#Master LED Ceiling Light

[thecoochiefairy]

scorpio. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 7.5K word count. blackfem!reader, onyankopon, football player!onyankopon, sweet!onyakopon, dominant!onyankapon, arrogant!onyankopon, unprotected sex, creampie, vaginal penetration, lil bit of sweet talkin’, creaming, praising, butt stuff, LOTS of dirty talk, kinda aggressive dirty talk, oral [f] [m], nasty sex chile, just a fine ass black man, minors aren’t welcome!

𝓐ᥫ᭡

𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ from baby phat, to juno, to now—love this lil’ couple, real bad. but besides that, just wanted to do a lil something before my bday, march 8th. happy birthday to all my pisces babies. this one’s for you. also, imagine there goes my baby by usher on a loop. teehee.

𝓐ᥫ᭡ ; valentine’s day.

visual. visual. visual.

YOU WEREN’T GONNA CRY IN PUBLIC. A weak smile presented through your cupid’s bow lips, passing back a soft greeting of ‘Happy Valentine’s Day,’ as you exited the building, representations of love everywhere you went. You refused to show your vulnerable side somewhere no one cared to listen—your job.

To be honest, you should’ve gone home early. Your Mach and Mach satin bow heels echoed along the coffee shop as you waited for your strawberry refresher, a mixture of coconut milk making the drink your favorite color of pink. You started off having a good day—until it wasn’t.

Pulling into the garage of your high rise apartment, you pressed the button attached to your sun visor to activate the gate closing, parking your husband’s blacked out G Wagon in his reserved spot. The minute you shut off the ignition, you press your forehead against the wheel, letting out a deep sigh. 

You didn’t want to sell yourself short—but being pregnant might’ve been easier than going back to work. While Onyankopon was enjoying the luxury of off-season, you took your opportunity to put the bug in his ear of working again. Even if he wanted another baby. 

You had a masters degree in Marketing you desperately wanted to put to use, so when you finally got that interview, your pretty smile and charisma returned you with a position in management—but that unfortunately came with a price.  

Business calls, meetings, lunches, sales pitches, meetings, sales pitches, business calls again. You were becoming piled with the same rotation of bullshit, and although you loved your job, you felt exhausted. 

Through all of that, you still had a husband and now  eleventh month old baby to go home to. Onyankopon supported your desires of going back to work, but with your schedule compiling more of work and less of your family, he was beginning to have something in common with his baby boy, Salem—he missed you. And today of all days, you were coming home later than you were supposed to.

It seemed as if your feet ached the closer you became to removing your heels, swiftly unlocking the front door of your apartment— to your surprise, bouquets of roses are the first thing you see. Signature red to rosy pink, a selection of your favorite flowers sit along the marble island of your kitchen. 

Onyankopon always had it set to one of your playlists, R&B strumming through the inputted speakers along the ceiling. The room had a shadow of mulberry, LED lights vibrating the instrumentals of each song playing, accompanied by the living room's lamp. 

There was your husband—legs spread along the sofa as he leaned his large upper body on the arm rest, pressing a pouch into your baby’s mouth to feed him. You’d just redone his cornrows, his lineup equally sharp as he cut his hair and goatee on a daily basis. He couldn’t stand looking scruffy, even if you liked the look at times. Tattoos cover his arms, camouflaging his throat, stick and pokes littering upon his face. The black top he wears hugs his muscular build, grey sweatpants showing the print between his legs, unable to conceal his gifted genetics.

Your face softens at the roses, turning your attention back towards your husband and baby on the sofa. It makes your heart melt. 

Your voice is gentle as you question, “You’ got those for me?”

“You thought you wasn’t finna’ get nothin’?”

He glances up to your form through hooded lids. His voice was thick with his New Orleans accent, the timbre always making your heart swoon, just like when you met him in college. 

“I was hopin’ you’d be home before them’ shits wilted.”

You pull your curls behind your ear, your face flushed at the sweet gesture. But your body also feels heavy, and you’re unsure if you should even acknowledge that. 

You sigh, “I wasn’t able to get you anything in time—I told you I didn’t want a gift. And I wasn’t gone that long, Onyankopon.”

“Stop allat’,” he smacks his lips, “You was gon’ work through the entire day, have yo’ nigga by himself on Valentine’s Day.”

“Boy, hush. Love on yo’ baby for Valentines,” you remind, leaning down as you begin slipping your heels off your pained feet, “Is he starting to like the carrot pouches?”

“He ain’t takin’ to it like he should,” he says, making eye contact with you, “C’mon.”

“C’mon, what?”

“Tell me about work. I can see it all in yo’ face.”

Work. 

That was the last thing you wanted to think about. You pad your feet over to the kitchen island, tossing your purse onto the marble as you reply, “Let me tell you. Remember how I was supposed to create this mock sales pitch and make my own bottle of wine?”

“Yeah. You was actin’ like you woulda’ had to sell that shit to the President.”

You roll your eyes as you come closer to him, “Anyways, I literally worked my ass off—made an entire script, PowerPoint, even had someone in my team create a label for my bottle! You know what them’ niggas said?”

Him being messy, he plays around as he responds, “What they’ said, girl?” 

“That my idea was generic—that it seemed rushed, facile, and derivative. My three hour presentation seemed plagiarized?” You frown, “Do I look like the type of bitch to be looking over at somebody else’s work?”

“Mama, you know how these corporate niggas be. They want you to come up with their billion dollar ideas in exchange for a penny.” 

He presses Salem’s pacifier into his mouth, closing the top on the baby’s food as he continues, “That’ job is bullshit anyways.”

You frown a bit, “It’s not bullshit to me, Ony. I’m really trying to show them I belong there. It’s not easy being the only black woman in management.”

“I’m hearin’ you,” he responds, “I just think yo’ time is more important than tryna’ spend it impressing a bunch of white folks.”

Back to the point of not crying in public—now, you weren’t in public. You could appreciate your husband trying to give sound advice, but it wasn’t what you wanted to hear. One thing since your pregnancy—it gave you the ability to cry at the drop of a hat.

Your sight becomes blurry as your face warms. You press your palms to your eyes, sniffling to stop the tears that roll from your vision. 

“I feel so stupid.” 

His brows furrow at your reaction, his large palm stretching from the plush sofa, gently pulling your wrist in his hold to climb along his lap. 

“Don’t say that. Why you cryin’?”

“I worked so h��hard,” you cry, “And they didn’t even like it. I did all that for nothing…”

“Baby, that don’t’ mean you’ stupid, aight?”

 He wraps his free arm around your form, other still holding Salem even closer.

“It ain’t for nothin’. You still got that degree. Ion’ know how many times I said you can do this shit on your own.”

You’re becoming more upset by the second as you rub your eyes that drop tears, nose and cheeks swelling as you softly weep, “What if I c—can’t do it by myself, Ony…”

“And who’ you think I am? You think imma’ just let you fail? Nah, baby. Come on…” 

He rubs soothing circles on your side, pressing a hard kiss against your temple while holding you tight against his sturdy frame. The baby in his arms cooed as he could sense the change of atmosphere—even he started crying.

“Ah shit,” Onyankopon mutters, holding both of you to his chest, “Baby—You can do anything you set yo’ mind to. You could send a nigga to the moon if you wanted.”

That makes you softly giggle, feeling his thumb swipe the tears against your reddened face. Your eyes flicker over to Salem who creates a deep pout within his full cheeks, tiny cries ejecting as he was seemingly empathetic of his mother’s emotions.

 You reach over Onyankopon’s lap, pulling his chubby frame into your arms as you coo, “Don’t cry, baby. Mommy’s just a lil’ dramatic.”

“You and Say-Say got the same theatrics, I swear.” 

“Very funny—I’m so dramatic, but don’t you want a lil’ girl? What would you do with two of me?” You scrunch your nose,“And that’s why I’m not getting pregnant again.”

His hand moves to the underside of your chin, forcing your gaze back towards his face as he gives you a smirk, “You know you gon’ be pregnant again, quit bullshittin’. I be giving you that Daddy di—“

“Onyankopon,” you warn, “Language in front of Salem. Besides that, thank you for my flowers,” you lean forward, pressing kisses to his jaw, “They’re so pretty. You like my lil’ work outfit?”

You always dressed to match the theme of the holiday. The off shoulder black long sleeve you wear tucks into a matching pinstripe miniskirt, sheer tights with pink bows to match the heels you previously wore. Your dark curls always sprawled around your face, Vera Wang thinly squared frames tipping at your freckles nose, complimenting your slender eyes. 

You can’t help but giggle as he grunts, dipping his finger under your skirt, tugging at the pink panties he knows you wear.

“You know pink’ my favorite color too.”

The way you relax under his hold reminds you of another factor with it being the middle of the month—you were ovulating, and every little touch, the flick of his eyes, the attraction in his smile. It makes your legs throb. 

But yet, you pull yourself back as you sigh, “I gotta work on my new sales pitch.”

“You been workin’ on that bullshit all week,” he says against your neck, the hot breath against your sensitive skin making  your thighs clench, “Why you denyin’ a nigga?”

You press your fingers to his mouth, “I’m not tryin’ to, Ony. They want me to present again tomorrow. Just give me some time, and then you’ll have all my attention, okay?” You promise, “Have a lil more daddy time with your son.” 

“I’m tryna’ have some daddy time with you, girl,” he gruffs, “Fuck that job. I’ll drop some bands on that ass right now, give you yo’ fuckin’ salary in one’s.”

You stand from the sofa, dipping your lower body in his face, giving him a silhouette of your frame. Your curls hang to the side as you swirl your hips, “Like that, huh?” lifting up the material of your skirt, bouncing your ass playfully. 

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” he groans, giving a harsh smack at your ass, “Look at that ass bounce, baby. I swear, you be playin’.” 

You giggle as you pull your skirt back down, “I will be in our office, Onyankopon. Try giving Salem a spinach and apple pouch, and bathe him in the rice milk soap before you put him to bed—his skin has been irritated with that other body wash.”

“You’ a demon,” he groans, letting his eyes linger on your body, “Aight, Aight. Heard’ you.” 

The next couple of hours are somewhat peaceful. But another con about going back to work—Salem nor Onyankopon were used to you being gone as often, so the minute you were home, they wanted to be in your skin. It wasn’t a bad thing. It just made things a bit more difficult when you wanted your alone time—like now. 

You used a bit of your baby’s body wash as you showered, loving gentle scented products, dabbing a bit of your vanilla body oil along your caramel skin when you stepped out. Your cotton white slip dress hugged your child bearing hips, dark curls damp as they reached your lower back. The moment you were doing your face care routine, you heard Salem wailing, and you had no choice but to go calm him down yourself. You also spent time with  your two Dobermans, Zulu and Roux, bending down with a giggle as you fed the both of them. 

Onyankopon’s eyes were on you. You were used to him staring, but maybe you didn’t catch the way he looked at you today. Valentine’s Day wasn’t relatively important for either of you, as Onyankopon treated every day full of love—showering you in gifts, loving you physically, mentally, emotionally—but tonight was different. Maybe he was starting to feel like everyone else but him was getting attention from his wife. 

You’re now in your home's office, wine in one hand as you’re comfortably seated on the cream colored sofa, small desk in front of you as you type away on your pink Macbook. An unknown amount of time passes by, before a knock sounds at the door.

When it opens, a shirtless Onyankopon enters. It’s as if his tattoos create another top for him, arms swelling in muscles, abs sculpted to perfection. His durag covers his head, black silk allowing his silver nose ring and earrings to glow under the office lights. A weak smile comes to your face as you see him holding two plates, using his knee to shut the door as he comes in.

“Hi,” you softly smile, “You okay?”

He was so wrapped around your finger. His dark brown eyes drank in the sight of your body, the dress tight along your curves, your dark hair making your honey freckles appear lighter, glasses perched atop of your nose. 

The dimple in his right cheek peeks through his grin, “Lawd, can’t a nigga come check up on his ol’ lady without a reason?” 

He gives a gentle kiss on your cheek, leaning in close, “How long ‘you been cooped up in here, baby? And when you’ last ate?”

“Ate during my break,” you quietly reply, “I’m not too hungry, love. I swear. I’m almost done with this power point.”

Your eyes lock to what smells like Cajun pasta, the shrimp and sausages wafting in your nose. You were actually starving.

“Nah, don’t even do allat.’ I know how you get when you be workin’,” he smacks his lips, “You need to eat.”

You sigh, glancing at the clock as you see it’s nearing midnight. You had to be back up at seven, and you had only done one part of this presentation. 

You glance back to your husband, forcing a small smile as you repeat, “I’m good, baby. How are you?” You question, placing your hand around his arm, pulling him to sit next to you, “Salem give you a hard time going to sleep?”

“Yeah, but he’ good now.” 

He sits next to you, setting your plate down as he glances back to your work. A frown plays on his face as he feels the tension within your body, noticing the exhaustion in your eyes. It was clear you were pushing yourself, and it bothered the hell out of Onyankopon.

You notice the scowl on his face, still typing as you sigh, “You came in here to berate me?”

“I came in here to check up on yo’ hard-headed ass,” he gruffs, leaning against the back of the couch. 

His gaze softens as it traces your features, the determination in your eyes as you try to finish your presentation, “But I’m tired of you runnin’ yo’self into the ground. You’ been in here for hours. Can’t it wait til’ the morning?“

“I have to be back up by seven, and my presentation is at eight. I just—“ you take a deep breath, having the urge to cry again, “I just wanna get this finished before I knock out.”

Onyankopon gives a long sigh, hand wrapping around your waist as he pulls you against his bare chest, “Damn, aight. My fault, Mama.” 

He pressed a kiss at your forehead, resting his chin against your curls. His large body was warm, the heat of his skin seeping through the thin cotton of your dress.

“I got you sum’.”

His voice catches your attention, leaning yourself up a bit as you say, “Me? Ugh—Ony, no more gifts, baby,” you lightly pout, “You’re the best present I could ask for today.”

“Stop allat’,” he teases, pressing a kiss against your pouting lips, “It ain’t nothin’ crazy.”

He leans behind the couch, pulling a dark brown bottle in between his fingers, “It’s some warming oil. You always be’ saying how yo’ feet hurt, I thought a lil’ massage would help that tension. C’mon.”

He stands from the sofa, reaching his hand out for you to take. 

You raise an eyebrow, “Where we’ going? Baby, you know I gotta finish this.”

“You ain’t about to finish shit til’ you get yo’ ass up and let me do this for you. “

When he used that voice, you knew there was no argument. You pull off your glasses as you stand from the sofa, taking his hand and allowing him to guide you towards your shared bedroom. When the door opens, you’re presented with a massage table. The mattress atop of the mahogany wood holding it up looks soft, a fluffy neck pillow perched at the top. The room smells of mint and lemon, lights dim as your playlist returns to your ears.

Dammit. Your freckles shine as those tears you’d been holding back revive themselves, leaning your face into your fingers as you sniffle, “You didn’t have to do this for me. I’ve been such a bad wife…”

Despite being a little frustrated, he never felt that way. You were pushing yourself too hard, again, always trying to please everyone at your job. He just wanted to distract you.

“You ain’t no bad wife,” His thick hands swipe away your tears, the pads of his thumbs tracing the shape of your freckles, “You’re doin’ what you love. Nothin’ wrong with that. Stop allat’ cryin’, and come get comfortable on this table.”

He was right—you were stressing yourself more than you needed to. You nod your head, wiping your eyes as his taller frame cradles over your smaller one, pulling at the straps of your slip. 

Your voice is soft as you say, “I love you, Ony,” lifting your feet to get out of the dress, turning your head back to meet his lips that dip down to find yours.

“I love you more.”

You lay along your stomach against the table, pressing your cheek to the soft pillow beneath your skin. Your body practically anticipates his touch.

He grabs the body oil he’s been keeping warm in the pot next to him, letting it drip along the balls of your feet. The minute his thumbs dug into your soles, your fingers scratch at the material of the table, holding back the groan you wanted to release. His grip is steady, knowing just how hard to apply pressure. The heel of his palm slowly massages the flesh along the back of your calves, working up higher.

You expected this to feel good, but it was too good. Your lower body begins to feel loose in tension as his palms knead into the back of your thighs, almost causing your legs to go lax. It’s when his palms lightly graze the inner flesh of your thighs, that your body tenses just a bit. A different rush of pleasure comes from that action, that it has you subtly adjust your lower half.

His gaze is low, eyes peering down at the curves of your body. He can feel the way you tensed against his touch, your thighs subtly brushing together—it coaxed him further, returning his hands to your calves, starting the process over.

Your curls hang over the table as you hide your face within your left shoulder, eyes peering behind to watch him. When his palms slide above your thighs, gripping the flesh in his hold, your body shudders, a flushed giggle spilling from your lips, the spice of the oil wafting in your nose. 

You fully giggle as you feel him lean down to catch the skin of your ass in his mouth, grunting as he messily kisses the flesh, “All this shit mine,” swatting the skin with his fingers. 

You breathily muse, “You’re supposed to be massaging, Ony.”

He chuckles against you, tongue flicking out in return, “I am massagin’. Just addin’ a lil extra.”

A sharp inhale drags from your lips as he runs his tongue against your spine, turning your head opposite of him as you relax against the pillow, arching your body up to meet his mouth.

He slowly works on your upper back, fingers tracing along your shoulder blades, hands sliding down your bare arms. There wasn’t an inch of your body that wasn’t being tended to, his lips pressing against your neck.

“Turn over for me, Mama. I ain’t done wit’ you yet.”

You turn yourself onto your back, hair sprawling around your face as you breathily exhale, watching him tower over you from this angle.

“There you go,” he drawls, his hand rubbing along the side of your cheek. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip, his eyes never leaving your face. 

It was now a different sensation, having his touch along the fronts of your legs instead of your backside. Onyankopon was slow, taking his time, his hand slipping along the inner part of your thighs as his other palm worked along the outside.

The music seems to pool into your ears, and your entire body becomes warm without the oils assistance. The closer he comes, you raise your fingers as you slide them across his lower stomach, feeling the hard muscles of his abdomen with a slow flutter of your lashes.

His abs flex against your touch, the muscles rolling as your fingers traced the shape. Bible scriptures, your baby’s name, meaningful symbols inked along his skin like pen to paper.

“You tryna’ start sum’? C’mon now, I’m tryna be good, Mama.”

“So handsome, baby,” you lightly drag your teeth into the plush of your lips, “Sorry.”

He grabs your bottom lip, pulling it free from your mouth, “You ain’t slick,” He grunts, “But you’ cute for tryin’.”

It had to have been the wine you drank—your lower half throbbed at him daubing oil along your thighs. Your hips nearly grind at the touch of his hand, spreading your legs a bit wider. 

You can’t stop yourself—the last swipe of his fingers draws into the bare dip of your pelvic. You whimper, your hand along his abdomen tugging down to his sweatpants, rubbing against the fabric of his bulge. He could hear the way your thighs squeezed together.

Onyankopon leaned forward, catching your plump lips with his own. It was quick and rough, even a little needy.

His hands then caressed you from your jaw, back to your shoulders, all the way down to your hips. Your body swayed with each touch. 

“Ony…” you call softly, “I want you, baby…go slow…”

“I ain’t no gentle nigga, Mama. You know that,” his head sinks into the crook of your neck, tongue lightly brushing your collarbone, “But I’m not gon’ rush this, shit is too muhfuckin’ good.” 

He takes your lips, your head knocking back as his mouth clouds all of your senses, making your head spin with every kiss he gives. Oil still splays along his fingers as he draws them down your body.

 When his mouth pulls from yours, he’s mushing his lips along your nipples, sucking the brown buds into his mouth, the feeling making your head fall farther back onto the table, gasping lightly in response. 

His mouth trails from one of your nipples to the next, teasing in between gentle suctions. Once he left, they’d already pucker back to their perk shape—a mixture of saliva and oil along the brown of your skin. The warmth of the lubricant rushes against your chest as he pours more, squeezing the flesh within his palms, knocking your breasts together with a grunt.

“Pretty ass fuckin’ titties.” 

He’s back to kissing you. Your bottom lip became trapped between his teeth, tongue soothing the flesh with a sensual swipe against the softened texture. Your body was moving with his at one point, slowing when you felt his palm swaying up and down against your stomach, each time reaching lower. 

The further he got, the more your body began to tense. It’s up until he slides his palm all the way down, the tip of his fingers brushing the inside of your thigh, swiping over your clit. His mouth catches yours as you whimper again,

instantly catching his wrist in your hold. 

Even with you holding him back, Onyankopon keeps up the slight, gentle stroke, dragging his middle finger down and back against the bud. The faint pressure makes your hips twitch. His lips just barely touch yours. 

“I got you, Mama. Lemme’ play wit’ it.”

It makes you clutch onto him tighter, a breathy whine releasing as he slowly begins to rub at your clit again. 

Onyankopon parted your mouth back open to invade you with his lips, capturing and soothing all of your little noises, his touch—it drowned around you.

You shudder out another breath as you slowly nod your head, spreading your legs a little more. You look down as you watch him pull back, dropping saliva from his mouth, letting it slide in between your folds, coating the oil slick between his fingers. It makes you shiver. 

 Onyankopon lowered his brows as he used two of his fingers, sliding back up your folds, keeping them there. God, he knew he was getting to you. His fingers rubbing in a motion along your clit makes you pant against his mouth, the gush of your pussy beginning to register to your ears, your face now entirely hot. 

Your thighs tremble as you have the urge to close them, keeping your fingers tight along his wrist. But as he continues, your hand weakens to hold him, too distracted by the wave of pleasure rushing against your lower body. 

The pleasure goes from being good, too good, to all too much, Onyankopon’s fingers sinking into you, your mouth parting as you whimper deeply, watching the way they disappear beneath his palm. You hide your face within his chest as you whine, legs vibrating as if you’d been tased. 

“Why this shit so fuckin’ wet?”

You pull him back into a kiss, crying against his lips as he fucks you with his fingers. His eyes bore into yours as he grunts, “You gon’ let go of my hand?”

You finally release his hand, spreading your legs even more as you allow his fingers to go deeper, nearly pulling your mouth away from his as you tremble, “Want your mouth, Ony…”

“That’s what you want, huh?” 

“Mhm.” 

“My mouth?”

“Ony,” you pout. 

You could admit—you hated when you got like this. When he made you so horny that you begged for his touch, his mouth, anything he could give you. That’s when you turned your body along the massage table, leaning against the soft flesh of your stomach, imbedding your nails into the back of your thighs as you spread your opening to him. 

Bubblegum pink complimented your brown flesh as you whimpered, “Come eat me, baby.” 

His pupils darkened as you begged him. Your body jolts as you feel a harsh spank, your jaw dragging along the material of the table as you could feel his mouth hovering along your pussy, yet he wouldn’t make contact. 

“You gon’ feed me?” 

Your hips dip lower, desperately trying to find his mouth as you pout, “Promise. Lemme’ feed you, Ony.”

His nose brushes against your clit. The sensation causes you to lightly buck your hips, a deep chuckle rumbling against your thigh in return. 

That’s when his mouth finally buries between your legs—Onyankopon’s tongue languidly swipes the entirety of your pussy in a slow drag, trailing upwards against your clit, making you shakily gasp in response. He laps against your pussy, almost as if he was licking a piece of candy instead of his wife, the warmth of his mouth surrounding your lower lips.

His tongue is thick, hot, and wide as he embeds himself between your folds, sucking and slurping, the wet sounds echoing in the room around you. He groaned against your pussy, tongue swirling around your opening as he teasingly thrusted inside, earning a soft whine from you.

“Ain’t finna’ give you my mouth forreal,” he murmurs between your pussy, “You need this dick, huh?” 

He sucked at your clit, his tongue lashing and circling the swollen bundle of nerves. He enjoyed you, his jaw nearly pressed against your pelvis as he feasted.

Your mouth parts lightly as you reach from behind, sliding your palm against the material of his durag. His mouth was always so wet, so loud against your pussy that he grunts, “Always got me makin’ a fuckin’ mess on this bitch. You hear me, huh? Need you droppin’ on this dick like you know it belong to you. You listenin’?” 

His words create more waves of pleasure, clenching your walls in need of something to fill you. You need him.

 You grind against his mouth, riding the air for that sensation—you turn your head back to him, “Put it in, Ony,” you’re so horny, you beg as he shakes his head in your pussy, legs trembling so violently that your toes curl.

Turning back to see him pulling his dick from beneath his sweatpants made you want to put your mouth on the weight of his tip, but not nearly as bad as you wanted him inside of you. It was a dark pink, hefty as it slapped at the swollen lips of your walls, nearly bouncing off as he rubbed the shaft along your core.

Your folds begin to spread open, sucking in the girth that stretches you the minute he begins sinking you down on it. Your eyes flutter chaotically, rolling entirely back as that uncomfortable pinch returns, being overpowered by a wave of pleasure—you feel full, so full that you whine, “Mmmph,” dropping your hips down, your ass clapping along his abdomen echoing against the room. 

Your eyes flicker to him from behind, curls falling around your face as you softly cry, “Dick so big, baby...”

“This yo’ big ass dick,” he promises, the wet noise of his tip entering your core, slowly dragging his length against your walls as you drop down— the feeling was unmatched.

His palm finds a grip on your shoulder, your body so sensitive to the touch that you’re aroused to any movement. You don’t know what comes over you, but you’re dragging yourself slowly off his dick, up until the tip kisses your entrance, rolling your hips back down, your pussy squelching as air pushes from your walls at that. Your lips part as you moan at your pussy being filled again. 

He grunts, a slow burn making its way through your thighs as you reach back to take a firm hold of his sweats, dragging them down further to expose his balls. You sank down against his lap again, moaning at the pinch of your walls being stretched. You began to find a pace, a soft echo of skin clapping together as the head of his dick hits against your cervix, pressing and prodding at it, you whimpered, “Missed you so much, baby.” 

The table creaks, the noise of your slapping thighs becoming louder as you bounce on his lap. His dick shifts in and out of you, Onyankopon’s grasp sliding down to your hip as he glares, “Shit, Mama…hollon.”

His dick throbbed within your walls, stretching you open as you took him inch by inch. You’re still dropping, coming down as you keep your eyes on him, “Feels like forever since you’ve been in me, baby,” you’re whining, “Fuckin’ love you. I’m sorry.”

“Oh shit,” he cusses under his breath, “Why you fuckin’ me like this?”

He spreads your cheeks, the weight of his thumb finding your hole. Your brain fogs as you register his voice, vibrations rumbling in your head. It made you gasp and shudder. 

Onyankopon’s breath hitched, head knocking back as he looked down, seeing his length become more coated with your cream each time he pulled out. 

 “Nasty ass lil’ bitch—this pussy mine, huh?”

You could barely respond, barely think for yourself as he held you against him. The only word you managed to pant out was, “…Yours, Ony. Spank me,” you’re whimpering, “Spank me, baby.”

Onyankopon’s hand found the curve of your ass again, slapping it, the skin rippling against his touch. His grip was firm, slapping the same spot repeatedly, making you moan. His fingers find the wetness that trickled from your core, coating the fluid against your hole, pressing his thumb further into it. 

He could smell that Italian bergamot in your hair, he could taste the sweet tang on his tongue from eating you before. He needed more. He needed to take more. He groans, picking up his pace as he slams his hips into yours, his dick buried to the hilt, the wet slap of his thighs against yours drowning out your cries. 

"Look at that," he said, voice husky and rough, "Look at how fuckin’ good this shit looks. You mine, you ain't never fuckin' leaving me, who else gon’ fuck you like this?”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, mouth parting as it nearly drooled, “I love you so much,” you shudder, “Oh my god,” placing your hand behind your back, wanting him to hold your arm in place.

Onyankopon’s fingers lace around your arm, slinging it around your back as he held it in place, slamming his hips against yours faster, fucking you harder. His dick throbbed within your walls, deliciously splitting you in half.

Nose buried into the crook of your neck, he caught himself inhaling the aroma of the products you used to wash yourself, always reminded that you were the mother of his child. He groaned against your ear, the wet heat of his breath giving you chills.

His fingers found the skin of your cheek, yanking your head to the side, taking your lips into a hard kiss. He sucked your lips into his mouth as he grunted, “You gon’ cum on it?”

It’s in that exact moment that your eyes flutter shut, trembling out a gasp against his mouth— Onyankopon feels as you coat his pubic hairs, clear fluid rushing out your folds like a violent chill. You lean along his shoulder as you murmur, “I’m cumming,” legs vibrating as he slows his strokes, letting you feel all inches of him.

Through your rapture, it’s as if your system is liquored with caffeine—you pull him onto the table, straddling his lap as you slide your tongue along his jaw, dragging it up his lips to pull him into a kiss. Your giggles are sultry, wanting more, needing more of him.

Onyankopon was a little caught off guard. Nonetheless he lowly chuckled, returning the kiss, sucking at your bottom lip. His hands explored your body, roaming across your back, down to your hips, squeezing at the curve of your ass.

 "That wine getting to yo’ ass—You ain't tired?" He murmured, voice low and deep, "You want more?"

You nod your head, running your mouth down his abdomen as you kiss the curve of his muscles, “Just need you to lay there, Daddy.”

You’re going lower, up until your lips wrap along his balls, sucking them into your mouth indulgently.

Onyankopon eyes lowered ,"You ain't got enough stamina for all that," rubbing his fingers against your scalp, "And you know I love that shit,” he then groaned, watching you suck on his balls, tongue wrapping around them, massaging within your mouth. He felt his dick jump again, throbbing against his leg.

The sight of your husband made you even hornier. From his nose ring shining under the lights, to his tattoed face sultrily glaring at you. You’re already sliding his tip on your tongue, wrapping your fingers at the base as you pull your mouth back, feline eyes locked in his as you drop spit along his length. You then wrap your lips along his dick as you suck him into your mouth, moaning as your eyes roll back.

You were so pretty to him—from your freckled cheeks glimmering like pure honey, to the dark curls framing your round face and slender eyes. His dick was a challenge to take in fully, though you’d try anyways. Onyankopon’s tip throbbed against your tongue, his eyes fluttering shut for a mere second as you sucked him in. He felt his tip meet the back of your throat, grunting in response, fingers delicately scratching at your scalp, pushing your head down as he growled, "God damn baby, God damn.”

The growl that rumbled in his throat was loud, enough to send shivers down your spine, eyes dilated as he stared down at you. His fingers pushed against your scalp, encouraging you to continue.

You’re a sight to watch. You’re whimpering each time his tip hits the back of your throat, slapping his dick against your tongue. You moan each time it connects with your mouth.

The way you moaned. How it sounded, how it looked on you. He hummed back, throbbing between your lips, "Pretty ass, keep suckin’ that shit like that."

Seeing his pleasure sent you a new wave of euphoria. You’re sucking harder, faster, nearly whining at the pleasure that radiates through your own body.

Another wave of lust rushes over you. Onyankopon watched as you slid him out of your mouth, the slow trail of saliva was nearly too sexy, your fingers wrapping around his dick again, stroking him off.

“You want my pussy, baby?”

His brows furrowed, a low, raspy groan followed by a chuckle, "You know want that shit. So fuckin’ bad,” He murmured, the head of his dick flaring at the word, "Come drop it on me.”

You climb forward, placing your feet along the soft material of the table. The curve of your silhouette is all Onyankopon can watch, tracing your frame with his eyes as you pull his tip between your folds, the gummy flesh engulfing him as you sink down. You breathily gasp as you lift yourself halfway up, back arching as you grind your hips back down.

His head kneeled back, the feeling of you nearly too much to handle. His tip kissing at your cervix made him bare his teeth, feeling the tightening of muscles, "Ride this muhfuckin' shit," he breathed, the sound rumbling in his chest.

“Just need you to relax, baby,” you softly repeat, slowly grinding yourself up, sinking yourself back down. You drag your teeth along your reddened lips, knocking your eyes down as you moan, “You’re such a good husband, Ony…” 

You’re rotating your hips, wining yourself against him, curls swaying around your face and shoulders. The way his eyes lowered is different from most times—he always had a dominance to him, but as his abdomen tightened, he was losing that restraint.

"You fine as fuck— Naaaah," he murmured, a longing in his voice as his hips stuttered, “Fuck, you can’t be doing allat’.”

A soft whine rolls off your tongue as you lock your palm against his thigh, using the leverage to drop yourself down onto him, the arousal splattering between your hot skin. You take his hand as you suck his fingers into your mouth, swirling your hips as you lowly giggle, “Lemme’ make you feel good,” your amusement thrumming into a whimper.

The hand that rested on your hip gripped tighter. His fingers pressed harder against your flesh, now rested on your collarbone, "Don't tease a nigga," eyes narrowed, lips slightly parted. You pull up your hips, slamming them back down, Onyankopon’s face twisting as he grunted, “Ooh, shit.”

The weight of his words made your thighs quiver, legs trembling as you kept the rhythm, sliding yourself down his lap as he ground himself up into you. You’re bouncing your hips against his lap, his tip jutting between the folds of your pussy each time you come up, teasing your clit that has Onyankopon growling.

“So pretty, Daddy,” you compliment, “Cum in me, I want another baby.”

His head tilted back, eyes rolling as you said that. A soft moan escapes him, hips twitching, "You talkin’ crazy," he muttered, a nervous chuckle in his voice, "C—Chillout’.”

“Salem needs a sibling.”

You lean yourself down, face inches apart as you bounce your ass on top of him, whining within his ear. It’s when he shoves his fingers into your hair to place your face within his neck, that you hear a whimper pass his lips. It makes you smile, like a seductive demon, turning your cheek to him as you whisper, “Sound so pretty, Daddy.”

“S—shit, Mama.” 

Onyankopon’s moaning, your lips pressing against his jugular was almost suffocating. His mouth parted, breathlessly, his toes curling and his balls twitching, and that familiar rush came over him.

“Cum in me,” you whimper above his parted lips, his eyes rolled back as grind your hips down, “Fill me up, baby.”

The heat between your bodies grew, Onyankopon’s eyes rolling back in ecstasy as he moaned even louder, fingers scratching into the soft flesh of your thighs, hips, lower back, anywhere he could find. The rush of his release was too much, the slow build-up nearly unbearable as a warmth fills your walls.

Yet, he doesn’t stop there. His fingers were hooked into your waist, pulling you up, forcing you to come down on his dick as he grunts, “Told you to stop teasin’ a nigga," plop, plop, plop, the wet squelch of your walls was his favorite sound as he fucked into you—aside from your sobs, your eyes well with tears as you hold onto him, feeling a violent course of pleasure running through your body as you tremble, “I love you.”

“Stop cryin’,” he grunts against your lips, “You ain’t gotta cry to let me know you love me, I know. I love yo’ ass too, so cum all on this dick.”

His name left your lips, a loud, desperate squeal, and he loved hearing it. His mouth captured yours in a deep kiss, his tongue delving into the warmth of your mouth as another orgasm hits you, swallowing your moans, burying himself as deep into you as he could, as he was able.

The only thing heard at this point is the continuous song on a loop. You’re breathless above him, lazily trailing your mouth against his lips. The feeling is ticklish—so much that you give him a small giggle, cheeks warm at your own actions. 

“…Ony?” 

“Yeah?”

He chuckles between his breaths, feeling your body grow lax against his. He could see the exhaustion within your eyes, the way they grew a little hazy. 

“You ‘bout to knock out.”

“Mm—Mm,” you shake your head, “I’m hungry.”

“You hungry?” he raises an eyebrow, “Yeah— the way you was ridin’ my shit, you should be.”

“Onyankopon.” 

He laughs again, “Why you callin’ me? Can’t even get mad at that. You was’ on my shit like it was a muhfuckin’ saddle.”

“Oh god,” you place your hands over his face, “I was gonna get serious, and you’ playing. Can you stop?”

“Aight, I’m sorry. What you’ need, Mama?”

You sigh, pressing your lips together as you look at him. You then say, “Thank you…for all this. Going back to work after Salem has been really scary for me. I know I can do whatever I set my mind to, but…I miss being at home. I miss you, I miss Salem. I want another baby, Ony. Forreal this time.”

His brow quirks an inch, surprise flashing in his eyes. 

“You serious, right now? You not playin’ with me?” 

You can’t help the smile that grows along your face, “I mean it.”

He cups your face, drawing you in for a deep kiss, “I’d love nothin’ more than another baby with you. Can’t wait to see you waddling yo’ ass around the house again.”

You roll your eyes, returning the kiss with a couple of quick pecks. You then say, “I um…also might’ve lied to you about something earlier.”

“About what?”

“…I might’ve bought you a Valentine's gift when I said that I didn’t,” you admit, lashes fluttering against your cheeks. 

He grins, “Oh… oh, you actin’ bad. Real bad.”

“Oh? Then you must not wanna hear about this Cartier watch—“ you shrug, patting his face as you get off of the table, humming as you begin making your way towards the bathroom.

His mouth falls open.

“Hollon’—you serious right now?! Forreal?!”

“I think I hear Salem crying,” you tilt your head, “Don’t you?”

“You think you finna’ leave after buying me a gift like that? Girl, I’m finna put two more babies in you!” 

“Get back—you too freaked out!”

You take off into the bathroom, a full laugh choking from your lips as you feel arms tug around your hips, trapping you within his hold. And when the door slams, you giggle as he shows his infinite affection to you—as he always did.

[parkerslatte]

Weak At The Knees

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: none

Summary: At Starfall, Y/N is searching for Azriel and when she eventually finds him, she is surprised to find him drunker then she had ever seen him before.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

As Y/N turned, her dress spun around her elegantly. The light blue was a contrast to everyone else’s darker gowns making her stand out within the mass of people. Y/N hadn’t picked the dress she wore, that had been down to her mate. Her mate who she hadn’t seen in a while. 

She scanned the room and didn’t see his face in the crowd, nor did she see the shadows that were usually resting calmly upon his shoulders. There was no trace of him. 

“Feyre,” Y/N said, catching the attention of the High Lady. 

Feyre stepped away from Rhys and turned to Y/N with a tired smile. “Y/N, I haven’t seen you all night!”

“I know but I’ve been in search of my mate all night,” Y/N replied. “Have either of you seen him?”

The High Lady shook her head. “The last time I saw him, he was with you.”

Y/N sighed. “That was about an hour ago.”

Y/N looked around the room and out of the corner of her eye spotted a shadow darting towards her. Y/N quickly bid Rhys and Feyre a goodbye and walked to the shadow. It darted out and wrapped around her body, Y/N shivered. Despite his shadows not being a physical being, they were always chilly to the touch and she could swear that she felt Azriel’s hands in their caress. 

“Now where is your master?” Y/N muttered and followed as the shadow led her to a door. 

Y/N opened it and smiled at the sight. Azriel was slumped on the floor, his wings stretched out at his sides, seemingly laying on the floor. An empty bottle resided beside him as he looked out of the floor to ceiling window. 

“There you are,” Y/N said, walking over to her mate. 

Azriel’s head snapped to her and a lopsided grin spread across his face. “Y/N, come and sit with me.”

The moment Y/N sat down beside him, Azriel frowned. “I need you closer.”

Y/N shuffled closer and Azriel continued to frown. “Not close enough.”

Azriel let his legs fall open and gestured for Y/N to sit between them. Y/N chuckled and did as he wanted. 

“Where have you been for the past hour?” Y/N asked as she leant back in his arms. 

Azriel pressed her back to his chest firmly, pressing a soft kiss on the back of her neck. “I’ve been here, waiting for you.”

“Waiting for me?” Y/N questioned, fully relaxing into Azriel’s arms. “Az, I had no clue where you were.”

“Oh, I thought I told you to meet me here?” Azriel asked, caressing her arms, causing goosebumps to trail in his wake. 

“No, my love,” Y/N said. “You never did.”

Azriel huffed. “That explains a lot. I thought you forgot about me.”

“Sweetheart, I could never forget about you,” Y/N said, turning her head to look at him. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not a lot,” Azriel replied, burying his head into the crook of her neck. 

“Then explain the empty bottle beside you,” Isal said, cupping his face. 

“That was for my shadows,” Azriel replied, fighting a grin trying to force its way onto his face.

“I completely believe that1,” Y/N said with a smile as she pulled away from Azriel and stood to her feet. 

Azriel reached out for her, a pout on his face. Y/N chuckled. Azriel rarely ever got this drunk, in fact he rarely ever got tipsy. It had been years since she had seen Azriel indulge this much. 

“Come on,” Y/N said and held Azriel’s hands in hers. 

“Where are we going?” Azriel asked, stumbling to his feet causing Y/N to balance him. 

“To get you to bed,” Y/N said, wrapping her arms around her mate. 

“I don’t want to go to bed,” Azriel complained. He wrapped his arms around her waist tightly and rested his forehead against hers. “I want to stay here with you.” Azriel pressed a sloppy kiss against her lips. “I wanted to stay here and share a drink with you.”

Y/N pecked his lips. “You took care of that yourself, my love.”

Azriel sighed., frustrated with himself. “Will you come to bed with me?”

Y/N smiled and caressed his face. “Of course. Now come on.”

Y/N led Azriel out of the room, him clinging to her the whole time. There were eyes on them immediately when they stepped out, everyone clearly not used to seeing Azriel act the way he was. 

“I was wondering where Az slipped away to,” Cassian commented, sliding up to the mated pair. 

“He was hiding away in a separate room waiting for me,” Y/N answered while Azriel simply pulled her back against his chest. “An idea he completely forgot to tell me about.”

Cassian looked at Azriel and a quiet laugh sipped past his lips. “It’s been years since I’ve seen him this drunk. But I’ve never seen him like this, the last time he was just…broodier than usual.”

“That’s not true,” Azriel mumbled against Y/N’s head. “Y/N, tell him that it’s not true.”

Y/N laced her fingers with his. “Cass, it isn’t true.”

Cassian laughed and finished off his drink. “Well, I’ll let you get Az to bed. Mother help me when we go to training tomorrow with his hangover.”

Y/N peeled herself away from Azriel, to his dismay. She wrapped Cassian in a quick hug. “Well it’s a good thing that is your problem and not mine.”

“He’s your problem tonight,” Cassian said and pulled away. 

Almost immediately, Azriel’s arms snaked around her waist and pulled her against him and buried his head into the crook of her neck, his lips pressing soft kisses against it. 

“Don’t worry, he’s not a problem,” Y/N said as she turned in Azriel’s arms. 

As Cassian bid goodbye to the couple and went to find his own mate, Azriel began to press more kisses against Y/N’s exposed skin. Despite being mated for over a century, Y/N felt herself begin to get flustered

“Having fun there?” Y/N asked, locking her arms around his neck. 

“I love you,” Azriel mumbled. 

Y/N smiled and gently cupped his face, pulling him away from the crook of her neck. “I love you too.”

“I don’t want to go to bed anymore,” Azriel said. “I want to stay here with you and watch Starfall.”

“Well we can find somewhere to sit,” Y/N suggested. 

“But I just want to be with you,” Azriel whined. 

Y/N’s eyes filled with amusement. “My love, have you forgotten in your drunken haze that there is a balcony connected to our bedroom.”

Azriel smiled. “Can we go there?”

Y/N pecked his lips. “That is where I was taking us anyway.”

“I love you,” Azriel muttered again. 

“You’re awfully affectionate tonight,” Y/N commented. 

Being affectionate was common for Azriel, but only behind closed doors. The most he would initiate any sort of public affection was maybe a quick kiss on the lips or cheek or a squeeze of her hand. But behind closed doors Azriel was the most affectionate male in existence. 

Whenever they were alone and just lounging around after a long day, Azriel’s favourite position was to lay with his head on Y/N’s chest, silently listening to her heartbeat, her fingers tangling in his hair.

“I’m with you,” Azriel answered. 

“Come on,” Y/N said and linked her fingers with Azriel’s. 

Y/N led her mate to their room and closed the door behind them. The moment the doors were closed, Azriel began to pull Y/N over to the double doors to the balcony. Y/N followed him, watching as his wings scraped against the floor. Azriel didn’t seem phased. 

Proceeding to open the doors, Azriel pulled her out into the cool night air. Y/N couldn’t help but smile in response to the genuine joy that presented itself on his face. 

Azriel wrapped his arms around Y/N and pulled her close to him and planted his lips on hers. Y/N smiled into the kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck. 

“There was something I wanted to tell you tonight,” Azriel mumbled against her lips, his body swaying. “I wanted to tell you when I snuck away.”

Y/N caressed Azriel’s cheeks. “What was it, my love?”

Azriel pulled away from Y/N and walked to the end of the balcony. Y/N followed. 

Azriel pointed into the distance. “I bought that cottage you liked.”

Y/N looked at Azriel in disbelief. “You didn’t.”

Azriel turned to Y/N, a smile on his face. “I did. You liked it so I bought it.”

“But you said you didn’t want to move too far away from the rest of the Inner Circle in case anything happens,” Y/N said, wrapping his arms around his neck once again. 

“I know,” Azriel said, his arms slipping around her waist. “But I need to start doing things for myself, not for others. And I have my own family now.”

A fond smile spread across Y/N’s face. “Are you sure about this, Az?”

Azriel nodded. “I had everything planned out tonight. We would slip away and share that bottle of drink together and I would tell you, but I think nerves got in the way and I began to have a few drinks to find the courage to tell you and then I had already finished the bottle and completely forgot to tell you to meet me.”

Y/N threaded her fingers through his hair. “You talk a lot when you’re drunk. And you’re not as articulate with your words either.”

Azriel groaned and buried his head into the crops of Y/Nm’s neck. “This isn’t how I planned it.”

Y/N’s hand found its home on the back of Azriel’s head. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Azriel.”

“I love you so much,” Azriel mumbled, peppering kisses up her neck until his lips met her mouth once more. 

Y/N melted into the kiss, somehow feeling herself falling more in love with Azriel— if that were even possible. 

“I will never tire of kissing you,” Azriel whispered, his hands squeezing her hips. 

“Then kiss me again, but—mmph—“ 

Y/N was cut off by Azriel's lips on hers, this time his mouth fully dominated hers as if he were a starved man. Y/N clung onto him, afraid that if she were to let go, her knees would buckle. 

She could get lost in his kisses with no way out and she would die a happy woman. 

However, the moment Azriel removed one of his hands from where he gripped the railing of the balcony, his body immediately began to sway. Y/N pulled away from the kiss and tried to stop the inevitable conclusion to this stunt but it was too late. Azriel fell back, pulling Y/N down with him. 

His back landed onto the stone balcony with a loud thud while she landed softly upon his chest. Y/N quickly looked at Azriel, afraid that he was hurt but before she could ask him, the most beautiful sound rang through the air. Azriel’s laughter. 

Azriel never laughed often. He would offer the occasional chuckle, or if he were in a specific instance— a giggle, though he would rather be shot down from the sky than ever admit that. 

The laughter was contagious as Y/N began to laugh with him, fully relaxing atop his chest when she knew that he wasn’t hurt. Azriel’s hands rested on her back and hip, keeping her pressed against him. 

“You have me weak at the knees,” Azriel spoke through his laughter.

“You didn’t need to bring me down with you,” Y/N replied. 

“Wherever I go, you go,” Azriel teased. 

Y/N rolled her eyes. “When I said that at our mating ceremony, I didn’t have this particular instance in mind.”

Azriel smiled wide. “It doesn’t matter. You said it.”

“And now I’m living to regret it,” Y/N joked. 

Azriel’s hand caressed her face, his hot breath fanned across it. “No you don’t.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Y/N replied. 

The moment their lips touched, the most beautiful sight that happened once a year shot across the sky. Both Y/N and Azriel were too wrapped up with one another to notice, but neither of them cared. Their most beautiful sight was when they looked at each other. 

[thoughtfulfiction]

Rich Uncle

Operations series Father’s Day special!

Admittedly, he loved the title at first. Uncle Joe. All the perks, none of the responsibility. He could rile the kids up with sugar and loud toys, earn a few giggles and “you’re the coolest” points, and then hand them back over without a second thought. To this day, he could proudly say he’d never changed a diaper. And if he was being honest, he wasn’t even sure where to start if he had to.

Kids made sense when Jamie had them. He was barely a senior in high school when he became an uncle for the first time. That was different. His brothers are way older, they were fully settled—the kind of adults who knew what “sleep training” meant. That phase of life belonged to them.

But then all his guys started having kids. Ja’Marr, somehow even more grounded now that Little Uno was around. Ted was always bringing his kids to team events, wearing soggy Cheerios like a badge of honor. Cam and Mike, chasing toddlers around the family room at the stadium, pausing mid-conversation to dish out high fives and open juice boxes like pros. Joe would play along, drop a few Christmas presents when it mattered, and then head home. To peace. To quiet. To clean furniture and uninterrupted sleep.

Your lives were yours. No diaper bags or nap schedules. You could book a flight on a whim, sleep in whenever you wanted to, eat late dinners without cutting someone’s food into tiny pieces first. And during the season, especially, Joe needed that. Sleep, structure, his routine—non-negotiables. Kids were cute, but they weren’t in the equation.

Until maybe they were.

That afternoon, drained and sore, he came home to an empty house. You were still at work, so he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, cold enough to make his hand ache, and padded upstairs. The AC hummed low through the vents, and the tiles were cool under his bare feet as he stepped into the bathroom. Steam curled up around him as the hot water hit his back in the shower, loosening the tension in his shoulders.

He barely remembered lying down afterward. Just a flash of pulling the comforter up, his body sinking into the mattress.

The nap wasn’t supposed to be long.

Joe had only meant to close his eyes for a minute or two. Just enough to recharge after practice, maybe before you got home. But somewhere between the quiet hum of the ceiling fan and the weight of the comforter pressing him deeper into the mattress, sleep hit hard.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he heard it: a soft, high-pitched wail, muffled at first, like it was coming from behind a closed door.

A baby.

Still half-asleep, Joe barely cracked one eye open. His brain sluggishly pieced together possibilities, someone visiting you, probably. He sighed and rolled over, pulling the blanket higher. It wasn’t his problem. Not his kid.

But the crying didn’t stop. If anything, it got sharper. Closer.

Joe groaned, face smushed against the pillow. “Babe?” he called out, voice hoarse and half-hearted. “You home?”

No answer. Just that cry again—piercing, rhythmic, insistent. Like it was meant for just him to hear.

He blinked a few times, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and dragged himself out of bed. The floor was cold under his feet. The house felt quiet otherwise, still and golden in the late afternoon light. That kind of eerie calm that didn’t make sense with the sound of a crying baby echoing through the hallway.

The sound led him to the room closest to the master,the one that had always been a catch-all guest room. Only… it wasn’t anymore.

He stepped inside, slow and confused.

The walls were a soft sage green now. There was a rocking chair in the corner, one of those cream-colored ones you’d pointed out at that baby store once. A mobile dangled above a white crib, casting gentle shadows as it turned. And inside—angry-faced, squirming, and real—was a baby.

Joe froze. His mouth went dry. His heart slammed into his ribs.

What the hell is going on?

He took a step forward. Then another.

The baby blinked up at him, tears clinging to their lashes. Their tiny fists opened and closed like they were reaching for something or…someone.

And then he saw it.

Your eyes.

Wide and glassy and unmistakably you.

Every thought emptied from his head in an instant. He didn’t know how or why this baby was here, didn’t know what he was supposed to do, but his body moved before his brain could catch up. He leaned down, arms trembling slightly, and scooped the baby into his chest.

They fit there like they belonged.

The crying stopped on contact. Instantly. Like someone had cut the sound from the room.

A soft exhale puffed against his collarbone. The baby’s cheek pressed into his chest, warm and damp. Their tiny fingers tangled into the front of his shirt like they’d done it a hundred times.

Joe didn’t breathe.

His arms closed instinctively around the small body. His heart felt like it might tear open from the inside. Something about the weight, the heat, the smell, faintly powdery and sweet, cracked him wide open.

He started to rock, not even thinking about it. Back and forth. Back and forth. The motion was awkward at first, but then…natural. Soothing.

Like this was exactly where he was supposed to be, doing exactly what he was meant to do.

His throat tightened. There was a burn behind his eyes as the baby’s tiny fingers clutched his shirt like they knew they were safe. Somehow, in that impossible moment, Joe felt like he knew them too.

Not just in a dream. But in his bones.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing,” he whispered, voice cracking as he looked down at the baby in his arms.

But they didn’t care. They were safe. Warm.

Joe jolted awake.

His eyes snapped open, chest heaving. The bedroom was back, soft gray walls, the ceiling fan still turning lazily overhead. He ran his fingers through his hair with the sheets twisted at his waist and his heart pounding in his ears.

The house was still.

No crying. No crib. No baby.

Just him.

He sat up slowly, pressing his hands to his face, trying to piece himself back together. His arms still tingled. His chest still ached. The feeling, that strange, aching warmth, lingered.

It didn’t scare him. It didn’t make him want to run.

It made him want.

Not just a baby in theory, not just a distant someday, but a real, warm, squirmy little person with your eyes and his lopsided grin. A world that wasn’t just the two of you anymore.

Joe exhaled slowly, letting the thought settle.

Maybe this wasn’t just some weird dream.

Maybe it was the universe, finally telling him out loud what he’d been quietly thinking for weeks now.

He wanted to be a dad.

And he wanted it to be with you.

Joe knew he couldn’t deliver earth-shattering news like he was calling out a play. Not this time.

Two days had passed since the dream, and he was still reeling, not from fear or doubt, but from how right it had all felt. He’d been trying to make sense of it, tracing the way it had his heart pounding out of his chest. He definitely wasn’t the signs-and-symbols type, but since that afternoon, it was like the universe had grabbed him by the collar.

Everywhere he looked there were baby reminders.

A diaper commercial as soon as he turned on the tv. A buybuy Baby billboard he’d probably passed for weeks without noticing, now felt like it was practically winking at him. Even his Instagram algorithm had turned against him. Every third ad was for strollers, pacifiers, or sleep sacks.

And every time, his chest would tug just a little bit.

It wasn’t a coincidence. He didn’t believe in those anymore.

When you got home from work that night, he was on the couch in a hoodie and shorts, legs stretched out, iPad balanced on his knee, scrolling through camp film with laser focus. At least, pretending to be.

You dropped your bag and toed off your shoes, already grinning. “Hey sunshine. Still locked in? Even on your day off?”

Joe barely looked up. “Can’t go to sleep with everyone acting like Dax is the second coming of corner Jesus.”

You snorted and plopped down next to him, thigh brushing his. “God forbid you throw a couple offseason picks, Mr. Perfectionist.”

“Perfection in June could mean orange confetti in February. I’m willing to sacrifice my sanity for that.”

“Okay well, between your football-induced psychosis,” you teased, kicking your feet up onto the coffee table, “we should go somewhere. Maybe…Greece?”

He glanced at you, one brow raised. “Greece? Babe, you say that like it’s down the street.”

You shrugged. “It’d be so fun. I feel like we need something big. Jess called this morning, and she was covered in baby puke. It was horrifying.”

Joe swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. There it was, the opening.

“How’s she doing? With, y’know…”

“The baby?” You chuckled, twisting to face him. “She’s actually really happy. Tired, yeah, but she said it’s the best thing she’s ever done.”

He nodded, quietly. “Sam’s over the moon. He always wanted to be a girl dad, and now he’s basically in baby heaven.”

There was a pause. He looked back down at his screen, then slowly locked it and set it aside.

“Do you ever think about it?” he asked, voice lower now.

You looked up. “About what?”

He hesitated. “Having a baby.”

You blinked. “Sorry. I don’t think I heard that right,” you squint at him, “the last time your mom mentioned kids, you practically gagged into your mashed potatoes.”

Joe laughed under his breath, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I know. I know, okay? But something…shifted.”

You leaned in a little, curious. “Shifted how? What happened?”

“I had a dream,” he said quietly.

“Alright MLK…what was this dream?” You laugh.

He gives you a deadpan look and shakes his head. “It was a weird one. A good one. We had a baby, like, a real baby. And it was just me and them in this room, and I was holding them and…” He trailed off, looking down at his hands like he could still feel the weight there.

“It—I don’t know—it felt natural. It felt like they were already mine. And they looked just like you, and I didn’t want to put them down.”

He paused, breathing through it.

“I know it was just a dream. But I woke up, and I swear, I missed them. Like I was grieving someone who hadn’t even been born yet.”

You sat quietly, your amusement fading into a puddle of emotion.

“I’m not saying we need to have a baby tomorrow,” he added, his voice gentle. “Or ever, if you don’t want to. But I think…I think I’m ready. Not just to be a dad. But to do it with you.”

His hand found your knee, thumb brushing lightly back and forth. “You’re my person. I love you more than anything in the world. And the idea of creating someone who’s half you, half me, that’s been in my head nonstop. But like I said, no pressure. Just…honesty.”

You stared at him, heart thudding, a little overwhelmed. “That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said. In your entire life.”

Joe smiled sheepishly, but you weren’t done.

“And since we’re being honest,” you said, eyes sparkling now, “I have always wanted to make you a DILF.”

He burst out laughing, eyes crinkling at the corners, the tension in his shoulders easing like a thread had finally been cut. “Guess we have to go to Greece now.”

You nodded, curling into his side, resting your head on his shoulder. The room was quiet except for the soft tick of the clock and the low hum of the fridge down the hall. And the constant wheels turning in your head as you tried to come to a decision.

The night before your trip, Joe padded upstairs expecting to find you half-packed, maybe wrestling with a suitcase or tearing apart your closet looking for that one sundress he loved. Instead, the bedroom was lit softly by the bedside lamp, and you were kneeling on the floor, surrounded by papers, planners, and a very intense-looking ovulation tracker open on your phone.

Sticky notes, highlighters, and three different pens scattered around like you were preparing for finals all over again. A calendar had dates circled in red, little hearts scribbled in some corners, and numbers counted out in weeks.

Joe leaned on the doorframe, blinking. “Um… hey,” he said slowly. “As much as I want to understand what all this is…you’re making me nervous.”

You looked up at him, a little sheepish but mostly proud. “Don’t be. Come here.”

He stepped in, and you stood to meet him, taking his hand and guiding him to the floor like you were unveiling some master plan.

“This,” you said, gesturing to the colorful chaos, “is the baby board. Target due dates, best time to start trying, timelines, everything.”

He looked down, eyes wide, and then back up at you. “You’ve got, like…phases and windows and strategies.”

“Exactly. Because the last thing I need,” you said, poking his chest lightly, “is to be taking care of a newborn by myself while you’re in your office breaking down coverages and watching Ja’Marr run a go route for the millionth time.”

Joe winced like he’d been caught. “I can’t help myself. It never gets old.”

“When we do this,” you continue, folding your arms with mock authority, “it’s gonna be during the offseason. When you’re home. And you…” you raised a brow, “…will be changing every single diaper.”

His eyes widened in mock horror. “Every one?”

“Yes. Until I feel like lifting a finger. I’m not birthing an entire baby just so you can swoop in for the fun cuddly stuff and peace out when it smells weird.”

He laughed, stepping closer, slipping his hands around your waist. “So—does this mean…”

You smiled up at him, soft and sure. “Yes, Joe. I want to have a baby with you.”

For a second, he didn’t say anything, just stared at you like he’s still wrapping his mind around the fact that this is real. Then he leans in, presses his forehead to yours, his hands warm on your back.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Let’s do this. Uncle Joe is getting promoted.”

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Alpha ATEEZ x Assistant Omega Reader

Warnings: omega reader, alpha ateez, scenting, heats, ruts, slow burn, eventual smut, forced command, more to come!

When Y/n accepts a position as assistant to alpha K-pop group ATEEZ, she's prepared with professional skills and scent blockers to hide her omega status. What she's not prepared for is the immediate, inexplicable connection she feels with all eight members—a resonance that defies her careful boundaries.

As Y/n becomes eerily attuned to their needs, her suppressed omega nature begins to emerge: purring for the first time in years, responding to alpha growls, feeling safe in ways she never has before. When a protective incident reveals the depth of the members' attachment to her, Y/n must confront the possibility that what binds them together is something ancient and profound.

<<Previous Next>>

Masterlist Ko-Fi☕️

Chapter 4: Finding Your Place

Your alarm chirped gently at 6:00 AM, pulling you from a dream you couldn't quite remember but that left you with a lingering sense of warmth. For a disorienting moment, you stared at the unfamiliar ceiling before remembering where you were: the ATEEZ guesthouse, your new home.

"First day," you murmured to yourself, reaching up to check your scent blocker patch—still securely in place. The action had become so habitual you often did it without thinking, especially when anticipating stressful situations.

You slipped out of bed and padded to the window, pulling back the curtains to reveal the soft light of dawn spreading across the garden. The main house was still dark, its occupants likely still asleep. According to the preliminary schedule Minwoo had sent, most of the members wouldn't need to be up until 7:30 for a 9:00 AM meeting at the company.

After a quick shower, you dressed carefully in professional but comfortable attire—black slacks, a crisp button-up shirt, and low heels that would allow you to move quickly if needed. As you applied a light layer of makeup, you ran through the day's schedule in your mind, mentally preparing for your first official day as ATEEZ's assistant.

Seonghwa's thoughtful basket of essentials meant you could enjoy a simple breakfast in your kitchen rather than having to venture out. As you sipped your coffee, you reviewed the notes you'd made from the materials Minwoo had sent over, committing key details to memory.

At precisely 6:45 AM, you left the guesthouse and made your way to the main house, the morning air crisp against your skin. You'd been given a key card to access the house, but hesitated briefly before using it. It felt strange to enter someone else's home while they might still be sleeping.

Just as you were debating whether to knock or use the card, the door opened, revealing Hongjoong, already dressed and looking surprisingly alert for the early hour.

"Good morning," he greeted you with a warm smile that sent a flutter through your stomach. "I thought I saw someone approaching from my window."

"I hope I'm not too early," you replied, suddenly second-guessing your timing. "Manager Minwoo suggested I arrive by 7:00 to prepare for the day."

Hongjoong stepped aside to let you enter. "Not at all. I'm usually the first one up, but Seonghwa shouldn't be far behind. The others..." He chuckled softly. "Let's just say waking them is an art form you'll need to master quickly."

Hongjoong led you through the quiet house to the kitchen, where the rich aroma of brewing coffee filled the air. Despite having already had a cup at the guesthouse, you found yourself accepting his offer of another. There was something intimate about sharing this early morning moment before the chaos of the day began.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, leaning against the counter as he handed you a steaming mug.

"Surprisingly, yes," you admitted. "I usually have trouble sleeping in new places, but I was so exhausted from moving that I fell asleep almost immediately."

Hongjoong's smile was tinged with something like satisfaction. "I'm glad. The first day is always the hardest—getting oriented, meeting everyone. Today should be a bit more structured."

You were about to respond when Seonghwa entered the kitchen, his hair slightly damp from a recent shower but otherwise immaculately put together. His eyes brightened upon seeing you.

"Y/n, good morning," he greeted, his voice warm. "You're an early riser too, I see."

"I wanted to get a head start," you explained. "There's a lot to learn."

Seonghwa nodded approvingly. "A good approach. I'm about to start breakfast for everyone—would you like something? I noticed you've already got coffee."

"Oh, thank you, but I ate at the guesthouse," you replied, touched by the offer. "Those groceries you brought over yesterday were perfect."

A pleased expression crossed Seonghwa's face. "I'm glad they were useful. Now, about waking the others..." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "They should be up in thirty minutes if we want to avoid a last-minute rush."

Hongjoong sighed dramatically. "And here's your first real challenge as our assistant, Y/n. Getting six sleepy alphas out of bed and ready on time is no small feat."

Your first lesson in ATEEZ's morning routine was both enlightening and amusing. Seonghwa, you quickly learned, had developed a systematic approach to waking each member based on their individual habits.

"Yunho is usually easy—just knock and call his name," Seonghwa explained as you followed him down the hallway. "Jongho too, though he might need a second reminder. Wooyoung and San are the real challenges."

"They sleep deeply?" you asked, mentally taking notes for future reference.

"More like they actively resist waking up," Hongjoong interjected from behind you, amusement evident in his voice. "Wooyoung once pretended to be sleepwalking to avoid a morning schedule."

True to Seonghwa's prediction, Yunho responded to a simple knock and call, his deep voice answering with a cheerful, "I'm up, I'm up!" Jongho, in the next room, took a second knock but then emerged almost immediately, already dressed in workout clothes.

"Morning run?" Seonghwa asked as Jongho greeted you with a polite bow.

"Just some quick exercises," Jongho replied. "Good morning, Y/n-noona. Ready for your first day?"

The honorific caught you by surprise—you had forgotten you were only a little older than him. "As ready as I'll ever be," you replied with a smile.

Yeosang proved to be a moderate challenge—requiring multiple knocks and some gentle coaxing, but eventually responding with a quiet acknowledgment.

When you reached Mingi's door, Seonghwa knocked firmly several times before calling his name. Just as he was about to knock again, the door swung open—revealing a sleepy-eyed Mingi wearing only low-hanging sweatpants, his broad chest and defined abs completely exposed.

Your eyes widened involuntarily, heat rushing to your cheeks as you found yourself momentarily frozen. The morning light from the hallway window highlighted the contours of his muscular torso, you could feel your omega stir before you quickly averted your gaze, focusing intently on the notepad in your hands.

"Hyung, I'm up, I'm—" Mingi's sleepy voice cut off abruptly as he registered your presence. "Oh! Y/n!"

You risked a glance up to see his eyes now fully alert, a deep flush spreading across his face as he hastily retreated into his room. He emerged seconds later wearing a hastily donned t-shirt, his expression a mixture of embarrassment and apology.

"I didn't realize you were... I mean, I thought it was just Seonghwa-hyung," he explained, running a hand through his impressively tousled hair. His sleepy smile was oddly endearing despite the awkward moment. "Sorry about that."

"No problem," you managed to say professionally, though you could still feel warmth in your cheeks. "We're just doing morning wake-up calls."

Hongjoong, who had witnessed the entire exchange from further down the hallway, cleared his throat softly, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"Our new angel of organization," Mingi greeted you with exaggerated formality, clearly trying to move past the moment. His attempt at dignity was undermined by both his lingering blush and a massive yawn. "Please have mercy on us this morning."

You couldn't help but laugh, the tension dissolving. "I'll consider it, since it's my first day."

San and Wooyoung, however, lived up to their reputation. Seonghwa knocked repeatedly on San's door with no response, finally opening it to reveal a room plunged in darkness by blackout curtains and a San-shaped lump buried under blankets.

"San-ah," Seonghwa called firmly. "Meeting at 9:00. You need to get up now."

A muffled groan emerged from the pile of bedding. "Five more minutes, hyung."

Seonghwa glanced at you with a look that clearly said, *See what I mean?* before approaching the bed. With practiced efficiency, he pulled back the curtains, allowing morning light to flood the room.

The reaction was immediate—San retreated further under the covers with a dramatic whine. "It burns!"

"It's just sunshine," Seonghwa replied drily. "Y/n is here to help with the morning routine. Don't make her first impression of you be this pitiful sight."

At the mention of your name, San's head emerged from the blankets, his hair sticking up at impossible angles but his eyes suddenly alert. "Y/n? Oh!" He sat up quickly, making a futile attempt to smooth his hair. "Good morning. I didn't realize... I'll be ready in ten minutes."

Hongjoong, who had been watching from the doorway, caught your eye with a knowing smirk. "Amazing how that works, isn't it?"

Wooyoung proved to be the final boss of the morning wake-up challenge. Not only did he fail to respond to knocks, calls, and light, but when Seonghwa finally managed to rouse him, he immediately tried to go back to sleep the moment Seonghwa turned his back.

"I've tried everything," Seonghwa confessed to you as Wooyoung's soft snores resumed behind him. "Short of dumping water on him, which I've been tempted to do more than once."

"Maybe I have an idea," you said, a sudden inspiration striking you. You stepped into the hallway and pulled out your phone, searching for something specific. When you found it, you returned to Wooyoung's doorway and pressed play.

The opening notes of ATEEZ's most recent title track filled the room at full volume. Almost immediately, Wooyoung's eyes flew open and he sat up.

"That's my part coming up!" he exclaimed, suddenly fully awake. When his brain caught up with reality and he realized what was happening, he stared at you in astonishment. "That was sneaky."

You shrugged, trying not to smile too broadly at your success. "But effective."

Seonghwa looked impressed. "Well, that's a new technique to add to our arsenal."

Wooyoung flopped back dramatically but kept his eyes open. "I feel betrayed by our new assistant already," he lamented, though his lips were twitching with suppressed laughter. "But I respect the strategy."

---

By 8:15 AM, all eight members were gathered in the kitchen, in various states of wakefulness but all dressed and fed thanks to Seonghwa's efficient breakfast preparation. You sat at the counter, reviewing the day's schedule with Hongjoong while the others ate.

"After the 9:00 AM meeting, you all have dance practice until noon," you recited, checking your notes. "Jongho has vocal training for an hour after that, a light lunch then the photoshoot for that clothing brand at 3:00 PM, dinner break, then the variety show filming begins at 8:00 PM."

Hongjoong nodded, looking impressed by your thorough grasp of their complex schedule. "That's right. And where will you be throughout all this?"

"Manager Minwoo suggested I shadow different members throughout the day to get a feel for the activities," you explained. "Starting with him at the morning meeting."

"Good plan," Hongjoong approved. "Just don't let Wooyoung convince you to skip anything to get bubble tea instead."

From across the kitchen, Wooyoung protested through a mouthful of eggs. "I would never!"

"You tried four times last month alone," Seonghwa corrected, setting down a plate of additional toast in the center of the table.

The easy banter continued as breakfast wrapped up. You observed the dynamics carefully, noting who needed reminders to eat (Yeosang, who seemed easily distracted), who might need extra time to get ready (Wooyoung, obviously), and who could be counted on to help maintain order (Seonghwa and Jongho).

By 8:30, everyone was loading into the two company vans that had arrived to transport you all to KQ Entertainment. You found yourself in the second van with Yunho, San, Wooyoung, and Jongho, while Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yeosang, and Mingi took the first.

"So, Y/n," Yunho began conversationally as the van pulled away from the house, "Are you ready for today? Nervous at all?”

You considered Yunho's question thoughtfully. "I’m excited. I like environments where things are always changing," you replied. "And I enjoy supporting creative people—helping build the structure that allows their talents to shine."

San, who had claimed the seat beside you, nodded appreciatively. "That's a good way of looking at it. Our last assistant was good, but he always seemed stressed by the unpredictability."

"That's because Wooyoung kept changing plans without telling him," Jongho pointed out from the front passenger seat.

Wooyoung clutched his chest in mock offense. "Why am I being attacked this morning? I'm an absolute delight to work with."

The driver, who had clearly been with them for some time, coughed in a way that sounded suspiciously like a suppressed laugh.

"You'll see," Yunho told you with a grin. "Working with us is never boring, that's for sure."

"I look forward to the challenge," you replied with a smile, genuinely meaning it. Despite the complexity of the schedule and the unique personalities you'd be managing, there was something exciting about the prospect.

San studied your face with curious intensity. "You really aren't intimidated, are you? Most people would be nervous about suddenly being responsible for eight alphas' schedules."

You shrugged, careful to keep your expression neutral. "I've worked with artist management before. The key is treating everyone as individuals first, rather than focusing on status."

"Smart," Jongho commented approvingly. "Though I should warn you, during comeback preparations, all of us can get a bit... intense."

"Especially Hongjoong-hyung," Wooyoung added. "He barely sleeps during production periods."

You filed this information away for future reference. "I'll keep that in mind. Any other warnings I should know about?"

What followed was an enthusiastic rundown of member quirks that you suspected was equal parts helpful and exaggerated. According to Wooyoung, San became "clingy like a koala" when tired, Yunho stress-ate chocolate cookies before performances, and Yeosang sometimes disappeared for hours when he needed alone time.

“And Mingi?” You asked hesitantly, not wanting to seem too eager. Your omega seemed surprisingly interested in the alpha. 

Yunho’s eyes lit up with amusement. “Ah, Mingi-ah. He’s actually the most affectionate of all of us, believe it or not. Super tactile—loves hugs and casual touches, especially when he’s comfortable with someone.” He leaned forward slightly, dropping his voice. “But he’s also really conscious of his alpha energy, so he tries to tone it down around new people.“

“He composes in the middle of the night,” San added. “You might hear him pacing sometimes—when he gets a melody stuck in his head, he can’t sleep until he works it out.”

“And he’s weirdly sensitive about his cooking,” Wooyoung chimed in with a grin. “He tries so hard but somehow always manages to burn something. Never criticize his food unless you want to see a six-foot-tall alpha pout for days.”

“Don’t believe everything they tell you,” Jongho advised from the front seat, though he was smiling. “They exaggerate.”

By the time you arrived at the company building, you were laughing and mentally cataloging all these insights, already feeling more equipped to navigate your new role.

---

The morning meeting at KQ Entertainment was your first glimpse into the professional side of ATEEZ's world. The conference room held not only the eight members but also Manager Minwoo, several production staff, the company's PR director, and two choreographers. You sat beside Minwoo, taking detailed notes as various topics were discussed—the upcoming comeback timeline, concept direction, individual schedules, and potential international appearances.

You noticed how the dynamics shifted in this professional setting. Hongjoong took the lead in most discussions, his leader role clearly established, while Seonghwa offered thoughtful input on logistics. The others contributed when their areas of expertise were relevant—Yunho on dance elements, Mingi and Hongjoong on production aspects, Jongho on vocal arrangements.

"And we've added Y/n L/n to our team as the new group assistant," Minwoo announced toward the end of the meeting, gesturing to you. "She'll be handling coordination between departments and managing the members' schedules going forward."

All eyes turned to you, and you straightened slightly, offering a professional smile. "I look forward to working with everyone to support ATEEZ's activities," you said, your voice clear and confident despite the sudden attention.

The PR director, a sharp-eyed woman named Director Kang, assessed you with interest. "Good timing. With the comeback and world tour planning underway, we needed someone to keep these eight in line." Her tone was strict but her eyes held a hint of warmth.

"I'm up for the challenge," you assured her, earning approving nods from several staff members.

As the meeting concluded, people began filtering out of the room. Minwoo hung back with you, providing additional context for some of the discussions.

"You'll be joining them at dance practice," he explained, consulting his tablet. "Then the photoshoot. I've arranged for you to mainly observe the activities today to get a comprehensive view of their schedules."

You nodded, gathering your notes. "That sounds perfect. I appreciate the thorough onboarding."

"You seem to be adjusting well already," Minwoo observed. "Usually new staff are overwhelmed by day one."

"I'm sure I'll have my moments," you admitted with a small smile. "But I work best when jumping right in."

Minwoo appeared satisfied with your response. "Good attitude. That's why Hongjoong was so confident about hiring you." He glanced at his watch. "The dance studio is on the third floor. The others should be heading there now."

---

The dance studio was a large space with mirrored walls and polished floors, already filled with alpha energy as they all warmed up under the choreographer's guidance. You slipped inside quietly, taking a seat against the wall where you could observe without being in the way.

Wooyoung spotted you immediately, waving enthusiastically mid-stretch. "Y/n! Come to witness greatness?"

The choreographer, who introduced himself as Hyunwoo, nodded acknowledgment in your direction. "You're the new assistant? Good. Maybe you can help keep them focused. Especially that one." He pointed at Wooyoung, who grinned unrepentantly.

"I'll do my best," you promised, settling in to watch.

What followed was a revelation. The playful, sometimes chaotic energy you'd witnessed at the house transformed into laser-focused precision as soon as the music started. Yunho's tall frame moved with surprising grace and power, while San's performance exuded an intensity that seemed at odds with his usually gentle demeanor. Even Wooyoung, for all his morning resistance, executed complex movements with sharp accuracy.

You found yourself captivated by their dedication, the way they repeated sequences without complaint, fine-tuning details most people would never notice. When they paused for water after forty-five minutes of continuous practice, all three were breathing hard but immediately discussing improvements.

"The transition after the bridge needs to be tighter," Yunho was saying, demonstrating a subtle adjustment to his movement.

San nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. "And I think we're slightly off-beat during the chorus formation change."

"How are you finding it?" Wooyoung asked, suddenly appearing beside you with a water bottle in hand. "Boring? Amazing? Both?"

"Impressive," you replied honestly. "The difference between your practice mode and casual mode is striking."

Wooyoung beamed at the compliment. "We're professionals. Don't let the breakfast chaos fool you."

"I'm starting to see that," you acknowledged with a smile.

The choreographer called them back, and Wooyoung rejoined the others. You continued watching, occasionally making notes about potential schedule considerations—the physical intensity meant they would need adequate recovery time, proper meals, and possibly physiotherapy sessions during heavy practice periods.

By the time practice ended at, you had a new appreciation for the physical demands of their work. As they gathered their things, you approached with towels you'd noticed stacked by the door, offering one to each.

t's the small things, you reminded yourself.

"Thanks," Hongjoong said, accepting the towel gratefully. His eyes held appreciation that seemed to extend beyond the simple gesture. "How are you finding everything so far?"

"Informative," you replied. "And impressive. You all work incredibly hard."

Something like pride flashed across his face. "We try. This is just a regular practice day—comeback preparation gets much more intense."

"I'll be prepared," you assured him, already mentally adjusting your expectations of what "intense" might look like in their world.

---

The afternoon brought a change of pace with the photoshoot for a clothing brand. While the morning had been relatively structured with the meeting and practice, the photoshoot at an industrial warehouse-turned-studio was more chaotic, with multiple staff buzzing around, stylists fussing over outfits, and makeup artists working on touch-ups between shots.

You found your place quickly, liaising between the photography director and the members, keeping track of shot lists, and ensuring everyone stayed on schedule. It was the kind of organized chaos you excelled in navigating—anticipating needs before they arose and solving small problems before they became larger ones.

"Water?" you offered to Yeosang after he finished his individual shots, noting how he'd been under the hot lights for nearly forty minutes.

He accepted with a small but genuine smile. "Thank you. You're very observant."

"Part of the job," you replied, though his quiet acknowledgment was satisfying.

When the photography director suggested the set rotation order be changed, you smoothly coordinated with the styling team to ensure outfits were ready in the new sequence, preventing what could have been a thirty-minute delay.

"I'm impressed," Manager Minwoo commented, appearing beside you as you updated the schedule notation on your tablet. "You've found your rhythm quickly."

"It helps that they're professionals," you said, gesturing toward the members who were all focused on their tasks despite the long day.

"Don't sell yourself short," Minwoo countered. "Not everyone can keep track of eight different personalities and all these moving parts on day one."

You smiled, accepting the compliment with a nod. "Thank you. I'm enjoying the challenge."

As the group shots began, you found yourself watching the dynamics with growing familiarity. Seonghwa quietly adjusted Wooyoung's collar when the stylist was busy elsewhere. Hongjoong subtly directed the others with small gestures, ensuring everyone was positioned optimally. Jongho maintained his serious expression until San whispered something that made him break into a reluctant smile, immediately lightening the mood for everyone.

When the photographer called for a brief set change, Mingi approached where you were reviewing notes beside the monitor.

"How's your first day going?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture you were beginning to recognize as a habit when he felt slightly uncertain. 

"It's going well," you replied with a smile. "Just trying to absorb all the information."

"You seem like you've been doing this for years already," he said, and there was genuine admiration in his voice. "Usually new staff look overwhelmed by now, but you're just... handling everything."

You felt a small flush of pleasure at his observation. "That's kind of you to say. I'm sure I'll make plenty of mistakes as I learn the ropes."

"We all do," Mingi shrugged, then lowered his voice conspirationally. "Sorry again about this morning, by the way. Not exactly the most professional second impression."

You couldn't help the slight color that rose to your cheeks at the memory of him shirtless in the doorway. "It's fine. Occupational hazard of living and working in the same space, I suppose."

Mingi's smile widened, a hint of unexpected confidence breaking through his earlier uncertainty. "Next time I'll try to be more properly dressed. Or not. Depends on whether you enjoyed the view."

The teasing comment caught you off guard, and you felt your blush deepen. Before you could formulate a response that maintained professional boundaries while acknowledging the light flirtation, the photography director called Mingi back for the next shot.

Mingi winked at you before turning away, leaving you slightly flustered but with a small smile tugging at your lips despite your efforts to remain composed. The brief interaction had sparked something warm in your chest that you quickly tried to suppress. He was your colleague, one of your eight alpha employers. Lines needed to be clear.

Yet as you watched him return to the set, moving with easy confidence into the next pose, you couldn't quite ignore the subtle pull you felt toward him—similar to, yet somehow distinct from, what you'd experienced with each of the other members.

---

"Dinner in twenty minutes!" The production assistant announced as the photoshoot finally wrapped up. "Please be ready to move to the variety show filming after you eat."

You checked your watch—nearly 7:00 PM. The photoshoot had run almost an hour over schedule, cutting into the dinner break before the variety show filming. Anticipating potential issues, you approached the catering table where staff were setting up food.

"Excuse me," you said politely to the head caterer. "Is it possible to have some food boxed separately? The members might need to eat while getting ready for the next schedule since we're running behind."

The caterer nodded, appreciating your foresight. "No problem. We can prepare eight boxes."

"Thank you," you said gratefully, then turned to find Manager Minwoo, who was conferring with the production team. "Minwoo-ssi, I've arranged for boxed meals in case we need to eat during transport or makeup."

He looked up from his tablet with an approving nod. "Good thinking. The variety show PD just called—they're ready for us whenever we arrive, but they can't delay the start time past 8:15."

"I'll let the members know we're on a tight schedule," you offered, already moving toward where most of them were gathered, removing microphones and thanking the photography staff.

Seonghwa noticed your approach and the slight furrow in your brow. "Schedule adjustment?"

"We're running a bit tight for the variety show," you confirmed. "I've arranged boxed meals in case we need to eat on the go."

Hongjoong, who had overheard, nodded gratefully. "Smart move. Let's gather everyone and head out as soon as possible."

Within fifteen minutes, you had all eight members, their necessary belongings, and the boxed meals loaded into the vans. As you settled into your seat, Yunho passed you one of the food boxes.

"You need to eat too," he said kindly. "First days are exhausting."

You accepted with a grateful smile, suddenly realizing how hungry you were. The day had been so busy you'd barely registered your own needs.

"Thank you," you said, opening the box to find a appetizing meal inside. "I hadn't even thought about it."

"We noticed," San said from beside you. "You've been making sure everyone else is taken care of all day."

"That's literally my job," you pointed out with a small laugh.

"Still," Wooyoung interjected from the seat ahead, turning around to face you. "The good assistants remember their own needs too. Can't help us if you collapse from hunger."

The concern, though delivered with Wooyoung's characteristic dramatics, was genuine. You felt a strange warmth at the realization that they had been watching out for you even as you tried to take care of them.

"I'll keep that in mind," you promised, taking a bite of the food.

---

As the van slowed in traffic, you finished your meal and carefully packed away the empty container. The day's events were catching up with you—not exhaustion exactly, but a pleasant fatigue that came from a day well spent. You shifted slightly in your seat, trying to find a more comfortable position, when you became aware of Hongjoong's proximity beside you.

He had claimed the seat next to you when they'd rearranged for the evening trip, and now in the dim interior lighting of the van, you were acutely conscious of the subtle warmth radiating from his body. His arm rested along the back of the seat, not quite touching you but close enough that you could feel his presence like a magnetic pull. Even without being able to detect his scent through your blocker, something about his proximity made your omega instincts hum with an inexplicable sense of comfort and rightness.

"How are you holding up?" Hongjoong asked quietly, his voice pitched low enough that it wouldn't disturb the others. Wooyoung had dozed off in the seat ahead, and San was absorbed in his phone beside him.

"Better than I expected," you admitted, turning slightly to face him. The movement brought you closer, and you found yourself studying his profile in the passing streetlights. "It's been a good day."

"I'm glad," he said, and something in his tone made you look at him more carefully. His dark eyes held an intensity that seemed at odds with the casual conversation. "You've impressed everyone today. Manager Minwoo, the staff, the members..."

"And you?" The question slipped out before you could stop it, more personal than you'd intended.

Hongjoong's gaze met yours directly, and for a moment the space between you seemed charged with something unspoken. "Especially me," he said softly.

The van hit a pothole, jostling everyone slightly. Instinctively, Hongjoong's hand moved to steady you, his palm landing gently on your arm just above your elbow. The touch was brief, professional even, but neither of you moved away immediately.

"Sorry," he murmured, though his hand remained where it was, his thumb unconsciously brushing against the fabric of your shirt. "These streets are terrible."

"It's fine," you managed, hyper-aware of the warmth of his palm against your arm. The simple contact sent an unexpected flutter through your chest, and you found yourself fighting the urge to lean into the touch.

You should pull away, maintain professional boundaries. But something about the quiet intimacy of the moment—the dim lighting, the gentle rumble of the van, the way Hongjoong was looking at you like you were something precious and unexpected—made you hesitate.

"Y/n," he said quietly, and your name on his lips sounded different somehow. More personal. His hand slid down slightly, fingers curling around your wrist in a gesture that could have been casual but felt anything but. "I know today was a lot. New job, new living situation, eight new personalities to manage..."

His thumb found your pulse point, whether intentionally or not, and you wondered if he could feel how your heart rate had picked up at his touch.

"I want you to know that if you ever feel overwhelmed, or if any of us make you uncomfortable in any way, you can talk to me," he continued, his voice carrying the weight of his alpha authority but also something softer. "Your well-being matters to me. To all of us."

The sincerity in his words, combined with the gentle pressure of his fingers against your wrist, made your breath catch slightly. "Thank you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "That... that means a lot."

For a long moment, you simply looked at each other. The space between you seemed to shrink, and you became aware of every detail—the way his dark hair fell across his forehead, the subtle flecks of gold in his brown eyes, the way his lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something more.

The van began to slow, and the bright lights of the variety show studio came into view through the windows. The moment of privacy was ending, and you both seemed to realize it simultaneously.

Hongjoong's hand reluctantly released your wrist, his fingers trailing across your skin for just a heartbeat longer than necessary. "We're here," he said unnecessarily, his voice slightly rougher than before.

"Right," you agreed, though you made no immediate move to gather your things.

As the van came to a complete stop and the others began stirring, preparing for the next part of their schedule, Hongjoong leaned slightly closer to you one more time.

"Welcome to the team, Y/n," he said quietly, his breath warm against your ear. "I have a feeling you're going to fit in perfectly."

The words sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the evening air, and as you finally moved to collect your belongings, you found yourself wondering if the "team" he was referring to meant something more than just professional colleagues.

The van doors opened, letting in the cool night air and the excited chatter of waiting fans, effectively breaking the spell. But as you stepped out into the bright lights of the studio entrance, you could still feel the ghost of Hongjoong's touch on your wrist, and the memory of his words echoed in your mind.

Whatever this job would bring, you were beginning to suspect it would be far more complicated—and far more interesting—than you had ever imagined.

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[solxamber]

Diasomnia,8,commedy

Fanclub Fever || Sebek Zigvolt

For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "This is non-negotiable" ; Genre: Comedy

Your mistake began with a joke.

"I mean, maybe I should just join Sebek in starting a Malleus fan club," you’d said, casually stirring your tea while Sebek hovered nearby.

You hadn’t expected his eyes to light up with the fiery intensity of a zealot who just found their first convert.

"TRULY?" Sebek boomed, slamming his hands on the table. "YOU WOULD HONOR THE YOUNG MASTER IN SUCH A WAY? THIS IS AN UNPRECEDENTED JOY!"

Before you could backtrack, apologize, or simply run away, you were dragged into what Sebek called "Bootcamp for Proper Devotion."

Now, five hours later, you were sprawled on the floor of a drafty classroom, staring at the ceiling and questioning every life choice that had led you here.

"Recite the Tenets of Malleus Appreciation again!" Sebek barked, pacing like an overzealous drill sergeant.

"Sebek," you groaned, voice raw. "I don’t think Malleus cares about ‘Devotion Drills.’ Let me go."

"This is non-negotiable!" he declared, planting his hands on his hips. "If you are to properly appreciate Lord Malleus, you must demonstrate both respect and endurance!"

In the corner, Lilia cackled, lounging on a desk with a plate of… something in his hands. "Don’t be too hard on them, Sebek! They’ll need their strength for the cooking portion of the bootcamp!"

Your stomach churned at the sight of the charred, slimy substance on the plate. "Cooking portion?"

"Of course!" Lilia grinned mischievously, offering you the plate. "You must taste-test these experimental recipes to ensure you’re worthy of serving Malleus one day!"

You shoved the plate away with a strangled, "Nope."

Sebek, apparently oblivious to your suffering, marched up and handed you a stack of papers. "You’ve memorized the first hymn to the Young Master, correct? It’s time to compose your own hymn to prove your devotion."

"Sebek, I was kidding!" you burst out. "I don’t want to start a fan club! I just want to nap!"

"BLASPHEMY!" Sebek roared, looking genuinely hurt.

Lilia laughed so hard he nearly fell off the desk.

You sat up and pointed at him accusingly. "You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?"

"Immensely," Lilia replied, not even bothering to hide it.

By the time Malleus himself appeared—casually strolling into the room like he hadn’t just walked in on a bizarre cult meeting—you were slumped against the wall, muttering about the unfairness of life.

"Child of Man," he said, tilting his head. "What… is going on here?"

"Don’t ask," you groaned.

Sebek snapped to attention. "LORD MALLEUS! WE ARE HONORING YOU WITH—"

Malleus held up a hand. "Sebek, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but perhaps the Child of Man would prefer… less intense displays of loyalty."

You shot him a look of pure gratitude. "Thank you."

Sebek looked like a kicked puppy. "But… Lord Malleus—"

"It’s non-negotiable," Malleus said with a faint smile, turning Sebek’s favorite line against him.

Lilia howled with laughter as Sebek deflated, and you made a mental note to never, ever joke about fan clubs again.

Masterlist

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

the dragon's bride

smut || sylus x reader || alternate au || sylus and his dragon form during the medieval times || could be triggering for others so read at your own risk || story masterlist : love and deepspace

previous next

CHAPTER 4 : THE FIRST TASTE

Sylus led you to another room, a dining hall as grand as the chambers you had already witnessed. As you entered, you noticed humans waiting, their heads bowed in deference.

Sylus introduced them as attendants, revealing they were descendants of dragons who had intermarried with humans, creating a lineage of individuals with dragon instincts and strength, though without the ability to transform. The attendants bowed even deeper, humble voices expressing their long wait for their master and their gratitude that he had finally found his mate.

You wondered how they reached this deep, subterranean place. As if reading your thoughts, Sylus murmured, "There is another entrance, accessible only to our kind. No human would ever reach it, not unless they desire their demise."

He led you to an elegant seat, pulling the chair out for you before gently pushing it forward as you sat. He then moved to the head of the table, directly beside you, and took his place. Attendants began serving hot meals, the rich aromas making your mouth water.

"We should eat, kitten," Sylus said, then instructed the attendants to prepare a bath for him and his bride.

A faint blush touched your cheeks at his possessive endearment, but you continued to eat slowly. Sylus began his meal, his gaze never leaving you, a mix of curiosity and possessiveness in his crimson eyes.

He asked about your childhood, your preferences, and you answered, describing your upbringing as a destined sacrifice, confined to your family home, never truly venturing out. Sylus listened intently, humming occasionally, his deep interest in you palpable. Then, your own curiosity piqued, you asked about his kind, his race.

"I am the last of my kind," Sylus revealed softly. "The others have found their mates and settled in quiet corners of the world, or have long since turned to dust. I alone remained, mateless, for far too long." He then added, his voice gentle, "There is no need to rush, kitten. We will have all the time in the world to know each other." You nodded, taking your last bite.

A comfortable silence settled between you. Sylus took your hand in his, a gentle tug, and led you to another hallway where his attendants awaited. They guided you both towards the bath.

You lost count of how many times you had gasped in wonder in his domain, but this bath was truly ethereal.

It was at the very edge of his lair, framed by floor-to-ceiling glass windows that offered a breathtaking view of the sky and, far below, the glittering lights of the kingdom.

The bath pools themselves were adorned with gold and set against marbled floors. Fountains on either side trickled water into the pristine pools, accessed by a series of short steps. The lighting was dim, yet bright enough to illuminate the entire room, making it both beautiful and profoundly intimate.

The attendants discreetly left, leaving fresh clothing and towels, ensuring your privacy. Sylus took your hand, leading you deeper into the room, observing your honest reactions.

He understood the awe in your eyes – confined for so long, this world was a revelation. A powerful, protective feeling swelled in Sylus’s chest.

Fate had gifted him an untouched, untainted, innocent creature. A dark, primal possessiveness rose within him. He would be the one to show you everything, to make you experience every sensation.

He would be your first in all things.

You stopped at a plush bench where towels and robes were neatly folded. It suddenly dawned on you. You weren’t just here for sightseeing.

You were here to bathe – Together.

A wave of self-consciousness washed over you, hotter than any bathwater. No man had ever seen your body, not even truly your face or a strand of your unbound hair. Your family had kept you hidden, pure, untouched for this very day, for this man – your dragon, your destined lover, your fated mate.

Your hands began to sweat, a slight tremor running through them. Sylus, ever perceptive, noticed your nervousness, an amused brow raising, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. He knew just how inexperienced you were.

And you, in turn, had never truly seen a man’s body, let alone a dragon’s in human form.

Sylus cupped your cheek, his touch a silent reassurance, a comfort that spoke of his desire. Then, slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, he began to undress. Each piece of clothing fell away, revealing a body far more intimate, more potent than the chiseled stone you had first touched. He stood there, in all his beautiful, masculine glory, radiating an unapologetic boldness and confidence.

"There is no need for shame before me, little kitten," Sylus murmured, his voice a smooth, low command, yet utterly gentle. "You are my mate, and you are mine, just as I am yours – body, soul, spirit, and eventually, our hearts."

You swallowed nervously, your trembling fingers reaching for the knot of your intricately woven robe. Sylus’s hand, warm and firm, joined yours, gently pushing the garment off your shoulders. It landed with a soft thud, pooling around your feet. Your inner clothing, sheer satin, clung to your curves, hiding nothing beneath.

Sylus’s gaze devoured you, a low growl rumbling from his chest.

You looked away, overwhelmed by shyness, by the fear that he might not be satisfied. But a firm finger lifted your chin, forcing your gaze back to his intense, hungry eyes.

"You shouldn't hide from me, my beautiful bride," he said, his voice laced with conviction. "You are perfect."

His fingers slowly descended, tracing your neck, your collarbones, then the mark he had left earlier, his eyes darkening further at the sight. His touch continued to brush your bare arms, your trembling fingers. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he pulled the string that held your sheer dress together, finally baring yourself completely before him.

Sylus’s mouth went dry at the sight of your flushed, naked body. His cock twitched, a primal need to be inside you so strong it was almost unbearable. He fought the urge, knowing you were his first, knowing he had to prepare you, first in his human form, before your body could accept him in his true form.

You felt Sylus’s gaze on your body, so intense it felt like a physical touch. An unfamiliar dampness bloomed between your legs, and you instinctively clenched your thighs together.

Sylus could smell your arousal, and it was almost too much for him. His finger traced the swell of your breasts. You gasped as he gave your nipples a gentle, firm pinch, then cupped both in his large hands, a hum of satisfaction escaping him. They were perfect, soft and delicate beneath his touch.

You couldn't move, every sensation new, overwhelming. Your eyes, driven by a raw curiosity, began to wander. You noted the sheer strength of his muscles, every flex, every movement, so enticing it beckoned your hands to touch. As if they had a mind of their own, your fingers reached out, pressing against his hard, sculpted form.

Sylus gasped at the contact, reveling in the unexpected softness of your touch against his hardened body.

He waited, wanting to see how far your curiosity would lead you, noting the wide-eyed wonder on your face as you explored a man's body for the very first time. Your gaze trailed from his powerful chest, down to his well-defined abs... and there, your eyes widened, startled and shocked, at the sheer size of him.

Sylus couldn't help but smirk proudly at the crimson flush that bloomed across your face.

You stuttered, the only intimacy you’d ever learned came from your mother's hushed lessons, "Is… is it supposed to be that big? How... how will it fit?" you asked, a terrified tremor in your voice.

Sylus chuckled, a low, reassuring sound, as he soothed your cheek. "I will be very gentle with you, little kitten," he promised, then pulled you towards the bath pool.

You descended the steps carefully and settled onto a shallow ledge. He pulled you onto his lap, facing him, then claimed your lips in a mind-numbing kiss. He taught you how he liked it, how to move with him, praising your quick learning.

He took your hand and guided it down his chest, over his abs, until he molded your small, dainty fingers around his hard length. A low growl rumbled from him the moment you touched his most intimate part.

He taught you what to do, how to move your hand in the way that pleased him most. You followed his instructions, watching the dance of hunger, desire, and lust across his face, captivated by the beautiful sounds he made.

You wanted to do more.

"Faster, kitten," he ordered, and you obeyed. Soon, a warm release washed over your hand. He told you what it was, catching his breath, praising you for the pleasure you had given him.

He pulled you in for another kiss, this one more urgent, more hungry, more intense. His hands roamed your body, squeezing your rear and thighs, pulling you flush against his hot, muscular form.

With an easy adjustment, Sylus shifted your position so your back rested against his chest, then continued to pepper your neck and shoulders with heated kisses and small, possessive bites. You felt his hand nudge your thighs open, and you flinched, too flustered, too shy at the vulnerability of the position.

But as he whispered against your ear, urging you to trust him, you slowly allowed him.

His hands roamed over your breasts, your stomach, the sensitive insides of your thighs, until his fingers brushed against the most delicate, most intimate part of your body.

Sylus groaned, a sound of profound restraint, of almost pain. You felt him nudge your entrance carefully, and you gasped, clutching his arm tightly as he slowly, smoothly, sank one finger inside.

"So tight, kitten," he murmured, his voice strained. "I have to stretch you, prepare you to take me, properly, so it won't hurt."

But nothing registered in your mind save the foreign, spiraling sensation of pleasure.

As he added another digit, your mind went blank. He found that spot, rubbing it with a deliberate rhythm, and your toes curled. Your breaths grew shorter, his name a desperate prayer on your lips. An unknown tightness coiled in your belly, threatening to snap.

"Sy-Sylus!" you desperately called his name, terrified at the overwhelming sensation.

"Let go, kitten," he whispered, urging you. You didn't understand, but he simply encouraged you to embrace the feeling, to just let go.

And you did. With a cry of his name, your body trembling from a new wave of ecstasy, your hands clinging to his arms, your head trying to bury itself against his chest.

Sylus growled, a deep, satisfied sound, watching you unravel in his embrace, memorizing every expression, every gesture, every movement until you reached your peak.

He withdrew his fingers, then gently licked your remaining essence clean, a satisfied hum rumbling in his chest. "You taste so sweet, so delicious, my kitten."

You remained limp in his arms, your mind blissfully fried, basking in the wonderful aftermath of your first orgasm.

Sylus bathed you carefully after that, and then himself.

He realized then that he wouldn't be able to take you tonight; you were too overwhelmed by your first taste of pleasure with just his fingers.

And he decided he was more than fine with that.

He would savor every single one of your firsts.

[xiiithhazard]

Chaos Control

Knuckles tracks down a chaos source that could threaten his home. (Movie Verse)

Word Prompt – Begrudging

@year-of-the-echidna

(Warnings at the end)

…

Knuckles opened his eyes when something seemed to pull at him, something from inside his own body. A sensation he hadn’t felt since finding The Master Emerald, signifying the end of his journey. However, as he sat up in his bed and focused, he realized that kind, yet demanding touch had returned.

Turning around he checked on his brothers, both of whom were still fast asleep, neither one of them even aware of the strange energy in the air. Not even Sonic, who had been the last to hold possession of the Emerald, before it had been lost to the void, upon the destruction of the eclipse cannon.

Another tug against his soul and Knuckles slowly got up, making his way toward the window and looked out at the stars. However, the pull did not originate from there. It was instead much closer. Coming from the surface of the planet he currently stood upon.

Again, it pulled on him and he could no longer ignore it. And so, taking one last moment to make sure that his clan would be safe while he was gone, he silently leapt to the circular window in the ceiling and made his way out onto the roof. Keeping his steps light upon the tiles as he oriented himself, finally focusing on the direction in which he was being called.

…

It took him a couple of hours to finally pinpoint the exact location of the energy source. Though the closer he got to it, the less he was sure of what it was. The sensation of pure chaos was that of the emeralds, yet it was only one.

He’d been afraid of that.

Without him present to restore it, the seven Chaos Emeralds were now let loose upon the world. Separated and scattered to who knew where, doing who knew what, just waiting for some unlucky sap to pick one up and go mad with power. That was why, even if the sensation of its energy felt worryingly - off, he had to secure it before something happened.

However, his quest was cut short, when the pull led him straight into the solid stone face of a cliff. Grumbling to himself, the echidna turned his eyes to the top of the wall, trying to focus on the pull and its point of origin. But it wasn’t coming from above, so he walked alongside the wall for a bit, only to snap back when the energy signal moved.

He only just managed to get his arm up to defend himself, as a mass of Chaos power crashed into him, and he had to swallow a scream of pain when his already broken wrist cracked under the pressure. With his vision going white for a second, he couldn’t see what was attacking him, before it suddenly snapped out of existence, only to reappear on his undefended side. However, this time he’d sensed it coming and reached out to wrap his fist around the attacking figure’s neck.

Twisting his whole body into the throw, he leveled the creature directly into the cliff face. The force of the impact sending a crack charging up the wall and creating a massive hole where a familiar shape rested at the center, clearly shocked by the sudden turn of events. And, for a horrifying second, Knuckles thought it was Sonic. But when his vision cleared of the pain, he realized it was another hedgehog.

“Shadow?” He asked, honestly shocked. They had all believed him to be dead. But before he could determine anything else, the hedgehog lifted his head, eye’s sparking with orange chaos energy, as he vanished again.

Still able to sense the lingering power of the Master Emerald within his attacker, Knuckles was able to pinpoint his returning location and prepared his defenses for the impact. However, he was still sent flying back into the forest from the pure strength behind the strike.

Branches and leaves snapped under him, as he rolled into the fall, eventually coming to a harsh stop at the base of a large tree, where he found himself gasping for air, his ribs protesting with each breath. But yet, he couldn’t help but smile. It had been so long since he’d had a worthy opponent, and while he truly loved his new home, there was really nothing there that could challenge him.

However, he kept his excitement in check, as he could still sense the vortex of energies inside his opponent. Now that he was close enough, he realized it was not a chaos emerald at all, but instead an intense built up of pure power that was likely equivalent to one, yet this was darker, fueled by fear and rage.

It was so intense that he was actually surprised Shadow was keeping it under control at all. Of course, that was before he looked up to find that the hedgehog had stopped his attack and was instead meandering about, clutching his head in pain. Clearly fighting to stay in command. However, the more he pushed it back down, the more pressure was built.

Even he wouldn’t be able to contain it forever.

Understanding now what he was looking at, Knuckles carefully got back to his feet, causing the hedgehog to freeze up for a split second, before turning to lock his eyes on the echidna. An action that honestly made him look more like a cornered and frightened animal, than the power chaos warrior he really was. But it didn’t take long for that unnatural vulnerability to fade again, replaced by a more familiar rage.

“What do you want?” He growled. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

Realizing that his intentions had been misunderstood, Knuckles opened his mouth to explain. But didn’t get the chance, before the hedgehog was attacking him again. And, again, this was not a normal reaction.

Though they had met just a few times and fought only once, Knuckles had gotten a good read on his opponent. Shadow wasn’t the type to strike first, he was more patient than that, he waited for the opportunity, when his enemy had dropped their guard in the initial, overconfident moments of their attack. The fact that he had given up on the strategy that had won him so many battles was proof of just how panicked he truly was.

However, Knuckles couldn’t afford to show him sympathy. Shadow was not someone he could simply hesitate against. If he didn’t fight back, the hedgehog would go right through him.

Sensing the incoming attack, he dodged, just as Shadow reappeared to crush the tree he’d been leaning against. The force of the blow, sending the thing tumbling into the forest, but having missed his original opponent, the attack also left him slightly off kilter.

Taking advantage of this, Knuckles rushed in for a hit of his own and managed to just make contact, before the hedgehog snapped away. He didn’t get far, as he reappeared only a few feet to the right. But the force of Knuckles’ attack had not been negated, so he was left to slide and tumble across the forest floor, until he finally came to rest in a pile.

Keeping his guard up, the echidna carefully approached the unmoving form, hoping he hadn’t gone too far. But he pulled up again, when Shadow finally moved, slowly getting to his hands and knees, struggling for the breath that had been knocked out of him.

Eventually, his shock led him to look up and, for a moment, he looked like Shadow again, not afraid, just confident, maybe even impressed. But then the moment was shattered, as his body suddenly erupted with energy and he screamed, clutching at his head again, his chaotic presence moving erratically, as if torn between worlds. The power within him ready to rip itself free of his body and consume everything around it.

Feeling the buildup of energy, Knuckles’ attention was momentarily called toward the Wachowski home and the surrounding town. If the hedgehog’s power were to detonate, everything within miles would be leveled. Including his clan.

Immediately, he disregarded his own safety and rushed forward to take hold of Shadow’s arm, noticing that one of his gold rings was missing. But he didn’t get much of a chance to consider this fact, as the second he made contact with the hedgehog, the unfiltered chaos energy surged through his body, and he was flung backward again.

Thankfully, he didn’t get too far before he crashed into a boulder, but the impact left him momentarily dazed, and he felt a trickle of blood run down his face. However, before he could get up to try again, Shadow appeared to regain some form of control. But unfortunately, it was directed at him.

Shadow had always walked a fine line between light and darkness, but now he seemed to be teetering dangerously close to the abyss. His eyes were wild, unfocused, a storm of agony and rage, as the chaos energy threatened to consume him. And Knuckles knew that he had to act. Not just to protect everyone else from the disastrous fallout, but to protect his own life.

Summoning his strength, he pushed himself off the boulder, launching himself at Shadow and barely ducking under a wild energy blast that scorched the air above him. And, in a desperate and awkward reach, he finally got a hold on Shadow's arm.

Immediately he felt the searing heat of chaos raging through his body once more, but this time, he held on, trying desperately to ground the erratic energy. Of course, Shadow was not going to make it easy. As he quickly struck out with his other hand, hitting the echidna straight in the head and opening the already bleeding wound there, before changing his tactic and snapped them both to another location.

Somehow, despite all odds, Knuckles managed to keep his hold on the hedgehog, as they fell through the forest canopy, hitting the ground hard as they fought for control of the situation. Chaos sparking around them, turning leaves and twigs straight to ash and leaving scorch marks on anything it touched.

At some point, Knuckles realized that the screaming in his ears wasn’t just Shadow’s anymore, but also his own. The pain was so intense his body had simply stopped registering it. However, his mind was still reacting, trying to get him to let go. But he couldn’t, he had to hold on, he had to keep it under control – even if it killed him.

…

 “I’m – sure he’s fine.” Sonic said, though he wasn’t even able to convince himself let alone Maddie, who’d been waiting by the window for the last two hours. “It’s not like he hasn’t disappeared before.”

This was true, of course, that had been in the early days following Knuckles’ acceptance to the family. It had taken him a number of months to grow accustomed to the idea that he was now accountable to other people. People that worried about him when he disappeared for days on end. But he had slowly come to understand that, if he planned to be gone, he had to, at the very least, leave a note.

It hadn’t even been a full day since the family had woken up to discover their resident warrior was missing. But they’d just assumed he was training or patrolling. So, they had started their day like any other, expecting him to be back in time to eat. But breakfast had come and gone without him, leaving Maddie particularly irritated, but it was what it was. Then lunch had passed them by and still no sign of Knuckles, that was when she had started her pacing. It was almost dinner time now and the sun had almost completely set. Now they were all starting to worry.

“It’s not like him.” Maddie insisted for the hundredth time, as Tom walked up beside her to check the window as well.

“Alright boys.” He said softly but firmly causing Sonic and Tails to perk up, as the man turned to them. “Time to start the search.”

“Tom.” Maddie proclaimed sternly, reaching out to stop him from opening the door. “You just got out of the hospital. You’re not going anywhere.”

“But –”

“We will be searching.” She indicated the boys and herself, before poking the man in the chest, being careful of his broken collarbone. “You will be staying here; in case he comes home.”

The poor guy looked like he wanted to argue, it was almost painful to watch him give up on the idea of looking for one of his kids, but he knew she was right and complaining about it would only waste precious minutes of daylight.

Giving Tails a minute to get his bag of gadgets, they each took a flashlight and stepped out into the encroaching night, only to pause when something slowly emerged from the forest.

“Knuckles?” Sonic asked the too large form, stepping up to put himself between it and his family, in case it was something else. However, he just ended up staring, like a deer in headlights, when Maddie flipped on her flashlight to show them what it was.

It was Knuckles, but he was covered in blood and burns and looked to only be barely conscious. Despite that, he was still moving forward, carrying something on his back.

“Oh my god.” Maddie breathed in horror, being the first to respond, as she raced down the steps to him. Eventually everyone else followed, only to be pulled up again, when they got closer look at what Knuckles was carrying.

“Shadow?” Sonic whispered in both shock and anger, unable to really decide which was more appropriate for the moment. On the one hand, this was the hedgehog that had nearly killed his father and had seemingly just tried to kill his older brother too. But on the other, they’d also worked together to save the world just a few weeks before.

Needless to say, he was a tad conflicted when Knuckles locked onto his eyes, breathing harshly, and seemingly only able to open one eye, as the other was caked in blood. But he remained focused as he spoke. “Containment.” He forced out, but it seemed to use all the breath he had collected, as he had to lower his head to get more, prompting Sonic to finally snap out of his stupor and rush forward.

“What?” He asked, getting as close to his brother as possible, so he could hear what he had to say.

“His energy – it requires – containment.” He finally explained, before finally losing the battle with consciousness and collapsed. But Sonic was there to catch him, slowly lowering his brother to the ground, before lifting Shadow away, so Maddie could check him over.

By the time the two of them managed to carry Knuckles into the house, Tom and Tails had set up a makeshift hospital, clearing the living room for a mattress to take up space, and every single medical or veterinary object in the house was now placed somewhere nearby.

 Trusting Maddie to help his brother, Sonic forced himself to leave and return to the yard. Thankfully, the other hedgehog was still out cold and exactly where he’d left him. Though he wasn’t exactly sure what to do about it.

Eventually Tails followed him, having left to find something that could fulfill Knuckles’ request to contain Shadow’s energy. Though the only thing he’d come up with were the titanium handcuffs, which he had designed to hold creatures with massive amounts of energy like Sonic or Knuckles, so they could only hope it would be enough. In the end, they opted for two sets, one for his hands, the other for his feet. Just so the hedgehog couldn’t wake up in a bad mood and go on another rampage. After a couple of minutes, they also decided to bring him inside, if for no other reason, then he would be easier to keep an eye on there.

“How – is he?” Tails asked in a tiny, worried voice. Finding a place where he wouldn’t be in the way but also close enough that he could hold Knuckles’ hand, as Maddie cleaned and dressed his wounds.

“Thankfully, it’s not as bad as it looks.” She explained, obviously distressed, but was holding it together as their most experienced doctor. “But – he’s burning up and I don’t know why?”

Sonic came over as well, watching as Tails pulled out his little handheld computer to scan the echidna. However, before he could do so, Knuckles suddenly shifted, as if he were waking up and they all quickly rushed in, wanting to be there when he did. However, it seemed that Maddie had noticed something they hadn’t as she suddenly rushed to put her arms around his head, just before his body convulsed again.

“What’s happening?” Sonic demanded, only for Tom to pick up on the problem as well and pulled him and Tails back, as their brother began to shake and jerk, his back jackknifing so sharply that their feared it was about to break. But Maddie was able to roll him onto his side, still holding his head protectively, somehow able to keep his neck straight.

Eventually everyone else joined in, doing what they could to keep him still, as the full effects of the seizure took over, and his unnatural strength was suddenly turned against him. It took everything they had and maybe a little divine intervention, but they were able to keep him safe, as red chaos energy sparked to life, around the room.

It seemed to go on forever, but thankfully, at some point, everything slowly began to calm down again, and Knuckles started to breathe a little easier.

“Shhhh.” Maddie whispered, gently holding his hand when he mumbled something in his sleep. “It’s okay. We’re here. You’re safe.” She promised. Tears running down her checks, as she pressed their foreheads together.

“Tails.” Tom spoke up, turning to the fox and softly rubbed the kid’s back as he stood staring at his injured brother in complete horror. But the contact quickly brought him out of it and Tom handed him back his computer, knowing the best thing for the fox to do, in that moment, was distract himself. However, when he finally got the opportunity to run a scan and check over his findings, he seemed even more alarmed by what he’d discovered.

“What is it?” Sonic demanded worriedly, and the fox shook himself out of his shock once again.

“He – his body is full of chaos energy.” Everyone looked understandably confused by that.

“Isn’t that – normal, for him?” Tom asked, but Tails shook his head.

“Yes, but not like this.” He insisted, tapping at his computer, like he wasn’t sure if it was working properly. “His energy is usually neutral. But – now it’s got a negative charge. I – I don’t understand. That shouldn’t be possible. Unless –” He paused for a second, clearly coming up with an idea and lifted his eyes to look at Shadow. “Unless he absorbed someone else’s.”

“He can do that?” Sonic asked, but even Tails didn’t look convinced by his own hypothesis.

“I don’t know – in theory, he should be able to channel chaos energy, the same way you do with the Emeralds. But – normally someone with an innate chaos of their own can only handle one type at a time.” He looked up at Sonic, as if needing eye contact to calm himself down. “For example, your chaos charge is positive, if you were to take negative energy into your body, it would make you really, really sick, maybe – maybe even kill you.”

Sonic felt his heart skip a beat, as he looked back at Knuckles, who was thankfully still breathing. But – he’d never before been so badly hurt that he’d lost consciousness, and he’d certainly never had a seizure. “He – he’s gonna be okay – right?” He finally asked, looking back at the fox, who again looked unsure.

“I don’t even know how he managed to absorb this much energy, let alone survive the charge distortion.” He insisted, making everyone wince at his distracted word choice. “But, maybe –” He filtered off again, once more speculating the nature of this strange event. “It could be that his connection to the Master Emerald has given him a stronger advantage, maybe even an innate ability to channel and – possibly purify chaos energy.”

He suggested this as more of a question than a statement. As he clearly had no idea and just wanted to come up with something, anything but the presumption that his brother was simply dying.

“Hey.” Tom cut in, kneeling down to bring both Tails and Sonic into a one-armed hug. “Don’t you guys worry about him. You know Knuckles is more stubborn than that.”

Well, that was true.

Of course, they didn’t get the chance to discuss it further, before another moan had them all turning to look at the couch, as this one had instead come from Shadow. Immediately, Sonic was on his feet, putting himself between the hedgehog and his family, as the guy slowly opened his eyes and became aware of the fact that he was handcuffed.

This obviously woke him up, as he quickly tested his strength against the titanium. But, as promised, Tails had built them to withstand just about anything. Eventually his attention was instead drawn to Sonic, leaving them to just stare each other down for nearly a full minute, before Tom stood up to address the heavy atmosphere.

The effect was almost instant, as Shadow turned to look at him, his eyes widened in shock and all he could do was stare at the man, who he clearly believed to be dead.

“Hey, it’s alright.” Tom insisted when Sonic moved again to stand directly in front of his father, his fear and anger causing blue energy to radiate from his body. But the man was able to get ahold of his shoulder and gently bring him back to earth. “We’re all friends here. Isn’t that right Shadow?”

The hedgehog blinked as these words seemed to pull him from his stupor. However, he was clearly unable to respond, so Sonic did it for him. “Friends!?” He proclaimed in horror. “Are you kidding me? He nearly –”

“It was just an accident.” Tom insisted kindly, still not taking his eyes off of Shadow. “Just a simple case of mistaken identity – right?” He asked, and Shadow jumped as if his spirit had just slammed back into his body.

“I –” He tried, forcing himself to finally look away from the man he’d nearly killed, only to notice Knuckles instead and he tensed up again, causing Sonic to get right in his face this time. However, his rage soon dissipated, when Shadow looked up to meet his eyes and he remembered the moment, on the moon, when they’d been in nearly the same position. He’d been unable to act on his anger then – and couldn’t do it now.

Eventually Sonic managed to pull his eyes away and stood with his fists clenched and his breathing heavy, as he fought down the surge of chaos energy in his body, until it was finally gone.

“How?” Shadow spoke up again and Sonic twitched, but didn’t move, as the other hedgehog looked down at his cuffed wrists, not even trying to escape them anymore. “How did I get here?”

The room was quiet for a moment, but it was Tails that eventually broke the tension. “Knuckles carried you here.” He explained, his voice was a little jittery, but he was staying strong. Even when Shadow looked up at him, clearly shocked by this information and he turned to study the echidna once again. Only to quickly look away, when Sonic tensed up, prepared to jump in and defend his brother, if the black hedgehog so much as breathed the wrong way. However, Tails somehow found the courage to step forward and continue their conversation. “He – has a large amount of negative chaos energy in his body. Is – it yours?”

“What?” Shadow asked, clearly confused. Only to seemingly remember something and he looked down at his hands again, specifically focusing on his right wrist, which was missing an inhibitor ring. “He –” He proclaimed in shock, looking back at Knuckles, despite Sonic’s warning, only this time he looked almost flabbergasted, maybe even somewhat humbled. “He helped me? But – why?”

This got everyone’s attention, as it was pretty clear that Shadow was far too traumatized to lie. “What do you mean he helped you? What did he do?” Tails insisted, trying to collect as much data as possible, in order to help his brother. But, for a moment, the hedgehog just looked back at his hands, clenching and unclenching his fists, before finally answering the fox’s question.

“Without my ring – my power was unstable. I couldn’t control it anymore. I was – I was going to – die.” He admitted simply, looking back at Knuckles once again. “He must have syphoned it off. That’s the only way I could still be alive right now.”

“Okay.” Tails muttered shakily, running his thoughts through his brain analyzer. “Can – you syphon it back?” He asked, but Shadow only shook his head.

“I don’t have that ability. I’m honestly surprised that he does.”

Tails made a noise of deep concern and bit his finger in consideration. Desperately trying to find a way to help his brother, before finally focusing on Shadow’s inhibitor rings, and reached over to poke one, barely even noticing anymore that he was in the presence of their most dangerous enemy to date. “Would these be able to help him?” He asked, but again Shadow shook his head.

“They are designed to contain my power, not remove it.”

The fox was about to ask another question, when Maddie called them back and they all turned to find that Knuckles was actually waking up. Though he was still groggy and not all there yet.

“Knuckles.” Maddie whispered, gently rubbing her thumb along the bridge of his muzzle. “Hey honey. Talk to me.”

“Mo – ther.” He mumbled and everyone kind of started a little, having never heard him call her that before. However, it wasn’t exactly clear whether he was aware of this fact or if it was a case of mistaken identity, and Maddie looked as if she might melt into a puddle of happy tears, so no one had the heart to either confirm or deny it.

Eventually, with a little more coxing, the echidna opened his eyes. Though they were dull and unfocused at first, he started to slowly come around. Leading Tails to pull out his computer again and scan him.

“What?” Sonic asked, when the little fox looked at his screen in shock.

“It’s – going down.” Tails proclaimed in a tone of voice that suggested that this simply should not be possible.

“What?” Shadow demanded and they turned back to him. “Where is it going?” He asked, clearly aware that that would be the only reason for the fox’s explanation. But Tails only shrugged, looking back at his computer again and smiled a nervous little grin, clearly happy that his brother was okay, even if there was no explanation for it.

“Contain?” Knuckles told the ceiling groggily, as he tried to get his arms to work and push himself up, but he didn’t accomplish much more than getting Maddie irritated with him.

“Don’t worry, big guy.” Sonic told him, kneeling down to place his hand on the echidna’s shoulder, to help keep him from moving, and smiled when their eyes met. “We got it under control. Now the only thing you need to do is get better.”

This finally helped the warrior to relax, in fact, they’d never seem him look so relieved. It made them wonder just what kind of serious situation they had truly missed in the subtests. Either way, he was able to focus on other things now, as he slowly turned to look at Maddie again, his expression a little drunkenly sheepish.

“I’m – sorry.” He offered, looking like he was afraid he was about to be grounded. “I’m – late for breakfast.”

…

They tried moving Knuckles to the spare room, or Shadow to the garage, but the echidna was having none of it. Despite not even being able to sit up yet, he insisted on keeping an eye on the hedgehog. Which meant that Sonic was pretty much permanently rooted to a nearby chair. And Tails had moved everything he’d need into the dining room, so he could work on something to help contain Shadow’s energy while still being close by.

Tom seemed to magically appear anytime there was even a hint of animosity. Maddie was usually checking on Knuckles’ or Shadow’s recovery or making sure that her husband didn’t do anything he wasn’t supposed to. An endless task, considering the man’s worst enemy was boredom.

Then there was good old Ozzy, who was always whenever someone needed a snuggle or a pet. He even managed to get through to Shadow a few times. Of course, Shadow hadn’t moved from the couch once since he’d gotten there. And thankfully seemed content to keep it that way, at least until Tails was finished with his new inhibitor ring.

“Why did you help me?” Sonic opened his eyes, when Shadow said this and slowly shifted until he could see the other two occupants of the room. It was night and everyone was supposed to be asleep. However, Knuckles casually opened his eyes as if he’d just been waiting for the black hedgehog to speak.

“Because I had to.” He whispered back. “Your energy was unstable. If I had done nothing, it would have destroyed my home.” He clenched his fists, before turning to glare at Shadow. “I have lost everything once. I will not allow it to happen again.”

Shadow looked shocked by this reviolation and slowly looked away from the echidna’s intense stare. “Still, you could have achieved the same goal – by just killing me.” He pointed out, only for Knuckles to suddenly sit bolt upright, despite clearly feeling some discomfort from the action.

“Do not tell me how to achieve my goals, hedgehog.” He snarled angrily, somehow able to keep his voice down, so as not to wake anyone else. “For years others have tried to make me kill for them. I would not do it then; I will not do it now.”

Sonic twitched at this sudden revelation, realizing that his brother was talking about things that he’d never brought up before. He had always claimed that his past was just that ‘the past’ and he had no need for it anymore. However, it seemed that something about his interaction with Shadow had opened the flood gates.

And it appeared that Shadow was picking up on this as well, as he slowly turned to look at him again. “If those people were truly so evil, then killing them would have been a blessing.” He insisted, clearly convinced of that, as he met Knuckles gaze firmly and without fear. However, the echidna didn’t waver either.

“Perhaps.” He admitted.

“Then why not just kill them? You have the power.”

It was Knuckles who looked away this time and lifted his hands as if to check them for something. “I nearly did.” He said and Sonic started to feel uncomfortable. He didn’t want to spy on his brother, but at the same time, he couldn’t make himself speak up. “I faced that monster you refer to as revenge.” Knuckles spoke again and looked back at Shadow, more determined than he had been before. “And it nearly consumed me.”

Shadow blinked and honestly looked a bit taken aback. “So?” He finally asked. “At least you would have had –”

“I would have had nothing.” Knuckles corrected him sternly. “Killing him would not have taken my pain away or returned the years that he took from me. All I would have achieved was becoming that which I hated.” It was clear that Shadow had never actually considered this in his own quest for revenge, as he suddenly looked far away in his thoughts, which made Knuckles soften his words as well. “It took everything I had to get back even a small piece of myself, when all was said and done.” He revealed quietly and Shadow looked back at him again. “If I had turned against my own beliefs, turned against everything I knew to be right. I would not have been able to find even that. I would never be able to face my father again.”

Shadow considered this for well over a minute, before finally speaking up, though there was something else in his voice now. Like he was in physical pain, upon realizing just how close he had come to doing the same thing, to turning against everything Maria had stood for and never being able to face her memory.

“You said – you lost everything once?” He asked, almost like he hadn’t meant the words to actually be said aloud. However, he still looked back at the echidna, prepared to finish the question anyway. “What is – everything?”

Knuckles just continued to stare at his hands for another moment, lost in his own thoughts. “Everything.” He answered simply. “My clan, my father, my home, my freedom, even my own memories were slowly stripped away. The person I once was – died, and I have never been able to get it back.” He finally looked up at Shadow again, an odd softness to his eyes now. “But – I have found a new life now. I have a family here, friends, brothers. And I have slowly come to find the person that I want to be. It is not the same, but that doesn’t matter. This is my island to protect. This is my home.”

Shadow slowly looked up again and he too seemed to soften a little, to the point where he almost smiled. “How did you do it?” He whispered and Knuckles smiled back, before turning to look over his shoulder and Sonic jumped, as he met his eyes.

Realizing he’d been caught, or maybe they’d known all along that he was listening, he smiled back and slowly untangled himself from his blanket. Then he sighed and looked at Shadow, finally feeling all of his anger and fear fading away. If Knuckles could do it, after losing so much more than anyone should ever have to, then how could he, the one who’d actually managed to pull him back from the edge, do any less.

“It’s not easy, Shadow.” He spoke up at last, the other hedgehog seemingly coming alive for the first time since they had met. As the three of them found connection in their shared losses and their shared love. “But you don’t do it for yourself.” Sonic continued, feeling tears in his eyes. “You do it for them. The ones we had to leave behind. Because – if we don’t live for them, no one else will.”

…

Chapter 2

(Warnings: Blood, seizures, death, trauma, loss, mentions of slavery)

[honeyedmiller]

When You Wish On a Shooting Star | Javier Peña

dedicated to my babes @party-hearses and @ilovepedro. thank you both for getting me super excited to write this and encouraging me, always. big smooches to you both.

pairing: husband!javier peña x f!wife!reader

disclaimer: this one shot has elements that are inspired by @inthe-dark-tonight's Whatever's on Tonight getaway trope, and @kiwisbell's Honey-Do married couple wanting to try for a baby trope.

warnings: light alcohol consumption, established relationship (marriage), talks of starting a family, reader is depicted as shorter than Javier, reader's described to have a big family, smut (unprotected piv, praise, breeding kink, fingering, f & m oral, face fucking, making out, pretty vanilla love making lol), no use of y/n, 18+. minors, do not interact.

word count: 4.3k

synopsis: you and javier celebrate your third wedding anniversary at a little getaway.

dividers by the lovely @saradika

“Almost there, hermosa.” Javi brushes his thumb onto your thigh, and you reach down to give his hand a squeeze. 

Your wedding ring glints in the California sun as you head up the mountain to your little getaway in Lake Arrowhead. You were visiting family down in California, deciding to extend your vacation for your three year wedding anniversary. 

Being married to Javi was a dream in itself. He was your best friend, the love of your life, your soulmate. You’d met him at a grocery store back in Laredo, where he happened to help you reach something at the very back of the top shelf. He asked you for your number and took you on a date later that same week, and you both never looked back. 

The scenic drive up to your cabin was none less than breathtaking. Greenery surrounded the hilly road you were driving on, and in the distance, the lake glistened brilliantly under the sun. 

Javi pulled up to the driveway of the cabin, putting the rental car in park. You unbuckle your seatbelt and smile at your husband as he opens the passenger door for you, offering you his hand. You take it and hop out of the car, stretching your stiff limbs that’ve been stagnant for two hours. 

“This place is beautiful.” You murmur, taking in the scenery around you. 

“Not as beautiful as you, cariño.” Javi smiles at you cheekily, pulling a sweet laugh from you. 

“Ever the sweet talker, Mr. Peña.”

“Only for you, Mrs. Peña.” He grins down at you as he rounds to the back of the car to take out your suitcases and the cooler full of food and drinks for the weekend. 

You both take your stuff into the massive cabin, in awe of the sight before you. The cozy living room was right in your line of view as you walked into the house, kitchen right behind it with the dining room table next to the back door that led out to the huge wooden patio. There were floor to ceiling windows in the kitchen, giving you a perfect view of the patio and the trees that surrounded the back of the cabin. The brown leather recliners and couch were strewn with hand-knitted blankets and a quilt with a black bear printed across the entirety of it. Across from the couches was a small fireplace with fresh wood ready to be burned, should it turn too cold. 

Off to the left down a small hallway were two separate bedrooms, a laundry room, and a bathroom. To the right, next to the kitchen and living room, was the master bedroom. You started to walk that way with your bags as Javi set the cooler down next to the kitchen island. 

A California king bed sat in the middle of the master bedroom with a wooden bedframe and headboard. Two nightstands adorned either side of the spacious bed, and right across from the bed was a TV. To the left of the bed was the bathroom that had a double vanity and a long, dark tiled shower. 

The place was more than cozy, perfect for the weekend. You set your bags on either respectable side of the bed, sighing in content. 

You heard the wooden floors softly creak behind you, causing you to turn around and look up at your husband. His thick, dark hair was slightly messy from him running his hands through it a few times, tan skin glowing, and his once sad, dark eyes now glistened with pure joy as he set his gaze on you. You couldn’t help the smile that adorned your lips as he neared you, pulling you flush against his body as large hands gripped your hips. 

He leaned down to softly peck the tip of your nose, your cheek, then your mouth. You smiled into the kiss, hands landing on his sturdy chest as they slid up to connect at the back of his neck. 

He pulled apart from you reluctantly, sighing as he rested his forehead against yours. He rubbed his nose softly against yours, hands moving down to your ass to give it a playful squeeze. You subtly jump in surprise, gasping at his touch. 

“We should start making dinner, mi amor. It’s nearly five.” You suggest, pulling back slightly as your gaze meets his once more. 

“Mm, you’re right, but kissing you sounds so much better right now.” 

You giggle at his advances as you move back slightly while he tries to plant another kiss on your lips. He pouts at you, giving your ass another squeeze. 

“Relájate, Romeo, we have plenty of time for that this weekend. Let your wife make you a good home cooked meal, hm?” You grin up at him, carding your fingers through the thick hairs at the base of his neck. 

“As long as I get to help.” He negotiates, and you nod. 

“Deal.”

-

You both settled on making steak fajitas with rice and pico de gallo. It was a favorite of yours before you ever met Javi, and when you made it for him for the first time four years ago, it easily became one of his favorite meals as well. Spanish music played over the small speaker you brought along, and you were subtly swaying your hips to the beat as you started to cook the steak. 

Javi was chopping the ingredients for the pico before he set the knife down, wiping his hands off on a dishrag on the counter before moving over to you, hands gently resting on your waist. You look up at him and smile, puckering your lips so he’d meet you halfway to kiss you. His lips landed gently on yours before his hands moved to the front of your body, idling on your stomach. His thumbs caressed you gently over the tanktop you were wearing. 

He hummed along to the song playing, bending down to bury his face into the crook of your neck. His hips swayed with yours, lips ghosting your pulse point with a kiss. It was intimate moments like this that still gave you rumbling butterflies in your tummy after all these years of knowing him and being married. Javier had always secretly been a romantic, but he didn’t really  show that vulnerable side of himself until he met you. 

“Mi amor,” Javi said softly, and you hummed in response. “What do you say we start trying for a baby?” His voice is gentle, almost cautionary. 

You halt your movements and look up at him, brows furrowed. “You mean it?” You ask, lips unintentionally forming into that cute pout that Javi loves so much. 

He nods, splaying one hand across your stomach while the other moves up to slot your chin between his index finger and thumb in the gentlest manner. 

“I mean it, corazón. I want to start a family with you. Criar a nuestros hijos en el rancho.” 

You bite your lip to suppress the pure excitement that coursed through you, the thought of having and raising children with Javi and creating your own little family is a dream come true. You grew up in a big family, so you were very clear with Javi before you two even got married that you wanted at least two to three kids. 

“Okay, Javi. Let’s start a family,” You smile as you kiss him twice. “But let’s eat dinner first.” You laugh, and he chuckles as he gives you one final kiss before moving back to the cutting board at the opposite counter from you, a smile on his lips that never faltered. 

You two enjoyed dinner in a comfortable silence, other than Javier praising your cooking skills. You sipped on a glass of wine with your dinner as you both watched the sun set through the tall glass windows, the kitchen and living room basking in hues of gold and orange. It was nightfall before you knew it, and Javier helped you clean up all of the dishes in the sink before you two stepped out onto the back patio. 

There was barely any light pollution, so the stars were crystal clear to the naked eye. You stared up at the sky in awe, gasping when you saw a shooting star graze across the black night sky. You closed your eyes and wished for what you wanted most at the moment: a family of your own with Javi. 

It may’ve been silly to others that you made a wish on a shooting star at your age, but you didn’t care. You’ve always found traditions like that to be special, and if it worked, all the better. 

Javier pulled you in tight to him, wrapping his arms around you as he kissed the crown of your head. You both stayed like that for what felt like hours, but you didn’t mind it one bit. Javi didn’t have to say much in order for you to know that he loved you with all his heart. He was an acts of service and touch kinda guy, so his hands were on you even in the subtlest of ways if he could help it, or he was doing small but kind gestures for you constantly. He rocked you back and forth slowly, indulging in the peace that surrounded you both out here. 

All that was heard was the song of crickets and the wind rustling the surrounding trees in the most miniscule way. 

Eventually, you pulled yourself out of the bubble of bliss you were enraptured in with your husband, pulling away from him as you rubbed his back. 

“Let's go take our showers and put on a movie, yeah?” You suggest, and he nods in agreement before kissing your forehead and leading you back inside. He made sure all the doors were locked up before finding you in the master bedroom, rummaging through your bag for your pajamas. While he was expecting you to pull out the oversized t-shirt of his you claimed you didn't steal back when you two first started dating years ago, he was surprised when you pulled out a satin pink nightgown that left very little to the imagination. He felt his cock twitch in his jeans, nearly moaning at the sight as he pictured you in it. 

“Where’d you get this, querida?” He asks as he reaches out to thumb the material, dropping it back down after a couple of seconds. 

“Jessica and I went shopping a couple of weeks back. Told me to get something cute for our anniversary,” You laugh, recalling your cousin practically forcing you to buy the nightgown. “Why, you like?” You wriggle your eyebrows up and down, and Javi smirks down at you. 

“Mm, I love, bebita. Remind me to send Jessica a thank you text.” He chuckles, and you grin shyly as you tuck the material under your arm. 

“Vamos vaquero, let’s save water and shower together.” You nudge your head in the direction of the shower, and Javi tosses his infamous smirk your way. He gathers his things in his hands before setting them down on the sink counter, turning on the shower to a comfortable temperature for you both. You started to strip your clothes off your body, ready to wash the long day away and get into bed. Javier turned around to find you fully naked, and his eyes seemed to have turned darker in milliseconds. 

“Eres hermosa.” Javi murmured, stepping in front of you to place a kiss on your lips. 

“You think so?” You tease, slotting your bottom lip between your teeth. 

“I know so, baby. Even moreso when you’re carrying my children.” He presses a hand to your bare stomach, the coolness of his wedding band a stark contrast from the warmth of his body. 

“Guess we better start then, huh?” You tease, playing with the hem of his shirt before sliding it up his torso and over his head. You worked at his belt buckle, tongue darting between your lips to wet them as your concentration was zeroed in on getting the leather material off of your husband’s hips. You let the belt fall to the floor with a dull ‘clunk’, fingers moving deftly to get his jean button and zipper undone. He shucked his jeans off of himself along with his boxers and socks, now fully bare for you to admire. You placed both hands on his chest, lips colliding with his in such fervor. Your hands trail down his chest and torso, nails lightly scratching his tan skin. Your hands moved even further south, coming into contact with the coarse hair that sat right above his cock. 

Javier backed you into the shower, lips never leaving yours. The warm water cascaded down both of your bodies, relaxing your muscles instantaneously. One hand moved back up to Javier’s now-wet hair, while the other gently grasped his hardened length. You gave the silky flesh a few tugs before Javier groaned, separating your lips. 

“Bebita, fuck.” He gasped, jaw falling slack as he squeezed his eyes shut. You looked up at your husband in pure adoration, absolutely loving that you still had such an affect on him. Your touch sent Javier into a damn frenzy, whole body igniting from the inside out and succumbing to you. 

You started by leaving hot, wet kisses on his neck, trailing down to his chest where you gently nipped his skin and soothed the assault with your tongue. You moved down to his torso, kissing him everywhere he had scars from his crazy past chasing Escobar in Colombia. You eventually sank to your knees, still keeping a steady rhythm as you tugged his weeping cock in your hand. You placed soft kisses all around his thighs gently, tantalizingly, in an unbearably teasing manner. You looked up at Javi through your lashes, who was already breathing heavily as he watched you intently. 

A saccharine smile curled onto your lips before sticking your tongue out to lick the tip of his head, salty pre cum glazing it. You hum in delight, wrapping your lips around the tip fully before releasing him once more. You gave his cock a couple of more gentle tugs before licking the vein that ran underneath his thick length, causing him to twitch. You knew exactly what made him tick, how to please him instantly, and what would make him practically beg for mercy. He knew all of those things about you too, so it was a fair trade. You two have explored a lot throughout the years you’ve been together, so knowing what made each other come undone came naturally to the both of you at this point. 

You put him back into your mouth, this time moving all the way down until your nose met the curly, coarse hairs at the base of his heavy cock. You swallowed around his tip as it hit the back of your throat, tears springing to your eyes as you tried your hardest not to gag. 

“Just like that baby. Feels so fucking good.” Javi praised, threading his fingers through your wet hair. You moved back up, hollowing your cheeks out as you did so. Javi was panting above you, looking down at you with a nearly animalistic stare. 

“Pretty fucking mouth wrapped around my cock. For my eyes only, baby, nobody else’s. I’m the luckiest man in the world.” His encouragement had you whining around him as you set a steady pace on him. You gripped the back of his thighs as he started to set his own pace, practically fucking himself into your mouth. 

You moaned around him as you rubbed your thighs together, clit practically pulsating with heavy desire and need. You were a patient woman, but you didn’t know how much longer you could hold on for. 

“Fuck, cariño, I’m gonna—fuck.” He hissed, and you tightly wrapped your lips around his tip as he came, swallowing everything he gave you. He gently pulled you up by your arms and pushed you against the cold tile of the shower wall, causing you to suck in a breath through your teeth. He smashed his lips to yours, kissing you with such a sense of urgency. He kissed you like he’d practically die if he didn’t have your lips on his. His tongue slipped into your mouth, hand moving up to softly cradle your face. 

Your lungs burned and begged for air, but you didn’t care. Kissing the love of your life so passionately was a hell of a way to go. 

“I love you, my sweet girl.” Javi said, panting against you. 

“I love you too, handsome.” 

“Yeah? How much?” He grinned against your lips as his hand slotted itself between your legs, wasting no time as he started to rub your clit gently. You groan at the sensation, hips grinding onto his hand. “Enough to let me put a baby in you? Hm?” 

You whine at his words, nodding feverishly. “Yes, Javi.” Your voice was coarse, breathing labored as his thick fingers kept toying with your heat. He slid his fingers through your folds, completely coating them with your slick before inserting his ring and middle finger into you. You cry out at the sensation, arching your back off of the wall and into him. He wraps his arm around you to hold you and keep you steady as he scissors his fingers in and out of you. 

“Javi.” You moan, nails clawing at his back. He groans your name and kisses your neck and collarbone, nipping at your skin. 

He got down on his knees this time and attached his greedy mouth to your clit, licking and sucking the swollen bundle of nerves as he kept moving his fingers at a delicious pace. He moved his free hand up to cup your breasts one by one, toying with your sensitive peaks as you cried out his name. One of your hands gripped the back of his head, the other holding onto his shoulder as you steadied yourself. You felt your legs start to shake as your orgasm rapidly approached, a hot flame licking its way all through your body. You tossed your head back as you kept chanting Javi’s name like a prayer, moaning loudly as you easily tipped over the edge. Your orgasm came crashing down on you like waves to a shore, your whole body engulfed in the blissful feeling. Your knees buckled under you for a second, but Javi made sure to catch you. 

He was always there to catch you. 

You squeezed your eyes shut as he removed his fingers from you, standing up to kiss you on the lips. Javier has been the only man who’s ever been able to make you orgasm every single time you both got intimate, and you joked to him on your wedding night after the reception that that was a reason why you married him. 

Javier took pride in making you feel good. He always wanted you to feel comfortable, and hell, even blissful, especially if he could help it. 

“How do you feel, cariño?” He asks, stroking your wet hair. 

“Amazing.” You breathed, grinning up at him. He kissed your lips and smiled down at you, and you both continued with the rest of your shower. He insisted that he washed your hair and body, you doing the same for him. 

Once you two were all cleaned off, Javier turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, and you, one around your hair and another around your body. 

Javier watched you lovingly as you applied your skincare generously, thinking to himself how lucky he was that you’re his wife. You both brushed your teeth and slipped on your respective pajamas, combing out your hair and climbing into bed. 

“What movie do you wanna watch?” He asks softly, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you into his chest. You rested your head on him, easily hearing the thrum of his strong, steady heartbeat. 

“Whatever you want, baby.” You said, tracing mindless patterns on his torso. 

He ended up settling with Dirty Dancing. 

About twenty minutes into the movie, his watch started to beep on his nightstand. He grabbed it and looked at the time, noticing it was 12:00 a.m.

“Feliz aniversario, amor de mi vida.” You look up at him with a smile, leaning up to capture his lips into yours. 

“Happy anniversary, Javi.” You rub your nose against his, maneuvering your body so you straddled him. He grabbed onto your hips, rubbing slow circles into your hip bones. You looked down at him with pure adoration, tracing his facial features and the shadows that were casted on his face from the light of the TV. 

“I love you,” You lean down to kiss the tip of his nose. “I love you,” You repeat, moving to kiss his dimple that you adore so much. “I love you,” Your voice is nothing but a whisper as you kiss his ear, nibbling softly on his earlobe. “I love you.” You kiss his neck tenderly, letting your lips linger there for a few seconds before moving your face in front of his to look at him once more. 

“You’re the light of life, baby. I wake up so grateful every day that you’re the one I get to come home to. You’re the one I get to spend the rest of my life with. You’re the one I get to have children with,” He trails off, easily flipping you over so your body is under his. He slots himself between your legs, grinding his crotch into yours. Your bare heat caught on the fabric of his boxers just right, eliciting a strangled moan from your throat. “I love you. Let me make you a mom, please.” He whispers, nosing along your jawline to press a kiss at the spot right beneath your ear. 

You nod frantically, and he easily discards his boxers so he’s left bare once more. He looks down at you, admiring your body adorned in the pink satin nightgown that was already ridden up past your hips, exposing your glistening pussy to him perfectly. 

“So perfect, baby,” He whispers, grabbing his cock as he lined his tip up with your entrance. “You ready?” He asks, though he already knows the answer. 

“Put a baby in me, Peña.” You tease, and he chuckles as he pushes into you. You gasp while he groans, Javier easily sliding to the hilt with how wet you were for him. 

“So fucking tight.” He grits, closing his eyes for a couple of seconds before opening them to look down at you. You smile softly up at him, lips parting as he starts to rock his hips. He’s gentle; a switch up from your normal pace with him. The thought of him making love to you on your anniversary just absolutely melted your heart, but you knew as soon as you got back from your plans in town later on in the day, he wasn’t going to go so easy on you. You liked when Javier was rough with you, but this was a nice change in pace while it was going to last. 

You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into the bottom of his back. “Feel so good, mi amor.” You breathe, focusing on every ridge and vein that was sliding in and out of you. 

“So do you, bebita. Can’t wait to see what you look like when you’re carrying my child.” He drops his head down, kissing you gently. You card your fingers through his damp hair, grinding your hips up into his. You moan into his mouth, cock stretching you so divinely. Even at this slower pace, it made you cry out for him, the push and pull of his cock so heavenly. 

He separated his lips from yours, trailing them down to your breasts. He swirled his hot tongue on one sensitive peak while he tugged at the other, licking and pulling in a synchronized pace with his thrusts. A whine was bubbling in your throat as you tugged on his hair, eliciting a groan from him. 

In that moment, all that surrounded you was your loving husband. The feeling of him on you, in you, the smell of his shampoo, the heat radiating from his body—all elements entirely engulfing you in the man that is Javier Peña. 

You couldn't imagine your life with anyone else. You didn’t want to imagine it. Javier was yours, the love of your life, and the father of your future children. 

Javier groaned your name as you clenched down on him, cunt fluttering as you felt the familiar heat lick inside of your core. 

“I love you, hermosa.” Javi whispered, moving a hand down to your clit to give you that little extra push you needed to come undone. 

“I love you too.” You threaded your fingers together behind the back of his neck, pulling him down once more to kiss him. He swallowed your wanton moans, hips bucking as his pace picked up and his fingers on your clit didn’t let up. 

“Javi, baby, I’m—” You cry, barely able to focus as your orgasm was so close. 

“I’ve got you, bebita, you can let go.” He softly encourages, albeit breathless. 

That white hot ball of fire engulfed your body as a whole, making you clench around Javi’s cock rhythmically. He groaned out your name before kissing you once again, eyes screwed shut as he came undone, his warmth spilling into you. 

He dropped his head to your shoulder as he rode out his orgasm, kissing your skin before moving his head back up to look down at you. 

“You’re so perfect, mi amor.” Javi praises as he slowly slides out of you, laying down next to you and pulling you into his chest in one swift motion. You were still dazed from your orgasm, so you just kissed his chest and nuzzled into him, whispering how you loved him and ‘happy anniversary’. You were happy. Content. So enamored with your husband, and this new journey of trying for a baby was nothing short of exhilarating. 

You were just hoping that your wish upon that star would come true.  

tags: @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin ; @amanitacowboy ; @bastardmandennis ; @nostalxgic ; @holesandlividity ; @pamasaur

[camaelias]

Sunny Winter Day

CHAPTER 1: The Man Across the Hall

Pairing : Grumpy Winter Soldier x Sunshine Reader

Tags : enemies to lovers, angst, slow burn Author's note : Omg, after more than a decade spent on and off this app, I finally mastered the courage to post something! Please be kind, but feel free to give feedback! especially when I make mistakes, English isn't my first language I hope you'll understand ^^ Okay so, here the story : PLOT :

In a world still reeling from Hydra’s fall and the Avengers' rise, you are a new recruit—a burst of golden light in a team still learning to trust. You have light powers. They call you sunshine, a little too soft for war, a little too bright for shadows.

You thought you were finally safe. A new world, a new life, a place among the Avengers. But danger doesn’t always knock on the front door — sometimes it smiles from the apartment across the hall. And sometimes, the one sent to destroy you is the only one who might just save you.

- Post-Avengers 1, Pre-Ultron. - Steve Rogers and the Winter Soldier have never met before. In this world Bucky Barnes is not yet part of Steve’s memories. - Hydra has been publicly dismantled, but in truth, it still thrives in the shadows.

CHAPTER 2 - The Winter Soldier

*3 WEEKS BEFORE*

The warehouse was falling apart.

It sat half-forgotten on the edge of rural Portugal, by the sea, tucked in the dry sunburnt borderlands near Spain. An old fish storage or something, or at least it smelled like it.

The air was sticky due to the heat, and the thick haze of dust made every inhale feel like chewing concrete. You were already dreaming about a shower and maybe—if the universe had any mercy—air conditioning.

It was a low-priority mission : some civilians reported strange activities at night. Or better, some lads said it was infested by ghosts at night. Shadows, flitting past broken windows. Whispers with no source. The kids would dare each other to throw rocks through the glass and swore they heard something growl back,which, of course, resulted in The Avengers having to check it out.

“Ghosts?” Clint groaned during the morning briefing, already rubbing his temple like it physically hurt “Damn kids. I’ve got two of my own haunting me—don’t need more"

Nat raised an unimpressed brow “And imagine how fun it will be when Nataniel will be joining the band” she grinned

“I need to retire…,” Clint muttered.

Across the room, Tony was pacing in socked feet and snacking on a bowl of blueberries like this was a brunch meeting “Listen, I for once am thrilled for a haunted warehouse. Monaco’s a short hop away; we check for ghosts, no one's actually cursed, I hit the coast in time for espresso—perfect little Thursday”

Steve crossed his arms “Let’s just make sure it’s not another Hydra shell game”

Tony popped a blueberry as he rolled his eyes “Come on, Cap, let me have one fun mission. You already took Halloween from me” 

You hadn’t argued. You’d even cracked a smile.

Now? You were rethinking every choice that led you here.

You moved carefully through the southern wing, the press of silence unnatural and tense. To your left, a wall smothered in old graffiti and jagged glass where windows used to be. The right opened into a cavernous, mostly empty expanse—save for a few nesting rats and a row of massive rusting machines, all hulking in the dark.

You pressed two fingers to your comm. “South section’s clear,” you said “Just rats and trauma vibes"

You didn’t hear the answer, because the wall behind you blew apart.

You didn’t see it coming. No warning. Just heat and force and the unmistakable shriek of crumbling stone. The blast sent you flying forward—air ripped from your chest, ears ringing. You hit the ground hard, and then— everything broke loose. You could hear at least 2 other explotions detonating somewhere on the other side of the warehouse, a few gunshots here and there.

The air turned to static and smoke. Somewhere above, a light fixture swung violently from the ceiling. you staggered to your feet and darted behind a support beam, one hand clamped over your ribs. Blood. Not gushing, but warm. Persistent. Yours. 

“North wall’s compromised,” Nat’s voice crackled through the comms, sharp as a blade “Three down. Someone new on the field. It's Hydra.”

“Visual?” you asked heartbeat kicking up.

Clint’s voice cut in fast “Yeah, tall, broad, moves like he wants to kill the damn ground, metal ar—”

You didn’t hear the rest.

Because a thud like thunder shook the floor, and you felt him before you saw him—something fast and heavy slicing through the smoke behind you. You ducked just in time.

A gleaming metal fist swung clean through the air where your head had just been and obliterated the support pillar behind you. Stone and steel crumpled like wet paper.

You hit the ground and rolled, coming up in a crouch, one hand already sparking with light.

And then—finally—you saw him.

He was built like a battering ram in black tactical gear, every inch of him made for destruction: grenade belt, knives strapped to his thighs, rifle slung tight to his back. A black combat mask covered the lower half of his face, sleek and impersonal, dark goggles covered his eyes. You felt a chill going down your spine. 

His long hair, damp with sweat, clung to his forehead, his goggles glinted in the fractured light—cold and unreadable.

Your light surged at your fingertips. You flung your hand forward—a blast. Golden light cut through the haze and hit him clean in the chest. He stumbled, boots grinding across the floor, but not down. Not even close.

Then he moved. Fast.

You caught a blur of black and metal and then he was on you, fists flying low, precise, brutal. You dropped to one knee as his fist cut through the air where your head had been, the metal knuckles slamming into the steel beam behind you. Sparks burst. Your hand glowed again—pure heat gathering in your palm—and you shoved upward with a blast that sent both of you flying in opposite directions.

“Dramatic entrance. You always punch first or am I special?” You said as you were getting back on your feet, slightly breathless, hoping to buy yourself some time just enough to figure how to fight whatever that was back. He didn’t answer, clearly not in the mood for chit chat. No witty comeback, no smug taunt—just a silent, brutal charge, knife glinting in his hand like he meant to end this fast. You met him mid-strike. Sparks exploded as his blade met your light-shield, heat searing your forearm. You twisted out of the way, pivoted, kicked up and caught him in the side.

He grunted—barely. No pain. No hesitation.

“Y/N, status” you heard Clint in your comm, and behind his voice a couple of explotions too. “Metal arm guy engaged,” you said as the man in front of you squared you like you were his next meal “So much for ghost stories…”. 

Your breath was starting to be more erratic, your body starting to register the impact of the blast, the hits, the flying-through-the-air-like-a-crash-test-dummy bit. And he, he just kept coming. Silent. Focused. No words, no hesitation. Just a human switchblade set to kill.

Your powers pulsed under your skin, flickering like a faulty wire as you groaned under your breath. It was really time you would learn how to control them. “Gotta go old school I guess…” you muttered. And then you swung.

No light. No glow. Just a good, old-fashioned, bare-knuckled punch backed by months of sparring with Natasha Romanoff. It connected with his jaw. You could’ve sworn you heard a growl through the mask. Then he grabbed your wrist—and threw you like a rag doll.

You hit the ground hard, shoulder catching on loose concrete. You rolled, groaning, and when your palm flared again, you blasted him with everything you had.

But—

It pulled.

Your power pulled back.

Not gone—but hesitant. Like it didn’t want to hurt him.

You stared at your hand, chest rising and falling.

“What the hell,” you whispered.

He stood across from you, silent and sharp, goggles locked onto yours, his chest heaving with heavy, even breaths. The light cut along his frame—tactical black combat gear, a gleaming metal arm etched with intricate lines, knife still in hand, long dark hair pushed back under the strap of his mask.

You were breathing hard. Bleeding. Confused. And by the time you looked back up from your hand he was gone. So fast, so precise, it was like he vanished with the smoke. Like you imagined him.

Little did you know that now he was standing in your kitchen, baby blue mug with little red hearts in hand, flashing you a shy smile. 

Later That Night When James left your apartment, the apartment building was quiet. A soft hum came from the fridge, the light in James’s kitchen was dim, casting half his face in shadow as he leaned one forearm on the counter, a radio device held loosely in his other hand.

His voice was calm. Clipped. Precise.

“She’s warming up. Give it time.”

A pause.

“…No. She doesn’t suspect anything concrete. Just… instincts. I can manage it.”

He clicked the device off.

CHAPTER 3 - Whispers in the wall

[gingerdusk]

AND ANOTHER THING!!! More about the ancient hero!! Is he a Link™? Is Rauru & Sonia's daughter a Zelda™? Is Sonia a descendant of Skyward Sword Zelink?

FOR REAL. Nintendo had ONE job with Rauru/Sonia. They were like "These are your ancestors, Zelda! 😊" and then HAD THEM DIE CHILDLESS.

Stories about the Ancient Hero to uncover. The story of the true Calamity. You find something important to Impa in relation to her ancestors, a mural or the last words of a chief or something, and she has Paya give you the old Calamity Tapestry.

Unearthing the full extent of the bad blood between the Sheikah and Yiga as a result of that digging. Maybe the reason the Yiga hate Link enough to kill him is because the Ancient Hero was part of the guiding hand that led the ancient king to force their tech underground.

Ancient Hero's Aspect should have been more than just a reward for the shrines. Don't get me wrong, it's a banger reward, but there is SO MUCH LORE tied into that thing that just goes...nowhere.

^ If I were to expand on that, I would have made it so that it turns into its own questline. You wear it to the Lomei Labyrinths, and glyphs of the Ancient Hero's actions and words light up on the maze walls, and you can slowly uncover that. You can even take pictures of the words and have that guy in Kakariko translate them for you.

Also imagine if the Master Sword took on a slightly different appearance while AHA was wielding it. Green runes, or its ALTTP appearance, or Goddess Sword colors, or something.

The memories should have included Rauru and Sonia's successor. Even as a passive "Zelda going to talk to Sonia while she tucks her infant daughter into bed" sort of thing. But I've already written a whole essay on how I would portray the Little Princess.

Sonia should have had a bigger tie to Zelda's very important divine heritage than "We share time powers :)" and personally, I think her powers should have marked her as High Priestess of Hylia. Adds even more reason for her to be queen and to be entrusted with a Secret Stone before war was on the table.

Sheikah tech was buried underground, according to BotW lore. Let there be remnants of Sheikah tech in the Depths, sinking through the ceiling or having already crashed below. The Yiga can be working on unearthing it. It's their heritage as much as Kakariko's.

[hxney-lemcn]

Tension — Farmworld! Finn Mertens x gn! reader

summary: reader becomes more incorporated in the kids lives. they even try to give some fighting tips, only to end up sparring with Finn.

tw: sparring (?)

a/n: I'm...not too proud of this one, but I wouldn't say it's terrible. I just think I made it kinda run too long. Also...I'm bad at writing fighting scenes 😭

wc: 1.1k

Chapter Three

Master List | Chapter One

I looked down at Bonnie as she tugged on my arm, drawing my name out in a whine. “Can you tell me a bedtime story?”

I noticed how Bonnie seemed to cling to me the most, constantly wanting to hear more stories about my world. The others weren’t as pushy, probably used to their dad’s antics surrounding magic. Bonnie was the youngest though, so she probably had more leeway. 

“Only if your dad’s okay with it,” I replied, looking towards said man. 

“Fine,” He huffed.

“Yay!” Bonnie cheered, pulling me up to her room. This wasn’t my first time up here, as a part of my chore list would be to help the kids clean their rooms. The upstairs only held one hallway that led to only four rooms. It was two kids per room, then Finn in his own room. 

All the other kids had headed to bed, but tonight, Bonnie wanted me to tuck her in. She pulled me all the way into her room before bouncing on her bed, laying down and looking at me expectantly with a toothy grin. Stormo was already laying down, the soft light of the lamp illuminating the room in a warm orange tone. I walked over to Bonnie, taking her blanket and tucking her in gently. She wiggled excitedly, patting next to her for me to sit down. 

As I sat down, I tried to think of a story to tell. I felt even more put on the spot with Finn who stood in the doorway, watching over the scene with his arms crossed. 

“What kind of story do you wanna hear?” I asked, looking down at the blonde girl who wiggled her head onto my lap.

“How did you meet daddy in your world?” 

I smiled, “I actually helped save him and Jake. So I was flying back home when…”

I told her about how they were attacking a beast to obtain an ingredient for Princess Bubblegum, but odds didn’t seem to be in their favor. So I swooped down and distracted it, giving Finn clearance to knock the beast out. Him and Jake invited me to tag along and hang out sometime, and the rest is history. By the time I finished, Bonnie was passed out, sleeping soundly on my lap. 

Not seeing a way out without waking her up, I inched lower into the bed and under the blankets. Slowly moving her head to lay on my chest. Thankfully, my injured wing didn’t need to be bandaged anymore, and the scab was healing quickly. With one wing, I draped it over the two of us like a second blanket. I then realized that I wasn’t able to turn the lantern off. 

Finn thankfully, was there to save the day. He blew the lantern out, only to pat my head gently before exiting the room. I felt my cheeks flush, staring at the ceiling. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, my thoughts seemed to be rushing a mile a minute. Finn was closed off, a bit cold and standoffish. And he’s only been warming up to me. I’ve noticed how his stare directed towards me was no longer the harsh untrusting look, but a warmer, more accepting one. He started to talk to me more, taking in my input and sometimes even using my advice. Now, it seemed to even seep into a more physical form of caring. 

Letting out a quiet sigh, I closed my eyes, willing myself to sleep. 

…

The next day, as I was busy carrying a bale of hay into the barn, I caught sight of Finn teaching Stormo some self defense. I hurried with my task, setting the hay bale in Bartram’s stall. I gave the donkey a quick pat on the head before exiting back outside. 

I took a few minutes to catch my breath. Watching as the two Mertens sparred. I was slightly surprised that Finn was willing to teach them how to fight, but on the other hand, I understood why. With gangs who prey on the weak, to the mutant creatures I’ve heard about that prowl outside, they needed to know how to protect themselves, and each other. 

“You need to straighten your posture,” I spoke up, noticing how Stormo slightly hunched his shoulders in. “And widen your stance.” Walking over to the two, I fixed Stormos' posture and smiled in satisfaction as he seemed more confident. 

This time, he did better during their spar. Finn didn’t seem to put his all in it, but still managed to win. I sighed as Stormo seemed to keep letting his guard down, which let Finn get hits in. 

“That was a lot better,” I praised, clapping slightly. “But you gotta keep in mind your openings. With every attack, you gotta think about what you’re leaving vulnerable. Make sure you protect your head and torso.”

“Perhaps a demonstration could help,” Finn spoke up. 

A mischievous grin morphed onto my lips, “I don’t know…don’t want the kids thinking I’m stronger than their daddy.”

“Try me.”

Stormo handed me the stick and I got into a defensive position, waiting for Finn to make the first move. A fierce spar it was, as we both got hits on each other. Sweat ran down my forehead as I focused on disarming the blonde haired man. We watched each other intently, and I felt like I was in my element. The urge to flutter my wings and sore around was strong, as when I sparred with my world's Finn, anything was allowed. But I kept myself on the ground, knowing it would be an unfair advantage to use. 

Then suddenly, it all seemed to happen so quickly. My breath was knocked out of my lungs as Finn had managed to tackle me to the ground. Both our wooden stick swords fell…who knows where. The atmosphere grew tense as we both panted, sweat covering our bodies. Our gazes were interlocked, and I could feel his breath hit my face. 

A few seconds felt like hours before Finn lifted himself off of me. He offered me a hand and helped me stand back up as well.

“It seems like you still need some practice,” He stated. But even with him speaking with his usual monotone, his eyes expressed the tease to that sentence. His lips barely quirked up, before he went back to his stoic expression. 

My heart seemed to stutter, not able to make eye contact. A wave of embarrassment hit me even worse when I realized Stormo had just witnessed the entire encounter. 

“I went easy on you,” I grumbled, my pride winning me over. “If I were in a real fight I have the high ground.” I fluttered my wings slightly so he understood what I meant. 

“Then let’s try again,” He offered, picking up the swords and tossing me mine. “This time, don’t hold back.”

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[leapingbadger]

The Sands of Tatooine (A CodyWan Story)

Summary: Now that Cody has reunited with Obi Wan, he struggles to understand his place in the galaxy and in the home of his former general.

This continues the story from my one shot, The Deserter.

P.S. I am aware this is a shit title. Honestly it was the best I could do in the moment.

Read on AO3

Cody woke to silence. The hot Tatooine sun was streaming through the low windows. He sat up with a grunt, moving his head left and right to try and loosen the crick in his neck.  As a soldier he was used to sleeping where he fell, sometimes using rocks as pillows, but those days were past him and his older bones needed something more than the threadbare comforter over the hard tile floor he had found himself on.

His eyes traced the strange texture of the ceiling above him, the white stucco glowing gold in the light. Of all the places Obi Wan could have found himself, of all the places to hide, he wasn’t sure why he had chosen a desolate planet such as this.  

The thought of Obi Wan sent the events of the previous night crashing over him. Stumbling through the desert, finally meeting after all these years, the grief, the remorse, and the promise that someday they may be able to pick up where they had left off…before the Republic fell.

Cody was suddenly overly conscious of his body and presence in the Jedi Master home. He sat up and looked around for any trace that Obi Wan was lingering in another room, but he heard no movement.

He stood up and shuffled softly to the small kitchen area, “General?” he called before silently rebuking himself. He was no longer a general. “Obi Wan?” he corrected, but there was no response.

He made his way through the other small rooms of the dwelling, pausing in the entrance of a small, closet-like space. The reed mats on the floor and small round rug pulled Cody back in time, to the days he would visit Obi Wan in his quarters at the temple under the cover of darkness. This was the Jedi’s meditation space, his holy space.

There were no wall hangings, no Jedi symbolism that would tell a stranger what the room was for, but Cody smiled at the thought that Obi Wan could still connect to this part of himself, given what had happened.

“Execute Order Sixty-Six,” Cody shook his head to rid himself of the memory. He heard the voice as plainly today as he had all those years ago. He remembered the second of resistance, the question of, ‘why?’ that had floated into his head for a millisecond before it was overcome by his orders.

He carried on in the search for his Jedi, moving past the tiny fresher to the bedroom. Cody hesitated before entering, wondering if he was overstepping as he crossed the threshold. Dark fabric, perhaps old robes, covered the solitary window, shutting out the bright light of the day.

The room was stark and bare. A discarded tunic was tossed on the edge of the bed. Cody resisted the urge to bury his face in it, already able to pick up the faint scent of Obi Wan that followed him around the galaxy.

Cody was still trying to process the events that had led him here. He had searched for years, using his time within the Empire to covertly steal as much information as they had on the whereabouts of the traitorous Jedi master. From whispers in the backrooms of parlors to connections with old clone colleagues, he had finally made it here, only for Obi Wan to disappear the next day.

He had feared that this would happen, that his mere presence would be a threat to Obi Wan’s safety, and he would have to flee. He looked around the room. It was barren, had he taken anything before he left? Did it look like this yesterday? Why couldn’t he remember?

He cast his mind back to the day before but all he could see was Obi Wan’s bright blue eyes, his long hair falling over his face, the wry smile that spread on his lips at the site of his long-lost commander. Cody felt Obi Wan’s comforting embrace again as he relived the moment he sobbed into his arms, and sighed, unsure of his next move.

He had waited a long time to get here. He could wait a little longer, he thought. He grabbed the tunic next to him, bundled it up and tucked it under his head. If the general…Obi Wan, did return, he was sure he wouldn’t mind him closing his eyes for a moment. After such a long search, Cody had earned it.

***

Cody’s mind raced. He felt the percussive shudder of canon fire. The smell of burning, droids, explosions, lightsabers, grievous, ships, jedi, clones, blood, pain, and so much falling.

He woke with a start, sitting bolt upright and almost falling off the bed.

“At ease, Cody. You’re safe.” a warm voice said from the corner of the room.

Cody wiped sweat off his face and chuckled, “You came back.” It was a statement not a question, but it seemed to catch Obi Wan off guard.

He looked momentarily surprised before stroking his beard and smiling, “As one does.” he said.

Cody tried to shake off the fog of his nightmare as Obi Wan came to sit next to him on the bed.

“Sorry, I must have…I was tired and…” He looked directly into the sky-blue eyes of his general, “I thought you might have left…” he finished, feeling suddenly embarrassed and wishing the sands would swallow him whole.

Obi Wan didn’t laugh at him, or even smile this time, “And why would I do that? You only just found me.”

Cody looked down at his hands, feeling the heat climb into his face. “Sorry it took so long,” he said with a smile.

Obi Wan shrugged, “I am quite good at hiding these days.” he said, clearly amused.

Cody paused, the question that had lingered in his mind coming back to him again. “What are you doing here, Obi Wan? Why this place? There had to be better, more pleasant places to hide.”

“Why would I choose comfort when I can have all of this,” he said, throwing his hands wide in mockery at his humble living situation.

He was deflecting, Cody knew that, but he didn’t want to press. He didn’t feel it was his place, at least not yet. Not when he had only just come back into his life.

Obi Wan slapped thighs as he rose from the bed, meaning things were back to business. There had been a few of these awkward moments since yesterday, as though he was struggling with how to interact with Cody after so many years of trying to remain professional.

Of course, they had had their trysts, their moments, but those had been stollen and confined to the rules of the Jedi order. The Jedi were well within their rights to have relationships, they just couldn’t form attachments. Cody had thought his feelings for his general were one sided until about six months before the end of the war.

A drunken confession, a stollen moment, and the whole galaxy was suddenly blown open for him. And then what? Obi Wan’s position hadn’t changed, his purpose, his life’s work. Cody respected him, respected the Order, and would never have asked for what he truly wanted.

And for his part he knew Obi Wan had struggled. Whenever he had felt himself get too close to Cody, too attached, he would pull away. The push and pull of duty and want was sometimes too much to bear for both of them.

And now here they were, not free from those things, Obi Wan would always be a Jedi and perhaps always need to compartmentalize his life and his relationship with Cody. And that was okay. After years spent away from Obi Wan’s star, Cody was happy just to be in his orbit again, no matter how their relationship continued from here on out.

***

The next few weeks passed in a strange, comforting, domestic haze that Cody struggled to believe was real. During the war he often wondered what would have become of him and Obi Wan, if he hadn’t been a commander in the GAR and Obi Wan hadn’t been a Jedi.

What if they had just met, hit it off like Nat borns did. Of course, he knew that wasn’t the life he was created for, didn’t dream it could be a life he would have with anyone, let alone Obi Wan. But the suns of Tatooine rose and fell and they were still here, shuffling around the little hut together, eating meals, talking, and trying to figure out what to do now that they were no longer those people from their past.

Obi Wan was still every bit the jedi he was during the war. He spoke of his trials, the injustice in the galaxy with the same passion that he had led the 212th into battle. He didn’t mention the fall of the order or the loss of his family and Cody would never be the one to bring it up.

Obi Wan meditated most mornings and disappeared for a large chunk of the day. He never volunteered where he went, and Cody still didn’t feel comfortable asking. They may have been working on repairing the trust of their relationship, but he had no claim to Obi Wan’s presence, he knew that.

Cody had to catch himself during dinner one night. Obi Wan was off on a philosophical tangent about something or other and he had long since stopped trying to keep up.

He loved the way his Jedi’s mind worked. He let his words wash over him, likely embarrassing himself with the way he was gazing moonily at him.

“…but you would know better than I, having been intimately involved with the Empire.” Obi Wan concluded, taking a bite of whatever desert rodent, he had been unfortunate enough to pick up that day.

Cody froze. They hadn’t spoken of his time in the empire since his arrival. To have it discussed so casually was unnerving.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” He said, taking a large bite and hoping to buy himself some time.

“You stayed with the Empire, correct?” Obi Wan asked, his face neutral, conversational but a flash in his eyes.

“Um…I did. For a while.” He said, “how did you know?”

Obi Wan smiled and tapped his nose, “I still know some people in high places.”

“I shouldn’t have stayed. But I was created to be a soldier. What else was I supposed to do?” Cody said, more to himself any Obi Wan.

The Jedi paused and looked at him quizzically, “I imagine the inhibitor chip was more to blame than anything.”

“The what?” Cody asked.

Obi Wan dropped his cutlery with a clatter and stared at him, a look of utter devastation on his face. “You don’t know?”

Cody started to feel panicked now. His chest tightened and his heart throbbed against his rib cage. Why was he looking at him like that?

“Cody,” Obi Wan said softly, “The clones had chips implanted in their brains, to make them follow certain orders like…”

“…order 66.” Cody finished for him, feeling the room swirl around him.

Obi Wan caught him as he fell off his chair to the floor and held him as his body started to shake, “It wasn’t my fault?” he asked, his eyes imploring the Jedi.

Obi Wan smiled down at him, brushing his hair off his forehead, “No, it wasn’t. You were programmed.”

“How. How do you know this?” Cody asked with a stutter. His brain whirred, every interaction, every mission, every miserable feeling of self-loathing and loss flashed behind him eyes like a holoreel.

“Some of my contacts heard it from the clone underground. I assumed that was how you found me.” He said, his kind eyes training on the commander with the greatest concern.

Cody shook his head and took a deep breath. The weight he had carried for so long didn’t evaporate. Grief wasn’t so easily dislodged, but it didn’t feel as heavy all of a sudden and for that he had never been more grateful to Obi Wan.

***

Cody rose early the next day, finally getting into a routine as he approached the end of his first month with Obi Wan. He returned from the fresher to find his bedding cleared away from the common room and was surprised to almost collide with Obi Wan in the small kitchenette.

“Sorry, I thought you’d have left already,” he said, taking a step back from his former general.

“Well, I thought you might like to accompany me today,” Obi Wan said with a sly smile, his blue eyes sparkling in the morning sun.

“Where?” Cody asked, very aware that he was once the poster boy of the Grand Army of the Republic and him wandering around could potentially threaten Obi Wan’s safety.

“Don’t worry,” Obi Wan said with a smile, “We won’t be going to town, No one will see you.”

Cody smiled, still trying to get used to Obi Wan’s foreknowledge and mind reading capabilities. Of course, some of it was observation, not the force, but it was unnerving, nevertheless.

Cody followed Obi Wan out back to the small shelter he had built for his eopie. The creature nuzzled him tenderly as he indicated Cody to climb on.

“Can it manage both of us?” he asked cautiously.

“Of yes, they are much stronger than they appear. Aren’t you?” he asked the animal affectionately.

Cody pulled the hood of the cloak over his head and climbed up behind Obi Wan. He wore cooling, loose fabric clothes he had borrowed from the general. After arriving in blacks and armor weeks ago he couldn’t comprehend how much more pleasant the climate was in the appropriate clothing.

Obi Wan gave no hints of where they were going or when they would arrive, instead taking the time to rattle off facts about Tatooine and point out the occasional Krayt dragon carcass decaying in the desert.

After an hour Cody could feel his eyes drooping with the motion of the beast beneath him just as Obi Wan kicked his leg over the side of the creature and slid onto the sand below.

The jedi stood expectantly, waiting for his commander to follow, and he did.

They had come to a small dune, overlooking a collection of dwellings, perhaps a farm. Tall white structures rose from the sand.

Obi Wan handed Cody a pair of binoculars, “it’s a moisture farm” he said, and the clone looked over the space.

“Is it imperial? Do we need to take care of it?” he asked, immediately switching back to the Commander he had always been.

Obi Wan laughed and put his arm around his shoulder. Cody froze with the brief moment of affection, something that had been lacking since they had reunited. “No, this isn’t a threat. This is where I come. Most days.”

Cody looked through the binoculars again, his eyes falling on a young boy, kicking sand as he chased a ball around.

Cody’s mind raced as he tried to put together a puzzle he didn’t have all the pieces to yet. He knew Obi Wan had a relationship with Duchess Satine of Mandalore. Was he looking at their child?

“Is he yours?” he asked, his mouth acting before his brain could consent.

He felt Obi Wan’s eyes on him but didn’t lower the binoculars to avoid his gaze.

“He is not.” He said, and Cody let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “He is Anakin’s.”

Cody dropped the binoculars in the sand as he tuned to face the general. Obi Wan’s eyes were sad, the lines around them no longer crinkled jovially. Grief was etched on his face and for a moment Cody saw the façade crack. His general was a broken man. How could he not be after what he had survived?

“This is why you’re here.” Cody said resolutely, “to protect him.”

Obi Wan nodded and Cody smiled to himself. His Jedi general wasn’t gone after all, he was just on a very different mission.

They stood in the sand, under the glare of the twin suns, watching the boy as he played.  Cody chuckled as he kicked the ball into some equipment and a father figure came out to correct him. He was definitely Anakin’s son, he thought with a smile.

“I’d like to stay and help. If I may.” He said, picking up the binoculars and handing them back to Obi Wan.

“I’d like that, Cody.” Obi Wan said. “I would like that very much.”

Cody watched as Obi Wan tore his eyes away from the young boy and turned to him. He reached up brush sand off of his cheek, his hand gently caressing his skin. His grip tightened on Cody’s jaw as he gently pulled his lips to his own.

The warmth overhead was nothing compared to the warmth Cody felt running through his body. Obi Wan pulled away, the flirty smile he reserved for his commander on his lips once more.

It was a small, chaste kiss, Cody thought with a smile. But it was a start.

[kataswyq]

A NOBLE MASQUERADE

main pairings :: maomao x jinshi, xiaolan x basen

genre :: mystery, romance, fluff, angst, denial // dense protagonists !

PROLOGUE : In the empire’s quieter provinces, noble houses rise and fall with curious speed, their fortunes tied to marriages that seem too convenient, too well-timed. When strange rumors reach the palace, Maomao is sent under a false name, part of a small, disguised household led by the ever-unsettling “Master Enji.” What begins as a simple favor soon pulls them into the quiet rot beneath polite society—where nothing is quite what it seems.

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•༶

Chapter Three — The House That Whispers

The air was heavy with perfume. Maomao opened her eyes to darkness and velvet. The ceiling above was painted with delicate cranes in flight—white wings stretched in a silent scream she could not hear. For a moment, she lay still beneath the embroidered quilt, cataloging the textures pressed against her skin: silk, down, something that smelled faintly of mothballs. The pillow beneath her cheek had been stuffed with jasmine petals. Her nose twitched. It was the wrong scent for sleep—too floral, too cloying. She turned her head, letting her braid fall to one side, and inhaled again.

Foreign incense. Not the usual amber or sandalwood. It lingered beneath the jasmine like oil in water—heavy, spiced, a little bitter. The kind burned to cover up stronger smells. She sat up slowly, pushing aside the heavy bedding. The curtains on the far wall—thick brocade, patterned in phoenixes and gold vines—shut out all light. She could tell it was still before dawn, but not from the windows. No birdsong, no faint glow behind the fabric. Just the slow exhale of a fire dying in the hearth, and the faintest tick of the inner wall cooling. It was too quiet.

Maomao’s bare feet touched the polished floor with a whisper. She moved through the room with the economy of habit, beginning her morning routine. Comb first. Rinse the face with chilled water from the pitcher. Bind the braid tighter. In the silence, every movement seemed to echo. Water trickling into the basin sounded like a stream rushing over rocks. The faint clack of her comb against porcelain might as well have been a cymbal. She kept her eyes lowered, but her attention turned outward. The silence wasn’t just quiet. It was waiting.

She paused mid-comb and lifted her head. No breeze stirred the curtains. The flame in the lantern barely flickered. The air was still. No shift in pressure, no draft beneath the door. But the skin on the back of her neck prickled. She was being watched.

A knock sounded. Maomao didn’t flinch. She carefully set her comb down on the lacquer tray and walked to the door, smoothing her expression into something serene but blank. “Good morning, madam,” came the familiar voice. Maomao opened the door just wide enough to peer out. The same woman from the previous day stood waiting, bowing with impeccable poise. Same sleek hair tucked into a severe bun. Same flawless posture. This time, her face was freshly powdered, lips stained faintly pink. Not too much—just enough to appear effortlessly presentable. The smile she wore was precise. Measured.

Maomao met her gaze. “You’re early.” “It is my duty to assist with the lady’s preparations,” the woman said, voice soft and even. “Would you care for help dressing?” Maomao held the door. Her fingers didn’t tighten, but her stance shifted subtly. “No need,” she said. “I prefer to do it myself.” There was the briefest pause. The woman inclined her head. “As you wish.”

Maomao did not close the door immediately. She let the woman retreat several paces, her slippered feet gliding soundlessly over the floorboards. When she vanished around the corner, Maomao shut the door—and locked it this time. The faint click felt disproportionately loud in the hushed space. She turned, walked back to the screen where her garments had been laid out. Someone had come in while she slept—she hadn’t missed that. The hem of her robe had been adjusted to line up with the edge of the mat. The obi rested perfectly coiled, a silent statement of invisible hands at work.

She paused mid-step. A soft noise—barely audible—creaked from behind the far wall. She stilled. Not a mouse. Not the shifting of wood from cold to warmth. It was purposeful, like someone stepping lightly across floorboards. Maomao turned her head, eyes narrowing at the smooth, painted panel between the wardrobe and the far screen. She moved toward it slowly, holding her breath. Rested her palm lightly against the wall. Nothing. She lowered her hand.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t there now. Or it had learned to be quieter. The old itch returned at the back of her throat—curiosity and unease, twinned like roots from the same seed. She made a note to inspect the walls later, perhaps when Jinshi was— “Maomao?”

Speak of the devil. She turned. Jinshi’s voice came from behind the folding screen separating their chambers. They had shared this suite under the guise of man and wife, though of course they slept apart. Her side of the chamber was larger, more ornate, filled with small feminine touches Maomao didn’t care for. His was simpler, but no less opulent. “Mm?” “I’m heading down to ask after breakfast,” he said, tone light. “And whether there’s a map of the grounds. You’ll be all right on your own?”

She rolled her eyes, unseen. “Of course.” She heard the soft swish of silk, then the door closing behind him. His absence was immediate. The silence returned, dense and pressing. Maomao let out a breath. Time to change. She stepped behind the screen and loosened the inner tie of her robe. The room felt too warm now. Her fingers moved quickly, loosening the first layer of fabric, slipping out of the underrobe— The door opened. She spun. The mysterious maid stood in the doorway.

For a single beat, both women froze. Maomao’s shoulders were bare, her robe halfway off. The woman’s eyes flicked up and down—quickly, not lasciviously, but like someone taking measure. No surprise, no apology in her expression. Just a moment of assessment. Then: “Forgive me,” the woman said, and stepped back out. The door closed. Maomao stood still, robe clutched to her chest, heart thrumming. It hadn’t been embarrassment that struck her. It had been the cold realization that the woman knew Jinshi had gone.

Too fast. Too precise. She had waited for the moment Maomao would be alone. Maomao moved to the door. It was closed, yes—but unlocked again. She had locked it. She was certain. She stood there for a long moment, the back of her neck prickling again. Then she turned and dressed quickly, tying the obi with tight, practiced hands. The scent of jasmine lingered too long in her hair. She made a note to ask about the pillow stuffing—and whether any others smelled the same. She had woken up in a gilded cage. And someone was watching.

When Jinshi returned, he carried a folded map, a small wrapped snack, and a perfectly composed expression. “I bribed the cook,” he said, holding up the sweet. “Apparently we’re to be fed within the hour, but you’re all bones and sarcasm—at this rate, the wind might carry you off.” He offered the sweet. “Eat something before I have to explain to the staff why my frail wife fainted in the garden.” Maomao raised an eyebrow but took the morsel anyway. The rice ball was dainty, wrapped in a crisp leaf with a smear of bean paste inside. She popped it in her mouth without ceremony and chewed thoughtfully.

Jinshi waited. “Well?” “It’s good but too much ginger.” He smiled. “I told them you were picky.” She clicked her tongue and stood, brushing invisible dust from her sleeve. “If we’re going to play the loving couple, might as well walk the grounds together. I need air.” “Shall I offer you my arm?” “No need. My legs still work fine.” He offered it anyway. She took it, mostly to make sure they looked the part. They stepped out together into filtered morning light. The courtyard was immaculate. Not just tidy—scrubbed. The stone paths gleamed faintly with morning dew, or perhaps with whatever polish the staff used to make the place appear aged but not worn. Moss had been arranged in just the right corners. The pattern of cracks in the stepping stones was too symmetrical.

Maomao let her eyes drift without seeming to. She caught the faint brush strokes on the faux-weathered tiles, the fresh plaster disguised as ancient crumbling mortar. “A palace of illusions,” she murmured. Jinshi’s lips curved. “What was that?” She gave him an innocent look. “Just admiring our romantic getaway.” He chuckled, but she felt the tension in his arm. He’d noticed, too. They passed a young maid sweeping petals from a walk. She bowed low but kept her eyes on the ground. When Jinshi greeted her with polite warmth, asking how she found the morning air, the girl stammered something about the breeze and hurried off before he could ask more. Another servant, older and more composed, was tending a row of trimmed bushes. He bowed with more confidence, but when Maomao asked a casual question about the layout of the estate—whether the west wing housed guests too—his face tightened almost imperceptibly.

“I wouldn’t know,” he said. “I mostly remain in the gardens.” Maomao thanked him sweetly and moved on. They rounded a quiet corner where the stone path curved along a trellised wall covered in vines. Something smelled vaguely charred. Maomao tugged Jinshi’s sleeve, and he followed her gaze. There, beneath the greenery, the plaster was blackened in one patch. Someone had tried to scrub it clean, but the soot had soaked too deep into the material. It didn’t match the pristine rest of the wall.

“Fire?” Jinshi asked under his breath. “Controlled, or else someone got very lucky,” she murmured back. They moved on. As they passed a low-slung herb garden, Maomao’s steps slowed again. Neatly trimmed rows of fragrant greens lined the beds—mint, shiso, wormwood. But the cuts were too aggressive, too recent, and not the kind taken for cooking. She knelt briefly, pretending to inspect a flower, and rubbed a torn leaf between her fingers.

“Yomogi,” she murmured. Jinshi crouched beside her. “Used for—?” “Wounds. Burns. Purification rituals.” He tilted his head. “Odd things to treat on a decorative estate.” Maomao stood. “Unless they’re not just decorating.” Further along, they passed a servant girl carrying a basket of folded linens. Her hands were pale—one wrapped in a fresh strip of cloth, tinged faintly pink at the edge. Maomao noticed the girl glance at her, then look sharply away, nearly stumbling. Jinshi pretended not to see it. “Friendly place.” “I think we’re just too charming,” Maomao said.

They turned toward the far side of the estate where fewer people moved about. The path narrowed as it approached an older wing. The architecture shifted here—darker beams, thicker stone, windows set higher into the walls. A large pair of wooden doors stood shut at the end of the hall. A decorative ribbon had been tied across the handles, pale red with faded tassels. “No entry,” Jinshi said lightly. Maomao stepped closer. The scent hit her immediately—floral incense, yes, but underneath it something acrid. Medicinal. Bitter.

She inhaled softly. “Do you smell that?” He joined her, eyes narrowing. “Like camphor. Maybe mugwort again.” “Burned together. Trying to mask something.” “Or purify.” They stood together before the closed doors. The silence here was different—thicker than in the rest of the estate. Not watching. Withholding. Like sound couldn’t pass through the walls. Maomao reached out, touched the red ribbon lightly. The knot was recent. Newer than the door. A ceremonial touch, not functional. A warning disguised as tradition.

“What would you hide in a place like this?” she mused aloud. “Something old. Or dangerous.” A faint creak drew their attention. Jinshi turned—Maomao stayed still. A maid stood a little distance down the corridor, broom in hand, eyes wide. She bowed deeply. “My apologies,” she said. “That wing is closed for repairs.” Jinshi smiled with ease. “Oh? It looks in excellent condition.” The woman hesitated. “Structural issues. Best not to linger.” Maomao met her gaze. The woman didn’t blink. They left.

As they returned to the main hall, Jinshi leaned in close. “What do you make of it?” “A building dressed like a bride and walled off like a tomb.” “Comforting.” She didn’t smile. “Someone’s sick. Or worse. And the staff are trained to keep it quiet.” Jinshi nodded slowly. “Which means we’re not just guests. We’re bait. Or distractions.” She looked up at him. “Or investigators they think they can manage.” He looked amused. “Manage you?”

She smiled faintly. “They’ll try.” The path curved again toward the inner courtyard, where the scent of food was beginning to drift from a nearby kitchen. Maomao let her fingers trail along the railing as they walked, not even a speck of dust collected on her finger. Her senses remained sharp, eyes flicking from shadows to patterns in the floorboards. This place was too clean. Too precise.  She would find the cracks. And if something lay behind those closed doors, she would smell it out—bitterness and all.

After their stroll through the sun-drenched courtyard and a brief midday rest, Maomao rose again with feigned cheer. She tugged gently on her sleeve and turned toward Jinshi, her eyes wide with mischief that barely concealed her intent. “I think I’ll introduce myself to the kitchen staff,” she said. “Someone should make sure they don’t poison your favorite dishes, dear.”

Jinshi gave her a long look, one that said he heard the joke but didn’t trust the sweetness behind it. “Of course. Just don’t interrogate them too hard.” She smiled—obedient, docile. “Would I ever?” As she walked away, the soft rustle of her robe masked the sharpening of her thoughts. She moved with the slow, purposeful gait of a curious housewife. But her mind catalogued every turn of the corridor and each muffled sound in the still air. The hallway that led to the kitchens darkened slightly, narrow and lined with shuttered windows. Odd, for such a sprawling estate. Her ears strained for the usual chaos of a kitchen at midmorning—clanging pots, chatter, footsteps. Instead, only a faint simmering sound drifted to her ears. No voices. No laughter. No scolding cooks barking orders.

A house this size, this staffed, should’ve been bustling. Middle – The Kitchen’s Unnatural Calm When Maomao stepped into the kitchen proper, it was like walking into a painting—perfect, frozen, and wrong. Everything gleamed: copper kettles shined, counters scrubbed spotless, not a crumb or stain in sight. Knives were stacked in perfect parallel, utensils arranged too neatly to have seen actual use. One kettle murmured quietly on the hearth, but no one seemed to be tending it. Five young women stood by a long preparation table. All wore matching, pale blue aprons tied with exacting symmetry. None looked over twenty-five. No gray-haired matrons, no seasoned cooks with flour on their sleeves. Another red flag.

They turned to her in unison, like dolls set on a pivot. Each bowed. The one in front stepped forward—a girl with a sweetly freckled face and the warmest smile Maomao had seen since arriving. Too warm. “Madam,” the girl said cheerfully. “May we assist you?” Maomao returned the smile with practiced grace. “I thought I’d get to know the place, if you don’t mind. My husband’s quite picky about his morning porridge.”

A small chuckle rippled through the girls—stilted, as though on cue. The freckled one took charge easily, gesturing to the hearth. “We do our best. Everything is prepared fresh.” “Do you cook for the whole estate here?” Maomao asked, gazing around, pretending ignorance. “Yes, Madam,” the girl said with a sweet nod. Maomao trailed her fingers across the counter. “And the pickled plums? I didn’t see any this morning. Do you keep them in cold storage?” “Ah—we’ve been low on those,” the girl replied quickly. “They were restocked just yesterday.”

A blink. A slip. Maomao kept her expression light, but her mind noted the contradiction. The pantry she passed earlier had been sealed, dusty even—untouched for days, if not longer. She looked around again. Burn marks marred the edge of one mortar bowl—strange for a kitchen with nothing on the stove. Near an unused hearth, she noticed soot smeared into the grout between floor tiles.

Something had been burned. Recently. Drawn by an acrid scent, Maomao drifted toward the back of the room. Her nose wrinkled—beneath the kitchen’s faint spice lingered a sharper, older odor. Not just herbs. A twist of something metallic and wrong. Camphor. Aconite. Charcoal. Things she’d smelled before, in apothecaries… and sickrooms. She paused near a narrow door tucked behind a tall spice rack. “What’s back here?” Before she could touch the handle, one of the girls darted between her and the door—smooth, unthreatening, but firm. “Just a storeroom, Madam,” she said, tone bright. “Where we keep spoiled herbs before disposal. Should’ve been cleared out already.” “Oh?” Maomao laughed, feigning embarrassment. “Sorry—I have a nosy streak.”

She stumbled slightly in retreat, arms flailing for balance—just enough to disguise the way her eyes dipped to the girl’s waistline. There. A small key gleamed against the freckled girl’s belt, half-concealed under a fold of apron. Not the heavy key for a food cellar—this one was thin, delicate. Not storage. Not food. Secrets. As Maomao left, she turned for one last look, carefully keeping her back to the freckled girl. Her eyes scanned just in time to catch the faintest glint of metal—the key sliding into the pantry lock. A soft click. She felt no triumph. Only a quiet alertness that spread through her limbs like foxfire. That door wasn’t for spoiled herbs. She didn’t linger. She didn’t double back immediately. She made her way to the opposite hallway, where the heat from the stove no longer masked her intent. When the corridor was clear, she returned with a small tool from her sleeve—a needle-fine strand of her own hair, looped once and moistened at the tip for adhesion.

She knelt low, pressed it into the door seam just above the floor—too low to be seen, too fine to be noticed unless one was looking. The other end curled into the inner doorframe, where pressure from opening would tug it loose. She stood. Stepped away. Then returned to the main kitchen door, leaving a second strand there beneath the hinge. 

Now, all she had to do was wait.

That night, after dinner and a polite farewell to their hosts, Maomao excused herself. Jinshi, lounging with a half-cup of wine, offered a skeptical look. “Bath things,” she said breezily. “You know how women are.” He arched an eyebrow. “Not nearly well enough.” She smiled and vanished down the corridor. The halls of the estate were dim now, oil lanterns reduced to slivers. The hush was deeper than before, interrupted only by the distant creak of wood cooling with nightfall. She walked quickly but lightly, pausing often to listen. No footsteps behind her. No breathing. Still, her skin prickled.

At the pantry door, she knelt. Her hand brushed the bottom frame. The thread was gone. She pressed her palm to the wood—warm, faintly humid. Someone had been inside. Recently. She didn’t try the handle. Not yet. The point wasn’t to be caught. The point was to know. Behind her, the silence felt close. As if the very walls leaned in to hear. She didn’t turn. Only exhaled slowly, then slipped away, her shadow folded into the greater dark.

The next morning arrived brittle and cold, a pale haze of light diffused through the paper screens of the guest room. Maomao sat beside a lacquered box of hairpins, combing through them not for decoration, but distraction. Her thoughts remained elsewhere—at the back of the estate, behind a door sealed by a too-smooth lie. She stood with quiet finality and turned to Jinshi. “Come with me.” He looked up from the scroll he was pretending to read. “Where?” “A walk. The far wing,” she said lightly. “I’m feeling adventurous.” There was a beat of silence, and then Jinshi folded the scroll in half and stood. “You’re not going to say please?” “If I do, you’ll say no.”

The halls deepened in silence as they walked. This stretch of the estate was far from the main quarters, its isolation deliberate. The sunlight didn’t reach as fully here. The lamps on the walls flickered less with warmth than with warning. Maomao glanced at the wallpaper as they passed. “Do you see it?” “See what?” Jinshi replied, his tone dry, but his eyes sharp now. She gestured subtly to the wall on their left. “There. The paper’s curling at the edges—aged, brittle. But here—” She pointed a few paces ahead. “New. It still smells of paste. Too pristine. Two walls side by side, claiming to be the same age.”

Jinshi drew closer and passed his fingers over the seam where the styles changed. “Sloppy renovations?” “Or hiding something,” she murmured. Another few steps, and Maomao slowed. The air had changed—slightly warmer, tinged with something faintly medicinal beneath the floral incense. A familiar scent. Then footsteps.

A maid rounded the corner so quickly she nearly collided with them. Young, perhaps twenty, with sweat beading at her temples and a practiced smile that cracked at the edges. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Forgive me! This wing is—ah—it’s being cleaned today. We weren’t expecting anyone.” Maomao tilted her head innocently. “Cleaned? I thought we were the only guests.” The maid's smile twitched. “Yes, well, it’s part of regular maintenance. The old wings need more attention.” “So thorough,” Jinshi said, tone polite. “Are there many staff working back here?” “Just a small team,” she replied quickly. “And really, it’s best if you avoid this area today—so no one disturbs the process.”

Maomao stepped lightly closer, feigning concern. “Oh dear. No one’s ill, I hope? Sometimes people say ‘cleaning’ when it’s really disinfecting.” The maid’s eyes widened too much, too fast. “No! No illness, of course not—just a deep clean. Dust. Cobwebs. That sort of thing.” Behind her, through the rice paper panel of a sliding door, a motion caught Maomao’s eye. A curtain fluttered inside the room.

Not from wind—there was none—but as though someone had just passed behind it. A shift of shadow, a shape withdrawing from sight. She said nothing. Jinshi moved a step forward, fingers lifting toward the doorframe. Maomao’s hand caught his wrist. “Don’t,” she whispered, lips barely moving. “If they’re watching, they’ll lock down. Better we pretend to leave.”

He didn’t speak. Didn’t nod. But he let his hand fall. The maid looked between them. Still smiling. Still sweating. “Of course,” Maomao said sweetly. “You’re right. We wouldn’t want to interfere.” They turned together. The maid bowed deeply behind them, too quickly, a gesture rehearsed a thousand times for the wrong reasons. As they walked back the way they came, Maomao caught a glimpse—not ahead, but reflected in a polished cabinet lining the wall.

Someone was watching.

A shape barely visible behind the rice paper door, the glint of an eye at the crack.

They didn’t speak again until they reached the turn of the corridor. Only then did Jinshi murmur, “You’re sure?” “I’m certain.” “What did you see?” Maomao didn’t answer directly. “The scent was the same as before. Herbs and ash. There’s something—someone���inside that room. And the maid didn’t know how to lie properly.” He gave her a sidelong look. “So what now?” “We wait,” she replied. “And we pretend not to care.” There was a long silence between them.

Then Jinshi said, “I don’t like it.” “I know.” She slowed. Her gaze drifted back, beyond the hall and its mismatched wallpaper, beyond the too-eager maid and fluttering curtain. This place was a lacquered mask. And they’d start finding the cracks.

The lanterns had burned low by the time Maomao opened her eyes again. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep—hadn’t even lain down properly. A cushion had been tucked under her knees, her head pillowed against the tatami. She’d drifted off in silence, sitting beside the far wall like a shrine statue forgotten by time. The fire in the brazier was almost dead, its embers pulsing faintly like the last heartbeat of a fading patient. Outside, the wind had stilled. Even the insects had stopped chirping. There was only the hush of night and the tick of the wooden frame cooling in the dark.

Across from her, Jinshi sat behind the low desk, shoulders loose but spine straight. A candle burned beside him, casting gold over the careful lines of his face. His brush hovered over a half-filled scroll. He glanced up. “You finally woke.” Maomao blinked at him, disoriented. “What time is it?” “Past when you said you’d rest. And past the kitchen’s dinner hours.” She rubbed her eyes. “I wasn’t asleep that long.” “You laid down and passed out instantly. I barely had time to finish sealing two letters.” She grunted. “I didn’t wake you,” he added. “You needed it.” He gestured toward a covered tray beside the door. “They left some ingredients if we’re desperate. Pickled turnip. Dry rice. The sort of generosity that says, ‘feed yourself if you must.’” Maomao stood, stretching the tightness from her limbs. “I’m not hungry.”Jinshi hummed. “Even more concerning.”

She pulled her cloak around her shoulders. “I’ll be back.” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re going now?” “I’m not wasting another night.” He didn’t try to stop her. But his gaze lingered as she slipped through the door—barefoot, silent, sharper than anyone had the right to be after such a long nap.

She rose slowly, brushing dust from her robe, and crossed to the far wall. The same wall where she’d heard the strange creaks before. The one that shouldn’t connect to anything. She pressed her ear against it. At first—nothing. But then— A scrape. Wood on wood. The sound of something shifting just beyond her reach, too light to be furniture. Like a stool being nudged aside. And then— A cough. Not a loud one. Small. Ragged. A child’s, or someone very ill. Maomao went very still. The silence stretched, deeper than before. Then another sound—a breath. Uneven, shallow. She recognized that rhythm: lungs working too hard for too little reward. Someone on the other side of this wall was sick. And hiding. Or being hidden.

She tapped lightly—three quick knocks, then two slower ones. It was a game. A signal from the pleasure district, one she hadn’t used since childhood. A call and response. An echo of lives lived behind paper screens and curtained beds. A language for those who weren’t allowed to speak aloud. She waited. And then—faint, hesitant—two knocks. Then one. Wrong order. But it was an answer. Maomao’s breath caught in her throat. She pressed her hand flat against the wall. She nearly whispered something—anything—to the unseen person behind it. But the silence changed again.

A footstep. Close. Not from the hidden side—but from her own corridor. Soft, deliberate. A slipper against polished wood. She froze. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. The step came again. Then stopped just outside her door. She waited, every muscle tensed. A full minute passed. Then another. The sound didn’t return. She backed away from the wall slowly, silently. Her heart thudded once, twice, too loud in the quiet. She didn’t sleep the rest of the night.

Morning light trickled in gold and pink through the sheer curtains. The estate seemed to hum with false cheer again—maidservants brushing paths, birds chirping over-practiced melodies. Maomao sat beside the small lacquered table in her room, pouring tea that had long gone cold. Jinshi joined her a few moments later, a freshly folded scroll under his arm and tired lines shadowing his eyes.

He didn’t speak until he had settled beside her, close enough that no servant could overhear. “Well?” She told him everything. The sounds. The breathing. The coded tap. The person behind the wall who had answered. And the footstep outside her door. Jinshi listened without interrupting. His expression gave away nothing—but his fingers tightened faintly around the cup in his hand. When she finished, he set the cup down with a quiet clink. “We need proof.” “I know.”

“Today,” he said. “While it’s still early. I’ll keep the steward busy. You’ll need to go through the back. Garden corridors?” She nodded. “Behind the bathhouse. I noticed a slope in the wall there yesterday. The ground’s been disturbed—like someone carried something heavy across it.” His gaze lingered on her face. “You’ll be careful.” “I always am.” He arched a brow. “You’re also very at pretending to rest when you’re like this.” “I slept perfectly,” she lied. He didn’t believe her. But he let it go.

The path behind the bathhouse wasn’t used often. Maomao had to duck beneath an overgrown arch of ivy to find the side passage, half-shaded by creeping vines. The wall here was uneven. One corner jutted out slightly, as though the foundation had shifted—or had been rebuilt in a hurry. She pressed against the panel. It didn’t creak, but it moved—only a hair’s breadth, but enough. A hidden hinge. She searched until she found the notch and slid it open. Darkness greeted her. Not the soft, warm dark of unused space. This was colder. Stale. Smelling of bitter roots and charred paper. She lit a small flame and slipped inside. The room was narrow and lined in drawers. Wooden, labeled with faded characters. A workspace, not a bedroom.

She walked slowly along the wall, trailing her fingers over the carved kanji: antipyretics, lung tonics, bitter greens. Everything about the room spoke of secrecy—but not neglect. Dust lay only on the unused upper shelves. Someone had been here recently. She spotted a pot of ink with a drying brush, a scrap of cloth stained brown at the corner. Her eyes narrowed. She opened a drawer near the center. Inside: sachets of powdered tea, folded into waxed envelopes. One torn corner caught her attention. She lifted it to her nose and inhaled. The same bitter blend she’d scented in the kitchen—and in the corridor yesterday. Camphor. Ginger. Crushed leaf mold. Designed to reduce inflammation, soothe coughs, and mask blood in the phlegm.

She closed the drawer slowly. Turned. And heard it again. A cough. Close now. She extinguished the flame. Held her breath. This cough wasn’t from the other side of a wall. It came from just beyond the far screen—a quiet corner she hadn’t explored yet. The space bent at an angle, leading into another partitioned room. She stepped closer. The scent grew stronger. Not just medicine now. The smell of fever sweat, of sickroom linens aired too long. Her chest tightened. She didn’t open the next door. She didn’t need to. Someone was in there. Someone who shouldn’t be.

The cough came again—followed by silence. She stepped back. Closed the cabinet gently. Reset the drawer. Before she slipped out, she knelt and removed the hairpin from her braid. She placed it on the table beside the sachets. A mark. Not for them. For herself. To say; I’ve been here. I know. She returned to Jinshi an hour later, cloak drawn close against the wind. They didn’t speak. They didn’t have to. She stepped beside him. Their eyes met. And in that moment, something shifted. Not fear. Not yet. But the start of it. Something was very wrong in this house. And Maomao wasn’t going to leave it hidden behind a wall.

The lounging area buzzed faintly with morning activity—linen being shaken out over balcony rails, water drawn into wooden basins, distant murmurs of the steward arguing with someone over an inventory scroll. Maomao fastened the final tie of her outer robe and turned to where Jinshi and Basen stood by the covered archway, half-shadowed in the sunlight. “We’ll head into town ahead of you,” she said. “Xiaolan and I want to get the dry goods sorted before the crowds get worse.” Jinshi raised a brow. “Alone?” Maomao lifted a brow back. “I’m not a child. Besides, you’re the one who said the steward needs ‘extra supervision’ to count his own sandals.” Xiaolan stepped up beside her, already holding a folded list. “We’ll be fine! You two have your noble-boy errands, don’t you?”

Jinshi gave a soft sigh but relented. Basen, on the other hand, looked visibly uneasy. His eyes bounced from Maomao to Xiaolan, then to the open gates of the estate like they might swallow them whole. “We’ll pick you up in the carriage an hour or so later,” Maomao added, catching his look. “So don’t worry if you buy too much. Just stay safe.” “You stay safe,” Basen mumbled, mostly toward Xiaolan. She turned her head, eyes wide, playful. “Are you worried, Basen?” He stiffened. “No. I mean—yes. I mean... just be careful.” “Got it,” she giggled, leaning in to bump his shoulder as she passed. Maomao didn’t miss the way his eyes followed her even after she disappeared past the gate. Jinshi, watching the exchange, exhaled through his nose. “It’s like watching kittens try to court.” Maomao adjusted her sleeves as she left. “Cute ones, though.”

The air in the town was different—warmer, heavier, almost too normal like for a countryside town. Maomao and Xiaolan had just passed the checkpoint gates separating the noble estate from the town proper. The road opened wide into the main market street, where canvas awnings flapped overhead and vendors cried out prices with cheerful desperation. Spices, roasted sweet potatoes, pickled plums—all the smells of a world that felt too loud after the estate’s constant hush. Maomao adjusted the hem of her cloak and slowed her pace, falling a step behind Xiaolan, who was already dazzled by the rows of sweets. “I promised Chou-u I’d bring back something,” Xiaolan chirped, eyes sparkling. “Do you think he’d like these sesame cakes?”

“We’re supposed to be buying necessities,” Maomao replied flatly. “But what’s more necessary than snacks?” Maomao rolled her eyes and didn’t answer. She wasn’t here for treats. She was here to observe. The town was bustling. People moved with practiced purpose—wives haggling, children tugging at sleeves, apprentices balancing trays of dumplings. Nothing seemed out of place at first glance. But Maomao’s eye wasn’t trained for the obvious. It was trained for patterns. And something about this place itched at her. Children. So many of them. Maomao narrowed her eyes. The market wasn’t especially close to a school, nor did the season suggest any local holiday, yet children flooded the streets. She counted three, four, seven in a single glance—laughing, chasing one another through food stalls. Most looked between six and eight years old. Unusual. Not impossible, but unusual. She turned slightly, letting her gaze drift more freely.

As they moved past a dumpling stall, Maomao’s attention snagged on a boy crouched near the road, his robe sleeves muddied and his hands buried in the dirt. He was sculpting something —figures made of wet clay, half-formed animals lined up beside a pile of pebbles.A woman stood nearby, fanning herself lazily. Her hanfu was clean, but her expression was distracted. She glanced down at the boy and called out, “Rei—oh! I mean, Shun! Don’t get your clothes filthy!” The boy didn’t even flinch at the correction. He kept building. The woman’s face paled slightly as she noticed Maomao watching. She gave a too-quick laugh. “Children are always playing, aren’t they?” she said, directing the comment to no one in particular.

Maomao gave a polite nod and moved on, but her ears rang with that slip. Rei. Then Shun. Two names. One child. It wasn’t just an alias. It was confusion. A mistake. Someone had forgotten which name he was supposed to answer to. Beside her, Xiaolan whispered, “That’s weird. Didn’t she say two different names?” Maomao’s voice was quiet. “Yes. She did.” She didn’t stop walking. But her steps slowed, her gaze tightening. Names were not so easily swapped. Unless the person using them hadn’t known the child very long.

At another stall, a little girl in a clean pale robe handed a vendor coins with two hands and bowed perfectly, her sleeves held just so. Her hair was fastened neatly with a comb of carved bone, and when her younger brother tugged on her sash, she hushed him not with a snap, but with a dignified pat on the head. Maomao blinked. That wasn’t common behavior for a merchant’s daughter. Further down the same row, a noble boy in embroidered gold kicked over a basket of chestnuts and screamed that he hated rice porridge. His servant ran to clean the mess while he sulked with all the grace of a street brat. ...Again, a contradiction.

Maomao squinted as the girl and boy passed each other: one carried herself with noble restraint, the other with lower-class wildness. Their clothes said one thing. Their bodies said another. “How odd,” she murmured under her breath. “Hm?” Xiaolan turned her head, mouth full of sesame. “Nothing.” They walked farther. Maomao said little, but her mind was racing. More children. All within the same narrow age band. Not one older than ten. Not one younger than five. Almost as if… a cycle had begun, and was now continuing. Across the street, a pair of women sat in front of a fabric shop, shaded by parasols. Both wore Qixiong Ruqun—elegant, loose hanfu with the skirt tied just beneath the chest, not at the waist. The sashes accentuated their collars, draping high and soft across the belly.

Maomao paused mid-step. That style wasn’t just decorative. Lady Gyokuyou wore a Qixiong ruqun, too, when she was in the early stages of pregnancy. It was common—practical—for hiding signs of swelling. Dignified, comfortable, and easy to clean. Here, in this market, Maomao counted eight such women in a single glance. Different colors. Different jewelry. But all wearing the same high-tied cut. All standing or sitting with a hand draped loosely over their midsections. All too young to be matriarchs. All too poised to be villagers. Lady-in-waiting types. Maomao’s spine prickled. Too many.

Xiaolan followed her gaze and whispered, “That’s a pretty style, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve ever seen it outside the Inner Court.” “You haven’t,” Maomao said flatly. The girl blinked. “Oh.” As they turned the corner, Maomao stopped near a stall selling woven sandals. A child nearby struggled to adjust one of his straps, his knee dusty from crawling. Maomao knelt. “Hold still,” she murmured. The child froze, startled, as she retied the sandal’s loop. Her fingers moved deftly, but her eyes weren’t on the knot. They scanned the soles of his feet—toughened, calloused, used to dirt. His hands, too, bore scratches and calluses inconsistent with his fine outfit. She tied the last loop and smiled, only faintly.

“Thank you,” the boy muttered, and ran off without bowing. Behind her, Xiaolan laughed. “He was cute. Wasn’t he a little overdressed, though?” Maomao didn’t reply. They kept walking. A cluster of women in Qixiong ruqun passed them by, chatting in low tones. Maomao caught phrases: “assigned,” “rotation,” “two months left.” One of the women met Maomao’s gaze and fell silent. Her eyes sharpened in recognition. Not personal recognition—occupational. Maomao’s stomach tightened. As if to distract herself, she turned into a fabric stall. The merchant, a sly-eyed man in his fifties, greeted her before she even looked up.

“Ah, you’ve come for the jade-green silk. Very rare. Only three bolts left. You have excellent taste.” Maomao blinked. “I didn’t ask for—” “But you were going to,” he interrupted smoothly. “A woman of refinement always knows what she wants.” He unrolled a bolt and gestured grandly. “Perfect for a new spring robe. For the child’s hundred-day banquet?” Xiaolan’s cheeks flushed. “O-oh, she’s not—” The man chuckled. “Forgive me. The lady’s bearing fooled me.” Maomao stepped forward. “Do you sell pattern books?” “Of course, of course. In the back.” She leaned in. “You’ve seen me before, haven’t you?” He stiffened slightly. “Many faces pass through. None stay long.” Her voice dropped lower. “And many children, too. Between six and eight?” The merchant didn’t answer.

She turned and left. It wasn’t until they were nearing the exit of the market that Maomao saw it. A public bulletin board stood near the town’s official hall—used for imperial notices, tax adjustments, and birth announcements from noble houses. Maomao paused. One notice bore the seal of a minor noble family. The name listed: Lord Min’s first son, Shun. Age: 7. Location: the estate they had just left. But the child she’d seen playing in mud earlier, the one called Rei—no, Shun, didn’t look like a noble’s son. He looked like a street boy. Maomao stared for a long time. Then she turned away. The walk back was quiet. Xiaolan talked now and then about Chou-u and the candied lotus root she’d bought, but Maomao said little. Her hands stayed tucked inside her sleeves, fingers curled tight. One thought beat steadily beneath the rest. These weren’t just flukes. This was a system. And it was still happening.

Xiaolan waited outside the dumpling stall, her hands clutching a paper-wrapped bundle of lotus-root cakes. She bounced slightly on her heels, scanning the crowd until a familiar shape emerged from the side alley. Basen. He wore civilian robes today, plain but clean, hair tied back a little too stiffly. His eyes darted around like a man uncomfortable without armor. “You’re late,” Xiaolan scolded, pouting. “I got held up at the tannery road,” Basen mumbled. “Some boys threw melon seeds at the patrol horse.” She tried not to laugh, but failed. “You always look so serious—even now, but Maomao said she’ll be back soon, there were merchants selling Anodynes, so she’s stalking up.”

Basen opened his mouth to protest, then paused. His gaze dropped to the bundle in her arms. “For Chou-u?” he asked. “Half,” she said proudly. “The rest is for us.” His ears turned a shade redder. She handed him a skewer. Their fingers brushed. For a moment, they stood like that—awkward, sweet, too aware of the space between them. A pair of children nearby shouted with laughter as they raced past, but neither of them moved. “Next time,” Basen said quietly, “you shouldn’t come into town alone.” “I wasn’t,” she replied with a grin. “I had Maomao.” He didn’t smile. “That doesn’t mean it’s safe, she’s also a lunatic.” Xiaolan tilted her head. “Are you that worried?” Basen looked away, muttering, “...Of course I’m worried.” She beamed so brightly he nearly flinched.

The carriage rocked gently on the road back to the estate, the creak of the wheels blending with the rustle of wind in the tall grass. Xiaolan had dozed off beside the basket of sesame cakes. Her head lolled against the wood frame, hair coming loose from its pins. Maomao sat across from her, legs folded, cloak drawn tightly around her shoulders. She hadn’t said more than a handful of words since they left the market. Jinshi had only joined them halfway. He had arrived on foot at the outskirts of the town, brushing dust from his sleeves as he climbed in with a sigh. “Finished dealing with that steward,” he’d muttered. “Turns out he’s less competent than we thought.” Now, seated beside the open window, Jinshi glanced at Maomao from under lowered lashes. “Well?” he asked quietly. Maomao didn’t look at him.

“I saw twenty children,” she said. “All between six and eight. All in one town.” Jinshi’s fingers tapped the edge of the window frame. “And?” “Too many were too well-trained for such noble clothing,” she murmured. “And too many took on the wrong name.” Jinshi said nothing. The rhythm of the wheels filled the silence between them. “They’re being raised. Placed. Reassigned.” Her voice dropped lower. “The estate isn’t the disease. It’s just one sore.” He turned his head slightly. “And how bad do you think this situation is considering there were at least a dozen children in one marketplace?” Maomao looked out the window as the estate gates grew larger on the horizon. “I think it’s already too widespread, we need to find the root.”

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•༶

author notes :: OMGG! i had so much fun writing this but it took me soo much longer than expected lmaoo! i had so many ap classes to study for so i was SWAMPED with practice tests and sooo many study guides like this ended up taking me 2 or more weeks but also if anyone is interested i am updating my skip and loafer fic as well so stay tuned babes i love all of yall !!! ✧.*

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[unsoundedcomic]

Whumptober 2024 - 21 - "Body Horror"

The Cather account was overdue by a day. A dozen contracts in triplicate, each three pages, each page nearly black with words packed as frugally and cruelly together as the 300 unwanted toddlers housed inside the Bantam Street Orphan Asylum.

The page count should be twice what it was. The deadline should be twice what it was as well. That cheap bastard Cather. Duane had spent the whole of the morning and afternoon working on the job, and had learned for the first time in six years that eye strain was possible with even the manner of eyes that one could remove and polish on one's sleeve.

Once each orb glistened to his satisfaction, they were slid again into his skull. A weary, unhappy groan from his artificial voice box shook his artificial lungs. Blast it all. His artificial tongue drily traced the backs of his artificially straight teeth.

Cheap bastard Cather.

A great one for the wine, that one, his landlady said (how she loved to gossip with her exotic Aldish tenant). Wouldn't let his wife cook for him either, ate every meal at one of the restaurants on the pier - belike fancied one of the serving girls there! Oh, men, they were each of them dogs led around by the prick. It's made him fat, too. Mr Adelier, have you marked the wattle! A fat turkey, him, strutting the paving stones, fanning his papers like a proud cock's tail.

Adelier! I need these by the morning, Adelier! Why can't you work nights, you lazy moulten Ald!

Duane leaned hard against the curve of his chair. By inches, he squeezed together his clavicles and rocked slowly further and further backwards, away from the edge of his desk. One by one, with dusty pops, each sere vertebra separated. But held. He'd first had to wire the lower column years ago, but every restringing afterwards was a wee bit better than the one before. He'd joked to himself - for his landlady would not appreciate the grisly thought - that he'd so mastered the art he might give up the scrivening and become a dollmaker, or perhaps try his hand at engineering a suspension bridge.

Still bent back, he raised one arm towards the stained ceiling, and rotated it at the shoulder clockwise. The slow turn of his flattened hand fascinated him. And there was nothing to stop it. The wires connecting it to his torso forbade naught; allowed all range of motion, even if it thrilled and horrified some primal part of his soul when he turned the arm further, and further, and further than any living man could. He counted the limb's each revolution, multiplying the 360s, reaching a factor of 20 before letting it spin back into place. Its final floppy turn caught his temple and knocked a mad laugh out of him.

Was anyone watching through the shop window? He should not be so careless. But, no, no. The street was empty. The dinner hour was passed. The shadows stretched long. They crept across the pavement outside like a crone's bloodless fingers. Golden had grown the light.

Cheap bastard Cather.

The contracts watched him watching them. Real estate loans for properties inland, towards the Beadman offices. What if a candle overturned. The paper would burn like autumn leaves. Would the properties alight too? Hundreds of acres giving themselves up as ash to the empyrean.

Cheap bastard Cather would not burn. No. Duane thought Cather would roast. Three-hundred pounds of flesh spit through the middle like a Treenahinn hog. His waistcoat would split open. Pale belly would glisten over the flames, then by degrees darken from ivory to umber. Fat would run from his wattle and hiss in the embers. They could carve him up and serve him tableside at that restaurant he fancied.

Duane crossed his arms over his chest and thinned his sore eyes at the flushed sky outside. It was a flesh colour, that flush. The tenderness of raw cheek. Could a dead man bite into it? If he could contort his limbs farther and bend his back further then could he not reach his starving maw higher? High into heaven. Dip hollow metacarpals through the honey-coloured clouds - part them like a woman's petticoats; part them and reach beyond, to the blushing pink-

Duane's thoughts swam as his insides curdled. Ssael, did he wish to bite that cheap bastard Cather, or bed him?

God help him, what did it matter. The pauper could dream of a roast leg of lamb or a roast leg of vliegeng; he would be receiving neither. Muttering invectives, Duane rose unsteadily from his chair amidst a riot of rattling bones and popping joints. The madness was flirting early tonight. His manacles called.

Reaching to shutter the front window, he saw the fingers missing from his right hand.

Distantly, as though recalling a face from twenty years ago, he realised he'd gnawed them off while fantasizing of cooking his client and violating the sky. The memory was there. Where had his mind been? His mind had been...

They'd have to be dug out of his abdomen in the morning. They'd have to be carefully rewired.

Anteit Vaosa.

The Cather account would not be finished tomorrow either. And Cather would come into his shop and scream and sweat and grow red as a candied ham-

The galit ran for its manacles, and had to lock them with its teeth.

[echo-goes-mmm]

Silas and Wren 2.0 #2

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: none

Master quickly paid, and soon he was unlocked from his chain. The other slaves eyed him with pity, and it didn’t help the worry growing leaden in his stomach.

The streetlamps were already lit when they left, casting their warm glow on the road. 

The fresh air was a welcome change from the warehouse, but it was rapidly cooling, and he shivered as Master led him through the streets. 

“What’s your name?” asked Master, startling him.

“W-whatever you want it to be, Master.”

People kept looking their way, and he kept his eyes lowered and head down.

“Well, what did your mother call you?”

“W-wren,” he said, teeth chattering. His worn clothing wasn’t enough for the chilly air, and the cobblestone roads were freezing on his bare feet.

“Then that’s your name,” said Master, looking at him from the corner of his eye.

“Thank you, Master.”

Wren tucked his fingers under his arms as Master stopped to browse at a stall selling street corn.

It smelled delicious, but he couldn’t understand why they stopped.

Master paid for a cob of the grilled corn, and handed the tinfoil package to him.

“You look cold,” he said, “and you should eat.”

Wren took it gratefully, and the hot corn kept his hands warm until it was cool enough to unwrap. It was nice to know his new Master was a generous type.

He nibbled slowly to make it last. His feet were still freezing, but he’d had worse.

When the crowds had thinned, he took a better look at his Master.

He was handsome: tall, with dark hair and gray eyes.

Many of his old masters weren’t nearly so beautiful, and maybe that would make bed service more bearable.

But he was also a vampire, and there was no way to tell how that was going to go. He half expected to be hypnotized already.

Master walked in long strides, seemingly in a hurry to get home, and Wren had to work to keep up.

He was surprised when a half hour into the walk, Master stopped in front of a narrow townhouse.

He pulled a key from his jacket pocket, and unlocked the door, ushering Wren in.

It was dark inside, the windows covered in thick blackout curtains to presumably block out the sun, and Master opened them to let in the light from the streetlamps.

The house was nice, certainly, but it wasn’t the infamous nest in the upper city he had heard about.

Was Master a lone vampire?

He didn’t voice his thoughts, instead keeping quiet as Master pulled candles from a shelf in the living room.

Wren waited for Master’s first orders, but Master didn’t seem interested in bedding him yet.

“Are you hungry?” asked Master, searching for matches. “I bought food, but I, uh, forgot to make something.”

“I’m alright, Master,” he said politely, confused.

Master turned, matches in hand. “Oh good,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “I don’t think I can cook anyway.”

Master lit one of the candles, the dim glow casting his face in warm yellow. “I’ll show you to your room.”

Master had prepared a room for him? His heart sank as he thought of chains and cages.

Wren chewed the inside of his cheek in worry as he followed Master upstairs to the second floor, and then up another, smaller staircase.

There was a short, narrow hallway, and then a door that led to the attic.

“I know it’s not much,” said Master, putting the candles and matches on a table off to the side of the door. “But it’s something.”

Wren stood stunned for a minute, taking it in. 

“It’s beautiful,” he said truthfully.

The room was small, with a low cozy ceiling, and Wren loved it immediately.

There was a circular window across from the door, with parted blackout curtains that let in moonbeams.

A bed sat below it, with a nightstand. A rug was under that, with a blue and cream design.

There was even a small, low bookshelf against the right wall with books, and a plush chair to sit in.

He couldn’t read, but it was a nice thought.

“I’m glad you like it,” Master said. “I- um- I’ll let you rest. I know you sleep at night, but...”

“I’ll work on it, Master,” he promised.

“Thanks,” he said, smiling. “I’ll be downstairs, if you need anything.”

Master closed the door behind him, and Wren was left alone.

___________________

He woke up late in the morning, sunlight streaming through the attic window.

Wren tried to go back to sleep, to prepare for the night ahead, but he didn’t have much success.

Soon he was too hungry to stay in bed, and he went downstairs to look around.

A closed door on the second floor was probably Master’s room, and he peeked into a couple cracked open doors to get his bearings.

A full bathroom, claw tub and everything, was on the right, along with a linen closet and a guest room.

Downstairs held a kitchen, living room, and dining room. There was a backyard, with a high fence and a small patio, and Wren briefly smiled at the idea of Master mowing a lawn.

His stomach grumbled, and he cut the exploring short to cook a quick meal.

The kitchen had brand-new pots and pans, a tea kettle, and an untouched stove and oven.

The cabinets were stocked with food, and there was fresh meat and vegetables in the ice box. The most surprising item was a spice rack that was stocked with more than he knew existed.

There was no way he could eat all of it, even within a week.

He would have to ask Master not to buy so much.

Wren started on a pot of rice, and pulled out some broccoli and chicken from the icebox.

He looked for some olive oil, and found it in a cupboard above the stove.

It was nice to work without someone looking over his shoulder. He had served in kitchens before, a long time ago, and had watched the cooks as he washed his Master's dishes. Now he could do the cooking, which had always seemed more interesting.

Wren pulled out spices at random, sniffing them to figure out what to put on the chicken.

He was having fun, really, but cooking wasn’t the quietest chore.

He glanced up at the ceiling, and hoped Master couldn’t hear him as he chopped the broccoli.

Over the years, and after many masters, he had learned that a beating on the first day was bad luck.

The rice came out a bit undercooked, but it was his first time and no one else was eating it.

He ate slowly, wondering what his new Master was like. He seemed nice enough, but a bit… odd.

Was that the vampirism, or was he just unused to giving orders?

And why didn’t he have a nest?

taglist: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @secretwhumplair @freefallingup13 @mylovelyme @whumpzone @paintedpigeon1 @haro-whumps @whumpthisway @fanastyfinder @extemporary-whump @susiequaz12 @keepingwhumpwiththekardashians @the-cyrulik @morning-star-whump @writereleaserepeat @annablogsposts @tobiaslut

[xxfaithlynxx]

Learning to Stay

Word Count: 13.6k

Hearts In The Static

Aven begins to see things for what they are...

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Isekai, OC insert, Polyamory / Polyamorous Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Chronic Illness, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Found Family, Emotional Healing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, body image issues, Unreliable Narration, Protective Male Characters, rivals to lovers (sort of), past trauma, Everyone Loves Her But She Doesn’t Know Why, Heavy Angst, Fix-It Fic (but of the soul) Mental Health Themes (Depression, ADHD, pcos, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome), Suicidal ideation (past), Self-Harm Mention (Non-Graphic Flashback), Emotional Abuse (Referenced past) - Freeform, Body Dysmorphia, Trauma Recovery, Discussion of Medical Symptoms, feelings of worthlessness, Slow Healing & Difficult Conversations, themes of death, Survival, and identity

╰──────༺♡༻──────╯

Chapter 14:

The hum of the city filtered through my windows—low and constant, like the world was whispering me awake.

I blinked up at the ceiling of my apartment, sheets tangled around my legs, the plush mattress cradling me like it had been custom-made. Maybe it had been. The boys had gone overboard furnishing the place, and even in my blurry, sleep-heavy haze, I could still smell the hint of sandalwood and new upholstery that hadn’t quite settled in yet.

The master bedroom—mine, apparently—was styled in cool, rich tones. Dark grey sheets with a velvety weight, black end tables with gold-accented drawer pulls, a near gothic lolita aesthetic I’d mentioned in passing and somehow they’d gotten exactly right. Sylus and Xavier had built the bed frame and arranged everything before I’d even stepped foot inside. I still hadn’t figured out how to thank them for that.

Stretching slowly, my sleep shirt rode up, the hem brushing just above the curve of my stomach. The air kissed my legs, bare and marked faintly by the impression of bedding. I shifted, rubbed at my eyes, and padded barefoot into the hall and into the main room.

The living room was bathed in soft, pale morning light streaming through the wide windows. The sheer curtains shifted with the breeze of the climate control system, barely fluttering. There were unopened boxes still stacked near the dining table, half-filled bookshelves, and a soft gray couch that looked like it had cost more than my rent back home—if I still had a “back home.”

And sprawled on that very couch, arm draped over his eyes, was Rafayel.

His plum-indigo hair was tousled from sleep, one leg kicked out dramatically like he’d lost a fight with the furniture. He wore a sleeveless black tank top and loose sweats that rode low on his hips, a faint trail of fur revealed just beneath the hem. His chest rose and fell slowly, and for once—he looked peaceful. No snark. No half-lidded smirk. Just stillness.

I smiled despite myself.

Not even three feet away, the spare room door was cracked open half way, and I caught sight of Caleb, curled on the guest bed. He’d tossed off his blanket in his sleep. Shirtless, his broad chest rising with slow, even breaths. A glint of sunlight slipped through the window and cast over his eyes, fluttering beneath closed lids.

The sight rooted me. Two of them here. Watching over me. Not because I’d asked them to—but because they wanted to.

I stretched again, sleep shorts shifting against my thighs as I inhaled the scent of brewed coffee one of them must’ve prepped the night before. It was... quiet. And for the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn’t lonely.

It was mine .

I moved as quietly as I could across the smooth wood floors, my bare feet making no sound. The kitchen stretched out ahead of me—dark stone counters, a sleek island lit by soft under-cabinet LEDs, and a fridge so massive it made the space feel more like a high-end penthouse showroom than an actual home. But it was home. At least, it was mine now. Courtesy of a man who carried guns like accessories and ran a covert tech syndicate with a smirk and a single raised brow.

I opened one of the drawers and found the exact bag of coffee Caleb had sworn by at the grocery centre at Universum, just to look at it. Colombian blend. Strong, rich. Not that I really needed caffeine anymore, not with whatever was flowing through my bloodstream now—but the ritual mattered.

Cup. Pour. Cream. Two sugars.

A double-double. That’s what we called it back home.

I wrapped both hands around the mug and took a sip.

It tasted the same.

Exactly the same.

Which was weird, right? Different planet, different reality, different air—hell, different physics, if I was being honest with myself. And yet… it tasted no different than the gas station coffee I used to nurse at four in the morning when I couldn’t sleep.

Maybe that was my Evol. Maybe whatever was inside me made this world match mine in small ways. Tiny things bleeding across the veil. A mirrored world pulling familiar threads into unfamiliar space.

The warmth of the mug didn’t quite reach the cold creeping up behind my ribs.

I leaned my hip against the counter and stared into the creamy surface of the coffee, watching it ripple slightly with each shift of my hand.

If I really was the reason for the bleed-throughs… if my presence here was what stirred up Destiny Café’s phantom song, the past-life fragments, the anomalies, the metaflux pulses… what else had I done?

What else had I changed?

What had I given them?

I thought of Zayne. The softness in his voice when he tried to get close to animals in the main story of the game. The fleeting image of him in that deliciously absurd Valentine’s card as the veterinarian, although that wasn’t all he was in that card, it was what stood out to me. Then the spring flower event, with that pink bird flying into his chest, the white-browed tit-warbler. The name always made me smirk. 

And Sylus. Xavier. Rafayel. Caleb.

Were the things they remembered—those myths, that sorrow, the longing—all their own?

Or had I given them that pain?

Injected it into their lives like some glitching god with a heart too full of stories and not enough sense? 

Like Astra. I thought.

I clutched the mug tighter and stared out the window above the sink. Neon glimmered far below, a soft-pink reflection skating across the glass as the early morning haze clung to the skyline.

I didn’t know what was worse—being a girl who didn’t belong in this world…

…or being the one who changed it just by being here.

The moment of quiet dissolved with the shrill bleating of an alarm from the spare bedroom.

It tore through the stillness like a fire alarm in a cathedral. I winced, lifting my mug to take another long sip, already bracing myself for whatever chaos would stumble out next.

A heavy thud. A muffled curse.

And then—Caleb appeared.

Groggy, shirtless, and utterly wrecked from sleep, he trudged into the kitchen with the kind of haunted expression people wore during college midterms or after encountering cursed vending machines. His brown hair stuck up at odd angles, and his bare chest—

I blinked.

Tattoos?

My eyes dragged down his torso before I could even stop them, catching the thick lines of ink along the right side of his ribs and trailing the outline of another just barely visible across his left shoulder. Long, curving script etched into sun-warmed skin. Caleb had tattoos?

Not the other night when we fell asleep next to each other in my bed—when he lay next to me, his bare skin on full display. I remembered it with brutal clarity. It had been smooth. Clean. He hadn’t had them.

But now… here they were.

Real. Permanent. Beautiful.

He yawned, scratched the back of his head, and grumbled something unintelligible as he made a direct line for the coffee machine, ignoring me completely. The kind of man who would sooner let the world burn than speak before caffeine.

I opened my mouth to greet him, maybe ask him about the ink, but he waved me off without looking. “No verbal communication until the bean juice hits bloodstream.”

“Right,” I murmured around my mug, still trying not to stare. Still trying.

He fumbled with the coffee machine like it had insulted his lineage, stabbing the “brew” button with excessive aggression once he’d prepped the single serve futuristic Keurig machine again. I tried to mind my own business, but my traitorous gaze drifted again—drawn to the lean definition of his back, the curve of his waist, the bold ink running down his side in rich black lines.

He stretched and turned just enough for the light to catch it properly.

“Per Aspera Ad Astra,” he muttered without looking up. “Through hardships, to the stars.”

I blinked again. “That’s… Latin.”

“Mmhmm.” He finally looked up, smirking around the rim of his mug as he took a long, blessed sip. “Didn’t expect that, huh?”

“No,” I admitted, still a little stunned. “I didn’t know you had tattoos.”

That earned me a lopsided grin. “Oh, someone’s been cataloguing what I do and don’t have.”

I scowled, embarrassed, but his eyes softened with something warmer. “They’re not in the… game, right?”

The word felt sharp in my throat, even as I said it.

“No,” I said. “You didn’t have them there.”

And my breath hitched in my throat—not because I found them unattractive. They were stunning. But because the realization crashed down on me in a wave that nearly knocked me sideways

Maybe I was finally seeing them for who they really were— here . In this world.

Not as the filtered characters I had memorized from my screen, from scripted dialogue and looping animations and update patches. But as real men, with real histories that had always been more than what I thought I’d known. And I’d never even asked if they’d wanted to be seen that way.

I hadn’t noticed his tattoos then—not because they weren’t real—but maybe because I wasn’t ready to see them.

He leaned back against the counter beside me, the edge of his bicep brushing my arm. “Guess I’m not him, then.”

There wasn’t bitterness in his tone—just quiet finality. A truth spoken not to hurt, but to make sure I saw the difference.

And I did.

The tattoos were just one part. He wasn’t the Caleb I’d known through a glowing screen. He was more jagged, more tired, more complicated. More real .

I took a slow sip of my coffee, not quite able to meet his eyes. “No… you’re not.”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“You’re more. ”

That made him go still for a second. Then he exhaled, all the teasing gone from his face. His smile curved slower this time, crooked and intimate in the early morning light.

“You keep looking at me like that,” he said gently, “and I’m gonna start thinking you enjoy the view.”

I rolled my eyes and smirked behind the rim of my mug. “You’re absolutely insufferable.”

“Only when I’m being appreciated.” He winked, then added with a stretch, “Still—glad I left the shirt off. Feels like it paid off.”

I shook my head, but I wasn’t denying it.

Not really.

Caleb sipped at his mug again, one arm loosely folded across his stomach as he leaned back against the counter. The scent of dark roast and vanilla creamer mingled in the air, the morning light pooling like gold against his skin.

“You know,” I murmured, voice low and still colored with sleep, “you didn’t have those tattoos before.”

He glanced at me over the rim of his mug. “I’ve had them for years.”

“I know what I saw,” I said, quieter now. “When we fell asleep together. You didn’t have them then. I remember.”

Caleb’s eyes searched mine for a long beat, then tilted his head slightly. “Maybe you weren’t ready to see them. Maybe… you’re seeing me now. Finally.”

The words sank into me like slow rain into dry earth, soaking through layers I’d tried to ignore, not because they surprised me, but because I’d had the same thought. 

Before I could answer, a sound interrupted the stillness—the soft rustle of fabric shifting, a low, groggy sigh, and then a muffled yawn.

I blinked and turned toward the source.

Rafayel.

Stirring from his place on the sectional couch, the plush blanket now tangled around his legs. He sat up slowly, pale, beauty marked skin catching the morning light like a renaissance sculpture roughed by sleep. His ruffled curls were a chaotic halo, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he rubbed at one eye.

And then, with an unmistakable groan, he flopped forward into a slouch, blinking at the room like it personally offended him.

“Gods above,” he rasped, voice thick and husky with sleep, “was that an alarm or an industrial war crime?”

Caleb snorted into his coffee.

Rafayel squinted blearily around the room, eyes landing on me next. He blinked again. “Aven?” he croaked, half-conscious. “You making coffee or summoning celestial beings? Because either way, I’m awake now, and I didn’t sign up for this early-morning emotional humidity.”

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it—soft and startled, but real.

“Good morning to you too, couch goblin,” I said.

Raf lifted his head just enough to glare. “This couch is damn luxurious and I am a sleeping prince, thank you.”

“You snore,” Caleb noted flatly. “Like a Philosian field wench.”

“I purr,” Rafayel corrected, stretching like a cat, long and fluid. “And it’s called resonant vibrational therapy. You’re just uncultured.”

Rafayel emerged from the living room, one hand dragging through the mess of his indigo curls, his other arm still entangled in the soft blanket he'd cocooned himself in.

His bare feet padded across the cool floor. His chest rose and fell with another dramatic sigh, as though he were braving some unseen adversary just by waking up.

“Coffee,” he croaked, voice hoarse and too low to be anything but sinful. “Someone tell me you made coffee before I start crying.”

I stifled a laugh and held out my cup in offering. Caleb passed his over instead, his expression somewhere between amused and affectionate exasperation.

Raf took a sip and immediately grimaced. “No sugar? No cream? Do you want me to suffer?”

Caleb just bumped my shoulder gently, murmuring, “I warned you.”

I tilted my head at Raf, now leaning his hip against the opposite counter as he braced his cup between both hands. “Do you have any tattoos?”

His eyes flicked up from the mug, surprised. “Me?”

I nodded, letting my gaze trail downward in a curious sweep, already fairly certain of the answer but wanting to hear it anyway. “You and Caleb are both full of surprises.”

Raf smiled—sleep-slow and oddly tender. “No ink here. I’m a clean slate.”

But something about the way the morning light framed him made me blink again. I looked closer— really looked—and realized with a subtle jolt that his appearance wasn’t quite the same.

His hair.

It had been a tumble of loose waves when I first met him, grazing the base of his neck in familiar game-accurate style. But now… now it was longer. Considerably longer.

Thick, moonlit strands pinned loosely at the nape of his neck in a casual knot, several unruly tendrils falling free to frame his face. The majority was still that rich indigo-plum, but the last few inches at the ends had lightened—soft teal, sea-foam green, like water filtered through coral.

And… I swore… I could see it shifting. Not drastically, not like a movie transformation. Just… lengthening ever so slowly, like the moment I noticed it made it real. As if my perception was stitching something back into place .

My breath caught, unspoken questions stacking behind my ribs.

“Raf,” I said, softer now, “were you always…”

He tilted his head, smile waning into something more introspective. “Always… gorgeous ? Why, yes. Yes I was.”

“Not what I meant” I asked before I could stop myself. “I meant, have you always been… this ?”

He leaned forward just slightly, the cup cradled in one hand as the other tapped absentmindedly against the counter. “A Lemurian. Former God of the Sea. Now a gallery-featured artist with a long list of rejected dates and a fridge full of sparkling water.”

I blinked. “That’s… oddly specific.”

He grinned. “You asked.”

Caleb chuckled beside me, setting down his empty mug. “I’m gonna go wash up,” he said, brushing a hand down my back before padding out of the kitchen.

The sound of the bathroom door clicking shut pulled my focus back to Raf.

“You were still God of the Sea, huh?”

“I miss it sometimes,” he admitted. “The weight of it. The silence beneath the waves. The way the world forgets you when you sink just low enough.”

There was a wistfulness in his voice I hadn’t heard before, something vast and aching. He looked older, more ethereal in that moment. Less like a flirty thorn in everyone’s side, and more like someone who’d seen eons and carried stories in his marrow.

“I never saw this version of you,” I whispered.

“You’re seeing all of us now, truly seeing,” he said, eyes glittering with some emotion I couldn’t name. “And I think we’re becoming the people we were before you met us, because you’re here and you’re accepting us.” 

I took my time thinking, after a few moments I was about to answer—something unsure and trembling—when the bathroom door creaked open again.

“Hey, what’s with the mystic silence?” Caleb’s voice called.

I turned—and immediately forgot how to breathe.

He stood in the doorway wearing nothing but a towel slung dangerously low around his hips, hair wet and tousled, water glistening on the curve of his collarbone. And the tattoos I’d just seen, stretched and moved as he leaned against the frame.

The black ink curled like smoke and flame down the left side of his chest, and up over his shoulder, wrapping around his ribs in asymmetrical, abstract shapes that reminded me of both circuitry and ancient constellations.

Caleb arched a brow at my gawking. “That’s a look.”

Rafayel choked on his coffee.

“I—” I coughed. “You… you really just came out like that ?”

Caleb smirked and stepped back into the hall, unfazed. “Didn’t think modesty was a thing anymore. Thought we were all emotionally naked now.”

Rafayel groaned and turned away, muttering, “Someone give me my dramatic fan and let me swoon already.”

I was still staring after Caleb, heart thudding in my chest for too many conflicting reasons, while Raf just offered me a sly glance.

“You should ask me what else is changing next,” he teased.

But I couldn’t tell if he meant the boys—or myself.

Rafayel, still barefoot and cradling his coffee like it was the last source of magic in the world, rolled his eyes with a smirk before pushing off the counter.

“I should probably stop looking like the ghost of insomnia and go find that duffel bag I dumped in your spare room,” he muttered. “I grabbed clothes from home last night but was too tired to exist, let alone change. Be right back, cutie.”

He disappeared down the short hall that led to the spare room, his indigo-plum hair catching in the sun filtering through the high windows, the trailing seafoam tips almost glowing in the light.

And then I was alone in the kitchen.

I took a deep breath, still gripping my mug like it could steady my thoughts. The caffeine hadn’t helped. My brain was still busy playing reruns of Caleb. In. That. Damn. Towel.

“God, get a grip,” I whispered to myself, dragging a hand down my face and willing away the blush from my skin. “It’s just skin. Muscles. Abs. Ridiculous V-line. That little trail of—NOPE.”

Abandoning the kitchen before I could drown in my own thirst-driven embarrassment, I turned toward my room with the full intention of throwing myself into a fresh outfit and shaking off the electricity crawling up the back of my neck.

I took two steps down the hall.

Then the bathroom door swung open.

And there he was.

Again.

Caleb, still gloriously shirtless. Still scandalously in that towel. Water beaded at his temples, trickling in lazy rivulets down his chest and over the curve of his shoulder, glinting like tiny diamonds in the soft morning light.

His shaggy brown hair was damp and tousled still, sticking up in wild places, the violet-orange of his eyes molten with mischief when he noticed me freeze mid-step like a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding truck.

He grinned.

“ Hey , pipsqueak,” he drawled, leaning casually against the doorframe. “You know, if you keep running into me like this, I’m going to start thinking it’s on purpose.”

My brain short-circuited.

Heat flushed from my ears to my toes, and my fingers twitched like I didn’t know what to do with them. I tried to formulate a response—any response—but everything came out in a scramble of panic and hormones.

“Oh, totally! This is all part of my evil master plan,” I blurted, flailing slightly as I stepped backward into the hallway wall. “Lure the hot guy out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel and then have a full-on panic attack. Classic seduction move.”

Caleb blinked. Then let out a startled laugh, the kind that cracked wide and warm through his whole chest. He pressed a hand to his heart, mock-staggering forward a step like I’d wounded him.

“Oh no,” he said dramatically. “She called me hot. I might not survive this moment.”

I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut for a second. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“But you did,” he teased, voice lower now, a smoky rasp that made the hair on my arms rise. “And I’m not gonna let you take it back.”

I peeked at him through my fingers, and he was still smiling—but there was something softer underneath the mischief. Something careful. As if he were letting me see the fun, but also showing me he was reading my reactions, not pushing past them.

He watched me for another beat, then said, “You heading to your room?”

“Yeah,” I muttered, attempting to slide past him without combusting.

“Don’t trip,” he said as I brushed by.

“I’m not going to—!”

My foot caught the edge of the hallway rug.

I stumbled.

Two strong arms caught me.

And just like that, my face was pressed against a warm, damp chest, towel and all.

He chuckled again—so damn softly this time. “Told you.”

“I hate everything,” I mumbled into his collarbone.

“Nah,” he murmured. “You’re just overwhelmed. Happens to the best of us.”

And damn him, he smelled like green apple and fresh mint.

I didn’t bolt. But I wasn’t exactly graceful about leaving either.

I muttered something about needing to get dressed and shot past Caleb like I was outrunning a mental breakdown. The door to my room clicked shut behind me, and I leaned back against it, my heart hammering so hard it rattled my ribs like a cage.

“What the actual hell,” I whispered to myself, cheeks flaming. My fingers flew to the hem of my shirt, fidgeting, twisting, anything to give them purpose. But no amount of nervous movement could distract me from the fact that my body was… responding .

A heavy pulse had sunk into my gut, lower than I wanted to admit, and the way my skin tingled— still tingled—from where Caleb’s arm had curled instinctively around my waist?

I dropped onto the edge of the bed like my legs had given out, palms braced against the mattress as the heat pooled low in my belly, more heat flushing down the length of my throat.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Not this kind of feeling.

Not to me .

I hadn’t been interested in anyone in… god, how long? Years. Not since the last time I trusted someone, only to be hollowed out from the inside like some cruel experiment in emotional evisceration. After him , I stopped letting myself feel that way. I locked that door and tossed the key into the void.

Except…

The memories hit me so suddenly, I physically winced.

The Secret Times.

The ones from the game. The ones I used to save like rare candy, stashing them for the nights when the loneliness was a little too loud and the silence stretched too wide. When I needed to feel something, anything —even if it was borrowed from pixelated men with ethereal eyes and teasing mouths.

My head fell into my hands, and I groaned into my palms. “No, no, no. You did not just remember that.”

But I did. I remembered him —Caleb. Or the Caleb I thought I knew. Teasing innuendo in seemingly innocent audio clips. And me? Alone in my room, drinking in those moments like it could be enough.

And now he was here . Real. With damp curls, ink, and eyes that caught the light just like they did in the game. And I had just made an absolute ass of myself. Twice. Before ten a.m.

I buried my face in a nearby throw pillow and screamed into it.

From the other side of my door, their voices filtered in. Caleb and Rafayel. Low and rumbling at first, then lifting into the comfortable warmth of laughter. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the cadence alone was intimate. Happy. Familiar in a way that made something twist sharp and bittersweet behind my ribs.

There was a lilt in Raf’s voice that only came out when he was amused. A deeper, silkier quality to Caleb’s laugh when he let his guard down. Together, it was almost… flirtatious.

I froze.

Blinking toward the ceiling.

Oh.

Oh .

They were close .

My brain practically tripped over itself as the puzzle pieces shifted again beneath my feet. How many assumptions had I made? How many times had I looked at these men and not really seen them—filtered them through the lens of a game instead of as they were?

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The Lanzador purred beneath us like it had been carved from obsidian and purpose.

We hadn’t been on the road long, but the air between us was already thick with something—heat, tension, humor —and whatever it was, Caleb wielded it like a finely honed blade. One moment he was tossing me a sideways grin, and the next, he was saying something ridiculous just to see if he could make me squirm.

Spoiler: He could .

“…So technically,” he drawled as we slid to a stop at a red light, “if I were a mob boss, I think I’d make a pretty solid one. Think about it—great bone structure, intimidating glare, a fleet of sexy vehicles, and a terrifyingly well-connected network.”

I gave him a look that should’ve scorched the interior of the car. “You forgot the part where you’d deal in high-powered weapons and possibly illegal protocores.”

Caleb didn’t miss a beat. “ Allegedly .”

“Oh my god,” I groaned, sinking into the seat like I could disappear between the stitching. “You’re insufferable.”

“You like it .”

I hated how fast my stomach flipped.

The worst part? He wasn’t wrong. I did like it—liked him. Liked this version of him that was real and messy and not confined to a screen I used to tap through at midnight. It was dangerous. He was dangerous.

Akso Hospital rose ahead, all gleaming windows and silver trim. The closer we got, the more my insides twisted.

My fingers fidgeted with the seam of my sleeve. The familiar dread returned like a ghost at my shoulder, whispering all the things I didn’t want to remember. The first time I was here… it had felt like falling through glass. Not just waking up in a place I didn’t recognize, but realizing this was no longer a dream I could escape from. My body had hurt. My mind had been fogged. And my heart—my heart had been broken wide open, still echoing from the bridge.

I’d met them here. Not all at once, but in pieces. Xavier had come first under the overpass. Then Zayne. Caleb, fighting his way in a doorway and staring at me like he’d already known my name before I’d ever said it. Sylus, and Rafayel last, with his sharp tongue and half-lidded charm.

That two-day stay had felt like a lifetime compressed into hours.

And through it all, it had been Yvonne —the nurse with the softest hands and the strongest spirit—who kept me from disintegrating entirely. She’d brought me tea, warm socks, stories that didn’t press too hard, and a quiet smile that reminded me of the sun. She’d treated me like a person when I’d barely remembered how to feel like one.

I hadn’t seen her again. But I’d never forget her.

My breath hitched, and I blinked quickly.

Beside me, Caleb noticed.

He pulled into the side lot instead of the front loop, tucking the Lanzador into a shadowed spot between another electric SUV and a gleaming courier bike. He cut the engine, and the car went still—too still.

I reached for the door handle, but he didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t even look at the hospital.

Instead, he turned to me.

His expression had shifted, softening the sharp lines and sarcastic bite he wore like armor. There was something in his eyes now—something thoughtful and unguarded. “You okay?”

I hated how much I wanted to lie. To pretend I wasn’t shaking. But the way he looked at me— really looked at me—made it impossible.

“I don’t know.” My voice was quieter than I intended, like the words might crack if I raised them too high. “It feels like I’m walking into something I can’t unlearn. Like I’m not just being seen , I’m being… catalogued.”

Caleb didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached over, and his hand brushed against my wrist—light, tentative, like he was waiting for me to pull away.

I didn’t.

His fingers slid down, wrapping gently around my hand.

“You’re not a lab sample, Aven. You’re you . And Zayne? He’s one of the good ones. We all are. Some of us may not have been the best when we met, but now whatever this thing is that’s happening to you—it doesn’t change how we see you. You’re not your Evol. You’re not your scans. You’re not whatever the hell the tunnel did to you.”

I looked down at our hands. His were rougher. Warm. Real.

And still holding mine.

“Thanks,” I murmured, unsure of what else to say.

He gave a crooked smile, the kind that came with mischief tangled in its edges. “Of course, you’ll owe me coffee after this. Hospital parking doesn’t come cheap.”

The laugh burst out of me before I could stop it—sharp, unexpected, and embarrassingly grateful .

He squeezed my hand once before letting go.

“C’mon,” he said softly. “Let’s go see the doc.”

Every footstep toward the automatic sliding doors felt like a backward echo. I could still hear the beeping monitors from that first night, still feel the rib-deep ache that came not just from the bruising, but from the sheer exhaustion of staying alive. I’d just wanted to disappear.

And yet—there had been Zayne, Xavier and Yvonne .

The doors slid open with a hiss and there she was, perched behind the rounded reception desk like some ethereal constant in a reality that otherwise felt rewritten.

“Aven!” she called, her smile blooming like sunlight through mist. She stood, arms open for a hug that I didn’t know I needed until I was already in it.

I swallowed the heat stinging my throat and tried to smile back. “Hi, Yvonne.”

“You look stronger,” she whispered against my shoulder, stepping back with a nurse’s practiced touch—gentle but thorough—as she scanned my vitals with her eyes alone. “Come on, we’ve got you on the schedule. Zayne’s prepping equipment.”

She waved a clipboard at Caleb. “And you—I assume you’re staying for moral support?”

Caleb smirked. “That’s the rumor.”

We moved toward the elevators—polished chrome that reflected versions of me I still didn’t recognize. Yvonne chattered lightly about the cardiac surgery wing, her voice pulling me back to the earth just long enough for me to register the pale sage accent trim on the lobby walls, the scent of antiseptic and lemon oil, the soft classical music playing through the ceiling speakers.

When we reached the waiting area, she guided me to a seat near the far end—away from the murmuring families and quiet groups of patients before she disappeared past a pair of full glass sliding doors. Caleb sat beside me, a casual lean into my space, a quiet protection.

“I keep thinking,” I whispered as I stared at the clean white floor, “that maybe I shouldn’t have come back.”

Caleb didn’t flinch. “And yet you did.”

“I remember crying here. I remember thinking that maybe I’d bled through more than my ribs. That the pieces inside were just… wrong.”

“You weren’t wrong,” he said. “You were broken. There’s a difference.”

His voice was steady, sure—so calm it made my heart ache.

“I still am.”

He exhaled slowly, then reached out and gently pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “Yeah. And you’re still here.”

Just then, Yvonne returned with a gentle clap of her hands. “Time to head in. Zayne’s waiting in the diagnostics centre. Ready?”

I nodded, even as the storm inside me kicked up again. My grip on Caleb’s hand didn’t loosen.

It wasn’t bravery.

It was the closest thing I had to not falling apart as we followed her.

Yvonne pulled me into one more hug before I could fully pass the threshold of the diagnostics ward. She smelled like citrus soap and something vaguely herbal—mint or rosemary, maybe—clean and grounding in a way I didn’t know I needed until my chin dipped onto her shoulder.

“You’re going to be fine, sweetheart,” she murmured, her fingers squeezing lightly against my upper arms. “I saw how you walked in this time. That light’s coming back. Don’t you lose it.”

I barely managed a nod. My throat burned too tight for words. When she pulled away, she gave me one last, reassuring smile, then turned on her heel and left me facing the sterile-white corridor, Caleb silent beside me.

The next door slid open with a hydraulic sigh, and inside stood Zayne—gloved up, scrub shirt rolled to the elbows, stethoscope slung around his neck like a weight he barely felt. His sharp eyes, that signature burnished-gold jade, softened instantly as they met mine.

“Hey,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking. “Come on in. It’s just a rib check first.”

The room was softly lit and windowless, the diagnostic bed covered in crisp white paper, and the x-ray rig glinting above like a cold sentinel. A stool waited off to the side behind a half wall barrier topped with a thick panel of glass, where Caleb promptly seated himself, arms crossed over his chest like he had no intention of moving—even though Zayne flicked him a glance that clearly said, this is overkill .

“She’ll be fine, you know,” Zayne muttered dryly.

“I’m comfortable,” Caleb replied with a smirk, settling deeper.

Zayne rolled his eyes, then gestured me forward. “Aven, if you’ll sit up on the table—yep, right there. Shirt up just enough for the scan, no need to undress. No metal– good.”

I moved with the mechanical grace of someone trying not to fall apart in public. My fingers trembled as I gripped the edge of my shirt, lifting it enough to expose the bruised, still-yellowing arcs along my side. Zayne didn’t react, not visibly. But his hands were gentle as he adjusted the alignment frame over my ribs and keyed the rig to life.

The machine hummed, lighting up in calibrated swaths, and I sat perfectly still while a flicker of memory whispered through me—cold pain, a concrete underpass, the suffocating quiet before Xavier’s voice had broken through.

“You’ve been healing well,” Zayne said after a beat, reading from the screen as it displayed clean scans in shades of grayscale. “No hairline fractures remaining. Just a bit of residual inflammation. I’d call that remarkable progress for four days.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“Your overall blood panels came back clean too,” he added. “Better nutrition would help, but… one step at a time, yeah?” Right , I’d forgotten he’d taken my blood while at Sylus’ last night.

His tone was casual, but I heard the undercurrent—the concern, the hope, the care wrapped in clinical precision.

“Ready for the next part?” he asked, switching off the x-ray monitor and giving Caleb a sidelong glance as he stood. “This is the part where I’d say no audience necessary, but…”

“Yeah,” Caleb said, rising with a half-laugh. “Not going anywhere.”

Zayne shook his head but didn’t press it.

The second room was quieter. Dimmed further. Humming with a low pulse of hidden circuitry. This wasn’t a place for bones or bruises. This was the room that might tell me what I was now.

I moved into it with the same wariness I’d had the first night I’d slept in my new apartment. Still waiting for the floor to vanish under me, or for someone to tell me none of this was real.

But Caleb was behind me, and Zayne was in front, and the door whispered shut with a gentle click.

The scanner in the center of the room looked more like a chair than a machine—smooth and curved, with delicate white wiring that pulsed faintly under the surface like veins. It didn’t hum like the others. It breathed . Just a little.

“Have a seat,” Zayne said gently, tapping a few commands on the holographic console. “We’re running a high-res bio-psychic overlay scan this time. It’ll read your nervous system, active neuroelectric pathways, and any flare from your Evol marker—if one’s present. It’s sensitive.”

I moved to the chair like I might shatter if I moved too fast. As I sat, the system adjusted to my frame, padding molding itself automatically around my spine and thighs.

“Just breathe normally,” Zayne instructed. “And if you feel anything strange—lightheaded, or too warm—tell me.”

Caleb hovered at the far wall now, arms folded again, but his eyes were sharp. Watching everything.

As the system powered up, the air around me shifted—ever so slightly. Like something in it recognized me.

And I wasn’t sure if that made me feel special.

Or terrified.

I tried to breathe normally.

Really, I did.

But the second the scan began to hum, something low and crystalline under my spine, the air around me felt different—denser. Like it wasn’t just scanning me, it was listening . Waiting. Watching.

The padding against my back warmed incrementally, syncing to my vitals, and the luminous threads along the armrests flickered in pale violet, reading every tremor and thrum of my nerves.

Relax , I told myself.

The problem was, I didn’t know what relaxation felt like anymore. Not when I was being scanned for a genetic trait I didn’t know I could even have. Not when Zayne stood in front of me, perfectly composed, his eyes tracking everything with clinical focus.

And definitely not when Caleb leaned back against the far wall in that fitted dark shirt and jeans, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes half-lidded with that almost lazy focus that made my skin itch in the strangest ways.

My brain, lovely as ever, chose that moment to flash back to this morning. Caleb, stepping out of my bathroom, water glistening down his chest, towel slung low around his hips like it had every right to mock my entire mental constitution.

I remembered the way his tattoos curled and crawled down his shoulder and across his ribs—unseen until now. How they hadn’t been there before. Not when we’d first slept beside each other in my bed.

And now they were.

Like the world was changing around me in microscopic, impossible ways.

The memory shouldn’t have felt like a match against dry kindling. But suddenly, my pulse surged.

My skin prickled.

And then the machine noticed .

The panel just to my left flashed crimson for half a second before returning to lavender. I tried to even out my breathing, but it was too late. My stomach twisted sharply and something beneath my skin moved —like static crawling across bone, like a coil tightening in my chest, somewhere just under my sternum.

I blinked, and saw Caleb watching me.

Not casually anymore. Alert now. His posture had shifted, straightened. His eyes met mine, and I knew he saw the panic rising behind them.

I wanted to say something. I’m fine. It’s just a flare. I’m okay.

But then the entire wall panel behind Zayne sparked with a sudden, high-pitched crack and a puff of smoke lifted from the diagnostics board.

Zayne jumped back instinctively, hands flying up to shield his face.

The machine under me flared with light— deep light, like it was being pulled from inside me. I gasped, not because it hurt, but because it wanted something. It was hungry . My Evol—whatever the hell it was—wanted connection . Recognition. Maybe even control.

A thin sheen of sweat broke out on my skin as my chest tightened. The humming wasn’t external anymore—it was inside me. Inside my teeth , in my bones, rattling behind my eyes. I couldn’t think straight.

Caleb was at my side in a flash.

I didn’t even see him move.

His hand closed over my shoulder, grounding and fierce, as his other braced around the nape of my neck, fingers cool and steady.

“Aven.” His voice cut through the rising storm in my skull, low and commanding. “ Look at me. Come back.”

I couldn’t. Not yet. Everything inside me was fragmenting, colors strobing behind my closed lids—blues and violets, that subtle gold flickering like warning sparks.

My vision swam. I couldn’t tell if I was crying or if my eyes were just reacting to the light. My fingers clutched the sides of the chair like it might fly apart.

“I said look at me ,” Caleb growled again, closer now—his forehead nearly touching mine.

I blinked up through a wash of confusion, through the haze of the flare building like a tidal wave.

And then— snap —his hand gripped mine, tight , and something in my chest snapped back .

A breath punched out of me. The machine gave a strangled little whine—and then powered down.

Hard.

Silence fell over the room like a guillotine.

The sparks at the panel ceased. The lights dimmed. And I was left trembling in the scanner chair, Caleb crouched in front of me, his eyes wide with concern and the ghost of something deeper—fear, maybe. Not for himself.

For me.

Zayne exhaled a quiet curse and turned from the console, dragging a hand through his hair. “Okay. So, that didn’t work quite like I’d expected.”

I couldn’t answer him. I couldn’t answer anyone .

Because somewhere in that flash of light and power, I’d felt something I wasn’t ready to name.

And it —whatever it was—had felt me back.

The room was still glowing faintly when Zayne muttered something under his breath and stepped out, probably going to get a technician or a damn priest at this point. The scent of scorched ozone lingered in the air, sharp and sterile, cutting through the warmth Caleb’s body gave off where he still crouched in front of me.

My chest hadn’t quite stopped trembling. I felt like a candle about to gutter out in a gust of wind, flickering too hard to hold shape.

“You okay?” Caleb asked, voice low. Not gentle this time.

I nodded. Lied.

He didn’t buy it.

“ Don’t do that.”

His voice was a whisper sharpened into steel. Still crouched, but closer now, his arms braced on the edge of the scanner chair, the shadows under his eyes sharper than they’d been that morning in my kitchen. The flirty grin he’d worn then was gone, replaced with something... stripped raw.

“I’m fine,” I murmured again. Weaker this time.

He exhaled like I’d just slapped him.

“ No , Aven. You’re not . That machine practically blew up because your Evol flared when you looked at me—when you thought of me.”

My throat clamped shut. I flinched. Not because of the volume—he wasn’t shouting. It was the emotion leaking into his voice. Anger born of fear. Of not being able to help. Of watching me come apart and not knowing how to stop it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” I whispered, but even I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for.

He stood slowly, rising to his full height, hands sliding back through his shaggy brown hair. His violet-orange eyes stayed on me, the edges glinting in the overhead light.

“You keep doing that,” he said. “You keep folding in on yourself like you’re a broken thing someone left behind. Like we’re going to walk away if you say or feel the wrong thing.”

I turned my face away, breath catching like I’d swallowed shards of glass. My fingers curled in my lap.

The shielding rose up like clockwork—silent and mechanical. That familiar mental armor. A reflex so ingrained I didn’t know I’d summoned it.

He noticed.

“Aven,” he said again, softer now. But no less firm. “You don’t have to disappear every time someone gives a damn about you.”

“I’m not,” I muttered, but my voice cracked. The pressure behind my eyes prickled dangerously.

“ Yes , you are.” He took a step forward, and then another. “And I get it—I do . I know what it’s like to not trust kindness. To think it’s a setup. A trap. Some game with rules you were never given. But I’m not your past. I’m not him .”

My breath hitched at that.

Caleb’s jaw flexed, his hands fisting and relaxing at his sides like he didn’t know where to put them. “I’m not going to treat you like you’re disposable. You get that, right?”

I couldn’t answer. My lips moved, but nothing came out.

“I watched you in that chair,” he said, a little quieter now. “You were in pain and you still tried to hold it in. You do that all the time. Every time something scares you, you lock up. You try to out-suffer it, like you deserve it.”

“I don’t—” My voice broke on the word.

He knelt again, slower this time, gaze never leaving mine. “You deserve peace, Aven. And I hate that you don’t believe that yet.”

Something broke in my chest. A subtle fracture down the fault lines I’d tried so hard to patch over with silence and distance. I’d heard people say things like that before. Heard them promise to be kind. To stay.

None of them had meant it like this .

I couldn’t stop the tears now. They slipped free before I even felt them coming, catching on my lashes, hot and humiliating. I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, trying to staunch the flood.

Caleb moved carefully, like one wrong shift would send me shattering to the floor. He didn’t touch me, but his presence was a tether, and I clung to it without realizing.

“Let me be here,” he whispered. “Even just like this. Just… don’t shut me out.”

The scanner hummed its dying breath behind me. My skin still felt scorched from the inside, not from heat, but from exposure.

And somehow, his words hurt worse than the scan ever could.

Because they meant something.

Because he did.

My vision blurred with tears, my breath catching on sharp little gasps I couldn’t control. I hated this — hated how exposed I was. Like I’d been peeled back to the bone and left raw in front of him.

And still, he didn’t move away.

“ Breathe ,” Caleb murmured — not a command, not quite — more like an anchor. “Come on, Aven. Just breathe with me.”

I tried. It came out broken, a hiccup of air through clenched teeth. My body trembled as if my nerves were fraying by the second. But then I felt it — the warmth of his hand closing gently around my wrist. Firm. Reassuring.

Not to restrain.

To ground .

His thumb brushed against the inside of my wrist, a small circle of motion, back and forth. I stared down at his hand — the solid weight of it, the calluses along the edge of his thumb, the steadiness of his presence.

“You’re not drowning,” he said softly. “It just feels like it.”

I blinked at him, my throat burning.

He eased his other hand up and cupped the side of my face, rough palm warm against my cheek. I flinched—just slightly—but he didn’t pull back. He stayed still. He waited .

“Look at me.”

His voice wasn’t demanding. Just certain. Like there was no world in which I wouldn’t.

So I did.

Those eyes… bright with concern, rimmed in firelight and guilt. His jaw was tense, but there was something unbearably soft in the way he held me.

“I’m not mad at you,” he said. “But I am mad that someone made you think this is how you have to be. That pain has to be locked down and filed away like it’s something shameful.”

My breath hitched again.

“You’re allowed to feel scared, Aven. You’re allowed to not be okay. But don’t—” His voice cracked slightly, and he paused, jaw tightening. “Don’t shut me out because someone else made you believe love has strings. I don't want anything from you. I just—”

He stopped again. Shook his head like the words weren’t enough.

Then he leaned in.

Not to kiss me.

Not even close.

His forehead rested against mine.

Simple. Quiet. Devastating.

And I felt something click back into place — like I’d been floating too far from shore, and someone had finally thrown a line I could reach.

My eyes fluttered shut. My hands lifted from my lap — slow, hesitant — before they found his wrist. I didn’t push him away.

I held on.

Just for a moment.

Just enough to remind myself that I could .

“I’m trying,” I whispered. “I don’t know how to stop falling apart.”

“You don’t have to stop,” he said, just as quietly. “You just don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

His thumb caught another tear I hadn’t realized had fallen.

“I’m right here, Trouble . Still breathing. Still giving a damn.”

That broke something loose in my chest — not pain this time, but the aching, shuddering gasp of a breath that finally meant something. I buried my face in his shoulder, unable to speak, letting the warmth of him replace the static in my veins.

He didn’t move. Didn’t pull back.

His arms came around me — strong and safe and solid — and held me like I was something worth holding on to.

The room had fallen quiet except for the soft, rhythmic sound of Caleb's breathing against my temple. His hands hadn’t left me — one still cradled the base of my skull, the other resting across the middle of my back like he could will me back into myself with nothing more than the heat of his skin.

I didn’t know how long we stayed like that.

Long enough that my pulse stopped skipping and started settling. Long enough that my fingers, still fisted in the fabric of his shirt, started to loosen. I didn’t want to let go just yet — not because I needed to cling, but because... because I didn’t feel ashamed. Not right now.

And then the door opened behind him.

“Everything alright in—?”

Zayne’s voice came to a sharp halt, clipped by the sight of us wrapped around each other like something fragile that might shatter if left alone.

I flinched — not hard, but enough for Caleb to feel it. He didn’t let me pull back completely. Instead, I felt him shift slightly in front of me, one arm sliding a little more securely around my shoulders, the other rising in a lazy gesture toward Zayne.

“She’s not hurt, doc,” Caleb said, voice gentled with humor and quiet confidence. “Unless hugs cause internal bleeding now.”

There was a pause. A small click — the sound of Zayne setting something down on the counter just out of view.

“She looked like she was in pain,” Zayne replied, his voice softer now, more measured. “I... didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“She’s okay,” Caleb murmured, his tone lowering as he angled his body slightly — not to block me entirely, but enough to give me the moment I needed.

Because the tears had started again, light and unbidden, collecting at the corners of my eyes as my breathing thinned out into shaky exhales. The emotional drop after the Evol flare-up, the scan malfunction, and everything that had been spiraling inside me since I woke up this morning — it had all left me wrung out and bruised in a way that wasn’t visible on any monitor.

“I just—needed a second,” I said, my voice hoarse as I finally turned my head, letting Caleb’s palm stay against my back while I tried to gather what dignity I could. “Sorry.”

Zayne’s expression shifted. Those gold-jade eyes flicked across my face with quiet precision — doctor mode, like always — but there was something else there too. Something aching and human.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said simply. “This isn’t a combat zone. You’re allowed to fall apart here.”

I huffed a watery breath, the corner of my mouth twitching. “Could’ve fooled me with the way the scanner nearly exploded.”

That pulled a sound from Zayne that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t muffled by concern. He approached slowly, holding something small and metallic in his fingers — a diagnostic tablet, or maybe a recalibration wand. He didn’t speak again right away. Just looked at me like he was trying to read the unreadable parts.

Caleb finally loosened his hold and straightened, but not before brushing a knuckle along my cheekbone in a way that felt far too gentle for someone with arms like his. Then he turned to Zayne, cocking a grin that didn’t hide the shadow still clinging to his eyes.

“Relax, doc,” he said with that familiar teasing cadence. “She just needed some of my world-class emotional support. I take payment in snarky compliments and maybe a pastry later.”

Zayne snorted quietly, but didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he stepped a little closer, offering me a bottle of water he must’ve picked up on the way in.

I took it with a murmured thanks, trying not to let on how red my eyes must’ve been. How I probably looked like a half-wrecked shadow of myself. Again .

But then Zayne looked at me — not like a patient, not like a broken thing — just me . And he nodded.

“We’ll take it slow this time,” he said quietly. “I’ve reprogrammed the sensitivity on the scanner. Let’s see if we can run it again... without any sparks this time.”

I nodded, unsure if my voice would cooperate yet.

And as I began to lean back into the chair again, I felt Caleb’s hand brush the small of my back. Just once. Just enough.

I didn’t have the words for it.

But I knew, deep in the hollows of my ribs — the same ones Zayne had scanned — that something in me was shifting.

Zayne nodded at my small nod and turned toward the scanner. He moved with smooth efficiency — practiced and precise — but before he could power up the diagnostics pad, Caleb raised a hand.

“Wait.”

Zayne paused. “Something wrong?”

Caleb stepped forward, eyes still on the machine like it had personally offended him. “Run one more check, would you? Just... humor me.”

Zayne didn’t argue. He saw what had happened last time. Was nearly lit on fire because of it. He gave a small nod and crouched beside the console, beginning a swift, methodical systems sweep. His fingers moved across the interface like a surgeon threading a needle, but I couldn’t focus on that.

Because Caleb turned to me.

And suddenly the room wasn’t cold or clinical anymore.

Without saying a word, he closed the space between us. My breath caught when his hand reached up — calloused, warm — and brushed my hair gently behind my ear, his knuckles lingering along the curve of my cheek. I froze, not from fear... but from something I hadn’t expected.

Softness.

A stillness so sincere it made my pulse stutter.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, the syllable barely a breath between us. “If it gets to be too much again, don’t try to muscle through it. You don’t have to prove anything. Not to us. Not to anyone.”

I blinked up at him, lips parted, a response gathering in my throat and dissolving just as quickly. And before I could find the words, he leaned down slightly and pressed his forehead to mine.

Not his mouth. Not a brush of lips meant to confuse or complicate.

Just that — forehead to forehead.

It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t possessive. It was real.

And it shattered something quiet and exhausted in me.

He pulled back only a breath’s width. Enough to look at me — really look — with that barely-contained emotional weight behind his violet-orange eyes. There was no flirt behind it. Not right now. Just a truth neither of us had been brave enough to say aloud.

“I’ll be right here,” he said, nodding once toward the machine behind me. “Wallflower duty. You go be the badass.”

My throat thickened.

Zayne, who’d stood frozen a few feet away, cleared his throat softly — not judgmental, not uncomfortable. Just... taken aback.

I could tell by the flicker in his eyes that he hadn’t expected that from Caleb either.

Caleb stepped back, slow and measured, hands stuffed into his pockets as he leaned casually against the wall once more — the model of nonchalance on the surface, but I could still feel the warmth of his palm on my cheek like a brand.

Zayne returned to the machine, ran one last calibration pass, and nodded to me. “It’s stable. We’re good this time.”

I leaned back completely on the cushioned chair, the hum of the scanner gently powering on around me like the slow inhale of some mechanical beast.

Lights flickered and adjusted, the room dimming slightly to let the diagnostic visuals pop across the overhead displays. The machine’s core glowed faintly — cerulean, then silver — as the tech kicked in.

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.

This time, I didn’t brace.

I let the weight in my chest stay heavy, let my limbs relax fully against the padded surface. I let myself exist here — in the quiet, in the breath, in the unspoken aftermath of Caleb’s touch and the anchoring presence of Zayne close by.

I wasn’t ready to face whatever they might find. Not really.

The scanner’s hum deepened — so slight at first, I thought I’d imagined it.

Like the air had grown thicker, slower, the way it did right before a thunderstorm breaks open the sky.

Zayne was murmuring something under his breath, confirming readouts aloud as he tapped at the console. But even his voice had an undercurrent of caution in it now — like he was trying to keep it even. Keep me even.

My eyelids fluttered as the machine’s rhythm began to sync with something I couldn’t explain. Not a physical beat, but something beneath that — a tether being pulled taut.

The faintest tremor traveled down the length of the table beneath my spine.

Then the room pulsed.

It was soft at first — a breath that wasn’t mine, exhaled through the light itself. The wall lights flickered. The digital readings across the diagnostic panels began to stutter.

I opened my eyes in time to see Caleb stand straight from where he leaned — sharp and alert — while Zayne’s fingers froze above the console. His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward.

“Caleb,” he muttered, not taking his eyes off the screen.

Caleb moved to his side in two strides, his earlier warmth replaced by the ice-clear edge of someone trained to notice what others missed. He stared at the readings, blinking twice.

“What the hell…”

My heart picked up speed.

The light above me flickered again — this time in time with my thoughts. My fears. My memories .

Then the readout on the scanner changed — distorted for a moment, before recalibrating.

A soft ping echoed into the quiet.

“She's… not only syncing,” Zayne murmured. “She’s mirroring, like we thought.”

“What?” Caleb leaned in, bracing both hands on the side of the console. “What does that mean?”

Zayne didn’t answer right away.

Because suddenly, the entire room shifted. Only slightly — a subtle haze across the air, as if heat were rippling through it. Not dangerous, not chaotic.

Just other .

The scent of cheap vanilla candles hit my senses.

Then the soft creak of a cheap futon mattress shifting under tired limbs. The distant sound of traffic outside a window. The quiet ticking of a wall clock that hadn’t worked in years.

My lungs locked.

I knew that sound. That smell. That worn, aching silence.

My apartment.

From before .

Back in my world.

“I think—” Zayne’s voice caught. “Aven… this is from your world, isn’t it?”

I swallowed hard, eyes wide as the air itself bent softly in front of the machine — not a hologram, not a projection. Something real. Or at least... remembered so hard it became real.

A faint shimmer in the center of the diagnostics room: the crooked corner of a room that had once been mine. An ugly blanket I’d wrapped around my shoulders too many nights to count. The dented mug I always filled with instant noodles and depression at two a.m. because food had started to feel like a chore.

Zayne looked stricken.

Caleb didn’t move at first, stunned by the vision. Then, slowly, he stepped closer to the flickering image — his expression drawn tight with something deeper than curiosity.

Empathy.

“She’s bleeding through,” Zayne said softly, reverently. “Her memory. Her world. It’s not just emotion this time — it’s a splice.”

I curled my fingers into fists at my sides.

The machine wasn’t reacting against me.

It was reacting to me.

To all of me.

Caleb turned, his voice rough. “You’ve been carrying this. Alone.”

I couldn’t speak.

Because the smell of burnt out lightbulbs and cheap detergent from that shitty apartment felt too thick in my throat. Because I remembered how long I’d sat on that mattress, staring at the empty wall in silence, wondering if the world would even blink if I disappeared.

And now they could see it.

My ghosts, dragged from beneath my skin and pressed into the air for them to witness.

But not one of them looked away.

Zayne’s jaw was tense, his hand still hovering over the scanner. Caleb’s eyes were on me now — unreadable but burning.

And the scanner? It pulsed once more.

Then stabilized.

Zayne’s voice dropped into a whisper. “Aven… I think your Evol doesn’t just respond to your emotional state. It’s tied to memory resonance. ”

Caleb looked over at him, stunned. “You mean she’s projecting?”

“No,” Zayne said, shaking his head slowly. “She’s weaving. From her world into ours.”

My heart thundered in my chest.

Because somewhere in that flickering memory — in the dusty, broken silence of who I used to be — I felt something shift.

The image lingered in the room for another few seconds before it started to fade, pixelating at the edges, not like a glitch — but like a memory loosening its grip.

The blanket disappeared first. Then the mug. Then the walls themselves.

And yet, the feeling remained.

The air still held the scent of sadness.

Of resignation.

Of me.

I didn’t realize I’d curled my arms around myself until I felt the ache of my own nails digging into my skin. My voice was small at first. Brittle. But I forced it out.

“That was my apartment.”

Caleb looked like he’d been punched. Zayne’s brows furrowed deeper, his gaze flicking between me and where the shimmer had just dissolved.

“I lived there for seven years,” I said. “Same mattress. Same shitty mug. Same ugly blanket. And most days… the silence in that room was louder than traffic outside or the neighbors screaming or the TV I left on to keep the dark from swallowing me whole.”

The words were heavy. Too heavy. They scraped out of me like bone against bone.

“I— I used to stare at that wall and wonder if anyone would notice if I just… stopped existing. Not died. Just vanished. Like some software patch removed me from the build entirely.”

Neither of them spoke.

So I kept going, because if I stopped, I’d shatter.

“That room saw me break more times than I can count. I cried myself breathless there. Curled up under that blanket trying to remember what it felt like to be touched and not flinch. That place wasn’t a home. It was a grave I couldn’t afford to bury myself in.”

I looked at Caleb first.

And I saw it — the anger in his eyes. Not at me. At the world I came from.

At the people who’d let me rot in that room like an afterthought. Even family.

Zayne moved slowly to the edge of the machine and turned toward me. His expression was unreadable, but his hands were trembling ever so slightly.

“How long were you alone like that?” he asked quietly.

I swallowed, the taste of burnt coffee and memory thick in my throat.

“Since I was nineteen,” I said.

Caleb made a sound in his chest like he’d just tried to breathe through a knife wound.

Zayne’s jaw flexed, his lips parted but no words came out for a beat.

Then he looked back to the console.

And I watched him flip a switch.

It wasn’t just clinical detachment.

It was science now.

But the reverence in his tone never left.

“Her Evol… isn’t limited to physical phenomena,” he said slowly. “We thought it was emotional energy triggering environmental resonance — but this? This is beyond. ”

He gestured at the diagnostic console, still softly flickering.

“She manifested a localized, sensory-accurate reconstruction of a memory with perfect fidelity. Not just sight and sound, but scent. Temperature. Atmospheric saturation. ”

Caleb blinked. “You’re saying she—”

“She wove a pocket memory into our world,” Zayne said, cutting in gently. “Not just projected. Not just recreated. She overlaid her reality onto ours. That’s not just Evol. That’s… dimensional permeability.”

I stared at him, struggling to understand, even as my chest hurt from the ache of it all.

“I didn’t mean to,” I whispered. “I didn’t even try. It just… happened.”

Zayne turned to face me again. His expression had softened.

“It’s not your fault,” he said. “This is new territory for all of us.”

He walked over to a smaller console near the base of the scanner, lifting a datachip with a thoughtful look.

“But if you can do this now… imagine what that could mean when you learn to control it. ”

I wanted to cry all over again.

Because the thought of wielding something like that — of being able to bridge entire experiences with just feeling — terrified me.

But it also meant something else.

That maybe I hadn’t imagined the bleed like I’d convinced myself.

Maybe I hadn’t broken their world.

Maybe… I was part of it now.

Even if I still didn’t really know how to be.

Zayne’s voice interrupted the storm in my head.

“Dimensional evolvers are theoretical in our research logs — like ghost code. The idea of someone who can manipulate the fabric between perception and reality.” He looked at me again. “But if your Evol really is tied to your memories, your emotions, and your world…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

He didn’t have to.

Caleb did it for him.

“She could be the bridge.”

I blinked at him. “The bridge to what?”

Zayne looked down at the console again. “To the place you came from. To the reason you were brought here. Maybe even the reason we seem to remember you. ”

The words hit me in the chest like a second heartbeat.

I wasn’t just here.

I was anchored here.

My world and theirs weren’t running parallel anymore.

They were overlapping.

And I was the fracture point.

I blinked once.

Then again.

The silence buzzed in my ears like static off a bad connection.

And then—

“What happens if I can’t stop it?” The words came out of my mouth before I could catch them. “What if I bleed more than just memories? What if I— God —what if I rip holes in this place without meaning to? If I’m… stitched to this world by accident —can it tear? Can I tear it? ”

Zayne opened his mouth to answer, but I wasn’t finished. Not even close.

“What if I pulled something else through? What if people from my world get sucked in, too? What if the reason none of you had the MC from my game is because I replaced her somehow? What if that ripple erases things you were supposed to have? What if I undo something in this timeline just by breathing wrong?”

My lungs started to burn.

“I mean, are we talking full metaphysical collapse? Fractured memory deltas? Emotional implosion? Is your world going to start mimicking mine now that I’m here?”

My voice cracked as I rasped, “What if you start glitching next?”

Zayne took a slow, measured breath, clearly trying to respond—scientifically, calmly, carefully.

But it was Caleb who moved first.

I barely registered the blur of his figure beside me before I felt his hand slide across my back again — firm, grounding — fingers splayed like he could press the panic right out of my spine.

“Come on,” he said quietly, voice low and gently chiding. “You’re spiraling, pipsqueak. Deep breaths.”

That damn nickname…

He always said it like it meant something.

Like I meant something.

His hand curled around my bicep and guided me out of the scanner’s seat, his touch feather-light but constant — anchoring. I clung to it even as my legs trembled underneath me.

“You’re not going to collapse the universe,” he added with a soft humorous snort that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Zayne’s still standing. The hospital hasn’t turned inside out. That’s a win.”

“Low bar,” I muttered, trying not to melt against his side.

Caleb guided me over to the diagnostics console where Zayne was still staring at the data, his jaw tight with thought.

But even through the storm in my head, I could feel it.

The way Caleb’s thumb kept tracing faint circles against the crook of my arm.

The way his hand never left mine, even when he had to type something into the console with the other.

He didn’t notice.

But I did.

And so did Zayne — who gave me the briefest flicker of a raised brow before returning to the display with a faint twitch of his lips.

Traitor.

“I… I don’t want to break anything,” I said quietly, watching the unfamiliar holographic lines as they pulsed and danced across the screen, responding to residual Evol output. “I didn’t ask to be this. To be… dangerous. ”

“You’re not,” Caleb said immediately, glancing down at me. “You’re not dangerous. Not to us.”

“You don’t know that.”

“We’re still here.”

Zayne finally spoke, his tone analytical, but tinged with that soft patience I was beginning to realize was rare with him.

“Aven, what happened in this scan room wasn’t destructive. It was reactive. Your Evol responded to emotional cues , not aggression. Not chaos. And it didn’t lash out — it revealed. It shared. That’s fundamentally different.”

He turned the display, showing a diagram that made no sense to me, but pulsed with a beautiful, spectral glow.

“I think your Evol is tied to resonance. Empathy. Connection. Not erasure.”

My throat tightened.

Caleb’s arm brushed against mine again as he leaned forward to study the screen, and I felt that spark of contact ripple up my spine like a quiet promise.

Safe.

Even when everything felt like it was tilting sideways — I felt safe.

Zayne folded his arms.

“If you ask me, we need to start documenting and tracking your resonance levels and anchor points. Find what stabilizes your bleed and what triggers it. That includes emotional proximity and—” he glanced between me and Caleb again “—people who seem to modulate your frequency.”

Caleb gave a huff. “You saying I’m an emotional buffer?”

“I’m saying you’re her grounding tether. At least one of them.”

Caleb turned toward me, the light catching in his eyes — that soft violet-orange burn that always seemed to carry more meaning than he’d say aloud.

“I’m fine being that,” he murmured, quieter than before. “If you’ll let me.”

The words hit me like a fault line giving way beneath my feet.

And I couldn’t speak.

Not yet.

Not without falling apart all over again.

So I just nodded.

And let him hold my hand a little tighter.

Caleb’s hand left mine only when he needed to dig into his pocket for his phone. I caught the ghost of reluctance in his touch as his fingers lingered before letting go — like he didn’t want to let go.

The moment his screen lit up with Sylus’ name, he was already thumbing the call through.

Zayne turned back to the console, his fingers moving with precise control as more soft holographics shimmered to life. A second later, I watched him slot a thin chip into a reader and begin the data transfer sequence — a soft click and whir echoing faintly as it accepted the feed.

“I’m uploading the resonance data to my private terminal,” Zayne said, his voice low and clinical — but not cold. “It’ll ping Sylus’ secure channel once it’s parsed. That way, he doesn’t have to breach five federal firewalls just to see what we’ve got.”

Caleb snorted at that, the amused twist of his lips evident even as he raised the phone to his ear. “You hear that, Sylus?” he said, rolling his eyes a little as he leaned back against the wall near the scanner. “Zayne’s making it idiot-proof so you don’t get arrested today.”

He paused.

Then his expression shifted just slightly — warmer, a little more serious — and repeated, “Yeah. The data’s being uploaded now. You’ll have it in a few minutes. Full scan and resonance activity.”

There was a beat of silence as Sylus replied — I couldn’t hear the words, but the tone was unmistakable.

Tight. Curious. Maybe even worried.

Caleb gave a final glance in my direction. “Yeah. She’s okay. Just a little shaken. I’ll tell you more when I get out of here.”

Then, quietly — and I don’t think Zayne was meant to hear it — he added, “Stay close, man. I think she’s gonna need all of us soon.”

He hung up.

Before I could say anything, his fingers brushed mine again — a quick, quiet squeeze. A silent goodbye… for now.

Then he slipped out the door with the kind of ease only Caleb had, like he belonged in every room he walked through — and yet, left every one of them a little colder when he was gone.

I blinked at the door after it shut.

Only then did I realize the room had gone too quiet.

The gentle hum of equipment. The faint beeping from the scan console.

And Zayne.

Still standing near the display, arms crossed, head bowed slightly — the soft light reflecting in his gold-emerald eyes as he stared at the readings. But he wasn’t really seeing them anymore.

He was thinking.

And then — slowly, deliberately — he turned back toward me.

“I’m glad he’s here for you,” Zayne said softly, his voice devoid of jealousy. Just… truth. “Caleb’s better at emotional triage than I’ll ever be.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he shook his head.

“It’s okay,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m not upset. I understand. Caleb makes people feel safe. He always has. Even when he’s hiding things behind a grin and a wall of bravado.”

He took a few quiet steps closer, slow enough that it didn’t feel invasive — just intentional. Present.

“But I also want you to know that I’d like to be that for you too. Even if I don’t always have the right words. Or… gestures.”

My chest constricted.

“I’m not great with this stuff,” Zayne admitted. “Connection. Vulnerability. The real, messy parts. It’s easier when everything’s textbook. Clean. Controlled. Like surgery.”

His voice grew quieter, more raw.

“But I don’t want to stand back and just monitor you, Aven. I don’t want to just run your scans and log your data and stand behind some sterile glass wall while Caleb, Rafayel, Xavier or Sylus hold your hand.”

I froze.

Not because I was afraid.

But because he was saying exactly what I never expected to hear from him.

“I want to be someone you reach for,” he said, the faintest waver threading through his calm tone. “Not just because I’ve patched you up, or because I know how to read your vitals. But because I see you, and you want to.”

He paused, his gaze locking with mine. Steady. The gold in his eyes catching the light like warm sun through a cracked window.

“And even if all of this is chaos,” he said, gesturing slightly to the console, the scanner, and the swirling resonance waves on the display behind him, “I’m still here. I want to be here. If you’ll let me.”

The silence after that was deafening.

Not uncomfortable.

Just full.

A pause where the air itself felt heavier with meaning.

I didn’t know what to say.

But maybe I didn’t need to yet.

Not when his eyes were already saying everything I couldn’t.

The quiet hum of the room was still pressing down against my chest, Zayne’s confession lingering in the space between us like a shadow I hadn’t known I was standing in until he stepped into the light with me.

I didn’t know what to say. My thoughts kept swirling in soft, slow circles — overwhelmed and uncertain — until the door clicked open again.

I turned just as Caleb walked in, holding out his phone, arm extended toward me with the screen aglow.

His expression was somewhere between exasperation and curious restraint — like he didn’t know whether to sigh or laugh, but was definitely suppressing both.

“He wants to talk to you,” Caleb said, tilting the phone slightly toward me. “And I quote—‘ Why the hell did the air buzz like a goddamn singing bowl, and why did my internal systems glitch the moment her scans lit up the grid? Where is she? Let me speak to her directly. ’”

My stomach twisted. My throat dried out.

I reached for the phone, my fingers brushing Caleb’s again — and they stayed there a little too long before I pulled the device into my palm.

“Sylus?” My voice cracked as I brought the phone to my ear.

“Hey, beautiful ,” came the low rasp of his voice — clipped but familiar, and so distinctly him . Sylus always sounded like late-night coffee and gunmetal dusk, words wrapped in velvet and loaded with heat. “Tell me exactly what you felt right before the scan flared. Every damn detail.”

I glanced toward Caleb, who leaned casually against the wall again but didn’t move far. His gaze was on me, steady and present. Zayne stepped a little closer too, his presence still warm at my back like a second current I hadn’t known I needed until now.

“I… it started off normal,” I whispered into the phone, my hand tightening around it as I pressed it to my cheek. “I was thinking about something dumb. Caleb—uh—”

“I was towel-clad and glorious, right?” Caleb chimed with a crooked grin.

Zayne coughed, looking both unamused and vaguely murderous.

“I wasn’t thinking about that on purpose,” I hissed under my breath, inadvertently admitting that it was that image that set off the chain reaction, heat crawling up my neck. “It was just a flash—like an emotional hiccup. But when I saw him across the room, my chest… clenched, I guess. And then I felt that swell again. Like I wasn’t just remembering it. I felt it. All over again. And the scan machine—it was like it tuned into that.”

Sylus was quiet on the other end, but I could hear a soft tapping—his fingers, probably drumming, or scribbling something down.

“And then?” he asked.

“The machine… resonated with it,” I said. “Zayne’s panel sparked, we took a break and then during the second scan, the room felt like it—shifted. And both Zayne and Caleb saw something. Not just data. They saw something from my world.”

“It was a memory,” Zayne said, stepping forward now, close enough that our shoulders almost touched. “Of her apartment. Alone. Dim. Cold.”

“Gods,” Sylus murmured. “That explains the echo I felt through the spectrum—your Evol isn’t just bleeding in. It’s reflecting . Like a prism tuned to emotion instead of color. Experience. Possibly even timelines.”

I shivered.

Zayne didn’t pull away. Neither did Caleb. They didn’t flinch from the intensity of what was unraveling in real-time.

I closed my eyes, then murmured into the phone, “I didn’t mean to do any of this.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Sylus said, voice firm now. “You’re the result of a forced transfer through an unstable spatial tunnel, tied to an Evol that’s been shaped by trauma and emotional gravity. The fact that you're still functioning is already a damn miracle.”

I inhaled sharply, trying to center myself.

“I don’t know how to carry this,” I admitted.

A pause.

Then Sylus’ voice, softer than I expected, rolled through the speaker like velvet over a blade. “You’re not carrying it alone.”

Something in me cracked, quietly, like ice under slow pressure.

“I’ll be there soon. Don’t leave the hospital.”

“I—won’t,” I whispered.

“You’re not a threat, Aven,” he added gently. “You’re a turning point.”

The call ended.

I didn’t even notice my hand falling to my side, still holding the phone, as my gaze drifted between Caleb and Zayne.

Caleb gave me a look I couldn’t decode — something quiet and protective, laced with that persistent warmth he kept pouring into every part of me without asking for anything in return.

Zayne finally exhaled like he hadn’t been breathing while I was on the call. His hand found the small of my back again — not quite a full touch, but enough to ground me.

╰──────༺♡༻──────╯