Jack Frost X Fem!Reader

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!

Fellas, once again, I ask your aid to denounce @ aeyumiicore for stealing other people's work.

It might not seem important, it might not affect you, but if you're one of the many who has written through your life fanfiction over one of your personal fixation I believe you can feel the anger when seeing someone having their work, their time, and their whole personality stolen.

All I ask is for you guys to reblog this. Let's do our best to maintain this fanbase clean and healthy for us, and for future players who might even become our colleagues and friends in fanfiction.

I won't write too much, I'll just drop their video screen I did.

Please be aware that this might happen to your work or one of your friends' work! Spread awareness!!

Don't forget to support the real writer, too! @aeyumicore ✊🏽 (love you, pookie, please rest).

Fanart of Spectra dying in a gluetrap

pocket-sized

percy hynes white x short! reader

masterlist

mentions of: height? idk let me know if you find any!

synopsis: percy liked that you are shorter than him

i’m no longer writing for him so plz no hate!!!!

12 inches. a whole foot shorter. you were 5”2 and Percy was 6”2. he liked how he could tower you. he liked the way you would have to look up at him. he especially appreciated when it was sunny outside because you would have to look up and the sun would catch your eyes making you scrunch your face. he also enjoyed how your hands would be wayyyy smaller than his. but out of all these things, his favorite thing about how short you were was putting his head on top of yours and wrapping his hands around your waist.

You and Percy have been dating for a year. you bumped into him in a pharmacy, trying to develop your film. Percy was waiting next to you holding his camera and you with yours.

“you take pictures” he tries to start a conversation with a girl he found attractive

“yeah, just started with this, I have an actual camera,” you say smiling weakly

“I think you should keep using a disposable camera so we could bump into one another more often,” he says trying to secure a date with you

“or you could just ask for my number” a date you wanted

“would Instagram be included in that bundle” he tried to stalk you, he tried to find out who you were as a person

“or maybe on the other hand I actually don’t have a number” you try to joke

“no don’t be like that” he’s a little flustered now

a few days later after that interaction, you were on a date. after that date led to more dates than asking for you to be his officially. it was nice to have someone to call yours and be excited to hang out with whenever possible.

—-

“ready to head out,” Percy says wrapping his hands around your waist as you’re putting on the final touches of your makeup and hair

“yeah, one second,” you say putting on some perfume that Percy got you during his time in Romania. it was vanilla-scented. your favorite

you were ready to go out on your date. the date was a dinner and you wanted to bet Percy that he was going to move your seat next to his to be able to sit next to you.

right, when you were seated across from each other Percy gets up and moves his chair in the middle asking you to do the same and you did. the thing is that you thought that the distance between the two of you was perfect, but in Percy's eyes he thought differently, he scooted your chair so his practically touched. the whole night after was him with his arm around your shoulder or his hand lying on your thigh.

—-

during car rides, Percy likes to put his hand on your lap. squeezing it and making his fingers dance around. when it was summer he liked how you would dangle your head out the window. how your hair would dance in the wind.

he also liked how in the winter you would bundle up and wear his hoodies because they were so warm but you secretly liked the smell of them. he liked that you would wear the hood and sit on the car seat with yours legs held to your chest because you were so cold.

—-

he never cared about the arts really until he met you. he liked being able to take pictures of you in his bed in a small form but never liked actually making the art. he never learned from the lessons that Netflix made him do.

he liked how you would look when putting your head on his bicep. while you would observe the art. he would have you wrapped around his arms. his head on top of yours. you would talk about all the details of the painting and he would listen nodding and humming in amusement.

one thing the two of you had in common was liking films. every Tuesday heading to the closest AMC theatre. you would watch films and analyze them together afterward.

the theatre had reclining seats and you could move the middle cup holder up so the both of you could cuddle together. and that’s what you did.

every film no matters if it was scary or not you would lie on his chest while he wrapped his arms around you. (the same way you both slept) you liked the way his heart would beat speed up when he would look down on you. you could tell because his head would move around. and you could tell his shit-eating grin was on his face once again.

of course, afterward, you would talk about the film going back to your shared place. he would laugh at your theories of the film. he would play your theories in his head on the way to sleep and they would always make sense.

—-

he also liked baking with you. he liked how you would move around a lot and get the batter on your face somehow. he liked that you had your hair back in a messy style and would have an apron on. sleeves rolled up ready to take on whatever you were doing

“perc! I need your help” you yelled and saw him resting his body on the wall that splits your living room from the kitchen

“what do you need my highness” he bows down

“I need you to get me the pink bowl on the top right cabinet” you point to the thing causing your pissed-off state.

you never understood why he never got you a stool. maybe he liked being of help and being able to be in your bubble while you bake. because he never once got in the way of your work.

he never once let you put the pan into the oven because he was scared you would burn yourself. which never happened when you were on your own.

“why can’t I do it,” you ask feeling like all the work he has done

“don’t want you to get burnt,” he says opening the oven and putting in the pan

“there are mittens for a reason, y’know they aren’t decorations”

“but you look so pretty all healthy and smooth,” he says getting the brown batter from your nose and licking his finger clean

he liked cleaning up with you. playing with bubbles and splashing you with water. he grew in love with your face, he grew to be able to read your facial expressions. enough being said he could read how pissed you were but he knew to not mess around anymore.

waiting for the pastry was enjoyable. he liked waiting on the couch with you. you were in between his legs and your head rested on his chest. you would scroll on your phone and Percy would watch. when the pastry was ready you both would always burn yourselves it was like you never learned. and you would both laugh at each other. but it was enjoyable and you both would finish it in a day.

—-

the get-together was at his place. it was strictly just the cast. they slowly started to pile in through the door. he was excited to be reunited with them. he found the friends that he loved. and you were happy for him. as he greeted everyone he was ready to sit down on the couch and you were close behind. he was holding your hand guiding you to your seat.

another thing Percy was extremely mad about was you sitting on his lap. no matter if there was plenty of space everywhere else. he loved sitting with you. he especially did this when you were laying on the couch watching some TikToks and he would make you get up and lay on top of him. it would make you go crazy and not in a good way. but it made him happy so you let it slide.

“so how long have you two dated” hunter asked

“About two years,” Percy says playing with your hair. twisting it and fiddling with it between his two fingers

Emma was trying to get your attention. she thought you were interesting. she liked the way you probably have a lot to say but just keep to yourself. she knew deep down you were funny because well you were dating Percy.

“what’s something that Percy has done here that no one else knows about,” Emma asks looking directly at you. you start laughing at the thought

“no-“ Percy says trying to hold you from saying it

“he…he sings t swift when he’s bored” Percy tried to cover your mouth before you finished the sentence, but it was too late because what you said was out and everyone was laughing

“so- uh- so who wants to play uno” Percy says trying to move the conversation

wanting to get the Uno cards that were under the coffee table. in a red tin box that once contained chocolates, Percy got you for valentines day. once you got it you were walking to his kitchen. all the seats were taken and Percy put you on his lap. he shuffled the cards and something about that no matter who did it, was attractive. Percy however liked the way your hands made the Uno cards look humongous while he made them look tiny.

“Are you both teaming?” Jenna asked

“should we” Percy whispers in your ear sending butterflies straight to your stomach

“Sure,” you say kissing his cheek and everyone started teaming up.

halfway through the game, Percy has half the deck with him.

“I should've never teamed with you” you laugh at just seeing the cards

“I’ll make us win don’t worry” he had his eyes wide like he was determined. and that he was because he always kept his promises to you.

and by the end of the night you both did. he liked the way your eyes would sparkle with joy that only lit up with winning. how you would wrap your hands around him and laugh.

—-

one thing Percy hated was high heels. it was like they were enemies. you never understood it. it wasn’t like you would get whiny about the heels hurting you. in fact it was the opposite. you would run dance jump all of it and all Percy’s face was saying is how much he hated those things giving you height.

he liked that you would have to tip-toe for him but those were easy access they took one of his favorite things about you. and if he could he would destroy them all.

he liked that at the end of the day, you would dress in his clothes to go to bed. it was practically a nightgown for you. he liked how you would clean your face and make sure you felt clean. he liked the way you would be ready to go to bed and not even act like you didn’t want to be by him. because you did you wanted him to wrap his arms around you because it is reassuring and comforting. and wake up in that same form in the morning.

Hi bestie! You’re awesome! Can you do a Jack Frost and Fem! Reader where Jack saves her from Pitch and they find out she’s actually a really powerful guardian but she doesn’t know it?

Yes, of course! Absolutely! And this is indeed a very good idea so thank you, dear bestie! //hopefully I don't mess things up since this is my first serious post on this app--- HERE WE GO!!//

Jack Frost x Fem!reader

warnings: angst, mentions of death, sad fluff

wordcound: 2.490

A/N: Hello, seekers! As I've mentioned, it's my first time posting on here so I really hope you enjoy!! And if you do, please share/interact, it will help a small writer like me grow. Love y'all!

Troublemaker

The moon shone brighter than ever that night. The night when Y/N found herself into the dark woods having no idea how she even got there. She was walking around, observing her surroundings, wondering where she even was and why was she there. Everything was dark, but after a while she got used to it. As she kept walking she realized her body wasn’t feeling right. Something was changed about her. The girl looked to her right, only to find an empty part of the forest, right inside its heart. There were fewer trees there, and she felt drawn to it. It was like a spell that took a toll on her mind and body alike.

“Where.. what is this? Where am I?” Y/N peeked through the dead twigs of the still-standing trees. “This part of the forest looks like it was burned to the ground! But what or—who would even do that?” The girl couldn’t help but gasp in fear as she heard an actual response to all of her questions.

“This forest was cursed by me…” a low whisper tickled her ears, but when she turned around, no one was actually there. “Your questions shall be answered… soon…”

Looking around once again, the girl finds herself facing The Moon. A whole moon, a lot bigger than it ever was. It looked magical, almost sacred.

“This is… weird. Who’s there? Can anyone help me? I got lost inside the woods and I am scared!” Step by step, Y/N walked closer and closer towards the empty spot. There the moon – no, The Moon, shone brighter on her than it did before she got there. This time, her questions remained unanswered. Whatever bodyless presence was there, it seems like it had vanished.

The Moon lured her closer and closer to the middle of the area, like it had been trying to tell her something. Y/N was both amazed, stunned and creeped out. Then, she heard the whispers again, but this time, it was.. different. Those new whispers were warmer, seemed safer to listen to and offered a feeling of protection.

“You are trapped here, my child.” The kind voice whispered. “Now I am not powerful enough to get you out of here, but fear not, for you will eventually be freed. I will help you.” It seemed like the one who talked this time was… The Moon? But how? How could a.. moon speak?

A few weeks had passed by, and Y/N was still trapped in the same forest. She felt weirder and weirder. She was neither hungry nor thirsty. She hadn’t slept a minute nor did she feel tired. It was all so strange and new, yet she got used to it so quickly that it made her worry about her own sanity. After all, she WAS physically alone, and the occasional whispers did not help one bit. She began questioning everything, even her own existence. And then, it happened. The shadow. It crossed her path. What kind of shadow is that, if it’s placed in thin air, and not on the ground? Well, she was about to find out.

“Hello.”

One simple word made our heroine go all guards up.

“YOU!”

“Me!”

“I know that voice! Why won’t you leave me alone!? Free me already, I’ve had enough of your scary wannabe games!”

Then the shadow harshly and brutally moved from its spot right in front of her. “MAKE ME!”

And it all went black.

“Where am I?” the girl asked, looking around. She found herself into a very bright place with yellow tendencies. It was as if gold could emanate light.

“Do not be afraid, my child, for I am to help you finally escape and find the truth.” The familiar warm whisper tickled her senses. But this time, the voice had a body. It was as if the person standing in front of her was made out of bright, warm yellow light. Kindness.

“Who are you? I feel like I know you. Aren’t you the one who.. protected me during my stay at the…” Y/N got dizzy, her memories of what happened before she got to the golden place were flooding back to her. ”dark… forest… What is this place actually?” Now, she was curious. And she would take the chance to finally unravel all of these mysteries.

“Others like you used to call me The Man In The Moon.”

“Wait, others like..me? What do you mean?”

“You will soon find out, Y/N. For I’ve always kept my word.” And with that, everything began to vanish around her. “All will be revealed, my child” //yes, it’s been a reference to X-Men: Apocalypse all along thank me later bye//

Moments later, Y/N was finally opening her eyes, and the sight that welcomed her was.. at least hard to believe. Right in front of her, there was a fight. The poor girl recognized one being there – the black shadow – a strange man calling himself Pitch Black. But as mentioned before, it was a fight, so he wasn’t alone. On the other side was a handsome, young looking, white haired boy. He was fighting his hardest to free Y/N from the chains tied all around her thin fragile body. Wait, chains?—

They were fighting and shouting things at eachother. As Y/N struggled to break free, she managed to listen in and learned that the boy fighting for her was Jack Frost. She somehow recognised that name even tho she didn’t remember much from before the cursed forest.

Jack – the boy fighting – seemed to have some sort of weird ice powers since he kept attacking the darker entity with mini blizzards and ice bullets. He kept on throwing… ducking… attacking… until his last bits of power and energy. He tried to come closer and unchain you several times, but all was in vain. Jack was indeed scary-powerful, but this Pitch Black guy was way too much for Jack alone at this point. After a very long fight, Jack finally collapsed onto the ground. Pitch was inches close to stabbing Jack with his solid, poisonous dark sand. But just then, Y/N felt it. It was too soon to be over for him, and she certainly wasn’t going to let him die for her. Not now, not ever. Not when she felt this strong connection to him. Just then, she felt her blood rushing and boiling inside her veins. She could feel this weird, new sensation. Like, some sort of power, covering her whole being, bursting from the inside, demanding to roam free. Then it happened. She burst with unknown power. Her golden light showered the entire forest, and it looked like it burned Pitch Black. Maybe that was the secret, after all! He’s made of dark, while Y/N seemed to have control over the light she was enveloped by inside The Moon. That’s it! She can free herself and win this fight! After all this time, all of the secrets would be revealed to her! She had to give it a try. The girl gained all of the light inside of her and blasted it all out on Pitch Black, who simply melted away, yelling that this wasn’t the last she’s seen of him.

Eventually, Y/N rushed towards Jack’s body, hoping that it wasn’t too late for him. But as she touched him, something weird happened. Not as weird as her previous burst of power, but still strange enough to give her the chills. His whole body lightened with her golden light. Jack coughed, opening his eyes.

“Y/N… What happened to you? Why are you like this?” the winter spirit faintly asked.

“Like this? Like what? And who are you, Jack Frost? Why… Why do I feel like I know you already?” Y/N spoke with an unsure voice.

“That’s because you do know me, ah—.. at least you used to..” Jack’s bright blue eyes showed a flash of hurt as his words sank in. The boy tried to get up in a sitting pose, but was unsuccessful and his sudden dizziness almost made him fall back down. Luckily, he was caught in time by Y/N. “y-yea.. a-anyway… Why did you die..? WHO HURT YOU?! Was it Pitch—“ He quickly got up, but just as fast as he did, he fell right back down.

“WHOA-! Slow down, slow down! On the first hand, take it easy! You’re hurt!” she gently stroke his cheek “On the second hand now…die!? What?? I’m right here, can’t you see!?” she nervously explained.

“You.. you don’t know? Haven’t he told you?”

“He? Who’s he?”

“The Man In The Moon. Haven’t he told you? Wait… don’t tell me. I bet you didn’t even know you had powers up to this point.”

“True… Alright, so explain it to me. Who are you, why do I feel this strong connection to you and what’s happening? Why do you think I am dead?”

“Because so am I.” he sighs. “Since neither of us can walk out of this forest in the state we are right now, I guess we have enough time for me to explain.” The boy explained. “Let’s begin from the start. First off.. we—… Baby tooth? What are you doin— Oh! good fairy! Look, she brought you your teeth!” Jack excitedly announced.

“My… what?”

“Your teeth! Toothiana collects everyone’s teeth, the entire world. They hold the most important memories one has, and she opens these little golden boxes everytime someone needs to remember the most important things.” Jack sits up, this time he manages to maintain a good balance. He then warmly but carefully speaks again. “Y/N, these are your memories. Do you want them?” the snow spirit happily hands the box to her and she stares at it for a while before confidently smiling.

“Yes, Jack. I want to know the truth.” The small fairy then activates the box, and Y/N’s eyes are then filled with flashbacks that feel too real to be fake.

“Jack! Come, quick! I want to ask you something!” Y/N excitedly called for the brown haired boy. His deep, dark, soul consuming eyes wandered to her E/C ones as he came closer to the beautiful girl that was formerly behind him.

“Of course! What is it, princess?” He eagerly awaited for Y/N’s question.

“There you are, Mr. Troublemaker! Come here!” The joy could be seen in her eyes as she was watching him – her all in one best friend and the… -

She notices the hint of adoration that Jack wasn’t even trying to hide anymore as he tightly wrapped his arms around her thin torso, staring right into her E/C eyes.

“Your Troublemaker.” Jack sealed his statement with a sweet, tender kiss.

“My Troublemaker” Y/N mumbles back between small kisses as she was placing them all over his face. Jack couldn’t help but feel excited about what was to come. Y/N’s birthday was in two days and he had the perfect gift for her. “Jack, I wanted to ask you—“

“Can it wait for a bit? I have to show you something!” he excitedly explained, running towards a tree from nearby, grabbing something he had hidden there.

“Sure.. I guess!’’ Jack came back with a pair of ice skates, carefully handing them to Y/N.

“Your birthday is in two days, and I prepared a gift for my princess. These skates are only the first part of it. My father and I made them! Do you like them?” His eyes were flickering with hope and joy.

“Jack.. these are amazing, but you know.. I don’t know how to skate!” the girl replied awkwardly.

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll teach you! That’s all part of my birthday plan for you!” Y/N was about to burst with happiness, seeing that her boyfriend carefully thought of everything. And without even thinking too much about it, she rewarded him with a tight, loving hug.

“I was about to ask you if you were up for some time together for my birthday, but it seems like you’re a step ahead of me.”

“Always!” he playfully chuckled, planting a sweet kiss on top of her forehead.

As Y/N’s mind jumped from a flashback into another, the next memory wasn’t just as beautiful as the others she’d just lived once again.

It was Y/N’s birthday. She was eagerly awaiting for her boyfriend to come back from the ice. Since they were not the only one gathered around the frozen lake, he told everyone to wait until he comes back. He went to test the ice, but for some reason, he went in bare foot. A familiar little girl was too excited for her adventure on the lake and she followed him right away. The ice cracked. The little girl froze on place and Jack, the brave hero he was, he did his best and saved her. But at what cost…? Y/N could feel her shattered heart sink in the depth of the frozen lake as she watched the love of her life get swallowed by the thin, cracked ice.

Hours later, his lifeless body was brought to the surface by some men. Y/N’s broken heart cracked even more as she laid over her ice-cold lover. “Oh, my love…” she felt herself trembling and sinking into the scares of losing her mind. “Jack… Jack!-“

“…-JACK!!” Coming back from her flashbacks, she collapsed on her knees, crying her heart out, choking on hard sobs. The winter spirit quickly knelt before her, wrapping her into the tightest embrace, completely enveloping her and trying his best to calm his beloved Y/N down. “Jack… You-.. you died!! You were taken from me 2 years ago…” Y/N slowly returned the embrace. “And I died because a nightmare horse attacked me...!!” She took a few seconds processing everything. After some ear-scratching silence, she spoke as the realization finally sank in. “We were lovers…”

“You remember…” he softly spoke, wiping some tears from her face.

“I remember. And I’ve missed you so much, Jack..!”

“I know.. it’s been hard for everybody especially for you. But I had to save her.. I should have been more careful, tho...” The winter spirit lifted Y/N’s chin up to his level, gazing right through her pure and innocent eyes. “Look, Y/N, I’ve been with you ever since I passed away, protecting you from potential danger. But it seems like I have missed one…” The spirit swallowed hard before continuing. “And for that, I am really sorry. I should have gone searching for you the moment I lost you, but seems like Pitch was one step ahead of me. I really am a troublemaker…” Jack sadly finished. Seeing his tensed state Y/N thought about what’s best to tell Jack to confort him.

“My Troublemaker…” she lovingly whispered. His eyes lit up and sparkled with love.

“Your Troublemaker, forever and ever.” Jack replied, cupping her face into his cold palms, sealing their eternal love with an almost everlasting-like kiss. This was going to be a beautiful night.

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 :]!!

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all the credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple for the edit of eddie!

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