled up in your chest, not at her, but at yourself. How could you not know how to do this? You were her mother. This was supposed to come naturally, wasn’t it? Wasn’t this what your body was meant to do?

“I’m trying,” you whispered, your tears dripping onto her blanket as you rocked her gently. “Please, baby girl. Please just try for me.”

It felt like an eternity—an endless cycle of adjusting, soothing, repositioning—until finally, she latched. You froze, your breath catching as you felt the slight pull and the soft, rhythmic motions of her mouth. Relief flooded through you so quickly it made your head spin, and you gasped, a shaky laugh escaping your lips.

“There you go,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “You’re doing so good, baby girl. That’s it.”

Her cries faded into quiet, contented gulps as she suckled, her little hands still curled into fists against your chest. You stared down at her, tears still slipping down your cheeks, but now they weren’t just from frustration. They were from relief, from awe, from the overwhelming realization that, somehow, you’d done it. She was feeding. She was okay.

The room fell into a fragile silence, broken only by her small, hungry gulps and the occasional hitch in your breath as you calmed yourself. You stared down at her, her tiny body curled against yours, and despite the overwhelming fear and exhaustion, you felt a small flicker of hope.

Your heart ached as you watched her, her tiny body nestled against yours. You’d never felt so raw, so vulnerable, so utterly exposed. You didn’t feel like a perfect mother—you didn’t even feel like a good one. But you were all she had at that moment, and you were never one to not give something your all.

You couldn’t believe how long she fed. Was this normal? Surely newborns didn’t eat this much, right? You tried to remember the books you’d read, flipping through the mental pages like a frantic librarian. They’d said to let her nurse for a minute or two, then burp her. Even though breastfed babies didn’t need to be burped as often, you wanted to be thorough, to make sure you were doing everything right. She deserved that much after your rocky start.

When you noticed the absence of pulling, you looked down. Her tiny mouth was still latched, but her eyes were closed, and her breaths were soft and even. She was fast asleep, her belly clearly full from milk. Relief washed over you, but it was accompanied by a crushing wave of guilt.

Her face was still slightly strained from crying, her little cheeks blotchy and swollen. The sight tugged at your heartstrings, and you felt shame creep into your chest. How had it taken you so long to realize she was hungry? Of course, a newborn would be starving after being born into the world. You sighed, feeling the weight of your failure settle into your shoulders. “I’m sorry,” you whispered softly.

Leaning down, you placed a small, awkward kiss on her tiny forehead. It felt...correct. Not overwhelming, not like the magical, joyful moment you’d read about in books or seen in movies. But correct. You were still in shock, your mind barely able to process everything that had happened in the last several hours, but this—holding her, caring for her—was something you could hold onto. Something to do. Something that made the chaos a little more bearable.

Carefully, you adjusted your shirt, covering your breast again, and slowly stood. Your legs still felt weak, trembling slightly as you shifted your weight. You held her close, making your way toward the crib Clara had set up for her. Each step felt like an exercise in precision, your body tense with the fear of waking her. When you reached the crib, you hesitated, your nerves making your hands tremble as you lowered her into the soft bedding.

She twitched a little, her tiny limbs flailing for a moment before settling again. Her breaths came out in soft, rhythmic sighs, and you found yourself standing there, just listening to the sound. It was oddly calming, like a reminder that for now, she was okay. You took a step back, then another, your eyes never leaving her tiny form until you were out of the room.

Once the door clicked shut behind you, the reality of everything came crashing back. You glanced around the house and felt a lump form in your throat. The place was a mess. Blood splattered across the floor, streaks dried and crusted in places where you’d stumbled earlier. The broken window from the Sawshredder let in a faint chill, and glass shards glittered under the pale moonlight streaming through the gap. You exhaled shakily. There was so much to do, and your body ached from head to toe.

You shuffled into the bathroom, your legs heavy and unsteady, and climbed into the tub. The warm water hit your skin, and you hissed at the sting as it washed over the raw, tender areas. You winced as you began to scrub away the layers of dried blood and fluids. It was everywhere—your thighs, your legs, and even had dripped to your ankles. The metallic smell lingered, even as the water ran pink and swirled down the drain.

As you cleaned yourself, your mind wandered. Had you torn? You weren’t sure. You weren’t about to check yourself, either. You found some pads and doubled them up, making a makeshift diaper of sorts along with some underwear. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. You grimaced as you moved, every slight motion sending a dull ache through your abdomen and lower back.

You even managed to get the placenta out. How you did so? You didn't want to think about it anymore. The whole process had been...uncomfortable. Thank god for those books though.

You stepped out of the tub, pulling on a loose shirt and Clara’s oversized sweatpants. They hung low on your hips, but at least they were clean. That was more than you could say for the rest of the house.

Dragging yourself back into the main room, you surveyed the carnage. The blood smears on the floor, the glass from the shattered window, the umbilical cord still lying forgotten in a corner. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to move. You couldn’t leave it like this—not with her here. Clara certainly shouldn't have to come back to this mess.

Grabbing an old towel and some cleaning supplies, you knelt down and began to scrub the bloodstains. The dried patches took more effort, and each swipe sent a sharp reminder of how sore your body was. You muttered under your breath as you worked, cursing yourself for not being more prepared, for not having someone here to help. “This is what I wanted, though, right?” you said bitterly to no one. “Freedom. To do this on my own.”

When the stains were finally gone, you turned your attention to the broken window. The jagged edges of glass glinted like teeth, and you carefully picked up the larger shards, tossing them into the trash. You’d have to board it up with something. You couldn’t risk her getting cold—or worse, another attack.

Finally, you grabbed the umbilical cord and placenta, wrapping them in an old plastic bag. It felt wrong, disrespectful somehow, to just throw them away like trash, but what else could you do? The thought made your stomach churn, but you forced yourself to move, tying the bag tightly before tossing it outside in the bin.

By the time you finished, you were utterly spent. Every muscle in your body screamed in protest as you collapsed onto your bed. You closed your eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. Your mind wouldn’t let you rest. You thought of her tiny cries, the feel of her soft skin, the weight of her in your arms. She was here. She was real. And she depended on you for everything.

No pressure, right?

You were jolted awake by the sharp, piercing cries that had become all too familiar. Every hour. Nonstop. Was this the seventh time? Eighth? You had lost count somewhere in the haze of sleeplessness, your body and mind running on fumes. The world felt like it was spinning as you staggered toward the crib, groggy and heavy-limbed, clutching onto the faint light of determination to keep moving.

The cries grew louder as you approached. “Waaah! Waaah!” she wailed, her tiny fists flailing as she suckled furiously on one of them. You had come to recognize this as her hunger cue—a useful tell, sure, but it didn’t make the constant crying and relentless lack of sleep any easier to bear.

“Please…” you whined softly, your voice barely audible over her cries. “Just sleep…a little longer…for mommy, okay?” But you already knew it was futile. She wasn’t going to stop. The second you picked her up, she quieted just a fraction, her little body curling into you instinctively.

Your head throbbed, and every muscle in your body protested as you shuffled back to the bed, sinking into the mattress like a dead weight. As much as you cared for her, you had never felt more unnerved in your life. Her cries sent a shot of adrenaline through you every single time, as if something inside your brain had rewired itself to panic at the sound. You felt like a marionette on strings, moving automatically, barely able to think beyond her immediate needs.

You adjusted your shirt and guided her to latch, wincing at the familiar sting as she began to feed. Her tiny mouth worked hungrily, her desperate noises quieting into soft, rhythmic gulps. “There… you’re okay now,” you whispered, trying to soothe her even as your voice trembled with exhaustion.

Your tired mind began to wander, the lull of the moment allowing intrusive thoughts to creep in. Despite yourself, you thought of Sylus. He should be doing this, not you. This was his idea, his plan, his twisted way of controlling your life. He should be the one awake every hour, running on no sleep, dealing with the endless cycle of feeding, crying, and cleaning.

The thought made your chest tighten, and you quickly shook your head, trying to push it away. Sylus was the last person who should be near her right now. He was dangerous, suffocating. She deserved better than that. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t fully banish the image of him from your mind. His voice still echoed there, his gentle words from the phone call playing on a loop.

“Are you eating? How’s the baby?”

You scowled, clenching your jaw as you rocked your daughter gently in your arms. You didn’t want to think about him, didn’t want him to have any more space in your head. But the exhaustion was wearing down your defenses, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you wondered what he was doing now. Was he still looking for you? Of course, he was. Sylus never gave up on anything, especially not you.

Your thoughts shifted to Clara. Maybe you should call her? She had said to reach out if you needed anything, and you knew you could use some help. But the memory of that last phone call with Sylus stopped you cold. What if he answered again? He had promised not to do it again, but Sylus and promises didn’t exactly go hand in hand. The risk felt too great, the possibility of hearing his voice again too unnerving.

You sighed, closing your eyes as your daughter’s feeding slowed. She began to doze off against your chest, her tiny body warm and soft in your arms. For a moment, you just sat there, holding her, feeling the weight of her tiny life against you. It was overwhelming. Terrifying. Beautiful. And utterly exhausting.

“We got this, don't we?” you whispered softly, brushing a finger over her delicate cheek. She didn’t stir, her little mouth slightly open now as she drifted into a deep sleep.

As much as you wanted to join her, you knew the moment you set her down in the crib, she’d start crying again. It was only a matter of time. You looked down at her peaceful face, your chest tightening with a mixture of adoration and guilt. You felt like you were drowning, and yet, she was the only thing keeping you afloat.

The hours stretched endlessly ahead, and you had no idea how you were going to make it through the night. But for now, in this fleeting moment of quiet, you just held her close, trying to push away the weight of the world. It was just you and her against everything. And you were going to do your best. Somehow.

The morning sun shined through the curtains, casting long, sleepy shadows across the room. You stood at the bedside, eyes heavy with exhaustion, reaching for a fresh diaper. Your body felt as though it had been wrung dry, every muscle aching from a night of no sleep and constant cries. It must have been the seventh time she’d woken up—was it the eighth? You didn’t know anymore. The hours had blurred into each other, leaving you in a daze.

Her whines started up again, soft but insistent, quickly climbing to a full-blown wail. “Waaah! Waaaah!” she cried, tiny fists waving angrily in the air. You let out a tired sigh as you opened the curtains, and then gently picked her up from the crib, her warmth a small comfort against your chilled arms.

The front of your shirt was damp with breastmilk—cold and sticky against your skin, making you shiver. You grimaced, setting her down on the bed and reaching for the diaper. “Okay, baby girl, let’s get this sorted,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. She kicked her little legs in protest as you worked quickly, removing the soaked diaper and replacing it with a fresh one.

You were shocked when she didn’t cry during the change—she wailed at the cold feel of the wipes all last night. But instead of protesting, she blinked sleepily, her tiny mouth forming an “O” as if she were just as exhausted as you were. "You're tired too, huh?" you mumbled, brushing a hand over her impossibly soft hair.

When you finally buttoned her onesie and tossed the old diaper into the trash, she was fast asleep again. Her face, still puffy from crying through the night, seemed impossibly peaceful now. A pang of guilt swelled in your chest. She deserved better.

You glanced at your daughter as she drifted back to sleep in her crib, her tiny body swaddled snugly. Her face was peaceful now, her soft breaths the only sound in the room. The sight should have filled you with warmth, but instead, it left you feeling…disconnected. It was like looking at someone you’d just met—someone you were supposed to love unconditionally but didn’t quite know yet. You cared about her, of course. But was it love? Or just the responsibility of knowing you were the only one she had?

Your shirt clung uncomfortably to your chest, damp and cold from the milk that had leaked during the night. You were freezing, and the stickiness against your skin only added to the discomfort. You needed to change. Quickly checking that your daughter was still asleep, you grabbed a fresh shirt from the bedroom and headed to the bathroom.

In the harsh bathroom light, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The person staring back didn’t feel like you. Dark circles framed your eyes, and your hair was a tangled mess. Your face was strained, drawn tight with exhaustion. You peeled off your soaked shirt, wincing as the cold air hit your skin, and replaced the pads you’d stuffed into your underwear. The ache in your lower body was still there, every step a painful reminder of what you’d gone through. Should you see a doctor? Maybe. But you weren’t bleeding heavily, and nothing felt wrong. At least, not yet. You decided to keep an eye on it, relying on the scraps of medical knowledge you’d picked up over the years.

"It’s fine," you whispered to yourself, your voice hollow. "It’s probably fine."

After changing into a clean shirt, you made your way to the kitchen, determined to eat something. The fridge greeted you with its dim light and meager contents: eggs, bacon, some chicken, a few frozen meals. You hesitated, your body screaming for something quick and easy, but you knew better. If you didn’t eat properly, you’d have no energy—and no milk for your daughter. Gotta eat to produce, right?

You pulled out some eggs and bacon, moving slowly and carefully. Every step felt like a marathon, every movement a test of endurance. Pain throbbed dully in your lower half, but you gritted your teeth and kept going. You’d been through worse. Or so you told yourself.

The sizzle of bacon hitting the pan filled the air, accompanied by the comforting smell of cooking meat. You stirred the eggs absentmindedly, your mind wandering.

How did it come to this? You thought about calling Clara, about asking her if this level of pain and exhaustion was normal. But then you thought about Sylus, about how easily he’d intercepted your last call. Could he do it again? The risk was too great.

You weren't ready to hear his voice again.

Once the food was ready, you sat at the small table, the plate of scrambled eggs and bacon steaming before you. You picked at the food slowly, your appetite dulled by fatigue. The thought of Sylus lingered in the back of your mind, gnawing at you. He should be the one doing this. He should be the one pacing back and forth at night, rocking a crying baby, trying to figure out how to soothe her. This was his idea, after all. His child. His responsibility.

But no. You shook the thought away, focusing on your meal. You reminded yourself that you could do this alone. You’d take it one day at a time. That’s all you could do.

As you scrubbed the last plate in the sink, the warm morning sun streamed through the window, casting soft golden light across the kitchen. The peaceful moment didn’t last long, though, as the sharp, familiar cry broke the stillness. You froze for a second, the sound sending an almost Pavlovian jolt of adrenaline through your body. Feeding time. Again. Of course.

You felt like your existence had been reduced to that of a milking machine.

You dried your hands on a nearby towel, walking toward the bedroom where your daughter’s wails were quickly escalating. It was like a bell tolling, one you couldn’t ignore no matter how drained you felt. Your heart pounded, the sheer exhaustion of it all threatening to consume you, but you pushed it down. She needed you. That was what mattered.

“Shhh, shhh. I know. You eat so much, huh?” you whispered softly as you picked her up. Her tiny hands flailed, her face red and scrunched in frustration. Settling on the edge of the bed, you adjusted your shirt and prepared to feed her. As soon as she latched, her cries quieted to soft whimpers, and the tension in your chest eased—slightly.

You leaned back, cradling her close, and allowed yourself a brief moment of stillness. As her little lips moved rhythmically, you found yourself studying her closely. Her delicate features were so much like your own, though Sylus’s traits were undeniable. It hit you again how much she looked like him, those tiny hints of him etched into her face like a cruel reminder.

But despite how much she resembled him, you couldn’t help but notice how healthy she appeared overall. Her skin was soft and smooth, her tiny fists full of energy as they flexed and curled. She seemed perfect on the outside. But what about the inside? Did she need a hospital? Could you even risk it?

Your mind spiraled. You couldn’t avoid it forever. If she got sick or needed something you couldn’t provide, you’d have to take her somewhere. Hospitals meant records, though. A birth certificate. Official acknowledgment of her existence. Wouldn’t that make it easier for Sylus to find her? To find you?

The thought of giving her up flickered briefly in your mind, guilt twisting your stomach into knots. It felt horrible, thinking about it. Unforgivable. But the rational part of you knew it wasn’t so simple. How could you protect her if you didn’t even know how to care for her properly? You sighed, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on your chest.

Your free hand moved almost automatically, tracing gentle circles on the top of her head to soothe both her and yourself. Her hair was baby soft, fine wisps that carried that distinct, sweet newborn scent. It calmed you a little, grounding you in the moment. But then your fingers froze.

There was something…hard under her hair. Confused, you pressed lightly, feeling again. Two small, firm spots, spaced apart but evenly placed. What the…?

Your stomach dropped, and you gently pushed her hair aside to get a better look. Nestled in the soft tufts of her hair were two tiny black dots. Hard, like little nubs. Your mind raced. Birth defect? Injury? Something Sylus passed down? You felt panic creeping in, your chest tightening as the possibilities swirled in your head.

Before you could think any further, she let out a piercing wail, yanking your attention back to her. “Oh, yeah, gotta burp you. Your tummy’s full” you cooed, forcing calm into your voice. You lifted her carefully onto your shoulder, patting her back with gentle but firm motions until a tiny burp escaped. But her crying didn’t stop.

“What’s wrong?” you murmured, holding her against your chest. “I fed you, your diaper shouldn’t be full…” But just to be sure, you set her down and checked. Dry as a desert.

Her cries only grew louder, her tiny face scrunching in distress. You felt like you were losing it. Nothing you did seemed to work. You rocked her, bounced her, even tried humming a soft lullaby, but she kept wailing, her little fists waving in the air as if to scold you for not understanding.

Her cries turned into screams, sharp and heart-wrenching. You noticed her tiny eyelids fluttering open, her milky crimson eyes squinting before she shut them tightly again, her face contorting in discomfort. A memory flashed in your mind—Sylus in the car, squinting his eyes from the sun as he had sat next to you.

“Are you…sensitive to light too?” you asked softly, staring down at her as if she’d answer. The thought made your heart ache. She had been in a bright room basically all morning, and you hadn’t even considered it. It made sense, given the rare color of her eyes.

You didn’t waste another second, rushing to the windows and yanking the curtains shut. The room plunged into darkness, the only light coming from faint slivers around the edges of the heavy fabric.

As the room dimmed, her cries began to taper off. Her tiny body relaxed slightly, her fists unclenching as she let out soft, hiccuping sobs. You stared at her in disbelief, the realization hitting you like a freight train.

“Of course…” you whispered, guilt crashing over you in waves. “Of course. I’m so sorry, baby girl.”

You held her close, rocking her gently in the dim light, her soft sniffles the only sound now. How had you not thought of this? You were so overwhelmed, so consumed by everything else, that you hadn’t even realized the most basic thing about her needs. You couldn't help but think of how Sylus would likely have teased you about this if he was here.

"I could've told you that, honey. Don't beat yourself up about it though."

The thought made you scowl.

It was a lot to process, but at least she was calm now. For the first time in what felt like hours, the house was silent except for the soft, steady sound of her breathing.

The baby’s soft, rhythmic breathing in your arms was oddly soothing, a rare calm in the storm of chaos that had defined the past few days. Her tiny weight against your chest anchored you, even as exhaustion gnawed at the edges of your mind. You hadn’t slept properly in what felt like a lifetime, but sitting still wasn’t an option. Maybe moving around would help with the ache in your body. Maybe it would distract you from the relentless thoughts circling your head.

The house was quiet, save for the creaks of the floorboards under your feet and the faint rustle of the wind outside. You passed by the kitchen and paused at the calendar Clara had pinned up on the wall. The dates blurred together in your sleep-deprived haze. How many days had it been? Two? Three?

Your eyes scanned the calendar until they landed on November 1st, the day your life had changed forever. That was when she’d been born. You glanced down at the tiny figure nestled in your arms, her little fist resting against her cheek, her face serene in slumber.

“Happy late birthday,” you whispered, a tired but genuine smile tugging at your lips. “Sorry I didn’t say it then. Y’know...I was going through a lot.”

The absurdity of your own words made you giggle softly, though the sound was tinged with weariness. You continued to sway on your feet, cradling her as the light streaming through the windows shifted. Clara would be visiting soon—tomorrow or the next day. That much you were sure of.

But how were you going to explain everything to her? The broken window, the deep gashes in the walls left behind by the Sawshredder’s claws, the bloodstains you hadn’t quite managed to scrub away entirely? Not to mention the fact that you had given birth to your daughter alone, in the middle of all that chaos. Clara would undoubtedly have questions, and you weren’t sure how many of them you could answer without spiraling into the tangled web of truth and lies you’d been navigating for months.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a sudden twist of pain in your chest, sharp and jarring enough to make you nearly lose your balance. You clutched at your shirt, the ache radiating outward, hot and insistent. It was the same pain as before—your Aethor Core.

Gritting your teeth, you stumbled back into the bedroom and gently laid your daughter in her crib. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her tiny lips parting in a soft sigh. Relieved that she remained asleep, you sank to the floor beside the crib, your knees drawing up to your chest as you pressed a hand over your heart.

Why was this happening again? Was it getting worse? You racked your brain, searching for something, anything, that might ease the pain. But nothing you’d tried so far had worked. Nothing except…

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as the memory of the phone call resurfaced. The pain had almost completely vanished when you heard his voice. The realization sent a chill down your spine. Why? Why did hearing him—the man responsible for so much of your suffering—have such an effect on you?

Your hand curled into a fist against your chest, nails biting into your palm as anger flared alongside the pain. You didn’t want to entertain the idea, didn’t want to even think about him like he was some kind of lifeline. Sylus was not a solution. He wasn’t your salvation. He was the problem.

You didn’t need him. You didn’t need anyone.

And yet, as the pain continued to throb, stubborn and unrelenting, the thought lingered in the back of your mind, unwelcome and insidious. Could it really be that simple? Would hearing his voice again dull the ache, even for a moment?

You shook your head violently, as if the action could physically dislodge the thought from your brain. No. Never. You couldn’t let yourself fall into that trap again. Sylus was not an answer, and he never would be.

Clenching your fists, you focused on your daughter’s steady breathing, the rise and fall of her tiny chest. She was the only thing that mattered now. You would endure the pain if it meant keeping her safe. You would endure anything.

The day passed by in an unremarkable haze, each hour bleeding into the next as you went through the motions of survival. You took naps when you could, brief moments of respite that never truly felt like rest. The cycle was endless: eat, feed the baby, change the baby, rock the baby, sleep. Or try to, at least. It wasn’t much of a life, but it was all you could manage right now.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon and the world outside was cloaked in darkness, you were already bracing yourself for the long night ahead. The endless cries, the frantic feedings, the sheer exhaustion that came with tending to a newborn—it was all expected now, but that didn’t make it any easier. The dread in your chest lingered, a quiet, constant weight that no amount of preparation could lift.

After gently placing her in her crib, you took a moment to change into a clean shirt and swap out the bloody pads that had become a constant reminder of your body’s fragile state. You were sore, raw, and utterly drained, but at least for now, she was asleep. You curled up in the bed, pulling the sheets tight around you, desperate for even a sliver of comfort.

But as soon as your head hit the pillow, your mind began to wander.

You hadn’t named her yet.

The thought gnawed at you, a subtle but persistent ache that had been bubbling beneath the surface since the moment she was born. You’d avoided it, skirting around the issue by calling her "baby girl" or simply "baby." It was easier that way. Safer.

Because naming her made it real, didn’t it? Naming her meant acknowledging the bond that was forming, however slowly. It meant accepting her as more than just a fragile little being you were obligated to care for. It meant letting yourself hope for a future together.

And that was terrifying.

Names had always been a touchy subject for you, and now was no different. What if the name you chose tied her to everything you wanted to leave behind? What if it made it harder to do what might need to be done? Because as much as it broke your heart to think about it, you’d already decided that if giving her up was what was best for her, you’d do it. You’d find her a family who could love her unconditionally, who could give her a life far removed from the chaos of your own.

Maybe then you’d both be free.

Free from the ghosts of the past. Free from the weight of your mistakes. Free from him.

Your chest tightened at the thought, and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears to stay at bay. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. But fairness didn’t matter anymore. Survival did. And if giving her up meant she’d never have to know the horrors of her conception, never have to hear Sylus’s name or see his face…then maybe that was the right choice.

Maybe it was the only choice.

Your lips pressed into a hard line as you rolled onto your side, pulling the blankets tighter around you. The room was quiet now, save for the soft sounds of her breathing from the crib. You told yourself you’d do whatever it took to keep her safe, even if that meant letting her go.

And Sylus? He’d never win. Not this time.

You swallowed hard, your resolve solidifying like stone in your chest. You’d take it one day at a time, one moment at a time. You didn’t have all the answers yet, but you’d figure it out. For her. For both of you.

But as the minutes stretched into hours and the darkness deepened, the weight of everything pressed down on you once more, heavy and unrelenting. You closed your eyes, hoping for sleep but knowing it wouldn’t come easily.

You stirred awake to the faint sound of your daughter whining, her soft cries piercing the stillness of the room. The noise had become familiar by now, but it still sent an automatic jolt of adrenaline through your veins every time. Groaning, you reached for the side of the bed, fumbling for the diapers you had neatly stacked the night before. “I know…I know…Hold on…” you mumbled, your voice thick with exhaustion, the weight of sleepless nights dragging you down.

Just as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, prepared to face another round of late-night parenting, a voice cut through the darkness like a blade.

“There’s no need, kitten. She’s fine. You can lay back down.”

Your blood froze.

That voice. Smooth, low, and impossibly calm, it rooted you to the spot. Your head snapped up, and your breath hitched in your throat as your eyes locked onto a figure standing in the corner of the room. Sylus. He was there, leaning against the shadows like he belonged to them, his tall, commanding presence impossible to miss. His piercing crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, locking onto you with an intensity that made your stomach churn.

But what made your heart truly stop was what he held in his arms. Cradled close against his chest, her tiny form barely visible in the dim light, was your daughter.

“No…” you whispered, the word barely audible as it left your trembling lips. Your hands gripped the sheets so tightly your knuckles lost circulation. “Put her down,” you demanded, your voice growing louder as disbelief and fury collided inside you. “Where did you—how did you even find us?” Your words tumbled out in a frantic rush, your mind reeling.

Sylus tilted his head slightly, his expression calm but unreadable, as though he were studying you. “I said, put her down!” you screamed, the panic in your chest finally boiling over into action.

But he didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink. Instead, he simply raised a finger to his lips, his voice maddeningly soft. “Shhh,” he said, glancing briefly down at the baby in his arms. “You’ll wake her. She’s fine, honey. Calm down.”

The casualness of his tone, the way he cradled your baby so carefully while acting as if he hadn’t just shattered your entire world, sent a wave of rage so intense through you that it burned away your fear. You lunged forward, ready to rip her away from him, to fight him with everything you had left. “Let her go, you fucking ba—”

You didn’t finish the sentence.

Mid-step, your body froze. A cold, red mist—dense and otherworldly—snaked around your limbs, locking them in place. It wrapped around your arms, your legs, even your chest, holding you aloft in the air like a puppet suspended on strings. You gasped, struggling against his powerful Evol, but the more you thrashed, the tighter he constricted you, squeezing the air from your lungs.

Your heart thundered as you stared down at Sylus, your panic rising to a fever pitch. His expression was still maddeningly calm, his crimson eyes watching you as if you were nothing more than a storm he had already weathered countless times before. “Stop struggling,” he said coolly, his tone almost bored. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Let me go!” you spat, your voice trembling with fury and fear. “Let her go! She’s not yours—she’s mine!”

Sylus exhaled softly, the faintest hint of amusement curling the corner of his lips. He moved closer to the bed, his every step measured, deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world. The mist holding you tightened slightly, forcing your back to arch against its cold grip.

“You’re wasting your energy,” he said, stepping closer, the mist tightening with every step he took. “I told you I would find you. And now I have. I wasn’t expecting our little one to be here as well, but…” His lips curved into a soft, almost genuine smile. “She looks well cared for. You’ve done a good job, sweetie.”

His words dripped with mockery, but it was the way his eyes gleamed—predatory and triumphant—that made your blood run cold. “No more running, kitten. This game of cat and mouse? It ends now.”

Before you could respond, the crimson mist tightened its grip, wrapping around you like unyielding chains. It lifted you effortlessly into the air, and you could do nothing but struggle against it, your limbs refusing to obey your commands. Panic seized your chest as the mist carried you backward, gently but deliberately laying you on the bed as though it had a mind of its own.

You hit the mattress with a soft thud, but the force of the moment knocked the air from your lungs. The mist pinned you in place, like weights pressing down on your wrists and ankles, rendering you completely immobile. No matter how hard you thrashed or tried to twist free, you couldn’t move. All you could do was watch in horror as Sylus turned toward the crib, cradling your baby with an eerie tenderness that sent chills down your spine.

He bent over the crib, his massive frame shadowing the small, delicate figure nestled in his arms. With unsettling care, he placed her down, tucking the blanket around her tiny form. It was the gentlest thing you’d ever seen him do, and that only made it worse—made the whole thing feel more surreal, more terrifying. His actions were too calculated, too rehearsed. You could feel the control emanating from him, sharp and suffocating.

And then his attention snapped back to you.

He moved toward you with the fluid, predatory grace of a panther stalking its prey, his crimson eyes gleaming in the dim light. The bed dipped under his weight as he climbed on, his powerful presence overwhelming. He hovered above you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, the faint scent of leather and whiskey lingering in the air.

Your breath came in sharp, panicked gasps, your chest heaving against the invisible restraints. You couldn’t look away from him, no matter how much you wanted to, his crimson gaze holding you captive as he leaned in closer. His nose almost brushed against yours, and the weight of him pressed just enough to remind you how utterly trapped you were.

“You’re never leaving my sight again,” Sylus murmured, his voice dangerously soft, almost affectionate. It wasn’t the comfort of a lover’s whisper, but the promise of an unyielding captor. His words slithered into your ears, wrapping around your mind like the mist around your body.

“You can’t ever leave me,” he continued, his tone as smooth as velvet but laced with an unshakable finality. “Even if it means I have to keep you pumped full with my children forever. Can’t run with all eight of them, can you?”

The words hit you like a blow to the chest, stealing what little air you had left. Your entire body trembled beneath him, a rush of panic and revulsion coursing through your veins. Tears welled in your eyes, hot and blinding, spilling over as your voice cracked under the weight of your fear and fury.

“I hate you!” you screamed, your voice raw and desperate. “I’ll never let you take me! Or her! Never!”

But Sylus didn’t flinch. He didn’t recoil or lash out. He didn’t even blink. Instead, he smiled—a slow, chilling smile that spread across his face like poison. There was no anger in his expression, no cruelty. Just calm, calculated possession.

“Thats cute,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a touch that was almost tender, almost loving. “But you lost your ability to make choices long ago."

Your breath hitched as his words cut through the room like a blade, slicing through whatever resolve you had left. The mist tightened again, and your body convulsed in response, your screams ripping through the silence like jagged shards of glass. You couldn’t stop. You screamed and screamed, raw and unrelenting, until your throat burned and your vision blurred.

But Sylus didn’t move. He didn’t even look fazed. He simply stayed there, watching you, his crimson eyes gleaming with an eerie calm, as though he were savoring your despair.

The mist constricted once more, and everything around you began to blur. The room faded into a haze, the edges of your vision darkening as the world spiraled out of focus. Your screams turned into gasps, then whispers, then nothing at all as the suffocating weight of fear and exhaustion finally pulled you under.

And then you woke up.

You shot upright in bed, your chest heaving with frantic gasps as you clawed for air. The room around you was a blur, shadowed in the dim gray light of dawn creeping through the curtains. Sweat clung to your skin in cold rivulets, and your heart thundered so violently it felt like it might burst. It took several long moments for the fog of the dream to lift, for reality to begin piecing itself back together. The crib. The farmhouse. The faint creak of the floorboards under your shifting weight. The absence of that horrible red mist.

Your head snapped toward the crib, your breath hitching in your chest. Relief swept over you like a tidal wave as your eyes landed on her. She was still there, peacefully sleeping, her tiny hand curled against her cheek, her breaths soft and steady. Nothing had changed. She was safe.

You exhaled shakily, but the release didn’t ease the trembling in your hands. Pressing your palms to your face, you tried to steady yourself, your fingers trembling against your damp skin. “Just a dream,” you whispered to yourself, the words catching in your dry throat. “It was just a dream…”

But it didn’t feel like one. Not entirely. You wrapped your arms around yourself, as though holding your body together could stop it from unraveling. His voice still echoed in your mind, low and smooth, the way he said kitten with that maddening calm. The way he had cradled her so gently, like she already belonged to him.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the memories to dissolve, but they wouldn’t leave. The phantom weight of his presence lingered, the image of his towering figure, crimson eyes glinting with possessiveness, looming over you. The sickly-sweet gentleness in his tone, the mockery in his promises. The dream had felt so vivid, so real that it left you raw, as if it had happened just moments ago.

Your arms dropped limply to your sides, and your gaze wandered back to the crib. She was still there, still yours. For now. The thought made your stomach twist, your relief tainted by a darker undertone. Dreams didn’t come from nowhere. This one, you knew, was a manifestation of all your fears, all the truths you couldn’t bear to say out loud. That he would come for you. For her. That no matter how far you ran, how carefully you hid, he would find you.

And the worst part? You weren’t entirely sure it was a lie.

You inhaled deeply, trying to force your pulse to slow, but it was no use. The dread clung to you like a shadow, and no amount of logic could banish it. The way he had looked at her in the dream—the way he had spoken as though you were both his—made your skin crawl. You wrapped your arms around yourself again, biting your lip to keep from crying.

“It was just a dream,” you whispered again, more firmly this time, though the words felt hollow. You looked toward the crib once more, watching the gentle rise and fall of her tiny chest. “You’re safe,” you murmured, almost like you were trying to convince yourself. “We’re safe.”

But were you?

Two days later, you were startled awake by the sound of the door creaking open. Blinking groggily, you sat up just in time to see Clara stepping into the room, her arms full of grocery bags. She froze in the doorway, her eyes widening as she took in the scene—the crib, the faint whines of your baby, and the dark circles under your tired eyes. The bags slipped from her hands and hit the floor with a dull thud.

“Oh my goodness, hun! Are you alright? Oh! You had the ba—” she exclaimed, her voice rising with shock and excitement, but you immediately shushed her, your finger pressed to your lips.

“Shhh!” you hissed, your eyes darting toward the crib where your daughter was finally, miraculously, falling asleep again. Clara clapped her hand over her mouth, her cheeks flushing in apology.

“Oh! Right, right…quiet,” she whispered, her voice soft now as she smiled sheepishly at you. She stepped closer, peeking at the crib. “Well, would you look at that...she’s a doll. Congratulations, mama.”

You smiled weakly, exhaustion still weighing heavily on your body. “Thanks, Clara. Can I…can I ask you a huge favor?”

“Anything, honey,” Clara said immediately, her tone warm and reassuring.

“Can you watch her for just a little while? I need a nap—like a real nap,” you begged, your voice trembling with desperation. The mere thought of lying down without having to jump up every five minutes made you feel like crying.

Clara’s face lit up with joy. “Oh, you don’t have to ask me twice! Of course, I’ll watch her. You go get some rest, sweetie. I’ve got this,” she said, already moving toward the crib with a gentle, eager demeanor.

Relief flooded through you, and you mumbled a soft, heartfelt, “Thank you,” before dragging yourself to bed. The moment your head hit the pillow, sleep claimed you like a tidal wave, washing away the weight of the last few days.

When you finally woke up, the sun was streaming through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. You rubbed your eyes, feeling more rested than you had in days. It was almost disorienting—not waking up to the sound of crying or the weight of exhaustion crushing you. You stretched and got out of bed, your feet padding softly against the floor as you made your way to the living room.

The smell of garlic and tomatoes greeted you, and as you entered, you saw Clara standing at the stove, stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce with one hand while cradling your baby in the other. She was humming softly, her movements natural and at ease.

“Oh, you’re awake!” Clara exclaimed when she noticed you, her face breaking into a warm smile. “Just in time for lunch! This hungry girl’s ready for her lunch too. You mind, honey?” She held out your daughter gently, and you nodded, stepping forward to take her into your arms.

You settled into a kitchen chair, cradling your baby as you prepared to breastfeed. The small, rhythmic sounds of her suckling filled the air, blending with the soft clink of plates and the bubbling sauce on the stove. You felt a little awkward breastfeeding in front of a stranger but figured yall were past the point of awkwardness. You had given birth in her home after all. Clara worked quickly, plating two generous servings of spaghetti before joining you at the table.

As she sat down, her cheerful expression shifted to one of mild exasperation. “Why didn’t you call me, hun? I told you to call for anything—anything! Especially emergencies!” she said, her tone scolding but not unkind. There was genuine concern in her voice.

You looked away, guilt prickling at the edges of your mind. You didn't want to tell her about Sylus calling so you decided to lie instead. “I didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted softly. “You’ve done so much already. And I didn’t think it’d…happen so fast.”

Clara sighed, shaking her head as she twirled spaghetti onto her fork. “Sweetie, you’re not a bother. Bringing a baby into the world is no small thing! You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone.” She gestured toward the broken window with her fork. “And what in the world happened here? Did a tornado blow through while you were giving birth?”

You hesitated, your chest tightening. “It’s…a long story,” you said, brushing a hand over your daughter’s soft hair. “I’ll explain everything later. For now, I just want to focus on her.”

Clara’s sharp gaze softened, and she reached across the table to give your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Alright, hun. Later. But for now, you let me help, okay? No more going through this alone. Deal?”

You nodded, feeling a lump rise in your throat. “Deal.”

“Good,” Clara said firmly, taking another bite of her spaghetti. “Now eat up. You need your strength.”

You smiled faintly, adjusting your daughter in your arms as you picked at your food. For the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel entirely alone.

You eventually worked up the courage to tell Clara about the Sawshredder. She listened with wide eyes as you recounted everything—how it had come crashing into the yard, its terrifying screeches, the way you had barely escaped, and how it had inexplicably stopped and walked away in the end.

“It just left?” Clara exclaimed, her hand flying to her chest. “Dear God…that’s terrifying. We don’t get Wanderers in these parts usually. Maybe the occasional stray up in the hills, but never this close to town. And for it to just…walk away? That’s strange, honey. Real strange.”

You nodded, a shiver running down your spine as the memory resurfaced. “I don’t know why it left,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “I thought…I thought I was going to die.” You glanced down at your daughter, who was swaddled and resting peacefully in your arms. “If it had attacked just a second later…” You trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

Clara reached over, resting a hand on your shoulder. Her touch was firm, grounding. “I’m just glad you and the baby are okay. That’s all that matters.”

You nodded again, but a pang of guilt twisted in your chest. “I couldn’t get all the blood off the couch,” you said, your voice tinged with apology. “And some of it got onto the wall. I covered the couch with a sheet. I’m sorry, Clara. I should’ve—”

Clara waved her hand dismissively, cutting you off with a soft chuckle. “Oh, hun, don’t you worry about that. It’s just a couch and a wall. That’s not important. What’s important is that you and your little one are safe. I’ll get my brother to fix that window for you, no problem.”

Her kindness nearly brought tears to your eyes, but you swallowed them back, focusing instead on her next question. “Has the rest of the cord fallen off yet?” she asked, peering curiously at your daughter.

You shook your head. “No, not yet. I read somewhere it can take up to two weeks.”

Clara nodded knowingly. “It does. Just make sure it stays clean and dry. That’s the most important thing.” She leaned closer, tilting her head to get a better look at your baby. A warm smile spread across her face. “Oh, isn’t she just precious? She looks like a little doll, hun. Her father must’ve been a supermodel.”

You froze, wincing at her words. The mention of Sylus sent a sharp pang through your chest, and your grip on your daughter tightened ever so slightly. You didn’t want to think about him right now—not when you were finally beginning to feel a shred of normalcy. Your silence must have given you away because Clara’s smile faltered. Her eyes widened slightly, and she quickly covered her mouth with her hand.

“Oh, I’m sorry, hun,” she said, her voice laced with regret. “I didn't realize. Sometimes I just say shit without thinkin. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You forced a small, shaky smile, brushing your thumb over your daughter’s tiny hand. “It’s okay,” you murmured, though your heart felt heavy playing into the lie. “You didn’t know.”

Clara reached over again, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze. There was a bit of sadness and...anxiousness in her eyes. You couldn't exactly place why. “Well, whoever he was, he gave you a beautiful baby girl. And she’s got a strong mama to look after her now. That’s all that matters, alright?”

You nodded, taking comfort in her words even as your mind lingered on Sylus. You didn’t want him to cast a shadow over this moment, but the memories were hard to shake. Still, you looked down at your daughter’s peaceful face, her tiny chest rising and falling with each breath, and you resolved to keep moving forward—for her.

Just then, your daughter squirmed in your arms, letting out a soft whine. Her little fists curled and uncurled as her eyes briefly fluttered open. The milky red of her irises caught the light, and Clara gasped, her hand flying to her chest.

“My goodness! Is she somewhat…er…what do you call it? Albino?” Clara blurted, her voice tinged with genuine curiosity and a touch of embarrassment. “Dear Lord, that sounds rude, doesn’t it? I’m sorry, honey, I don’t mean anything by it,” she added quickly, looking sheepish.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at her openness, despite the tension creeping up your spine. “No, no. It’s fine,” you said, brushing a hand over your daughter’s soft hair. “I don’t think so? I haven't given it much thought” You paused, your thoughts flickering briefly to Sylus. His eyes were the same shade of crimson, and his hair was kinda white…was he albino? Or something else entirely? You shook the thought away. Sylus didn’t fit into any category you could explain.

Clara tilted her head, studying your daughter for a moment longer before her expression shifted, becoming more serious. “Hey…her father. Did he have red eyes?” she asked, her tone light but edged with curiosity.

Your heart skipped a beat. The question hit like a slap, and you clutched your daughter tighter, your body tensing instinctively. Clara’s expression didn’t seem threatening, but the implications of her question sent your mind racing. Why was she asking that? Did she meet him? Does she know something? Is this all a trap?

“Uh…um…” You stammered, trying to keep your voice even. “Why do you ask?” Your grip on your daughter tightened as if shielding her from some unseen threat.

Clara’s eyes widened slightly, and she quickly plastered on a nervous smile. She raised her hands in a gesture of reassurance. “Oh, no, no! I didn’t mean to freak you out, honey,” she said, her tone apologetic. “I was just asking. You know, fathers usually determine eye color, don’t they? Or at least that’s what I’ve always heard. Genetics and all that. She's got your hair color at least!”

Your body relaxed a fraction, though your heart was still pounding. You forced a small smile, trying to push away your lingering paranoia. “Oh…right. I guess so,” you murmured, your voice a little shaky.

Clara nodded, her demeanor lightening again. “She’s just so unique, that’s all,” she said, her gaze softening as she looked at your daughter. “She’s a real beauty, honey. Eyes like that? They’re special. People are going to remember her wherever she goes.”

That statement sent a cold chill down your spine. The last thing you wanted was for your daughter to stand out, to be remembered. You swallowed the lump in your throat and gave Clara a weak nod, mumbling a thank you.

As Clara turned back to the dishes, humming softly to herself, you looked down at your daughter, her eyes now closed again as she rested peacefully in your arms. Your thoughts swirled. Her eyes, Sylus’s eyes…the way Clara had asked the question. Was this all coincidence, or was your paranoia creeping in again? You couldn’t be sure. All you knew was that keeping your daughter safe meant staying hidden—and staying hidden meant trusting no one, not even someone as kind as Clara.

Over the next week or two, Clara became a constant presence in the farmhouse. To your surprise, she had refused to leave, despite mentioning work and her responsibilities in Brunswick. She brushed off your concerns with a wave of her hand, insisting that you needed the help more than she needed to be slinging coffee at the diner.

“You think I’m about to leave you here alone with a newborn? Not on my watch, honey,” she said with a grin one morning as she whisked a fresh batch of eggs in the kitchen. “Besides, the diner will survive without me for a bit. My brother’s got it covered.”

Her steady presence felt like a lifeline, even if you weren’t entirely used to it. She filled the quiet farmhouse with her voice, chatting about everything under the sun, but mostly babies. It seemed Clara had an endless wealth of knowledge, and she didn’t hesitate to share it.

“You gotta make sure to clean behind her ears,” she said one afternoon, her hands deep in a bowl of soapy water as she cleaned baby bottles for you. “Babies are sneaky little things—they’ll get all kinds of lint and gunk back there, and you won’t even notice until it’s crusted over. Happened to my daughter once, and I felt like the worst mom in the world.”

You nodded, filing the information away as you rocked your daughter, who was dozing peacefully in your arms. “Got it. Behind the ears,” you murmured, glancing down at your baby as if inspecting her right then and there.

“And the belly button!” Clara added, wagging a soapy finger in your direction. “You keep it dry, of course, but once the cord falls off, you still gotta clean it gently every so often. Otherwise, it starts to smell. My mother used to say, ‘A stinky belly button leads to a stinky baby!’” She laughed at the memory, her voice warm and hearty.

You couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. “Clean the belly button, got it. Anything else I should know?”

“Oh, plenty,” Clara said, drying her hands on a dish towel before sitting down at the kitchen table. She crossed her arms and leaned forward like she was about to tell you a secret. “Now, listen here, because this one’s important: you gotta be ready for the blowouts.”

You blinked at her, unsure if you’d heard correctly. “Blowouts?”

“Yep, blowouts,” she said with a knowing nod. “You think you’ve seen messy diapers now? Just wait until she has her first real blowout. The kind that goes all up her back, gets in her hair, ruins her cute little onesies… It’s a nightmare.” She shuddered dramatically. “But don’t you worry, I’ll teach you my stain-removal tricks.”

You stared at her, equal parts horrified and grateful. “Thanks for the warning, I guess.”

Clara chuckled, reaching over to pat your arm. “Hey, it’s better to know what you’re in for than to get blindsided. Trust me, honey, I’ve been there. It ain’t pretty.”

Her advice didn’t stop there. She showed you how to swaddle your baby properly, how to tell the difference between different cries, and even how to soothe a gassy baby. “Gripe water is your best friend,” she said one evening as she rocked your fussy daughter in her arms. “And don’t be afraid to try a little bicycle motion with her legs. Works like a charm to get those toots out.”

She was patient, too, answering every question you had without making you feel stupid. When you worried about your daughter’s health or the two little black spots on her head, Clara reassured you with gentle words. “Babies are all different, honey. I’m sure she’s perfectly fine. But if it’ll give you peace of mind, we can figure out how to get her to a doctor.”

Despite your lingering paranoia, you couldn’t deny how much easier things were with Clara around. She had a way of lightening the mood, of making even the most overwhelming moments feel manageable. And as much as you wanted to keep her at arm’s length, a part of you was starting to trust her. Just a little.

Clara even left for an entire day just to pick up iced pads and painkillers for you, insisting that you shouldn’t have to suffer in silence. When she returned, she laughed at the visible relief on your face as you gingerly took the supplies. The iced pads felt like heaven, soothing the relentless pain you had been quietly enduring. The painkillers dulled the ache enough for you to finally move around without wincing at every step. For the first time since giving birth, you felt a little refreshed—almost like a real person again.

Your daughter was two weeks old now. You still couldn’t believe it. Every day felt like starting from scratch, like learning a new rhythm for both you and her. She was still very much a tiny, needy potato that did little else but cry and sleep, but slowly, you felt like you were getting in tune with her needs. It was all small victories—knowing her hunger cues, figuring out which lullabies seemed to calm her the most. You were adjusting, step by step.

You rarely ventured outside. The fear of Mephisto still hung over you like a dark cloud, an ever-present reminder that Sylus and his reach weren’t far enough away. Still, on cooler nights, you cracked the window open just a little to let your daughter breathe fresh air. You told yourself it was safe. The farmhouse was secluded, tucked far enough away from any major towns or cities. It was okay—for now.

Over time, you started to open up to Clara. Her kind nature and patience made it easy. You began to tell her about things you hadn’t spoken of in years—about your mom and grandma, your childhood, even your time as a hunter. Clara listened intently, her warm eyes encouraging you to continue. She asked thoughtful questions but never pressed too hard, always mindful of your boundaries.

One night, she brought out an old photo album and showed you pictures of her daughter as a baby. You couldn’t help but smile at the photos of the chubby-cheeked infant grinning toothlessly at the camera. “She’s so beautiful,” you had said, feeling a pang in your chest as you glanced down at your own baby, asleep in your arms. “She looks like you.”

Clara laughed, flipping the pages fondly. “She was a handful, let me tell you. But those were the best days of my life.”

Hearing her talk about her daughter brought both comfort and sadness. It reminded you of what you were trying to give your daughter—a chance to live without fear. A chance to be free. But as time passed, that gnawing feeling of impending doom grew stronger. You knew these peaceful moments wouldn’t last. They couldn’t.

One evening, after bathing your daughter, you found Clara in the living room, folding laundry and packing up some things to bring back to Brunswick. She had decided to head home for a few days to catch up on work and care for her father, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that this might be the last time you’d see her.

You stood in the doorway for a moment, clutching your daughter close as you worked up the courage to speak. “Clara?” you finally said, your voice soft and hesitant.

She glanced up from the laundry, her warm smile faltering slightly when she saw your expression. “Yes, honey?” she asked, setting the clothes down and giving you her full attention.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “I…I haven’t been completely honest with you,” you said, rushing to get the words out before you lost your nerve.

Clara froze, her brows furrowing in concern, but she didn’t seem angry. “Alright,” she said gently, her tone calm and reassuring. “What’s wrong?”

The words felt heavy in your throat, but you knew you couldn’t keep this from her any longer. You took a deep, trembling breath, clutching your daughter a little tighter as you prepared to tell her everything.

You settled on the couch, clutching your daughter tightly to your chest as Clara waited patiently. Her warm, kind eyes stayed on you, unflinching. The weight of the truth pressed down on you, but you couldn’t delay any longer. If there was any chance she’d be in danger because of you, Clara needed to know the truth.

“I…I don’t know where to start,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Wherever you’re comfortable, honey,” Clara replied softly, folding her hands in her lap. “Take your time.”

You took another shaky breath and looked down at your baby, who squirmed slightly in her sleep. Her tiny fingers curled around a fold in your shirt, and the sight of her innocence made the guilt in your chest tighten even more. You began to speak, your voice trembling as the words tumbled out.

“I lied about her father,” you started, glancing nervously at Clara. “He’s alive. Very much alive. And he’s looking for us.”

Clara’s lips parted slightly, but she didn’t interrupt. She simply nodded for you to continue.

You told her everything—the truth about Sylus, the man who had turned your life into a nightmare. You spoke about how he had stolen you away, manipulated you, and taken control of your life. How he had removed your birth control with a piece of glass, how he had impregnated you, and how you had finally escaped for the second time. You hesitated, but you also told her about Reese, the horrors of the basement, and the lengths you had gone to get away from that life.

About Xavier.

As you spoke, letting the words tumble out one after another, a strange feeling bloomed in your chest. At first, it was tight and uncomfortable, like a knot that had been wound too tightly for too long. You hadn’t expected it to feel this…hard. Telling the truth wasn’t supposed to be easy, not with the weight of everything you had kept buried, but somehow you’d thought it would feel more cathartic. Instead, it felt like pulling barbed wire out of your skin—necessary, but painful, and every word scraped against old wounds you hadn’t realized were still raw.

Still, with every detail you revealed to Clara, you felt the smallest sliver of relief pushing through the pain. Like a wound being cleaned, the barbs slowly gave way, and a fragile sense of release crept in. As you spoke about Sylus—about the way he had stolen your life and your control, about how he had taken you apart piece by piece and left you feeling like a ghost of who you once were—it felt almost surreal to say it out loud again since you had told Xavier. You had kept this bottled up for so long, locked away in your mind, that it felt foreign to share it with another human being. And yet, the more you spoke, the easier it became.

Clara listened intently, her expression shifting between disbelief, horror, and sadness. She didn’t speak until you finished, tears streaming down your face as you clung to your daughter like a lifeline.

When you finally stopped, the silence was suffocating. Clara’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she leaned forward, resting a hand gently on your knee. “Oh, honey,” she said softly. “I can’t imagine… I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through this.”

You bit your lip, the flood of emotions making it hard to respond. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you whispered. “I just…I didn’t want to drag you into this. You’ve been so kind to me, and now I feel like I’ve put you in danger.”

Clara shook her head firmly. “You listen to me, sweetheart. None of this is your fault. You’ve been through hell, and all you’re trying to do is protect your baby. I understand why you kept this to yourself.”

Her understanding brought a fresh wave of tears to your eyes, and you wiped them away with the back of your hand. “I just… I don’t know what to do anymore. I can’t keep running forever, but I can’t let him find us.”

Clara sighed, her gaze drifting to the sleeping baby in your arms. “You’re right—this can’t go on forever. But you’re not alone, you hear me? We’ll figure something out.”

You shook your head, your voice breaking as you spoke. “You don’t understand. He’s dangerous, Clara. He has resources, connections. If he finds out you’ve helped me, he won’t hesitate to come after you too.”

Clara leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. “Let him come,” she said, her tone firm. “I’m not afraid of some big-shot bastard. You’re basically family now, and I take care of my own.”

Her words left you stunned, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. She sounded so sure, so resolute, and it made you feel both grateful and terrified.

“I don’t want you to get hurt because of me,” you said finally, your voice trembling.

Clara reached out and squeezed your hand. “We’ll cross that bridge if we get to it. For now, you just focus on taking care of that little one, okay?”

You nodded weakly, the weight of her kindness settling in your chest. It wasn’t a solution, but for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel completely alone. Clara was here, and even though you still felt the shadow of Sylus looming over you, you had someone in your corner.

Clara's next words hit you like a brick to the chest. "I haven’t been completely honest with you either," she began, her voice quiet but steady. You froze, your heart skipping a beat as you braced yourself for whatever she was about to say.

She looked at you, her expression a mix of worry and determination. “A tall man came into the diner a while back. Greyish white hair, red eyes…He had other men with him too. Demanding answers about a pregnant lady.”

Your blood ran cold. Sylus. Of course. He had gotten closer than you thought.

Your grip tightened on your daughter instinctively, your mind racing. “What?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Clara nodded, her face softening with regret. “He asked about you. Described you down to the coat you were wearing, and…well, I told him you were my niece. Refused to tell him anything else.” She smirked, though it was tinged with unease. “He offered me a shitload of money, too. I spit at his shoes.”

Her little wink and defiance were so unexpected that you let out a laugh—high-pitched and incredulous, but a laugh nonetheless. “You spit at him?”

“Sure did,” Clara replied, giving a small shrug like it was no big deal. “The nerve of him, thinking I’d sell out someone in need. I don’t care if he’s the devil himself.”

Despite the humor in her tone, the reality of what she’d said crashed down on you like a wave. You felt your heart race, your mind whirling with panic. “Clara, you should’ve told me…” you said, shaking your head, the fear creeping into your voice. “He’s not stupid. If he was there, he probably already tracked you back here. Shit—”

Your chest tightened as the gravity of the situation hit you full force. Your time here was up.

Clara’s face fell, her hands twisting nervously. “But honey,” she said, her voice trembling, “you’re still freshly postpartum. You can’t possibly leave on foot with a newborn! You’re not healed yet, and the baby—”

“What choice do I have?” you cut her off, your voice breaking as you rocked your now-whining daughter. “If I stay here any longer, he will come. He’s probably already closing in…” You trailed off, trying to push down the rising panic.

Clara sat in silence for a long moment, her gaze flickering between you and the baby. Finally, she let out a heavy sigh, standing abruptly and moving to a nearby closet. “Alright,” she said, her voice firm. “How about this?”

You watched as she rummaged through the closet, pulling out a car seat. Confusion flickered across your face as she set it down and moved to a nearby drawer, pulling out a set of car keys. She turned to you, her expression serious.

“You know how to drive, right?” she asked.

Your mouth fell open. “Clara, what are you—”

“Take my father’s car,” she said simply, holding out the keys. “He won’t be using it anytime soon anyway.”

You stared at her, the weight of her offer hitting you like a truck. “You…you’d give me your dad’s car?” you stammered, utterly floored by her kindness.

She nodded firmly. “What good is it sitting here collecting dust? You need it more than he does. Now take it, honey.”

The tears came fast, spilling down your cheeks as you reached for her, pulling her into a tight hug. You buried your face in her shoulder, sobbing as the relief and gratitude washed over you in waves. “Thank you,” you choked out, your voice trembling. “Thank you so fucking much.”

Clara hugged you back just as tightly, patting your back reassuringly. “You don’t need to thank me, sweetheart. You and that baby need to be safe. That’s what matters.”

As the tears continued to fall, you felt the tiniest spark of hope flicker in your chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, you had a chance to escape. To start over. To keep your daughter safe. And it was all thanks to Clara.

The plan was set in motion as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the cabin and surrounding woods. The air was cool and still, almost unnervingly quiet as you and Clara worked in tandem, preparing for what could very well be the riskiest part of your escape.

Clara, despite her usually warm demeanor, had taken to the plan with an unwavering determination. She would head back to Brunswick, armed with a carefully swaddled bundle—a fake baby to lure Sylus and his men away from your path and waste their time. She’d even wrapped the bundle with some of the baby’s spare blankets, ensuring Mephisto would pick up the scent and follow her all the way back.

“It’ll work,” Clara had said with surprising confidence, holding up her father’s old shotgun. “Let them come. I’m not afraid of no man who thinks he can hurt a mother and her baby.”

You couldn’t help but admire her fiery spirit. It felt strange, almost wrong, to leave such a kind and fearless woman to face Sylus’s wrath, but she’d insisted. "I’ve been through worse, honey," she said with a wink. You weren’t sure if that was true, but you appreciated the reassurance nonetheless.

She spent the rest of the evening making sure you had everything you’d need for the journey ahead. Diapers, wipes, bottles, onesies—every essential item a baby on the road could need was packed into the car. When she brought out the box of formula, you hesitated. “I’ve been breastfeeding,” you admitted, “but…just in case.”

Clara gave you a knowing smile. “Smart thinking, hon. You’ll thank yourself later.”

She showed you how to start her father’s car—a rusted but reliable manual—and went over the basics of shifting gears. “It’s not as tricky as it looks,” she said, patting the hood. “Just don’t panic if you stall. You’ll get the hang of it.” Then she helped you strap your daughter safely into the car seat, her hands steady and patient as she guided you through every buckle and strap.

Finally, the moment you’d been dreading came. The time to leave.

“I guess this is goodbye then,” you said, feeling the sting of tears pricking at your eyes. You tried to keep your voice steady, but it cracked just enough to betray you. Was this really it? Would you ever experience such raw human kindness again?

Clara smiled and pulled you into a tight hug, her warmth anchoring you for just a moment longer. “I don’t believe in goodbyes,” she said softly. “More like, see you laters. Now chin up, sweetheart. The nearest city is a looong drive.”

You laughed, even as the tears spilled over. “Thank you for everything,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll never forget you.”

Clara pulled back, brushing a tear from your cheek. “You’ll do great, honey. Just stay safe.”

As you climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car, the rumble of the engine made your daughter stir slightly in her car seat. Clara leaned down, peering through the window, and her expression softened. “By the way,” she said, her voice gentle. “Did you decide on a name yet?”

You glanced back at your baby girl, her tiny eyes fluttering open just enough to meet yours. In that fleeting moment, you felt a pang deep in your chest. Ruby…Evia… Those names had lingered in your mind for days, tied to memories that stung too much to carry forward. Names burdened with loss, betrayal, heartbreak. But this? This was a fresh start. A new chapter. Something better was needed—something untarnished.

“Sylvia,” you whispered, the name tumbling out of your mouth as if it had been waiting there all along. It felt right—soft yet strong, simple yet meaningful. The name filled the silence like a balm, wrapping you and your daughter in something new. Something safe.

As if on cue, Sylvia blinked up at you, her lips parting slightly in what could almost pass for a tiny expression of acknowledgment. You smiled softly, your chest aching with a blend of pride, guilt, and exhaustion.

Clara’s face lit up, her eyes crinkling with a warm smile. “Well, she seems to like it,” she said, nodding toward the little bundle strapped snugly in the car seat. “Guess that’s her name, then. You know, it means ‘forest’ in Latin. Pretty fitting for where she was born, don’t ya think?”

You let out a laugh, shaky but genuine, wiping at your tear-streaked cheeks with the back of your hand. “Yeah…fitting,” you murmured. The forest had been both your refuge and your prison, the place where this journey had truly begun. Sylvia was as much a part of that story as you were.

Clara stepped back, her hand resting gently on the car door as her smile faded into something softer, more serious. “See you later, hon,” she said, her voice low and steady. “And stay safe, okay? For her.” She gestured toward Sylvia, whose tiny hand was curled against her cheek in sleep already.

“See you later,” you replied, your voice catching just slightly. You offered her a small, shaky smile, the weight of your gratitude pressing down on your chest. “Thank you again…for everything.”

Clara gave you one last nod, her lips pressing into a firm line as if she were trying to hold back her own emotions. “You’ll do just fine, hon. I’ll keep them busy for you. Now, go.”

With one final glance at Clara, you gripped the steering wheel tightly, shifted the car into gear, and began to pull out of the gravel driveway. The headlights illuminated the narrow dirt road ahead, cutting through the thick darkness of the woods. Behind you, the farmhouse grew smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, until it finally disappeared from sight.

The road stretched out ahead of you, dark and endless, but you forced yourself to focus. To move forward. Behind you, Sylvia stirred faintly in her car seat but didn’t wake. The rhythmic hum of the engine seemed to lull her, and for that, you were thankful.

“Alright, Sylvia,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the lump forming in your throat. “Let’s go.”

And with that, you drove into the night, the sound of the tires crunching against the dirt road the only thing accompanying your thoughts. The uncertainty of the road ahead loomed large, but as you glanced at your daughter—at Sylvia—you reminded yourself that every mile away from the farmhouse was a mile closer to safety. At least, that’s what you hoped.

Sylus sat in his hotel room, the dim light from the desk lamp casting sharp shadows across his angular features. A glass of Gin rested on the table beside him, untouched for once. His attention was glued to the screen of his laptop, where a live feed from Mephisto's cameras played. The mechanical bird had been trailing Clara since she left Brunswick, its sharp, red-lensed eyes capturing every move she made.

It had been almost two weeks since Mephisto began following her, and Sylus’s gut told him everything he needed to know. This Clara woman wasn’t just some harmless diner worker. She was hiding you. That much was clear. The way she drove, cautious but purposeful, heading out to a remote area far from prying eyes—it all screamed of secrecy. And Sylus’s instincts were rarely wrong.

On the screen, Mephisto’s feed showed a small farmhouse coming into view, nestled in a clearing surrounded by dense trees. The sight of it made Sylus’s pulse quicken. He couldn’t see you—yet—but he felt it in his bones. You were there. His kitten, hiding in the woods like a frightened prey. The thought almost made him smile, but there was no time for smugness. Not yet.

Sylus leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him as he continued to watch the feed. Clara parked her car near the farmhouse and began unloading groceries from the trunk seemingly for the third time that week. She moved with ease, not a trace of nervousness in her demeanor. Either she was an excellent liar, or she truly believed she had outwitted him. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to act hastily. Not this time.

Normally he wouldn't have waited so long but given your sensitive state, he wanted to be careful.

He needed to be certain. If he stormed in too soon, he risked spooking you—and that was the last thing he wanted. Sylus’s crimson eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. He had time. Patience was key. He would let you feel safe, let you think you had escaped him. And when the moment was right, he would strike.

But his stalking was unexpectedly interrupted the night he planned to move in.

The feed from Mephisto’s cameras cut out abruptly, replaced by a burst of static. Sylus’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. “What the hell…” he muttered, his voice low and dangerous. He tapped a few keys on the laptop, trying to reestablish the connection, but it was no use.

Moments later, a call came in from one of his men. “Boss,” the voice on the other end said nervously. “We’ve got a problem. Mephisto’s been shot.”

Sylus’s eyes narrowed. “Shot?” His voice was cold, lethal.

“Yes, sir. A hunter took a shot at him—thought he was a real bird, I guess. He’s damaged pretty badly. We’ve got him en route for repairs already.”

Sylus closed his eyes, taking a deep, measured breath. The interruption was irritating, but it wasn’t the end of the world. He would have Mephisto repaired quickly, and in the meantime, he could work out his next steps. “Fine,” he said curtly. “Make it quick. I want him operational as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir.”

He ended the call and leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. The delay was frustrating, but it didn’t change his plan. Normally he'd take care of Mephistos repairs himself but his mind was racing far too much for that. He still had Clara. And wherever she went next, she would lead him straight to you.

Sylus reached for his Gin, taking a slow sip as he stared at the now-empty screen. The game wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. He would find you. It was only a matter of time. And when he did, there would be no more running. You were his. You had always been his.

“No weapons drawn unless I say so. It’s just a middle-aged woman and a pregnant one,” Sylus said firmly, his voice cold and calculating. “We won’t need much force.” He stood in front of a gathered group of his men, Luke and Kieran at his sides, their bird masks gleaming under the dim lights of the room. Sylus’s crimson eyes scanned each face, ensuring the weight of his command sank in. He wouldn’t tolerate recklessness. Not now.

Mephisto perched on his shoulder, his damaged wing twitching sporadically. The mechanical bird had seen better days, but it was still functional enough to serve as a watchful eye. Further repairs could wait. Time was of the essence, and Sylus wouldn’t waste another moment while you slipped further away.

On the monitor before him, the live feed from Mephisto’s remaining camera showed Clara entering Brunswick once more. Her movements were purposeful, but what truly caught Sylus’s attention was the bundle of blankets cradled in her arms. His pupils dilated instinctively, his chest tightening. Could it be? Was it possible that you had given birth already? His mind reeled at the thought. It wasn’t beyond reason—you were past your due date. The possibility sent a sharp thrill of anticipation coursing through him, though he masked it behind his usual stoicism.

Though, it could also be a trick. Not a very clever one, but a trick nonetheless.

Sylus then moved to the car, his crimson eyes glued to the live feed from Mephisto’s camera. Clara now strolled casually through the quiet, rain-slicked streets. She carried a bundle in her arms—soft blankets, cradled as if she were shielding a baby from the cold. His chest tightened as he observed her movements, his sharp gaze analyzing every detail.

“Boss…” Luke began from the front seat, his voice tentative. “Do you really think it’s…?”

Sylus didn’t answer right away. He leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest. His mind worked at a feverish pace, weighing the possibilities. Clara was clever, he’d give her that. The way she moved through the town was calculated, like she wanted to be seen but not stopped. She stopped briefly at a grocery store, stepping inside while the “baby” stayed securely tucked in her arms. Fifteen minutes later, she emerged with a bag of supplies and continued down the street.

Sylus’s lips curved into a faint smirk. If this was some elaborate trick, she was putting in a hell of an effort.

“She’s making a show of it,” he finally said, his voice calm but tinged with suspicion. “How peculiar to bring a fresh newborn outside this early in their first weeks of life.”

“Could it be hers?” Kieran asked cautiously, glancing at the feed over his shoulder. “Maybe she’s not hiding the miss at all.”

Sylus’s eyes narrowed, his grip on the edge of the seat tightening. “Not likely,” he said coldly. “She’s hiding something. And I’m going to find out what.”

For nearly an hour, they trailed Clara as she moved through Brunswick, making mundane stops and chatting briefly with shopkeepers. She never once let go of the bundle in her arms. Mephisto tracked her from above, his damaged wing hindering his flight but not enough to lose her in the sparse streets.

Finally, Clara climbed back into her car and began driving out of town. Sylus’s driver started the engine, following at a careful distance. The tension in the car was palpable as they left the lights of Brunswick behind, the road ahead growing darker and more secluded with every mile. Mephisto kept up, the feed from his camera showing the winding path Clara was taking.

“She’s heading back to the farmhouse,” Luke muttered, his voice barely audible.

Sylus didn’t respond. He already knew. His gaze stayed locked on the screen as Clara’s car pulled into the familiar driveway. She stepped out, clutching the bundle tightly as she walked briskly to the farmhouse door. The sight of the building—a small, unassuming structure nestled in the woods—made Sylus’s pulse quicken. If you were inside, then this charade was about to end.

“Stop here,” Sylus ordered, his voice low but firm. The car rolled to a halt about a mile away from the farmhouse, far enough to remain undetected but close enough to keep it in view. He watched intently as Clara disappeared inside with the bundle, her movements calm and purposeful.

“She’s got something,” Kieran said, breaking the silence. “But if it’s just blankets…”

“It can't be just blankets,” Luke snapped, cutting him off. “She wouldn’t be this careful over nothing. Prepare to move in.”

The men tensed, the air in the car thick with anticipation. Sylus reached into his coat, retrieving the lockpick kit he always carried. His movements were precise, almost methodical, as he checked his weapons and adjusted his gloves.

“No weapons,” he reminded suddenly, his tone sharp.

Luke and Kieran exchanged uneasy glances but nodded. They knew better than to question him when he was like this.

Sylus’s eyes flicked back to the farmhouse. He wasn’t foolish enough to think this would be simple. Clara had already proven herself clever, and you…you were a wildcard. But he’d planned for every possibility. He wasn’t leaving without you—and his daughter.

“Let’s go,” he said finally, stepping out of the car. The others followed, their footsteps muted on the damp earth. Mephisto perched nearby, his mechanical frame blending seamlessly into the shadows. The farmhouse loomed ahead, quiet and unassuming, but Sylus’s instincts told him otherwise.

Reaching the door, Sylus knelt, his fingers working expertly with the lockpick. It took mere seconds for the mechanism to click, and he pushed the door open with deliberate care. The sound of creaking hinges broke the silence, and the men filed in behind him, their eyes scanning every corner of the dimly lit space.

Sylus’s heart pounded in his chest as he stepped into the farmhouse. The game of cat and mouse was over. It was time to claim what was his.

Sylus’s patience had already worn thin as his men stormed the farmhouse, tearing through every corner, opening cupboards, flipping over furniture, and making a mess of the small space. He stood in the middle of the chaos, his eyes scanning the room with a calculating calm. It grated on his nerves how much noise they were making, and the lack of results only made it worse.

“No one here!” one of the men shouted from another room, frustration clear in his voice.

Sylus clenched his jaw, his fingers twitching at his sides. Minutes passed as his men continued their futile search, and with each moment, his irritation grew sharper. Finally, he raised his hand.

“Stop,” he commanded, his voice cold and clipped. The single word was enough to freeze everyone in place.

The farmhouse fell silent save for the distant sound of the wind outside. Sylus turned his gaze to a small closet in the living room—untouched, unsearched. His instincts prickled, a quiet certainty settling over him. He stepped forward, the air thick with tension as the other men watched him. The closer he got to the closet, the heavier the air felt.

With a steady hand, Sylus gripped the handle and swung the door open.

The sound of two gunshots shattered the silence, deafening and sudden. But the bullets never reached him. His crimson mist flared to life, wrapping around the projectiles and stopping them midair. The bullets hovered for a split second before clattering harmlessly to the floor.

Inside the closet, Clara stood trembling, her shotgun still aimed, her face pale but defiant. She fumbled to reload the weapon, her hands shaking as she tried to shove another shell into the chamber.

Sylus sighed, his crimson mist snaking out and wrapping around the shotgun. With a sharp yank, he pulled it from her hands and held it aloft. Clara froze, her breath coming in ragged gasps as Sylus examined the weapon with unnerving calm. He crouched, picking up the two discarded shells, and smoothly loaded them into the shotgun himself.

“You’ve got some fight in you, I’ll give you that,” he muttered, straightening up and aiming the weapon at her. Clara, now unarmed, still managed to glare at him with pure hatred.

“Get out of my fucking house,” she snarled, attempting to push herself up from the floor. Her body trembled, but her resolve didn’t waver.

Sylus’s expression didn’t change, his finger resting casually near the trigger. “Don’t think you’re in a position to be making demands.” He took a step closer, the barrel of the shotgun now pointed directly at her forehead. “Start talking. I’m not above putting new holes in women who stand in my way.”

Clara scoffed, her lips curling into a sneer even as her body sagged with exhaustion. “I got cancer anyway, bastard. Fucking do it,” she spat. “You think I don’t know all about what you did to that poor girl? Despicable. If anyone needs two new holes, it’s you, asshole.”

Sylus’s expression darkened, her words cutting through him like shards of glass. For a moment, his grip on the shotgun tightened, his crimson eyes narrowing dangerously. But instead of pulling the trigger, he reached down, his hand gripping Clara’s shoulder with bruising force. He yanked her up and tossed her onto the couch like a rag doll.

“Last chance,” he growled, his voice dripping with menace as he aimed the gun at her again. “And here I told my men no weapons. This is fair, though. You tried to kill me first.”

Clara struggled to sit up, clutching her side and breathing heavily. Despite her position, her fiery spirit hadn’t dimmed. She locked eyes with Sylus, her own gaze burning with hatred. “Go to fucking hell where you belong. You ain’t a man. Far from it. More like the devil himself!”

Her voice rang through the room, defiant and unwavering. Sylus grimaced, his teeth clenching as her words struck a nerve. He pressed the barrel of the shotgun against her head, his patience hanging by a thread.

But before he could respond, a voice cut through the tense moment.

“Boss…we found the nursery,” Luke called from down the hall.

Sylus froze, his heart skipping a beat at the words. Slowly, he straightened, his gaze snapping toward the hallway. For a moment, he didn’t move, his mind racing.

The nursery.

Without a word, Sylus turned on his heel, leaving Clara on the couch as he strode toward the hallway. The shotgun dangled at his side, forgotten in the flood of emotions rising within him. His men stepped aside as he passed, their eyes filled with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.

When Sylus entered the small room, his breath caught. The faint scent of baby powder lingered in the air, and soft, pastel colors adorned the walls. A crib sat against the far wall, and though it was empty, it was unmistakable—this room had been prepared for a child.

His child.

The nursery was a modest, humble space, but its purpose was unmistakable. The walls were painted in faded pastels, hints of yellow and green that had begun to peel slightly with age. A small wooden crib rested against one wall, its blankets slightly rumpled as though a tiny occupant had just been tucked away not long ago. The faint scent of baby powder lingered in the air, mixing with the smell of milk and something distinctly newborn.

Sylus’s gaze fell on the trash can tucked into a corner. It overflowed with used diapers and wipes, the evidence of sleepless nights and constant care. Scattered across the floor were tiny onesies in muted colors, some clean and folded, others clearly used and tossed aside in haste. A bottle sat forgotten on a nearby shelf, half-filled with what looked like breast milk.

You had been here. And not just for a moment—it was clear you had settled in, created a safe space for her. Sylus’s chest tightened as he scanned the room. His previous anger faded, replaced by something far heavier. He moved to the crib, his movements deliberate and slow. The mattress was slightly indented, a faint outline of where a newborn had rested.

His daughter. Was alive.

His hand hovered over the blankets, almost afraid to touch them, as if they would vanish under his fingers. What had her cries sounded like, he wondered? Soft and sweet like you? Or shrill and demanding, a force to be reckoned with? His jaw clenched, his breath uneven as his thoughts spiraled.

Had you given birth alone in this room? Without medical help? Without him? Were you hurt? Was she? The questions stormed through his mind, tightening a coil of frustration and fury in his chest. His eyes caught sight of a tiny onesie draped over the edge of the crib, pale pink with faded stripes. He reached for it, holding it delicately between his fingers before bringing it up to his nose.

Just as he thought. The faint, unmistakable scent of a baby clung to the fabric. His baby. He breathed in deeply, his nostrils flaring as he let the scent flood his senses. His hand shook slightly as he folded the onesie and slipped it into his pocket. A memento. A reminder of how close he had come—and how once again, you had slipped through his fingers.

His eyes darkened, and his calm exterior cracked as anger surged back to the forefront. You weren’t here. You had evaded him once more, just like before. His fists clenched, the thought of you out there alone with his newly born daughter sending a fresh wave of fury through him.

Straightening, Sylus turned on his heel and stalked back to the living room. His boots echoed heavily on the floorboards as he entered, and the tension in the air grew thick. Clara, restrained by two of his men, thrashed against their grip, yelling profanities at them.

“Assholes! Let me go!” she barked, her voice hoarse from shouting. Her defiance wavered for a moment as Sylus reentered, his imposing figure filling the room like a shadow.

He walked toward her slowly, the dark gleam in his eyes silencing the room. His steps were deliberate, calculated, and predatory. Clara froze as he crouched in front of her, his face mere inches from hers. His crimson eyes bore into her, and for the first time that night, the fiery woman shivered.

“Tell me where my fiancé and daughter went,” Sylus said, his voice low and venomous. “Or cancer will be the least of your worries.”

Clara stared back at him, her mouth opening and closing like she wanted to retort, but the words caught in her throat. His presence was suffocating, his aura predatory. Her confidence faltered, but then, with a shaky breath, she straightened herself as best she could, meeting his gaze with renewed defiance.

“I’ve dealt with men like you before,” she spat, though her voice lacked its earlier bravado. “You don’t deserve a fucking thing, much less a beautiful little family.”

Sylus’s jaw tightened at her words, his hand twitching at his side. He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over her face as his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Last chance, Clara. Talk,” he growled, his voice like a razor’s edge.

But Clara’s lips curled into a small, bitter smile, despite the beads of sweat forming on her brow. “Go to hell,” she said. “You’ll never find them. Never.”

The room fell deathly silent, and the tension crackled like a live wire. Sylus’s men exchanged nervous glances, waiting for his next move. For a moment, his face was unreadable, his crimson eyes locked on Clara as if weighing her words. Then, slowly, he stood to his full height, towering over her trembling form.

Sylus's jaw tightened again as Clara's defiant words echoed in his ears. How dare she? The audacity to look him in the eye, to challenge him, to stand in the way of the one thing he had longed for since he was a child—a family of his own. The only dream he had ever allowed himself to cherish in the twisted, brutal reality he had grown up in. And this woman, this nobody, thought she had the right to stand between him and what was his?

She wants to talk about deserving? His mind churned with indignation. The memories of sleepless nights, the endless search for you, and the growing knot of anger and longing to hold his daughter swirled together in a fiery storm. What did Clara know about what he had endured, about what he would sacrifice for you both? Nothing. And yet, she dared to judge him. She dared to throw his sins in his face as if hers weren’t just as vile.

A low, humorless chuckle escaped his lips, breaking the silence like a knife slicing through tension. His grin was sharp, predatory, as he leaned closer to Clara. Her defiance faltered for a split second, the shift in her expression subtle but satisfying. He had her attention.

“It’s funny,” he began, his voice calm but laced with venom, “you mention the prospect of deserving anything.” He paused, savoring the way her eyes narrowed, the way she stiffened against his men’s grip. “Haven’t you been stealing your father’s government checks while he rots away in a nursing home? Yet, you’re apparently ‘taking care of him.’”

Clara’s face faltered, her composure slipping like a mask cracking under pressure. Her mouth opened slightly as if to deny it, but no words came.

Sylus’s grin widened, his tone dripping with mockery. “Oh, don’t act so high and mighty, Clara. Don’t sit there on your soapbox and preach to me when your sins are clear as day, etched right onto that smug little face of yours. Didn't you dump your own daughter at her fathers cause you were tired of the financial burden she put on you?”

The color drained from Clara’s cheeks, her breathing quickening as his words struck true. She tried to pull her gaze away from his, but Sylus wasn’t letting her escape that easily. He leaned closer, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction. “You think you’re better than me? That you’ve got the moral high ground because you helped a pregnant woman on the run? Spare me. You’re no saint. You’re a liar, no different than the rest of humanity.”

For a moment, the room was suffocatingly quiet, the weight of his words pressing down like a crushing force. Clara’s lips pressed into a thin line, her trembling hands curling into fists at her sides as she tried to muster another bout of defiance. But the guilt in her eyes was unmistakable, and Sylus knew he had hit his mark.

His grin faded, replaced by a cold, calculating look. “So, Clara,” he said, his voice softer now, but no less dangerous. “Do you want to try again? Or are we going to keep playing this little game until I truly lose my patience?”

Clara's chest heaved with fury, her hands still pinned by his henchmen, but her voice came out sharp and steady. “I never claimed to be perfect,” she snapped, her eyes burning into Sylus. “And I sure as hell have my own sins. But it was me who looked after her and that baby, hiding her from you. You should be thanking me, asshole. If it weren’t for me, she’d probably be dead in a ditch somewhere. And you have the nerve to come into my house and threaten me? Fuck you.”

She paused, her defiance unwavering as her gaze darted to the crib in the other room. Her voice softened slightly, but the venom was still there. “That woman was scared out of her mind, crying every damn night, and I was the one who kept her alive. I gave her food. I gave her a safe place. So yeah, go ahead—hold that gun over my head. But just remember, if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even have a daughter to hunt down. Much less a fiancé.”

Her voice broke slightly, but she kept her head high, glaring at him. “So like I said. You don’t deserve her. And you sure as hell don’t deserve that baby.”

Sylus stared at her, his breathing heavy, his crimson eyes narrowing. Her words cut deeper than he cared to admit, the weight of her defiance stirring something dark inside him. For the first time in years, someone had dared to tell him he wasn’t deserving—dared to spit the truth in his face.

Sylus’s jaw tightened further, the muscle flexing as Clara’s words struck him like a whip. Her breathing was ragged, and the fire in her eyes was unyielding despite the clear danger she was in. Her defiance burned bright, and though it grated on his every nerve, he couldn’t entirely dismiss the truth in her words.

She’s right, isn’t she?

He inhaled slowly, steadying himself. Her accusations hung heavy in the air. It was her who had hidden you, fed you, cared for the baby—all while he’d been storming around like a madman, desperate to bring you back. Dead in a ditch somewhere. The words echoed in his mind, and an unfamiliar pang struck his chest. Was that true? Could you have survived all this without Clara? He hated the thought, hated the idea that someone else had protected you better than he had.

But there it was. His mind churned as Clara’s words continued to linger, stoking the embers of his frustration. He wanted to tear her a new one, to tear her arguments apart, to prove that he was the one who should be thanked, not her. He had searched tirelessly, sacrificed sleep, combed every inch of this cursed region to find you.

He had cleaned up every mess you’d made, erased the trail you’d left behind so no one else could harm you. Killed most of the people who had harmed you. He had paid people off, hacked into systems, and even restrained himself from tearing apart everyone who so much as looked like they might know where you were. He was doing all of this for you.

And yet, here Clara stood, telling him he wasn’t worthy of you or his daughter. The audacity of it boiled his blood.

Sylus’s lips pressed into a thin line as he paced slowly in front of Clara, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. His mind was a storm of conflicting emotions—rage, frustration, and something deeper, something he didn’t want to acknowledge. Guilt? No. He didn’t allow himself guilt. Not when everything he did was necessary to bring you back to where you belonged.

He stopped abruptly, turning to face Clara again, his crimson eyes burning into hers. "You think I don’t know what she’s been through?" His voice was low, almost a growl, but there was an edge of restraint to it. "You think I don’t care? Every second she’s been out of my sight has been hell. Hell, do you understand me?"

Clara’s glare didn’t waver, though her breathing hitched at the force behind his words. "Oh your the victim here? Then maybe you should ask yourself why she ran in the first place," she said bitterly, her voice quieter but no less cutting.

Sylus stiffened. The words landed like a blow to his gut, but he masked it with a cold smile. "She ran because she doesn’t know what’s best for her," he said sharply, though even to his own ears, the words sounded hollow. "She’s reckless, impulsive, and stubborn. And yet here I am, cleaning up her messes, making sure she’s safe. Because I care. Because she’s mine."

Clara scoffed, shaking her head. "You call that love? You’re delusional. Love isn’t ownership, you sick bastard. It’s trust. And you? You don’t even know what that word means. Probably can't even spell it."

Sylus’s jaw clenched so tightly it felt like his teeth might crack. Her words cut deeper than any weapon ever could. He could feel the simmering rage bubbling beneath the surface, but he forced himself to take a step back, inhaling deeply to keep his composure.

"You’re bold, I’ll give you that," he said, his voice eerily calm now. "But don’t mistake my patience for weakness, Clara. I’ve killed people for saying less." He leaned down, bringing his face closer to hers, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "You have no idea what I’ve sacrificed for her. What I’ve endured just to make sure she and our daughter survive. You don’t get to sit there and tell me I don’t deserve them."

Clara’s lips trembled for a moment, but then she lifted her chin defiantly. "And yet, here you are. Storming in like a tyrant instead of a father. Do you even know what she’s gone through? What it’s like to be afraid of the man who’s supposed to protect you?"

Sylus flinched inwardly at her words but didn’t let it show. Instead, he straightened, his expression hardening into a mask of indifference. "Enough," he said coldly, brushing past her as he gestured to his men. "Search the area again. Look for any clues as to where they’ve gone."

As his men scattered to follow his orders, Sylus turned his back to Clara, though her words continued to echo in his mind. Do you even know what she’s gone through?

He tightened his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He wasn’t here to reflect on his actions or question his choices. He was here to bring you back. That was all that mattered.

And yet…her words lingered, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts as he made his way toward the nursery again.

Sylus lingered in the nursery, his gaze sweeping over every detail of the room. The small pile of used diapers in the trash, the onesies scattered across the crib, the faint smell of baby powder that clung to the air—all of it painted a vivid picture of the life you had carved out for yourself and your daughter in his absence. His chest tightened, a mix of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Anger, regret, longing. It was all there, bubbling beneath the surface.

He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenching as his thoughts spiraled. I missed it. The words echoed in his mind, heavy with anguish. He had missed her birth. The first cries. The moment she had entered the world. He had missed it all.

What had those first few days been like? Had you been in excruciating pain, left to deal with it all alone? The thought made his stomach churn. You probably hadn’t had medical attention, knowing how determined you were to stay off the radar. Were you okay? Was she okay? His mind raced with questions, each one more painful than the last.

What did she look like? Had you given her a name yet? The ache in his chest deepened. He wanted to know every detail, every moment he had missed, but instead, he was left with this hollow emptiness.

Sylus sighed heavily, forcing himself to focus. His eyes fell on a familiar object tucked beneath a blanket on the floor. He crouched down and pulled it out, his lips curling into a faint smile. Luke’s gun. The one you had stolen during your escape. He turned it over in his hands, inspecting it. He checked the bullet chamber.

Empty. What had you used the rest of the bullets for?

“So, you still had this with you,” he murmured to himself, his tone a mix of amusement and frustration. “At least you were somewhat armed. But now…” He sighed again, his brows furrowing. Now you’re out there with nothing to protect yourself or the baby. You’ve left yourself vulnerable.

He stood, pocketing the gun as his mind churned with possibilities. If you had left the gun behind, then you hadn’t gone far on foot. Traveling with a newborn, without proper protection, in your condition—it wasn’t feasible. A thought struck him, and his gaze snapped toward the front door.

He strode outside, ignoring the puzzled glances from his men. The dirt driveway stretched out before him, and he crouched low, inspecting the ground. Sure enough, fresh tire tracks were etched into the earth, leading away from the farmhouse. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Ah, so you’re driving now. Clever girl. But that also means…you haven’t gotten far.

Straightening, Sylus turned and re-entered the house, his expression calm and collected despite the storm raging inside him. He found Clara in the living room, still struggling against the grip of his men. He motioned for them to release her.

Clara fell to the floor with a grunt, clutching her chest and glaring up at him. “Assholes,” she spat, her voice hoarse but still full of defiance.

Sylus smirked, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket as he approached her. “I’d like to thank you for taking such great care of my family,” he said smoothly, his tone almost polite. “Truly, you have my gratitude. As a gift, you won’t get any new holes in your skull today.”

Clara scoffed, pushing herself into a sitting position. “Crazy bastard.”

He chuckled softly, his crimson eyes glinting. “Perhaps. But I will, however, be taking this.” He held up the shotgun, the metal gleaming under the dim light. “Thanks for your time.”

Clara glared at him, her jaw tightening. “Go to hell.”

Sylus leaned down slightly, meeting her gaze with an unsettling calm. “I’ve already been there, Clara. But don’t worry—I’ll make sure to send your regards if I ever go back.”

With that, he straightened and gestured for his men to follow him. They filed out of the farmhouse, leaving Clara sitting on the floor, her defiance still flickering but her exhaustion evident. Sylus stepped out into the night, the cool air biting against his skin as he approached the waiting car.

As Sylus exited the farmhouse, the cool night air filled his lungs. His steps were measured, his eyes fixed forward, but his mind was racing. He reached into his pocket, pulling out Luke's missing gun, its weight familiar in his hand. He turned it over once, a faint smirk tugging at his lips before he called out.

“Luke,” Sylus said, his voice sharp enough to cut through the noise of the other men shuffling about.

Luke turned quickly, his bird mask tilted in curiosity. “Yes, boss?”

With a flick of his wrist, Sylus tossed the gun toward him. Luke caught it midair, his eyes widening behind his mask. “No way! You found it!” he exclaimed, holding it up triumphantly.

Sylus’s smirk deepened. “Try not to lose it again to any more pregnant women,” he said dryly, turning away as Luke let out an enthusiastic cheer.

“Thanks, boss!” Luke said, almost bouncing in place as he inspected his beloved weapon. Kieran gave his brother a light shove, muttering something about priorities, but Luke didn’t seem to care. He twirled the gun theatrically, clearly overjoyed to have it back.

Sylus didn’t linger on the scene. He strode toward the car, his expression hardening once more as the reality of the situation set in. Tossing the gun back was a minor indulgence—one moment of levity in a sea of mounting frustration. He climbed into the car, settling into the backseat as the driver awaited his command.

He had managed to keep his cool surprisingly well so far. First with the twins, and with everyone else here in Brunswick. No one had died surprisingly. Perhaps you had more influence on him than he thought.

Still. There was only so much he could take before he snapped.

His eyes drifted back toward the farmhouse, the faint glow of its lights barely visible through the dark trees. Clara’s words still rang in his ears, her defiance leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. But it didn’t matter now. He had the trail. The tire tracks. A direction.

The game was far from over.

“Drive,” Sylus ordered, his voice cold and unyielding. The car hummed to life, rolling forward into the night. As it sped down the dirt road, he allowed himself a brief glance at the horizon. Somewhere out there, you and his daughter were waiting. He would hold you both soon, he could feel it.

And he was getting closer.

Xavier’s apartment was dark, the curtains drawn tightly to block out the sunlight that threatened to pierce through. The air was frigid, his breath visible in the dim light of the television that flickered across the room. Ice shards littered the floor, clinging to his arms and legs like cruel barbs. He lay there, writhing, his body trembling uncontrollably as pain radiated through every fiber of his being.

The shrill sound of his phone ringing cut through the silence, pulling him momentarily from the haze of agony. It buzzed relentlessly on the floor next to him, the screen illuminating missed calls and unread messages.

Missed Calls: Captain Jenna (5), Team Line (12) Messages: Captain Jenna – “Xavier, we’re worried. Please answer your phone.” Team Chat – “Anyone heard from Xavier?” “He’s been ghosting us for weeks.”

The phone buzzed again. Another call. He turned his head slightly, his blurred vision focusing just enough to make out the name on the screen. Captain Jenna.

The ringtone felt like nails in his ears, and with what little strength he had, he reached for the phone, his frostbitten fingers trembling. It slipped from his grasp, clattering back to the icy floor. The call went to voicemail.

Moments later, the voicemail notification played automatically, her voice soft but filled with concern:

"Xavier, everyone on the team is worried sick about you. Please get back to me when you can. I’d hate to forcibly resign you. Let’s work something out, okay? If you need more time, it’s fine. Call me back."

The message ended with a beep, and Xavier let out a strained breath, his chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. His fingers twitched, trying to reach for the phone again, but his body refused to cooperate. The ice shards seemed to dig deeper, the frost creeping up his arms like vines threatening to claim him.

He heaved, his teeth chattering uncontrollably as he tried to form coherent thoughts. The pain was unbearable, a relentless wave that drowned out everything else.

And then, everything went black.

The phone buzzed one last time, the screen lighting up the room as Xavier’s unconscious form lay sprawled on the floor, his breaths uneven as the frost slowly spread across his floor.

[pathologicalreid]

in sickness and in health | S.R.

Minutes before your wedding is supposed to start, Spencer gets cold feet, and you have to find out why.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff (a smidge angsty) content warnings: alzheimers, weddings, children, babies, sad!spencer, reader wears a dress and makeup, cursing word count: 1.8k a/n: so this became sadder than I had initially intended. also i decided to try something new and write in a different POV and i don't know if i like it. this is my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins' new beginnings challenge, because nothing says new beginning quite like getting married! thank you for having this challenge!

If it were up to you and Spencer, your wedding would’ve taken place at a courthouse with no fuss, just rings and a certificate. Especially after he shot down your idea of a 24-hour wedding chapel in Las Vegas.

In your defense, you pitched it to him as an intimate wedding in his hometown, but he didn’t take the bait.

But when the team found out that the two of you were planning what they deemed unsuitable, they all volunteered to help throw together a ceremony and reception. Everyone was under the duress of Penelope at the time, but they all volunteered.

She could be very formidable when she wanted to.

Your now maid of honor’s eyes were shimmering as she carefully adjusted some of the last few strands of hair upon your head, you had managed to talk her out of a tiara, but to Penelope Garcia, a veil was non-negotiable. “You look gorgeous,” she says, “the perfect bride.”

Laughing uncomfortably, you turn to look at yourself in the full-length mirror and take a deep breath, “Thank you, Pen.”

“I know I may have slightly nudged you in the direction of a bigger wedding-“

“More like punted,” you interrupt, an affectionate smile on your face.

Rolling her eyes, she leaned over to grab her buzzing phone on the velvet chair in your ready room. “Whatever, I just think that after everything you and Spencer have made it out of, you deserve a celebration that reflected that,” she speaks passionately, as she always does when discussing people in love.

Turning around to look back at the mirror, the tulle of your veil cascading over your shoulders as you grew giddy. Your dress was a whimsical, white chiffon that fell to the floor and moved with you as you walked. Small straps of fabric were delicately draped over your arms for an off-the-shoulder effect, you had never felt more glamorous. Although, if there was a day for glamor, your wedding day would certainly qualify.

You snap your head around to see Penelope furiously typing on her phone, “Uh oh,” she whispers, looking at the screen.

Humming, you step off of the pedestal and over to her, careful not to trip on your dress, “What’s wrong?” You murmur, trying to see what was distressing her. Dread built in your stomach; the team couldn’t be getting called away? Two of its members were about to get married. This is why you should’ve just gone to the courthouse; you never should’ve let Garcia talk you into this.

Jolting you out of your panic induced stupor, she answers, “Something’s up with Reid.”

Your heart clenches, “Reid? My Reid?” You whisper, “Is he okay?”

The two of you jump when someone bangs on the door, and she moves to open it, just a crack at first – to see who it is – and then all the way open to reveal Luke on the other side. Naturally, the members of the BAU made up your wedding party, and Luke as the best man was the easy choice.

He was mostly dressed, save for the bowtie that remained undone around his neck, “I need to steal Y/N.” His shoulders were rising and falling quickly like he had run across the building.

“She’s getting ready for the wedding. Her wedding,” Penelope answers, gesturing back to you. “Besides, it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.”

Really, you were mostly ready, you just needed to put your shoes on and line up. “There won’t be a wedding if we can’t get the groom out there,” Luke replies.

You warily approach the doorway, peeking around the door, “What’s wrong?”

“He just needs you,” Luke explains, gesturing toward you with his hands.

Nodding determinedly, you step out the door and run over to the other side of the building to where the groom’s ready room is, pulling the fabric of your dress up so that you don’t trip. Along the way, you pass a few guests, but you don’t stop.

It wasn’t news to most of them that you were a grounding force for Spencer, the two of you had been put through, as Luke put it, the wringer together and still managed to come out the other side. You skid to a halt in front of the door and knock quickly, “Spence, it’s me.”

“It’s bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony,” he murmurs through the door, echoing the earlier sentiments of Penelope. You know he doesn’t believe in it, which only adds to your concern.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, fidgeting with the doorknob just to discover it’s locked. “If you don’t unlock the door, I’m going to go find Derek and have him kick it down for me,” you threaten, wondering if the reminder of all of the people here would coax him out.

There was no response from the other side of the door.

Sighing, you turn to look at Luke, “Can you give us a minute?” He nods, letting you know he’ll talk to Garcia before walking down the long hallway.

Once he’s gone, you hear the tell-tale click of the door unlocking, “Garcia will kill you if you walk in here.”

“Penny isn’t here, baby. It’s just you and me, okay?” You speak lowly, “What’s wrong, my love?” Dropping your hand on the doorknob, you startle slightly when it turns and the door swings open.

You yelp when Spencer pulls you in, closing the door behind you before he wraps his arms tightly around your waist. Immediately, you feel his body relax against yours, “Isn’t this supposed to be bad luck?” He murmurs.

Humming, you return his hug gratefully, “We’ve had enough bad luck, don’t you think? It’ll be okay.” His arms loosen around you, and you pull away slightly so you can look up at him, placing your hands tenderly on his chest, thumbing the satin fabric of his lapels. “And besides, I’m not fully dressed yet. I’m fairly certain that means it doesn’t count.”

“You look beautiful,” he whispers, holding you out at arm’s length. “You’re perfect, and I’m…” His voice trails off as he takes a step back from you, sighing as he takes a seat in one of the white chairs in the ready room.

Tilting your head to the side, you felt the fabric of your veil flow to the side, “You’re what, Spence?” You ask, slowly approaching the chair he was sitting in.

He furrows his brows in apprehension, “I think I might be scared of you,” he answers candidly.

You couldn’t help the giggle that spurted from your lips, “Am I really that scary?” You inquire softly, seeking more answers from him. You saw him better now, the darkness of his tux offset by the purple bowtie and handkerchief, joined with the light florals of his boutonnière. Spencer’s hair was a mess, a tell-tale sign that he had been running his hands through it.

Clearing his throat, Spencer looks up at you with a look in his eye that you can’t quite place, “I passed by your room earlier, and I heard you laughing.” He took a deep, tentative breath, “I thought you sounded so happy, and now I’m not sure I can keep you happy.”

Sighing, you duck your head slightly, “Spencer,” you say seriously, “are we still getting married today?”

“What?” He says in disbelief. “Of course we are, that’s not- I’m sorry,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “We’re still getting married; I’ve quite literally never wanted anything more in my entire life. I’m just worried,” he speaks quietly.

Gingerly, you step closer to the chair before he reaches out for you, placing a hand on your waist and gently guiding you down until you are sitting on his lap. “You make me so happy, Spencer Reid. I know that somewhere in that gorgeous brain of yours you know that, but I also know that you are your own worst critic.”

You’re sitting sideways on his lap with your legs latticed on top of each other. Gingerly, he places a hand on your thigh and another on the small of your back, “You deserve everything you want in the world.”

“And I want you. Doesn’t that count for something?” You ask him, emotion beginning to rise in your throat – you cannot cry, then the wedding would really be delayed. “Spencer, I’m so ecstatic that at the end of today, I get to be your wife. That’s such a privilege to me. You and I, we get to be so fucking happy today. We deserve that.” You tell him gently, “We get to be married and go on our honeymoon and come home and we can tell all of your stories to your mom, and we’ll have a baby or two and we’ll be so fucking happy.” You swallow your emotion, looking up at the light in the hope that it will clear your tears. “For the rest of our lives, we’ll be so happy.”

Then it came, “I don’t want to forget you.” His voice is almost imperceptible, but you hear him still.

The ache in his voice feels like a stab to your heart, you were well aware that his mother had Alzheimer’s. She wasn’t having a good day today, but the two of you had gone to visit her in the morning. Ever since she was diagnosed, it’s been like Spencer has a storm cloud hovering over him – he can’t be tested for the gene markers, not for a few more years. Taking a deep breath, you reach over and smooth his hair back, “If you get Alzheimer’s, I will sit down with you every day and remind you. I’m going to walk down that aisle today and tell you that I’m going to love you in sickness and in health and I’m going to mean it.”

“I’m scared,” he murmurs, leaning into your touch.

Using your free hand, you reach up and tenderly wipe a tear from his cheek, “We can take it.”

He nods in agreement with you, “Together, as a team,” he concurs, a slight amount of confidence returning to his voice.

Resting your head on his shoulder, the two of you take your moment. The last moment before you officially unite as one, and you let that moment take as long as you need. “I should go,” you whisper, looking over at the clock, the ceremony was supposed to have started by now.

Spencer leans down and kisses you, “I’ll see you out there?” He asks expectantly.

Nodding assuredly, you reach up and wipe a smudge of lipstick from his mouth, “I’ll be there.”

During the ceremony, you impressively were able to keep yourself together, until you promised him you would love him in sickness and in health.

please remember to like, reblog, and/or comment if you enjoyed!

[dedicatednotobsessed]

Issa byka rūklon [Daemon Targaryen x Wife!reader]

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Other HOTD stories

Summary: Daemon is feared among men for his battle prowess, finding solace and love in his pure sunshine of a wife. One serene evening, amidst impending war, they steal a moment alone. His wife with gentle hands and a heart full of affection, braids Daemon’s hair, weaving delicate flowers into the strands…

*This was a one shot request from a very special person of mine, my bestie @mrsdaemontargaryen I had asked her to send me a prompt because I have been on such a long hiatus from writing. Writer’s block has not been fun {among personal things but let’s not get into that}. Please enjoy this Daemon one shot and soon enough, I will be taking requests again in time for season two. 🖤*

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You placed a hand on the ghost of your swelling stomach, your violet eyes shining from the fireplace’s flames. The incident was still fresh in your mind, your sister’s screams of calling you a traitor ringing in your ears. It wasn’t a surprise to see the twins together in Storm’s End, having been inseparable since birth, but you never thought Adryana* would try to murder you.

You turned your head slightly, hearing the footsteps, letting out a soft sigh, and feeling your husband wrap an arm around your waist and pull you back into his chest. “Is it done?”

Daemon nodded, nuzzling his nose into your silver hair. “Soon enough, she will feel the pain you felt.”

You took a deep breath, looking ahead. When Daemon was writing to his friends in the capital, you had mentioned to him how you wanted Adryana to feel the same pain you felt when she took her unborn babe from you. He added, “Along with the usurper’s son, take the life of his brother’s son.”

“I don’t want you to feel guilty,” Daemon whispered in your ear as though he could read your mind. “Those green cunts didn’t feel anything killing Luke and our child. You shouldn’t either.”

You nodded in agreement, furrowing your brows. “Can we go on a walk?” You knew this would be the last calm moment before Westeros is thrown into chaos.

You turned in Daemon’s arms, smiling a small smile when he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Of course, my love.”

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You wrapped your hands around Daemon’s arm as he led you down the familiar path toward Aegon’s Garden. During the day, it was a favorite spot for your young son, Alyster, to play in; he especially enjoyed the cranberries that grew there. The eye of the dragon statue glistened in the moonlight the closer you got, lifting your dress slightly so it did not drag too much through the grass.

You thanked Daemon quietly when he helped you into the plush grass, a hum passing your lips as you began to pick at the small white wildflowers surrounding you mindlessly. Since you’ve woken up from the incident, the two of you have rarely spent time alone, with Alyster not leaving your side and Daemon being preoccupied with the small council. For the first time in a long time, you felt peace.

Once he sat down, you moved to sit behind your husband, your fingers gingerly taking a section of his hair and beginning to work it in a braid. His hair was not as long as it once was but manageable. You smiled, hearing the light chuckle coming from him.

“What?” You asked as you grabbed one of the wildflowers you picked, placing it carefully within the braid.

Daemon kept his eyes ahead, a small smile forming on his features. “I’m only thinking back to our wedding day.”

“Our wedding day?” You repeated while beginning to braid another section of his hair, adding the little flowers as you went.

Daemon hummed in response. “You wanted to braid my hair that day, too.”

You smiled at the memory. You had a traditional Valyrian wedding against your mother’s wishes. You were never one to listen to your mother, to begin with, having gone against her wishes to become Rhaenyra’s ward at fifteen, shortly after Laena’s funeral, and two years later becoming Daemon’s third wife. Now, at the age of three-and-two, the two of you had a six-year-old son, a son your mother and father only met once.

“I’m hoping this war will be over quickly,” Daemon spoke quietly, breaking the silence.

You hummed, leaning back to examine your creation. “I do not want to talk about war this evening, my love,” You said softly, placing a few more flowers in the braids with a soft smile.

You enjoyed the calm moments while you could, not knowing if this would be your last one together. The war began when Aemond and Adryana struck in Storm’s End, and you knew Daemon would be restless until every one of their heads was on spikes. You were to cherish these moments while they lasted.

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You hummed as the sun filtered through the windows, stirring slightly only to feel the side beside you cold. You furrowed your brows while rubbing your eyes as you sat up, your stomach still sore from your injuries.

“You do not want to go to the small council like that?” You asked teasingly, seeing Daemon picking out the white flowers, having slept in them.

He chuckled, looking down at the small pile forming beside him at the vanity. “I’m not sure it would be proper attire for a small council meeting.”

You scrunched up your nose while slowly getting out of bed. Wrapping your silken robe around you, you walked up behind your husband, meeting his violet eyes in the mirror.

“Issa byka rūklon*,” Daemon said softly, placing his hand on your arm when you wrapped them around his neck.

You hummed lightly. “I prefer when you call me aōha vēzos*.”

Daemon laughed. “No one else can hear that.”

You smirked, moving back so Daemon could get up. You straightened his doublet for him, scrunching up your nose when he placed two fingers under your chin, making you look up.

“I love you, Y/N,” Daemon whispered, moving his hand to your cheek.

“I love you too,” You replied, meeting his lips in a short, sweet kiss.

You watched him pull away after a moment, a small smirk forming on your features. You noticed the stray flower tucked in the waves of his hair.

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“You’re late, Daemon,” Corlys spoke up, seeing the Prince enter the council chambers.

“You should already know that I enjoy making late, dramatic entrances,” Daemon replied simply, sliding into the empty seat on Rhaenyra’s right.

Rhaenyra eyed her uncle curiously, tilting her head. “Daemon,” She called to him, clearing her throat while motioning to her hair.

Daemon furrowed his brows, reaching up to feel the soft petals of the single wildflower he had forgotten about. He untangled it from his hair, looking down at it with a soft sigh.

“Is the Rogue Prince going soft?” Lord Celtigar questioned with a laugh.

“I believe he is,” Corlys agreed.

Daemon only scoffed as the Black Council erupted in laughter, Rhaenyra even adding a giggle of her own. He sighed as the jesting continued around him, his eyes staying on the wildflower in his hand. He twirled it on its tiny stem, his mind wandering back to his wife, their son, and the babe they had lost.

There was no guarantee of surviving this kin war, but Daemon was determined to win it so that he and his family could finally live the peaceful life they had long desired.

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*Adryana: Adryana Targaryen is my original character for House of the Dragon. She is the youngest daughter and fifth child of King Viserys and Queen Alicent (The reader is the eldest daughter and child). She is wed to her twin brother, Aemond, and they have a set of twins together; a son named Vanar and a daughter named Vhaenys. She is known to have a short temper and often accused her eldest sister of abandoning her to live with Rhaenyra on Dragonstone. She also felt hurt when she sided with Rhaenyra's children during the Driftmark incident. Her temper overflowed when her eldest sister made a comment about how their father would be disappointed in the twins and their actions after reuniting in Storm's End, ultimately resulting in Adryana attempting to kill her and the unborn babe. The eldest sister lived, but the unborn babe did not, leading to her and Daemon planning revenge on Lucerys and their child.

*Issa byka rūklon: High Valyrian for my little flower.

*aōha vēzos: High Valyrian for your sun.

[lou-struck]

Made with Love Part 1

Obey Me Brothers and Datables x reader

Part 2 HERE

MASTERLIST !

~After Luke uses a bowl from Solomon's Lab to make some Cookies for the Valentines Day party. Everyone starts acting a bit... Love Drunk.

a/n: I hope you guys like this little Valentine's Day series! If you want to be tagged in part 2 Comment Below!

Introduction:

As the Angel reaches up on his tiptoes to reach an upper kitchen cabinet, Luke's little white beret slips from his white blonde head. The sweet smell of angelic sugar cookies wafts through the air around him from the dozens of batches he has made today. From what he has 'sampled' earlier, he can tell that if he were to wrap them up right now, even Barbatos would have seconds. But he wants to frost and decorate the little heart-shaped cookies with a whipped-cloud icing you like before bringing them to Diavolo's castle for his Valentine's Day celebration.

The party may be small, but it was planned especially with you in mind. 

Although he was up in the Celestial Realm running an errand for Michael, Luke heard all about the little prank that Solomon played on Simeon and the others about some evil, human-world monster called Cupid that was trying to steal you away. 

You were never in any real danger, but he and everyone else agreed that the prank made the day less enjoyable for you. Which is the last thing anyone wanted. 

Meetings were held, contracts were signed, and it was agreed that for this Valentine's Day, there would be no funny business. 

Today has to be perfect for you, so his cookies need to be frosted.

Fueled by his good-natured desire to make you something sweet, Luke is able to reach just a bit higher, his fingertips grabbing the ceramic mixing bowl by its patterned edge. 

This victory is short-lived, however, as it slips past his butter-coated fingers and thuds to the ground, the heavy bowl splitting in two.

The broken bowl in front of him causes the Angel to feel a bit distressed. Why couldn't he be bigger?

To clean up the fallen pieces.

But as his kitchen timer takes down slowly he realizes that he's running out of time. He has to get the frosting made soon.

"Where are all the other mixing bowls?" he wonders aloud as he looks through the other cabinets and dishwasher, finding none. 

He knows that there are more than just the ones he has been using for the batter. But where are they?

He puffs out his little cherub cheeks with a pout as he tries to think where they could've gone.

And then, it hits him.

Solomon…

The Sorcerer has a habit of 'borrowing' things from the kitchen, bringing them into his Lab, hoarding them, and not bringing them back for weeks. The batch of cookies in the oven only has a few minutes left, so he wastes no time scampering up to the Lab to retrieve the stolen mixing bowls.

Thankfully, the dark wooden door to the Lab is unlocked, and he slips inside. Every step is anxious for the little Angel. You never know what is crawling about Solomon's Lab. 

This time, the air is unusually sweet, like cotton candy and pomegranate seeds. 

The mouthwatering smell has the angeling giggling to himself, although Solomon can't cook an edible meal to save his life, some of the spells and potions he cooks up can be classified as tasty.

From the corner of his eye, Luke sees a small stack of his mixing bowls on the countertop. But as he gets close, he sees that they are completely filthy, covered in remnants of some experiment.

Luke knows not to try to touch those ones; after all, the last time he tried to clean some of Solomon's dishes, he ended up cursed with webbed feet for a whole day. 

As he shudders from the memory, he spots a light blue bowl on the edge of another table. 

It's his favorite bowl; this one would be perfect for him to use to make the frosting. 

The best part is it looks clean. 

BUZZ...

The sharp ringing of the kitchen timer causes the little Angel to jump as he hastily grabs the bowl and runs downstairs so his cookies won't burn. 

But in his rush to prevent what he thinks would be the day's biggest disaster, he fails to notice the small layer of shimmery glaze that has gathered at the bottom of the bowl.

~

There is Love in the dark, chilly air of the devildom as you make your way to the Demon Lord's castle. Your feet are not quite running, but they step with an embarrassed quickness, 

The Valentine's Day outfit that Asmodeus picked out for you earlier had caused a few delays, so now you worry you are running late to the party. 

How can one shirt have so many different types of buttons and zippers?

A part of you wonders if the Avatar of Lust had given you this particular outfit to distract you and prevent you from leaving for the party with the other brothers. 

Your hands pat the back pockets of your jeans again as you feel the solid outline of your DDD through the fabric and sigh in relief. Barbatos wrote on the invitations that bringing the device was necessary for today's events since he had planned a few party games that required them. 

It's then you notice a little figure dressed in white slowly making his way up the path just ahead of you. 

Luke's steps are as small as he awkwardly carries a large container. You are about to ask him if he needs any help, but the look of determination on his face tells you not to try and take it from him, so instead, you raise a friendly hand and call after him.

When he sees you, he stands up a bit straighter. 

"Mc, Happy Valentine's Day." he beams. 

"Thank you, Luke." you look down at the box curiously. "Whatcha got there?"

The little Angel's cheeks turn a bit pink as he looks shyly away from you. "I made angelic sugar cookies for the party.

Your grin is elated at his words. "Those are so good. That was very thoughtful of you, Luke."

He perks up like a little dog at your compliment. "It was nothing, I made that frosting you like too, but I didn't have all the ingredients I needed, so only a few were frosted."

"I'm sure everyone will love them." you smile purposely, making your strides small so the little guy can keep up with you. "Did you remember to bring your DDD for the party games?"

His blue eyes widen in shock, and he looks at you with an expression of pure distress. "Oh no, I knew I was forgetting something."

"Since you have that big box of cookies, I can just run back to Purgatory Hall and grab it for you." you offer with a kind smile. "Where did you leave it."

He looks at you gratefully, and his shoulders relax as much as he can with that huge box of cookies in his hands. "You would really do that for me? Thank you, you're the best Mc; I think I left it on the kitchen counter."

Sounds good, I'll see you in a little bit." you smile. As you turn around, you remember one more thing. "Make sure to save a cookie for me."

"Don't worry," he calls back happily. "I will."

~

The enormous doors part for Luke in an almost haunting manner as he approaches the castle door. He fights the shudder as he steps inside, clutching his box of cookies with a death grip as his ears pick up the faint sound of conversation. 

He follows it closer and closer to the banquet hall, where he was told the party would be held. 

As the sounds grow louder, he can make out the excited rambling of Leviathan, the loud and merry laughter of Diavolo, and the animated squealing of Asmodeus. 

Although they are demons, their happy chatter soothes his nerves as he pushes open the door with his shoulder. 

The conversation in the room dies as the door creaks open. And when he steps out from behind the wood, he notes that everyone has been staring at him. When everyone sees it's just him, they quickly return to their usual conversations. 

"I'm glad you could make it, Luke," Barbatos says with a polite smile, being the first one to recover from the momentary disappointment. 

Simeon approaches the smaller Angel friendlily, placing a hand on top of Luke's head and ruffling his hair. "It seems everyone heard you approaching and assumed you were Mc."

"It could've been." he mumbles embarrassedly, "I had forgotten something back at home, and they offered to get it for me so I could bring over the cookies."

"Cookies?" Beel says, his head snapping towards Luke with gluttonous intent.

Luke's fondness for the Avatar of Gluttony's interest in his sweets causes him to smile and place the box on the table.

He removes the first layer of beautifully frosted cookies for all to see. "Yeah, I made these for the party. That's why I was running late today. 

"Smells good," Beel mutters, taking a slow step toward the tray of cookies. Luke is so proud of the attention he garnered that he doesn't realize that everyone else is staring at the plate as well, enthralled by the sweet smell. 

"Ohhh, they're soooo cute." Asmodeus gushes, holding up the heart-shaped cookie with his freshly manicured nails. The little red heart decals stand out on the glossy pink background.

Lucifer clears his throat. "May I try one?" he asks, "I do not have the biggest sweet tooth, but since it is a Holiday, I may as well."

"S-sure." the Angel replies, as everyone reaches for a cookie. There are only a few left on the plate, so he decides to wait to have one himself until you get here.

"Thank you, Luke, these look delicious," Barbatos says, removing his white glove before touching the gooey sweet. 

Luke watches as everyone takes a bite of the cookies, his heart feeling full when he hears the sounds of approval as they chew. 

"Wow," these are really good," Levi says, being the first to try to take another cookie.

"Wait," he says quickly, snatching the plate off the table. "These are Mc's favorite; let's wait until they get back to eat another one.

Lucifer giggles and stumbles back clumsily. "Yay, Mc's coming…" The dreamy lift in his tone makes Luke's eyes go wide in alarm. 

Something is wrong. 

Are they drunk???

"Mc…Cutie Pie." Satan hums; the usual sharp intelligence in his expression is gone and replaced with giddy lovesickness.

There is a haze to the Prince's eyes and a ruddiness to his cheeks as he nods thoughtfully. "I'll bring this plate up to my chambers. I want to feed them every bite myself. 

"No way," Levi says way too confidently. "If anyone will be alone in a room with Mc. It will be me.

Barbaots stretches his arms out lethargically. "I'm… going to lay down in my room." he yawns. "Tell Mc to come to my room when they get here."

"You're tired, Barbatos?" Belphegor asks, the Avatar of Sloth looking wide awake."

"Yer not?" Mammon slurs, his pupils dilated. Luke turns and looks into the Avatar of Greed's eyes and sees that his pupils are now heart-shaped. 

"How could I be?" the youngest of the seven answers. "Mc is coming soon, and I don't want to waste my time sleeping when I can be looking at them. 

"Do you think Mc would give me a piggyback ride?" Beel hums absentmindedly. 

"Course they would." Mammon gushes. "Mc is super strong and pretty and smart. And….~" his love-sick rambling is cut off by a dark chuckle from Simeon. 

"No way," he coos. "You would crush them if you jumped on their back. You clearly don't know how to treat someone as special as Mc. 

"And you do?" Levi laughs.

Simeon's smile is sinful. "Let's just say once I had my turn with them, Mc won't be thinking about any of you."

"That's so inappropriate." Asmodeus gasps with wide eyes. "I-i can't have you speaking about Mc like that." he covers his ears with his hands to block out the sound. 

"Some Avatar of Lust you are," Simeon smirks, leaning in and using his writer's brain to get a bit descriptive with what he would like to do to you when you get to the party. 

"What is wrong with you guys?" Luke stammers as he tries to block out Simeon's sinful words. 

With everyone else thinking about nothing but you, Solomon shyly taps a rather distressed Luke on the shoulder. His cheeks are a soft shade of pink as he stares down at the floor, "I-i think I know what is happening…"

~Why was in those cookies??? Find out what happens next in part 2

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

[awriterinthenight]

Stolen Ring, Part 1-Luke Castellan

words: 900

warnings: swearing, reader threatens Luke a lot, Luke being annoying af and lying to reader, Hades reader, and I think that's it. This is kind of just the set up, so the next one will be longer and more plot.

summary: Luke is the bane of your existence, and keeps stealing your stuff to annoy you, so now you've decided that two can play that game.

Thievery was a common skill amongst Hermes kids and whilst valuable to them, it was the bane of existence for others. Especially for you. Most Hermes kids were smart enough to know not to steal from you, since being a Hades kid apparently made you "scary". Everyone followed this except for Luke Castellan.

Luke made it his mission in life to annoy till you wished you could send an army of skeletons after him till there was no more of him. Sadly Chiron said it was "frowned upon" and Mr. D said it was "too much paperwork", so you had to rule out those options.

Luke would steal everything from you whether it was a piece of jewelry, your book, (your sanity), your sword, which you you almost stabbed him for when he did, one of your daggers, or even your food which was the fucking worst. His usual operation was to distract you by annoying you, attempting to charm you, or send someone else to distract you while he quickly snuck in to take what he wanted. Sometimes you would leave your cabin for a minute to go help someone and come back unable to find your favorite ring.

Which was the predicament you were in now. Yesterday you had taken off your rings when you were getting ready for bed. The next morning you woke up unable to find your favorite ring. It was silver with a skull on it and matched your half brothers ring so you always wore it. Unfortunately the one night you took it off since it was bothering you, was the one night Luke decided to take it.

You always were the 'no fucks to give' type of person, so now here you were in the Hermes cabin, after shadow travelling right behind Luke.

"Give it back," you demanded, your arms crossed, a serious look on your face. Other campers, especially the younger ones, were intimidated by you, but not Luke.

He just turned around, a dumb smile on his face as he faced you, and said, "I don't know what you're talking about, Sunshine," he said, calling you by the name you hated. You were anything but a ray of sunshine being a Hades kid and all, but he called you that to be ironic, and to be an asshole.

"This isn't funny, I know you have it, so just give it back," you said, keeping your composure together to not rip off his head right then and there. Other campers had started to watch the scene unfold, bored with their own lives, so they just had to be nosy about yours.

"I told you Sunshine, I don't have your ring. You probably lost it in that dark cabin of yours," he remarked, turning around to go back to talking to his friends.

You rolled your eyes annoyed at him, "You're such a dumbass, you know that," you stated, as he turned around to face you again.

He had his signature smirk on his face again and you wanted nothing more to rip it off, "Oh yeah Sunshine, and why is that?" he teased playfully, making you want to kick his ass.

"Maybe if you filled all that empty space in your head with a brain, you'd realize I never said it was my ring that was missing, so how would you know that if you supposedly didn't steal it?" you pointed out, as you watched the shock wash over him, but he quickly recovered.

"Actually I noticed it missing on your hand when you came in," he defended, "I can be observant if I want to, or do you really think that lowly of me?"

You let out a frustrated breath, "No, I don't think that lowly of you," you said, catching him off guard before ruining it, "I think even lower of you. Now give it back."

He scoffed, "And here I thought maybe you weren't so horrible, but here we are. I don't have your ring," he said, holding up his hands in surrender.

"Just give it back, or else," you threatened, even though you knew he wouldn't be intimidated by it.

"Or else what? Are you going to threaten to stab me, cause news flash Chiron won't let you," he mocked, making your anger towards him fester even more.

You shrugged, thinking of all the ways you could torture him, "Maybe, or maybe worse, or you can just give me my ring back, and this can be all over," you offered.

"How many times do I have to tell you Sunshine, I-" he started, but you cut him off.

"Stop calling me Sunshine," you demanded, annoyed by the name.

Luke just smirked before continuing, "As I was saying Sunshine," he said, still calling you by the obnoxious name, "I don't have your ring, just get over it already."

You knew he had it, and you were dying on that hill, "Fine, then two can play that game," you said about to leave, "I hope you know one day I'm going to kill you, and I am going to enjoy it," you threatened before disappearing via shadow travel.

Luke just shook his head. He knew you would probably follow through with that promise, but he wanted to see what you would do first. For now he had to make sure you never found the ring he stole from you.

Current Taglist for all fics (ask to be added)

@almost-gabrielle @scarlett-8 @sarahskywalker-amidala @atashiboba @that1deerpersondownstairs @herondale-lightworm

[jbaileyfansite]

Interview with W Magazine (2024)

Jonathan Bailey has traveled the world to promote Wicked, but there was one person he was especially eager to share the film with: his 94-year-old grandmother. She nurtured his love for musical theater and encouraged him to pursue ballet as a child, thus shaping his career in the arts.

So, the day after Wicked came out in the U.K., Bailey hosted a private screening at a local cinema for four generations of his family. While sitting in between his nana (who had painted her nails green for the occasion) and his mom and dad, Bailey became overcome with emotion.

“It’s a miraculous thing to know that what it came down to is having parents who let me go to the local village hall, and a grandparent who let me play, dance around and sing, and be free at such a young age,” Bailey tells W. “If you can catch a passion and just ring-fence it at such a young age, you never know what it can amount to.”

Adapted from the iconic Broadway stage musical, the film, which is set before the events of 1939’s The Wizard of Oz, chronicles the friendship between Elphaba (Cynthia Erivo), the future Wicked Witch of the West, and her classmate Galinda (Ariana Grande), later known as Glinda the Good.

Bailey’s scene-stealing portrayal of Fiyero Tigelaar, the charismatic Crown Prince of Winkie Country, only reaffirms his status as a Hollywood triple threat. In fact, “Dancing Through Life,” the earworm that serves as his character’s introduction at Shiz University, just cracked Billboard’s Hot 100 charts this week. (“That’s amazing. Do I get a certificate? What happens now?” Bailey quips.)

Bailey began rehearsing for Wicked in 2022 while shooting Fellow Travelers, the groundbreaking Showtime limited series that earned the 36-year-old his first Emmy nomination, and the third season of Bridgerton, the smash-hit Netflix romantic drama that made him a household name. Speaking on a video call from London in early December, the British star reveals that he is in the middle of reprising his role as Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, who is expecting his first child with wife Kate Sharma (Simone Ashley).

“There’s such an important relationship with the [Bridgerton] bros that has been developed over the series. Season four is going to be Luke [Thompson] and Yerin [Ha] being absolutely extraordinary, and there’s a whole plethora of new characters coming in,” Bailey says. “It’s so nice to come back, and it’s about celebrating the romance stories we’ve had and digging into the ones that are starting.”

Patience will have to be a virtue for Wicked and Bridgerton fans alike; the second half of the former, which Bailey coyly describes as “rich, bruising and hopeful,” will premiere next November, while the latter will debut in 2026.

How did you think about building your own interpretation of Fiyero?

The starting point was “Dancing Through Life.” He creates chaos around him, like he does in that song, because he’s got to match the chaos that’s going on inside. The challenge that I felt was the trope of a cool caddish prince. He’s deeply unnerved by stillness and adhering to rules and structure. That is probably a sign of someone who’s never really experienced love. When you see someone causing that sort of disturbance, it’s usually because they’ve never felt seen. An organizational psychologist, Adam Grant, sent me a message saying, “It’s a masterful portrayal of superficiality masking depth.” Out of all the things I’ve heard, that is the thing I’m going to get printed on a T-shirt.

The Shiz library scene was inspired by the work of Fred Astaire in Royal Wedding. What did you want to convey in those moments?

Fiyero has to come in and change the physical language and the emotional landscape of that school in one number. His fluidity, ease, and elasticity speak to his ability to maneuver and avoid. He’s quite avoidant. He has these bright, shining moments with everyone but never really allows the other person to land it with him. For those who understand the physical language of Fiyero, there are many Easter eggs and nods to what happens to him later in the story.

Fiyero is at the center of a love triangle between Elphaba and Galinda. What do you think he sees in each of them?

The brilliant thing about the film is that these slightly trivial tropes mask extraordinarily deep and shifting understandings of social experiences. The superficiality, the privilege, and the sense of easy chemistry make sense with Glinda. But I feel like he’s yearning for something more, and, as Elphaba sees, he’s unhappy and depressed. Fiyero and Elphaba can click in terms of the way they sing, dance, and move together. Elphaba has a calming presence on Fiyero and allows him to be himself. It’s a real privilege to meet someone who sees you for who you really are.

Are there any songs from the second Wicked movie you are most excited about?

“No Good Deed”—I cannot wait to see that come together. And “Thank Goodness”—it’s just such an incredibly operatic, Wagnerian opening. We know how brilliant the girls are, and I’m so excited to see the tonal shift that will inevitably happen to get to the end of the story.

You’ve been leveraging the success of projects with massive, global appeal (Bridgerton, Wicked, the next Jurassic World) to return to the theater (like your next role in Richard II).How have you been balancing these big tentpole franchises with projects that feel more niche and intimate?

I always lead with joy, and I’ve never accepted a job cynically. It goes back to this instinct—it feels like romance—where you have butterflies in your stomach and clarity of thought. I go back to the stage because I want to get better—and I want to be the best I can be. The best performances I’ve ever given on screen have been directly after coming off stage, where you hone your craft every single night. It’s brilliant, joyful, academic, and exhausting.

I’ve read more scripts in the last four years than probably in 20 years of working. It’s amazing to get sent scripts that you’re like, “This is absolutely brilliant. It’s not quite right for me, but I wonder if I can help that get made.” I’ve got a producer's hat that’s been popped on a few times in the last year, and I’m sure it’ll be coming out to play soon.

I want to keep working until something like Fellow Travelers isn’t seen as niche. We’re only on this planet for a short time, but if Fellow Travelers can be a mainstream show by the time I’ve finished my innings, I’d be very happy.

The last time Bridgerton viewers saw Anthony and Kate, they were on their way to India to meet with Kate’s family. Now that those characters are married, what are some of the new layers you’ve found in their relationship?

Anthony and Kate are these two planets that have always been in orbit of each other, and they finally come together. But then, what is life beyond [their courtship]? What’s so interesting about Anthony and what I so enjoyed in his season one arc is his relationship with duty and the power that he wielded over Daphne and his family, the isolation that he felt, and the anger that ensues because of [the passing of] his father.

I always said that you want Anthony to smile, and he does with Kate; he’s found his soulmate. In season three, they have that playfulness and, for the first time, they disregard anything that’s going on around them. They were the heart of every bit of drama and complication and, my God, how dramatic it was! Now suddenly, they’re having the time of their life, getting to play games again. They’re having a baby—everything they’ve ever wanted. What’s brilliant is to see how there are elements of yourself that you can’t grow out of. So, maybe, we’ll see hints of Anthony from season one.

Source

[yesimwriting]

Noble Only in Blood

A/n house of the dragon rewatch era <3

Summary: There are very few things you wouldn't do in order to save your brother.

Warnings: me writing for a character for the first time, targaryen incest (reader is rhaenyra's daughter), reader is described as not looking like her brothers and having valyrian features, forced marriage, slight miscommunication trope (i know,, bare with me😭)

----

In times of crisis, it is instinctual to hold onto what is dear. If one has reason to believe that a thief has crossed their path, it is logical for them to reach into their purses and pockets, to make sure that what they care for most is still safe. That same impulse is what guides your hand forward, your fingers curling around Lucerys's shoulder.

After a breath, you realize that Luke has allowed himself to shuffle back, a subtle acceptance of your attempt to comfort him. That startles you more than the sudden appearance of a familiar face. Luke's distaste for what he considers 'sisterly coddling' has grown steadily over these last few years, the threat of war only amplifying his desire to shed the last few layers of protection you're able to offer him.

"It's alright." The response borders on hollow, your voice ringing flat in your own ears. You press your lips together. So Aemond beat your family to Lord Borros. That's...That means very little in the grand scheme of things. You and your brother came here to present an offer, not to begin a war. "You are here as a messenger, not a warrior."

He nods once, eyes still trained on your uncle. Even though Luke's in front of you, his stiffness is reminiscent of a time in which a conflict with Aemond meant running to you, meant attempting to hide behind you until you could either tell him off or call for your mother.

Aemond takes a measured step forward. "Really? Is that what you're calling your attempts to steal my brother's throne?"

There's a muted sharpness in Aemond's voice that feels distinct to anything you've seen from him before. This is not a burst of fury fueled by petulant indignation, this is a flash of a rage sustained by an all engulfing flame.

Your fingers press into Luke's shoulder. The sooner he's returned to the sky, the better. "I was only offering an explanation."

"The ever honest princess." Another step. "I have had enough of your brand of honesty."

Your lips briefly part before pressing together again. There is no worthy response, not with the way Aemond's watching you, expression too unforgiving to be about today. Something small and familiar attempts to dislodge itself from your throat, an echo of the apology that failed to salvage any friendship between the two of you years ago.

There's a beat of nothingness that serves as a form of recognition. Aemond straightens. "While I am accustomed to your self righteousness and defense of Lord Strong, even you cannot think you'll get to walk away after what you both attempted."

At that, Luke straightens, shoulders lifting in a way that encourages you to release him. "Leave my sister out of this." He steps forward, planting himself firmly between you and Aemond.

"Luke."

He doesn't look back at you, but your tone does seem to remind him of the importance of deescalation. "I am not going to fight you."

"No. That would be no challenge." Your fingers curl into your palm with such tension you can already feel your nails imprinting your skin. Aemond raises an arm, hand moving to pull off the patch that covers his lost eye. "I want you to pluck out your eye as payment for mine."

Luke shuffles back, head snapping in your direction. His eyes only find yours for a brief moment before he's straightening to face Aemond again, but it's enough for you to see the dread tinging his put together demeanor. His lips parted, his brows furrowed. That same little boy that always trusted you to know how to stop a game from going too far.

You squeeze Luke's arm, a silent promise, a guarantee that you'll--that you'll what? That you'll return him to Arrax unscathed? That you'll find a way to save him? This isn't the same as the faults that were dismissed as an unfortunate yet dismissible consequence of childhood roughhousing.

Blood has been divided, the rightful succession questioned. The children of rightful heirs have faced worse than what Aemond is attempting. Political divide changes things. Standing on the brink of war, you have no defense. There is no predetermined safe territory for you to rush Luke to, and yet...

"You are not taking my brother's eye." The authority bleeding into your voice provides a lifeline. You have nothing to stand on, not here, and yet the firmness of your statement manages to pulse through you.

Aemond presses his lips together, a sharp smile that's too cruel to be reduced to something as simple as sarcastic briefly taking over his expression. "Sister. Brother." He lets out a breath, radiating an assurance that turns your stomach. Aemond turns his head, his full attention falling onto you. "Surely you've seen your own reflection."

The jab should fall flat. As the only one of your mother's children to be born with features that reflect a more traditionally valyrian appearance, snide comments implying that your brothers aren't truly your brothers are far from new. Even if they're right, it wouldn't matter. Your brothers came from your mother, same as you, and even that isn't the only reason you care for them. They're your family. However, Aemond's smugness makes the comment hard to bear. He's indulging in the power he has over the two of you.

"Call him what you'd like," you say, "You're not going to touch him."

Aemond tilts his chin downwards to make it easier to watch Luke. "Do you always need your sister to defend you?"

Luke lifts his chin slightly, shifting his body forward. "There is nothing to defend. We're leaving."

The excuse to end this interaction offers you a wary sense of relief. You're not convinced that Aemond will be willing to let the two of you pass so easily, but Luke's presented an excuse to allow everyone to walk away before tensions can rise further.

Luke steps away from you, making a point to walks towards the left. Once he's a few paces away from you, you start to walk away as well. You keep your eyes trained on the back of Luke's head, as if that will keep the window from closing.

"I am owed a debt."

You turn on your heels. Luke's farther away from Aemond now, a fact you're grateful for, but now you're practically directly in front of him. The proximity throws you more than it should. The last time you were next to Aemond, the two of you were still friends. He's--you're not sure you've ever noted how tall he's gotten.

You press your lips together, dismissing the feeling. If anything, his height is just another reminder that no part of the boy that used to read with you in the library remains in him. "It will not be paid with my brother's blood."

The silence between the three of you is heavy. A part of you thinks the safest course of action might be grabbing Luke and making a run for it. An escape attempt that hasty comes with its own risks. Aemond is more determined than you've ever seen him. And you can't even truly blame him for his anger, for his hatred.

Aemond has to bear the consequences of a moment's mistake for the rest of his life. Luke took his eye, and when you defended him, you stole his trust. But allowing him to hurt Luke is the kind of cruel justice that resolves nothing.

"Aemond, I'm sorry," the genuineness of the statement knots your stomach, "About what happened." You pause, not completely sure where you're going with this. "You didn't deserve it, but that doesn't change the fact that you're taking advantage of a situation. This isn't justice it is...abuse."

He's quiet, and for a long moment you start to think that you've tugged at the wrong thread and now everything's going to unravel.

Aemond steps forward. You force yourself to stay in place. Luke's a few steps away from Aemond, and if things change that might--that might mean something. "How virtuous." His focus weighs on you enough to force the air out of your lungs. "Then tell me, my princess, how do you suggest the debt be paid?" Aemond takes another step towards you. He's so close now that you have to tilt your chin upwards to hold his gaze. "I wonder how noble you'd be if you yourself were on the line."

The meaning of his words take their time to sink in. Something hard lodges itself in your throat. You swallow in an attempt to dislodge the feeling. "My-My eye?"

"No, little good would come from it." He studies your features with such an openness you have to resist the urge to shrink in on yourself. All you have is your ability to stand firm. "You're worth more unscared." Aemond lets out a breath. "Maybe a wedding is what this family needs."

"What?"

If Aemond thinks anything of your shock, he gives no indication of it. "Marrying Rhaenyra's daughter will only strengthen my family's claim to the throne." The accuracy of the statement turns your stomach.

Noble women are regularly married off as solutions for these kinds of conflicts. It's a way of unifying dividing lines. You do not desire war, nor do you think a hypothetical marriage between you and Aemond would truly fix anything. However, the thought of being used as a political pawn to aid your mother's usurper, makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

Aemond also detests you. Marriage is more often than not about duty. Your mother has never kept that from you. The only thing she's ever assured you of is that when the time came for you to be wed, your match would be compatible. A happy marriage does not begin with love, it begins with respect and an understanding of your duty.

Anything Aemond's trying to force you into wouldn't be that. This is about vengeance, about hurting you and your family even if he has to bind himself to you to do so.

The two of you are trapped. You have no allies, no significant weapons unless you count the two dragons that stand no chance against Vhagar, and you are standing in front of someone demanding to hurt your brother. If this is the only way to guarantee your brother's safe passage back to your mother...

"If I--if I agree...you'll forgive my brother of any debt owed?" The question makes something in your chest ache. "You'll let him go?"

There's a beat in which Aemond's eyebrows seem to draw together, but he returns to neutrality so quickly you're not sure if you've imagined it or not. "You have my word."

"No," Luke's voice is right in your ear. It's his turn to grab your arm. "You can't have her."

"Luke..." His fingers wrap around your forearm, his hold on you growing more desperate. "Luke--listen to me."

He shakes his head. "No." Luke straightens his shoulders, something determined flashing behind his eyes. "No, I can't let you do this."

You turn, placing your free hand over his arm. "I will not risk your safety." He begins to protest again, but you stop him, "Go home and explain the situation to Mother." Luke places a hand over yours, a final attempt at convincing you to try anything else.

"Yes," Aemond echoes, "Go and tell your mother that the girl you consider a sister has to pay for your debts."

Luke turns his head. Despite no longer being able to see his expression, you can feel his anger. "Luke." His stillness is not enough to distract from the fight behind his eyes. "Do you trust me?" It takes him a moment to look away from Aemond, but once he does he nods. "Then I need you to go."

He doesn't exactly relax, but he does let out a breath. You pull your hands away from his before enveloping him in a hug. "It's going to be alright." It takes him a moment to think to place his arms against your back. Luke squeezes you in a way he hasn't in years, holding onto you like you're his entire world. "I will see you again."

You carefully shift back. Luke follows your lead, letting his arms fall to his side. "Yes," he says, eyes briefly shifting back to Aemond, "I will."

"Okay." The word feels fragile. "Go back, be safe."

Luke's eyes are glossy as he nods. If things were normal, he'd playfully scoff at your warnings. "I will see you again."

You nod, and Luke finally turns. He walks away, towards Arrax, towards safety. Whatever was keeping you steady seems to leave with him.

You're allowed a brief moment of silence, of grief, before Aemond speaks. "We'll ride back before the storm begins." In your panic, you had not noticed the clouds overtaking the sky. You think of Luke, riding back alone in the rain. Aemond sighs. "Your sacrifice has not been in vain, it will be some time before the skies make a turn for the worse."

Aemond's ability to read you digs at the back of your mind. It'd bother you more if his reassurance was less needed. You're not sure you can trust your voice, so you nod blankly.

He begins to walk forward. You cannot will yourself to move until Aemond's already ahead of you.

The sight of your dragon quells the loneliness hollowing your chest. Your family is far from you, but Starfyre is still by your side.

Not only are you glad for Starfyre's comfort, you're also thankful for the control of being able to ride on your own. A small part of you is also relieved for the excuse to avoid Vhagar.

You've loved dragons for as long as you can remember, and you've been wary of the larger ones for just as long. It's not exactly a fear, you've just always felt the need to admire them from afar. Even as a child, before Aemond had been able to claim Vhagar, you only wanted to observe her from a safe distance.

No one's comments have ever been able to make you wish that Starfyre was different. Her smaller frame makes you feel more in control when you fly, the two of you melding into one as you approach the skies. She's swift, too, her size allowing her soar through the sky like an arrow that never misses its target.

"I'm sure you'll find a way to keep up on that...runt of yours."

How dare he? He knows what Starfyre is capable of more than most. As a child, her speed fascinated him. A knee-jerk reaction is forced past your lips, "The last thing about this arrangement that should concern you is wether or not Starfyre can keep up."

Aemond pauses, turning to face you. Instead of attempting to insult Starfyre again, he asks, "And what should concern me?"

His words are tinged with a cruel sharpness, a silent warning to watch yourself, to not make threats you cannot follow through on. "You should be concerned that you are full of such spite, that you are willingly entering a union with someone that you have detested since--"

Aemond takes a step forward. You shift towards Starfyre, placing a hand against her side. "Since the day I lost my eye?" Another step. "Since the moment you lied to my father to protect Lucerys after what he did?"

The reality of what happened that day hits you in the chest with enough force to knock the air out of your lungs. Your vision begins to blur. "He's my brother, Aemond."

"And I was your friend." The words come out hard and fast, his voice nearly breaking on the final syllable.

The honesty cracks something in your chest. Helaena, who you loved, often left you in favor of a world that you couldn't always follow her to. The other boys, who had once let you run around with them, outgrew you. But Aemond--Aemond was always yours.

Aemond scoffs. "You cannot pretend that what you did was enough to make me loathe you. I wrote to you." The letter, one detailing his new reality and desire to speak with you, has been a secret of yours for years. You've kept it tucked between the pages of your favorite book, only taking it out to reread in the middle of the night, with the rest of your family fast asleep. "And you never wrote back."

You blink in an attempt to clear your vision. "I did." The confession burns as it crawls up your throat. "But I couldn't bring myself to send you a raven."

"Because this--" Aemond moves forward in long strides. He's directly in front of you before you can think to move. He turns his head, making it impossible for you to not see his scar in its entirety. "I repulse you."

Is that what he thinks? You remain unflinching, allowing yourself to take in his scar and the appearance of his sapphire eye openly. "No." There has to be some way to put it into words. "I-I couldn't bring myself to speak to you. After the way we left things--After what I had done--I was repulsed by myself." You cut yourself off with a shaky breath. "Accepting your friendship after what I had done felt--cruel."

Aemond straightens. For a brief moment, there is only you, him, and the wound that lies between you. Then his expression's fiery edge morphs into something made of stone. "Ever the martyr."

The insult lacks any significant bite. You let your thumb brush against Starfyre's side, relishing in the comfort of her presence. "Better a martyr than someone so desperate for gratification, they are willing to hurt themselves in the process of earning it."

Ranting at him feels hollow, a motion you're going through for the sake of doing something. Aemond seems to sense some lack of fight in your phrasing, or maybe he's growing tired of this. "We should go," Aemond turns away from you, "The weather's changing."

Even though he's no longer watching you, you nod before returning your attention to Starfyre.

----

a/n this was really fun to write, but it was getting long so i decided to break it up, if you're interested in a part 2/would like to be tagged pls lmk :)

also!! if u have any hotd thoughts in general pls feel free to send me them <3

[birdiewriteslit]

. “there’s nothing to worry about! my family will love you.” with jack!

and maybe jack has never really brought anyone serious to introduce to his whole family but she doesn’t know that… but hsi whole family can quickly see how much jack loves her

“meeting the family”

jack hughes x f!reader

birdie’s 300 celly

i LOVE this and this is kinda short so lmk if you want a part 2!

Jack would never admit it to you, but he was a little nervous for you to meet his family, especially all of them all at once.

“Bring your girlfriend to the wedding,” they said. “We promise we won’t embarrass you,” they said.

He knew his brothers would intentionally embarrass him in front of you, and even though the others wouldn’t make that effort, he still had never brought a girl to anything like this before, especially not one that he liked so much, and he had no idea how they would react.

It was Jack’s cousin’s wedding, one that he wasn’t particularly close with, but was still related enough to be at the rehearsal dinner.

Jack sat beside you, his leg bobbing nervously under the table. You placed a soothing hand on his thigh as you made easy conversation with Luke.

You met his parents and brothers earlier, and you hit it off easily with them. His parents had already told him how much they loved you. You got along great with Luke and Quinn, but they weren’t the relatives he was worried about anyways.

“So, Jack, that fall you took on the ice last week, pretty brutal. What’d you think of that, Y/n?” asked one of Jack’s younger cousins mischievously.

“What fall?” you asked, glancing at Jack in confusion.

“Oh, you didn’t see it?” he grinned. “He was skating a little too fast, and I guess he just lost his balance.”

“You can barely skate, Johnnie. Call me when you get off that bench,” Jack combated.

You ignored him, stifling a laugh. “Jack, when did that happen?”

Jack sighed. “At the Rangers game you couldn’t make it to.”

“Well, I bet you were glad I didn’t see that.”

“I was,” Jack said, glaring at his cousin who just smiled innocently.

Luke snorted into the beer he was trying to steal from Quinn, who was distracted talking to a bridesmaid.

“Give that to me, you’re not legal,” said Ellen, grabbing the bottle from Luke and setting it back down in front Quinn before taking a seat beside Luke. “And be nice to your brother.”

“Sorry, mom,” Luke mumbled.

Jack took your hand from his thigh and interlocked your fingers under the table. He watched you as you conversed with his mother, and how easily you made his brother laugh.

Your eyes were bright and your smile was big. He’d never thought you looked so beautiful. He ran his thumb over your ring finger and smiled to himself. He knew it was too early and he was too young to be thinking about marriage, but in a setting like this, it was kind of hard not to.

When he looked up, tuning back into the conversation, he saw the look on his mother’s face and knew she had him all figured out.

[superblysubpar]

dad!steve harrington x mom!you

a How Sweet It Is story

summary: steve's baby girl isn't really a baby anymore

3,911 words

warnings: please see the How Sweet It Is masterlist for general warnings about this AU | minor spicy smutty mentions | minor alcohol mention | shitty first boyfriends, with minor discussion of feeling pressured in a relationship | overall an angsty yet fluffy story

a blurb for the "Trick or Treat, Freak?" event - don't forget to vote for tomorrow at the bottom of the story!

Autumn, 2004

There’s something burnt inside of the microwave, some vegetables they refuse to eat past their prime in the bottom drawer of the fridge. There’s a lovely drawing on your living room wall, the only evidence left behind a purple and orange crayon which leads you to believe it was Annie, Luke having dared her to it no doubt though.

The dishes aren’t done, the laundry isn’t folded, the bills need to be paid, but for once, you really don’t care.

Because Annie and Luke are with The Munson’s at the movie theater then staying over, Julie is sleeping over at a friend’s house. Olivia is with Zoe and her aunts, Grace is at her first ever boy girl Halloween party then also sleeping over somewhere and Steve isn’t even having a melt down. And your eldest, Nora, for once, isn’t with her boyfriend, but having a much needed girl’s night with her best friend, so Steve’s in a fantastic mood.

You’re not going to take the night or the mood for granted.

He’s refilling your wine and pulling you onto his lap once the movie starts, the movie you got to pick and one that has sex, and weapons, and swearing and you get to watch from any spot on the couch you want. You get to take up space and eat junk food you tell them they can’t.

Except, it turns out, you and Steve don’t really care about the movie or any of that stuff.

Steve’s got his hands running down your back, like each little dip in your spine is meant just for his fingers. His warm breath flows over your throat as you throw your head back, his kiss finds a spot on your neck and he can’t wait to mark you up like he used to. Can’t wait to make out with you for hours with no interruptions except his stupid lungs needing air. He’s gonna make you come on his fingers, and his tongue and-

Ring! Ring! Rinnnngggg-

“Don’t,” you gasp, eyelids fluttering and blurring your view of the ceiling when Steve grinds his hips up into yours, “Don’t you dare answer that.”

His lips graze your collarbone. “Answer what?”

Your laugh makes him smile against your jaw before he’s catching your head with both hands and pulling your lips down to meet his.

Hey, you’ve reached The Harrington’s! We’re sorry we missed your call, but if you leave your name and number, we’ll get back to you as soon as we can. Have a great day!

Steve hums into your mouth, thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he whispers, “Your phone voice is so cute.”

Your lips skim over his, back and forth as you shake your head. Narrowed eyes meet his sparkling ones. There’s little lines next to his eyes that almost obscure the freckles, proof of the years and laughter, direct results of letting you steal his sunglasses forever.

Beeep!

Uh, hey guys…

Both of your chests inflate, shared held breaths at the sound of Eddie Munson’s worried tone.

Steve looks over at the machine, your forehead knocks against his temple and his arms wrap around your waist as you both exhale and wait for Eddie to tell you the bad news.

A kid threw up, cried, something, and that meant they were coming back home.

It’s worse. It’s so much worse.

So, um, listen, I know, I know okay, it’s your first free night, but I just wanted to call and let you know…well jesus liv, how do you want me to tell them? If it were my kid I’d-

Steve looks at you and you both get up at the same time, worried expressions and racing towards the phone.

Christ, okay, we have Nora, and we’re bringing her home…I’ll let her tell you what happened. But uh-

Steve’s hand reaches the receiver first and his jaw is sharp as he bites out, “What?”

You’re unable to hear Eddie, but it cannot be good from the look on Steve’s face. Cannot be good from the way he grits out a ‘thanks’ and slams the phone down, almost knocking the whole thing right off the little table.

His hands are in his hair and he’s pacing, so it’s definitely not good.

Steve’s glasses slide down the slope of his nose while brown and slightly wavy hair speckled with gray gets trapped in his fingers as he yanks and ruffles it and blows out his breath.

“I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna kill her. I’m gonna-“

“Woah, woah, woah,” you pull at his wrists when he makes a third spin back towards you and get him to stop. “What’s going on? What did Eddie say?”

Steve’s arms go limp in your hold, hanging next to his plaid pajama pants as he stares at you. Eyes a little more green when they get all teary like they are now.

“Fuck, she’s…”

“What? She’s what?” You panic when he trails off, when he starts crying. You grab the front of his shirt, “Steve, tell me what the fuck is going on!”

“She’s fine, she’s,” he sniffles and presses his fingers under his glasses which he then yanks off and flings onto the kitchen counter. “God, I’m so fucking mad at her. She’s fine. She’s drunk, or was drunk, I don’t know. She was at a party or something. Eddie said they drove past her crying next to a pay phone.”

Your shoulders relax, knowing your daughter is at least safe, and your best friends found her. You’ll worry about the state she’s arriving in when she gets here.

Steve leans on the kitchen counter, his head hung between his shoulders and your palm soothes up and down his back, wary of your tone when you start to speak again.

“Okay, let’s not jump to conclusions, alright? She didn’t…she didn’t lie, necessarily. Maybe she just went out with Lindsay for a bit…they’re always being invited to parties. It’s this time of year. And…and we can’t be mad at her for drinking Steve. How many times did we-“

Steve shakes his head and turns to you, hand thrown out towards the front door as his voice rises. “You don’t think that’s the exact problem here, Kate?! I was fucking seventeen not that long ago and I know what the hell she’s doing with Charlie, I mean, christ, babe, we didn’t have her that much older than she is now!“

“Hey, don’t yell at me! I’m not the enemy here!” You shout right back.

You’re glaring at each other, his hands on his hips and yours crossed over your chest and there isn’t a sign of either of you backing down any time soon. But something in his eyes shifts, his chin wobbles a little and you raise your shoulders and clear your throat.

Steve breaks first, falling back against the countertop again as he cups his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry. I just…”

“I know,” you whisper, your socked foot nudges his, “It’s gonna be fine, okay? Cause we do this together, right?”

He doesn’t look up at you, but his arm reaches towards you and he’s pulling you into his chest, nestled between his spread legs. He kisses the top of your head and wraps his arms around you, tightly.

Neither of you moves until headlights slice through the sheer curtains of your little bay window in the breakfast nook next to you.

Steve sighs, deep and full of too much stress and he doesn’t let you go till he hears the sound of two car doors.

There’s a light knock on the door, then the creak of it opening, Eddie’s voice calls out, “Guys?”

You’re the first to go assess, and your shoulders tighten when you see your daughter, cowering behind Eddie.

Smudged make up and a top you’ve never seen, a skirt too short for your liking cause it reminds you an awful lot of one you wore that the boys really liked. You can smell the vodka from here and your eyes sting from the tears forcing their way to your lashes when Steve’s breath sucks in behind you with a pained breath of her name.

“Thanks, Eddie,” you clear your throat and nod to him with as much of a smile as you can muster, “Are Annie and Luke…”

Eddie waves a hand and hooks his thumb over his shoulder, “They’re at home hopped up on something Liv told them all was zombie blood but is actually just mountain dew and vanilla ice cream and in front of Hocus Pocus on Disney as we speak.”

Your arms curl around yourself and you smile a little more at that, but it falls as soon as your daughter makes eye contact with you. It’s like every ounce of calm has vanished from you, because now you know she’s here and safe, you can be mad.

Really mad.

Eddie nods once, and pats Nora’s shoulder, gently nudging her forward.

“Thanks Uncle Eddie,” she murmurs.

He kisses her temple and starts to close the door, “Anytime kid. I mean, not anytime. Don’t…anyways…”

He raises his eyebrows at the two of you and the door clicks closed.

Nora covers her chest with her arms and her chin wobbles an awful lot like Steve’s and her mouth parts but you stop her.

“Go to your room, Nora, I don’t…I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”

Tears slip past Nora’s lashes at the same time as yours and she shakes her head. “You’re not gonna even let me explain? It’s not what it-“

Your hands fly to your temples, rubbing them as you close your eyes and laugh, “What? It’s not what it looks like?” Eyes open to find hers looking shattered as you keep going, “Cause it looks like my daughter lied to us about what she was doing tonight. If I call Lindsay’s mom, will she even know you were supposed to be there or,” you laugh again, colder, and not at all finding the situation funny, and hold up your hand, “Let me guess, her mom thinks you’re both here and we thought you were there, right? But really you were with Charlie at a party.”

“Mom,” Nora sobs, her hands fall at her sides, “I’m sorry, but-“

“Oh, I’m not done,” your hands land on your hips, adopting your husband’s signature pose along with his hot head, “Cause you know what else it looks like? It looks like you’re wearing clothes I’ve never seen before and I sure as hell didn’t buy for you. And that’s just looks, cause I can smell the vodka from here and-“

“You’re not being fair!” Nora shouts at you, black mascara runs down her cheeks that she swipes at half-heartedly, “I didn’t-“

“I don’t want to hear it young lady!” Your foot practically stomps just like her’s used to, her own tantrums held in this very entryway flashing before your eyes. “What’s not fair is lying like this. You don’t do this Nora. We don’t do this! When have we ever told you couldn’t go to a party? That we wouldn’t pick you up, no questions asked? That you couldn’t see Charlie? That-“

“Right!” Nora screams, her hands thrown up in the air and at you, “Your perfect daughter didn’t do something right, for once in her life! I fucked up, okay? I’m sorry!”

She sobs and you shake your head and start to walk away, “I can’t do this.”

“Mom,” her voice breaks and she sniffles as you head into the kitchen, “Daddy-“

“Nora…just…clean up and go to bed. Please. We’ll talk in the morning.” Steve’s voice is unnaturally calm and you hate him for it.

Your shoulders hunch with the sound of each step of your daughter’s feet on the stairs, your head lands heavy in your hands as your elbows press to the counter-top.

There’s a clink, a pop of a cork, liquid sloshing, and then the distinct grate of glass across the counter top, red wine sits under your face as Steve sighs.

“Well, that went super well I think. A plus parenting, mom.”

Your hands drop from holding your head so you can glare at him.

“Yeah? Thanks for the back up, dad.”

Steve shrugs, he leans against the stove and squints at you, his lips have the nerve to twitch a little like he’s fighting a smile.

“Oh, sorry, was I supposed to talk too? You didn’t really take a breath to let anyone else chime in, hon.”

Your body lifts as does the wine glass to your lips as you throw a hand towards the staircase. After a large swallow of the wine, you accuse, “What is your deal right now? Five minutes ago you were-“

Steve takes a step towards you and grabs the wine glass from you, then he holds your cheeks in both of his hands.

“I’m trying to do that thing you’re always telling me to do, that you normally do so well. Take a deep breath. Relax. Listen. It’s not always what it seems.”

He raises his eyebrows at you and your head falls forward again, though this time in defeat, in embarrassment.

Your forehead is caught by his lips, a kiss pressed there then the top of your head before he tilts you up to look at him again.

“I…” you sigh and look at the stairs, “I should go talk to her again. I should apologize.”

Steve shrugs and kisses you, soft and over too quickly.

“I think she needs some time to cool off too. You can talk in the morning, after you both relax.”

Your eyes narrow at him and his sparkle when you tease, “How many ways have you come up with to kill Charlie?”

“Twenty-seven.”

A laugh leaves you but it’s quick to cut into something that resembles a sob and a sigh, because it’s too real. He pulls you into a hug.

Both of you make no hint of moving anytime soon until Steve whispers, “Wanna start the movie over? We can actually watch it this time.”

Which is a nice thought, but in reality, you just curl up next to each other on the couch and neither one of you really sees the action past the glow of the screen.

You’re both acutely aware of the shower upstairs, the soft music of a stereo, the click of a lamp. Severely aware of the laundry piles addition of clothing reeking of alcohol. Counting down the hours till your daughter wakes up and you’ll try it all over again.

So it’s not a surprise when you fall asleep on the couch, bodies and brains too tired to make it through another hour of the film.

Steve stirs first, the click of the TV and the blue fuzzy screen turning dark startling him in his fitful sleep.

Your head is on the opposite end, legs tangled together with his and hogging the blanket. He tilts his head just make out a figure in the dark, one now quietly sneaking out of the living room and into the kitchen.

Steve holds his breath and stares at the ceiling, listening.

He hears the soft thunk of a drawer closing, the hum of the fridge, the swoosh of a burner and then nothing.

So when he rolls off of the couch as slowly and quietly as he can, and makes his own way to the kitchen, he freezes when he sees his baby girl leaning against the counter, stirring a pot on the stove, not really thinking through his actions and what he’d say when he got here.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she whispers, avoiding his gaze.

“You didn’t,” he lies. Steve sits at the counter on one of the stools, and lets his chin rest on his fist.

It’s quiet then. Quiet for a long time. Long enough for Nora to pull down two mugs and pour hot cocoa into them. Long enough for her to pass him one, then for both of them to take sips.

Steve doesn’t know what to say, what to do, until Nora opens the fridge and pulls out an apple. Until she pulls a knife from the wood block and starts slicing, the peel remaining intact as she spins the fruit and it furls down to the countertop.

“Who taught you how to do that?” He asks softly.

Nora looks up, surprised, at him, eyes that are so much his blinking right back at him behind wire rimmed glasses. Glasses he remembers telling her she could use to see for late night snacks when she didn’t want to wear them.

“Oh, um, no one,” Nora says quietly, then hesitates, “Well actually, I guess, in a way, mom?”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, lips twitching on one side.

Nora nods, smiling as she gets to the last spin of the fruit, and she hums. Steve watches her eyes get a little glassy, watches her chin wobble just likes yours before she admits, “Yeah. That movie? Sleepless in Seattle?”

Steve smiles at that and nods, exhaling a deep breath as Nora finishes the curl. He knows it well, it’s your favorite movie, and the reason one of his daughters has the name she does. Her fingers toy with the peel, voice tight as she keeps explaining since his silence is letting her.

“Mom was watching it a couple of month’s ago and she…there’s this scene. Where Annie is trying to peel an apple in one long curl and she’s listening to Sam talk about his wife, and love and mom can quote the whole thing. And…and…”

Nora swipes at her eyes as she looks at him, so hurt, so broken as she shrugs her shoulders and she whispers, “It wasn’t magic, dad.”

Steve swallows and he stands up, grabs his little girl as she falls into his arms. So small and only getting smaller and he doesn’t know how to fix it. Nora squeezes him as she sniffles into his chest. His daughter who’s somehow old enough to be crying about love and a guy who broke her heart while she drinks hot cocoa with bunnies on her feet and moons and stars on her pajamas.

“I thought he really cared about me, and when I said no, when I told him I didn’t…that it didn’t feel right and I didn’t want to…he…he…”

Nora hiccups around her tears and Steve’s heart stops beating, his lungs stop working.

“He called me a tease,” she sobs into his chest, “He called me such terrible things. I thought…I thought he really loved me, dad.”

He’d kill this kid Charlie if it was the last thing he did.

Steve doesn’t say anything for a long time, just holds Nora until the front of his shirt isn’t getting freshly wet. So he whispers, “It’ll be magic, someday baby, and you’ll know, okay? It’ll just feel right. And screw that guy. I never liked him anyways.”

Nora laughs into his chest that swells at the sound and he curls her hair behind her ear when she smiles.

“But not until you’re, like, thirty.”

“Dad,” Nora sniffles, she shakes her head and hugs him again. Her voice grows tight again, “I’m sorry I lied about where I was. And I only had one drink. I smelled like that cause these guys spilled a bunch of punch everywhere and-“

“Don’t worry about it,” he sighs, kissing the top of her head. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

She hugs him tightly, then whispers, “Love you dad.”

“Love you too, kiddo.”

Another squeeze, and then she’s disappearing with her cocoa and apple up the stairs, and his tears finally fall.

And in the morning, when he’s done prepping for a quiet breakfast before all the other kids get home, he climbs the stairs two at a time on the way to wake you.

But Steve finds the bed you’d both finally made it to at around one in the morning empty, and as he walks down the hall, he slows, hearing your voice come from Nora’s room.

“You know we don’t expect you to be perfect, right? If your dad or I made you feel like you can’t mess up or…can’t be a kid, I’m so sorry baby. We rely on you so much with the younger kids and that’s not fair to you at all, is it?”

He watches from a distance, the two of you curled up on Nora’s bed. You sit up right against the headboard, your fingers run through her hair as she hugs you, curled around your waist and chest like she used to when she was little.

Steve doesn’t hear what Nora says but you laugh and run your hand up and down her spine.

He rests his head on the wall and watches you with so much love in his chest, he feels like he might burst. And that’s before Nora asks, “How’d you know?”

And you ask, “Know what, sweetie?”

“That dad was the one? That he was…that it was right?”

Steve smiles as you tilt your head up and blow out your breath.

“Gosh,” you laugh, “That movie kind of gets it, honey. It was a lot of little things. It’s still a lot of things. I fall in love with him for a new reason every single day. The way he always opens the car door for me, or let’s me have the last of the fries. How much he loves and cares about you guys. When he picks up pizza on the way home with flowers. When he yells at the TV when his team doesn’t make the right play. The way he looks at me when I’m telling a story or the way he says my name.”

“Like it’s got all the best letters in it?” Nora asks and you smile.

“Exactly. Even when he’s mad at me, it still sounds like…”

“Magic,” Nora whispers.

“Yeah,” you nod.

Steve raps his knuckles on the door when it’s quiet for awhile, and peeks his head in.

“There’s my girls, anyone want apple cinnamon pancakes?”

Nora shouts a yes and you laugh as she jumps out of her bed and races down the stairs like she used to what feels like a really long time ago.

When you leave her room and touch his arm as you pass, he pulls at your hips, spinning you until you gasp. He catches the sound with his mouth, lips strong and sure in their kiss and saying so much with so little.

“What…what was that for?” Your eyelashes flutter when he pulls away and your stomach fills with a million bouncy balls.

“No reason,” he kisses you again and leaves you standing there breathless, shouting down the stairs to Nora, “You better not be eating that raw batter young lady!”

And later, when the sink’s full of suds and soaking dishes and kids are opening the fridge only to look inside and complain and then open it again two minutes later, or the washing machine is making that weird clunking noise again and Steve’s shouting at one of the kids to get off of the other kid and you’re scrubbing at crayon on the wall, neither of you care.

You aren’t going to take it for granted.

*voting will close at 10am CST tomorrow, 10/6

since there were two of these and I'm late posting, I posted the poll separately, you can find it here

[paladin--strait]

soulmates part 3

luke hughes x reader

part 1 here! part 2 here! series masterlist here!

tw!!: some language, use of y/n, reader can be depicted as any body shape/size. this story moves kinda fast, since I want it to only be a couple of parts long.

warning: this is a complete work of fiction. I am no way saying or implying that these people act the way they do in the story. I am open to any sort of constructive criticism! thank you!

-

oh shit. it's quinn. my eyes go wide and luke's head slowly turns around to see who it is. his head turns back me quickly, eyes wide and his throat moves with a nervous gulp. his eyes are looking around, almost like he's looking for an escape. i shake my head at him, silently telling him that we should accept our fate.

quinn walks up slowly, face red from anger and frustration. "well well well...what do we have here? two run aways, it looks like." he says, hands in his pockets.

"quinn listen-" luke says, hand on the table, but he looks like he's about to jump out of the booth.

"nope. i'm not listening to you." quinn say, hands now out of his pockets and now wrapped around his chest. "i hope you know that i'm on a goddamn life360 with her and i know where she is at all times."

"quinn, let luke talk before you go off on him." i say, hoping quinn will give luke some grace.

"fine. scoot." he says with a sigh, signaling for me to move further into the booth, which i do so he has room to sit beside me.

"listen quinn, we just wanted to get out of there and have some fun. as soon as we woke up, i rushed home so y/n wouldn't get in trouble with you." luke says, looking down at his hands. "i didn't want you guys to think that we did something that i'm not supposed to do with her. once we saw how you reacted, we just didn't want to be yelled at for an accident we made."

"okay." quinn says. his single word makes luke and i look at each other nervously.

"uhm...is that all? just okay?" luke says, looking at me before looking back at quinn in confusion.

"yeah." quinn shrugs, lip turning up on the side.

"quinn," my eyes flicker to luke, my hands shaking and clammy from nervousness. "you're kinda scaring me...?"

"well, maybe you shouldn't have scared me by running away like that." quinn states, words flat like they have no meaning but luke and i both know that they hold all quinn's feelings about the situation. quinn looks at luke before speaking, "i hope you know, i'm not mad. i'm just upset with the fact that you two are acting like some high school couple who's parents are preventing them from being together."

i look down at my fingers, picking at the skin that's around my nail beds. the silence is deafening, despite the sounds of the chefs behind the counter cooking and banging their utensils on the stove, and the sound of people carrying on conversation at the nearby tables.

we sit in silence for what feels like forever until luke speaks up. "quinn, listen." luke pauses, taking a sip of his drink. "we fell asleep on the boat on accident. i already told you why we ran, but i thought you should know that-"

luke's rant is cut off my the ringing on my phone. i apologize and pick the phone up to see who's calling. it's the social media manager, kelly. "shit...i'm sorry guys, i have to take this. it's my boss..." i click the green button to answer and the two boys look at me and sit in silence while i talk to her.

our conversation is short, but her words ring out in my head. once i hang up, i sit still in my seat. "uhm...they need me back in vancouver."

i see confusion contort onto both of their faces. i also take notice of the head tilt of confusion that luke gives me. it reminds me of quinn, every time he gets upset, confused, or is just plain out of his, his head lulls to the side.

"why?" quinn is quick to ask. "they said you could have the rest of the summer off. i'm not gonna let them steal that time from you. from us." i can sense the upset in his words and i immediately feel horrible.

"they need me to come back and train new recruits. apparently, some time after i left the other day, the longer working employees started some sort of riot and quit because they weren't happy with their pay." i explain, taking a sip of my drink and sighing. "they told me i would get a raise if i come in..."

quinn looks down, disappointment flooding his face. i reach over and grab his hand, holding it in mine. "quinn...i'm sorry."

"no, i understand..." he says, rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb, something he always does when he notices i'm upset. "i can come with you, if you want."

"no quinn, stay here and enjoy your summer. i'm just glad i could spend some time with you and your friends." i say, smiling softly. i look over at luke who's lips are pursed, like he has something to say, but he won't say it.

the similarities between quinn and luke are insane. that empty look in their eyes, their smile, their actions, and they way that they can make you feel bad by just looking at you with those sad, puppy dog eyes.

i frown looking at luke, mouthing a quick i'm sorry. he shakes his head and mouths back, "its okay."

i feel bad to leave, even though it's only my third day off and my second day here, i've had fun. "uhm...kelly said my flight is at 8pm tonight. so, i better go home and pack so i can spend the rest of my time with you guys before i have to go."

"sounds good, i can drive you back to the lake house?" quinn says and i immediately take him up on his offer. drives with quinn are always fun. music, loud singing, and just plain stupidity. but, i have a feeling this ride won't be that way. with everything that happened with luke last night and today, plus with me having to leave, it's bound to be awkward.

we call over the waitress to pay for our food and luke hands her his debit card. she comes back a few minutes later to hand us our receipt and to thank us for coming. we pack up our things, and go outside. i thank luke for breakfast and get into the passenger seat of quinn's car after he opens the door for me.

i buckle my seatbelt while quinn shuts my door and i sigh. i hate to leave but i need the money and if they need help, then i should go. quinn would tell me the same thing if i told my boss no.

the car ride back is as i imagined, silent and awkward. luke follows us in his truck, pulling in the driveway right behind us. i see the door open and jack steps out with trevor and jamie behind him. jack has his arms crossed and he has this bossy look on his face.

luke opens my door for me and i get out of the car along with quinn. "well well well. look who decided to come home." jack yells out from the porch while we walk up. "the two runaways."

i roll my eyes at his words, looking over at quinn. "jack, that's enough. let us in, y/n has to pack for her trip back to vancouver."

"wait what? she's going back to vancouver?" jamie asks, confusion on his face as he peeks out of the doorway further.

"why?? she just got here!" trevor complains, looking at quinn with a look of surprise and disbelief.

"quinn, what did you say to her to make her want to go back?" jack asks, no emotion in his question, almost like he's mad at quinn.

"i didn't say anything. she got a call from her boss and they need her help at the arena. she has to train new employees and if she does it, she gets a raise. she needs to go." quinn explains, walking in the doorway with luke and i.

"aww...i wanted to hang out more!" trevor says, reaching his arms out to hug me. i hug back immediately, patting his back. "i miss you already."

i laugh, "trev, i'll miss you too. i don't even know you that well, but you seem like a genuinely nice guy that cares about his teammates and friends. i wish i could've hung out with you more this summer." he smiles at me and fixes his hair, it's getting too long for it to stay out of his eyes.

once we finish talking, i go up the steps and into my bedroom, grabbing my suitcase and beginning to pack. good thing i haven't unpacked very much of my stuff yet. i grab my toiletry bag and put all of my products in it, organizing it along the way. i found that if i don't organize things the way i have them when i originally pack it all, they don't fit. so i often take a picture to follow as guide almost.

i eventually finish packing and zip up my suitcase. i look at my bed that has luggage all over it. blankets and a pillow beside it. i grab my phone, checking all my messages before i go downstairs. when i make it to the living room, i find some of the guys on the couch.

john looks up from his phone and smiles at me. "hey, y/n. i heard you have to go back to vancouver later?" he says, suddenly frowning.

"yeah, my boss called, said that a whole bunch of people just quit and they need me to come and help train rookies. at least i'll get a raise." i respond, sitting down on the couch beside nico.

"oh, well a raise is good! sucks that you have to leave, though." nico says, looking over at me and smiling softly, almost as if he feels bad for me.

"yeah, i haven't even been able to get to know you yet! i've heard such good things about you from quinn and he was so excited when you showed up here. wouldn't shut up about you last night." curtis says, throwing his arms up in the air during his first sentence.

"really? he wouldn't shut up about me?" i ask, confused about what's he's been telling them about me.

"yeah. after dinner when we were all in the game room, he couldn't stop talking about you. he told us all about you twos pregame and postgame routines, how much y'all hang out, and whenever you're off work, you even show up to games wearing his jersey and stuff." nico responds, looking over at me, trying to recount his memory of what quinn told them.

"oh..." i say, looking down at my fingers, picking at the skin around my nails that i had previously picked at. "he really told you guys all that?"

"yeah. he's all the time talking about you." brock says, "trust me, i know this because i'm almost always with him. he talks about you on and off the ice, too." he nods at his own words.

my eyes widen, i never realized just how much time i spend with quinn. i stop to think. no matter the day, we always take time to hang out. i never realized he talked about me so much.

brock shortly continues his words, "i remember when some other player chirped you during a game one day," i snap my head to look at him, never having heard about this. "quinn went ballistic on the dude. i've never seen him so mad in my life."

"i remember that. i had to pull him off the guy." j.t. says, nodding his head at the memory. "i never realized how nasty of a mouth quinn has. he spouted out so much shit that night that i thought i was either dreaming, or had gone crazy." he states, laughing.

"hmm..." i look up at the ceiling, slightly remembering quinn getting ejected for fighting one game. "i think i remember that. is that really what happened? quinn wouldn't tell me why he fought the guy."

"yeah, that's what happened. quinn would protect you from anything. even if it costed him his job. or even his life." brock says, looking at me in the eyes before he checks his phone. "it's almost like he's in love with you or something."

i laugh almost too much at his words. "what? no! quinn is like a brother to me. he wouldn't think of me like that. right?" i ask, suddenly unsure of what quinn really thinks of me.

"well, from what i've seen of you two together, i'd say that quinn-" nico starts, sighing before he spoke.

"me what? what'd i do this time?" quinn walks in from the patio door, looking confused at the mention of his name. i make eye contact with nico, and he looks at me with a knowing look.

"uhm, we were just talking about how you might want to go back to vancouver with y/n." brock says, quickly saving our backs.

"yeah, i just wasn't sure if you were coming with me or staying here. you seemed like you wanted to come with me earlier so i was just asking them if you'd said anything to them about it." i say, looking over at quinn.

"oh. well, i thought about it. do you want me to come back with you?" quinn asks, luke, jack, and jamie walking in behind him. "i'll go if you want me to. you know i will." he says, smiling at me.

"it's up to you if you wanna come or not. but, i'd prefer you stay here and enjoy the rest of your summer. you never know, the training could be quick and i might come back before the summer ends if you guys are willing to have me." i say, looking at them nervously.

"of course you're welcome back here!" jack says, smiling wide. "you'll always be welcome here."

"thanks, jack." i smile back at him, thankful for his words. i look down at my phone, the time is 5:30. "well, i should get going. it's a 45 minute drive to the airport and i still have to call an uber. i wanna get there early." i say, standing up.

"don't call an uber." quinn says, walking over to me. "i'll take you. where's your luggage?"

"oh, it's upstairs in my room. i was about to go get it." i say, walking over to the base of the stairs. "do you think you can help me?" i ask, quinn obviously nods, walking up the stairs with me.

after we grab all my luggage, we head back down the stairs also i can say my goodbyes to the guys. trevor is the first to come over to me, "i miss you already, y/n. i wish you didn't have to leave."

"you'll see me again, don't worry. if i can't come back this summer, i'll see you at the games." i say, patting his back while we hug. i hear him whine slightly and when he pulls away, he's looking at me with a frown. "i miss you already, trev."

curtis is next, the nico, jack, jamie, then luke. i hug them all tightly, saying a quick goodbye to all of them. j.t. and brock give me a quick hug and a short kiss on the head.

"see you later, tiny." brock says, looking down at me. "take care of yourself."

"i will, love you, brockey." i say, pulling out the nickname i gave him that he hates so much. he laughs, shaking his head. he says a quick i love you back and takes his seat back on the couch.

i say my last goodbyes, and grab a couple of my bags, walking out the door to quinn's unlocked car. we set my bags in the back and quinn once again opens the car door for me. i get in, buckling up and getting comfortable. i can already feel myself getting tired.

"tired?" quinn says, pulling out of the driveway and onto the road. "you can sleep, i won't mind."

i nod, accepting his offer. i grab my pillow from the back and put it up against the window, setting my head against it and closing my eyes with a loud yawn. "thank you for driving me, quinner..."

he just smiles at me, looking back at the road and trying to find his next exit.

-

when i wake up, quinn is shaking my shoulder. "y/n, we're here. you don't wanna miss your flight." i groan, the sudden darkness confusing me.

"oh...okay." i say, sitting up and pulling the pillow away from the window. i yawn once again, stretching as much as i can in the truck.

i open my own door this time, getting out and grabbing my things from the back. i sling the backpack over my back and hand some bags to quinn. we walk into the airport, quinn saying a few hellos to some fans.

he helps me check my bags in and get my ticket. "well, this is it. have a safe flight, y/n." he says, looking at me with a frown.

"thank you, quinn. and i'm sorry about all that stuff with luke, i hate that it took up so much time of me being there with you guys..." i admit, looking down at my shoes.

"hey, it's okay. i understand. uhm, i'll miss you. please take care of yourself, i know how you forget to take your medicine and sometimes you get so wrapped up in work you forget to eat or hydrate. please don't forget."

"i won't quinn. and if you're so worried, text me to remind me and even if i just ate or drank, i'll do it again." i say, smiling.

"you know i will anyway." quinn laughs, pulling me in for a hug. "i love you."

his words linger in my head for a bit, leaving a pink hue on my cheeks. remembering that conversation earlier makes me rethink almost everything that he's saying to me. what does he mean by 'i love you'? does he really mean it? or is he just saying it in a friendly way?

i shake it off quickly, patting quinn on his back and telling him a quick i love you too before i have to walk off into the tunnel. i look back at him when i make it halfway into the long hallway, and he's staring at me with a sad look on his face. i wave sadly at him, before turning back around.

almost my whole flight i think of quinn. what was nico going to say that he couldn't finish? i should've gotten his number so i could ask later. i can just ask jack for his number when i land. i sigh, leaning back in my seat.

i soon find myself tired from all of my thoughts and i close my eyes, getting more comfortable in the hard and not cushiony at all airplane seats. i hope that when i wake, i'll finally be able to figure out what nico was going to say. but i guess i'll find out later.

[wintfleur]

₊˚ෆ impromptu escape !

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( this is very self indulgent tbh , I love Stella and sunghoon and I hope you guys do to !! Please let me know what you guys think mwah x )

𐙚 summary ( Stella decides to have a impromptu trip to South Korea to visit her best friend Sunghoon , after having a bad argument with Luke when he finds out about her and Rutger )

stellahughes added to their story !

🎵Paradise- BTS

[caption: seoul I am in you 🫦 ]

_quinnhughes replied to your story ‘please be careful, have a safe flight, text me when you land 🩷’

markestapa replied to your story ‘I have been knocking on your dorm door with hot chocolate for ten minutes. Only to find out that you are not even in the fucking country ?????’

carmenbarlowe replied to your story ‘have the best time my sweet 😽🫶🏻’

luca.fantilli replied to you story ‘come back soon pls 💔’

dylanduke25 reacted with 😦

Lilybaileys reacted with 🛩️

trevorzegras replied to your story ‘SINCE UH WHEN??’

jackhughes replied to your story ‘be safe okay? Love you butthead’

ahndaesee replied to your story ‘the wording is immaculate stell 🫶🏻’

colecaufield replied to your story ‘be safe stella ❤️’

simjaeyunn replied with ‘STELLA I CANT WAIT TO SEE YOU, I HAVE SO MUCH TO SHOW YOU ‼️’

notriki replied with ‘LETS GOOOOO 🗣️ (hoon wouldn’t let me come to the airport with him bcuz of jake ☹️)’

edwards.73 reacted with 🩷

rutgermcgroarty replied with ‘I miss my pretty girl 😭’

pshoon2002 replied with ‘the hug I’m about to give you 😮‍💨🫵’

stellahughes

liked by jamie.drysdale , mollyannmcg , _alexturcotte and others

🎵Blue Hour - TOMORROW X TOGETHER

stellahughes: missed the views sm (and the food)

view all 3,285 comments

username STELLA IN KOREA WE ALL CHANT ‼️

username pls teach us how to be so aesthetically pleasing like you I beg 🙏

username THE PICNIC??? IS STELLA ON A DATE?

username what’s your favorite tanghulu??

stellahughes strawberry 🍓 !!!

username what’s your go to show to watch on flights?

stellahughes gossip girl or supernatural 😽

username AHHH anyone remember how Stella mentioned her go to date was at a aquarium 🫢

username STELLA WHO IS THE BOYYY

username KARAOKE TOO? DROP THE VIDS 🙏



LiamBarlowe bring me back some snacks please

stellahughes dw lilo i got you 🫶🏻

Lilybaileys BBG I MISS YOUR FACE 😾

stellahughes faceless pictures are more aesthetic 😼

Lilybaileys gurl pls.

_alexturcotte you travel more than me and it’s part of my job?

stellahughes it’s because I’m not BORING like YOU 🫵

_alexturcotte hey now what’s with all the tude 🤔

gabeperreault44 I don’t know what those are but I want ten of them.

stellahughes I’ll make you some when I come visit 🫶🏻

jackhughes the house is so much nicer without you 🥳

stellahughes CAN YOU GO AWAY OMFG 😺

luca.fantilli hair is hairing 😍

stellahughes LUCA PLS 😭

colecaufield did you sing 22?

stellahughes OH DID I 😼

pshoon2002 my ears are still ringing.

stellahughes you bitch @/pshoon2002

trevorzegras your growing up so fast 🙁

stellahughes why are you suddenly being so sentimental? 😭

trevorzegras why are you being so judgmental 😑

matthew.sturniolo okay but like how much mc did you play on the flight

stellahughes let’s just say we won’t have to worry about iron again 😼

matthew.sturniolo YOU BUILT THE IRON FARM?

stellahughes well we both know Chris’s lazy ass wasn’t gonna

christophersturniolo sorry but I’m not leaving the caves, Nick is gonna kill me and steal my shit 💀

nicolassturniolo YOU KILLED MY SHEEP YOU FUCK @/christophersturniolo

username Stella has a mc world with the triplets omg 😭

username such pretty pics omg

username will there be a vlog for this trip?

stellahughes not this time sorry 🫶🏻

simjaeyunn haha and the people right? haha you missed the people too right? 😃

stellahughes yes jake I missed you guys too 🫶🏻

thekimsunooo not me hearing jake screaming through the walls 😭

stellahughes is he okay???

theonlywon yeah just delusional

williamnylander enjoy your trip Estella!

stellahughes thank you Willy ☺️🫶🏻 (come visit or I’ll cry)

williamnylander you come visit or ILL cry 🫵

stellahughes oop you got me there 😃

cam.york visit me next okay 👍🏻

colecaufield if you visit him before me, I will riot Stella

stellahughes I’m visiting neither of you, I’m going to go see Jamie ☺️

trevorzegras Jamie AND Trever you mean 😃

stellahughes Jamie ☺️

jamie.drysdale 🤗

stellashotboyfie god I miss you you so much

entersteller I miss you more, wish you were here with me 😖

vinniehacker next time I’m coming with

stellahughes bet

pshoon2002 added to their story !

🎵 Eternal Sunshine - ATEEZ

[caption: my eternal ☀️]

simjaeyunn replied to your story ‘hahah 😁 back tf off 😆’

Lilybaileys replied to your story ‘she was mine first 🫦’

pshoon2002 who is she with rn??? Mhmm

leeseungie replied to your story ‘when will you guys be coming back to the dorm, Jay wants to know when he should start dinner?’

pshoon2002 on our way back rn

carmenbarlowe replied to your story ‘the prettiest princess’

pshoon2002 👑

trevorzegras replied to your story ‘hmmm suspicious 🤨’

pshoon2002 no.

stellahughes

liked by _eliaspettersson, jacob_truscott20, _willsmith2 and others

🎵 Weekend - TAEYEON

stellahughes: professional cat petter and part time soju enjoyer🧃

view all 4,657 comments

username stella in korea is my favorite stella 🫶🏻

pshoon2002 I agree.

_quinnhughes Stella there are a lot of soju bottles in this post…

stellahughes I have no idea what your talking about 👩🏻‍🦯

_quinnhughes literally look at your caption?

stellahughes no idea how that got there

username THE BOY IS BACK

username SOFT LAUNCH??

username Stella don’t be shy, who’s the boy 🤭

dylanduke25 not Stella being in her alcoholic era without me

stellahughes DYLAN PLS UR GONNA GET ME IN TROUBLE 😭

jackhughes THATS A LOT OF ALCOHOL MISSY

jackhughes YOU LEAVE AND BOOM SUDDENLY MAKE BAD DECISIONS

jackhughes YOU BRAT I KNOW YOU CAN SEE THESE

jackhughes I…I miss you 🙄

stellahughes are you on something??

jackhughes @/pshoon2002 you are a terrible babysitter

pshoon2002 TF I DO?

jackhughes 🐀🐀🐀

username ofc she’s drinking 🙄

username who is that boy? I thought she was with Trevor…

username where is Luke? He hasn’t liked or commented her last few posts?

luca.fantilli pls tell me you bought that dog

stellahughes I really really REALLY wanted to but it wouldn’t fit in my suitcase . . . this is your sign to buy it and send it to me @/pshoon2002

pshoon2002 🙄👍🏻

username where is Luke’s comment :(

username THE CATS 😭

username THE BOY OMG THE BOY

username THE 6th PICTURE THO 😍

stellahughes I knowww right??? So pretty 🥹

nicohischier I hope you are having a great time Estella ❣️

stellahughes thank you Nico, I am 🥰

markestapa MEOW 😻

stellahughes MARK?

arberxhekaj_ I’m gonna need 50 of whatever that is, in the 2 pic 💳

stellahughes COMING RIGHT UP SIR 🫡

username I can’t see your face but I know you look so pretty

stellahughes I LOVE YOU MWAH 💋

_alexturcotte I’d never leave

jackhughes DONT GIVE HER ANY IDEAS ❌

stellashotboyfie the kiss I’m about to give you when you come back

entersteller panties are dropped 🫦

carmenbarlowe STELLA PUT THE PHONE DOWN.

username okay but like who is taking the pictures of her?

username her secret boyfriend? The boy is the pictures?

rutgermcgroarty okay but like the the clouds

stellahughes absolutely stunning am I right 📷

vinniehacker wanna play valo?

stellahughes yeah sure let me just steal someone’s set up

vinniehacker cool

stellahughes vins I was being sarcastic 😭

vinniehacker 😪

edwards.73 BRING ME BACK SOUVENIERS PLS

stellahughes okay you greedy bitch 👍🏻

edwards.73 I miss you too 🫶🏻

entersteller added to their story !

🎵I see the light - Mandy Moore & Zachary Levi

[caption: in my Rapunzel era ☺️]

rutgermcgroarty replied to your story ‘does that make me your Flynn rider?’

entersteller i’m on my knees for you 🫦

rutgermcgroarty BABE PLEASE 😭

Lilybaileys relied to your story ‘okay but mother gothel let me smash mommy 😋’

entersteller LILY??

elblue6 reacted with 🩷

luca.fantilli replied to your story ‘

_quinnhughes replied to your story ‘glad you are having fun stink🩷’

colecaufield replied to your story ‘Pascal my goat’

entersteller I KNOW THATS RIGHT ‼️

jackhughes reacted with 🥹

tyler__duke5 replied to your story ‘AT LAST I SEE THE LIGHT🎤’

entersteller AND ITS LIKE THE FOG HAS LIFTED 🎤

_willsmith2 reacted with 🦎

nicolassturniolo replied to your story ‘okay but like I need to go there, like yesterday’

entersteller I’m taking you with me next time omg

leeseungie replied to your story ‘so this is where you guys went 🙄’

jjaypark replied to your story ‘we found the restaurant’

entersteller yippee!! I’m getting the guys rn :3

notriki replied to your story ‘WHY DID YOU TWO DITCH ME AND LEAVE ME WITH JAKE AND HEESEUNG 😭’

entersteller AHH IM SORRY WE’RE RUNNING BACK RN

pshoon2002 added to their story !

🎵Dance The Night Away - TWICE

[caption: last night out @/entersteller @/simjaeyunn @/jjaypark @/leeseungie @/thekimsunooo @/notriki @/theonlywon]

_quinnhughes replied to your story ‘how drunk did she get 😓’

pshoon2002 she had a few drinks but then she remembered how her and Luke aren’t talking and the she started downing drinks like water 😬

_quinnhughes poor thing, is she okay?

pshoon2002 she has a nasty hangover but she’s seems to be okay, she’s playing video games with the guys , there doing a good job at keeping her mind off it.

_quinnhughes thank you for this sunghoon, she really needed this vist

pshoon2002 no need to thank me, you know I’ll always be here for her.

thekimsunooo reacted with 🧃

simjaeyunn replied to your story ‘was I drunk or did Stella confess her love for me last night? 🤭’

pshoon2002 Jay and heeseung had to carry you into the dorm 🤨

simjaeyunn because I was so happy from Stella confessing her love i couldn’t walk?

pshoon2002 no because you were fucking wasted

simjaeyunn oh 😣

jackhughes replied to your story ‘WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS GETTING MY SISTER DRUNK HUH??’

pshoon2002 IM NOT ?? its not my fault your little brother is an ass and hurt stells feelings 😐

daisospahm replied to your story ‘is this is why I woke up to 30 texts and 17 missed calls from Stella smh’

daisospahm replied to your story ‘I can’t believe I missed out on drunk Stella 😞’

pshoon2002 yeah you left me all alone to take care of her 😐

jjaypark replied to your story ‘I did not know Stella could drink that much’

pshoon2002 neither did i 😟

leeseungie replied to your story ‘Stella is my favorite drunk’

theonlywon replied to your story ‘dance the night away?? More like Jake and Stella drank the night away 😟’

notriki replied to your story ‘favorite part of the night was Stella talking about Rut and Jake looking like he was gonna off himself 😭’

entersteller added to their story !

🎵Fairy of Shampoo - TOMORROW X TOGETHER

[caption: my going away present from hoonie :( ]

rutgermcgroarty replied to your story ‘I don’t know how I feel about you having another’s man’s name on your back 😕’

entersteller don’t tell anyone but I prefer yours 💋

daisospahm replied to your story ‘gasps’

entersteller dw i’m bringing you one home bbg 😽

jackhughes replied to your story ‘the only name you should be wearing is Hughes, specifically Hughes 86 😾’

entersteller I think you mean hischier 13 🫦

jackhughes STELLA I SWEAR

notriki replied to your story ‘mine looks better smh’

entersteller agreed. don’t tell hoonie he will find a way to crash my flight

notriki HAHA IM TELLING JAKE THO

simjaeyunn reacted with 💔

trevorzegras replied with ‘BUT YOU REFUSE TO WEAR MINE?’

entersteller I JUST LIKE JAMIES MORE 🤷🏻‍♀️

luca.fantilli reacted with 😍

pshoon2002 replied to your story ‘you’ve never looked better 😻’

entersteller

liked by leeseungie, ryan.leno_4 , edwards.73 and others

🏷️ pshoon2002

🎵 Polaroid Love - ENHYPEN

entersteller: I will be keeping this short because hoonie’s ego does not need to get any bigger ‼️— but I just wanted to make a little appreciative post for my bestie who has been by my side through everything, even through we have thousands of miles between us, he’s never failed to be there for me. yes he can be a major ass, but he’s my ass 🫶🏻

ty for being my platonic soulmate hugsy, and the best skating partner I ever had 🩷

view all 25 comments

pshoon2002 hmm 7/10 , the start was definitely rocky but i appreciate the sentiment 👍🏻

pshoon2002 this is kinda sweet ig

pshoon2002 what is this strange feeling i have in my heart? its making me feel like i could cry?

entersteller SUNGHOON BE SO SERIOUS RN.

pshoon2002 let me be in my tsundere era in peace dimples

entersteller I- ykw, whatever you say hugsy 😭👍🏻

markestapa where’s my designated post?

entersteller up your ass, call Ethan to help you find it. I’m sure he knows his way around it 👍🏻

markestapa HELLO??

edwards.73 why tf am I catching strays here ‼️

daisospahm my two favorite people 🫶🏻

edwards.73 excuse me???

daisospahm I miss you come back

entersteller I’ll be home soon bbg 😽

leeseungie don’t let his ‘tsundere’ act fool you, I can hear him sobbing in his room

pshoon2002 this is defamation and I will sue

jjaypark I can hear you over my guitar @/pshoon2002

entersteller awe hoonie I knew you loved me @/pshoon2002 🫶🏻

luca.fantilli bro’s like ethereal

pshoon2002 hey 😼

entersteller NO BACK OFF HOONIE

rutgermcgroarty HES OURS ‼️

pshoon2002 HES THE ONE WHO COMPLEMENTED ME TF???

tatemcrae the onesies are everythinggg

entersteller they are so comfy, hehe I’ll buy us some 😫

jackhughes you guys skated together again 😖 why am I getting emotional

pshoon2002 bro is high on pain meds 😭

jackhughes I fucking hate you.

pshoon2002 never mind then 🙄

theonlywon I can smell jakes jealousy through the walls

simjaeyunn no that’s jays stank ass feet tf

entersteller LMAOOO JAKE 😭

_quinnhughes okay but when is hoon coming to visit hmm?

entersteller good question quinny… AHEM @/pshoon2002

pshoon2002 when I’m freed and given a break 😪

leeseungie Our ice prince and princess 👑🙇

pshoon2002 I KNOW THATS RIGHT 🗣️‼️

elblue6 awe I miss you two so much 💙

pshoon2002 I miss you to mamma hughes 💙

pshoon2002 ….I love you dimples 🩷

entersteller I love you more hugsy 🩷

pshoon2002 added to their story !

🎵TFW (That Feeling When) - ENHYPEN

[caption: help how do i convince her to stay 😣 ]

simjaeyunn replied to your story ‘ body - ody - ody - ody x ♾️ 😻’

pshoon2002 gtfo.

daisospahm replied to your story ‘she’s coming back home to me 😼

pshoon2002 I will actually fight you.

notriki replied to your story ‘not mother leaving 😖’

pshoon2002 she’s not your mother niki

notriki MOTHER 😫

pshoon2002 STOP YOU FREAK

leeseungie replied to your story ‘how hungover is she?😭’

pshoon2002 this is your fault 🫵

leeseungie HUH?? Jay was the one to order the drinks not me, how was I supposed to know she was gonna take the drinking games so seriously…

jackhughes replied to your story ‘I will sue you for kidnapping if she doesn’t come home’

stellahughes replied to your story ‘the song choice ☹️ oh hugsy I’ll be back soon I promise 🫶🏻’

pshoon2002 miss you already dimples 💔

rutgermcgroarty reacted with 🫦

Lilybaileys replied to your story ‘who’s that babe??’

pshoon2002 my bsf 💪🏻

Lilybaileys bitch don’t even start

thekimsunooo reacted with 🥹

stellahughes added to their close friends !

🎵Whatcha say - Jason Derulo

[caption: GG Marathon just to put me in the mood for the rest of the week <3 ]

jackhughes replied to your story ‘felt like I was in the thanksgiving scene when Luke walked in on you and rut, with how betrayed he looked 🤣’

stellahughes Jack you are not helping tf 😕

carmenbarlowe replied to your story ‘I’m chuck bass 😼’

markestapa replied to your story ‘POOKIE IVE MISSED YOU SM I CANT BELIEVE YOUR ALMOST HERE 😭’

edwards.73 replied to your story ‘thank god you are back, now you and Luke can make up because I can’t deal another day with grumpy and pouty Luke. He misses you ☹️’

stellahughes I’ve tried talking to him multiple times Ethan, there’s only so much I can do. If he really misses me, he’ll reach out.

elblue6 replied to your story ‘my beautiful girl is home 🩷’

stellahughes I missed you so much mom, I’m in dire need of a mom hug :(

pshoon2002 replied to your story ‘so should I start looking for tickets for you to come back dimples?’

stellahughes hoonie I just left 😭

pshoon2002 yeah and now you can come back :(

luca.fantilli replied to your story ‘we are all going out for dinner now that you are back and you can’t say no.’

stellahughes I am craving a good steak rn ngl

mollyannmcg replied to your story ‘thank god, rut has been insufferable while you were gone’

stellahughes I’m sorry babes 😭

simjaeyunn reacted with 😭

dylanduke25 replied to your story ‘YOUR BACK, LETS GET DRUNK!!’

stellahughes PLS PLS PLS (I have the worst hangover rn)

dylanduke25 should I be worried that you’re becoming an alcoholic Stella.

stellahughes ….nooo I’m fine 🫶🏻

rutgermcgroarty replied to your story ‘actually shaking in excitement to see you baby’

stellahughes god ur so cute 😽

Lilybaileys replied to your story ‘MY WIFE IS ALMOST HOME , EVERYONE REJOICE’

mackie.samo replied to your story ‘LETSS PARTY🥳’

stellahughes I AM SO DOWN 🥳

vinniehacker replied to your story ‘valo?’

stellahughes ykw, yes pls ���

notriki replied to your story ‘😖’

stellahughes I WILL BE BACK SOON I PROMISE

ahndaesee replied to your story ‘me and rut will be at the airport to pick you up, let’s get food after? 😽’

stellahughes YIPPEE 🫦

au masterlist - you can find everything under #👩🏻‍🎨 ͡ ꒱ Stella Hughes!

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( I just want to apologize for my sudden disappearance with this au, i was busy with some other things outside of tumblr and just couldn’t find the time/motivation to work on anything! But I’m back, I really hope you guys enjoyed this . . . I’m sorry for the lack of comments on the posts, I was struggling 😭)

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( also rutger’s private instagram is @/stellashotboyfie . . . and yes i decided that vinnie and Stella are friends )

°. — taglist ( @lovings4turn @cixrosie @toasttt11 @bunbunbl0gs @petite-potato4 @winterbarnesblog @yoontwin @iceflwers )

©️WINTFLEUR

[leighsartworks216]

Mutually Assured Destruction

Sylus x gn!Reader

I don't remember anymore how this idea came to me but I needed to write it. Makes references to other stories in the Raven series

Warnings: spicy but no smut, collars, leashes, muzzles, marking, ownership, master/pet, light bondage, halloween, slight swearing, established relationship

Word Count: 2,667

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

The Raven Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You glare at the twins with a hardened fury that could scare any client of Sylus’s into pissing their pants and apologizing to you for the inconvenience. Unfortunately, this is Luke and Kieran. They don’t crumble under the stare. They laugh.

It’s stupid, you decide. Before, well, you were open to the idea. Miss Hunter needs “Skye” to make an appearance at a Halloween party thrown by her colleagues and friends, so it’s only natural he’d want to bring his partner along to join in on the fun. She didn’t argue against it, but she did warn about keeping you - hm, how did she put it again? Ah, yes, on a tight leash.

Why’d she have to say it in front of these chuckleheads?

The black collar is lined with spiked studs, connected to a long leather leash. Sure, fine, whatever. You even like the idea of wearing it, so long as the leash is in Sylus’s hand.

But a muzzle?

“Awe, c’mon! We don’t get to go, so you might as well let us have some fun with it!”

“We can run out and grab you a box of milk bones, if you’d like.”

Sylus wraps an arm around your shoulders and steers you away from the twins before you can successfully wrap the leash around their necks. “You’re dismissed,” he orders with a wave of his hand. He takes the muzzle from you, idly studying it.

You glare over your shoulder at Luke and Kieran, who snicker as they finally do as they’re told. The sound grates on your nerves until the door closes and shuts them out.

You shift out of his hold easily. He perches against his nice, expensive desk as he watches you pace back and forth, fiddling with the leather collar and leash in your hands. He sets the muzzle aside and crosses his arms.

“What are you thinking about?”

A lot of things, quite frankly. Your position as the fearsome guard dog of the great Onychinus leader, Miss Hunter and her little friends, the party, your costume, your increasingly complex feelings on being “owned” by someone…

You know Sylus doesn’t own you. You know, if ever you wished it, you could walk right out of here and go on into forever, and he would let you. It would hurt. But he wouldn’t hold you back.

Is it so wrong if you want him to…?

Your body has never been yours. As a kid, it belonged to the streets and the failed help programs of the city. As a teen, it belonged to your damned tormentor, the Devil. Even when you escaped as a young adult, you didn’t know enough about who you were anymore to hold any claim over yourself. You fought, you struggled, you became cleverer, and scarier. You became the Raven. And for the short time you’ve carried that name, you have learned to own yourself again. Even the ring on your pinky, that eternal promise mirrored on Sylus’s own hand, could not steal that from you.

Maybe it’s not quite ownership you want to give up, then.

You want to keep owning yourself, but you want him to, as well. You want to be that hopelessly loyal guard dog to him. You want to be obedient to his commands, and defiant in order to protect him. You want to tear out the throats of everyone who looks at him the wrong way. You want him to watch….

You want to be wanted.

And you are, aren’t you? He has never made it seem like he wants anything else but for you to be by his side. Not only that, how many times has he made it clear that he belongs to you? How many more times must he before it sinks in? Before you can grasp the fact that he wants to be your hopelessly loyal guard dog? That he wants to be obedient to your every command and defiant in order to protect you? He wants to tear out the throats of everyone who looks at you the wrong way, and he wants you to watch him do it.

He impedes your path, stopping you in your tracks and tilting your head up by your chin. He’s frowning. There’s a furrow between his brows. “What’s wrong?” he asks, more insistent than before.

Wrong? Is anything wrong here? The twins’ meddling in messing with you, maybe - but they weren’t exactly wrong. You are his dog on a leash, a dangerous animal that will bite if given the chance.

But… so is he.

You’re two wild, vicious animals. You’ve lashed out to save yourselves. Done horrific things in order to keep the weaker dogs from challenging you, and even worse things to those who dared to try. But you hold his leash, and he holds yours. You could so easily choke him with it. He could choke you with it. And yet, you are at peace - content in your mutually assured destruction.

“Sweetheart?”

You breathe in deeply. You hold the collar out to him, the leash loosely coiled and dangling from your fingers. He glances down at it, but his attention is focused solely on you.

“I want to wear it,” you say quietly. “But only if you’re the one putting it on.”

Something flickers in his eyes. The furrow in his brow is gone, replaced with silent understanding. He releases your chin. Long fingers wrap around the collar and leash, pressed between your palms as he holds your hand. “What about the muzzle?”

You grin slightly, playfully. It’s that same satisfied smirk you had back when he first met you. “I may need it around all those people, don’t you think?”

He chuckles. “If you behave, I’ll give you a treat after. How does that sound?”

He takes the collar. You can’t deny the thrill that runs through you as you watch him deftly undo the silver buckle. You stare up at him as he wraps the leather around your throat. He stares right back with a hungry look in his eyes as he slowly tightens it.

The leather is surprisingly soft. Not for a dog, that’s for sure. You’re almost grateful the twins regard you with enough respect to buy a collar made for humans. Almost. Not enough to let this whole incident slide unpunished. You think a little target practice to try shooting off the rings on their horns is a good warmup.

He tightens it a little more than necessary. You can’t help the way your eyes flutter shut, or the soft sigh that escapes through your nose. You’re rewarded with the familiar press of lips to your own. “Good dog,” he hums teasingly. You hate how much you love it.

He loosens it back up, enough to sit comfortably without rubbing your neck raw. His face is still tauntingly close to yours. Every breath fans over you, daring you to close the gap.

But you don’t.

He draws back once the buckle is secured. The leash hangs down, long enough to reach your mid-calf. “I wonder if you know any tricks,” he muses with a smirk and that cocky head tilt he does. He nods over to his desk. “Sit.”

You narrow your eyes up at him, but you smile. It reminds you of the commands he usually uses to control you during negotiations, and just how you both came to the agreement of using them. And like the good little pet you are, you saunter over to the desk and pull yourself up to sit on it. Back straight, legs crossed at the ankle, hands in your lap. He loves it.

He follows, standing in front of you and picking up the muzzle from his desk. It’s a basket muzzle, shaped to fit a human’s face instead of a dog’s snout. Silver bars weave together in an imprisoning array. Two straps hang in loose circles, held together by silver buckles. Sylus deftly undoes them, while his eyes appreciate the line of the leash that trails down your body and disappears between your thighs.

Holding the basket with one hand, and a strap in the other, he reaches forward to place the muzzle on your face. You turn, dodging the contraption, to catch the meat of his thumb between your teeth. He chuckles. “Behave. Be a good dog, won’t you?”

You bite down slightly harder, enough to leave a mark without breaking skin, but don’t let go. He smirks, leaning down until he’s at eye-level with you. “Here I thought this pup was properly trained. Do I have to tame them myself?”

It’s intoxicating, the playful yet almost threatening lilt in his voice. If you didn’t have a party to go to for Miss Hunter’s sake, you would love to test the limits of your handler even further.

As it is, you do have a party to go to, and time is ticking away.

Your teeth release his flesh. Left behind is a pretty red mark with indents from your canines and incisors. You stare into his eyes as you slowly lick the mark. His eyes follow the swipe of your tongue, darkened with desire.

With no more protests, he affixes the straps around your head - one that goes over your ears and one that goes under. The metal cage over your nose and mouth is cushioned by a strip of soft leather. It’s restrictive, but it’s not uncomfortable. If you wanted to, you could speak… or bark, if you felt like it.

Sylus places a kiss over the metal wires with a devilish grin. “You enjoy this, don’t you?”

His hand traces your jaw, fingertips dancing over the straps, to your neck. He idly brushes over the studs along the collar, trailing down the line to reach the D-ring at the front. It’s large enough that he could hook his finger in it, but why do that when there’s a perfectly good leash right there?

The metal clasp of the leash jingles lighty against the ring. You can hear the leather sliding between his fingers as he pulls it from between your thighs. It creaks as he wraps it around his hand. He tugs on it experimentally. You’re jolted forward. The collar is tighter against the back of your neck, straining toward the pull.

“I enjoy it, too,” he hums lowly, for your ears only. He keeps the tension on the line as he leans in to press soft kisses at the edge of the muzzle. You watch him through half-lidded eyes, falsified wariness shining back at him. They flutter shut as he smiles against your skin, trailing his lips lower and lower, over the straps of the muzzle and to the top of the collar.

“I wonder…” His breath is loud in your ears, mixing with your heartbeat, as he leaves an open-mouthed kiss at the line where skin meets leather. “When we get back…” His teeth ghost over your pulse. “How I would look in your place?”

Your eyes snap open and lock onto him. He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze with a wide smile. “Would you like that, my beloved?” He kisses your cheek. “Me, collared and chained, obedient to your every command?”

He hums thoughtfully. “I wonder how obedient you really are. Does this dog bark?”

He pulls tighter on the leash, causing you to strain your neck against it. “Growl?”

He suddenly slackens the lead. You’re unsteady as you press your hands into the desk for support. Before you can growl at him, his fingers are pulling down the collar to get to your sweet spot. His teeth nibble at it, pulling an unexpected sound from your mouth. “Oh? So they can whine. Do you howl, too?”

He kisses your skin more intently, sucking on it and leaving little bites, soothed by his tongue. One right below your jaw makes you whimper. “Good dog,” he whispers. His free hand pets your hair, the one holding the leash coming to rest beside your thigh as he leans over you. “Maybe I should cover your whole neck like this.” He bites harder at the spot. “Make sure everyone knows you’re mine. Would you like that, hm? Being mine?”

You nod. You're on cloud nine, mind fuzzy from elation. He tugs at the leash again, this time pulling it behind you so it presses up against your trachea. You gasp in response, fighting to keep sitting upright even as your head is strained back.

“Speak.”

“Yes.”

He slackens the lead again, breath growing heavy and with a growl at the back his throat as he goes to work devouring you. “Good dog.”

-

Miss Hunter greets you a few paces from the door with wide eyes. She stares at the (very fresh) marks littering your neck, some hidden by the collar and some with oddly suspicious teeth marks. She gives Sylus a dubious look. “Just who needs to be muzzled here?”

He smirks lazily. “The difference is who gets bit, kitten. I would hate to rush your coworkers to the hospital tonight.”

She glares at him, before glancing at your neck one more time. “Somebody’s gonna think this is some weird BDSM thing…” Nonetheless, she moves on. “What are you two supposed to be, exactly?”

“Can’t you tell? After all the effort we went through…” He sighs, feigning disappointment. “I’m a vampire. You seemed so insistent on it, because of my red eyes, remember?”

His costume is very toned down - some custom-fit vampire fangs and some nice clothes. Kieran suggested the fake blood, which runs from his lip down his chin.

“And what are they?”

You think Luke snuck into Linkon City for supplies purely to mess with you further, because while Kieran was handing Sylus a bottle of fake blood, Luke was handing you fuzzy animal ears and a fake tail. If it weren’t for the muzzle, you probably would have bitten him when he pat your head.

“My pet werewolf, of course.” He gestures to the leash. “This is just to ensure they don’t go on any rampages while they’re here.”

She crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow at him. “Uh huh, is that the only reason?”

He tilts his head back at her. “Sorry, sweetie, I’m afraid our relationship is rather exclusive. We’re not looking for a third member right now.”

Her cheeks heat up as she sputters out, “Th-That’s not what I meant!” She shakes her head, clearing her throat. “Anyway, everyone’s inside. Just, don’t scare them off,” she gives you a pointed look, “and keep your fangs to yourself.” She turns it on Sylus.

“Don’t worry, kitten. I’m as docile as they come.”

She shakes her head again and runs off, slipping inside the house where the party is taking place.

A warm hand scratches you playfully behind one of the fake animal ears. “Ready?”

You turn to him and crook a finger to beckon him down to your height. Even without a collar to control him, he does as you ask, until his sharp eyes are level with yours. He shouldn’t have been so caught off guard by the sudden feeling of the leash at the back of his neck, pulling him in closer. He huffs a laugh once he realizes what you’ve done.

From the outside, it looks awkward and uncomfortable. Your leash pulls at your own collar as you hold it around his neck, pinched together at the front with one of your hands so he can’t pull away. From there, it trails down to his own hand, where it’s still wrapped around in his hold.

From the inside, Sylus’s eyes glance down at your mouth, and how he wishes the muzzle weren’t there so he could kiss you. You lean forward until the cold metal wires of the muzzle brush against his ear. “I’m looking forward to my treat.”

He turns his head to meet your eye, a wicked little gleam shining back at you. “So am I.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton

[ttjisung]

DEEP OCEAN

l. yangyang + fem. reader

in which liu yangyang has had a crush on y/n l/n since her group aespa debuted, and will stop at nothing to get noticed by her. cw: suggestive jokes and themes, swearing

viii. ౨ৎ (wc: 1.5k)

masterlist ౨ৎ

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If there was one word to describe Liu Yangyang at the moment, it’d be overwhelmed. First of all, not once in his twenty four years of life has he dealt with such a difficult animal. Jaemin swore up and down that Luke was the tamer of his three cats, saying he was very shy but well behaved. Jaemin clearly lied because in the half hour that he had been under his care, Yangyang had already had around fifteen heart attacks. 

Secondly, you said you would be arriving in ten minutes, which left him ten minutes to set up a litter box, scatter toys around to seem non-suspicious, clean his bedroom in case his dreams were to ever become real (they weren’t), and dress himself nicely. Obviously, he wouldn’t have enough time for all, so he decided on the two most relevant choices - the litter box and his outfit. Although you might wonder why there’s no cat toys, it’d be much more concerning to find out a cat owner is letting their pet piss everywhere, so he quickly pulled out the plastic box he got from a pet store on the way home, filling it with the accompanying litter. 

Luke had been released from his carrier as soon as they both arrived home, and since then he had been wreaking havoc. From knocking down glasses to finding and stealing food, Yangyang was convinced this creature was a demon spawn. In fact, it almost made him wonder if you were insane for loving these animals so much, yet the thought was quickly discarded, knowing you were many things yet insane was not one of them. Instead, you were smart, gorgeous, talented- 

Yangyang quickly snapped out of it, checking his clock and realizing three minutes had already passed. He sprinted to his room, changing out of his casual attire and putting on a shirt he bought at the same pet store. It read out ‘Proud Dad Cat’, and it was almost humorous to watch himself in the mirror as he knew he was far from a proud father of the white, fluffy animal. Pulling some baggy black pants on, he fixed his hair before jumping at the sound of the doorbell ringing, running to the entrance of his apartment. 

As he opened the door, Yangyang was at a loss of words. Sure, he had seen you in person before from afar, including concerts and sometimes even encounters with your group from the company building hallway, yet this was the closest he had ever gotten, and if it was possible, you looked a million times better. 

Your hair was put up lazily, natural makeup resting on your face as you stared up at him with hope shining in your eyes and a shy smile imprinted on your lips. 

“Hi, I’m Y/n.” You were the first to break the silence, snapping Yangyang out of his thoughts once more as he shook his head erratically, staring back down at you with a dumbfounded expression on his face. “H-hi.” He wanted to shoot himself for stuttering. “I… I know… I’m ummm, a big fan. Yeah. I’m Yangyang.” The interaction was comically awkward as he stumbled out, offering you his hand to shake. He really wishes he hadn’t, because seeing you giggle lightly before accepting his significantly sweaty hand had him convulsing in his head. 

You’re real. You’re real and you’re standing in front of me. You’re in front of me, and I’m holding your hand.

It was impossible to get a sentence out, so he just stared for much longer than is socially accepted, until you let go of his hand. “Umm.. Can I come inside?” He nodded, stepping aside and leading you into the living room. 

“I’m… so happy you let me come. I was crying to Ning earlier because I haven’t seen a kitty in like, way too long.” If Yangyang pulled himself out of his trance for one second, he would notice that you were also nervous, voice shaking lightly as you attempted to make conversation.

Within your group, you were always known for being the shyest. Even your own fans had labeled you as such due to your inclusive nature at award shows and fan events. It was hard enough interacting with your peers, having to interact with millions of fans truly was a complication for you, and it showed as you awkwardly stood by the male’s couch, holding your hands together tightly in front of you as you looked at the floor. The scene was so endearing, and it took everything in Yangyang to not coo at you and squeeze your face like you were some sort of cute animal. Of course, he knew about your introverted personality, considering himself your biggest fan. He even went as far as to investigate what your MBTI was, seeing if it was compatible with his; it wasn’t, so he took the test again, slightly tweaking his answers until he’d get a personality type that would align with yours. 

“I’ll go find him, you can sit down if you want.” Yangyang mentally patted himself on his back for getting the sentence out without stumbling over his words, appearing more confident than a minute before, yet this confidence faded as he struggled to find the cat. He cursed at Jaemin as he bent over in front of his bed, looking for the rebellious furry creature. After five minutes, he flinched as you knocked on the open door to his bedroom, where he desperately looked for Luke. “Hi.” You smiled, “Hi.” He smiled back, trying to ignore the fact that you caught him in an incredibly embarrassing position, so he sat back up. 

“I can’t find him…” “Don’t worry. I know how kitties can get when someone new shows up in their most comfortable habitat.” Little did you know this wasn’t even Luke’s home, but Yangyang simply nodded at your words, agreeing. He’d agree with anything you said. His search continued, opening his closet, yet something distracted him, causing him to screech. You quickly looked over, concerned, and to Yangyang’s misfortune, he was too slow at closing his closet. Inside, you saw several posters of yourself lined up, each concept varying since your debut.  Your mouth opened lightly in shock, and the male genuinely felt like shooting himself this time. 

“I… I can explain, umm… Like I said… I… I’m a fan.” Although he was convinced you’d find him creepy and leave, your shock was due to the fact that the concept he owned the most posters of was your favorite. It was your solo, and although you were upset with SM for not allowing you to release your carefully crafted meowing audio, you still were really proud of the song you put out. 

Yangyang covered his face with his hands, embarrassed, until he felt you walk near him, looking closely at the images. “Do you have a marker?” The words that left your mouth were enough to have him gape up at you, moving his head to see you. Realizing he was sitting on the ground, and you were standing above him, looking down, he gulped, nodding his head and pointing at the desk near his window. You stepped towards the table, reaching for a pink marker and moving back to the posters. Without any other words, you simply began to draw on the posters. First you drew a cat, of course, and then a heart, and then more random doodles. Yangyang stared at your figure with admiration, and in disbelief that you were real - you truly were his dream girl. 

Once you finished your small drawing rampage, you looked at your work with a smile before handing him back the marker. He held it close to his heart, which was beating out of his chest as he stood up next to you. “I think I saw your cat in the bathroom on my way here.”

The words made him laugh out loud, finding you silly for not letting him know earlier. You both moved back to the living room, with Luke now held in your arms, and Yangyang became nonexistent as you cooed at the cute animal, putting all your attention towards him. The older male didn’t have it in him to complain, because watching you smile, laugh, and talk to the cat was enough to entertain him. You were so cute, and all the curses he had for Jaemin were replaced with praises. He really owed him his life. 

An hour passed of you playing with Luke and feeding him treats, and the sun began setting. “I think I need to go back home now.” You looked over to Yangyang, who was already staring intensely at you - he never stopped. He nodded at your words, standing up and walking you to the door. 

“It… It was so nice to meet you, Y/n.” A blush overtook his face, and he felt like a giddy middle school boy talking to his crush. “It was. If it’s okay, I’d like to come over again another time.” Yangyang nodded enthusiastically, having already hoped before that you would ask. You waved goodbye, walking towards the car you drove to his place, and his view failed to leave your figure until you finally faded out onto the horizon. 

His smile was so large that it didn’t even fade when he walked back into his living room and saw that Luke had torn up his couch.

a/n: omg so much fluff ^_^ i loved writing this it was so much fun

sm let her release those damn meowing audios! >:c

i still don't have a lot of people asking to be put on the taglist but once i get like ten i'll make one! :3

also for the sake of this plot, coco doesn’t exist (YET) 💔💔💔 sorry guys… he will be added eventually ;3 if you catch my drift

[amoreva]

Hellooo helloo!! Could I have a request please for Luke Castellan x reader where idk just something really angst where she joins him betraying her own half brother Percy (yess she’s a Poseidon kid) but it’s just that their love is too precious for the world 🥺🥺

Thank youu so muchhhh mwahhh 💖🌷🎀

TOO LATE

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pairing: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader

summary: love triumphs when your dad claims your half-brother and you.

warnings: not proofread, tlt spoilers, angst, frustration, revolves on reader’s emotions rather than the relationship

a/n: I feel like i twisted this request wrong. lmk how you like it, but i thought it’d be nice to have the reader’s emotions be the focus instead of the relationship.

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Wherever Clyde goes, Bonnie follows.

You’ve found yourself to be a permanent resident of Hermes Cabin. Another year goes by which meant another year of being unclaimed. Multitude of wishes and prayers are wasted: at this point those wishes, offerings and prayers look like pathetic begging.

You’ll forever be an unclaimed camper.

And you’ve accepted that. If you had been claimed, then you wouldn’t get the privilege of Travis and Connor stealing ice cream when you cover them or the privilege of Chris coming to you about his girl problems or the privilege of sharing a bunk with Luke Castellan.

What Chiron and Mr. D don’t know won’t hurt them.

It is a nice turnout because while you share a bed with the love of your life, another kid doesn’t have to sleep on the crowded floor.

Besides the fact you weren’t claimed, everything at camp was great. You didn’t feel alone or isolated anymore. You felt at home at Camp. You had a wonderful boyfriend and even greater friends (as corny as it sounds).

Until, Percy Jackson arrived at camp. Now, don’t twist this in the wrong way—Percy is just the sweetest kid and you were sympathetic to him losing him mom.

It was during Capture the Flag when you realized everything you knew was gone. You couldn’t resent Percy for that. Only your dad.

Luke triumphantly held the red team’s flag as the blue team retreated to the lake’s beach. Celebration paired with cheers and hollers. A proud smile as one of the campers hooked their arm around your shoulder, screaming your ear off.

Some of the campers were making a list of demands that the Red Team had to accommodate to when Percy’s shouting interrupted all of that.

You took off your helmet to see Percy in the lake. The culprit, Annabeth. Athena’s daughter was always two steps ahead of everyone, in Luke’s words. She seems to know something everyone else didn’t.

Luke looked distraught and shocked when it happened. A glowing trident hovering over Percy’s head. An outward statement claiming he is Poseidon’s son.

Yet, that same glowing trident was above your head. You felt your throat close up. So long…so long and now your dad claims you when Percy arrives.

It was common knowledge that Hades, Zeus and Poseidon made a pact to not father any more half-bloods due to destruction and war and whatever. But, what now? Poseidon claimed his son and daughter. For what? To boast? To showboat?

Questions kept ringing in your head. The life you knew gone. No more ice cream from Travis and Connor. No more information of Chris’ recent crushes. No more…sharing a bunk with your boyfriend.

“Poseidon.” Chiron trotted over to Percy. He gave you a smile. You were claimed! It’s what you always hoped and dreamed for. You should be ecstatic. Right? “Earthshaker, Stormbringer, your godly parent.”

It was inevitable. You weren’t destined to destroy or aid the world because you weren’t sixteen anymore. You doubt you were destined for anything.

Was this some fucked up way of your pops telling you he still cares? He still sees you? That he’s there for you?

It took him so many fucking years to claim you as his.

And the fact he did it when his son arrived at Camp Half-Blood. Did he want a boy to be the prophetic savior of the world?

Oh, so he wants to say he’s been there for you this whole time? Luke has been there. Cabin Eleven has been there, not your deadbeat pops. It wasn’t a surprise you joined Kronos so quickly.

You knew Luke was succumbing to the nightmares that plagued him every night. The voice in his head to revive the Titan. Now, you didn’t have anything against the other gods or Percy. It really was just some ol’ rebelling against your dear old dad.

Percy was tense staying still. The scorpion on his knee. He looked at it wearily. Luke was explaining his reasoning for betraying Camp. You couldn’t blame him. After so many years of neglect and the spirals his mother went through, you felt he had every right to be angry. As did you.

“The gods are my enemy, Percy. Poseidon made a mistake—he made a mistake by neglecting your sister.” Luke pointed Backbiter at the boy.

“Luke…” You placed a hand on his shoulder. His tense shoulders seemingly relaxed.

He let his arm fall to his side. He looked over his shoulder at you. A mix of a soft and intense gaze. Luke only wanted to defend your dignity, your honor, your glory. He thought it was unforgivable that Poseidon would claim you that day of all the days you prayed and wished and begged.

He’s seen how desperate you’ve gotten. How many tears shed. How many times he’s had to comfort you because you don’t feel like you belonged. Kronos would provide a New World. A new Golden Age where you didn’t have to suffer with a shitty father anymore.

Your palm held his scarred cheek. He met your lips in a soft kiss. Everything would be okay if you were with one another. Love is a very powerful thing to wield after all.

“I’m sorry, Percy.” You apologized, looking over at your half-brother. The pit scorpion on the back of his hand. “It’s…it’s nothing against you.”

You attempted to find the words to explain your situation. Luke’s calloused hand held yours gently. It was time to go. To flee from Camp.

“It’s our father that I hate, not you. You—you have to understand.” You hastily explained. “He left me neglected for year. I was content staying at Hermes Cabin and—he decided to claim me when I finally had a place here.”

“The world will remember us, Percy. Olympus will remember not to fuck with us—our dads will remember not to neglect any other half-blood.” Luke stated and twisted Backbiter in his hand. A determined glint in his eyes. Kronos’ calling him away to revive him already.

“Goodbye, Percy. This is the new Golden Age. You won’t be apart of it.” Luke slashed an arc with Backbiter, creating a rip through time and space to travel. The scorpion lunged.

You hesitated a moment, seeing your half-brother in agony. Luke told him sixty seconds. He’ll make it. He’s Percy Jackson after all.

You couldn’t delay your departure any longer. Luke needed someone by his side. To keep his sanity with Kronos calling out to him so often.

Wherever Clyde goes, Bonnie follows.

You departed from Camp, not knowing that would be the last time you see your beloved home.

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