Jack Frost X Fem!reader

We Can Be Fucked Up Together

(Randy Meeks x Riley!reader)

Summary: You find solace in Randy after your best friend and boyfriend go on a killing spree

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Warnings: making out, no actual smut but allusions to it, memories of murder, murder, former Stu x reader, backflashs to The Night of the murder, blood, reader having sympathy for Stu

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An: This is My first scream fic, And I am very happy to be Writing about Randy. My baby deserves more love

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The walls felt like they were closing in around You. You shouldn’t be alive, the blood loss was already making your head woozy and your midsection was starting to go numb from where you had been stabbed. You chose to believe Billy was the one who stabbed you, otherwise you’d Look Even more pathetic kneeling on the ground trying to stop Stu’s bleeding.

“Stop moving.” You mumbled while putting more pressure on some of his wounds.

“Im feeling woozy!” He whined, And you hated How it made you feel. You shouldn’t feel bad for him. He had killed people, he was planing on killing you, and yet your heart hurt to hear the person you’d loved for the past two years Be in pain.

“You’re going to die If we stay Here-“ You started to try and push yourself to your feet, but a gun to your back stoped you.

“Don’t fucking move,” Billy hissed.

“He’s going to die!” You yelled back, But You didn't try to stand up again.

“Then you better keep pressure on it until i fucking kill Sidney.” He snapped before running off to find Sidney, who had gone to hide somewhere.

Once the gun was gone Your attention went back to the man on Front of you. He had tears in his eyes, but an almost smile on his face.

“Why?” You whispered, unsure if you even wanted an answer.

“Why not?” He chuckled, jerking his arm up and pushing the knife straight into your stomach.

You sat up straight in your bed, letting out a small scream as you ripped at your shirt. The only thought running through your head was ‘i Need This Off.’

“Fuck!” You mumbled, struggling with getting the shirt up. You started to calm when you saw the lack of blood on your shirt. Another nightmare.

As you steadied your breathing, you couldn’t help but notice how small your room felt. How dark it was. You couldn’t stay here. Not tonight. You would either fall back asleep To Deal with nightmares, or Lay awake And Deal with memories. Not that you had a lot of places to go.

You could wake up Dewey, but his pain meds knocked him out. Besides, you didn’t want to bother him. Sidney wasn’t on the best terms with you currently; the two of you were never the closest in your group of friends. The only left Randy.

You stood up and pulled some sweatpants on along with a jacket. You debated going out the window, but you would have to walk the few blocks to his house and you weren’t brave enough for that yet. Instead you quietly made your way through the house, sneaking by your parents and brothers room so you could grab your car keys. Thankfully, your parents slept hard enough that they wouldn’t hear you driving away.

Driving definitely wasn’t the best idea; your entire body was still shaking and you didn’t dare go more then 10 miles an hour. When you arrived at the Meeks, you were quick to turn off the car to not wake the entire family and got out.

Just like you had the other three times this week, you found the window into Randy’s bedroom. You couldn’t see the man, but the tv in his room was on. You knocked on the window lightly, and it didn’t take long for his face to appear in front of you. He quickly opened the window, frowning at you.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you offered a small smile. He helped you climb into his room, and you took your spot on his bed next to him. He was sat with his back to the wall, an arm wrapped around you. You were cuddled into his side, watching the tv in front of you both. Nightmare On Elm Street.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“How can you watch this shit?” You ignored his question for his own, turning your head away from the screen.

“I love this movie,” he shrugged.

“I used to,” you mumbled. It was silent for a few minutes, saved for the movie playing, before you said something. Something that had been bothering you every day for the past 6 months.

“I should have noticed it sooner.” He tensed slightly, and you immediately regretted saying it; but you had to. The thought had been filling your head for months.

“You couldn’t have.”

“Ya, I could have. My best friend and boyfriend went on a killing spree, I should have noticed something.” Randy pushed you away slightly, making you look up at him.

“Sidney was dating him, should she be blamed for what happened too?”

“Thats different,” you snapped. “She fought back, I tried to save him!” You whisper yelled, worried about the others asleep in the house.

“Thats because its who you are,” he argued back. “You go out of your way to see the best in people, even if they don’t deserve it. Even after what Stu did, you didnt want to be the reason he died.” You flinched at his name, you hadn’t heard it be said out loud other then on the news. Dewey normally shut it off relatively quickly when it was on.

“You told me plenty of times how awful they were,” you pointed out. The tops of his ears turned a light pink, making you frown. Why would he be blushing?

“That may just be because I hated seeing you with them all the time,” he admitted.

It was your turn to blush, your face heating up a bit. ‘He doesn’t mean it like that,’ you reminded yourself. Randy had been in love with Sidney for years, the only reason he hadn’t made a move was to avoid angering the women.

You didn’t actually get a chance to say anything before chapped lips were people pushed against your own. You eyes shot open, surprised by the contact, and he quickly pulled away.

“Shit! Sorry sorry, god. What the hell os wrong with me?” He mumbled the last part to himself. He didnt get much time to feel bad before you reached up to pull his face to your own so you could kiss him again. He made a sound of surprise, but he didn’t fight against it; instead he kissed back. It wasn’t rough, but you could feel relief coming from him. Like any tension was being removed from him.

He pulled you lightly so you would settle on his lap, knees on either sides of him. He kept his hands on your hips while yours slid down to his chest, gripping his shirt lightly, like he would fly away if you let go.

This wasn’t necessarily a new position for you. Stu had you like this plenty of times, but it felt so different. Stu left bruises on your hips, Randy’s hold was gentle. Stu kissed with the intent of going further, Randy kissed you like he was thankful to even get this. Randy felt…safe.

Eventually you had to pull away, your lungs burning from the lack of air. You both stayed just as close, foreheads resting together and you coups feel his breath on your face.

“I thought…Sidney…” you mumbled between breaths.

“I never thought I had a chance with you,” he admitted. “I had you as a friend, so I thought it would be enough. But it wasn’t.” His eyes boar into your own, and it felt like he was staring straight into your soul.

“Caring about me right now will be rotten work. I’m really fucked up” you told him.

“I dont mind. We can he fucked up together.” He offered, making you smile.

“I’d like that.”

Fanart of Spectra dying in a gluetrap

Gprgeous

3123 - August 27, 2023

#Titanic #EDIDtT

Some time ago I was like "After all... why not? Why shouldn't I redraw Bakugan screenshot in Sk8 The Infinity style?". Finished it and adore the result~

The screenshot:

Being Danny Rand's queen would include...

Masterlist

Danny Rand x fem!reader

Since this post, I can't stop thinking about marrying Danny Rand and living a peaceful life with him!!!

Warnings: fluff (is that even a warning?)

Inspiration song: Love me like you do by Ellie Goulding

After long years working as superheroes and arduously protecting the world, both of you decided to finally retire and get married.

You wanted to live the rest of your lives as a normal couple before you were too old to do so.

You'd move to Kun Lun and have your marriage there, and you'd be officially named as his queen.

Danny would treat you so right and spoil you so much.

You saw something you like on a store? He's buying it, no questions asked.

Everytime he'd have his king duties to fulfill you'd go with him bc you want to be aware of everything that is happening, Kun Lun is your kingdom too after all.

At least once a year you and the old team meet again, be it on New York or Kun Lun, you always find a way to make this meeting happen.

Kun Lun is a land of peace, so you'd hardly get into a real fight but you'd regularly train together to don't get rusty.

You'd meditate together, have calm walks on the courtyards of the castle, just appreciating the peaceful enviroment the kingdom provides and later you'd watch the sunset together from the balcony of your room.

If you were cold he'd hug you to keep you warm.

Talking about hugs, he loves to hug you in every way possible.

If he's hugging you in the regular way he'll kiss your forehead and lay his chin on top of your head - you can bet you'll stay that way for a long time.

If he's hugging you from the side he'll kiss your cheek or temple - this one is more for farewells.

If he's hugging you from behind he'll trace kisses along your neck and jaw - which normally leads to you going to bed (¬‿¬).

It's in nights like that you'd stay awake 'till late night, still naked and cuddling on your shared bed, talking about anything.

You'd talk about the old days at SHIELD, when you were younger and excited to enter your next fight to once again save the day.

You'd talk about your childhoods, even tho you already shared most of your memories you always still have something to tell, be it a new story or one you already told but never get tired of.

You'd talk about having kids in the future, he doesn't mind if the kid is a boy or a girl bc the only thing that matters to him is that you'll be building this future with him.

He'd caress your face 'till you fall asleep, and he'd watch you sleep, admiring your features, 'till he couldn't fight his own tiredness.

And with a smile on his face he'd finally allow himself to rest, happy that you were the last thing he saw that night and the first he'd see the next day.

writers and artists will go "this isn't good enough." my brother in christ, you're creating something new out of nothing and expressing yourself creatively. your productivity and unrealistic standards of perfection do not define you or the worth of your art. you're doing great.

Could you please write a story about how best friend reader somehow blips from the TASM!Peter’s universe into MCU!Peters universe and just about the reunion between the reader and TASM!Peter

Bonus points for angst if the reader and TASM!Peter had a fight before they blipped our

AN | This has been in my inbox for months but anon, I hope you see this, and I hope you enjoy it! And yes, I took some liberties with the Peters/timelines ❤️

Pairing | tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

Warnings | Language, Nondescript mentions of Injury

Word Count | 3.3k

Masterlist | Main | Peter

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You’re being absolutely ridiculous,” you folded your arms across your chest as you glared at your best friend. The very same best friend that happened to be Peter Parker that also happened to be Spider-Man. The boy sighed as he hung his head, his face bruised and bloodied from a rough night. 

“I think I’m being the normal amount of ridiculous,” his attempt to make a joke didn’t land well with you at all. You took the warm, wet washcloth that had been in your hand and tossed it at him. He caught it effortlessly and looked up at you with a pathetic little look on his face, “alright, I deserved that.”

“Peter,” the way you said his name was enough to make his heart constrict. He hated seeing you upset, but he hated knowing that he was the cause of your pain, “look at you. It’s almost four in the morning and you crawled in through my window, bleeding and clearly in pain. I know…fuck, I know you’re Spider-Man but I worry about you.”

“You don’t have to worry about me-”

“Telling me that isn’t going to suddenly make me stop caring, Peter Benjamin Parker,” you sat down on the bed next to him, “I think that sometimes you take too many risks when you could play it safer.”

“I don’t…” he couldn’t even get the sentence out. He knew you were right and he knew that’d been even more reckless than normal lately. Peter wasn’t doing it out of anything really…he just wanted to get things and get his point across, “I guess you’re right.”

“I am right,” you whispered, gently taking the cloth back from him, reaching up and gently washing off the blood that had started to dry. The way he winced at even the lightest of touches caused you to frown again, “I love you, Pete. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I don’t know if…” 

You swallowed the lump that had welled up in your throat, blinking back the tears that were already stinging at the back of your eyes. Peter put his hand on top of your where it rested on his cheek, “nothing is going to happen to me. You’re stuck with me forever, sunshine.”

“Am I?” your voice dropped to a soft whispered, “am I stuck with you forever? Because sometimes I truly wonder about that. I don’t want you coming to me in the middle of the night hurt and upset, but I’d rather have that then nothing because the alternative is…much worse.”

“Yeah,” he missed your touch as soon as you pulled your hand back from him, “I know.”

“Promise me you’ll be more careful?” your voice shook as you willed him to look at you. You wanted him to look at you, wanted to see those big brown eyes looking back at you, “Pete…please.”

“I’ll try and be more careful,” he would barely look in your eyes and that served to break your heart even more, “but I can’t make promises that nothing’s ever going to happen again.”

“Just please don’t make all these sudden, rash decisions, Pete-”

“I can’t promise that will or won’t happen!” he didn’t mean to raise his voice and the way you flinched broke his heart, “you don’t know what it’s like out there! Sometimes you just have to do things…you can’t just think about them!”

You remained silent for a few long moments, before standing up and nodding slightly, “okay. Okay. Get out  please, Peter.”

“Sweetheart-”

“I mean it Peter,” this time it was you that looked away and refused to meet his eyes, “get out. And if you keep acting like this, don’t come back.”

He looked at you in disbelief but when he saw that you weren’t joking, the reality of the situation hit him. He made a small sound before nodding and standing up. He stood there for a moment, both of you avoiding looking at each other, before he gently brushed past you and towards the window. He slid it open but before he could step all the way out he turned back, “I love you too, you know.”

He left without another word, leaving you there with your mind teeling. Had he really just said that and left?

Of course he had. This was Peter Parker after all. With the heaviest of sighs you flopped into bed, not even bothering to get under the covers as you willed sleep to claim you. 

This night had turned out so entirely different from what you had imagined. Now you were afraid you’d lost him forever. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You hoped that wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. Right? Right?

You woke up the next morning to sun streaming in through your window. You groaned as you rolled onto your other side to try and hang onto your sleepiness so you could get a little more shut eye. But luck wasn't having it, and you felt wide awake. With a groan you fumbled out of bed and headed towards the bathroom; you couldn't place it but something felt…off. 

You couldn't shake the feeling all morning as you got ready for work. You checked your phone too many times for what was warranted and found nothing from Peter. You were half surprised but figured that you were pretty harsh on him last night and decided to give him some more space. You'd try him later if he hadn’t gotten back to you.

As you left your apartment for work, everything seemed slightly…different. Like there was some sort of lavender haze settling over everything. You tried to ignore it, rationalizing that you just weren't thinking straight. 

When you got to your office, you received a few weird looks but no one really said anything. So, you settled into your office and got to work, ignoring the nagging feeling. The fact that you somehow couldn't remember your computer password or that everything in your office was just slightly different didn't register.

What did, however, was that Peter hadn't contacted you. So, during your lunch you decided to call him and apologize. If he was willing to listen anyway. You didn't actually want to lose him, you did, however, want him to stay safe and sound.

Midway through the day you grabbed your phone and called him, waiting either bated breath for him to answer. It rang and rang and when you thought it would be kicked over to voice-mail, it was answered.

"Hello?" It was a voice that was most decidedly not Peter. This one sounded…younger? Different? Something.

"Hi, umm, can I talk to Peter?" Maybe one of his coworkers had answered the phone for him. 

"Well, you're talking to him, so…" he sounded confused as your brows knitted together, "w-who is this?"

"This isn't funny," your eyes were tearing up as you tried to figure out what kind of joke this was, "please just put on Peter. I-I need to talk to him, it's important."

"This is Peter-"

"Peter Parker."

"This is Peter Parker," you wanted to be mad but the voice on the other end of the line wasn't laughing. Nor did he sound even remotely amused, "I'm sorry, I don't know what's going on but…maybe you have the wrong number?"

You hung up without another word, mind racing as you tried to put all the pieces together. Who had Peter's phone? And why?

What was going on?

The rest of the day went by in a blur, as your mind wandered and wandered through a million possibilities of what was going on with Peter. You came to the only logical explanation you could think of - you would simply go by his place to see what was going on.

As soon as you were done, you almost ran out and to his apartment. The concerned looks you were getting from passersby didn't phase you. All you could think of was Peter. Peter, Peter, Peter.

You knocked on his door, looking around the hall and noticing that a lot of people had made some changes to their places and there were new plants. You listened for his familiar footsteps but after a few moments when you didn't hear anything, you knocked again, this time with more vigor.

This door was wrenched open after a few moments and you found yourself face to face with a young man with wide brown eyes and curious expression etched onto his features.

"Hello?" He asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion, "can I help you?"

"Peter - where's Peter?" You tried to look past him but realized you had no clue who this kid was. Peter was your best friend, you knew his other friends too, "and who are you?"

"Umm…" he looked behind you before turning around and studying his own space. The boy grimaced before exhaling slowly, "I'm Peter. Peter Parker."

"I…I don't understand," you shook your head, rubbing at your tired face in exasperation, "is this supposed to be a joke? Is he in on it?"

"There's - no. Here," he reached into his pocket and fished out his ID and handed it to you. A gasp escaped your lips as you studied. He was Peter Parker and his home address was listed the same as the real Peter, "I don't know what happened with the mix up but-

"Spider-Man," you breathed out softly and a look of shock crossed his features, "how did…how?"

"Peter - my Peter - he's Spider-Man," your mind was reeling as you tried to put all the pieces together, "he has the same phone number and this is his address."

"Wait…" his brows knitted together, "what's your name?"

You told him your name and let out a bit of incredulous laughter, "I know you. Well, umm…I-I guess a version of you. Or whatever this is you. My aunt works with you."

"May? May Parker?" You asked and he nodded with a sheepish shrug. Your May was definitely not going to be the same person, you knew that much. You exhaled slowly, "this is so weird. I don't know what or how or why or anything but I don't think I belong here. You're not…my Peter."

"No," he shook his head and motioned for you to come inside. You stepped into the familiar, yet completely new, apartment and looked around, "is everything okay with him? Your Peter? Are you....?”

“He’s my best friend,” you looked around at all the photos that lined the walls. There were plenty of Peter along with what you assumed were his friends and aunt. Definitely not your May, “at least we were. We kind of got into a fight last night and I basically told him to get out.”

“Oh,” he watched you curiously, “I’ve gotten into a few of those arguments before.”

“You mean the ones where someone gets mad at you for being reckless and asks you to be careful but you claim its part of the job but you’ll try your best?” you asked and Peter nodded in amusement. Part of the job, you supposed. You ran a hand through your hair, “He kept getting hurt and its been getting worse lately and I just…I want him to be careful, you know? He keeps coming through my window, bleeding and bruised, and I’m afraid one day that he’s just not going to be there. He’s not going to come home to me. And I-I can’t lose him. He is…everything to me.”

A mixture of emotions colored his features as you offered him a small, sad little smile, “you’re in love with him.”

“Yeah,” you couldn’t even pretend to lie about it, “I am. I have been for a long time. I’ve just never told him. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

“I don’t think you have to tell him,” he offered you a lopsided little smile before tilting his head to one of the pictures on the wall. It was of him and a beautiful girl, both of them beaming at the camera, “not if it’s anything like that.”

“I don’t know,” you’d always wondered if he knew or felt the same. You had no idea and now you were afraid that you might never find out, “but what if I…how do I even get back? What am I doing here?”

“I don’t know how it all works,” he confessed and while you knew that it wasn’t his fault at all, you couldn’t help your sigh, “it’s confusing to me at times too. But there’s a whole…multiverse…theory and all that.”

“Yeah,” you agreed softly, “all that wild, sciencey stuff. Pete is the science brain…just like you I presume. I’m the…not science person. It all gets kind of lost on me. I just don’t know what to do now.”

“Maybe we can figure it out,” he suggested and you couldn’t help but admit that the kid was growing on you. He seemed sincere and kind…he did remind you of your Peter in a lot of ways, “just give me some time to think, okay?”

“Thank you,” you reached over and gave his shoulder a squeeze, “you’re very kind. In the meantime I guess I’ll just try and keep calm and all that.”

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked softly, “do you want to stay here?”

“I’ll go back to my…well, this world’s anyway, apartment,” you hadn’t seen anyone else, namely the alternate universe you, in the apartment or anywhere at your work. You figured you’d probably replaced her…or yourself or whatever it was, “I guess I’ll see you around? You have my number now if you think of anything.”

“I will,” he promised, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow and we can figure out something. If you need anything or anything seems off, please call or text me.”

“Sounds good,” you headed towards the door and gave him a small smile, “thank you, Peter. It seems like in every universe you’re a good guy.”

“But we’ll get you back to your Peter. Promise,” he held up his hand with his outstretched pinkie and you couldn’t help but laugh at his silliness. You hooked your pinkie around his and nodded.

You had some hope that whatever happened would be fixed. 

Then you’d go back to Peter and finally tell him how you felt. You had to - you knew you did.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A few days had passed without much happening. You spent the time you could with Peter and his friend Ned trying to go through all the possible things that could have happened. You kept rehashing each moment in your mind, going through it all over and over again until you felt like you no longer knew what had actually happened. 

The worst part of all was that none of you could figure out exactly what happened or why you were suddenly there instead of your own home. The only thing it did was cause your hope to slowly dwindle away - what if you were stuck there forever? What if you never saw Peter again? That would have been the worst thing of all. The boys did help though and kept reassuring you that things would be alright. You hoped they were right.

After a week, you started to accept that you weren’t going anywhere. At least, you reasoned with yourself, you weren’t stuck in some weird universe that was completely different from what you knew. 

Things were starting to seem normal, until late one evening while you were watching a movie and you heard a loud, frantic knocking at the door.

“Hold on, hold on,” you set your ice cream down and padded towards the door. Perhaps it was a neighbor you hadn’t met before or maybe someone had the wrong address; either way, you definitely weren’t expecting anyone. You opened the door without even thinking about checking to see who it was, “hello?”

“Hi,” your mouth opened and closed a few times as you looked at the man standing across the threshold. Peter Parker. But not just any Peter Parker, it was your Peter. 

“Peter?” you almost whispered his name and he nodded at you, confused for just a moment. Without thinking about it, you threw yourself into his arms, and he caught you without missing a beat as he hugged you back just as fiercely, “Peter!”

“Sunshine,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, “oh, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” you pulled back and took his face in your hands, looking him over. It was still the same man you loved and adored, the bruises and scratches from the last time you’d seen him almost completely gone, “I…I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”

“You didn’t really think one little argument was going to keep me away, did you?” he wrapped his fingers around your wrists, looking at you softly, “I thought that maybe you didn’t want to see me. You weren’t answering my calls or texts.”

“I…” he had no clue. He had no idea that you’d been gone for over a week, “how long was I avoiding you?”

“Like…ten days, not that I’ve been counting or anything,” he admitted sheepishly, cheeks pinking, “this was kind of my last ditch attempt to apologize and to tell you that -”

“I’m in love with you,” you couldn't help yourself - you just had to get it out. His big, brown eyes softened and he seemed to lose his voice for a moment. You nervously smiled at him, “Peter Parker. My Peter.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, heart eyed with a lovesick smile on his face, “I’m yours.”

This time he surprised you by pulling you in and kissing you. His actions caught you so off guard that it took you a moment to respond. When you did, you looped your arms around his neck and kissed him back with just as much hunger and neediness. Neither of you wanted to stop, reluctantly pulling apart when you needed air. 

“I’m, ugh, in love with you too,” he pressed his forehead against yours and you couldn’t help but steal a few more kisses from him, “have you been okay? I was getting worried when you didn’t call or text back. No one had seen you either.”

“I’ve got so much to tell you,” you reached for his hand and pulled him inside, “so much.”

“Wait - did something happen?” he looked you over, relieved to see that you didn’t appear to be in any sort of pain or harm, “sunshine?”

“I haven’t been gone,” you weren’t even sure where to begin with this one, “well, not really. I was with Peter Parker.”

“Umm….not sure where I was, but I don’t remember…”

“I don’t expect you to - but you’ll understand,” you looked at him with wide eyes, “because while it was Peter Parker - it wasn’t you. A-and Aunt May was different too.”

“Whoa, whoa,” he grew excited as he quickly caught up on what you were saying - he was a practical genius after all, “are you saying that…”

“Multiverse,” you finished for him, “it’s all true - I think. Some of it anyway.”

“Holy shit.”

“I have so much to tell you,” you grinned, “and, ugh, thank you for not immediately assuming I was crazy.”

“I’m Spider-Man,” he raised his eyebrows, “I’ve heard and experienced stranger things. Tell me more.”

“I will,” you promised, dragging him over to the couch before stopping yourself, “wait - there’s something else I want to do first.”

“What is it-”

And then you were kissing him again and he immediately melted into your touch. 

“Oh,” he sighed softly, “I could get used to that.”

“Good,” you beamed at him and things suddenly felt right again the world, “me too.”

A New Form Of Intimacy

Adam Warlock x reader

Words: 1949

Number 19: "you want to kiss me so bad."

Summary: First kiss with our favorite golden boy + bonus ending with Drax and Kraglin

Join my 1k shipping event

Adam knew better than to trust Drax with relationship business, especially after what happened the last time.

But Drax was the only one he knew that had had a long-lasting, loving relationship and if Adam was with you, that’s what he wanted too.

“You two have never kissed?” Drax asked, clearly surprised by the fact. The whole situation came to when Adam asked Drax about his favorite moments with his late wife Ovette. One of the stories Drax told was a tale about their first kiss.

“Wait, so this whole time you two have been together then, what have you been doing?”

Adam’s golden eyes looked around for a moment before his hands interlocked in his lap, “not that it’s really any of your business…but we cuddle.”

Drax’s lips quivered and Adam watched as he barely tried to contain his laughter as he bellowed out, “ahahahaha!” He shouted, causing Adam to glance at Kraglin confused before going back to Drax.

Adam would continue to explain how he would place his head on your chest every time and he’d hear your precious heartbeats, and although Adam believed this would prove how affectionate you two are, it really only proved Drax’s point further.

“The cuddling is actually quite tender,” Adam would finish as Drax’s fit would seem to be nearing its end. At least that’s what it seemed, but of course he immediately continued again.

Adam scrunched his brows as he turned his attention to Kraglin who was staring at Drax with an irritated expression before he shook his head and directed his attention to Adam.

“While cuddling is…sweet, Drax is right. Kissing is much more intimate and enjoyable for couples as the relationship continues on.”

Adam turned to Kraglin, now curious about the man, “so you’ve experienced it too?”

Kraglin looked a little taken back by the question as Drax now looked at him curiously waiting for an answer as well.

“Not recently…but you’d be surprised by my past. I was quite the ladies man”

Adam looked at Drax who just closed his eyes and shook his head. But Adam’s arms waved as he tried to regain focus to the main discussion, “okay so a kiss, what is it exactly?” Although he was made to be perfect he wasn’t really made for relationships, his sole purpose was to be a warlock, but that of course changed after all that had happened.

Drax answered his question this time, “it’s when your lips meet their lips.” Kraglin nodded before adding, “you gotta make sure the mood is right first.”

Drax scrunched his face in disgust, “mood? Forget mood, I say just go for it.”

Great now a new problem was added upon everything, should he create a mood or just go for it. While Adam sat there, pondering on all the information provided Kraglin added on one more rule, “oh but the most important thing is the other person has to want it too.”

Drax nodded at that, and Adam was content for a moment that they at least agreed on that, but still, what was he to do?

On the other side of Knowhere, you were pretty lax at the moment, having finished helping out for the day. It wasn’t everyday that you found nothing to do on the planet and no doubt something would come up soon enough. But for now you were going to curl up and relax at least that’s what you thought before a knock on your door interrupted.

Curious you peeked at the window to see who it could be and recognizing it to be your loving partner you head straight for the door. It was strange though you thought he was busy today, but you weren’t really complaining.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, opening the door allowing him to enter. Your tone was joyful but that meant nothing at the moment as Adam was fixed on his own thoughts at the moment.

“I’m sorry, are you busy right now? I can come later,” the sentence made your eyebrows come together as you recalled he would be the busy one, “no, I just thought you had plans all day.”

“Oh, right, of course! We took a little break, but we’re practically done anyway.”

“Awesome,” you replied. It was then that you’d noticed that he’d been standing in the center of your quarters. Typically when he arrived he would go straight for your bed, either sitting to reveal to you the details of his day, if not your bed he’d sit on your countertop. But instead he was just standing there.

While you had been expressing clear confusion, Adam on the other hand had suddenly begun to realize he was feeling that feeling again.

It was the feeling he felt when he was first around you, as well as the same feeling he felt when he first confessed to you.

He was anxious and his body was tense as he suddenly realized going with Drax’s, just do it plan, might not have been the best idea. There was always time to change his mind, but yet here he was already standing in your quarters.

“Why are you just standing there? Take a seat,” you chuckled pointing towards your bed. Adam shook his head with a hard shake.

You stared at the man for a moment before letting out an understandably perplexed “…okay.”

But with that you walked back over to him and stood across from him examining his face, “are you sure you’re okay? You’re acting strange.”

Adam stood there not even knowing how to even bring the topic up, he wondered if maybe he should set the mood like Kraglin suggested but then he shook his head getting rid of the idea again. He hated this feeling of being choked up, of course it only happens around you though.

You were beginning to get nervous now, whatever it was, clearly it was big if it had made him practically stuck in place. Whatever it was it seemed hard for him to express and you wanted to show him that you would be there for him no matter what. Because of that thought you raised a hand to cup his face, “hey whatever it is just tell me. It’ll be fine, you’ve got this.”

Adam leaned into your touch before releasing a breath that he had been holding. He decided he was just going to tell you everything.

“I talked to Drax and Kraglin and they believe kissing is essential in relationships and that we should be kissing.”

“Oh,” is what you let out, not expecting that at all.

Adam continued though, “they explained to me how intimate it is and now I feel like we should be kissing just as others do.”

“Oh,” you repeated, now curious about that idea.

“Is it true that Terran couples kiss?”

“It is.”

Adam’s golden eyes shifted to the floor while a crease formed between his eyebrows while he stood there.

He looked so troubled with the thought, this is why you haven’t brought it up. Frankly there have been moments where you wanted to grab his face and push your lips to his but you knew he came out of development earlier than he was supposed to, what if he wasn’t ready for this? You reached down, taking both his hands while gaining his focus with his expression shifting into a more relaxed one.

“But Adam we don’t have to listen to Drax or Kraglin, we don’t have to do it right now, every couple is different. We can take all the time you need.”

“Right of course.”

You two stayed there in the center of your room hand in hand gazing at each other. But Adam’s related expression shifted once again, returning to an unsettled expression with his lips pressed together. His eyes dropped down to your hands as he squeezed them, his hands warm as he did so, and you noticed as his cheeks darkened.

You seemed to understand that notion.

“You want to kiss me so bad, don’t you?”

“So bad!” He breathed out, content that you knew him so well.

You let out a laugh, nodding your head, “okay then, if you’re ready so am I…you go.” You direct, feeling it only made sense since he was the one to bring it up. But Adam pointed to himself, his eyes widening, “me?”

“Yes you, who else?”

“Right of course,” he said shaking his head, his golden locks coming a little out of place.

You stood still waiting for the moment and Adam’s eyes gazed down to your lips, as if calculating how he was going to do this. After a moment of hesitation he leaned and as gentle as possible he connected to your lips.

You both stood there with no movement, just two lips pushed together. It was too short for you to react, because Adam quickly separated with an unsure expression on his face, “…Kraglin was right that is very intimate.”

“Yeah it is,” you added, plastering a smile that the golden boy quickly caught on to.

“What’s wrong?…Was it not good?”

His expressions ran hurt, as his eyes widened into that puppy dog look that he seemed to emulate so well.

“No. It was fine, it's just…here let me try something.”

Adam eyed you peculiarly as your hands reached up against his cheeks. Softly you brought his face down to yours and once again met his lips. As you did so your eyelids naturally closed and Adam followed. Your mouth interlocked with his perfectly and he followed your lead, moving his lips just as you were.

For a moment your hands briefly left his face as they went to land on his shoulders and began slowly trailing down them. You trailed his arms all the way to his hands that you considered quite delicate despite all the fighting that he’s done.

You guided his hands, placing them on your waist and then leaving them there to return back to his face. His hands held your waist so gently, as if you were fragile.

Together you stayed like that, matching each other's touch, not wanting the moment to end.

But of course it had to.

You gently pushed his chest separating from him and he looked at you curiously, “did I mess up again?”

You shook your head assuring he was fine, “no, you were perfect I just need some air,” you said, collecting your breaths.

It was at that moment that you realized that Adam could definitely hold his breath far longer than you could.

Adam watched until you collected yourself, before he leaned close again, only mere centimeters from your lips as if waiting for permission and all you could say while a smile appeared on your face again was, “what have I done?”

His golden lips captured yours for a moment before you split again, unable to stop that foolish grin that wouldn’t leave your face, “I’ve created a monster,” you added as he once again took your lips with his.

Bonus:

Adam is seen by Drax and Kraglin walking with his mind clearly in a daze as he passes with his steps light, practically bouncing with each step.

Kraglin turned to Drax, “we did that.”

Drax looked at Kraglin then turned around looking the complete opposite direction first before turning back, “did what?”

Kraglin motioned to where Adam was, “that! They’ve clearly kissed.”

Drax peered at Adam whose figure was in the distance now before turning back to Kraglin, “no, I don’t think so.”

“What? Are you kidding?! Did you see how happy he was?”

Drax shrugged, “I don’t think so.” He repeated leaving Kraglin flabbergasted.

-

Dialogue Prompts 2

THIS IS GORGEOUS

two birds on a wire

— on tangled trust and guilt, two little birds—and the ones who raised them—hold fast and balance their way home.

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: OR the babies come to papa on a work trip they were NOT invited to 🥺 this. this is the longest, heaviest thing i've ever written for these wonderful characters and im scared and proud and everything in between. i hope this exploration is something worth reading. i'll post an entirely separate a/n should you be interested in my thoughts on this here! hehe. but anyway, i hope you enjoy! ❀-urs

important heads up for context of this story: kyros and lucian are (my headcanon) sylus's twin boys. around 3-4 years in this one! ᡣ𐭩

sylus & his family | sylus x reader | angst, hurt, comfort, boydad&husband!sylus, mom!reader, bigbrother!luke&kieran, sylus cant afford to lose his family tw: children in danger, violence/blood, self-blame/guilt, trauma, tragic tones

“That’s too long.”

Sylus chuckles at your tone over the line. He settles in his seat, feeling the discomfort in his back that begins to make itself known. “Sweetie, we’ve been apart for longer than that.” 

“Yes, and each day was agony.” he grins at the sound of your whining. Immediately matching the tone and twang to Lucian’s huffy-puffy behavior.

“I’ll try to get back in three.”

“Two.” you push.

He laughs now, full bodied and rich like wine. “Beloved.”

“Tonight.” you demand. You don’t notice it, but he does: that firm voice you do since the twins have become more rambunctious. Lower in register and more commanding in tone. It goes so unnoticed by you that it’s a treat when you slip and use it on him.

He wants to devour you every time. 

“Tomorrow.” he promises, relenting. Never truly one to deny you anything. He’d fold the world in half to cut down travel time should you ask. 

You smile, he doesn’t need to see you to know, giddy with the flutters in your stomach that never fail to surprise you no matter how long it’s been. “Y’know, if you really wanted to shave down time, we could have done this trade together.” 

And, oh, Sylus would love that. As much as he adored being bound to you, married in every way imaginable, nothing will ever compare to working with you. Of watching a hurricane in the form of his partner leveling the field of wanderers and enemies alike. To resonate and feel the energy surge through his greedy veins as you both unleash a power more fearsome than any abyss. 

And then you sigh, playful, knowing you’d just riled him up. “But Kyros says he wants to watch Bubble Pals.”  

He grits his teeth, jaw tightening. “I should have brought that whole program and scheduled the concert myself.” 

“You know he’d hate that, the whole point is to enjoy the Bubble Pals with pals, not just him.”

“We can be his pals. Kieran and Luke haven’t exactly outgrown cartoons. They watch those action packed animations—“ 

“—anime?—“

“And does Kyros forget he was born with a pal?” Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose. “Lucian is a biological bubble pal.” 

His words begin to crunch in a way that tells you he’s getting a little too worked up about being apart— but you also know him well enough that he’d be missing bubble pals with his sons too. Although endearing, you didn’t want him getting too distracted from his mission. 

“My love,” your tone is honey, placating and calm. “Lucian is not made of bubbles.”

He scoffs. “You’d think he was with all the floating he’s been asking for.” 

Oh, Lucian and his favorite hobby: scaring the life out of his father. Recently, he’d been climbing up high places within Sylus’s proximity and jumping without so much as a warning. Relying solely on his father's instinct to know he is there, and catch him with his evol. “But papa whizzies are so fun!” 

“Don’t patronize me,” he groans, recalling the fear that crumples his chest during Lucian’s split-second free falls. “We need to put a bell on him. He can’t keep jumping off the stairs and expecting me to catch him.” 

“You always do though.”

His heart trips over your faith.

“It doesn’t help that their mother is a cat.” he jabs lightly. “And so they move as such.” 

“Hey, the irresistible charms come from me. Mischief is all from you.” 

“Really now?”

“And the big twins.” you add. “Who, let’s remember, you also raised.” 

He chuckles. Coming from you— the only thing capable of raising his blood pressure up to ungodly heights—it was all highly unlikely. “And I suppose their tendency to send me into a coma comes from…?” 

“That’s debatable.” you say, and he hears the smile he loves so in your voice once more. The crackle of gravel beneath the wheels of your vehicle signal your arrival to home. “I’m pulling up to the house. How’s your flight so far?”

“It’s well.” he says, tone somber as he recognizes the transitioning goodbye. “We can… talk some more. Or, maybe I can say hello to the boys?”

Your heart swells. The day you realized that Sylus was just as needy for you as you were for him was a paradigm shift in your relationship. Suddenly, it was easier to ask and receive on both sides. And you’d promised then to practice just wanting. Requesting, knowing full well your partner is more than willing to deliver. 

“The boys are with the big twins, said they wanted to ride Luke’s Cheeto car.” you inform him sadly. You love eavesdropping on their little conversations when he spoke to the kids over the phone. Unfortunately, amazing, fantastic mama and transformer car papa (Sylus’s voice on the loudspeaker) is no match for Luke’s neon orange sports car. 

“I see,” he says. “And you?”

“I have to finish some paperwork.” you sigh, picturing the dreary and drab documents you’ll be staring at for the majority of the day.

The car door shuts with a muffled thud and your boots on the ground paint him a picture of where you are, coming up to the front door. He listens as you speak into the voice register, scan your retina on the bio-lock, and then finally shut the door behind you. The simple act of arriving home and the thought of you being safe inside helps the tension on his shoulders. 

“Okay,” he simply says, understanding. “Call me when you’re done.” 

“But what if you’re at the exchange by then?” 

“I don’t care.” He says, leaving no room for argument “Nothing is more important to me than hearing your voice.”

You blush, and he knows you’re blushing. He continues and the grin in his voice is annoyingly dear, “Thank you for seeing me off to the airport.” 

“Come back in one piece.” 

“I promise.” A warbled captain's announcement sizzles overhead, but he doesn’t hang up. Instead, he lets the silence that follows be language enough. 

I love you. I’ll come home to you soon.

You hum, and then the line goes dead. Might as well get work done with a quiet house until your twins get home— both sets, who no doubt will inevitably pull you away from your responsibilities as a hunter… 

It would be great if they got here sooner.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Sylus sighs the weight of his chest away when the call ends. The sooner he finishes this mission, the sooner will this longing cease. And before you, Sylus had never known hardship like leaving home. 

It was especially difficult when Kyros had clung to him the day before, as if knowing he’d be gone again. And his scent of baby powder and clean linen is still on the lapels of his jacket, since he sobbed and held his father tight as if doing so would keep the world from turning. Would keep his papa home.

Sylus groans, rubbing his eyes. His career had never been the safest or the easiest, but the security and power it allows him— to be able to give you the world and protect you all from it— makes it all worth it. All he asks is to return at the end of the day, back to you, back to his boys, back home. 

He’ll finish this mission quickly. He’ll end anyone that gets in the way of his expected ETA. He’ll be damned if he misses Bubble Pals. 

The seatbelt sign flickers on overhead, and he raises a brow. He follows anyway, awaiting turbulence or a steeper decrease in the clouds, but none come. 

“What’s going on?” gone is his soft and playful tone he reserves only for you. His voice now comes through the intercom of the cockpit like a harsh assault of hail. Enough for the pilot and co-pilot to stiffen and straighten their postures just at the sound. 

“Low visibility, sir.” 

There is no reply and they sigh a breath of relief. And yet they sense it, something in the clouds lurking, just out of sight. Watching, waiting for them.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Sylus feels it like he does every other time and the fear spears his heart. A shuffling, a grunt and then— 

He nearly misses— with an inch between the carpet and his nose, the little boy floats by the crumpled points of his clothes where Sylus’s evol has haphazardly tangled and pinched itself around like a careless net.

“Lucian?!” Sylus hisses, drawing his son closer with his power. Thoughts running a million miles a minute, bewildered that he is here.

Here and giggling. “Papa whizzy!” 

“What are you doing here?” he can’t help the harsh growl in his throat as he undoes the seatbelt and grabs his son from the air. 

“Wan’ta fly with you.” Lucian says, like it was obvious, not yet sensing the trouble he was in. Just happy to have finally found Sylus in this big plane.

But Sylus is frantic, now looking around and underneath the seats, knowing that one does not come without the other. “Where’s your brother?” 

“Kee-ro losin’!” Lucian cheers, wrapping his arms around Sylus’s bicep. “I found papa first.” 

“Lucian.” Sylus groans through gritted teeth. And then the plane bounces, a small wobble of turbulence hitting from below. Sylus tilts forward as he loses his footing, but catches himself with an hand on a headrest. 

Thankfully, it draws the other one from wherever he’s hiding. The quick pitter-patter of running little feet come from the other end of the cabin, and his son is screaming. “Ahh! I don’t like it! Cian!” 

“Kyros!” Sylus calls, voice deep and loud, beckoning the little boy’s attention to him from down the aisle.

Kyros says nothing as he runs to his father, arms clinging to his neck immediately when Sylus bends to pick him up. “Papa, don’t like it.” 

Sylus is so confused. He’s confused and distressed and fuming that these two have manifested in his very dangerous plane on the way to his very dangerous mission.

He wonders if it’s a prank, if it’s truly your mischief that they inherited and their maternal source is also on this plane hiding somewhere he has yet to discover.

But by the looks of the two unblinking eyes staring up at him with guilt written all over, he’s sure it isn’t. His heart sinks to his stomach and he feels the sudden urge to throw up.

And the boys know that look, rare as it is, it is distinct and unmistakable. Papa mad. 

The plane dips again, this time more abruptly and violently. Lucian actually freezes this time, fists tightening around the fabric of Sylus’s jacket, and Kyros buries his face in the crook of Sylus’s neck. 

The speakers crackle to life. “Sir, we’re under attack.” 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ 

Sylus is cool headed in every situation, only because he knows he can get out of anything in one piece. He is always with the upper hand, always at the advantage even when it seems like he isn’t. He expected an attack, eventually. With the high profile protocores he’s transporting in his jet, it’s only appropriate for his enemies to intercept the exchange and bypass payment. Maybe even try their hand at destroying the head of the serpent Onychinus. 

If that were the case, he wouldn’t mind. He’d been prepared after all. 

What he isn’t prepared for is the presence of his two most prized possessions being on board alongside the greed-bait in his cargo hold. He can regenerate, redirect energy into his cells to heal, manipulate particles in the air to fly— but his children cannot. 

And as much as he was livid that these two were now in this with him, his mind is divided by the strategies he conjures in his head to keep them safe. To keep them alive. 

And to keep them calm. 

Lucian is already taking quick, nervous breaths and clinging to him like a vice, asking questions about their safety and survival— are we bad? gonna to be dead? Is it hurt, papa? Don’t want hurt! 

Kyros is silently shaking in his hold. Both already so small, shrunken even smaller in their fear. 

“No attack, don’t like ‘tack.” Kyros begs, his voice trembling as he weeps. Sylus has to take a deep breath to collect himself. 

“I sorry. I sorry, papa.” Lucian is wailing, hiding in the collar of his shirt. 

“Listen to me.” He finally says, securing them both within his inner shirt and jacket. “It’s going to be loud and dark. Do not let go of papa. Do you understand?” 

They nod and warble out wet yeses, finding purchase anywhere their fingers allow them to in the small space. On the fabric of Sylus’s clothes, in each other’s arms. Their arms lock together unprompted, unwilling to let go. 

With that, Sylus marches to the cockpit and takes the helm.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

You’re going to kill him. 

You’ve done it once, you’ve tried that second time— both times he’d pulled the trigger.

But this time, this time you’ll do it all on your own.

He’d never experienced the hardships of flying a burning jet with a screaming toddler on his chest, whilst simultaneously constantly checking if the other is still even breathing with the silence he’d shut himself to. By all the mercies of the universe, he’d managed to land the plane safely without any casualties or injury, just irreversible trauma to his sons. 

Which you will kill him for.

He sighs a deep breath, eyeing his men not to say a word about the sobbing little lumps in his clothes. He’d landed on a secured plot, a territory he’d acquired long ago. Not too far off target, but it will buy them time. 

The silence stretches as he walks with his sons into the cabin.

He unlatches them one at a time and places them on his lap. Lucian first since he was already looking up at him, asking if it was over. Kyros next, harder since his little nails had dug into the skin on the nape of his neck. 

And despite the anger that simmered beneath, his first instinct is to soothe. He knows neither of them will answer his questions in this state, nor will appreciate his scolding. So he gathers them into his arms, and presses his face between them, guiding their cheeks onto either side of his and whispering in their ears. “Shh, shh…” 

“Papa, no more.” Kyros gasps though his tears, hiccuping painfully as he cries.

“Want mama.” Lucian sobs, finding comfort in clutching Sylus’s ear to bring him closer. Seeking comfort like a moth to a flame. “Mama, mama please.” 

“I know, I know.” He shushes, rocking them to calm. Squeezing their arms to ground. Brushing tears away and showing his face, modeling even breathing and an encouraging expression. And when they relax— when Kyros is wiping his own tears away and Lucian is no longer tugging on his ear, he pulls away. 

“You are not supposed to be here.” He says sternly. The tearful eyes he wipes at are downcast, and their cheeks puff at his tone. Neither of the twins like being scolded by papa, but this time they knew they deserved it. Sylus continues, despite the ache in his heart, the need to let them know how dangerous and wrong it is to have snuck away from their mother, to have followed him here without anyone else knowing rises above all of it. “Do you see what happens?” 

“Papa mad.” Lucian points out. Not to mock or appeal, just to process. 

“Yes, I’m mad.” Sylus swallows to keep his voice from rising, still just recovering from the throes of adrenaline himself. Recovering from the poisonous fear that paralyzed him at the thought of failing to protect them, at the thought of them… 

He shakes his head. None of those thoughts are welcome in his mind, and he will burn every single one that attempts to enter at the stake. “I’m mad because I almost lost you.” 

“We here, papa.” Kyros tries. Always, he tries to mediate and reassure. A mirror, a reflection of how his parents comfort him when he is panicked and anxious. 

Sylus crumbles. His face open and vulnerable, every crease and twitch visible and unguarded as he holds his sons’ small hands in his, as if forcing them to look— see, see and understand that I cannot afford anything happening to you. 

“Yes, Kyros, but what if I hadn’t found you in time? What if the plane—“ his voice breaks, and he has to swallow again to reel it in. “What if the plane went down? Without me knowing you were here?” 

Kyros sniffles, looking down, realizing in his own little way that they could have been lost still under the chairs. That their game could have ended with neither of them finding papa. “Kyros— me and- and Cian hiding.” 

Sylus prompts. “From what?” 

“Didn’t want you to go ‘ishun.” Kyros’s lips starts to tremble, as if his body is processing how shaken he actually is before his mind does. “Wanted to come.” 

“Why?” Sylus begs, trying to make sense of it all. Retracing every lesson, every rule of survival and safety he’d given to them. “You wanted to watch Bubble Pals. Why are you here?” 

“Papa, I—“ Lucian murmurs. He is tugging at his father’s hand to reenact he movement and to bring his attention away from his brother. “I pull Kee-ro. I pull. And—and I say hiding from mama and biggies.” 

Sylus’s jaw trembles as he tries to control his breaths. Here are his sons before him, confessing with fear in their eyes as if they’d been convicted of a crime. Speaking their reasons, protecting each other in the face of their daunting father, so soon after being scared to death. 

And what courage that takes for such little souls. Despite it all, beneath the burning in his chest, he can’t help but be proud. 

“What did we tell you about getting lost?”

“Don’t.” they speak their script together, equally as sorrowful and ashamed. 

He watches their eyes, scrutinizes for any sign of understanding. If not the weight of their actions, then the stones of consequences settling in. He takes in their shaking hands and their stuttering breaths, their tear stained cheeks and their swollen eyes. And the longing on their face for him to stop being angry, now, and hold them. 

Please. 

He nods once, deciding this is enough for the time being. There are still forces beyond the battered walls of the plane that will try to get to him, and now two of his most critical weaknesses are on board. 

His arms circle around each back, crowding them close to his body and he holds on to them like his life depended on it. Spreading his fingers over their ribs to feel the tidal movement, shutting his eyes to listen to their hiccups, absorbing their warmth to let himself know: they are alive. They are still alive. 

“I sorry,” Lucian is the first to murmur, to take responsibility. Like a good older brother, like the good soldier he likes to pretend to be in his games. 

Kyros follows, speaking for both of them when he whispers. It echoes in Sylus’s mind, stiffens his muscles and leadens his bones. “Love you, papa. Love you.” 

“I love you.” Saying it was sandpaper and rubble in his throat, but butter and milk to the ears that listen. He kisses both their foreheads tenderly. Then he rises. “I’m calling mama.” 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

His blood runs cold at the thirty missed calls on his phone that had flown at the end of the plane. With each twin holding onto his pants, it takes a while for him to locate it. And when he does, it’s a few minutes too late. 

“Sylus! Sylus, I can’t find them- they, they—“ he hears your sporadic intakes of breath, knows you’re shaking and on the verge of tearing your hair out— “please pick up. I’ve lost them, I’m so—“ 

He doesn’t continue the message, he calls you without a second thought. You pick up by the second ring, with a distressed yell. “Sylus—!” 

“Breathe.” His voice is rumbling thunder over stormy seas. “Beloved—“

“The boys.” You’re sobbing, your voice is raw and raspy, no doubt from screaming. “They’re gone, I can’t—“ 

“They’re with me.” He says quickly, detesting prolonging your worry. Hating the sound of your pain. “They’re safe, beloved. They’re with me.” 

He hears you take deep breaths, hauling in as much air as you can in your lungs even as your body rejects it. He hears a thud— imagines you collapsing against the wall, the weight of panic and relief dragging you down.

“Head between your knees.” He reminds gently, pushing against the image of your agony. Feeling the twinging in his own heart at your torment. “Let me hear you counting.” 

He listens as you count to ten, as you come back to the ground and then finally find your footing. “Where? How?” 

“We’re on the plane, we landed a few minutes ago.” He explains, absentmindedly placing a hand on one of the heads looking up at him in worry. To reassure them mama is okay. To reassure himself they are still there. 

“I want to hear them.” You beg. Your limbs are jelly, heart still racing and you’re about to throw up. Still just recovering from being prepared to burn the entire world to get your children back from wherever they’d wandered. 

You wait with bated breath, eyes squeezed shut, breathing in through your nose and panting out through your mouth. Until you hear a little voice wrinkle the phone line. “Mama? Hi, mama.” 

“Mama, it’s Kyros, mama.” The voice says, and your eyes burn. Your hands shake as you press the phone to your ear, as if doing so would squeeze you through the other side, where you can hold him. 

“Kyros.” You sob. Kyros frowns and his eyes well up again. “Kyros, stay with papa, okay? I’m coming.” 

“Lucian, can you hear me?” 

“Yes, mama. I sorry. I sorry!” He’s crying again too. “I go home, wanna go home!” 

“I’m coming, angel, I’m coming. Stay with papa.” You swear, already starting to get the feeling back in your legs. As soon as you do, you get up and rummage through your essentials, getting ready to go.

Sylus calls your name on the other end. You stiffen and then relax, a rushing stream of cool water washing over you at the sound. 

“Sylus, are you okay?” You ask, overlapping him asking you the same question. 

His voice is frayed, wary and brittle at the edges. “They aren’t hurt.” 

“I know.” you sound sure, like he’d just told you the sky is blue. Your voice softens as you clarify, “Are you?” 

Your faith in him to keep your children safe is indisputable, and that very fact pummels him to the ground. He doesn’t lie. “No.”

“I’m coming.” you insist, genuinely expecting him to stop you.

But instead, fear no different from your children, he breathes. “Please.” 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Between the moment you hang up and the moment you arrive, Sylus’s hands are tied at the demands of the mission he’d committed to partake in.

His men warn him of the oncoming enemies, of the people who’d tried to knock him out of the sky now dressed in elegant suits and brandishing clean hands.

On any other occasion, he’d welcome it. To have him be seen as a threat to eliminate, to let his enemies think they have the upper hand when in reality there is no situation they will ever be, not when he is a player on the board. He’d let them have their fun, endure the hassle, stretch his muscles and feast on the conflict. Indulge in the mind games they try to wield to manipulate him, which are nothing but mild entertainment at best. 

On any other occasion, he’d draw it out, play with his food before he swallows them whole.

But on this one, he’s not in the mood. 

The little ones, now dwarfed in blankets, have finally found comfort without clutching onto his clothes. They sit together on one seat and talk quietly amongst themselves. Kyros had sculpted a blob from the tinfoil of his inflight sandwich. Lucian is stabbing arms and legs onto it with the toothpicks. 

Sylus sits across them, fingers on his temples, watching silently as they interact. Going over every scene that had led him here, silently torturing himself in the midst of his children’s slowly returning normalcy. And frankly, he doesn’t care to be disturbed. 

Lucian sticks another toothpick in. Kyros tells him to be careful because it’s sharp. They share a laugh when they are able to get the blob to stay upright. Sylus is fuming beneath his skin, every nerve alight at the fury he feels for the people who dared touch his sons.

The click of the cockpit door is enough for him to move. He stands before the captain of the aircraft is even able to lay eyes on his children, taking up the entirety of the aisle with his ominous presence. 

“Speak.” 

The traders are awaiting for him to step out of the fuselage, to present them with what they’d asked for and more— now that he’s been “intimidated”. He doesn’t need the report, he knows how this goes. He’s done it a million times before that by now it’s a chore.

Except for this. This was an offense.

“Let them wait.” he doesn’t need to say it again. He refuses to leave his sons alone, or with anyone else that isn’t their mother. 

“They’ll force entry, sir.” the pilot points out.

Sylus gives him a deadpan stare. He’d like to see them try. “Then let them.” 

“But—“ 

The insistence and blatant defiance of his command makes it click in Sylus’s mind. It should have clicked the moment the seatbelt sign went off. A swift moment of clarity as the smoke is sucked into the void and he realizes the betrayal. His right eye flares as he taps into his evol to confirm, to burn through the soul of the man before him and reveal his greatest desires.

Power. Wealth. Vengeance.

Fool. 

“I should commend you, captain. My nose is usually sharp when it comes to traitors, specially when they stand right beneath it.” Sylus says, menacingly low and irate. “But you’ve managed to get this far.” 

“What—“

With a flick of his finger, the pilot’s limbs are bound by the slightest rings of energy. The gun he held behind his back falls to the ground, and Sylus is quick to obliterate it to nothing but the dirt beneath his feet. 

Sinewy mist like blood and shadow dance around the traitor in a mocking comfort before the end of his life. It curls around his arms and caresses the veins on his neck, seducing him to his doom.

“Unfortunately, you’ve caught me on a bad day. I have those too, I should let you know.” Sylus steps closer, slowly. His fingers flutter ever so slightly, and he sews his lips shut with dark thorn vines and watches him writhe in his misery. “I almost died. You understand, right?” 

Sylus has never felt more anger than he has in this moment. In the face of the man who thought he could rewrite the route, give away their position for them to lock on, send the signal for the missiles to fire. To end his life, to take the loot for his own. 

But with the worst of luck— which Sylus tends to bring— two little boys snuck into the aircraft and turned this, what was an equivalent to a harmless prank for Sylus alone, into the gravest of sins against a monster, a fiend, a father. 

Sylus stares, eyes widening ever so slightly as he watches the fear in the vermin’s eyes as he squirms. So different from the fear in his sons’. So deserving of him who dared take what was his. He’s sure, deep down, he’ll enjoy this. He’ll revel in the vision of him turning into ash, mere atoms devoid of a soul. And he’ll make it hurt too. 

“Boys.” He calls over his shoulder. A slight tilt of his face to the two faceless lumps in his clothes earlier. “Peek-a-boo.” 

The pilot scowls, trembling in fear at the mad look in the crimson eyes that hold him.

And on command, unaware of what is going on behind their seats, the boys shut their eyes in excitement. “Peek!”

Sylus snaps. The man barely has time to scream before he is reduced to dust. “A-boo.”

“A-boo!” Lucian hops up on the chair a split second later, looking over the headrest to find Sylus staring at now empty space. He waves, reaching forward but not quite catching him with his short arms. “Papa, I over here.”

It takes a moment for him to turn. But when he does, his eyes are bright and playful, a ghost of a smirk curls the corner of his mouth. “I see you.” 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

It registers immediately when you hop out of the helicopter. Luke flanks you. Kieran lands somewhere nearby. The sight of your husband’s aircraft curdles your stomach and twists your heart into something unrecognizable. 

Scorched panels, chunks of metal missing from the wings and fin, burnt rubber marks on the tarmac despite being perfectly parked. It doesn’t take a genius to know they’d been attacked, and your heart stops at the thought.

Your family. Your boys.

Instincts kick in and your eyes zero in on the men lurking around the plane. None of them which you recognize, but by the way they walk with their guns at the ready and energy of their evol irritating your resonance, you know. You know. 

Sylus is rubbing off on you. You’d admit to it proudly, knowing Luke will bring it up later. Because then you say, low and controlled. “Take the vermin out.” 

Luke is quick to move, Kieran hears the command through his brother’s ears and they get to work. 

You walk, slowly but not inconspicuously, letting your presence be known in the space you enter. Declaring war by your presence. You see the people stiffen to attention at your appearance. Guns drawn, cocked and aimed at you.

In the corner of your eye, you see the twins take out their first victim in the shadows. A scream— an alarm— and then chaos befalls.

You draw your weapon from thin air, and charge at the first person that comes in between you and your family. 

You are known for your many talents and endless compassion. Mercy, you are well acquainted with, kind enough to offer it unprompted, when you can. 

A gallant, lawful hunter. 

But tonight, in the secluded island of traitors and thieves, away from the eyes of the law, you are no better than the ruthless filth that thrive in its darkness. 

Not when they attempt to steal from you. Not when they try to take what’s yours. 

You’ll wash your hands of the blood before you hold your son’s faces in a moment. For now, you fight. You dispose. You kill.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Sylus knows the carnage is done once the taps on the hull are to the rhythm of your favorite song. The one you haven’t stopped humming since you heard it three weeks ago, the one you buzz in his ear like a mosquito just before you go to sleep just to mess with him. And he’s never felt more relieved to hear the tune.

He opens the cabin doors, telling the boys to stay in their seats as he does. He’s sure it’s you. But the just-in-case is the wound that’s beginning to fester.

He feels you before he truly sees you, when you crash into him like an avalanche and wind your tired arms around his shoulders and cling. His strength takes leave entirely at your touch, except for the vice he holds you with around the waist with his arms.

“Sylus,” you breathe, finally. Feeling the air push all the way down to your lungs ushered by his scent. His name is a prayer on your lips, desperate and raw. “Sylus.” 

He’s silent when he embraces you, holding on tight like you were his only lifeline. Like he’d collapse if he loosened even just that little bit. He’ll release when you complain, but for now, he needs your presence. He needs you. 

When you have your fill, or at least enough for now, you tap at his shoulders to make way. He understands completely, peels himself off you like burnt skin and watches you sprint to a kneel before your children. 

“Mama!” they cry, whispers turning to pitchy screams as they tackle you in a hug. Over your head, around your waist. “Mama! Mama!” 

Kyros is sobbing, he doesn’t know why— he doesn’t feel sad or scared anymore. The opposite, really. But he doesn’t dwell, just curls up in your chest and grabs onto your clothes. Lucian has his arms around your neck, squeezing enough to choke— but you don’t mind. You don’t dare complain or pull them off to right their positions. Not now when your mind is only just registering that they’re okay. Realizing they’re alive. 

“I sorry.” Lucian is still saying, feeling the guilt deep, deep in his little heart. He’ll carry it forever, but you’ll work on helping him understand how to lighten the load. 

You shake your head. They watch as hot tears stream down their mama’s pretty face. “I’m glad you’re safe. I love you, I love you. I’m glad you’re okay.” 

And so he cries too. And it carves you right open, drives a hook in the center of you heart— such little babies falling apart at the seams for a mistake they didn’t mean to make. 

No one knows how long the reunion lasts, but you come to your senses once Kyros and Lucian are asleep in your arms. Sylus is no where in sight, having excused himself to deal with any more scum that linger. But you know better. His distance isn’t just because of the precautions. You know he is drowning now, too. And he is scrambling for something to pull him back to shore.

And your heart breaks that it isn’t you he reaches for.

Aside from your initial embrace, he hadn’t approached when you held your boys. He didn’t fall against the pile when you cried with your children. He didn’t dare touch any of you. And despite being busy checking little limbs for wounds or bruises, you see clear as day, in the corner of your vision, how Sylus’s hands tremble, how his hard eyes look far away— searching for something beyond comprehension. A balm, a reason to not feel shame. 

And you will die a thousand deaths before you let him believe he’s alone. With a grunt, you push your legs to stand, supporting a twin on each arm and wander to the cabin doors. But just before you reach them, a wall of muscle blocks you from the exit. 

You release a breath of relief, unaware he was within the cabin with you. “Kieran.”

“He asked you not to go out there.” he says simply. You don’t miss how his gaze lingers on the sleeping figures in your arms. You see the agony behind his front too. 

You had thought earlier that the little ones were safe with him and Luke. But when they arrived empty-handed, they watched as your world fell apart— and theirs did just as fast. Hardening like machines, predators on the prowl, they march out to track their brothers down, without a hint of forbearance for whoever they find accountable for their disappearance. 

Your heart squeezes at the look in his eyes, and you prop Lucian up your hip. “Take him.” 

“You can’t possibly trust me.” he mutters, unable to look at you. “Not after…”

You guide the boy in his arms, taking in no argument. “It wasn’t your fault.”

His jaw tightens when he grinds his teeth. “I should have been keeping an eye on them.” 

“No, you were prepping for Sylus’s departure.” You point out. It was true. Before they’d gone, Luke and Kieran were securing the cargo within the aircraft. 

But Kieran was raised by a stubborn beast. You know because you married that beast. “They said they were coming with us.” 

And I didn’t take them, was what didn’t follow. 

“They had every intention to go with their father.” Lucian had said so, apologized for, he’d tugged his brother away into the plane as soon as they saw the stairway to the aircraft on the way to the twins. 

“We should have seen them. I should have noticed—“

“Kieran.” you sigh, exasperated and tired. “No, it’s not your fault.” 

“He is my ward.” The declaration is whispered. It burns on his tongue as he watches the little boy stir in his arms at the rising voices. Then he looks at Kyros, Luke’s. The assignment was not outright, but internalized the moment the boys were born. They’d each protect one if not both. That was the oath they took and sworn their lives to. The more than they’d sought for their entire lives. “They are our brothers, and we failed them.” 

You swallow. A haze in your mind as you struggle with the want to understand, the need to understand and be the comforting figure Kieran quietly asks for. But right now, you have no energy left to extend compassion, for your own misery has started to consume you whole as well. 

Their brothers they’ve failed. Your sons, you’d lost.  “How do you think I feel?” 

Kieran’s lips press into a thin line and surrender dawns on his face. He can’t. He can’t imagine how you might feel, but he doesn’t regret speaking his thoughts to you. Doesn’t regret telling you that he’d lay his life down for your sons without question. So he lets it go, silently bowing his head in apology. 

He accepts Kyros without a word when you hand him over as well. His muscles twitching at the effort to be gentle with these bodies after harming so many others. Others who deserved it. Others who caused them all pain. 

Lucian shifts in his arm, turning his face to his chest and holding onto his clothes. From scent, or touch or voice, he’ll never know, but Lucian recognizes him and presses himself closer. Murmuring sleepily, “Kee-wan…” 

Kieran feels the ground give way beneath his feet. He places a careful hand on the back of Lucian’s head and presses his forehead against his small one, like a lion repairing a bond. 

You know he’ll protect them. He’d declared it so brazenly, and you never once doubted him or Luke, no matter how upset you get. You pray he sees that in the way you brush the blood of his cheek with your thumb, before you set off to find your husband. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

There is a jet in a nearby hangar. Smaller, cleaner, darker in color and sleeker in design. Enough to cloak itself and its passengers in the cover of the night. 

He always feels you before he sees you. This time with the tug on his soul, like you’d been following the thread and pulling on it until it led you to the other end. To him. “We’re leaving in a moment.” 

You step into his space. “Sylus…“

He doesn’t turn to face you from where he stands, within dead air and hollow cold, with shoulders locked and movements mechanical, preparing something else in his hands. Something small— deathly and incredibly cataclysmic. 

You frown. “You’re going to burn the protocores?” 

His voice is low, tone clipped. “The island.” 

Your brows draw together in disapproval. “Sy—“ 

“Get the boys on the jet.” He practically snarls, grabbing another tool from a bench and walking away from you. 

A mistake. To cut you off, firstly, and then to ignore you. You scow, grab his arm and turn him to meet your anger. His eyes burn at your audacity, and it fuels the fire already simmering in your chest. 

No. Not after everything you’re going through. He does not get to do this. To bear the load, to corrode inside and let you watch. Not when you almost lost your boys, not when you almost lost him too. You hiss through gritted teeth. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

The darkness that has taken captive his soul burns, scalding and heavy in his anguish, responds to you. He feels it take form of the beast he was, then bow its head low and curl around your point of connection. Your skin on his, your hand on his wrist. 

His eyes soften ever so slightly, not much, but enough for you to see. To calm the rage you are beginning to feel at the stubbornness that is manifesting within the crevices of the people you love. He mutters, “I’m sorry.” 

“I’m here. Look at me.” You ask, firm. The tone you use on the boys when they are irrepressible. The tone you now use on him when he refuses to let you in. 

He does, as he always will, and you see for the first time tonight the wreckage behind the rubies that used to shine. There is a sheen of glass that coats his gaze, the lights on the runway reflect on them devastating. His corneas are almost as red as his irises, and his eyes are lost— helplessly screaming, begging for justice, purgation, revenge. 

You’d have collapsed if you didn’t take his face in your hands. Yet, you couldn’t afford that now when he needed you to hold him as his sanity is the crust of a planet’s about to implode. 

“Get on the jet, please.” He pleads softly, his own head bowing down now to press his forehead to yours. Grounding himself in you, finding leverage in the other half of his soul. 

“We got them all. It’s done.” You whisper, breath fanning over his lips. “Let’s go home.” 

“It’s not enough.” He grits. Anger wild and untamed, itching to destroy— to level the world and rid it of filth. To rid it of people of who’ve tried to hurt his family. To rid it of putrid traces of what has happened so it can never happen again.

To spare himself of this memory.

“It is. It is.” You cry, caressing his cheeks with gentle fingers. You want him to come back—you need him to come back with you so you can gather your family close into your arms and keep them all away from harm. So you beg, brushing his hair to circle your palms around his jaw. “It is for now.” 

He shakes his head, you grip him tighter as if that would make him stop. Enough, enough, enough please— or else you’ll slip and you’ll fall and you won’t be able to hold him up anymore. And you refuse to let him fall.

“I have to— they almost died.” His hand comes to squeeze your wrists, bringing your hands to his skin harder. Silently asking to hold, to bear unbelievable pain he cannot endure. Pain that slips through in the way his voice breaks, and his shoulders begin to unravel. “The way— I can’t, I can’t get it out of my head.” 

“What, beloved?” 

“The way they looked at me.” he chokes. 

When Sylus breaks, he breaks in pieces. Like little flakes of paint of an old rusted pipe, fluttering in slow twirls in the wind as they fall to the ground. His undoing is quiet, it’s unnoticeable until the paint leaves entirely for the rust to weaken the pipe. Until the water breaks through and bursts from the flood awaiting inside. 

You feel the weight of him increase in your hold as his knees buckle beneath. You feel him snake his arms around your waist and hold as if he’s being taken from you, pulled away by a relentless current in sea. 

In place of tears, there is trembling. Shaking so profound he might affect the ground. His breaths are hard and heavy and effortful as he forces his lungs to work. And it is agony to watch the strongest man you know force himself to be stronger when he is clearly falling apart. 

You let him, you hold the parts that break, pocket the pieces and patch your palms over the holes of his cracking vessel.

He lets you in. Married to you in every way, bonded to you beyond the universe’s laws. He lays out his sorrow, with a quivering voice only you have ever heard in this moment alone. “Lucian cried the whole time I landed the plane. He was screaming for you— begging me to bring him to you. And all I could think of was… what if I couldn’t? What if he never got to see you again because of me?”

“And Kyros—“ he rasps like he’s drowning. 

“I— I didn’t even know if he was still breathing.” his teeth grind at the memory. Gripping the yoke and pulling the jet up from its nosedive, while simultaneously palming Kyros’s back to check if he was suspiring. “He was so still. He was so quiet. But I felt his tears, and I kept wondering if it was blood—if it was blood—“ 

Across the runway, beyond the carnage and chaos, the damaged plane waits. Your sons inside— safe, asleep, alive. But the man who saved them, their father who laid his life on the line to ensure their survival punishes himself before you. 

And it is unbearable. Like a stone to your chest bearing down, to see him believe that he could ever fail in protecting your children. The dagger of this situation is now at your throat, you feel it break through the grip you held it at bay with in the face of Kieran. But now it pushes past muscle and bone, clean across at the sound of Sylus’s despair. 

“I should have—“ 

You choke, nails digging into your palm. “I should have been watching them, I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry I let this happen. I’m sorry we almost lost them. I’m sorry I did this to you. 

The reaction is a bullet in a wasteland. He stiffens and then— sudden and abrupt, his fingers grip tight on your shoulders. He doesn’t mind you falling apart with him, but blaming yourself was out of the picture. He knows you as well as you know him, and he refuses to let you believe you are point zero. “Don’t.” 

“Sylus.” you’re helpless. All roads going back lead to you— your negligence, your carelessness. He saved them, you let them wander into the crossfire.

“Do not.” The command rumbles in his chest like a furnace. “I won’t hear it. It’s not.” 

And like you told Kieran, he insists on you too. It’s not your fault. 

And now neither of you know who’s holding who. All you feel is that wound— that what if that will haunt you until the end of time. 

The silence washes over you both as the wind blows colder and yet you stay warm. Visions become clear, trembles cease. The scale’s shifting has stopped and a balance is met between the two hearts that have gathered together and held firm. It recedes for now, enough to melt the numb, enough to help you rise to your feet. Then—

“We must press on.” He says once you learn how to breathe again. When he no longer shakes and your tears have dried. The pain lingers, bitter on your tongues— a demon gnawing at your ankles no matter how far and how hard you try to run.

But he presses a kiss to your forehead, tugging you back along with him, wading the shallows back to shore hand-in-hand with you. You dove into his depths, reached for his hands and now he is saying, come back. 

You have me now, come back with me. 

 It is humid and dim back on land, but you arrive, and you survive.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Kyros opens his eyes first to the blurred vision of a familiar face looking straight ahead. He escapes the sharper edges of a nightmare he now cannot remember. The pressure in the arms that hold him help him regulate his breathing. His hand comes up to touch the face of his cradle, drawing attention to himself with a soft bap. “Wook.” 

Luke glances down, his face twisting into something unreadable for a toddler to recognize when he meets Kyros’s half-lidded gaze. 

He swallows down the emotions that come with realizing he’s holding someone he could have lost today; with facing the innocent eyes of someone he failed. He takes the little hands on his face into his palm. His voice comes out, rough and unused, “Hey, Roro.”

Kyros scratches his belly. “M’hungry.” 

“Oh, yeah? What do you want to eat?” 

Kyros thinks in his sleepy haze. Luke watches each expression on his face, taking in the shifting of his eyes and the dip in his little brow, following the tiny hands that rub bleary eyes. His own lip wobbles as the thought of never seeing him again overwhelms him, and his sinuses flood with fire. 

“Mashy ‘tatoes,” says Kyros finally, and Luke pulls him up from his belly to his chest in a tight embrace. Kyros giggles at the quick motion. “Ah!” 

But then he hears the sniffling, and the bear hugging him is trembling. Kyros frowns, fingers fidgeting with the hood of Luke’s uniform. “Wook— is crying? No cry, Wook, s’okay. See? See?”

The day Luke executed the perfect deep-pressure hug for Kyros was a turning point for him. That day, he took it upon himself to memorize every flexion and extension of each and every muscle in his arms to recreate it. And soon enough, Kyros has been running to him to receive the grounding hug the most when he is scared or upset.

But now, the roles have reversed. No longer does he have the strength in his arms to deliver Kyros the comfort he’s so used to giving. Instead, he has the fear and the distress. It is Kyros who is using his short arms to draw him in a soothing embrace.

“When ya sad ’n feelin’ boo…” Kyros starts in a whisper and hums the instrumental that follows. It crushes Luke and he sobs even more. “Lemme pop sum bubbles wi’f you…” 

Kyros is a mirror of all he loves. He watches and then does, and now he mirrors the way he is loved back. 

Luke feels the movement and recognizes it despite not seeing Kyros’s hands. The little boy plants little pokes on his back, singing, “Pop, pop, pop…”

Luke lets out a soft snort, unable to stop the fond smile that emerges from the devastation. He pulls away and wipes at his tears to meet Kyros’s owlish, expectant look. Kyros places a few more pokes on Luke’s cheeks and chin, as he urges. “Pop, pop, c’mon, Wook.” 

Luke shakes his head and a chuckle finally bubbles out of his chest. He pokes Kyros’s cheeks too. “Pop, pop, pop.” 

Kyros smiles. Luke’s world raptures all around him, but the little boy in his arms anchors him in place, tiny fingers refusing to let him go. Together, they sing, “Pop, pop, pop.” 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Kyros and Lucian, who wakes not soon after, follow the trail of lights on the ground to the cockpit. The big twins hover, but allow them to lead the way. They only help to slide the heavy door open. 

“What is it?” Sylus asks, assuming only either Luke and Kieran can open the cockpit door. He doesn’t turn from the expanse of the sky, all too focused on bringing you all home. Beside him, neither do you as you co-pilot the craft. 

But you both do when two voices chorus a wonderous, “Woooooow.” 

Before you know it, a little twin is climbing over each of your legs and settling themselves on their selected parent. 

“Stars, papa!” Kyros says, pointing as if Sylus was the one who’d just gotten here. 

“And clouds! Wow!” Lucian howls, bouncing on your knees. His small hands rest over yours on the yoke. “Can I try? Can I try, mama, please?” 

Before they’d come in, you’d started to feel the tired tugging of fatigue beneath your salt-crusted eyes. Sylus had chided you to go to sleep, but you refused to leave him alone. 

Lucian takes all of that away. The weight of him on you, the warmth his beating heart gives his body radiating off on yours and his bright carmine eyes twinkling back the lights on the console. You feel something in your chest loosen, and you’re wading water again with ease. 

You nod, kissing his forehead tenderly, and give him the handles. Discreetly, you flip on auto-pilot as you drop your hands to keep him in place by the waist.

He wiggles it like a steering wheel of a car. It’s rendered useless for actually flying the jet, but he feels like he’s in control and that mattered to you more. 

“This how papa do!” he exclaims suddenly, followed by an exaggerated actions of tugging and twisting. “Then—then, n’yeroowww!” 

You find Sylus staring at him in awe. The crumple in his brow makes you wonder if he is hearing the screams of terror in the background of this too sudden joy. 

“What did you think of papa, hm?” you ask Lucian, wanting to know, but also wanting to show Sylus that his children are what you raised them to be— children. They will be scared, and cry and do foolish things they know not are foolish, but they will come back to him with love every time. Just as how they were taught. Just as how you taught them.

“Papa was cool! He drived like—like this—“ he jiggles the yoke again, more enthusiastically this time. Grr-ing and roaring like he’s straining. “And I cryin— wahh!— I think, I think we was gonna to fall, and clouds gonna eat us!—but papa was drivin’ driving fast. Like this—“ 

The cycle goes on— papa was cool, he was driving, Lucian was crying, but papa was cool and he was driving. 

Sylus is still waiting for that pin to drop, for Lucian to say something he believes— that papa was scary, papa was mean, papa made him cry.

But he never does. And the lump in his throat melts, the pounding in his ears quieten— the cut is still fresh, tender to the touch, but it no longer bleeds. 

Half of the battle is won for now, until Sylus looks down at the twin on his lap. Kyros has turned to face him, legs tucked neatly to his chest as he waits for papa to look at him.

“Kyros,” Sylus rasps, lips as always drawn to his baby’s head. He murmurs, “You okay?” 

He nods the way he usually does, using muscles in his torso to rock along with his head. “A-huh.” 

“Were you scared, turtle?” Sylus asks. His fingers brushing over squishy cheeks and moon-touched hair, ritualistic and grounding for both of them.

“A-huh.” Kyros nods, always painfully honest. 

Sylus feels his heart seize. “I’m sorry—“ 

“But—but, listened to papa. I listened to papa’s heart,” he says quickly, placing both hands over Sylus’s chest. Sylus stops, tilts his head in confusion, not understanding what he means. 

“Like dis. See?” Kyros climbs, reenacting his hold on him earlier, underneath his clothes, when Sylus couldn’t see or feel him breathing. Kyros circles his arms around Sylus’s neck and positions his ear on his chest, then promptly hums, “Bum, bum, bum.” 

And at last, for the first time today, Sylus feels the earth return beneath his feet. Benumbed before, he now feels the sting of the cold air on his face and a syrupy relief drain through his veins. His voice is broken when it emerges, “Did that help you, Kyros?”

“Yes. I follow mama.” he says, pointing at you who he’s seen the trick from. Who stares at him, listening in— eavesdropping as you so loved to do. He is referring to when you’d have bad days and lay yourself over Sylus’s heart to gather your thoughts. Unaware of the curious eyes watching and learning from your ways.

Sylus nods, failing to keep his emotions at bay. He hides his face in Kyros’s hair and kisses him over and over and over. “Good. Good, you did good.”

You feel it together, you and Sylus, the knot unraveling from your chest. Your heads breaking the surface tension of the heaviest of waters to take one full, real breath. The wrinkled tether between your souls stretched and righted to feel open and safe again, even if it’s just that little bit. All because of this, of them— your boys, of their forgiveness, of their love.

“Lava!” Lucian yells excitedly, seeing the blue hues of the sky transform to its melding yellows and oranges. You follow his reference and look forward. Despite his sensitivities, Sylus peeks over Kyros’s head to look too.

There is a line in the horizon, painted bright and slow; the emerging sunlight creating pools and craters of molten amber— lava—in the canopy of clouds. 

Sylus still doesn’t know if he deserves any of it— the compassion, the kindness, the forgiveness in its purest form, in the shape of two little boys who’d stared into the eyes of death and placed all their trust into their father. Neither do you who they sought out for despite losing them. You will bear the wounds and the shortcomings from this for the rest of your life. 

But when the dark clouds are turned golden by the light, you learn that you never had to ask for it. For once, there is a love purer than his and yours— theirs. 

The sunlight washes over you all as you cruise the clouds above. The littles have never seen a sunrise from this vantage point, the bigs have forgotten what it looks like. 

You and Sylus know what it means, what this feeling that settles in your bones as the morning offers refuge to the unfinished sorrows of the night. 

A dawn, another chance. As the sky breaks open like your hearts have, you vow— today, you will try again. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“Papa?” Kyros whispers. You all turn to listen to what he says and revel at the beauty of his dark eyes made light in the sunshine. 

“Hm? Angel?” Sylus replies. 

Kyros understands mornings to an extent too. A morning comes after sleep, and after ‘one sleep’ you promised him a special day. “You comin’ to Bubble Pals now?” 

Lucian gasps in excitement, eyes glowing suns on their own, as he realizes too. 

Sylus smiles, wide and genuine it almost hurts. And you see it, his hands catching their joy, their hope and their love. Without fail, as he always does and always will.

✧˚ ⋆｡ read more with the little twins here || more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡

thank you so, so much for reading!

boy why are you so gorjus😭😭😕

this one took an annoyingly long time to draw and render. its very obvious doing bgs is NOT my forte

VERY INSPIRED BY THE STEP 3 OFFICIAL ART OF HIM IN THE OCEAN :]!!