#lashing out from the fear of being left alone...

[archivewriter1ont]

Platonic Obi-Wan and Cody Thoughts

Seriously, people are sleeping on the platonic-blood-brothers-power-duo that Cody and Obi-Wan are as best friends.

Imagine how many times during the war one of the other Jedi commed in to check on Obi-Wan. Maybe the space Zoom was left open or the holomessage went through , but even though the monitor is awake, Obi-Wan is asleep. Mace Windu catches a glimpse of his almost-nephew sacked out against Cody while he and the commander are sitting at the desk. Both of them are still in armor, still holding flimsiwork and datapads, but completely passed out because they're exhausted and the only place they feel safe is with the other one at their back. Mace shuts down the call with a smile, knowing Obi-Wan's not alone -- that he has someone to watch over and protect him like (or maybe better than) Qui-Gon would have done.

Imagine the feeling of knowing you are about to die. At Point Rain, Cody and Obi-Wan knew there was no kriffing way they would make it out if reinforcements didn't get there on time, and it didn't look like they would. So what did they do? They stood together, weapons raised, teeth bared in matching snarls that told the world you can kill us but you can't stop us. That's Aragorn and Legolas style brotherhood -- "you look awful" "you're late (idiot)" merged with "I will follow you to the pits of hell and if we die, I'm going first."

Imagine the fear that clutched Obi-Wan's heart when he saw a missile about to take Cody to the grave and realized Cody knew there was nothing to do but accept it and take death like a man. He's trying to be the Perfect Jedi, so he's not attached to Cody, he's not obsessed with their bond, but that's his best friend and he pushes himself to the very brink and pulls off an incredible stunt to save his life. Then he yells at him, of course, because that's what you do when your sibling tries to get incinerated.

Imagine how Cody felt when he thought Obi-Wan was assassinated. How he grieved in silence, feeling as though the one time he wasn't with his best friend he was murdered.

Imagine that scene when Obi-Wan came back from the "dead" and Cody realized he'd mourned his friend in vain. Now he realizes just how much he loves Obi-Wan (as a friend, as a brother) and he probably lashes out at first, angry and hurt, until he sees the regret in Obi-Wan's face and both of them crumple into a hug, just glad everything is okay now. (I still need to write this because man, the feels.)

And then after the war (because Order 66 didn't happen and everything was lovely)....

Imagine that bear hug when the war ends, when Cody hands Obi-Wan his saber for the last time and knows they can truly know what it's like to be at peace.

Imagine the returning Jedi Generals and their commanders meeting up at the Temple to celebrate, only to find that Cody and Obi-Wan are already asleep because they sat too long in the garden waiting on them. Mace grins because even though it's a repeat of the time he caught them dozing on flimsiwork during a Zoom call, they both look restful now. They're both safe and they know it, but more importantly, they know that each other is safe.

Imagine Uncle Cody with Korkie, teaching him how to defend himself and his family and then taking him out for ice cream.

Imagine Satine and Cody being best friends/siblings-in-law. Tea, gossip, etc -- she loves him like a brother and he's thrilled to finally get to know the family he's always hoped Obi-Wan could go back to some day.

Imagine Obi-Wan and Cody going gray at the same time because Cody's accelerated aging was fixed, and laughing about the times they thought they'd never see the ages they are now. Imagine Korkie's little kiddos running up to see "Grandpa" and "Uncle Cody" and smothering them both in the kind of family love they were sure they'd never experience.

I have so much more where this came from but I'm crying now and I can't see my keyboard.😭

Post inspired by this one courtesy of @margindoodles2407.

[nenoname]

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

HOW TO WRITE A CHARACTER WHO IS IN PAIN

first thing you might want to consider: is the pain mental or physical?

if it’s physical, what type of pain is it causing? — sharp pain, white-hot pain, acute pain, dull ache, throbbing pain, chronic pain, neuropathic pain (typically caused by nerve damage), etc

if it’s mental, what is the reason your character is in pain? — grief, heartbreak, betrayal, anger, hopelessness, fear and anxiety, etc

because your character will react differently to different types of pain

PHYSICAL PAIN

sharp and white-hot pain may cause a character to grit their teeth, scream, moan, twist their body. their skin may appear pale, eyes red-rimmed and sunken with layers of sweat covering their forehead. they may have tears in their eyes (and the tears may feel hot), but they don’t necessarily have to always be crying.

acute pain may be similar to sharp and white-hot pain; acute pain is sudden and urgent and often comes without a warning, so your character may experience a hitched breathing where they suddenly stop what they’re doing and clench their hand at the spot where it hurts with widened eyes and open mouth (like they’re gasping for air).

dull ache and throbbing pain can result in your character wanting to lay down and close their eyes. if it’s a headache, they may ask for the lights to be turned off and they may be less responsive, in the sense that they’d rather not engage in any activity or conversation and they’d rather be left alone. they may make a soft whimper from their throat from time to time, depends on their personality (if they don’t mind others seeing their discomfort, they may whimper. but if your character doesn’t like anyone seeing them in a not-so-strong state, chances are they won’t make any sound, they might even pretend like they’re fine by continuing with their normal routine, and they may or may not end up throwing up or fainting).

if your character experience chronic pain, their pain will not go away (unlike any other illnesses or injuries where the pain stops after the person is healed) so they can feel all these types of sharp pain shooting through their body. there can also be soreness and stiffness around some specific spots, and it will affect their life. so your character will be lucky if they have caretakers in their life. but are they stubborn? do they accept help from others or do they like to pretend like they’re fine in front of everybody until their body can’t take it anymore and so they can no longer pretend?

neuropathic pain or nerve pain will have your character feeling these senses of burning, shooting and stabbing sensation, and the pain can come very suddenly and without any warning — think of it as an electric shock that causes through your character’s body all of a sudden. your character may yelp or gasp in shock, how they react may vary depends on the severity of the pain and how long it lasts.

EMOTIONAL PAIN

grief can make your character shut themself off from their friends and the world in general. or they can also lash out at anyone who tries to comfort them. (five states of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and eventual acceptance.)

heartbreak — your character might want to lock themself in a room, anywhere where they are unseen. or they may want to pretend that everything’s fine, that they’re not hurt. until they break down.

betrayal can leave a character with confusion, the feelings of ‘what went wrong?’, so it’s understandable if your character blames themself at first, that maybe it’s their fault because they’ve somehow done something wrong somewhere that caused the other character to betray them. what comes after confusion may be anger. your character can be angry at the person who betrayed them and at themself, after they think they’ve done something wrong that resulted in them being betrayed, they may also be angry at themself next for ‘falling’ for the lies and for ‘being fooled’. so yes, betrayal can leave your character with the hatred that’s directed towards the character who betrayed them and themself. whether or not your character can ‘move on and forgive’ is up to you.

there are several ways a character can react to anger; they can simply lash out, break things, scream and yell, or they can also go complete silent. no shouting, no thrashing the place. they can sit alone in silence and they may cry. anger does make people cry. it mostly won’t be anything like ‘ugly sobbing’ but your character’s eyes can be bloodshot, red-rimmed and there will be tears, only that there won’t be any sobbing in most cases.

hopelessness can be a very valid reason for it, if you want your character to do something reckless or stupid. most people will do anything if they’re desperate enough. so if you want your character to run into a burning building, jump in front of a bullet, or confess their love to their archenemy in front of all their friends, hopelessness is always a valid reason. there’s no ‘out of character’ if they are hopeless and are desperate enough.

fear and anxiety. your character may be trembling, their hands may be shaky. they may lose their appetite. they may be sweaty and/or bouncing their feet. they may have a panic attack if it’s severe enough.

and I think that’s it for now! feel free to add anything I may have forgotten to mention here!

[screampied]

gojo had a dream you died.

it was partially the reason why he woke up in a cold sweat… it was horrid.

he could still hear your screams, the life leaving your eyes, but more importantly, he remembered your final words that were murmured to him. “satoru, don’t… cry, i’ll be okay, it’ll be okay.” and he believed you, that everything would be okay. despite tears filling his eyes, labeled the strongest at that moment, he couldn’t have ever felt so weak.

the dream felt so real, that was the scary part. he remembered each and every detail. from the feeling of you giving his wrist a light squeeze, the sweet smell of your natural scent.. the eerie sounds of your irregular wheezes as you were clinging on your final moments.

“don’t leave me,” he mutters, he remembers saying that. three simple words, yet his dilated pupils spoke a thousand. he started to repeat it. again and again as if it was a mantra. his words, his tone broke the more he spoke to you. that cute smile of yours never left your lips, it remained there. regardless of your inevitable incoming fate, he sobs, “you’re…you’re all i have left. i don’t wanna be left alone again, just stay. please, baby.”

“i’m not going anywhere, ‘toru,” you’d reassure him, a single tear drop of his falls onto your cheek.

after that moment, gojo wakes up. trembling, yet the dream wasn’t that feared him the most. it was him waking up with you not next to him..

cold, everything felt cold.

he shot up immediately from his dream. the cold sweat that forever continued to race down his back as he panted.

he was so used to your warmth taking up part of the bed. albeit, in this case though. it felt empty,

isolated.

it was near the middle of the night, gojo was drowsy, rubbing his eyes to blind his vision with imaginary stars. feeling for the bed, it was frigid.

“baby?” he’d grumble, white lashes partially open. silence called back to him, if it was anything about gojo, he hated being alone.

oh, he loathed it,

yet whenever you came into his life—he didn’t have to worry about that. you were always besides him, no matter what.

until now.

it takes him a split second before it dawns on him. your fatal death, it wasn’t another one of his silly surreal dreams. it was nothing but mere reality.

a breath gets caught in his throat once he realizes, being brought back into harsh realness. you were gone.

it’s been years, speaking of which…

it was your anniversary with him. the same exact day he proposed to you. he remembers it vividly, getting down on one knee with the goofiest grin. he didn’t even say, “will you marry me..?” instead, he snorts a sheepish, “let’s get married, heh.”

“i always forget around this time,” gojo sighs to himself with a soft tone, his voice was a bit raspy from abruptly waking up. intaking a sharp inhale, he goes towards your side of the bed and he reaches into his pocket.

“it should have been me,” and he doesn’t even care he’s talking to himself, it’s like for whatever reason, your presence was near him. “our marriage,” and then with a brief sniffle, he glances down at the ring you once wore proudly. he strokes it with a thumb before huffing out a shaky, “our marriage, it was supposed to last us for infinity…”

but it didn’t.

with hot tears streaming down his face and stuck a power he wished he’d never have, in the end, it couldn’t save you.

he couldn’t save you.

and now…

the strongest, the most brave to ever live and walk could easily be mistaken as the weakest.

[crustyfloor]

I love how ALNST portrays the coexistence of hate and love in the main relationships, just like those "Hatred is easier than a vague word such as love" photocards. And grief these characters have to go through and how they handle it because this series focuses on how people live on after they experience loss, in their own ways each of these standees represent that grief and the intricacies of their complicated relationships. All of my ships are divorced

I hope the mixed feelings Mizi has for Sua are elaborated on more in the future. Mizi had been almost, if not entirely, dependent on Sua in their time together. Sua was there to fill the gap of loneliness Shine left Mizi with after she was sent to Anakt garden alone. Sua taught her a lot and helped her study. Sua protected Mizi from the world and kept them safe in their bubble. She was someone who Mizi looked up to like her god; her faith in Sua and the love she had for her was like a religion. Sua was always there for her, and Mizi was happy to blindly follow her. And she left Mizi exposed and vulnerable like an abandoned fawn when suddenly, all of that was gone, and Sua was dead.

It would be interesting if it's confirmed that Mizi resented Sua after. In round 5, Luka's relentless taunting caused her to lash out, but Mizi wasn't angry at Luka; that anger, that despair, was her pouring out her feelings toward Sua because of Sua's death. After being taunted with the familiar comfort of Sua's presence, with the fact, that some of the happiness in Sua's smile could have been fake while she was unaware.

The thing is, Mizi and Sua had been the closest to each other for so long, but Mizi had little to no insight into who Sua really was or what she was really thinking. Other than some brief instances where she would perceive Sua, she knew Sua was a little quiet, probably a little gloomy, but didn't second guess her at all, knowing Sua wasn't mean to her. And she trusted in the fact that Sua didn't have bad intentions. Mizi could've never guessed that this would be the result, could never catch onto that emotional distance Sua had intentionally kept between them. When Mizi comes to an understanding that Sua knew what would happen all along. that's where the hurt stems from. Sua's actions, leaving Mizi in the dark and not being truly open, are a part of her coping mechanism/way of protecting herself. Sua wanted to shield Mizi so desperately, to shield her own heart from the fear of living aimlessly and in constant anxiety, that she had been content to die like this, to leave Mizi in this kind of disarray, even when she knew to some degree and was sad that her death could possibly subject Mizi to this kind of suffering, to having come to terms with those complicated feelings and it did crush Mizi as it all went down.

Mizi had the resilience to get back up and keep moving forward without Sua. As much as Mizi adored her, as much as she is making amazing progress in liberating herself from that past, who knows if she's moved from that yet, if she's forgiven Sua yet, the hurt from having been lied to for all that time. The betrayal of that trust Mizi had naively placed onto Sua, as if Mizi never even knew her in the first place. In some artworks, Sua is so distant from Mizi, even though they're always the most intimate, there is a clear disconnect as if Sua is a figment of Mizi's imagination, stagnant in the only way Mizi knew her, and she never changes. And Mizi suffers from the fact that she can't embrace that memory of Sua the way she used to. The standee similarly portrays this; Sua is simply hovering over her and watching in an eerie, enigmatic way. Yet Sua's presence is a comfort Mizi can't let go of even when it hurts that it isn't the same as it used to be. Even when the innocence of their bond is tainted by the understanding Mizi has now, she can't reject her. Mizi is nothing if not completely devoted to Sua, even to the end.

my ivantilll... my curevantill

Ivan and Till's push-pull, hate-love dynamic has been apparent even in childhood, and this standee says a lot about that dynamic, especially regarding round 6 obv. From Till's perspective, Ivan confused him, provoked him a lot, and fought with him a lot, but Ivan was also someone he considered a friend. Someone in his life that he cared about because despite their fighting they also shared quiet moments, Ivan was there for Till when it mattered (for comfort, even), where Till would've otherwise been alone, Ivan was always with him, those were memories Till would cherish even if he didn't show how much he cared to Ivan directly.

His despair going into round 6 wasn't just because of Mizi's disappearance, he hadn't expected he and Ivan would be in a position where they'd have to compete, and faced with the decision of having to either compete to win against his last friend, after losing all will to live, or to forfeit his own life, once he couldn't keep going anymore and stopped singing, Till had the intent to give up. Only for Ivan to make the final decision for him and forfeit his own life in such a brutal way right in front of Till. Even though there is little said about his perspective at the time as of now, To me, it seems like Till wanted to make that choice, but Ivan effectively yanked Till out of his own head to be bombarded with the confusing mix of gentleness and violence as the full force of Ivan's complicated feelings were thrown at him, and then to face the reality that Ivan is dead and he is alone.

Till has been oppressed by the aliens all his life, and he's always fighting them for the right to his agency and freedom. Till's anger comes from Ivan's selfishness in that moment -(How could you do that and just leave me behind? kind of sentiment), the way Ivan took away Till's choice in the situation, the one time he ever willingly withheld Till's freedom was because of an impulsive action that Till can't begin to understand, everything happened too fast, Ivan had no idea what he was doing either and was erratic with it. With that, the questions and the feelings Ivan left him to figure out on his own afterwards were too much for Till to confront after having averted his attention from them for the longest time, that's why the weight of Ivan's feelings, the reality of it all outside of Till's head, metaphorically and quite literally weigh on Till to the point of breaking him.

Ivan's affections and lesser acknowledged feelings for Till clash and often contradict himself. His hold on Till in the standee is gentle and not at all, all at the same time. It's so fascinating to me how it can look like Ivan is trying to be comforting in a very (Ivan-typical) pushy or forceful/hostile manner because he wants to show he cares, however, he has never been the best at expressing himself, and Till is sensitive, but far more prone to avoidance or biting back in response to confronting the vulnerability of his own emotions. Because of this, they misunderstood each other's intentions a lot in the past, and Till doesn't know what went on in Ivan's head when he did what he did, but that confusion scares Till. The way they're positioned with Ivan gripping Till so he's forced to face him and Till being frightened by what he sees, too angry and too shocked to properly express himself, they're two forces pushing and pulling at each other (almost like they're fighting, in my opinion. It's also a show of their complicated dynamic because of their fundamental misunderstanding of each other) Even Ivan's lack of expression to Till's reaction to him is interesting to me. Sure enough, he supports Till while he's collapsing and pushing back, but staring down on him in an odd way (much like that frame from blink gone with his face, it's intimidating and observant), Ivan was unconvinced his actions would impact Till. And now, he doesn't register Till's feelings in the moment. He's under the impression that Till can just "move on" after that, as if forcing Till to live on in his stead would really not shake him, as if all that time they used to spend together realistically could've possibly meant nothing to Till. This standee is so symbolic and just as confusing as them, and Till's waist is mesmerizing (gets shot)

HyuLuka's standee shows their dynamic so well; HyunA is avoidant and not facing Luka. Instead, she faces forward and looks past Luka the same way she does with everything that holds her back. To keep moving forward, she tried suppressing her emotions, avoiding confronting her past. She wants to move on. However, she's standing still and has a hand on Luka's head to silently comfort him (not even gripping his head, just resting her hand there) because, despite all of those years, after being forced to live on in her grief and her suffering, HyunA has grown, but she hadn't truly "moved on" from her past with Hyunwoo or Luka, until she met Mizi. Even though HyunA didn't want to face her past and those repressed emotions before, when she started coming to terms, she couldn't help but reach out like it's instinct, like she did when they were kids. because she can't help but still love and care for him, her revenge, albeit intentionally cruel, is also an example of this.

This also shows another instance of Luka's dependence on her; Luka clings to HyunA like a child, much like he always does. He doesn't acknowledge that HyunA has changed or how his actions could've affected her in childhood. Because he's utterly devoted to her and desperate for the comfort of knowing they are "together" always. Through what little scraps he can get to remind himself of her existence, like with those posters, and so he never grows out of his childish indifference as long as he can continue depending on her

HyunA's revenge is one effective torture method for Luka, because it's reiterated time and time again that she knows who luka is, she knows about all of this and took that comfort away from him in the most brutal way, so Luka can't deny it, because the truth is right in front of him. It's a big question of whether Luka can ever symbolically leave that "bird cage" and learn to live on his own without continuing to use HyunA as his coping mechanism. Depending on what Luka does with those final words she left him with, he can come to an understanding and agree to move forward or continue obsessively clinging to the only comfort he's known for years, just like he is in this standee

I also find it interesting how HyunA's role is set up in depictions like this (and I find that Hyuluka frame from sweet dream to be similar in a way), with the clear leverage she has over Luka, who doesn't care about the danger because he loves her so much more than he cares about himself, (Just like the way he does register the gun pressed to his head in wiege, but still moves towards HyunA) but she never does "kill" him even though she has the knife over his head (or in more symbolic ways, give in to the hatred she wants to feel for him) and she doesn't abandon Luka. Even though she has the choice to do both, she doesn't because she loves him. She can't stand to look at him smile at her cruelty, so she just stares at him with that vacant look that appears sometimes, like in All-in when she's experiencing ptsd and she can't even move until Mizi starts shooting at the robot guards, so she just absently stays. It really speaks to HyunA's nature. She's endlessly compassionate. She doesn't want to stop loving as a human because she can't stop loving.

[demonslayerunhinged]

It's crazy to think that in this moment Tanjiro didn't just save Genya, he saved Sanemi too.

Imagine the fallout that would have happened if Sanemi had succeeded in blinding Genya.

He would lose the respect of all the slayers including Obanai because ignoring your brother is one thing but blinding him? Nah.

He might get banned from the corps and Kagaya would express his upmost disappointment in him which for Sanemi is like a death sentence.

His relationship with Gyomei would be destroyed. Genya might be his brother but remember he's still under the guidance of the strongest hashira.

I think Gyomei's reaction would be especially disasterous because he knows the kinds of assumptions people make about him because of his blindness, and to find out that Sanemi deliberately blinded his brother. Like dude.

Sanemi would never forgive himself. Like I said ignoring your brother is one thing but intentionally maiming your loved one crosses a line that he wouldn't be able to come back from.

So all this would happen because of some stupid, impulsive decision he made due to fear.

And I think he realizes it too. The fact that he left Genya alone after the incident, if he really thought his actions were sane and justified he would keep trying to poke his eyes out but he didn't. he seems ashamed to face him.

Just look at his face, he's like 'wtf??? I can't believe I almost blinded my baby bro!', 'what the fuck Sanemi?', 'what the fuck?, what the fuck?!'

This is the face of someone who can't believe and is ashamed of his actions.

In his next encounter with Tanjiro notice how he doesn't go apeshit and give him another beat down. It's only when he feels that our bestest boy is making fun of him that he lashes out. He's probably glad that Tanjiro saved Genya and is looking out for him but his stupid male pride won't allow him to say that.

Also look at the position of the scratch on Genya's face. He's being hurt a second time by the people he loves. My poor babyyyyy!

Sanemi I love you but that's absolutely unhinged behavior even for you. Like do I need to bring out the spray bottle?

Bad Nemi! *spritz *spritz

This kinda adds to my theory that Sanemi has some kind of anxiety disorder in addition to his depression.

Also shout-out to Zenitsu for taking Genya away no questions asked. He's such an underrated character. 🤗

[suhsweet]

double kisses ⟡ csc

wc: 5.7k+ | pair: idol!seungcheol x nonidolf!reader | genre: angst, fluff | tags: 65% sadness & 35% fluff, breaking up but getting back together, mention of divorce as a lighthearted joke, mention of being in the public eye, long-distance relationship, it is cute til it aint and then its cute again

summary: you and seungcheol, the leader of a world-famous boygroup, come up with a signal that he can use to let you know he's thinking of you even in front of the whole world... but is it enough?

authors note: i have reborn. yeah we rushed it but it's still something noooooo?

No one said dating an idol was easy. Probably because doing so would be admitting that they were dating an idol, and risk their partner's career.

However, you are dating an idol, specifically Choi Seungcheol. You of all people would know that it was challenging. Not only was he the leader of Seventeen, but Seventeen was taking over the world at a rapid pace— demand for them was at a high. This meant that you basically had to share your boyfriend.

The irregular schedules made it hard to see him. When he wasn't with you, he was either working or touring. Hours were irregular, and being apart never got easier.

You spent many nights alone wondering if this was all worth it. You had someone who you found to be your other half, who was devoted and loyal to you like no other. You desperately wanted to shout it out from the rooftops:

Seungcheol is mine!

Yet the world would come down upon the two of you if a whisper of your relationship came out. As sweet as Carats are, you feared the paparazzi or sasaengs who would take advantage of something so special to you. Most of all, you didn't want to risk Seungcheol's career. It was a dream that he worked so hard on ever since he was a teenager.

In front of the TV, his body is snuggled to your side, his head a welcome weight on your shoulder. His hair tickles your cheek as you glance down at him, to his lashes and down his nose. It's a reminder, physical evidence that he's right here with you.

You aren't paying attention to the screen. You know he isn't either.

His tour starts tomorrow. Two nights in Incheon, then he's off to Japan, and then the rest of the world. Two months of touring in a completely different continent, and then he's back for a month to promote the group's next comeback. Then he's back on tour once more.

You had a list of clocks, all set to each country that he'll be visiting on your phone. The both of you shared locations. You even had the widget app that lets you draw or write little messages to each other.

Seungcheol's left a whole basket full of his clothes for you to wear when you miss him. He has a bottle of your fragrance, one of your beanies, and a pair of your favorite Gentle Monster sunglasses.

The two of you have prepared the best you can to be apart for months on end– little pieces of each other to make up for the oceans that will separate you.

You've been trying to remain optimistic, but you know it wouldn't be enough. Knowing that it's 3am in Singapore won't make up for the loss of his arms around you. Seeing his cute little drawings appear on your phone screen won't make up for the lack of his sweet kisses.

A pressure presses from behind your eyes, and you quickly blink the moisture away. It doesn't work. A tear escapes. And then another. With your eyes squeezed shut, you bury your face in your lover's hair and inhale his scent, the one you've associated to home.

You don't want to cry. To leave Seungcheol with this image of you – unhappy and upset, is cruel. You need to be excited for him to travel the world and meet people who adore his group. He's going to be doing what he loves every night! Being on stage and performing with his family! Why are you crying?!

It's not like he's going to be gone forever. He's told you that he wants a future with you. One day, he'll retire. You'll get married, have a tonne of kids, and travel the world for as long as you want.

You just need to be patient. Don't be selfish.

Except you are.

All you want to do is beg him to stay, not to leave you. You want to tell him that you're scared he'll forget about you. You trust his loyalty, but you can't help the doubt that tickles the back of your mind.

A ragged breath escapes you, and Seungcheol's head immediately jerks up. His hand is on your wrist before you can block your face from his view.

"Baby," he breathes.

"I-I'm sorry," you whimper pathetically, and then you're immediately gathered in his arms. Now that he knows that you're crying, it's as if your body has given you no choice but to let the floodgates open.

You grip his shirt, just above his heart as he tries to soothe you. Sobs rack your body. Seungcheol squeezes you close to him and presses his lips to your head.

Deep down, in the deepest, ugliest depths of your conscience; you want to beg him to quit. You want him out of the public eye and to live a quiet life with you.

As soon as the thought enters your mind, you immediately shove it away. Shame floods you. You knew what you were getting into when Seungcheol asked you to be his girlfriend. He warned you.

Don't be selfish.

Your sobs eventually evolve into whimpers and sniffs. Seungcheol's hand smoothes circles across your back, and it helps you pull yourself together.

The two of you are silent for another five minutes. The sounds coming from the TV fills the room, the noise becoming a little clearer while the thundering of your pulse in your ears quiets.

Seungcheol, ever so patient, murmurs 'I love you's repeatedly, and presses kisses into your hairline.

When he sees that you've calmed down, he cautiously asks if you want to talk about it. When you look at him and see the concern in his gaze, you almost cry again.

But you don't. Instead, you nod quietly.

You explain your fears of him being away. Won't he forget about you? Won't the time apart make him bored of you? He'll be too busy to think about you, let alone set time aside for calls and messages.

Seungcheol immediately stops you. His thick brows are furrowed, as he wills you to look at him. He makes sure you're looking into his eyes. "There is never a moment when you aren't on my mind. When I'm on stage, I think about you and hope that you're watching. When I exercise, I think about how I want to impress you with my muscles. When I'm on a plane, I wonder if you've eaten and if you're safe."

Your heart squeezes. Every word sounds like a vow. You believe him. How could you not? His expression is imploring, imploring you to believe him because he desperately wants you to know it's true.

"When I'm with the guys, I think about how much you'd be giggling if you were there to witness their bullshit. They always ask about you, so I can't even forget about you even if I tried! When I go through hair and makeup, I think about the looks that you liked and ask the stylists to recreate it.

I don't want you to ever think that I'll forget about you. You are my life. Everything I do is for you."

Your lips quirk up into a small smile. "You're my life too." Yet, a part of you is still unsure. "Two months is a long time."

"It'll feel like years. But you'll be on my mind for every second."

"I'll be watching every single one of your fancams that gets posted," you warn playfully. "Don't flirt too hard with the fans."

He throws his head back to laugh, and it's a beautiful sound. A giggle of your own joins it.

He looks to you once more, a soft smile on his lips and his eyes sparkling with what could only be described as adoration. "We should come up with a signal for me to use."

Your head tilts in confusion.

"You said you'll be watching every fancam of me. Give me a signal I can use to show you that I'm thinking about you."

You suck in a gush of air as your chest warms at his eagerness to make you happy, even while across the world from you.

"You'd do that?"

"You seriously think that I wouldn't? C'mon! Give me something."

You rack your brain for an idea. You think about the little habits that you both have, and ways in which you can turn them into a gesture that can easily be overlooked, but unique enough to know that it's purely for you.

Immediately think about his habit of kissing you twice.

His lips press against yours once. "One kiss for you." He leans in once more. "One kiss for me."

You're walking in the park at night, when there is hardly anyone out. He brings your joined hand to his lips, pressing two kisses into the back of your hand.

As soon as he steps into your apartment after a long day at work, you're in his arms. He buries his head into the crook of your neck and kisses it twice: once to let you know he's home, and again to let him know that he's finally reunited with you.

With your hand flat, you tap your fingers to your lips twice and bring your arm out as if blowing a kiss.

His gaze softens as he recognises where you got your idea from. One for you, and one for me. He double taps his lips then brings his arm away to blow a kiss in one fluid move. "Like this?"

"I think it's good. Looks natural."

⟡

It's the first song of the concert, and as soon as the camera shows Seungcheol on screen, he's sends a double kiss.

You're sitting next to Jeonghan dressed like you're part of the staff. The face mask you have on hides both your identity, and your blush from the cheeky gaze of Seungcheol's right hand man.

"Can't believe you find him more attractive than me," Jeonghan teases. You knock your shoulders with his. "I might be doing my military service, but at least I'll still be in the same country as you."

As the concert goes on you look out for your signal and you're impressed by the way Seungcheol makes it look so natural. Sometimes he only double taps his lips, looking into the camera with a knowing look.

He'll explain to you later on that if he only does the original signal, it is a little repetitive but he still wants you to know that he's thinking of you. You'll tell him that he doesn't have to do it for every song or every time the camera's focused on him. He'll pout and tell you that he's brainstorming of other ways he can do your signal without completely transforming it.

At the end of the concert for the encore, all Seungcheol can do is send double kisses to the camera of every fan he can see. As Aju Nice turns into Fighting, he starts sending double kisses to the upper floors of the stadium.

Finally, he sends them to the balcony. The fans think that he's sending them to Jeonghan but you know they're for you. Some of the other members notice and join him. Most of them simply blow kisses but some of the other observant members, like Mingyu and The8, send double kisses the same way Seungcheol does. Dokyeom in particular makes a show of blowing kisses in an excessively flirtatious manner, only stopping when he sees Vernon’s confused stare from the corner of his eye.

The sight has you feeling like you're glowing. This is enough, you decide. To see Seungcheol surrounded by his dearest friends, doing what makes him happy, reminding you that he's thinking of you.

⟡

"Hi baby!" Seungcheol greets you, it's awfully bright wherever he is. The phone lights up your darkened room.

"Hi Cheollie," your voice is hoarse. It's four in the morning, where you are. You have a few hours of sleep left before you have to wake up for work.

"Shit, were you sleeping?" Seungcheol's concerned expression fills the screen. "I'm sorry baby, I thought the clock said it's four pm in Korea... Go back to sleep baby, I'll call you later."

"Okay... I love you." You nod, already feeling sleep come to you.

"I love you," he responds. Your eyes flutter close. Faintly you hear the sound of Seungcheol kissing the phone twice, and the sombre sound of the call ending.

⟡

"How many fancams did you find today, baby?" Seongcheol asks.

He's snuggled in bed just as you're walking home from work.

"Hmm, around eight I think. I didn't get to look properly because of work," you hum. "I don't think it works for Super."

Seungcheol laughs. "I told you, I'm thinking of an alternative for the cooler songs. I even enlisted Hoshi to help me."

"Great, so now Hoshi knows that I'm insecure and needy," you joke with a pout.

"No love. To Hoshi, I'm the one who's insecure and needy. Did you see my sign during God of Music?"

You laugh, "I did! You were so cute."

Seungcheol preens from your praise. A drunken smile is plastered on his face, one that lets you know that he's exhausted. His words are slurred together. "I miss you baby."

"I miss you more," you promise. "Nine days to go, but who's counting?"

Cheol smirks. "Time will fly. I can't wait to have you sit on my face again."

"Cheol!" You scold.

He cackles into your AirPods. "Hey! Two months is a long time! Lotion and my hand are nothing compared to my gorgeous, stunning girlfriend. You've ruined me."

"Gross!"

"I miss you," Seungcheol sighs again once the comedic air of your banter settles.

I miss you so much more. It hurts so much. I don't ever want you to leave again, you want to say. Spend a week in bed with me to make up for your absence.

Instead, you ask about his schedule once he gets home. You want to see if you'll have at least a full day with him. You don't even need to go out or do anything special. You just want to be with him.

The upcoming comeback schedule ruins your hopes. Every day, there is something happening. Between practice, fittings, music show pre-recording, variety show filming, and radio interviews; the only time you'll get to spend with him is whenever he's home. There are days where he won't even be able to go home to sleep.

You carefully control your facial expressions from showing betrayal, and grief. You nod slowly, and try to give him a genuine smile. He sees through your act, but stays quiet. He knows there's nothing that he can do to help. Instead he tells you a funny story from tour that he hopes will distract you. It works.

⟡

The grief of your heartbreak is consuming.

It's been a week since you and Seungcheol have broken up. A week since he left to go back on tour, and a week since you've told him that you can't handle him leaving again.

You couldn't eat, or sleep, or let alone breathe ever since you left your shared apartment with a duffle bag of your things. Seungcheol insisted that you stay since he's going to be gone for a while anyway but you refuse. To be surrounded by your memories, by what could've been your future, was to torture yourself.

On the day that he flys out, you try to forget that he won't be in the same country as you. The members send you messages as well but you try to be brief in your messages in case they find a way to convince you to get back together with Seungcheol. You try to stay busy, but he seemed to live in your mind.

In the month that he was back in Seoul, you hardly got to see him. His schedule was so jam packed that he might as well have been overseas again. Most nights, sometimes well after midnight, you'd hear him come into your room. He'd press two kisses into your temple, and tell you that he loves you. You'd pretend to be asleep. You didn't want him to deal with you crying after being at work for long hours.

He leaves to sleep on the couch, so as to not disturb you.

In the morning he's gone once more.

You had a massive fight on the last night that Seungcheol was in the country. He tells you that he knows you've been pretending to sleep. You tell him that he should've slept in the same bed as you. You don't know what you want from him, since he can't do anything for you. It's a bitter truth that the both of you have to face. You're the one who brings up the idea of breaking up, and he doesn't stop you.

You don't want Seungcheol to deal with the ball and chain he's left back home. Seungcheol doesn't want you to deal with waiting around for him to return.

Now, an ever repeating cycle continues. You wake up, realize that you and Seungcheol have broken up. You give yourself a minute to cry, or just stare blankly at the bedroom wall. You remember that said wall doesn't belong to the home you had with him. You get out of bed, get ready for work, and then work. Sometimes you have dinner with friends or family. Other times, you have dinner alone. You go for walks, or play badminton. Badminton reminds you of Seungkwan, and thus reminds you of Seungcheol. You stop playing badminton.

Sometimes, the days are long. Those days are the days where the Seungcheol's absence are even more profound and you grieve what could have been your future with him. Other times, the days fly by and you wonder what you're doing with yourself.

On the tenth day since your breakup, you give in to the need to see Seungcheol. You open your social media for the first time in a while and are immediately presented with a fancam of Seungcheol from the night before.

The familiar chaos that is Aju Nice fills your room, as you watch Seungcheol interact with fans. He does his signature lopsided smile, looks into the camera, and sends a double kiss... It's unmistakable. He taps his lips twice, before swinging his arm out towards the camera.

'his energy seems a little down today... i hope he's okay :(', one of the replies say.

'scoups has been interacting with fans like crazy this time! i'm so jealous'

In another fancam, he tilts his head back, taps his lips twice with both of his hands and thrusts them towards the ceiling. Briefly, his face is cracked with vulnerability and remorse before it is fixed back into his charming, idol smile. Some will interpret it as him as thanking whatever deity for allowing him to live the life that he has. Really, he's just asking for a second chance.

Your heart twinges when you watch it happen. More than heartbreak, you feel the devastating guilt of breaking Seungcheol's heart when he's done nothing wrong.

What was the point of breaking up if you were happier together? But that's the thing isn't it? You wouldn't actually be with him. He's timezones away, and hardly around for you to truly feel like you're with him. You couldn't let yourself go through that. However, was not having him at all better than having pieces? Fragments?

Certainly, it hurt to be away from him during the first two months of tour. But now that you've broken up with no contact, the pain is even worse.

⟡

A week later, your phone lights up. You expect it to be your friends, or one of the members who’ve decided to call themselves ‘children of divorce’.

Instead, it’s Seungcheol. Your heart lurches at his name, and your mind shuffles through a million different reasons as to why he's texting you.

cheol 💕: hey, just checking in… how are you?

you: i’m good, how about you? how’s tour?

cheol 💞: could be better. tour’s been fun, just got to italy. the kids want to drag me to the colosseum so i can experience rome the way they did.

Your heart warms, knowing his members are taking good care of him. He tells you about what's been going on. You tell him about work, and what's going on with your own friends. It's like you haven't broken up at all, and you almost ask him to FaceTime before you remember that you're no longer entitled to that privilege.

Ten minutes of catching up quickly pass by before he has to leave. You immediately wonder if he'll text you again soon. Or if you should.

⟡

You're at Dongdaemun, doing some shopping for some new clothes. Retail therapy didn't work, but it was a nice distraction. You try not to think about what Seungcheol would think of the top you're holding up. He'd like it... Not that it matters. You throw the garment over your arm, deciding to buy it but not because your ex would like it.

Ex... You hate having to call him that. You haven't texted him since he reached out after the break up. You try not to be sad about it, you broke up with him after all.

Over your shoulder, you hear someone call your name.

"Mr Choi," you start in surprise.

"Please," his smile is warm. As if he doesn't know his son's heart is broken because of you. "I told you to call me abeoji. Dad."

"Abeoji," you correct yourself hesitantly.

“How are you? It’s been a while,” the man asks gently.

"I'm..." Broken, hollow. Irrevocably sorry for hurting Cheol. "Okay. How are you?"

"Could be better. I'm going to get myself something to drink. Would you care to join me?"

The cafe is located on the upper floors of Hyundai City Outlet. It overlooks the entrance to the building, and allows you to look at Dongdaemun Plaza. At night it's a beautiful sight.

"Seungcheol told me about what happened," Seungcheol's dad says, getting your attention.

Your heart skips a beat upon hearing Seungcheol's name. The hollowness in your chest deepens. Immediately you look down at the beverage in your hands, afraid to see the disdain you expect on his dad's face. "Oh. I-It was the hardest decision I've had to make. I want you to know that I didn't want to hurt him, but I think this is how things should be."

"I know, I warned him about this happening," Mr Choi responds.

You look up at him, and his smile is still warm. There's a tinge of sadness, or pity. But no hatred. The similarities between Seungcheol and his dad has your heart squeezing painfully. You miss him so much.

"I don't know how you do it. Having a son who is hardly there to see you..."

"The way I see it, my blood runs through him, so I'm with him wherever he is... My wife on the other hand? She's my other half. When we're apart, I can't even breathe. As Seungcheol's partner, you must be going through something similar.”

You note the way he doesn't say 'ex'.

"How is he?"

"Looks as heartbroken as you, probably feeling the same as well."

Nausea mixes with the guilt in your stomach. You don't know how to respond.

"I'm not telling you what to do, but wouldn't it be better to have him in your life than not at all?"

At your silence, he sighs and goes quiet for several beats. “His mother and I are flying out to watch his concert in LA in three weeks. If you want to come with us, we’ll get the company to organize something. He doesn’t even have to know. You can just go to see how you feel.”

“Abeoji…”

“His mother misses you, you know. If not for him, consider going for her. Call it a family trip.”

⟡

It’s been three weeks since you broke up with Seungcheol. On the days when your reserve is weak, you give in to watching recent fancams of his. Unfalteringly, he continues to do your signal.

He hasn’t forgotten you at all. The thought crushes you inside.

If you got back with him, what would have to change? You’ve been telling yourself that there was nothing either of you could do. Were you okay with dealing with the irregular schedules? The fans? All eyes on him?

You've come back to your apartment with the intent of picking up a change of clothes and doing some laundry. The left side of the closet has all of your things, while the right has Seungcheol's. You suck on your bottom lip in contemplation as you consider taking one of his jackets. It's not like he'd know since he'll be gone for another couple months.

Your broken heart encourages you to give in. So you do. You pull out one of his cardigans, your favorite, from the back of his stuffed closet. Your heart squeezes at the familiar scent, and you hug it to yourself. Then you hear the sound of something crinkling in the pocket.

It's a balled up piece of paper with faint pen markings. Flattening it out, your breath is drawn from your lungs.

All across the page are random words and scribbles, but they manage to make you choke out a sob nonetheless.

park?

restaurant?

holiday?

jewellers — ask uncle

sizing – to check

seungkwan sing? > Get tissues for him

diamond > check her ig and pin > bigger = better ㅋㅋ

family? private

mr and mrs choi

honeymoon locations?

mrs choi.

my wife ♡

⟡

The distant sound of screaming fans seem to embody how you're feeling perfectly in that moment. Eomeoni, Seungcheol's mother, has her arm linked with yours and her warmth, weight, and energy are grounding. Abeoji is next to her. The three of you are walking down the private hallway to enter the section with your seats.

Eomeoni sits between you and Seungcheol's dad, the woman constantly turning to you as if checking that you haven't run off yet. She places a warm hand on your knee, gently soothing your jittery leg.

Joshua's family comes to join your section, sitting in the row behind you. Josh's mom and Eomeoni appraise each other after being apart for so long. They turn to you.

Eomeoni leans in to say something to the other woman, but you can hardly hear because of the pre-show music blasting from the speakers. Whatever she says though, Josh's mom looks intrigued.

You introduce yourself to Joshua's mom and family just as the show begins. The show goes as well as it did back in Incheon. You notice minor differences, improvements that the guys have made after months of touring. You try to train your expression when you spot Seungcheol.

He doesn't do the double kiss for every song, but it takes your breath away every time he does. Your gaze flickers to his parents, and they hardly react. The signal really is something only for the two of you.

Towards the end of the show, you forget that you know the group personally and become absorbed as a Carat. You borrow Abeoji's light-stick and wave along to the songs. You laugh in delight as you jump with Seungcheol's parents to the encore song and translate the members' English ments for the non-English speaking family members.

Later on you can’t keep your eyes from the door of the waiting room. Waiting inside with Seungcheol and Joshua’s families, the conversations milling around you is all white noise.

“Mom!” Dokyeom wails as he spots you as soon as he steps inside. The others greet you with a mix of happiness, excitement, and apprehensiveness.

“You guys did really well,” you say as you grab the phone off Eomeoni, who silently gestured for you to take a photo of her and Abeoji with Chan and Seungkwan.

“Oh let me in too!” Dokyeom yelps as he stumbles into the frame.

You don’t even bother taking a photo with the members, too concerned about the one that is the sole reason you’re even here in the first place. So you sit in a corner of the room that has a set of sofas, joined by a couple of Joshua’s cousins.

You’re asking about one of the cousin’s outfit for a party they’re going to as you do a quick headcount of the boys, and of the managers. One manager missing, one member missing.

“Where is he?” You sigh to yourself.

“Doing leader stuff,” Mingyu says as he sits on the arm of the couch beside you. You smile at him in greeting and he pats your head softly, knowing why you’re here.

You sink into the sofa, letting your head fall back on the headrest of the couch and letting Mingyu’s large form block your view of the door.

He’ll come when he’s ready.

But then you hear the delighted exclamations of Eomeoni and you couldn’t stop your head from perking up even if you tried.

All sound fades as you watch Seungcheol enter the room. He’s smiling about something with the manager accompanying him as he rips out his in-ears and grabbing a water bottle from a nearby table. Then he spots his mother and his face lights up with the toothy grin that you haven’t seen in so long.

You can't stop the tears the well up, or the sudden tightness in your chest as it brims with emotion. The loss that you've managed to sweep under the rug is suddenly coming back to you full force.

He reunites with his parents, accepting their kisses and warm embraces. Abeoji rubs soothing circles into his child’s back, and Eomeoni has Seungcheol’s face in between her small hands.

Sound comes back to you while you watch the family of three catch-up.

Mingyu nudges you. “You gonna say hi or what?”

“Nope. I think I’ll hide.” You slump in your seat and duck your head behind Mingyu’s knee. You rub a soothing palm over your chest… Has your heart ever beaten this fast before?

Mingyu chuckles and gets up. You watch with growing horror as the tallest member approaches the Chois, clapping a hand to Seungcheol’s shoulder and muttering something into his ear. When your ex-boyfriend’s gaze darts over to where you sit, you smile awkwardly and then your eyes dart down into your lap to avoid seeing his reaction.

In your peripheral, with much fear, Seungcheol’s form slowly grows closer to you, until his feet are placed in front of yours and you can see his legs are standing in front of you. And then he squats down to look up at your face.

“Hello,” his voice is precious. It’s so full of warmth, and hope… And fear.

You look at him and suck in a breath. It’s been so long since you’ve been this close to him. His eyes gleam as they gaze up at you and his lips are spread thin in contemplation.

“Hi,” you whisper, sending him a timid smile.

“You wanna go somewhere to talk?”

You nod, despite the nerves that set in as soon as you hear his words. He stands up and offers you his hand, and you take it. As your palms meet and fingers slide into place, it’s like you’ve completed a jigsaw puzzle. All the pieces are fitting into place and your heart warms. How were you crazy enough to give up on this? On him?

Looking up, Seungcheol’s bittersweet smile seems to express the same sentiment.

⟡

1.5 YEARS LATER

“Whatcha doing?”

You pointedly rustle the magazine in front of your face. “Doing some light reading.”

“Oh yeah? What about? Looks interesting.”

“Yeah there’s this super hot idol who just announced his engagement to this amazing, stunning, angel-on-earth of a woman…”

“Wow, what a lucky man,” Seungcheol settles onto the sofa next to your feet, pulling them onto his lap.

“Seems like his fiancée’s the lucky one: ‘I’ve always said that my members and my family come first before anything else’,” you say in your best imitation of your future husband. He laughs then shoves your shoulder lightly.

The engagement band that he proudly wears on his left ring finger catches the light, and your chest never fails to warm at the sight.

In the fire-escape of the venue where Seungcheol just performed a sold-out concert with his group, the two of you sat on the stairs for what must've been an hour. In short, you both agreed to never go for that long without the other ever again. For the rest of your lives.

Things didn't work out immediately. For a few months, your relationship still struggled as the two of you worked out how best to go about your long-distance relationship, but when you figured it out? Oh, was it good.

At the end of that year, on Christmas Eve, Seungcheol proposed to you. It was adorable; the two of you bundled up in thick puffer jackets with wooly scarves and beanies and masks so that only your eyes were visible. You were taking a walk along the Han River, a ridiculous idea since it was winter, but the festive lights made it all worth it.

You cried as he bore his heart out to you, his beautiful round eyes glistening with tears. You knew that the hand holding up the little velvet wasn't trembling from the cold, but from nerves.

As soon as the ring slid onto your finger, Seungcheol was immediately tackled into a conveniently placed pile of snow nearby.

A little while after the proposal, you propose to Seungcheol as well. Call it feminism, or equality. Really, he just told you that he wanted an engagement ring of his own.

Immediately, news agencies hear tips about a peculiar silver band that never seems to part from Seventeen's S.Coup's ring finger. Fans notice his latest contents include him having a cute, dazed smile. His instagram posts always seem to feature a photo of his left hand.

The one thing that hasn't changed though, is that he continues to give you all of his double-kisses.

[starkissedbaby]

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

" I said enough," Megumi slams his clenched fists into the table, irritable from a bad day at work.

You were offering that he ate the food you made him that took hours, but he kept denying, which led to your initiating more and more. Usually his patience with you wasn't thin-but tonight had been different. He had been extremely dry and plucked with you since he had gotten home, as if he was still reliving whatever he did today.

"I'm not hungry. Please-leave me alone _ _." He repeats whilst rubbing his temples.

"You never take care of yourself," your frown was outlined with concern. "-which is why I do it for you, Meg. And I'm simply just asking you to-"

"And I told you that I have no appetite at the moment after watching dozens of people die," he rasps out with a bite to his words. "I'm not in the mood right now."

"To what?" You question, blinking. "What would you like me to do?"

"To leave me the hell alone, dammit. Are you even listening?" He raises his voice, glaring up at you through his lashes. The scowl he was sending you made fear cross your face, never seeing this side of him.

Backing up, your eyes glistening with tears, you nod. Megumi's face softens instantly when he sees the hurt cross your features. "Right..okay." As you exit the dining area, a hard punch lands to the wall, and you knew that he regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth.

But still-you gave him time to cool off.

Feeling gut wrenched from how he spoke to you, however, you lay in your bed and curl into a ball with a heavy chest. Like you said, Megumi always spoke in a softer tone, knowing his usual one was far too rough for your sensitive self.

Being a jujitsu sorcerer wasn't an easy task, especially when you were a first grade. You knew how demanding his work had been, and wanted to cater to every need he had. It was the least you could so, since you were practically useless anyways.

After about an hour of you staring straight at the ceiling, the door clicks open, and then the bed dips beside you. Megumi scoops you into his arms and rests your head against his chest, and you don't look at him as he smooths the strands on your head.

"I'm sorry darling," he murmurs and presses a loving peck to your forehead. "-that was very out of character and won't happen again, I swear."

You nod against him, and finally meet his gaze. The corner of his lips twitch into a crooked smile. "You look so beautiful-how could I ever have done something so stupid like that to my pretty girl?" He mumbles, pulling you closer against him.

GOJO SATURO

      "Not right now," he attempts to keep his tone light, his head pounding probably from the overuse of his power. He probably strained himself again and was having a horrible migraine. Judging from the way he cringed as you sighed, revealed your suspicions had been right on the target. "I'm really tired and just need to be alone, princess."

"Please," you beg, handing him the pain medicine. "If you take this then you'll feel better."

"I don't want to," he hisses out, pretty sea shaded eyes hosting a storm. "I deserve to feel like this. So many humans-died because of me. It could've been prevented."

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. This is your first time living to-"

"_ _-" Satoru warns with narrowed eyes and a tightened jaw. "Enough. You're getting on my last nerve and I'm already beyond pissed off." He spits out with a sharp bite at the end, causing you to flinch from his he raised his voice. When his darkened eyes sweep over your blanched expression, his face flickers.

"I wasn't trying to annoy you," you look down at the ground, setting the pill bottle on the table. "I'm just gonna go home. It's getting late."

      Gojo's chair screeches as he rushes over to you and pauses right before your figure to stop you. "I'm sorry-I'm sorry-" he repeats, palm sliding against your cheek, the familiar action making you feel a little better. "Don't go back to your place. Spend the night with me. That's what'll make me feel better, princess."

You blink up at him with teary eyes, "Are you sure, Toru? I'm sorry for-"

He cuts you off with a loving kiss to your lips, before his finger taps your nose. "And what do you have to apologize about?” There he was, the Gojo you knew and loved. He came back to you. “C’mon-why don’t we go lay down my love? Would you like that?”

“I would,” you blush, weaving your fingers together.

Gojo’s eyes flashed, a smile twitching onto his lips.

God-what did he do to deserve you?

[gracexthoughts]

intrusion 

jacaerys velaryon x wife!reader

warnings; assault, blood and fighting, break in, cursing, pretty typical for canon universe level of violence, no use of y/n or character description, men being creeps summary; from this request. two intruders, sent by the greens, stumble upon you in their search for rhaenyra and decide to take you as their prize instead a/n; i love this request sm and wrote this kinda fast so apologies for any mistakes. please do not read if any of the above is triggering to you. i put *** on either end of the physical attack on reader if you want to avoid it

The night has been restless for you. A storm lashes at the island Dragonstone towers over; rain and lightning and thunder tearing at the walls of the keep, wind howling against the window pains. Your husband, Jacaerys, is still gone after being sent to treat with some ally. He has yet to return, and you cannot help the worry that has wormed its way into your chest. The storm has held him up, you repeat to yourself, sighing as you toss in bed to lay on your back. Even though you’ve only been married for a few moons, the bed feels too large without his warmth next to you. 

Lighting illuminates the room, and the door to your chambers bursts open as thunder claps, covering the sound of the wood banging against the stone. You bolt up, hoping to see Jacaerys, but instead, you are met with two pairs of unfamiliar eyes. 

Two men stand in the doorway of your chambers, one tall and skinny, a white scar across his face shining in the torchlight, and the other short with muscles pushing against the seams of his clothing. Fear seizes your heart as they examine the room. “Who are you?” you demand sharply, attempting to cover the fear in your voice with the commanding tone you hear Queen Rhaenyra use so often. 

“That’s not the bloody Whore Queen,” the stout man grumbles in a Flea Bottom accent, lowering the torch slightly. Whore Queen, they called your mother-by-law. The Greens sent them, you realize, your heartbeat increasing its pace.

“That’s the bastard prince’s bitch,” the taller one sneers, kicking the door closed and stalking forward.

“Where’s your princeling at, girly?” the other coos, placing the torch in the sconce near the door. As they come closer, you scoot away on the bed, their eyes like rabid animals circling prey. 

“The library,” you lie, “He’s due to come to bed any minute.” Your hand slowly moves under the pillow behind you, searching for the small dagger Jacaerys insisted you sleep with since the attack on his mother by Ser Arryk. The men look at each other, evil smiles splitting their faces. 

“Just came from the library,” the shorter man sneers, stepping up onto the platform the bed sits on. 

“No bastards there. Seems like you’re all alone,” the tall man coos, biting his lip as he stands at the foot of the bed. Your fingers close around the cool hilt of the dagger as the blankets of the bed are ripped off you. You don’t move, keeping the dagger hidden under the pillows, even as the men scan your figure, only clad in a silk nightdress. 

*** 

“Leave now, and the Queen and the Prince will reward you; I’ll ensure it,” you say, your voice beginning to quiver slightly in fear. 

“Oh, the Queen and Prince will reward us, alright, just not your lot,” the man at the foot of the bed smiles menacingly. “Hold her down.” The man at your side reaches out for you, and you slash at him with the dagger, managing a deep cut on his arm. The man stumbles back, a raging yell from his lips. 

“GUARDS! HELP!” You scream, trying to move to the left side of the bed, but your leg is pulled back, and your arm that holds the dagger is pinned down to your side by a heavy boot, a rough hand covering your mouth and muffling your screams. 

“Shut up, idiot,” the taller man grumbles to the other, who still wails, before turning back to you, “I heard you were a feisty one,” he laughs as he hovers above you, wrenching the dagger free and bringing it up to your face. 

“Little cunt, more like,” the man you cut grumbles, glaring at you as tears of fear blur your vision. 

“You’ll be fine. Help me with her, would ya?” The two men grab your arms and legs, dragging you from the bed. You cry out as you land on the hard stone floor.

“Shut up!” One of them growls behind you, pulling you up by your hair and covering your mouth. You squirm and fight as best as you can, but the men have the advantage and chuckle at your feeble attempts as they shove you up against the wall. You cry out again as your head connects with the wall and they begin tying your hands with rough rope as you pray silently to any god who will listen.

***

Before they can secure the ropes completely, blood sprays out of the taller man’s chest as a sword splits him in two. The hands on your limbs relent as the man is pulled off you, revealing Jacaerys, sword dripping with blood, face dark with rage and hair wet with rain. 

Jace tosses the man to the floor before his eyes turn predatorily to the stockier man who draws a short sword from his belt. You watch in shock as your husband engages with the man, attacking him with more vigor and bloodlust than you thought possible for the sweet man you know. You back away hurriedly and crouch in the corner of the room, desperately trying to get as far away from the fight as possible.

A hand pulls your attention from the fight, and you flinch away before turning to see the Queen, your mother-by-law, reaching for you. Her face is soft but urgent. She goes again for your hand, pulling you to her and helping you stand. She pulls you into her, taking care the shield you as gentle arms wrap around your shaking body, not caring that the blood on your front will stain her gown. You cling to her desperately, listening to her whispers of comfort, and turn your head to see Ser Lorrent pushing the intruder to his knees in front of the Prince, his blade to the man’s throat as more guards rush into the room. Jacaerys stands over the man menacingly, his chest rising and falling with his rapid breath, blood pooling from a gash on the intruder’s leg onto the stone floor. 

“Your friend is lucky I gave him a quick death,” Jacaerys growls, glaring at the man on the floor as he crouches down in front of him like a predator, “You won’t be so. I’ll be sure to send The Usurper a message with your head, once I’ve made you pay for touching my wife.” You’ve never seen such rage in your husband before; his usually so soft and sweet amber eyes now contorted with hatred, the flames from the torchlight reflecting in his eyes as if the fire is inside him. His sword drips with blood, mixing with the blood pool on the floor and yet there’s not a scratch on him. Rhaenyra squeezes you tightly for a moment before releasing you and stepping forward. 

“Take him to the dungeons, have two guards on duty at all times, and summon the maids,” commands the Queen to Ser Lorrent, who nods and drags the man from your chambers, a trail of blood in their wake. You watch, without moving from your corner, as Rhaenyra cups her son’s face before taking her leave and the guards, and Jacaerys turns to you; all the hardness in his gaze melted away and replaced by wide eyes full of concern. He speaks your name, his voice cracking slightly at the sight of you, and you throw yourself to him. His sword clatters to the ground as his muscular arms catch you, a hand cradling your head against his chest and the other wrapped around your waist tightly. Your knees give out as the shock leaves your veins, and the pair of you drop to the floor. 

“How did-” 

“The storm made the flight back harder than I expected. I was on my way up when I found a dead guard. They’d pushed the body behind a pillar, but I still saw it. I thought they’d come for Mother again, so I ran to her chambers first. When I saw her undisturbed, I just knew,” Jace explains softly, brushing your hair soothingly, his thumb wiping away tears and blood spatters from your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, my love. I should’ve been here. I should have come here first, I-I’m going to kill them all for laying a hand on you.”

Jacaerys’ mind is reeling and he’s sure he has never been so scared as he was when he found those men attacking his wife, his love, his heart. His more violent side, one he pushes down for the sake of decency, itches to storm down to the dungeons and torture the man who dared hurt you, to make him pay for every second of pain he caused you, to fly to King’s Landing himself to find those responsible for this night and add their blood to his blade. But you need him more in this moment and he is ever at your will.

“S’not your fault,” you say softly, your voice weaker than you’d like. Jace opens his mouth, but two maids enter the room, clearly having just been woken, eyes wide at the state of your chambers. 

“Pardon, my prince, my lady,” the elder of the two says softly, dark blue eyes full of sympathy. Your husband helps you stand, his arm staying protectively around your shoulder. 

"Let us wash and try to find sleep," he says softly to you before turning to ask one of the maids to make the bed in your old chambers and run you a bath. Jacaerys wraps his dark red and still-damp cape around your shoulders before leading you down the halls to the chambers you lived in before your marriage. The familiar surroundings comfort you as Jace leads you to the couch before starting a fire in the hearth.

Soon, the bed has been made up and a hot bath drawn and your husband dismisses the maids, thanking them for their help at such late hours. Jacaerys gently helps you undress and step into the bath. Kneeling outside, he helps wash away the night's evidence, softly sponging the blood from your skin and wringing it from your hair. You lean into his soft touch, finding comfort in his presence and care. Few words are spoken between you as he cares for you but in this moment, his presence is all you want. You can sense the anger in Jace lingering under his skin, needling at his mind, but he stays by your side, whispering promises that he won’t leave you, that he’ll always protect you; your wellbeing more important to him than anything else in the world.

Once you are dressed in a clean nightgown and all blood cleansed from both of you, the pair of you crawl into bed together, your head on his broad chest, allowing his heartbeat to lull you back into a sense of safety. It is not until the first rays of light begin to shine through the curtains that you both find sleep, but you do eventually, wrapped in the loving embrace of each other.

[callsigns-haze]

-ˋˏ The week it all went south ˎˊ-

Part 4

Part 1 here Part 2 here Part 3 here

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader

Azriel has the perfect life. You as his wife. Kaia as his daughter. But him and the boys are stupid enough to challenge you for a week and then his perfect life might simply...disappear

Warning: ANGST, mentions of past lovers, mentions of sex, cursing, kissing, mentions of injured child, drinking, mentions of character death (nobody is dead though they just mention it), throwing up, Az being an ass and MC being a badass mama, kidnapping, mentions of physical force against characters, mentions of bleeding.

Word count: 13.9k

As you stepped into the freezing wind, snow immediately began to cling to your coat and hair, but you didn’t care. You were determined, your steps purposeful as you marched into the storm. The icy air burned your lungs, but it didn’t slow you.

Behind you, the sound of hurried footsteps crunching through the snow broke through the howling wind.

“YN, wait!” Azriel’s voice rang out, desperate and strained.

You ignored him, your jaw clenched as you pushed forward.

“YN, stop!” Rhysand called, his tone sharper, but still layered with concern.

You felt the flicker of his magic against your mind, a gentle attempt to tether you, but you shoved it away with all the force of your fury. “Don’t you dare!” you shouted over your shoulder. “If you’re going to stop me, do it outright! Don’t use your tricks on me, Rhysand.”

Azriel’s wings flared behind you as he caught up, his breath visible in the frigid air. He grabbed your arm, not forcefully, but enough to make you stop. “YN, please,” he begged, his eyes pleading. “You don’t have to do this alone. Let us come with you.”

You wrenched your arm free, glaring at him. “You had your chance to help, Azriel. Now stay out of my way.”

Rhysand appeared at your other side, his face pale and drawn. “You’re not going out there alone, YN. That’s not happening. You can hate us all you want, but we’re coming with you.”

Your fury wavered for just a moment as you saw the raw fear in both of their expressions, but you shoved it down. “Fine,” you snapped. “But keep up, or I’ll leave you behind.”

Azriel exchanged a look with Rhysand, a silent conversation passing between them, before they both nodded.

The three of you pressed on into the storm, the snow whipping around you in fierce gusts. Azriel’s shadows darted out ahead, scouting through the white expanse, while Rhysand kept his magic spread wide, searching for any sign of Kaia.

The storm was relentless, the wind screaming through the trees as snow lashed against your face. Your boots crunched through the deep drifts, the icy chill seeping through your coat, but you didn’t care. Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes darted desperately over the landscape.

“Kaia!” you called, your voice raw and hoarse. The wind carried it away almost as soon as the words left your lips, but you didn’t stop. “Kaia!”

Azriel’s shadows darted around you, slithering across the snow and disappearing into the storm. He kept close, his eyes scanning the ground, his wings tucked tightly against his back to shield him from the biting cold. Every now and then, he would whisper her name, his voice trembling with fear and guilt.

Rhysand was on your other side, his magic rippling outward in a steady pulse. He moved with purpose, though his face was pale and his lips pressed into a thin line. Occasionally, he would glance at you, concern flickering in his violet eyes, but he didn’t say anything.

You reached a clearing, the snow shallower here but no less treacherous. The wind swirled violently, and you paused for a moment, your breath heaving as you tried to decide where to go next. “She’s close,” you whispered to yourself, clutching the bond between you and Azriel like a lifeline. “She has to be.”

Azriel stepped forward, his shadows coiling around him protectively. “YN,” he began softly, but you cut him off.

“No,” you snapped, your voice shaking. “Don’t try to stop me. Don’t tell me to rest or wait or anything else.” You gestured toward the storm. “She’s out there, Azriel. Alone. Scared. I won’t stop until I find her.”

His jaw tightened, but he nodded, stepping back to let you lead.

You moved forward again, your eyes scanning every snowdrift, every shadow. You strained to listen past the roar of the wind, praying for some sound—anything—to guide you.

“Kaia!” Rhysand called, his voice strong despite the storm. “It’s Uncle Rhys! Sweetheart, we’re here! Call out for us!”

Nothing but the howl of the wind answered.

You stumbled over a hidden root, catching yourself against a tree, and for a moment, you let out a choked sob. But you couldn’t give in to despair. Gritting your teeth, you pushed forward, your fingers brushing against the rough bark of the trees as you searched.

As you climbed a small hill, your foot caught on something beneath the snow. You crouched down, frantically brushing it away, only to find a small toy—a teddy Kaia had been clutching earlier.

“She was here,” you whispered, your heart lurching. “She was here.”

Azriel was at your side in an instant, his hands steadying you as he looked down at the toy. His face crumpled, and he pressed his lips together tightly. “She can’t be far,” he said, his voice low but determined.

Rhysand placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip firm. “We’ll find her, YN,” he said, though the worry in his eyes was impossible to miss. “We won’t stop.”

You nodded, clutching the toy tightly in your hand as you pressed on, calling her name into the endless storm.

The hours dragged on, each step feeling heavier than the last. The storm seemed to grow more violent with every passing minute, the snow swirling around you like an endless sea of white. Your breath came in ragged gasps as you called out for Kaia, your voice strained and hoarse, but the only answer was the howl of the wind.

Your heart ached with every inch you covered, your mind racing with worry and guilt. Each snow-covered tree, every shadow, every crevice was scrutinized, but there was no sign of her. Nothing.

You could feel the chill settling deep in your bones, the cold seeping past your layers and gnawing at you. You were freezing, numb, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t stop. Not when your daughter was out there, somewhere in this cruel storm.

Azriel’s shadows had been everywhere, searching in places the eye could not, but there was still no sign of Kaia. His voice was almost lost to the wind, but you could still hear him calling her name, his tone strained with worry.

Rhysand, though his eyes were filled with sorrow, didn’t stop either. He was using his magic to try and sense her, but it was futile against the wild winds and the snow that blocked everything from his view. His power pulsed with growing desperation, but it wasn’t enough.

Cassian had been beside you the entire time ever since he flew back from day, his wings tucked to shield him from the worst of the storm, his face lined with frustration. Even he, usually so strong and unshaken, was showing signs of wear. His eyes flicked over every inch of snow, every shadow, every movement, but it was the same. Nothing.

After three hours of searching, your body was exhausted, your movements sluggish, and the hope you clung to was beginning to feel more like a fading dream. You wanted to scream, to tear at the sky for its cruelty, but you just... couldn't anymore.

Finally, Rhysand’s voice broke through your fog of determination. “YN, we have to go back. It’s too dangerous to keep going.” His hand on your arm was gentle but firm. “You’re too cold. You need to rest.”

You shook your head violently, refusing to give in. “No. I can’t. I won’t stop until I find her.”

Cassian’s voice was softer now, but there was a firmness to it. “You’re not helping her if you freeze, YN. You know that.”

Azriel stood behind you, his face grim. “We’ll keep searching, YN. But we need to go back for now. We need to regroup, to think this through. This storm... it’s too much.”

The words pierced through you, but you didn’t want to admit they were right. Your body screamed for rest, but your heart wouldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

Yet, when you saw the concern in their eyes, the worry in their voices, something inside you broke. You were too tired to fight anymore, to push through the storm. With a final glance at the empty, snow-covered landscape, you gave in.

They led you back to the cabin, your steps slow and heavy as you let them guide you. Your mind was numb with the weight of everything, your heart still aching with the fear of what might happen if Kaia wasn’t found soon.

As you stepped inside, the warmth of the cabin hit you like a wave, but it did nothing to ease the coldness in your chest. Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian exchanged a glance, their faces drawn with exhaustion and worry. They had been as close to losing their resolve as you had been.

Azriel stepped toward you, his voice low. “We’ll find her, YN. We will.”

You nodded, though you didn’t believe it. It was hard to. With every minute that passed, the chance of finding her seemed more and more impossible. But as you sank into the warmth of the cabin, you closed your eyes, too exhausted to think, to fight.

For the first time in hours, you allowed yourself to slip into the fragile embrace of sleep, praying that when you woke, Kaia would be safe in your arms again.

-----

Kaia shivered, her small form trembling in the dim, cramped space beneath the desk. The cold air scraped at her skin as she tried to curl into herself, her wings aching with every movement. The hooded figure, whose presence loomed over her like a dark cloud, grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, yanking her out of her fragile hiding spot.

"You're going to be worth a lot, little one," the figure croaked, the voice raspy and laced with malice. "Those wings of yours will fetch a great price."

Kaia whimpered, her tiny hands reaching for the figure’s cloak, her mind fuzzy with confusion and fear. "Mama... dada... wanna go home," she muttered, her words slurred in her toddler speech as she struggled to free herself. The desperation in her voice was clear, but the figure’s grip on her was unrelenting.

The cold fingers wrapped around her wings next, pulling at them sharply. The pain sent a cry bubbling up from her throat, but the figure paid it no mind. “So fragile,” they sneered, tugging harder. “You’ll be worth a fortune once I’m done with you."

Kaia’s sobs echoed through the small, dark room as the figure dragged her, completely unaware of the devastation they were about to unleash. "Mama... please," she cried, reaching out for someone—anyone. But there was no one to hear her.

The figure grinned under the hood, their fingers twisting in her wings again, causing Kaia to flinch, her face scrunching up in pain. “They’ll pay so much for these,” the figure muttered, focused entirely on their cruel intentions.

Kaia could barely hold back the tears, her small body shaking as the cold pressed against her skin. "Dada..." she whimpered again, trying to curl into herself, her wings twitching with pain as they were handled so roughly. "I wanna go home..."

But there was no home in this moment. Only the cruel grip of the figure, and the darkness closing in on her.

-----

The grand meeting room of the Day Court was bathed in sunlight, golden rays streaming through the tall arched windows. The High Lords sat around the gleaming marble table, each adorned in the symbols of their respective courts. Despite the grandeur of the setting, the tension in the room was palpable, an undercurrent of unease rippling through the air.

Rhysand sat at the head of the table, his usual calm demeanour stretched thin. His violet eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, his jaw set tight as he addressed the gathering. Cassian stood to his right, his massive frame tense, and his hazel eyes filled with barely restrained fury. Morrigan stood to Rhysand’s left, her golden hair gleaming in the sunlight, her expression a mix of worry and resolve.

Helion, seated closest to Rhysand, leaned forward, his sharp gaze flicking between the others as he clasped his hands. Thesan’s calm, analytical expression did little to hide the concern in his soft eyes. Tarquin sat upright, his brow furrowed in quiet contemplation, while Kallias and Viviane exchanged uneasy glances. Tamlin’s expression was unreadable, though his presence alone carried the weight of tension from years of strained alliances. And Eris, with his trademark smirk, lounged lazily in his chair, a mocking gleam in his amber eyes.

“I appreciate you all coming on such short notice,” Rhysand began, his voice low but carrying the weight of authority. “I wouldn’t have called this meeting unless it was of the utmost importance.”

Eris raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “No Azriel here to lurk in the shadows? And where’s your sister, Rhysand? Surely, the infamous beauty wouldn’t miss a meeting like this.”

Cassian’s fist slammed onto the table with enough force to rattle the glasses of water set before them. The room fell silent as every gaze turned to him. His hazel eyes blazed with fury as he leaned toward Eris, his voice a dangerous growl. “Watch your mouth, Vanserra.”

Eris merely chuckled, unfazed. “Touchy, aren’t we? I was only asking.”

Rhysand lifted a hand to silence Cassian, though his gaze was a razor-sharp warning to Eris. “They aren’t here because they are both dealing with something far more important. My niece—Azriel and my sister’s daughter—has gone missing.”

The smirk dropped from Eris’s face instantly. The room grew heavy with shock as Rhysand continued, his voice breaking slightly, though he masked it with a carefully controlled tone. “She disappeared in the Illyrian forests. Given the terrain, the weather, and the search efforts already made, it’s clear she is no longer there. That leaves us with the terrifying possibility that she could be anywhere—any court. She’s two years old, defenceless, and vulnerable.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Even Eris’s usual mockery was absent as he processed the gravity of the situation. Tarquin’s blue eyes widened in alarm, and Kallias’s hands clenched the arms of his chair. Helion’s golden eyes darkened with uncharacteristic solemnity, while Thesan leaned forward, his voice soft but firm.

“Rhysand, you have our full cooperation,” Thesan said. “Anything we can do to aid in finding her, we will do without hesitation.”

Viviane nodded in agreement. “Anything. Just tell us where to start.”

Tarquin placed a hand on the table, his expression grim. “I’ll have my soldiers begin searching the coastline immediately.”

Helion spoke next, his voice rich and serious. “I’ve already informed my spies to keep their eyes and ears open. If she’s anywhere in the Day Court, we’ll find her.”

Tamlin, who had remained silent, finally spoke, his deep voice steady. “The Spring Court will join the search. No child should ever be taken like this.”

Eris’s tone was unusually sombre as he added, “The Autumn Court will assist as well. If she’s crossed into my territory, I’ll know.”

Rhysand inclined his head, his voice heavy with gratitude. “Thank you. She means everything to us—everything to her parents. Time is of the essence. If anyone hears anything, no matter how small, inform me immediately.”

The meeting shifted into focused strategizing, the High Lords leaning forward as they poured over the possibilities. A map of Prythian was unrolled across the table, detailing borders, territories, and the regions closest to the Illyrian wilderness where Kaia had gone missing. Rhysand tapped a finger against the eastern forests, his violet eyes scanning the map with methodical precision.

“She couldn’t have wandered far on her own. Someone took her,” Rhys began, his voice sharp and unyielding. “It’s not a question of if, but who.”

Helion leaned forward, his golden robes catching the light as he studied the map. “The borders between the Day Court and the Night Court are vast, with countless unpatrolled areas. If the culprit is clever, they could easily slip through undetected. But transporting a child—especially one as unique as Kaia—will leave a trail. Someone must have seen something.”

Thesan nodded, his brow furrowed. “I’ll send word to my sentinels to question travellers passing through. If anyone saw a figure with a child, we’ll know. They’ll be watching the skies for anyone attempting to fly, as well.”

Tarquin gestured to the southern coastline on the map. “If they’ve headed toward the sea, my ships will intercept them. No one leaves my waters without my permission. I’ll send my fastest messengers to my fleet commanders.”

Kallias traced a gloved finger along the northern borders of his court, his icy blue eyes narrowing. “If they’re heading north, the frigid weather will slow them down, but it also means Kaia is at greater risk. Viviane and I will deploy scouts to comb through the areas closest to our border with Autumn.”

Eris’s amber eyes lingered on the section of the map marking his court. “If they’ve crossed into Autumn, I’ll know. My patrols are ruthless, and no one enters my forests without me hearing about it. But this wasn’t random.” He leaned back in his chair, his tone calculating. “Whoever took her must have known what they were doing. She wasn’t just stolen by accident—they had a plan.”

Cassian growled low in his throat, his wings flexing as he loomed over the table. “Whoever they are, they’ll wish they never laid eyes on her.”

Rhysand shot him a look, silencing him with a subtle gesture. “He’s right, though. This wasn’t a random act. Kaia’s unique heritage makes her a target. She’s an Illyrian child with the blood of a High Lord running through her veins—there’s power in that, even if she’s still too young to wield it.”

Viviane’s voice was soft but steady. “Do you think it could be someone targeting your family specifically? Perhaps someone from the Illyrian war camps?”

Rhys’s jaw tightened, his voice cold. “If that’s the case, they’ll regret it. But we can’t rule out other courts—or even forces outside Prythian. We’ve made enemies over the centuries.”

Helion drummed his fingers on the table, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve been at peace with Hybern’s remnants since the war ended, but there are always factions that resist. Rebels who would see chaos sown by taking someone as valuable as Kaia.”

Tamlin, who had remained quiet until now, finally spoke. “Have you considered the possibility that this could be the work of fae traffickers? Children like her would fetch a high price in certain circles—especially with her wings.”

Cassian’s fist clenched, and the table creaked ominously. Rhysand’s face darkened, his power swirling faintly around him. “We’ll explore every possibility. No matter who it is, no matter where they’ve taken her, we’ll find her.”

Morrigan’s voice cut through the tension, clear and resolute. “I’ll winnow to Velaris and send out more of our spies. If anyone hears even a whisper of where she might be, we’ll know.”

Thesan tilted his head, his calm demeanour masking a sharp intellect. “If this is organized, they may already be moving her between locations. We need to act fast and be ready to strike as soon as we have any lead.”

Rhysand nodded, his eyes blazing with determination. “I need all of you to coordinate with your courts and keep your networks on high alert. We don’t rest until Kaia is home. Whatever resources you need, I’ll provide.”

The High Lords murmured their agreements, each of them committing their forces to the search. As they continued analysing the map, discussing potential routes and weak points in the borders, the storm outside the Day Court raged on, mirroring the fury and fear driving the meeting within.

-----

The silence of the house felt deafening, an unnatural stillness that made every creak of the floorboards and sigh of the wind outside seem louder. You sat on the floor of Kaia’s room, surrounded by the small, delicate reminders of her—the tiny bed with its soft blankets, the colourful stack of books she loved to make you read again and again, the wooden blocks still scattered from the last time she played. The faint scent of her still lingered, sweet and innocent, like lavender and the fresh breeze she always brought with her.

In your trembling hands was her favourite teddy, the one Azriel had given her when she was barely a few days old. The well-worn plush was soft from constant hugs and carried the faintest trace of her baby powder and warmth. You clutched it to your chest like it was your lifeline, your body shaking with silent, heaving sobs that wracked your frame.

You didn’t even try to muffle them anymore. The walls had already heard your grief for days now, and the house had absorbed the weight of your despair like a sponge. Your tears soaked into the teddy’s fur as your fingers curled tightly around it, desperate for something—anything—that could bridge the widening void in your chest.

"Kaia," you whispered brokenly, your voice cracking as fresh tears streamed down your face. The sound of her name was both a balm and a dagger. "Oh, my baby... where are you?"

You couldn’t stop the flood of memories that rushed in—her tiny laugh as she chased after bubbles in the garden, the way she’d reach her arms up to you and call for “Mama” in her sweet, high-pitched voice, the warmth of her little hands tugging at your hair. You pressed the teddy closer to your face, inhaling deeply as though you could still capture some remnant of her presence.

Azriel’s absence weighed heavily, too. He was out searching again, and you knew he wouldn’t stop until he dropped from exhaustion. But even his unyielding determination hadn’t been enough to bring her back. You felt the bond between you two faintly, muted by his distance, and you knew he was feeling the same crushing guilt, the same helplessness that had been suffocating you for two weeks.

A knock on the door broke through the haze of your grief, soft and hesitant. You didn’t even bother to look up as it creaked open, revealing Rhysand. His usual composure was gone, replaced by a raw, haunted expression that mirrored your own.

He hesitated for a moment, as though unsure if he should intrude, but then he crossed the room and knelt beside you. Without a word, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you against him. You didn’t resist.

"I’m so sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with his own sorrow. "I—if I could take all this pain away, I would. If I could trade places with her, I—"

"Stop," you croaked, cutting him off. Your voice was barely a whisper. "Just... stop. This isn’t your fault."

But it felt like everyone’s fault. Yours for not being there. His for not protecting her. Azriel’s for trusting anyone else to care for her. The guilt swirled endlessly, eating away at all of you.

"I don’t know how much more of this I can take," you admitted, burying your face in the teddy again. "It’s been two weeks, Rhys. Two weeks, and we’ve found nothing. Nothing!"

He tightened his hold on you, resting his chin atop your head. "We’ll find her," he said, but the words sounded hollow, even to him.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Instead, you let your sobs consume you again, your grief pouring out into the small, empty room that no longer felt like the sanctuary it once was.

You took a shaky breath, wiping at your tear-streaked face with trembling fingers. The silence hung heavy between you and Rhys as the weight of your grief pressed down on your chest, suffocating. When you finally spoke, your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, but it carried years of buried pain.

“I feel... exactly like I did the night Mom and Kaia were killed, I knew I'd name my daughter after our sister straight away,” you choked out, gripping Kaia’s teddy so tightly it felt like the seams might burst. “That same... hollow, hopeless feeling. Like I’m stuck in a nightmare I can’t wake up from.”

Rhys stiffened beside you, his breath catching audibly in his throat. You knew he remembered that night as vividly as you did—he’d been there. He’d seen the blood, the chaos, the heartbreak. And he’d seen you, broken and battered, left wingless and shattered in ways no one could ever truly fix.

“Don’t,” he whispered, his voice strained, pleading. “Don’t go back there. Please.”

“I can’t help it,” you said, your voice cracking as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. “This... this is the same, Rhys. That same crushing helplessness. The same... loss. I wasn’t enough to save them, and now I wasn’t enough to protect Kaia. My own daughter.”

“Stop it,” Rhys said firmly, his hands gripping your shoulders now, forcing you to look at him. His violet eyes were glassy, full of guilt and anguish, but they burned with a desperate determination. “Don’t do this to yourself. You didn’t fail Kaia. And you didn’t fail Mom or our sister. You fought for them. You fought harder than anyone could have asked.”

You shook your head, your voice trembling. “But I lost them anyway. I lost them, Rhys. And now it’s happening again. I don’t... I don’t know if I can survive this a second time. I can’t lose Kaia. I can’t.”

Rhys’s face crumpled at your words, his composure slipping as he pulled you into his arms, holding you as tightly as he could without hurting you. “You’re not going to lose her,” he said, his voice raw. “We’ll find her. We will. I promise you that.”

His words were meant to comfort, but they only made the ache in your chest worse. “You don’t know that,” you whispered, burying your face in his shoulder. “You can’t promise me that.”

He didn’t respond, because you were right. No one could promise anything anymore. But he held you anyway, his embrace a silent vow that he would do everything in his power to bring her back.

The sobs wracked your body before you could stop them, your chest heaving as you clung to Rhys. Your hands balled into fists, gripping the fabric of his tunic like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. Tears streamed down your face, hot and relentless, soaking into his shoulder as you buried your face against him.

“I can’t do this, Rhys,” you choked out between sobs. “I can’t. She’s just a baby—my baby. She must be so scared, so cold, and I’m just sitting here, doing nothing. I—”

Your words broke off into a guttural cry, your voice hoarse from days of screaming and sobbing. Rhys’s arms wrapped tighter around you, his hand smoothing over your hair in slow, calming strokes, but it did nothing to quell the storm raging inside you.

“You’re not doing nothing,” he murmured, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “You’re here. You’re fighting for her, even if it doesn’t feel like it. We’re going to find her.”

But his words felt hollow, and your sobs only grew louder, more desperate. “It’s been two weeks, Rhys! Two weeks! What if—what if she’s gone? What if I never see her again?”

“Don’t,” Rhys said sharply, pulling back just enough to cup your face in his hands. His violet eyes met yours, filled with both sorrow and determination. “Don’t let yourself go there. She’s out there, and we’re going to find her. We will. I swear it.”

You shook your head, fresh tears spilling over as you collapsed against him again, your body trembling with the weight of your grief. “I feel like I’ve already lost her,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “And I don’t know how to survive that, Rhys. I don’t.”

Rhys’s arms tightened around you, his own breath hitching as he rested his chin on top of your head. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he said softly. “You’ve got me, and Cass, and Feyre, and Az. We’re all in this together. And we’re not going to stop until she’s home.”

His words settled over you like a fragile thread of hope, barely enough to hold on to, but you clung to it anyway. Because you had to. Because the thought of Kaia out there, alone and afraid, was unbearable. And if hope was all you had left, you would hold on to it with everything you had.

Your body felt like it was shutting down, the weight of exhaustion finally overpowering the adrenaline and grief that had kept you awake for days. Your sobs slowed, your breathing evening out as Rhys's steady presence soothed you into a reluctant calm. Your head rested against his chest, your limbs growing heavier by the second, the emotional storm leaving you utterly drained.

“You need sleep,” Rhys murmured gently, his hand still stroking your hair. “You can’t keep going like this.”

You mumbled something incoherent, too tired to argue, too tired to do anything but let the weight pull you further into darkness. Rhys felt it—the way your body grew slack against him, the way your breaths deepened, the tension in your frame slowly unravelling.

Carefully, he shifted, sliding his arms under you and lifting you as if you weighed nothing. He carried you through the silent house, his footsteps soft and deliberate, not wanting to stir you even the slightest bit. The familiar scent of home surrounded you, but you didn’t stir as he pushed open the door to your and Azriel’s room.

The room was quiet, untouched since you’d last been there together. Rhys laid you down gently on the bed, his movements careful as if afraid you might shatter under his touch. He straightened the blankets around you, tucking them in snugly, and hesitated for a moment, his gaze falling on the teddy bear you had been clutching earlier.

Reaching over to the chair where he had set it, Rhys placed the soft, worn toy in your arms, arranging it so your fingers naturally curled around it. The sight of you holding it, even in sleep, made his chest ache.

Rhys stood there for a moment longer, watching you breathe. Your face, though tear-streaked and weary, had finally softened in the grasp of much-needed rest. “We’ll find her,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he said the words aloud, as much a promise to himself as to you.

With one last look, he quietly left the room, closing the door behind him. For the first time in days, you slept, Kaia’s teddy tucked tightly in your arms, as Rhys carried the weight of your grief with him into the silence of the house.

-----

Azriel stood in the training room of the House of Wind, the silence only broken by the dull thud of his fists against the punching bag. His knuckles were raw, his movements relentless. Sweat dripped from his brow, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

Two weeks. Two weeks of searching. Two weeks of nothing. No tracks, no scents, no shadows whispering a single clue about where his daughter had been taken. He was fraying at the seams—rage and despair warring within him, eating him alive. His mind was a loop of dark thoughts: I failed her. I failed my mate. I’ve failed everyone.

He hadn’t spoken to you in days. Not since you’d screamed at him, not since you told him how disappointed you were in him. The memory of your words was another blade twisting in his chest, a constant reminder of how deeply he had let you down. He deserved it.

The door to the training room creaked open, but Azriel didn’t stop. His fists connected with the bag again and again, the sound reverberating in the empty space.

“Az,” Cassian’s voice broke through, steady but cautious.

Azriel didn’t acknowledge him, his focus fixed on the bag, each punch harder than the last.

Cassian sighed, stepping closer. “Az, you’re going to tear your hands apart if you keep this up.”

“Good,” Azriel muttered darkly, his voice low and hoarse.

Cassian frowned, his wings shifting behind him. “You need to let it out. Really let it out. And beating that bag into dust isn’t going to help.”

Azriel paused for a moment, his hands falling to his sides as he panted, his shoulders heaving with every breath. He didn’t look at Cassian, his gaze fixed on the ground. “What do you want me to do, Cass? Sit here and pretend I’m not losing my mind? Pretend I’m not—” His voice cracked, and he shook his head.

“No one’s asking you to pretend,” Cassian said softly, stepping closer. “But this... This isn’t going to help you. You need to get it out. Properly.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his shadows curling tightly around him.

“Come on,” Cassian pressed, grabbing a pair of sparring swords from the rack and tossing one to him. Azriel caught it reflexively, glaring at his brother.

Cassian smirked faintly, a poor imitation of his usual grin. “Let it out on me. You look like you need to hit someone.”

Azriel stared at the sword in his hand, his grip tightening around the hilt. For a moment, he said nothing, but then he finally looked up, his hazel eyes burning with a mix of fury and anguish.

“Fine,” he growled, stepping onto the sparring mat.

Cassian mirrored him, adjusting his stance. “Good. Don’t think, just fight.”

Azriel’s first strike came hard and fast, the sound of steel clashing against steel echoing through the room. Cassian barely blocked it, grunting at the force.

“Damn, Az,” he muttered. “Not holding back at all, huh?”

“Don’t ask for it if you can’t take it,” Azriel snarled, his movements sharp and precise, his sword an extension of his rage.

Cassian met him blow for blow, the sparring turning into a brutal dance of strikes and parries. Azriel fought like a man possessed, every swing of his blade fuelled by the storm raging inside him.

“You’re angry. Good. Use it,” Cassian encouraged, his own movements growing faster to keep up with Azriel’s relentless assault.

“I’m not angry,” Azriel snapped, his voice raw. “I’m fucking—” His words broke off as he lunged forward, the clash of their swords sparking in the dim light.

“Furious. Heartbroken. Lost.” Cassian finished for him, blocking another strike. “I know, Az. I know.”

Azriel let out a guttural sound, a mix between a growl and a cry, as he pushed harder, his strikes wild yet calculated. Cassian absorbed the blows, giving as good as he got, but never aiming to truly hurt. This wasn’t about winning.

The sparring ended abruptly when Azriel dropped his sword, falling to his knees on the mat. His chest heaved, and his hands trembled as he stared at the ground, his shadows writhing chaotically around him.

Cassian crouched in front of him, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. He didn’t say anything, just stayed there, offering his silent support.

Azriel’s voice was barely above a whisper when he finally spoke. “I just want her back, Cass. I just want my daughter back.”

Cassian’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “We’ll find her, Az. I swear to you, we’ll find her.”

“Alright,” Cassian said, rising to his full height, his voice calm but firm. “Enough with the swords. You need to fight. Really fight. No weapons. Just fists.”

Azriel didn’t look up, his hands pressing into the mat as his breath came out in ragged gasps.

Cassian stepped closer, crossing his arms. “Az. Get up.”

Azriel slowly raised his head, his hazel eyes bloodshot and brimming with pain. “What’s the point?” he muttered, his voice hollow.

“The point,” Cassian said sharply, “is that you’re going to explode if you don’t let this out. And I’m not letting you fall apart. So, get up, brother. Hit me, like you always threaten me you will.”

Azriel stared at him for a long moment, the war within him playing out across his face. Then, with a deep, shuddering breath, he pushed himself to his feet. His movements were slow, his body heavy with exhaustion, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—a spark reignited by Cassian’s challenge.

“You want me to hit you?” Azriel asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Cassian spread his arms, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m asking you to stop holding back. Stop punishing yourself. Take it out on me instead, it's my fault anyway.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his shadows curling tighter around his body like a second skin. Without another word, he squared his stance, his hands curling into fists.

“Good,” Cassian said, stepping onto the mat and raising his fists. “No thinking, no holding back. Just fight.”

Azriel moved first, his fist cutting through the air like lightning. Cassian dodged, narrowly avoiding the punch, but Azriel followed up with a swift jab that connected with his shoulder.

“That’s it,” Cassian said, grinning despite the impact. “Come on, Az. You can do better than that.”

Azriel’s next swing was faster, harder. Cassian blocked it, countering with a punch of his own that Azriel deflected. The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room, the fight turning into a brutal rhythm.

Each hit was a release—each swing a way for Azriel to vent the storm raging inside him. His movements were precise, controlled, but there was a ferocity behind them that Cassian had rarely seen.

“You think this is your fault?” Cassian growled as he dodged a hook. “You think you failed her?”

Azriel’s fist slammed into Cassian’s ribs, and he grunted, stumbling back. “I know I failed her,” Azriel snapped, his voice cracking.

“No, you didn’t!” Cassian shouted, stepping forward and landing a hit to Azriel’s side. “You’re her father, Az. You’ve done everything—everything—to find her! Me and Rhys lost her not you!”

“Not enough,” Azriel spat, his punches coming faster now. “It’s never enough. She’s out there, Cass. She’s out there, and I—”

Cassian ducked under a wild swing, grabbing Azriel’s arm and twisting it just enough to stop him without causing harm. “And we’re going to find her. But you killing yourself over this? That’s not going to help her.”

Azriel wrenched his arm free, shoving Cassian back. “What do you know?” he hissed, his voice raw with emotion. “You don’t know what it’s like to lose a child! You don't know how it feels to leave your precious little girl with the only two men you trust just so they could lose her!”

The words hung in the air like a heavy weight, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

Cassian’s expression softened, his hands dropping to his sides. “You’re right. I don’t know what it’s like to lose a child. But I know what it’s like to lose a brother. And I’m not losing you, Az. Not like this.”

Azriel’s fists trembled at his sides, his chest heaving as he struggled to hold himself together.

Cassian stepped closer, his voice firm but gentle. “You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to break. But you don’t get to give up. Not on her. Not on yourself.”

Azriel’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him as the weight of Cassian’s words settled over him. His knees buckled, and Cassian caught him before he could fall, holding him up with a steady grip.

“You’re not alone in this, Az,” Cassian said quietly, his voice steady. “We’ll find her. Together.”

Azriel didn’t respond, but the tension in his body slowly eased as he leaned into Cassian’s support, his head bowing as he let out a shuddering breath.

Cassian sat beside Azriel on the training room floor, his breathing still heavy from their fight. Azriel’s knuckles were raw, bloodied from the hits he’d thrown, and his face was a mix of exhaustion and despair. Cassian studied his brother for a moment before speaking, his voice quieter now, softer.

“Az,” Cassian began, his tone laced with both authority and care. “You need to go to her.”

Azriel didn’t move, didn’t even look at him. His hazel eyes stared blankly ahead, shadows still curling faintly around him. “She’s better off without me right now,” he muttered, his voice hollow. “I can’t… I can’t look her in the eye. Not after this.”

Cassian frowned, shaking his head. “You’re wrong.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t reply.

“Rhys told me,” Cassian continued, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “He said she’s been crying nonstop. That she hasn’t slept, hasn’t eaten properly. She’s falling apart, Az. And you know what? She misses you.”

Azriel’s head dropped into his hands, his fingers gripping his hair as if trying to ground himself.

“She needs you, brother,” Cassian pressed, his voice firm but compassionate. “You think you’re the only one suffering here? She’s your mate. She’s feeling every ounce of your pain, your guilt, your anger. And she’s carrying it all on top of her own grief.”

Azriel’s breath hitched, his shoulders trembling slightly.

“You’re a team,” Cassian said, placing a heavy hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “And she loves you. More than anything. Don’t push her away because you’re drowning in your own guilt. Go to her, Az. Let her remind you why you’re fighting so damn hard.”

Azriel finally looked up, his bloodshot eyes meeting Cassian’s. “I don’t know what to say to her,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “How do I look at her and tell her I’ve failed her? That I’ve failed our daughter?”

Cassian squeezed his shoulder, his expression both understanding and unyielding. “You don’t have to have the answers, Az. Just be there. Hold her. Let her hold you. That’s all she needs right now.”

For a long moment, Azriel said nothing, the weight of Cassian’s words settling over him. Then, with a deep, shuddering breath, he nodded.

Cassian stood, holding out a hand to help Azriel up. “Go,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Before I have to drag your stubborn ass to her myself.”

Azriel managed a faint, humorless chuckle as he took Cassian’s hand and stood. “Thanks,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion.

Cassian nodded, watching as Azriel made his way toward the door. As the shadowsinger disappeared from view, Cassian let out a long breath, hoping his brother would find the strength he needed in the arms of the one person who could truly ground him.

-----

Azriel winnowed directly into the quiet of the living room, the familiar scent of home hitting him like a blow to the chest. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room, but it was the figure hunched over the map table that immediately caught his attention.

Rhysand didn’t look up right away. His shoulders were tense, his hair dishevelled as he stared down at yet another map spread across the table, lines and markings indicating potential search areas. He looked as exhausted as Azriel felt—worn thin by the weight of guilt and desperation.

“I knew you’d show up eventually,” Rhys said without preamble, his voice heavy with fatigue.

Azriel didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he stepped further into the room. His eyes flicked to the maps, the endless marks, and notes that Rhys had likely been pouring over for hours. The High Lord finally straightened, turning to face him.

“You’re a coward for staying away this long,” Rhys said bluntly, though there was no malice in his tone—just weariness. “But I guess you already know that.”

Azriel’s shadows coiled tighter around him, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Where is she?” he asked, his voice strained, almost hesitant.

Rhys sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I carried her to your room not long ago,” he said. “She finally passed out after days of crying and screaming herself hoarse. I’ve never seen her like that, Az. And I’ve never been so angry at you for not being here when she needed you most.”

Azriel flinched, the words hitting their mark. He didn’t try to defend himself. He couldn’t.

Rhys stepped closer, his violet eyes sharp and unforgiving. “You think you’ve failed her? You think you’ve failed Kaia? You’re not the only one carrying that guilt, brother. But staying away only made it worse. For her. For all of us.”

Azriel swallowed hard, his fists clenching at his sides. “I didn’t know how to face her,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Rhys softened slightly, though his expression remained stern. “You’re here now,” he said. “That’s what matters. Go to her, Azriel. She needs you.”

Azriel nodded stiffly, his shadows flickering as he turned toward the hallway leading to their room. Rhys watched him go, his own exhaustion etched deeply into his features. Once Azriel was out of sight, Rhys turned back to the maps, his jaw tightening as he resumed the relentless task of trying to bring his niece home.

Azriel stepped into the dimly lit bedroom, the familiar scent of lavender and you enveloping him like a long-lost comfort. His steps were slow, hesitant, as if the very air around him carried the weight of his guilt and exhaustion.

There you were, curled up on your side in the massive bed you once shared so easily. Now it felt like a chasm had opened between you. Your face was turned toward the door, cheeks streaked with dried tears, your lashes still damp. In your arms, you clutched one of Kaia’s favourite teddies, holding it as if it could somehow tether you to her.

The sight nearly broke him.

His heart clenched painfully as he took in how fragile you looked, how drained. It wasn’t just the sleepless nights; it was the ache of a mother separated from her child, compounded by the distance he had forced between you. He had done this—added to your suffering when he should have been your anchor.

Azriel approached slowly, careful not to wake you. His shadows coiled around him like silent sentries, sensing the heavy turmoil in his heart. He stopped at the edge of the bed, his gaze drinking in every detail of you. The way your fingers were knotted around the teddy, the way your breathing hitched slightly even in sleep, as though the pain lingered even in your dreams.

He sank down onto the mattress beside you, his hands trembling as he reached out but stopped short of touching you. He didn’t deserve to. Not after everything. But gods, he wanted to.

The soft glow of the bedside candle flickered, casting shadows across the room, and for a moment, he let himself imagine Kaia curled up in the bed with you, her tiny wings tucked in as she clutched that same teddy. The thought nearly undid him.

“I’m so sorry,” Azriel whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. The words were meant for you, for Kaia, for the version of himself he didn’t know how to forgive.

His head bowed, his hands gripping his knees as he sat there, keeping vigil by your side.

You stirred, groggy and disoriented, the remnants of an uneasy sleep clinging to you like a heavy fog. The dim light of the room filtered through your lashes as you blinked, trying to clear the haze from your mind. Your arms instinctively tightened around the soft teddy you had been clutching, the faintest trace of Kaia's scent still lingering on it, a bittersweet comfort.

As your eyes fluttered open fully, you felt the presence before you saw him. You turned your head slowly and froze when you saw Azriel sitting on the edge of the bed, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed. His siphons caught the faint light, but it was the exhaustion etched into his face that stopped your breath.

“Azriel?” Your voice was a rasp, raw from days of crying and lack of sleep.

His head lifted at the sound of your voice, his hazel eyes locking onto yours. The weight of his guilt and anguish was unmistakable, almost unbearable to look at. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice trembling, barely audible.

You sat up slowly, the teddy still clutched in your lap, as the memories of the past weeks came rushing back. The empty space in your arms where Kaia should have been. The suffocating silence that had stretched between you and Azriel. The raw ache of hope slipping further from your grasp with every passing day.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended, though it carried the undertone of your pain.

“I had to see you,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I couldn’t—” He stopped, his hands running through his hair as he struggled to find the words. “I know I’ve failed you. I’ve failed her. But I—”

“Stop,” you cut him off, your voice trembling as fresh tears pricked your eyes. “Don’t sit there and tell me things I already know, Azriel.”

The words came out harsher than you intended, but the dam holding back your emotions had cracked wide open. He flinched, but he didn’t look away. Instead, he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he clasped his hands together tightly, as if trying to hold himself together.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he finally said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know how to fix us.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence in the room as heavy as the grief you both carried. Then, slowly, you reached out, your hand brushing against his. His head snapped up at the touch, and you saw the raw vulnerability in his eyes.

“We can’t fix this,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “Not until we find her. Until she’s home.”

Azriel nodded, his jaw tightening as he swallowed hard. “We will. I swear to you, we will.”

Azriel didn’t say anything else. Instead, he moved closer, closing the distance between you. Slowly, cautiously, as if he feared you’d push him away, he reached out and pulled you into his arms. His hands trembled slightly as they slid around your back, drawing you against his chest.

Your face pressed against the familiar curve of his shoulder, and you breathed in his scent—a mixture of shadows, cedar, and something uniquely him that had always made you feel safe. A fresh wave of tears welled in your eyes, spilling silently as you clung to him.

His wings unfolded, draping around you like a protective cocoon, shutting out the world beyond the two of you. The warmth they provided was immediate, a stark contrast to the cold emptiness you’d been feeling for weeks. His chin rested lightly on the top of your head, and for a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled only with the sound of your shaky breaths and his steady heartbeat.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured into your hair, his voice cracking as his arms tightened around you. “For everything. For not being enough. For not protecting her. For letting you carry this alone.”

Your hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt as you buried your face deeper into his neck, your tears soaking into his skin. “Azriel,” you choked out, your voice muffled against him. “I can’t do this without her. I can’t.”

“You won’t have to,” he whispered fiercely, his wings pressing closer, holding you as if he could shield you from the unbearable pain. “I’ll bring her back. I’ll find her. I swear it, Y/N. I won’t stop until I do.”

His voice broke, and for the first time in weeks, you felt the weight of his own grief, his own torment, as he held you. You tightened your grip on him, the bond between you trembling but unyielding, even in the face of your shared despair.

For now, in the safety of his arms and the shelter of his wings, you let yourself believe, just for a moment, that maybe, just maybe, there was still hope.

Rhys’s knock on the door was sharp and purposeful, and you pulled back from Azriel with a soft sniffle as he gave you a moment’s space. Your eyes were still swollen from crying, and your throat ached with the weight of the grief you had been carrying for the past two weeks.

Azriel stood as you slowly wiped your face, his wings folding behind him, his jaw clenched tightly. Neither of you spoke as Rhys’s voice came through the door, his usual calmness tinged with urgency.

“Azriel, Y/N,” Rhys called from the other side. “Lucien and Eris have arrived. They have information. We need to talk.”

You looked at Azriel, his gaze steady but full of unresolved pain, before he nodded at you to stay close. Without a word, you followed him as he opened the door.

Lucien and Eris stood just beyond the threshold, their presence filling the room. Lucien’s amber eyes flicked to you briefly, but he quickly turned his attention to Azriel, who had stepped in front of you protectively, his posture rigid with barely contained tension.

“Azriel,” Lucien began, his voice low, “Eris has been tracking some unusual movement around the area. We believe there’s been some trafficking—human and other species—passing through. If Eris’s calculations are right, more might be coming through soon.”

Eris stood with his arms crossed, looking as unbothered as ever, though his golden eyes flickered with a seriousness that wasn’t typical for him. He didn’t speak, letting Lucien handle the exchange.

Azriel’s eyes narrowed. “Traffickers.” His voice was low, guttural, the word like a growl in his throat. “They could be the ones responsible.”

“They’re likely the ones who have Kaia,” Lucien added, his voice steady but carrying the weight of grim certainty. “There’s been some chatter about the wings, Azriel. We’ve heard whispers about a deal, something involving rare wings... and I suspect your daughter’s are of interest to them.”

A cold chill ran through your veins at the mention of Kaia’s wings. She was so young, so small. The thought of anyone wanting to exploit her, to harm her, made your stomach churn in a way that felt like it was splitting you apart.

Azriel’s face hardened into a mask of resolve, but his eyes betrayed the barely contained fury and anguish he was struggling with. “Where are they?” His voice was nearly a whisper, but the command was undeniable.

Eris finally spoke, his voice low but sharp. “The traffickers are known to have a base somewhere in the Autumn Court. We need to move quickly before they disperse again. If we’re too slow, we might lose them.”

Rhys stepped forward then, his hands resting on his hips as he addressed Azriel. “We need to act fast. We can’t let them slip through our fingers.”

You felt Azriel’s entire body tense, but it wasn’t just from the raw anger that coursed through him. He was terrified. You could feel it. Terrified of failing her again.

“We leave now,” Azriel finally said, his voice hard and unwavering. “Tell the courts to prepare. We’ll go immediately.”

Lucien and Eris nodded in sync, and though their faces were etched with grim determination, you could see the concern in their eyes for both of you.

Azriel reached for you, his fingers brushing against yours. “Stay close,” he murmured, his voice rough, like he had to force the words out. “We’ll get her back. I promise.”

You nodded, clenching your jaw as you fought the tears that still threatened to spill. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so instead, you simply took his hand. The urgency of the situation loomed over all of you now, and there was no time for more words. You had to move, and you had to do it quickly.

Azriel gave you one last look before turning toward Lucien and Eris, his wings unfurling as they made their way to the front of the house. Rhys followed, his presence a constant weight of support at your back as you prepared to head into the unknown once more, your heart racing with a renewed sense of purpose.

This time, you weren’t going to let anything stop you from bringing your daughter home.

-----

Kaia sat curled up in the tiny cage beneath the desk, her small body trembling from both fear and the chill that had seeped into her bones. Her little wings were pressed uncomfortably against the bars, and her cheeks were streaked with tears as she whimpered softly, clutching at the tiny threadbare blanket the hooded figure had thrown at her earlier. It did little to keep her warm or comfort her.

“Dada,” she whispered, her tiny voice barely audible. “Mama… wanna go home…”

The hooded figure loomed nearby, rummaging through a chest filled with ominous-looking tools and trinkets. The room was dark and cramped, the faint light from a single lantern casting eerie shadows across the walls. The air smelled of damp wood and iron, making it hard for her to breathe without sobbing.

When her quiet whimpering grew louder, the figure spun around, their voice a sharp, angry rasp. “Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”

Kaia flinched, her tiny body jerking back against the cold metal bars of the cage. She sniffled, biting her trembling lip to try to stay quiet, but she couldn’t help the small, frightened hiccup that escaped.

The figure stormed over, grabbing the edge of the cage and shaking it roughly. “I said, shut up!” they snarled. Without warning, they reached in and grabbed one of her fragile wings, tugging it sharply. Kaia let out a high-pitched scream of pain, her sobs growing louder as she struggled against the hold.

“Hurts!” she cried, her words barely understandable through her sobs. “Hurts! No! Stop! Wanna go home! Dada, Mama, help!”

The hooded figure yanked harder, inspecting the delicate membrane of her wings as if assessing their value. “These’ll fetch me a fortune,” they muttered to themselves, ignoring her cries entirely. “Rare Illyrian wings like these... perfect for what I need.”

Kaia thrashed weakly, her small hands pushing at the bars of the cage as she tried to wriggle free. “No! Stop!” she wailed, her voice hoarse from screaming. “Dada, where are you? Mama, come get me!”

The figure shoved her back into the cage roughly, her head bumping against the bars as she collapsed into a heap of tears and cries. “Cry all you want,” they hissed. “No one’s coming for you.”

Kaia’s sobs turned into quiet, hiccupping whimpers as she curled into herself, clutching at her tiny blanket again. “Mama... Dada… pwease…” she murmured, her voice fading into tired whispers as exhaustion finally began to pull at her small body.

But even as her cries quieted, her tears continued to fall. She didn’t understand why her mama and dada weren’t there yet. She didn’t understand why this person was so mean. All she wanted was to be safe in her mama’s arms and feel her dada’s wings wrapped around her again.

-----

It had been three agonizing days since the High Lords' meeting, three days since Azriel had returned home to you, and three more days of utter silence about Kaia’s whereabouts. Every corner of the forests had been searched. The mountains, the rivers, the camps—nothing. No trace of Kaia. No whisper of the traffickers. No signs of hope.

You and Azriel had stayed in Velaris, though the weight of the empty nursery upstairs felt unbearable. The curtains remained drawn, casting shadows over the house, as though the absence of light could somehow ease the absence of your daughter. But it didn’t. Nothing did.

Azriel hadn’t spoken much over the last few days, his grief and guilt suffocating him like a heavy shroud. He spent hours pouring over maps, speaking in clipped tones to Rhys through their bond or sharpening his already pristine blades in the living room, the repetitive scrape of steel against whetstone filling the silence. He refused to eat unless you practically forced him to, and the sight of his haunted, hollow expression shattered you every time you looked at him.

You hadn’t fared much better. The raw ache in your chest only seemed to deepen with each passing day. Kaia’s laugh, her tiny feet pattering on the floor, her bright, curious eyes—those memories were an unbearable torment now. You clung to the tattered hope that she was still alive somewhere, waiting for you to find her. But the longer the search dragged on, the harder it became to keep that hope alive.

“Three days,” you whispered to yourself as you sat by the fire in the living room, clutching one of Kaia’s favourite blankets. It still smelled faintly of her, and you held it close, trying to ignore the sting of tears that blurred your vision. “Three days and nothing…”

Rhys sat across from you, his face drawn and pale. He had been orchestrating search parties day and night, rarely sleeping, barely eating. He looked older, wearier, as though the weight of his failures as High Lord—and as an uncle—was bearing down on him. “We’re not giving up,” he said softly, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. “We’ll keep looking. We’ll—”

“She could be anywhere!” you snapped, the grief in your voice turning sharp. “It’s been almost four weeks now, Rhys. Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to her in that time? She's out there because of you being a fool!” Your hands trembled as you clutched the blanket tighter. “She’s just a baby…”

Rhys flinched at your words but didn’t argue. He couldn’t. Azriel, who stood silently by the window, staring out at the city below, didn’t react either. His shoulders were rigid, his wings tucked tightly behind him as though he were holding himself together by sheer force of will.

Cassian burst through the front door, shaking snow off his boots. His face was grim, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. “Still nothing,” he said, his voice rough. “The snowstorm last night erased any tracks. If they were moving her—”

“Stop,” Azriel said suddenly, his voice low and raw. He turned from the window, his hazel eyes blazing with grief and fury. “Don’t talk about her like that. She’s alive. We’ll find her.”

Cassian nodded, but his expression gave away his doubt. “We’re doing everything we can, Az. But we need more—”

“We need her back,” Azriel interrupted, his voice breaking. He sank into a nearby chair, running a hand through his hair. “Every day we don’t find her… I—”

You moved to his side, kneeling beside him as tears slid silently down your cheeks. “We’ll find her,” you whispered, though your voice wavered. You had to believe it, even if it felt like the words were losing their meaning.

-----

The air in the Autumn Court woods was sharp and biting, the trees looming tall and ancient, their bare branches reaching out like skeletal hands. Snow crunched beneath heavy boots as Eris led the search party, his face set in a mask of determination. Beside him, Lucien walked silently, his single russet eye scanning the dense forest with precision, the other hidden behind a leather patch.

Around them, Eris's twelve shadow hounds prowled the perimeter, their sleek black forms blending almost seamlessly with the darkened undergrowth. The hounds moved with eerie grace, their noses low to the ground, sniffing for any trace of the traffickers or the missing child.

Eris broke the silence first, his tone clipped but not unkind. "We’re wasting daylight. If they moved through here, it would’ve been under cover of night, and the snowstorm two days ago would’ve wiped out any tracks.”

Lucien tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, his jaw clenching. “The traffickers don’t care about the weather. If they’re desperate enough, they’d push through.” His voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of anger in it—a simmering rage that had been building since the meeting with the High Lords.

One of the shadow hounds let out a low growl, its head snapping toward a cluster of dense brush. The other hounds froze in unison, their ears perking up, noses twitching as they picked up something—something faint but unmistakable.

Eris raised a hand, signalling the guards to stop. “What is it?” he murmured, his sharp golden eyes narrowing as he followed the hounds’ movements.

The largest of the hounds, a beast nearly the size of a horse, nosed its way into the brush, its growl deepening. A moment later, it emerged, carrying a torn scrap of cloth in its powerful jaws. The fabric was small, delicate, and unmistakably child-sized. Eris’s breath hitched, and he took the scrap from the hound, holding it up for Lucien to see.

Lucien’s face darkened. “That’s from Velaris,” he said grimly. “One of hers.”

Eris’s lips pressed into a thin line as he handed the cloth to one of the guards. “Send this to Rhysand immediately. He’ll want to confirm it.”

The guard nodded and disappeared into the trees, his magic crackling faintly as he prepared to winnow. Eris turned back to Lucien, his voice low. “If this is hers, then they were here recently. The hounds wouldn’t have picked up the scent otherwise.”

Lucien nodded, his fingers twitching at his sides as though itching to draw his blade. “We press on. If we’re close, we can’t afford to stop now.”

Eris didn’t argue. He whistled sharply, and the shadow hounds took off again, their forms disappearing into the forest like living shadows. The guards followed closely behind, their weapons drawn and senses on high alert.

The woods grew darker as they pressed deeper, the canopy overhead blocking out what little light filtered through the overcast sky. The air felt colder here, heavier, as though the forest itself held its breath.

Lucien glanced at Eris, his voice tense. “If we find her—when we find her—what do you plan to do to the bastards who took her?”

Eris’s golden eyes glinted dangerously in the dim light. “They’ll wish they’d never been born.” His tone was calm, but the promise of violence in his words was unmistakable.

Lucien didn’t respond, but a flicker of satisfaction crossed his face.

He didn't know if this was due to respect that Eris has gained as High Lord or that his brother still has feelings for you.

They moved in silence after that, the only sounds the crunch of snow beneath their feet and the occasional growl of the hounds.

If the traffickers were still in these woods, they wouldn’t remain hidden for long.

-----

The cloaked figure loomed over the tiny cage, their form illuminated by the dim, flickering light of a single lantern. Kaia whimpered, clutching her small arms around her trembling body as the figure’s gnarled, scaly fingers reached for the latch. Their breathing was laboured and raspy, a sinister sound that filled the cramped, decrepit house wagon.

The latch clicked open with a sharp metallic sound, and the figure reached in, grabbing Kaia roughly by her wings. She let out a high-pitched squeal of pain, her tiny voice trembling with fear.

“Stop... hurts! Wan’ Mama, Dada!” Kaia sobbed, kicking her little legs as the figure dragged her out of the cage and plopped her onto a rickety wooden table.

The cloaked figure threw back their hood, revealing a nearly bald head with a few wisps of grey, brittle hair clinging to a sickly, patchy scalp. Their face was gaunt and sallow, their eyes beady and sunken into their face, glinting with malice. Scales mottled their skin, covering their twisted fingers as they moved with eerie precision.

“Quiet,” the figure hissed in a voice as dry and brittle as their appearance. They shoved Kaia down, pinning her small body against the cold surface of the table. “Squirm all you want. It won’t save you.”

Kaia’s sobs turned into wails as she thrashed weakly beneath the figure’s grip, her toddler instincts kicking in to escape. “No, no, no!” she cried, her baby words muddled with desperate hiccups. “Mama... Dada... scared! Wanna go home!”

The figure ignored her, their movements methodical as they pulled out a wickedly sharp blade, its serrated edge catching the faint lantern light. They muttered to themselves, their cracked lips curling into something like a grin. “These will fetch a fine price... such pristine, little wings. Rare, so rare.”

Kaia’s little chest heaved as she tried to wriggle free, her wings twitching painfully under the figure’s iron grip. Her cries grew louder, her baby voice desperate. “No! No cut! Dada save Kaia! Dada!”

The figure snorted, mocking her cries. “Your Dada isn’t coming, child. No one’s coming for you.”

They raised the blade, its cruel edge poised over the base of one delicate wing. Kaia screamed, her tiny hands reaching out as if grasping for the parents she desperately wished were there. “Mama! Dada! Rhysie!”

The blade began to descend, and Kaia’s sobs filled the air, piercing and heart-wrenching, her tiny voice begging, pleading in her toddler way for someone to save her.

-----

Eris and Lucien moved swiftly through the dense forest, their sharp senses on high alert. The shadow hounds sniffed and growled, leading them deeper into the woods. The faint scent of blood and decay lingered in the air, setting their nerves on edge.

Ahead, a decrepit wagon house stood crookedly on the forest floor, its wooden exterior rotting and overgrown with moss. Smoke wafted lazily from a broken chimney, and a faint light flickered through the cracked windows. Eris raised a hand to halt the group, his eyes narrowing.

"Something's off," Lucien murmured, his gaze flicking to the hounds, which were growling lowly, their hackles raised. "It reeks of foul magic."

Without hesitation, Eris strode forward and pounded on the warped wooden door, the force of his knock making the entire structure shake. "Open up!" he barked, his voice carrying the authority of a High Lord’s heir.

There was a rustling sound inside, followed by hurried footsteps. A few tense moments passed before the door creaked open slightly, revealing a hunched figure with a weathered face and wild eyes. The witch’s tangled hair hung in greasy strands, and her bony fingers clutched the edge of the door like claws.

"What do you want?" she croaked, her voice sharp and defensive. "I’ve done nothing to warrant a visit from you prissy princelings."

Eris stepped closer, his golden eyes blazing. "We’re searching for someone—a child, my old friends child actually. Have you seen anything unusual around here?"

The witch’s eyes darted to the side for the briefest moment before she sneered. "What would I want with a child? I live alone. Nothing here but me and my potions." She moved to close the door, but Lucien caught it with a gloved hand.

"Mind if we take a look around?" Lucien asked, his tone deceptively calm but his posture tense. "You wouldn’t want us to think you’re hiding something."

The witch’s lips curled back, revealing yellowed teeth. "I don’t answer to you. Be gone!" Shutting the door.

Inside the wagon, Kaia’s heart raced as she struggled against the rough ropes binding her tiny hands. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she whimpered softly, the gag in her mouth muffling her cries. The witch stormed back toward her, muttering curses under her breath. She snatched Kaia up roughly, her bony hands tugging at the ropes around the toddler’s wings.

“Quiet, brat,” she hissed, shoving Kaia into the cramped cage beneath the table. Kaia’s wings scraped against the cold metal bars as the witch yanked a heavy cloth over the cage, concealing it from view.

The witch spun around, her expression twisted with irritation as she returned to the door. "See? Nothing here but an old woman trying to mind her business. Now get out before I curse your fancy boots!"

Lucien glanced over her shoulder, his mechanical eye whirring as it scanned the dim interior. Eris’s jaw tightened, his instincts screaming that something was wrong. He gestured to the guards to spread out and inspect the area around the wagon.

“Perhaps we’ll stay a little longer,” Eris said, his tone cold and unyielding. "Just in case."

The witch’s eyes widened briefly before narrowing into slits. "You’ve got no right!" she spat, trying to slam the door shut, but Lucien shoved it open. The witch hissed.

Lucien’s patience snapped as the witch tried to block his path. “Enough of this,” he growled, his voice like a blade slicing through the tension. He grabbed the witch by her bony arm, ignoring her screeches and protests, and yanked her out of the wagon with startling force. She stumbled onto the ground, her tattered cloak flying behind her.

"Stay there," Lucien ordered, his mechanical eye glowing as he fixed her with a sharp glare. The witch glared back, her mouth opening to spew another curse, but the pack of shadow hounds surrounded her, their low growls silencing her immediately. She shrank back, clutching her cloak around her.

Inside the wagon, Eris moved with a predator's grace, his golden eyes scanning the dim interior. The place reeked of damp wood, spoiled herbs, and something else—something metallic and sour. The furniture was sparse and crude, and strange jars filled with unidentifiable substances lined the shelves. His gaze swept over the rickety table, the uneven floorboards, and the assortment of clutter strewn about.

Something wasn't right.

Eris paused, his sharp ears catching the faintest sound—a muffled whimper. His gaze zeroed in on the table in the centre of the room, its legs uneven and its surface covered in a filthy cloth. He stepped closer, his instincts prickling.

Pulling the cloth aside in one swift motion, he froze.

There, under the table, was a small cage, and inside it, curled up and trembling, was Kaia. Her tiny body was bound with rough ropes, and her wings were pressed awkwardly against the cage bars. Her tear-streaked face peeked out from the gag that had been forced into her mouth, her wide eyes filled with terror.

“Kaia,” Eris whispered, his voice softer than anyone would have expected. His hands reached out, careful not to startle her, as he crouched down. “It’s okay, little one. I’ve got you.”

Outside, Lucien’s head snapped up as he heard Eris’s voice. “Eris?” he called, stepping toward the wagon. The witch, realizing what they had found, let out an ear-piercing shriek and lunged forward, only to be intercepted by two of the shadow hounds. They snarled, forcing her back into the dirt.

Eris didn’t bother acknowledging the commotion outside. His focus was entirely on Kaia. He reached for the cage door, his hands trembling as he undid the crude latch. When it creaked open, Kaia flinched, pressing herself against the corner of the cage.

“It’s okay,” Eris said again, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “You’re safe now.”

Lucien appeared in the doorway, his eyes widening as he took in the scene. “Is that—” His voice broke off, his chest tightening as he saw the state of Azriel’s daughter.

“It’s her,” Eris confirmed, his jaw tight with restrained fury. He carefully lifted Kaia from the cage, his movements deliberate and slow. She whimpered, her little body stiff with fear, but when she felt his arms around her, she clung to him, her tiny hands gripping his tunic.

“Dada…” Kaia whimpered, her voice muffled by the gag.

Eris’s throat tightened, but he kept his composure. “We’re taking you home,” he murmured, cradling her close.

As Eris held Kaia carefully in his arms, his golden eyes swept over her trembling body, his gaze landing on her delicate wings. His breath caught in his throat. Blood stained the edges of her tiny, soft the crimson stark against the white and silver of her wings.

The deep gash at the base of one wing was impossible to ignore, the cut jagged and cruel, as if done with no regard for her fragile form. Blood trickled from the wound, soaking into her clothing and dripping onto Eris’s hands.

Lucien, standing just behind him, froze at the sight. “Mother above…” he murmured, his voice filled with horror. His mechanical eye whirred as he scanned the injury, the details burning into his memory.

Kaia whimpered weakly, her little hands clinging to Eris’s tunic as if she was afraid to let go. Her tiny voice, muffled and broken, whimpered through the gag still tied around her face. "H-hurt… Dada... Mama..."

Eris’s jaw clenched tightly, his fury barely restrained. “Lucien, get me a cloth. Now,” he ordered sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Lucien moved quickly, his hands rummaging through the scattered contents of the witch’s wagon. He grabbed a relatively clean strip of cloth and rushed back to Eris, his movements purposeful despite the rage simmering beneath his usually calm exterior.

Eris gently adjusted Kaia in his arms, careful not to jostle her injured wings further. “I know, little one,” he murmured softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I know it hurts. I’m so sorry.”

Lucien handed him the cloth, and Eris pressed it gently against the base of her wings, trying to stem the bleeding. Kaia flinched and let out a soft cry of pain, her face scrunching up as tears streamed down her cheeks.

“It’s okay,” Eris soothed, his voice quieter now. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” His hands moved carefully, ensuring the pressure was just enough to slow the bleeding without causing her more pain.

Lucien knelt beside him, his face dark with anger and worry. “We need to get her out of here now,” he said firmly. “She needs a healer. Immediately.”

Eris nodded, his expression grim. He glanced down at Kaia, her face pale and streaked with tears, her wings trembling slightly as he held her. “We’re going home,” he promised her, his voice unwavering. “No one will hurt you ever again.”

Kaia went limp in Eris's arms, her small body sagging against him as her shallow breaths barely stirred. Her tiny wings, bloodied and trembling moments before, now hung unnaturally still. Eris felt a cold dread settle deep in his chest, his heart pounding violently against his ribs.

“No, no, no, Kaia,” Eris murmured, his voice shaking, a rare crack in his usually controlled demeanour. “Stay with me, little one.” His golden eyes darted to her pale face, her tears drying in streaks on her cheeks. Panic surged in him as he realized how cold she felt against his chest.

Lucien, crouching nearby, noticed the shift. “Eris?” he asked cautiously, his voice laced with unease. When he saw the way Eris held her limp form tighter, something dark flickered across Lucien’s features. “Eris, what—?”

“Deal with the witch!” Eris barked, his voice raw and loud, his usual calm replaced with fury and desperation. He stood abruptly, cradling Kaia closer, his hands trembling as he adjusted the cloth to keep pressure on her bleeding wings. “I’m taking her back. Handle this.” His hair glinted under the dim light as his sharp eyes burned with determination.

Lucien nodded sharply, his expression hardening as he turned toward the wagon and the witch, who was still writhing and snarling curses at them. Without hesitation, he moved to take control of the scene, his mechanical eye glinting as he calculated every necessary step.

Eris didn’t wait another second. With Kaia pressed tightly to his chest, he winnowed, his flames licking the air as the forest house materialized around him. The moment his boots hit the ground, he shouted, his voice echoing with authority and desperation.

“HEALER! I NEED A HEALER NOW!”

His roar cut through the silence of the home like a blade. The few guards stationed nearby rushed into the room, alarm etched into their faces. They took one look at the bloodied child in Eris’s arms and didn’t hesitate to act. One of them darted off to fetch a healer, while another cleared a space on a nearby table.

Eris lowered Kaia onto the table carefully, his hands hovering as if afraid touching her further would cause her more pain. His throat tightened at the sight of her tiny form, so fragile and still. Her wings were splayed unnaturally, blood pooling beneath her despite the cloth he’d pressed against her wounds.

He leaned over her, his hands clenching into fists as he whispered, “You’re going to be okay. You have to be.” His voice cracked, the weight of the past weeks and the horrors she’d endured finally breaking through his walls.

The healer arrived moments later, her bag clutched tightly in her hands. Her eyes widened at the sight before her, but she quickly schooled her expression and approached the table. “Lord Eris,” she said, her tone steady despite the urgency in her movements. “I’ll do everything I can.”

“You’d better,” Eris growled lowly, his golden eyes blazing. He stepped back to give her room but stayed close, watching every move she made with a ferocity that promised retribution if she failed.

Lucien returned to the forest house nearly an hour later, his cloak dusted with ash and his expression grim. He entered the main room to find Eris pacing relentlessly, his golden hair dishevelled and his hands flexing at his sides. The faint scent of blood still lingered in the air, but the healer had just finished stabilizing Kaia, who now lay wrapped in soft blankets on a low cot.

Eris turned the moment Lucien stepped inside, his sharp eyes narrowing. “What did you do?” he demanded, his voice cutting through the tense silence.

Lucien’s gaze flickered toward the cot where Kaia lay before meeting Eris’s burning stare. “The witch won’t harm anyone else,” he said simply, his tone as cold as the winter air outside. “She won’t be coming back.”

Eris’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t press further. He didn’t need to; he trusted Lucien to have dealt with the witch in the manner required. His concern was focused solely on the small child resting a few feet away. He exhaled harshly, dragging a hand down his face, before turning toward the cot. “Good,” he muttered, his voice low. “But we’re far from finished.”

Lucien stepped closer, his sharp features softening as he looked down at Kaia. “How is she?” he asked, his tone quieter now.

“The healer says she has a slight chance of survive,” Eris replied, though his voice was taut with restrained emotion. “But those wings... there’s damage. Permanent damage, possibly. She’s not out of the woods yet.” He glanced at his brother, the weight of everything pressing visibly on his shoulders.

Lucien placed a hand on Eris’s shoulder, offering a grounding touch. “You did everything you could,” he said, his amber eye locking with Eris’s. “And she’s alive because of you.”

Eris shook his head, his lips curling into a bitter line. “I’m not done yet. None of this is over. I need to get to Rhysand. He needs to know his niece is safe.”

Lucien’s brow furrowed slightly. “Are you sure you want to go now? The child—”

“She’ll be safe here,” Eris interrupted, his voice firm. “I trust the healer. But her parents—Y/N she needs to— they deserve to know. Can you imagine what they’ve been going through?” His eyes burned with an intensity that left no room for argument. “I’ll winnow to the Night Court immediately.”

Lucien hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Go. I’ll stay here and keep an eye on her.”

Eris gave a sharp nod in return, his expression hardening as he stepped back from the cot. He spared one last glance at Kaia, who lay still but peaceful, her tiny form swaddled in blankets. Then, without another word, he vanished in a swirl of flame, his destination clear.

So in a few more chapters we come to an end but I think Kaia's faith is clear....

But once the series is done Traitors war starts properly so please check that out! I'd be so grateful if you do!

Part 5

[belit0]

Loooove your takes on the Uchihas. Could you please do some hcs of the men being jealous or even possessive? 🥺🥺

Love me some yandere dummies

Madara

Madara Uchiha does not get jealous. Or at least, that’s the lie he tells himself. The truth is far uglier, simmering beneath the surface like an earthquake waiting to crack the earth open.

The moment he senses another man getting too close, his entire demeanor shifts—his usual arrogance sharpened to something more lethal. His hand finds the small of (Y/N)’s back, firm, claiming.

He doesn’t ask her to stay away from certain people. He expects it. "-You belong to me. You know this, don’t you?"- It’s not a question; it’s a reminder.

If anyone dares flirt with her in his presence, he doesn’t need to say anything. One look—cold, dark, absolute—is enough to make them reconsider their life choices.

But when it’s just the two of them, his possessiveness is quieter. It’s in the way his fingers tighten when she tries to move from his lap, in the way he pulls her closer at night, whispering, "-Mine.-" against her skin.

Izuna

Izuna doesn’t get insecure jealous—he gets petty jealous. He won’t say anything outright, but his actions are impossible to ignore.

If someone flirts with (Y/N), suddenly, he’s the most affectionate man alive. An arm draped lazily around her shoulders, a hand tracing the curve of her waist, a smirk that dares anyone to challenge him.

"-Oh, were you talking to her? My mistake—I thought you had a death wish.-" His words are light, teasing, but the underlying threat is real.

The moment they’re alone, though, the teasing vanishes. He pins her with a look that’s all heat and frustration, fingers gripping her chin as he murmurs, "-Tell me you don’t want anyone else, and I’ll let this go.-"

Of course, she always reassures him, but he likes making her say it. Making her prove that she belongs to him.

Obito

Obito is bad with jealousy. He has lost too much, and the thought of losing (Y/N) too? It’s enough to make his blood boil.

He doesn’t even realize how menacing he looks when he gets possessive—shoulders squared, Sharingan flashing, jaw tight with barely restrained anger.

If anyone dares look at her the wrong way, he gets uncharacteristically quiet, dangerous. "-You should leave.-" It’s not advice. It’s a warning.

With (Y/N), he’s not much better. He doesn’t know how to handle the fear of losing her, so sometimes it comes out in sharp words, in desperate kisses that linger too long, in the way he holds her so tight she can barely breathe.

But later, when the anger fades, all that’s left is raw vulnerability. "-I just… I need you to be mine. Only mine.-" He buries his face in her neck, voice low, almost broken. And she always soothes him, because she understands.

Shisui

Shisui is the type to laugh when he’s jealous, like it’s all a joke. But there’s something dangerous in his eyes, in the way his smile never quite reaches them.

He doesn’t believe in making a scene—he just makes sure the other guy knows exactly who (Y/N) belongs to. "-Oh, you think you have a chance? That’s cute.-"

If someone gets too close, he doesn’t lash out—he outsmarts them. Twisting words, making subtle threats with a friendly grin, ensuring they never try again.

But when he and (Y/N) are alone, he drops the act. His fingers curl around her wrist, tugging her close. "-I don’t like sharing. And I never will.-" His voice is soft, almost pleading. "-So don’t make me.-

Itachi

Itachi is not the type to be openly jealous. He doesn’t scowl, doesn’t make threats—he simply watches. Cold, calculating, utterly unreadable.

But make no mistake—just because he’s quiet doesn’t mean he isn’t feeling it. If another man gets too close, his presence alone is enough to send a chill down their spine.

The way he lingers at (Y/N)’s side, the way his fingers ghost over her wrist, the way his eyes darken when she laughs at someone else’s joke—it’s all subtle, but unmistakable.

He won’t confront her about it, but he will remind her of who she belongs to. Later, when they’re alone, he’ll press his forehead to hers, voice barely above a whisper. "-I don’t need to say it, do I?"-

And she’ll smile, because no, he doesn’t. She already knows.

[lovebugism]

after skinny dipping at a lover’s lake alone, eddie is shocked to see someone else was there all along (reader) 🫶🏻

thank u for requesting anon! this prompt literally drove me insane! (in a good way)! — eddie falls in love with the weirdest stranger he's ever met in his life (wednesdayaddams!reader-esque, mentions of being naked, 18+ | 1.2k)

The edge of Lover’s Lake sits right outside Eddie’s trailer, partially visible through a thin treeline of bright orange oaks. He stumbles through it on graceless, lanky legs — high out of his mind, which is filled now with racing thoughts of boyish rage. 

He’s failing English (again), for one. For another, Corroded Coffin’s been bumped to Tuesday night shows instead of Friday nights (a death sentence if he ever saw one). And ever since then, Wayne’s been on his ass about working with him at the car shop (‘cause moonlight as a rockstar isn’t a real job, apparently.)

Eddie gets angrier the more he thinks about it — which is perpetually and without mercy. It makes his pale skin feel red hot, boiling to the touch, practically repelling every wisp of autumn breeze that threatens to cool him down. He wonders, briefly, if it could be the weed fucking with him. ‘Cause everything else has been today.

He stands on the grassy bank of the moonlit lake and strips off his clothes to find out. He stumbles trying to get his pants off, right after his chin gets stuck in the neck of his t-shirt. He doesn’t think to check if anyone’s around until he’s left only in his thin, navy plaid boxers.

“Free show?” a feminine, unfamiliar voice calls from the center of the pitch-black lake.

Eddie practically jumps out of his buzzing skin. His heart lurches into his throat as his palms hurry to cover his still-clothed crotch. “Shit!” he shouts, voice echoing over the empty clearing.

You don’t flinch at the volume of the voice. He can’t even tell if you’re blinking from here. You just remain in the middle of the rippling, silver water, only visible from the tops of your bare collarbones.

Eddie swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing, and tries to catch his breath. “Sorry. I— I didn’t know anyone else was out here…”

“Don’t stop on my account,” you tell him, flirtatious words that sound strangely deadpan falling from your lips. “Lover’s Lake is big enough for the both of us.”

Eddie squints into the darkness, dark eyes flitting across the water. “You’re alone?” he concludes after a few moments. 

“Usually…” you hum, lifting a naked shoulder in a lazy shrug. “…Are you?”

“Usually.”

“Want some company?” you offer, still strikingly monotoned. The strange boy with the wild hair and pale legs stammers for a response. You tilt your chin to your chest and look cautiously at him through your lashes. “…Or should I go?”

“No!” Eddie blurts, then clears his throat with a red face. Quieter, he adds, “No, it’s not that. You don’t have to go.”

A smile quirks at the edges of your lips. So faint Eddie can hardly tell it’s there. But still, it sparkles in your eyes like the moonlight does. “Just act like I’m not here,” you lilt, disappearing back into the water before Eddie can blink.

He’s not so sure how possible that is, but he gets into the water with you, anyway.

The fall season has turned the lake into silk. It’s cool and soft against his burning skin as he slowly submerges himself within its void. Eddie’s wide, attentive eyes never leave the water as he searches for your body beneath it. He follows the faint, silver ripples until they disappear completely — until he starts to worry if you’ll ever come back up again — until he starts to convince himself you were never there at all.

There’s a loud and sudden splash before him. He blinks, and your face is inches away from his own. An almost uncomfortable proximity between two strangers. “Jesus!” Eddie blurts, flailing awkwardly in fear.

“Did I scare you?” you squint, like it wasn’t totally obvious.

The boy exhales a wavering breath. “Yeah… Yeah, a little bit.”

“Sorry. Won’t happen again,” you promise with a faint smirk that tells him otherwise, as you swim slightly back from the boy ahead of you. The dark waves rise and valley at your bare chest. Eddie’s boyish mind immediately wonders exactly how bare you are underneath them. 

“Actually, it might,” you continue. “But it’ll be an accident… Probably.” 

Eddie struggles to tell if you’re joking or not — if you’re playing games with him, or if you’re just too aloof to know what you’re doing to him.

“You’re a strange… strange person,” he tells you, a half-compliment and a half-something-else, as the words tumble from his lips before he can think about them. His chocolate eyes narrow into thin slits at you. “Did you know that?”

The question’s mostly rhetorical, but you nod rapidly in response anyway.

“It’s ‘cause I’m not a person,” you confess, eyes wide and glittering with sincerity. “I’m a mermaid trapped in human form.”

“Aren’t mermaids already half-human?”

A contented noise sounds in your throat. 

“Hm… Guess I’m already halfway there, then.”

Eddie forgets to respond, and the conversation lulls. It makes the rest of the world seem terribly loud. Wind whistles through trees. Frogs croak in the tall grass. Water sloshes softly around your bodies. He gets lost in the serenity surrounding him and drowns in the chaos in your eyes.

“You have a staring problem,” you blurt. “Did you know that?”

The boy blinks rapidly to clear the haze from his glazed-over eyes. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m just—” Eddie clears his throat and shakes his head, hair damp at the edges and sticking to his freckled shoulders. “I’m just trying to figure out if you’re real, or if I just… made you up in my head or something?”

Something about that seems to please you. 

A mischievous smirk pulls slowly at the edges of your mouth — into a smile brighter than Eddie thought you were capable of. You float towards him with little effort, like two distant planets now threatening to collide. He doesn’t realize how close you are until your breath fans warm across his jaw.

“How’s this for real?” you hum quietly, leaning in like you plan to kiss him.

Eddie’s stunned still. He forgets how to breathe as his heavy eyes fall to your lips. He moves closer to you on instinct, mouth gravitating to yours despite himself — like you’re some kinda siren controlling his mind with a song he’s too far gone to hear.

Through the mist in his vision, he watches your mouth curl into a cheeky half-smirk. You look on at him, at this puddle of a boy, like you’ve got him in the palm of your hand. 

“You are a strange… strange boy, Eddie Munson,” you hum quietly.

Eddie shakes his head as he descends (face-plants, more like) back into reality. The water ripples faintly around you as you swim away from him. He stammers for words while you head back towards the bank. “Wait— How— How do you know my name?” the boy gapes.

Your body ascends from the silver lake, naked as the day you were born, and shining beneath the full moon. 

Water drips from your skin like diamonds as you crouch to grab your clothes, lying in a discarded pile beside the dock. The sight of your bare ass would make Eddie implode if he wasn’t already reeling.

“Sorry!” you call to him over your shoulder, with your all-black clothes balled at your chest. “Can’t hear you all the way over there!”

You never cease your stride back towards the pitch-black treeline. Eddie shouts at the back of you anyway, “How do you know my name?!”

He never gets an answer.

[emchant3d]

It’s the fourth time this week Eddie’s been late without a phone call.

Sure, his job has him working weird hours - Steve gets it. But he also knows his schedule and he knows the days Eddie works at the bar til close and he knows the days he’s supposed to be home before dark, and he hasn’t had a closing shift once this week. 

Yet he came home near ten tonight, and Steve had been worried and nervous and yes, sure, a little - a lot - insecure about it, and maybe he’d lashed out first, or maybe Eddie had, Steve doesn’t know, but he knows they’re standing in the living room shouting at one another and it’s all coming to a head and he can’t stop himself, can’t keep from getting loud and angry and–

"Do you even want to fucking be here?" he yells.

"Not when you're acting like this!" Eddie says, and Steve's throat goes tight like there's a fist wrapped around it. 

Not when he's acting like this, he thinks. Not when he's being too needy. Too pushy. Too demanding.

Something in his brain feels like it rewires. Their relationship flips on its head, and suddenly fear is coiling in Steve's stomach, not anger. 

He'll lose Eddie if he keeps pushing like this. If he demands too much of his time, pulls him away from what he'd rather be doing, makes himself too much work, he'll lose him. Eddie always said he wasn't going anywhere. That he loves Steve, wants to be with him, will never get tired of him. Steve was a fucking idiot to take that at face value.

He feels sick to his stomach. He wants to apologize, wants to tell Eddie to forget all about what he said, wants to show how sorry he is, but between one moment and the next he's feeling like a guest in his own home, and he's very familiar with how it feels to be unwelcome.

So instead he shakes his head. Eddie wants to be left alone, probably. Doesn't want to see Steve when he's mad at him. Doesn't want to deal with him. He'll make himself scarce.

"I'm staying in the guest room tonight," he says stiffly, and turns away, only faltering a little when Eddie mumbles 'what the fuck ever' behind him. He flinches when Eddie slams the front door and closes the spare room so quietly it barely even clicks.

– Eddie gets home late.

Like, late-late. Steve hears the front door open as he's staring at the clock on the bedside table, the bright red numbers burning into his vision. Why did they even put a fucking clock in here, he thinks. It's the guest room. Why did he insist on furnishing this room like someone might live in it? Like this was a home people would be in and out of, like their family would come and stay with them long enough to need an alarm clock on the bedside table?

Desperate, a voice in his head hisses at him, desperate and needy and full of wishful thinking that someone would want to stay around sad little Steve Harrington long enough to need anything--

Eddie's coming down the hallway. He's trying to be quiet, but he forgot to take his shoes off at the door and his Reeboks squeak a little against the hardwood. It's a familiar sound. Comforting, usually. It's how he knows his honey's made it home safe when he's out late, that tell-tale squeak and the little stumbles when he's tipsy and making his way through their home after a long gig.

There was no gig tonight, though, and Eddie's footsteps are steady and even despite the soft sound of rubber on wood. He isn't drunk, Steve doesn't think - and is that better or worse? That he left after a fight and didn't even go somewhere to drink it off. Where has he been, if not their usual bar to think about what they'd spat at one another, trying to think of solutions, of apologies?

And is Steve really owed an apology? He was overbearing. He was pushy. He was demanding and authoritative and too fucking much all over again, and Eddie lashed out in response, and does Steve deserve an apology after all that? He's been going around in circles with himself all evening about it, arguing in his own head, saying yes I deserve one because my feelings were hurt and no I don't deserve one because I lashed out first and how does he answer this for himself? He doesn't know.

He knows he'd do just about anything to make the empty feeling in his chest go away, though. Knows that he'd shove his hurt away and eat his words and apologize to Eddie and never, ever push again if it meant he knew where they stood. If it meant Eddie would forgive him and never storm out like that again, if it meant Steve knew he wouldn't be left alone like this to wonder if Eddie was coming back.

And he feels so dramatic - he can hear Robin's voice already, telling him it was just a fight, that there's no reason to get this worked up about it, but Steve can't help it. Slammed doors and loneliness are the soundtrack to his childhood and he can't help the panic he feels when someone he loves leaves.

"Do you want to be here?" he'd asked, like a fucking idiot, and Eddie hadn't said yes. Steve swallows around the lump that's taken up permanent residence in his throat. Reaches to swipe a hand over his face, rubbed raw, eyes burning with tears he won't let fall because what right does he have to cry? He brought this on himself. He always brings it on himself.

Eddie's feet are still squeaking their way slowly down the hallway, he's trying not to wake Steve - or is he just trying not to be noticed? Impossible, if Eddie Munson is in a room Steve is going to notice, how can he not? He's been yanked into that gravitational pull and there's no escape for him, not anymore, he's a moon circling around the solar system and Eddie is the sun, burning bright and pulling focus and what is Steve to do in the face of that?

He keeps his eyes fixed on the clock. Watches the display change when a minute's passed. Feels his heartbeat stutter when Eddie's shuffling, squeaking steps pause outside the guest room.

They keep a hall light on at night. It's on a dimmer, turned down way low, but neither of them do well with complete darkness. Too many nightmares, too many shadows haunting and hunting the both of them. Steve can see the muted glow of it from beneath the door.

He can also see when Eddie comes to a stop because his feet block that light. Two shadows in the doorframe, obscuring the soft haze of warm orange that creeps in a half-moon over the carpet, and Steve stops breathing. There's a soft shifting noise, fabric over wood, a gentle thunk when Eddie leans against the guest room door, and Steve almost calls out to him. Almost says I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, please don't leave again, please don't leave me, but the words stick in his throat. Ball's in Eddie's court, as it should be when Steve fucked up so bad, when he tried to ruin it all, when he made Eddie so mad that he left when he promised Steve he would never do that. Eddie's a good man. Keeps his word. Steve's the problem, Steve is always the goddamn problem, always will be, ruins and stains everything he fucking touches–

The shadow disappears. Steve squeezes his eyes shut so tight he sees lights popping behind his lids. Those shuffling squeaking steps continue their way down the hall. Steve feels like he's going to throw up but he didn't have dinner so there's nothing in his belly but bile and nothing comes up even though his throat is tight and his stomach is fucking rolling.

The bedroom door - their bedroom door - creaks on its hinges. Steve keeps meaning to put some WD-40 on it but he kind of likes that it makes a noise, that when he's asleep it's just loud enough to wake him halfway and tell him to anticipate the warm wash of tobacco and sandalwood that will cloud him when Eddie slips beneath the covers. Lets him know he's about to be grabbed and groped a little bit, sweet little kisses pressed to his shoulder and neck and jawline until he's got a face tucked into the curve of his throat, until he's giving a sleepy smile and winding his arms around a trim waist and dragging Eddie in close, sputtering and laughing tiredly as wild hair gets in his face and mouth before he falls asleep again, wrapped tight around the love of his life.

None of that tonight, apparently - and he doesn't blame him. No, he hears the bedroom door creak and it feels like a punishment that he deserves and his eyes burn and burn and burn and his face is wet now, he can't help it, and he wipes at it again angrily, takes the soft blanket to his face and why is it so soft why does Steve try so hard when he knows he won't get anything back why does he try to build a home when he's never had one and never will and is going to lose the one he's clawed onto so desperately and tried so hard to keep–

The door creaks again. Steve takes a stuttering breath. Eddie's steps are soft now as they come down the hallway, bare feet on the floor, almost silent as he creeps his way closer. Steve clenches his teeth so hard his jaw aches, anything to hold back the sounds he wants to make - he can't let Eddie hear him. He can't let Eddie know he's crying. That's manipulative, isn't it? Crying in front of the person he hurt? He won't do it, won't be that selfish, but that shadow appears at the base of the door again. Steve can't help the shaky inhale he takes, and it sounds so fucking loud in the quiet of the guest room, choked and echoing. 

"Baby?" Eddie says, voice low and quiet, rapping so gently against the door with one knuckle. "You in there, Stevie?" 

Just the sound of him is enough to send his heart crashing around in his ribcage, fluttering and jumping and making Steve tense. He wants to answer but he can’t get the words to form, his throat feels sealed shut, and he wonders if he should answer even if he were able because what could Eddie possibly have to say right now? It can’t be anything good and Steve doesn’t know if he can take it right now, in this room that makes him feel like a guest in his own home - but isn’t he always a guest? Isn’t that what he’s made to be, a temporary stop in everyone else’s story?

But he’s not ready for Eddie to move past him yet. Not tonight. Let it happen in the morning if it has to happen, let him put this off just a little longer. Just please, not tonight. Not yet.

But Eddie’s never been known for his patience, and the click of the latch has Steve slamming his eyes closed. Too late to roll over and hide his face, but he’s got enough time to duck down and tuck most of his features into a pillow. He tries to let his body relax, to let the tense lines of his muscles uncoil and his shoulders drop and his fists unclench, but he can’t tell if he’s managed it and the ache in his palms from his blunt nails tells him maybe he did, but it won’t help much.

Eddie makes his way across the carpet in silent steps, and the mattress dips with his weight as he sits on the edge of it. Steve’s fingers twitch to reach for him, but he just curls them into the sheets instead and hopes the motion looks absent enough to have happened in his sleep. 

He smells sandalwood and tobacco and feels the warmth from Eddie being so near but it feels like there’s a wall between them, one he can’t cross even if he tries, one he’s barred from so much as touching. 

He works hard to keep his breathing even but it’s hitching now and then despite his best efforts, shaky and too loud in the silent room, but he keeps up the charade even though the end of it all is perched right in front of him. And it’s Eddie who puts an end to it. It was always Eddie who was going to put an end to it.

“I know you’re awake,” he says, and Steve squeezes his eyes tighter like that’ll make it untrue, like he can just drift off in a second if he wills it hard enough. Eddie shifts on the mattress, and Steve curls tighter into himself. “Let’s just hash this out, huh? Get it over with.” Steve bites his tongue so hard he thinks he might taste blood. It’s that simple for Eddie - but it’s always simple, isn’t it? Cut and dry, plain as day, Steve is the only one who can never see it coming, it’s written on the goddamn walls for everyone else.

He risks peeking through his lashes but Eddie’s got his back to him so it doesn’t even matter, not really. Eddie isn’t looking at him and so Steve allows himself to look, takes in the hunch of Eddie’s shoulders, the curve of his spine beneath his thin pajama shirt - he’d changed, when he’d made his way through their creaky bedroom door, took off his clothes and put his pajamas on and kicked off those tennis shoes, they’re probably in a pile at the foot of the bed for Steve to trip over and he will miss tripping over them, he’ll miss it terribly.

He wonders if he’ll need to move. If he’ll have to find a new place and separate out all of their things into his things, if SteveAndEddie’sStuff will become Steve’s stuff and Eddie’s stuff. Or maybe he’ll just start staying in this guest room, maybe that’s why he furnished this room so completely, because somehow he knew he’d end up alone in it.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, and Steve inhales sharply.

“Don’t,” he says, and somehow he keeps his voice steady.

“So you are awake,” Eddie says, and he tries to sound teasing, sound playful, but it drops like a stone in this space between them. No room for levity in the dark cloud Steve’s filled this room with. He wishes he could be easygoing and let go gently, but it’s Eddie - in what world could he take losing him graciously?

“Yeah,” he says, and he stares at Eddie’s back as the other raises his head, but he still doesn’t turn to look at Steve, and he wishes he could at least look him in the face when he rips his heart out of his chest.

part 2

[forlix]

‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝・h.j.

— stars flare brightest in the absence of light, and you see his clearer than day.

words・6.4k

pairing・han jisung x female reader

genres・college!au, friends with benefits to lovers, snowed in trope, smut, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WILL BE BLOCKED, angst, ANGST, you have been warned, hurt/comfort, i can't write normal fluff to save my life, happy ending!!!, semi-slow burn

warnings・depictions of insomnia, recurring nightmares, graphic violence, character death (in the nightmare), fears of abandonment and falling in love, alcohol consumption, humans helping each other heal. smut warnings under the cut

playlist・stay - acoustic by jonah baker・all of me by big gigantic・babydoll (speed) by ari abdul・oasis by exo・volcano by han

a/n・hi, here's my second installment of winter falls. writing this was immensely challenging and twice as meaningful, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. thank you to my may for being so fucking instrumental in piecing together this rollercoaster—this one is for you, i love you. thanks to my sahar for everything, always and forever. and thanks to all of you for being here. happy new year ♡

smut warnings・spitplay, unprotected piv, please practice safe sex!!!, car sex, dirty talk, jisung's dick game is kinda crazy, squirting, lots of aftercare

Every time Jisung closes his eyes, he sees somebody’s back.

It’s leaving. Traipsing somewhere he can’t follow. He tries to chase it—he always does, he never learns—but the premise doesn’t so much as surface before the ghosts circling around his ankles go for his throat instead. They snare him by the shoulders, force him to his knees, slam his forehead into the permafrost hard enough to break bone. They make sure the next time he tries to move will be the last.

So he remains, keeled over in the cold, until tearwater clings to his lower lashes in small icicles. Until bloodstained snow coats his lips like the manifestation of a curse. Until the back has disappeared.

Who does it belong to? He’s left to wonder. Where is it going?

Why can’t I follow?

Then he wakes up.

No longer does he lay awake for hours afterwards, scouring the dream’s every frame for his answers.

Now, he tosses and turns in clammy sheets until his exhaustion wins.

Now, he welcomes sleep like a miracle granted by some pitying god.

You see him.

Through a living room packed with red-faced partygoers and dissected by oscillating strobe lights, albeit, but you see him anyways. 

Jisung can barely make out the rest of your face—he blames the lighting, or the soju, or both—but your eyes alone turn him to glass. Not a fancy vase through which the world distorts, but a simple pane that puts him and his ghosts on full display.

He hopes you like horror movies.

Felix knows you, because of course he does, and Jisung has never been happier to call the extroverted Australian his friend than when you come over to say hi. You stumble out of the crowd all smudged makeup and sweaty skin, your figure hugged by a short black dress with two diamond-shaped openings just above your hips, your glossy lips curved in a drunken smile. Jisung immediately wants it against his mouth.

Instead, it disappears behind his friend as you pull him into a quick hug. A few wisps of your hair dust over Jisung’s arm, momentarily replacing the smells of grease and vodka with cherry blossoms and vanilla.

“Lix, hey!”

“Darling, it’s good to see you! Feels like it’s been ages.”

“I know, right? How are you? How is everything?”

“Good, thank you. Just happy the semester’s over.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Then you go to lift your drink and discover thin air in its place. “Or I won’t. Whoops.”

This prompts Jisung’s first contribution to the conversation—and his first effortless laugh in a long while.

“Eventful night, huh?”

He meets your gaze from all of two feet away this time, and his knees buckle under him. That gaze, fuck. So clear and true, like a prism of glass refracting light into a rainbow. He would let you refract him a thousand times over if he had any light to give.

“Maybe,” you giggle. “Seems I’m a little too happy the semester’s over.”

“Wanna not get a drink to celebrate?”

Your expression flickers. Not in a bad way, more like you hadn’t expected him to ask so soon—or for yourself to have your answer so quickly.

A strobe light catches right under your eye and refracts the color in your blushing face. A rainbow.

“I’d like that.”

He tilts his head towards the kitchen. You give Felix’s elbow a light squeeze before moving past him; he gives Felix a glimpse of his growing smile before falling into step behind you. The blonde shakes his head, throws back the rest of his beer, then swivels at the sound of someone calling his name from across the foyer.

Felix will get drunk enough to forget the sight of you leading Jisung up the stairs, two bottles of pink lemonade tucked under your arm. Nothing stronger, as promised.

Jisung asks his question an entire minute after he intends to. “Where are we going, by the way?”

“Somewhere I can see your pretty face without having to squint,” you reply, and his stomach tumbles like a schoolboy with a valentine.

You don’t stop at the second floor. Instead, you nudge open a door Jisung swears just materialized to his left and emerge into the night air.

It’s warm for December, but he’s still met with chilly winds licking down the sides of his neck. That’s not the only reason he shudders, though. Below his feet, he finds a metal platform akin to that of a fire escape. Above his head, a staircase that looks one forceful step away from dropping off the side of the building.

You turn towards it. 

In a hurry, he sputters, “I’m, uh—I’m not sure about this.”

A beat passes. Your hold on his wrist loosens, not to let go, just to trace wordless reassurance down the back of his hand. Your fingers feel perfect sliding into the spaces between his, like drops of honey in the craters of soufflé pancakes.

“It’s safer than it looks, I promise.”

Jisung heaves a sigh. It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

You’re right, though. The iron rungs are surprisingly rigid beneath his feet, and the two of you make it to the roof with no trouble. He does stumble when you pull him up onto the gravel, but it’s intentional, a purposeful blunder to have you closer. To snag another glimpse of that blush, another trace of that floral vanilla.

“Sorry,” he whispers almost directly upon your lips. And that earns him all three.

The next hour evades him for the most part, and Jisung is pissed about it. He’s with the woman of his dreams under a sky so clear it’s almost lustrous and he’s too shitfaced to recollect when he gave you his hoodie to wear; what you said that made his lungs capsize with how hard he laughed; how you ended up so close to each other, your legs strewn over his lap, his hands tracing over your thighs.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things. He remembers how frighteningly easy you are to talk to; he remembers your habit of smacking his stomach when you get flustered; he remembers you getting flustered a lot. He remembers the timbres of your different laughs and how your stunning features crinkle with each. He remembers feeling like a pane of glass in front of you, just like he had downstairs, and he remembers liking it, somehow. Liking the way you see through him, the way you allow him to just exist as he is. Liking the way you acknowledge his ghosts with such nonchalance, inviting them over for tea and biscuits.

He wants to remember everything about you.

It’s not often he wants to remember anything.

Eventually, your conversation comes to a natural close. In its absence, Jisung notices that the alcoholic sludge in his brain has largely diffused; with it, the rumbling bass of the party below. The full moon hangs at its highest point, blanketing the two of you with anticipatory silence, nudging you towards the only topic you’ve yet to breach.

He meets your gaze again, from all of two inches away this time, and his insides twist.

“You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

You blink at him, not following. Then he leans his forehead against yours, lets his eyes flicker to your mouth with such unbridled want that you’re instantly dizzy—and no longer confused.

Regret pools in your eyes moments before they close. “Yes, I think so.”

Your lips are so, so close that he can feel the air shift between you when they move, can feel the soft warmth emanating from them. Jisung pulls away before he does anything stupid.

You do the stupid thing for him.

You push his shoulders to the plaster behind him, push yourself onto his lap with a swing of your body and a slotting of your legs on either side of him. 

The plush of your thighs hugging his hips, the curves of your breasts pressed against his chest, Jisung tries to stare up at you, perplexed, aroused. But you’re so close that he can’t, so he settles with whispering upon the underside of your chin, “what are you—”

“Gimme your lemonade.”

The authoritative words come out in a slurred haze, and he all but hastens to oblige. 

You pluck the plastic bottle from his wavering grasp. His empty hand hovers as if uncertain where to go. But matters as trivial as hand placement drop off his mind’s precipice as he watches you unscrew the cap, the slope of your neck illuminated by spindly moonlight, and without thinking he pushes his hands beneath the hem of your—his—hoodie.

The skin of your waist is warm and smooth where his fingertips are cold and calloused, the juxtaposition unimportant in your reciprocal desires to touch and be touched.

“Open,” you murmur.

His jaw goes slack, firstly from pure disbelief. Then, obedience. The dark locks that obstruct his vision of you fall away as his head meets the brick half-wall behind him, as if the midnight breeze itself mandated their removal.

You pour some of the pink liquid past Jisung’s parted lips. Stray rivulets slip down his cheek and vanish beneath his neckline. You break eye contact to follow their path with dilated pupils and fluttering lashes. With unadulterated desire.

He swallows, gently, and feels the sweet substance surround his tonsils.

He swallows, forcefully, when you wrap your lips around the bottle, the plastic still slathered in his spit.

The swig you take is long, deep. Your throat bobs and your eyes close as if you’re savoring a finely-aged nectar. Then your lips are popping off the opening with a soft thwock, leaving a thick strand of saliva to suspend, suspend, suspend until the very second it’s about to drop, which is when you collect the residue with a deft swipe of your tongue.

“A placeholder,” you breathe, and Jisung’s head careens. A shared bottle. An indirect kiss.

“You’re a monster,” he croaks.

You giggle and lean down, curling a hand around his cheek, pressing a wet kiss to his Adam’s apple.

“Tomorrow, if we’re both sober…”

One, two, three pecks up the length of his jaw.

“...and you still remember my address…”

A suckle to the lobe of his ear.

“...you can kiss me, for real.”

A trembling breath.

“And then some.”

Jisung moans, loudly.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things.

He shows up at your place shortly after sunset the next day. You swing open the door, your face already alight with your world-ending smile.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Then he’s kissing you like a man famished.

Jisung learns to love your back, that night. He loves its dips and curves, loves its rise and fall. Loves how it arches into him, how it looks drenched in his cum. It’s the back of his dreams.

The back in his dreams keeps walking.

Jisung has never liked winter.

He has never liked its winds, whispering woefully as if mourning something unnamed and unseen. He has never liked its palette, whitewashing the world as if refracting a rainbow in reverse.

He has never liked cracking open his eyes and seeing the scenery of his nightmare outside his window. Nor does he like trudging over the sleet as if weighed down by the same ghosts that break him time and time again in his dreamscape. They love winter. 

And this winter, he swears, is the bitterest yet. On the nights when he’s allowed to sleep, the nightmare comes in such sharp relief that he thinks he’d rather anything else, the ghosts meaner, the blood redder, the silhouette slower. It’s an act of mercy when he’s still awake by the time bleached sunlight perforates the curtains, resting upon his salted cheeks and balled fists.

This winter, it is not just dislike that he feels towards the gray winds—it’s hatred. A maelstrom of loathing so large and dark that Jisung no longer knows where it’s headed or what it’s directed to. Or who.

When winter break comes to an end, he’s probably the only person who’s happy about it.

His friends certainly aren’t, looking like a line of angry nutcrackers with their folded arms and thunderous faces standing outside Greem Cafe.

Jisung calls out a greeting as he jogs towards them, and cue the grumbling.

“What is there to smile about? Enlighten us.” That’s Hyunjin. “I have to deal with four finals and three essays in the next five days and this guy is smiling.”

“He’s accepted his fate, I reckon.” That’s Felix. “We should do the same, boys. Let ourselves down easy, y’know?”

“No, no, he’s smiling because he remembered to bring me his chem notes.” That’s Jeongin. “You did, right? Please say you did.”

Jisung is stunned into silence. “Can I not be happy to see my friends?”

“No,” Hyunjin and Felix reply in unison.

“My bad,” he sighs.

“My notes,” Jeongin repeats.

“I have them, dude. Let’s sit down first.”

The younger boy shouts an impassioned “THANK YOU” at the sky like the clouds just saved his GPA. Jisung reaches for the door to the café, then stops at the sound of Felix’s voice.

“We’re waiting on one more person.”

He turns towards the blonde with puzzled eyes. He’d been under the impression the study session would comprise just them four.

“Who?”

Felix’s response falters on his tongue when he catches sight of something in the distance, and his face changes in a way Jisung’s seen before.

“Look behind you.” Felix shuffles past him, raising his voice to shout, “yo!”

Jisung glances away from the newcomer as quickly as he sees her. It’s not until his eyes pivot to the fire hydrant across the street that he processes her identity.

In one second flat, his mind clutters full. He thinks back to that party, when all it took was the sight of your smile for him to theorize you were the most exquisite thing ever made. He thinks back to the next evening, when he kissed you and verified his hypothesis. He thinks back to what followed and would continue to follow in the few days that remained before break: entwined tongues and emblazoned hickeys, whitened knuckles and whiny praise, snapping hips and shaking bedframes.

This winter, Jisung swears, is the bitterest yet.

But seeing you, the scarf wound multiple times around your neck doing nothing to hide your gorgeous smile, feels like catching a fragment of summer in his frozen hands.

“Thank god,” Felix groans before embracing you. Collapsing on you, more like. “I’m saved.”

You reach around to pat the boy on the back, your eyes brimming with laughter. “Lower your expectations, please. I did well on one exam.”

“You aced the midterm. That automatically makes you a rocket scientist,” Felix corrects, his voice muffled into the shoulder of your coat. A few beats of silence pass. Then, “this is comfy.”

“Okay, okay, let’s go get some caffeine in you,” you giggle. “We have a lot of ground to cover today.”

Felix straightens up sleepily. And sadly. “Superb.”

Jisung hangs back as you introduce yourself to Hyunjin and Jeongin. He doesn’t even notice his growing smile until you’re standing directly in front of him and for the first time in three weeks there’s the smell of cherry blossoms in the air and a rainbow shining on his face again.

“Hi,” he offers.

“Hey,” you reply.

Hyunjin is the one to shatter the prolonged silence that follows. “Are you guys betrothed?”

Felix and Jeongin stalk into the café snickering. You and Jisung trail behind with flaming cheeks.

It takes Jisung two and a half hours to talk to you again. At that point in the afternoon, Felix is napping on the second practice test you’ve given him; Hyunjin has downed three shots of pure espresso and is currently viewing his screen with concerning intensity; Jeongin is at another table on a quiet Zoom call with his chemistry T.A., Jisung’s notes clutched to his chest like a life vest. And you’re leaning back against your seat opposite to him, scrolling through your phone in what he presumes to be a well-deserved study break. As good a time as any.

He opens up his texts with you. His fingers fly across the keyboard.

Jisung: do you have plans after this?

Your eyes stutter to the top of your screen, linger there for a moment, and lock onto Jisung’s from across the table.

He presses his lips into a thin line to suppress his smile. You let yours spill over in full form, and with it comes a soft giggle that would be worth getting his number fucking blocked just to hear one more time.

Three gray dots appear before elongating into a prompt response.

Y/N: I was gonna ask you the same thing…

He’s the one who laughs this time. Fuck, you’re cute. You’re so cute.

Jisung: can i take you to dinner? Y/N: Yes, I’d love that :) Y/N: When should we leave? Jisung: 9? Y/N: Sounds good~ Jisung: cool Jisung: it’s a date Y/N: It’s a date! Y/N: Excited 💛

With that, you put your phone face down and return to work, though your lips remain privately upturned. Jisung wants to kiss them again.

He also wants to turn you into a mess on his cock again.

Or both.

He doesn’t get much studying done after that thought surfaces.

Jisung: me too <3

When nine o’clock rolls around, you and Jisung begin cleaning up your work stations in near-perfect simultaneity. There’s confusion written all over Hyunjin’s and Jeongin’s faces as they watch you swing your backpacks over your shoulders—but Felix’s expression is a blank slate as he sips from his macchiato. Your ingenuity isn’t the only reason he invited you today.

As you make your way out of the café, your shoulders brush once, twice, and then Jisung drops his hand into the space between the two of you without uttering a word. You scoop it up in your own without missing a beat.

He steps into the freezing night feeling warm all over.

“You know what I realized?” You say as you walk towards his SUV.

“What did you realize?”

“We’ve never had a sober conversation before. Can we change that tonight?”

Jisung has broken hearts before.

There’s no euphemistic way to describe his tendency to abuse the sensitive organs, to wring them out and throw them away like irrelevant trash. To juggle and drop them with a sheepish laugh like they’re nothing more than props in a circus act.

He doesn’t do it to save himself or his partners from getting hurt or any self-ingratiating bullshit like that. It’s for himself, all for himself. All to unload his balls and his mind for fifteen blissful seconds. 

There’s blood on his hands. He never cared to wash it off.

Except you are the one asking for his heart this time around, a dash of hope in your smile as you do so, and he thinks it would be his life’s greatest honor to be discarded by you.

“Sure,” he answers.

He doesn’t even last until he’s inside the car.

Your back meets the door to the passenger’s seat, guided there by his hands on your hips. From millimeters away he watches your surprise morph into understanding, then darken into lust.

“I like when we don’t talk, though.”

It’s the most annoying thing in the world to remove so many layers in such a cramped space.

Combined, your clothing forms a tower high enough to block out the driver’s window completely. An unnecessary blockade.

The glass fogs up anyways.

“Fuck, Ji, yes, right there, oh my god.”

You have your legs spread open and the back of your neck digging into the cupholder on the door. It’s not comfortable. You’re too busy getting fucked open to care.

Jisung detaches his lips from your neck to ask, “here, baby?”

The head of his cock hits that gummy spot again, harder, sweeter. You convulse, your hand scrambling for purchase in his raven locks.

“Yes, yes, yes, don’t stop, please.”

Please. The word plays over in his fuzzy mind.

It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

His cock slips out of you and you lament the loss of contact with a high wail.

“W-why’d—where’d you go?”

He can’t help but chuckle at how incoherent you’ve become. He cradles the back of your head with a tender hand and lowers your upper body onto the leather seat, adjusting himself to your new elevation.

“Right here, beautiful. Didn’t go anywhere—promise—” 

He expels the final word through gritted teeth as he slams into you again, and the new angle is glorious. Your bodies keen in flawless harmony. Profanities tumble from his lips in a steady stream before they turn back into syllables.

“Would never go anywhere. Would never leave without making this pretty pussy cream like it deserves—holy fucking shit, baby.”

You clench around him at his words and then he’s setting a new, relentless rhythm, rocking the whole vehicle with every hearty smack of his hips against yours, your wet walls squeezing him so dreamily he thinks he sees nirvana with every thrust.

You’re enjoying it just as much, if the bubbles of spit in the corner of your mouth are any indication, and Jisung is viciously proud to be the cause. Unbelievably lucky to feel your breasts jiggling under his chest and your nails digging into the back of his neck.

“Good?” He whispers, and you nod blissfully.

“So—good, Ji, so fucking good. Your cock is perfect, fuck, I can’t even—can’t even think.”

“You’re the perfect one. Can’t believe how well your cunt takes me, shit. It’s like it was fucking made for this.”

“It was,” you breathe, and he nearly shoots his load into you at this alone. “It was, it was—oh, god, I think—think I’m gonna come—”

“Do it,” he rasps. “Come for me. Come on this cock and it’s yours.”

“R-really?”

“Really.”

“Then, I will. I’ll come on your cock—make it mine. Need it so fucking bad, I’m so fucking close, oh—please—”

He anchors himself in place with a hand against the windowsill and the other travels down your body to rub fast, tight circles into your clit. You let out a wanton, prolonged moan, tilt your head back to expose him to your fluttering throat. And then you’re pulling his lips onto yours again, and the following kiss is sloppy beyond belief, the kind that can only antedate the happiest of endings.

“My cock,” you sigh into his mouth. “Mine.”

“Forever,” is the breathy response he doesn’t know if he means, the response he gives you anyways.

And then you curl your fingers in his hair. Clamp your teeth around his lower lip. Clench your thighs around his waist. There’s liquid everywhere. Tearwater spilling down the sides of your face. Release gushing all over his dick and pelvis and backseat.

He catches up the moment he realizes what’s just happened. Pulls out of you. Presses his head against the roof of his car. Spits on his hand. Pumps his pulsating cock. Sends himself over the edge you’ve just finished tripping over.

Eventually, he regains feeling in his limbs.

He opens his eyes, surveys the damage, and grins.

Your stomach is covered in ropes of white, your expression hidden behind your hands. You start shaking your head in profuse embarrassment the moment you feel his eyes on you.

“You squirted,” he says.

“I know,” you almost yell, and his grin erupts into a laugh.

He lowers himself back over you, takes your wrists, and removes them from your blushing face. He doesn’t think he’s seen you so flustered before and it has him palpitating in ways he never thought feasible.

Maybe he did mean the damn thing after all.

He pushes off the strands of hair clinging to your damp forehead and replaces them with a gentle kiss. “It was sexy as fuck and you’re everything.” 

There’s a certain softness in your eyes when he pulls away. He hopes, for your sake, it’s all in his head.

His car is in need of aftercare most of all. You shrug on your clothes with considerable effort and get to work, all while sharing comfortable chatter and easy laughter.

Those things persist during your dinner date at a nearby Chinese restaurant and the drive back to your place, which Jisung knows well enough to no longer need his GPS. Those things persist until he kisses you goodbye on your doorstep, because he would have to be fucking crazy not to after you gave him the best night he’s had in so long.

After you reminded him that he’s still capable of comfort and ease, in spite of it all.

Snow comes a few weeks into the new year. 

This winter, it falls late, and it falls hard, like a gust of breath expelled from drawn lungs at the very last minute. Held there as if lying in wait for something unnamed and unseen. 

The gust of breath is too quiet to be heard over the one Jisung lets out against the shell of your ear. “Wait here.”

He goes to roll off you. You don’t let him just yet, darting your hand around his wrist and bringing his face back within centimeters of yours.

Han Jisung is beautiful. You knew it for the first time at that houseparty and you’ve known it every hour of every day since. But it’s always clearest to you in the afterglow, when his bare skin is golden and sticky and his delicate lips bitten to bright fuchsia. 

When his irises have gone black and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light.

You close the distance that remains between you. Your lips part with a content sigh. Your hands drift over the slant of his neck; his find home in the dips above your waist.

He breaks away once you’re both out of breath, and the pad of his thumb wipes lightly at your lower lip.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” you reply shyly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

The smile this brings to his face reminds you of a candle’s flame. Soft on the eyes and scalding to the touch when he presses it back against your lips. Once, twice.

“Can you wipe your cum off me now?” You whisper, and he laughs straight into your mouth.

The mattress lifts. His footsteps grow quieter. You shiver in his absence.

Only then do you notice the blizzard.

You stumble off the bed to throw your curtains aside. Snow descends from the sky like spools of unraveling yarn. The streetlights have been reduced to foggy specks, the parked cars to blurry heaps. Every sidewalk and rooftop in sight has already been slathered in ivory.

Jisung announces his return with a disbelieving whistle.

“Am I dreaming?” You murmur.

“When did that happen?”

“I have no idea.”

You don’t even notice the wild smile on your face until you turn to him and catch his reaction to it. He looks like he’s asking himself the same question.

“C’mere,” he hums, and you oblige.

He laves the warm towel over your breasts and stomach, as well as the places his release has trickled since you flung yourself to your feet. All while supporting the small of your back with a touch fatally careful, an expression wholly adoring. All evidence of just how blurry the line between sexual escapade and lover has become in two short months.

Your ribcage fucking throbs.

“You don’t seem excited,” you say.

He finishes cleaning you off. You give him a distracted thank you, noticing the sudden shadow draped over his face like a netted veil.

“I’m not,” he answers, not unkindly.

“You don’t like snow?”

“Not really.”

“Why?”

He circles around the bed to get dressed. You bend to pick up the clothes tossed aside earlier and drop them into your hamper, then slip into a clean pair of underwear and sweatpants.

“It’s a long story.”

Just as you reach for a top, a bundle of cloth travels in an arc across your bedroom and hooks itself around the crook of your arm. His T-shirt. 

You glance at Jisung. He’s already looking elsewhere, but his private smile makes its way onto your face as you slip it on.

“Well, I have time.” You sink into your mattress, now surrounded by his muted musk, his papyrus and petrichor. “We’ll be stuck here a while, after all.”

“Stuck?” Jisung repeats, the lanyard of his car keys dangling from the pocket of his hoodie, his feet turned towards the door.

A pregnant pause commences. His intentions dawn, and you gape.

“You’re not driving right now.”

He breaks eye contact.

“Right?”

That was the plan, you read in his expression.

You know better than trying to reverse a river’s current by kicking up rocks. You know better than trying to curtail the flight of an albatross by clipping its wings.

You know better than asking someone who thinks he was made to leave to stay.

And you won’t.

“I have somewhere to be early tomorrow morning,” he stammers, the lines terribly rehearsed. “The snow’s not heavy, I’ll be—”

“Stay.”

You’re not asking.

Jisung looks at you, startled, as you glide across the bed. You place your feet on the hardwood and circle your arms around his waist. Lace your fingers upon the hollow of his back. His pulse goes uneven at your abrupt proximity.

Akin to the drag of a feather, you mouth at his cheek, then the side of his neck.

“You can stay, Jisung.”

He shudders at your words, and you’ve got him.

It’s oddly normal, the sight of him clambering into your bed in your clothing—a pair of old sweatpants and your favorite crewneck—like this isn’t the first time you’re sleeping together in your two months of sleeping together.

In fact, the only indication of anything unordinary is the floaty feeling in your stomach when your head hits the pillow and discover Jisung’s face only inches away. He drapes an arm over your waist, gathering you close. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

The inevitable question follows.

“Can I save the story for another time?”

“Sure,” you return, keeping your voice small. He doesn’t hear your disappointment this way. “Should we go to sleep, then?”

“We should.”

Your foreheads touch. Your noses bump together. Your eyes cross, watching the adoration pull at his. You dimly register your hand threading in his fluffy locks, his thumb running over your cheekbone. Your lashes narrowly miss the surface of his eyes, and then he tips your face up by millimeters.

You don’t remember when you fall asleep. You only recall the hour beforehand that you spend with Jisung’s lips traversing yours, like you are the ocean and he’s uncovering new waters with every bruise he prints against your throat, every suckle he leaves around your tongue.

In your dream, the roles reverse and you are the one exploring him, mapping out his constellations with wide-eyed wonder.

You wake to a black hole.

For the first five seconds, you see nothing. You hear nothing. You feel nothing. You only blink in the darkness, your mind kicking into groggy gear to ask the very good question of why you’re conscious again.

Instinct moves your hand across the mattress. Empty space greets you where Jisung should be. Unfounded dread shoves your back off the bed. You gasp, the sound seeming to echo in the cavernous silence.

Your eyes adjust enough to discern light in the crack beneath your door, and you’re wide awake.

The following events go by in a blur. You stumble out of bed and into your closet, fastening your fingers around the thickest piece of fabric you find. You fly into the living room, where the lamp by the couch is left on and the pair of worn black Converse on your doormat have gone missing.

The front door is cracked open, and through the narrow inches you spot someone hunched on the stairs outside, his dark hair dyed platinum by the awning light’s fluorescence.

Your heart stills in relief, then quickens with anxiety.

You’ve tried wearing this crewneck in January enough times to know you can’t. In fact, you suspect that it somehow soaks up the temperature, lets it seep in between its every seam until it becomes one with the bitter winds. 

But he isn’t shivering, you notice as you take a seat next to him, draping the puffer over both of your shoulders on your way down. He’s simply staring off into the bleak storm, snowflakes sitting atop his head like a coating of ash, their color matching that of his frozen skin. He’s becoming one with the bitter winds. 

At first, you don’t recognize the man in front of you.

You’re well familiar with those ring-laden hands and the whetted jawline thrown into shadow, those remnants of cologne clinging to his frame. But you have never seen that gaze before, bloodshot and bleak and belonging to somebody new. Somebody who isn’t completely here, straddling the partition between the realms of people and phantoms.

Then he lifts his eyes and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light. Your stars.

And you recognize him for the first time ever.

You drop your hand to your hip, and his fingers feel stiff and cold and perfect, sliding into the spaces between yours.

“Why don’t you like snow?” You ask.

Jisung’s eyes return to the swirling sleet, but he moves your interlocked hands to rest on his thigh, and you know that he’s with you.

He’s been having this nightmare.

It takes place in a small clearing. It’s winter, and everything is covered in snow. Not the gentle kind that you can catch on your tongue, but the unyielding kind that’s hard and dense and covered in cracks, like a lake newly frozen over.

Somebody is in front of him, walking away. He can only see their back. He wants to chase after them. He doesn’t want to be left behind. But there are ghosts nearby, and they’ll split his skull open on the permafrost and tie his windpipe into a pretty bow if he so much as dreams of pursuit. He always does. He doesn’t know how not to.

Normally, the back leaves, and he can do nothing but remain. He can direct his loathing only to the snow into which he bleeds. 

Normally, he waits for the dream to end with something bordering on boredom. He’s seen this movie too many times. He fucking hates how it ends.

This time, though, the snow tastes like something.

After the flavors deliquesce upon his tongue, his head shoots up, his eyes blowing wide as they latch onto the retreating figure. He knows who it is.

His feet scrabbles against the ice with his attempts to rise to them. He lunges forward with frenzied resolve, and that is when the ghosts snap his neck.

He wakes up.

“Cherry blossoms and vanilla.”

You blink, tearwater streaking from your eyes in silent, steaming trails.

“That’s—”

My shampoo.

A broken sob escapes you in lieu of the rest of your sentence, and Jisung laughs, a flimsy facade that crumbles when he lifts his hand to dab at your moistened cheeks and it’s trembling.

“Silly,” he murmurs. “I’m used to it now.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“I don’t want you to cry for me.”

“You died.”

“And I would do it again.”

This response comes without an shred of hesitation.

You first realized you had something to confess, that night in the the back of Jisung’s SUV. You’ve kept it locked away for your sake and his, even moreso. You see how fear clings to him like an unshakeable wraith, and you refuse to feed the parasite.

Now, your confession explodes from its fortress in the center of your soul and rises up your larynx. You panic like an inept security guard letting their only prisoner bolt free. Is it really the right time? Do you know what to say? Have you really thought this through? 

Too late. It’s rushing to the point of your tongue already. You suppose you’ll find out.

He saves you the trouble.

“Honestly?”

Your confession stills. 

“I don’t know if I’m okay, and I won’t try to convince you otherwise. You’d call my bluff. You’re good at that.

“But everything feels okay when I’m with you. You see me. You allow me just to exist as I am. You make me feel human again—you make me want to feel human again. You empty my mind.”

You feel as if you’ve been ejected into space naked, griping for air where there is none.

“I never believed in having somebody to lose,” he utters, gently leaning his forehead against yours. “But I would rather disappear than watch you go.”

You cradle his jaw with shaking fingers, trying and failing to quell the violence of your emotion.

“Don’t go,” he exhales.

You kiss him.

It should feel the same as before. You reach for the slant of his neck, him the dips above your waist. You sigh into him, parting your lips, and he moves into you deeper, harder, dipping into your mouth with his tongue’s pliant swipe. But there’s something new in the way you hold each other, in the seal of your mouth against his.

The line between sexual escapade and lover vanishes as if swept off the sand and into the sea. His stars come out of hiding at last and they bathe you in their residue, light your heart aglow.

Your confession resurfaces. It wants to stargaze also.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

The night comes and goes.

The two of you spend it entangling, sweating, your lips glued the expanse of his neck and the arcs of his shoulders, writing over the ghosts’ injuries with bruises of your making.

Only when the winds have faltered outside do you attempt to rest again. You are curled up in balmy bliss, utterly depleted. Jisung’s arms around your middle and legs threaded among yours bring you that much closer to slumber’s cusp.

You attribute it to your exhaustion when he mumbles something against you, and you have no idea what it means: “Thank you for refracting me.” 

Your confusion is palpable in your silence. His laugh hits the nape of your neck with a gentle puff, and he kisses the spot just beneath your ear. “Never mind.”

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© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!

[kaitawrites]

Silent Whispers (2)

Pairing: "Wolverine" Logan Howlett x Mutant!Reader

word count: 1.1k Warnings: smut, creampie, angst, Notes: This is 18+ as there are sexual themes within the story. This is a continuation of this post Silent Whispers. I hope you enjoy it all!

Taglist: @amelia262006 @clairealeehelsing @arrowenchantress @marcybug @cosmicmagicgirl @killerwendigo

“Logan, you can't just mope and drink all day,” Ororo exclaims. Watching Logan continue to sip on his cup of whiskey, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes screwed shut. He continues to ignore Ororo as he tries to reason with him. “You know she wouldn’t want this.” Logan harshly slams the glass onto the table, his eyes opening to glare daggers at Ororo. “Shut the fuck up” He mutters. 

It’s been 5 months and Logan didn’t get a lick of sleep. Up looking for you and trying to find you. He already ran to Charles to ask on your whereabouts. When he told him that you were no where to be found. He just couldn’t understand how you disappeared the way you did. He puts his face into his hands. “I don’t know what else to do. I am nothing without her.” Ororo shakes her head at him. “We will keep looking for her. We will let you know if anything comes up.” With that Ororo leaves Logan in the kitchen alone. 

All Logan can think about is you. He closes his eyes and thats where he could hear your voice. “How would you feel about settling down, lo?” Logan was at first shocked with the question. He rubs his hands on your left shoulder, caressing and massaging. “I mean I haven’t thought about that really.” You move your whole body to face Logan. Your beautiful eyes behind your long lashes. “You never thought of us settling down? Marriage? A baby?” Logan’s eyes run along your facial features. “We’re mutants. How would we be able to settle down? You seen what happened to Magneto and his family.” He watches your delicate features scrunch up a bit into a grimace. “Yea, you’re right. I think I’m going to get some rest. Good night.” You turn away from him, facing the opposite direction from him in the bed. 

That’s all he’s been thinking about. Living the good long life with you. But he was afraid. Afraid of losing you like he lost the others. Afraid someone will take you from him. Unknowingly pushing you away due to his insecurity. Now look at him. Lost you just as he feared. He clenches his fists in frustration. He couldn’t believe he just let you go like that. Pushing you so far away that you literally run right out his life. Jumping out the window and all. 

He can still remember your touch. The way you would give him both pleasure and comfort. The strong warmth that comes off your body that wrapped around his entire being. The way your kisses lead down his neck and to his chest. He held your chin so he could connect a kiss. You left him breathless, his eyes showing how mesmerized he was by you. “You ready?” A smirk was on your lips as you look down at his exposed chest and give him a little glance. 

He gives a slight nod. You trail down his body with your fingers. With elegance and swiftness, his pants are thrown on the ground. Your hands delicately holds him, trailing kisses up and down his cock. You hear the hitch in Logan’s breath and his hands grip onto the sheets once you finally enter it into your mouth. Your rhythm was slow and sensual knowing this is the exact opposite of what Logan wants. The evidence is in the way his hips buck up into your mouth. He doesn’t make a move on your hair or head because last time that happened, he gave you a new hair cut. 

“Fuck, I can’t take it anymore.” He grabs you up before you could say anything. Flipping everything around and having you pinned down below him. “You have no idea the effects you got on me, princess .” A big grin was on your lips at his words. “Then show me.” Your lips lock with another. The kiss was filled with hunger, desperation, and love. He rips everything you have on in half. “Try to get away from this.” A sharp gasp escapes your lips as Logan doesn’t give you any warning. 

His pace was slow and deliberate. The same pace you was going at before. You let a whine out as you try to wiggle into the thrusts. “Go faster.” A cocky grin appears on Logan’s lips. “What did you say princess?” You arch your back away from the bed. “Please go faster.” Logan doesn’t waste not even a second before quickening his pace. Your moans bounce off the wall as you grip onto the sheets. Logan’s eyes never leave your body. Looking over all your features as if he wants to have this memory ingrained in his brain. His watching your breast bounce against your chest, the way your lips were slightly agape as moans left your lips. “I’m so close,” You whisper, your hands moving to grip onto Logan’s arms. Your nails digging into his flesh, the slight stinging adding onto the pleasure. You finish with a wail. It didn’t take long for Logan as you squeezed him so tight. His breath hitches as his climax was close. “I’m gonna fill you up,” A desperate whine escapes your lips. 

“You would like that, wouldn’t you? Huh, I can’t hear you.” You nod your head with a quickness. Nails digging deeper into his skin, a hiss escaping his lips. A low growl leaves his lips as he empties himself in you, thick ropes of cum leaking out of you. He collapsed next to you. ‘I’m glad you both are enjoying yourselves on your day off. But it would be nice if you both kept it down.’ Charles voice is heard in the both of your heads. You guys both staring at each other in horror at the sound before erupting into laughter. 

Two years had went by and there is still no sign of you. At this point, Logan had become more bitter and harsh. The wrinkles on his face began to deepen on his face. His eyes were colder and darker than before. He would drink himself half to death if he could. He sat at the local bar, lips on another glass of whiskey. Everything just phased passed him, nothing would last. Nothing ever lasts but him. 

Ororo enters the bar with urgency, her legs walking quickly to Logan. She knew where he would be since she was the only one who had personally checked on Logan past few months. Logan always went to the same spot as always. He never left the seat. “We found her, Logan.” At first, the words didn’t register. He continued to drink the rest of the bitter liquid. Ororo places a hand on his shoulder. She whispers your name. “We found her.” It finally clicked and with a quickness, he was standing up out of his chair. “Where.” Is the only thing that comes out of his mouth. 

Marvel Masterlist

Silent whispers Masterlist

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

Request? Idea? What if we got saved by Dink but like, it was a total accident and he never even meant to save us. But either way we make it our mission to repay him~ if u know what I mean 😉

Oh, trust me, I do ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Death By Chocolate and Other Evil Anecdotes

Pairing: Dark Link x Reader

Warning(s): Death by chocolate ;))

Notes: I think y'all are gonna enjoy this one. Partially dedicated to @yourlocaltreesimp for inspiring me to crank this out <33 I like to keep my anons on their toes.

Masterlist

The first thing you noticed about the personified incarnation of evil was that his eyes were red.

Redder than blood, redder than the sky during those insane moons, and captivating in the sense that fear alone had left you totally and completely unable to fathom moving from your crouched spot on the cobblestone. Groceries scattered, nerves tense as you prepared for the fight of your life in the shoddiest alley you'd seen in your life. What had started as a regularly-scheduled trip to the backwaters of Hyrule for some long, thick leeks was turning into something entirely different, though you would be a liar in refusing to admit that, amidst the existential terror, there wasn't a bit of relief in your heart as his irises bore terrible holes into the very same organ.

It probably had something to do with the cooling bodies of the men who'd attempted to assault you on the way out of the market, but you were no genius. Probably.

"What the fuck are you staring at?" The evil version of Link, the Hero, growled. His teeth were white and lightly pointed, though hardly more so than the sharp taper of his ears. Thick, red-black blood coated his dark tunic, an iron-scented remnant of the carnage that had occurred moments earlier, and the sword in his left hand was similarly stained. He needed a bath—desperately, with the urgency of a teenager yet to leave home and learn basic hygiene, except it was wholly due to the fluids coating what you hoped was skin and not some clever illusion containing a demonic eldrich creature—but you felt as though telling him would not end well.

It was definitely the weapon. You also hoped the rumors were wrong about his apparent proclivities for hylian flesh.

Even so, he had saved you, cutting down those foul men as though they were nothing but flies, all the while murmuring about some kind of debt. You doubted he even noticed you were cowering against the masondry until the last one attempted to make a grab for your ankles, which promptly lashed out to break what you assumed was his nose. That had felt good.

Until you locked eyes with Dark Link.

The impatient raise of a white-tinted eyebrow snapped you from your thoughts.

You swallowed, not daring to make a grab for the precious leek lying two feet over. Did he consider vegetables weapons? Did you want to find out??

"Um," oh fuck, oh god, it was like he was seeing inside of you. That was weird, right? Red was such an unnerving color, especially when it was being directed at the quivering depths of your soul. Would he kill you if you screamed? Was there anything you could say to ensure the continued safety of yourself and your precious vegetables?

You swallowed.

Your throat was dry.

"Thank... you?"

The demon tilted his head, boots scuffing against the cobblestone as he turned to fully face you. The sun hung high in the sky, though the alley was quiet, and you couldn't imagine anyone coming across the scene. Perhaps the villagers would hear your screams, but it would be far too late by that point. You'd either be dead, dying, or eaten.

...Hylia, you really hoped he didn't eat people.

A burst of sunlight caught his stark hair, illuminating the silvery strands in a backdrop so beautiful it could have been stolen from heaven itself. Again, you gulped.

Dark Link was terrifying.

Dark Link was, coincidentally, also dashingly attractive.

It was very conflicting.

Lips that had no right being as plush as they were peeked open.

"How odd," mused the demon, drawing a half-step closer. If not for the pinched lines on his forehead, you would have thought he was amused. His sword glistened a wet crimson in the blinding light. "This is usually where the screaming begins."

There was something almost bored in the way he spoke, yet you didn't dare miss the sliver of intrigue nestled in a tone so dark. Still, it didn't seem like he was going to kill you yet, so you allowed your shoulders to un-hunch against the thick stone wall, knees losing the tightness keeping them pressed to your chest, though you maintained a steep bend in case a well-placed kick to the shins was required.

"Do you... want me to scream?" You squeaked tentatively, and immediately regretted it. That was practically an invitation, for Hylia's sake!

Dark Link's eyes narrowed to mere crimson slits. He stalked forward, until the blinding sun against his back forced a long, thick shadow to cast over your body. The air was so tense that a knife could have cut straight through it, leaving nothing but broken strings and halfhearted breaths while you wondered what you had done to deserve such a fate. Eventually, when he was close enough that you swore the threads of his white trousers were countable, a thick silence fell upon the alley. No one breathed. No one spoke. You couldn't even hazard a glance at the poor leek on the ground. At least one of you was meant to be eaten.

When the tension reached its boiling point, so had the demon's patience.

"I—"

"Please don't eat me!" You blurted, throwing your hands up to cover your face. It was the least you could do before being consumed.

Another silence settled over the alley, noticeably more uncomfortable than the first.

"...Excuse me?"

You could have cried, you really could have. An eye cracked open, only to shut again on account of the whithering gaze sent to you by none other than Dark Link. Was that you or did he look genuinely offended? When you failed to respond, there was a noise of digust, long and loud.

"I'm not a fucking cannibal."

You cracked both of your eyes open again. That was good. You didn't want to get eaten, though it still didn't save you from a similarly painful death.

"Oh."

Oh, for Hylia's sake—

A thick cringe escaped you. You sounded painfully terrified and it was clear as day, if he hadn't already noticed the hunched posture and curled fists. Was he into that? Did you care enough to find out?

"...Are you, um, going to...?" you trailed off, not quite brave enough to give him anything to work with.

The demon stood to his full height. He couldn't have been taller than you, but it didn't matter when he had a sword and you had your own sniveling will. Another sigh was exhaled, and a bloodied hand smeared a small amount of crimson on his cheek when he rubbed it. "Are you looking for death?"

"I'm looking for my vegetables," you admitted pitifully.

Dark Link's expression flicked to something resembling deep annoyance. He scanned the ground, eventually landing on the leek lying in a rapidly congealing pool of blood. You felt your soul die a bit when his lip curled.

"Disgusting."

On instinct, you opened your mouth to defend your purchase, only for it to snap shut when a thick veil of smoke erupted from the cobblestone, swirling around the length of his body before tightening in one magnificent motion, nearly blocking out your view of the sun in its terrible brilliance.

When it cleared, Dark Link was gone.

Your brain whirled at the single blue rupee sitting in place of his left boot.

The next time you saw Dark Link, it was in the forest outside your home. Baking was a guilty pleasure of yours, meaning you would go to the far ends of Hyrule in exchange for some cacao pods, but with Beedle the Traveling Merchant's invaluable business model, happiness was only a short walk from the safety of your porch.

Until the lizalfos' came, of course, because, really, when didn't they?

A terrible hissing noise filtered from beyond the pseudo-reliable wood of your door. You hissed a breath through your teeth and shoved the chair even harder beneath the knob, even as the hinges rattled and thick oak threatened to splinter beneath the heavy bangs landed upon it.

"Leave me the fuck alone!" you yelled, nearly tripping over yet another fallen leek in your haste to secure the perimeter. The door wouldn't last much longer, but you didn't care, scurrying to the small kitchen for a knife. At least you would die with dignity, this time.

Another screech rattled the air, but it sounded... different. Pained. You moved an inch forward, clutching the knife close to your heaving chest, and dared hope that someone had come. Anyone.

BANG!!

You nearly fell over when something thudded against the thick wood, and it was silent once more. Eerily silent.

Until you heard footsteps; loud, heavy... yet so distinctly unlike the scritch-thump of lizalfos talons that the sniveling hope in your chest fluttered, if only for a fleeting, wonderful moment before reality set in. Was this it? Was this death? You hadn't even perfected that chocolate chunk cookie recipe yet!!

The footsteps halted.

You waited.

A second ticked by. Then two, four, six...

Your heart nearly leapt from your throat when there was a soft knock on the door.

Did... did lizalfos' knock on doors now? Was that a new hunting strategy you were about to be made painfully—and literally—aware of? Maybe you should just pretend—

"There's no one home!"

—FUCK!

There was a pause. Then, the knock sounded again. You briefly wondered if suicide was the way to go, if only to spare your poor mind the embarrassment of having announced to a home intruder that you weren't home. Lovely.

But, seeing as death was likely around the corner, you slowly un-wedged the chain from beneath the door handle, slowly opening the door to reveal the shadowy figure of none other than Dark-fucking-Link.

The silence stretched for an eternity when your eyes met; narrowed crimson on... well, you were frankly a bit too terrified to consider the sordid meeting of gazes, but it was an interesting sentiment nonetheless.

"We really need to stop meeting like this," you croaked weakly, fingers curled around the doorframe, though what you really meant to say was we need to stop meeting. Immediately.

The demon huffed. He looked annoyed, though you were half convinced the pinched position of his brows and unimpressed scowl were chronic. Once again, a motherlode of dark blood coated his attire, and the stench of iron bordered on mind-numbing, but slamming the door on him seemed like a terrible course of action. Did that mean inviting him in would be more appropriate?

"...Can I help you?"

"I do not require your help," hissed the half-man-half-shadow before you. Still, he didn't look intent on moving anytime soon, and something told you he wouldn't be swayed if you decided to brandish a leek as a weapon. You doubted it would last against that sword, anyways.

When yet another beat of silence passed, you had enough. Donning your best unimpressed energy, you forced a mirroring scowl.

"Are you hungry?"

The demon blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"You're excused," you said without missing a beat, jerking your thumb towards the kitchen. "I'm making cookies. You're free to have one so long as my door stays on the hinges."

A shocked silence ensued, but you didn't wait up, turning on your heel and letting the door fall open in what had to be the most casual act of suicide in all of Hyrule. With luck, he'd be too weirded out to bother, and you'd get to live another day. Score!

Unfortunately, when the sound of booted footsteps stuttered behind you, you realized that the goddesses must either be dead, crazy, or laughing their holy little asses off at you. When you turned to grab the ingredients for the dough, there he was, standing in the middle of the floor like a lost child, if you could even call him that.

Nothing was said as you steadily pulled down the flour, sugar, yeast, chocolate... until everything was accounted for and Public Enemy #1 was still in your house waiting for chocolate chunk cookies.

"So," you let the word hang for a bit, grabbing a wooden bowl from the counter and cracking the first of two eggs into it. "Do you typically go around saving people or am I just unlucky?"

The demon snorted, shoulders losing a bit of their tenseness. Granted, he still looked ready to slice you to death on the hardwood, but you could handle those odds. "You're awfully mouthy for someone in your position," he pointed out. You weren't as scared as you should have been.

Crack, went the second egg as you lightly smashed the shell on the rim of the bowl. "...Would you prefer I scream?"

His answer was instantaneous. "No."

"Noted."

You added a generous amount of sugar to the mixture. Dark Link's stare went supernova, and you gasped fauxly. "Oh! You're not on a diet, are you?"

There was a beat as the demon in your home fought to regain his bearings. "What."

"I'll take that as a no," and, just to fuck with him, you poured two more spoonfuls. When no more judgemental gazes were issued, you shrugged and added one more. "You can sit at the table, if you want. Just don't get blood on any upholstery please."

It was probably the politest way you could have told someone not to bleed all over your stuff, but the sentiment remained intact. Dark Link's stare bore holes in your face, though it was hard to tell if it was bafflement or another emotion you didn't dare decipher. After what was quickly becoming a pattern of recurring tense moments, he moved to claim the chair closest to the door, sitting down with a noisy squelch that you desperately tried to ignore.

...How do you navigate this?

For several long, agonizing moments, the silence reigned supreme. it wasn't a problem, because any distraction capable of diverting your attention from the blood-caked half-man-half-shadow in your kitchen was a welcome one. It was only once the dough was mixed, balled, and dropped into the small pan did a rather rude cough interrupt the rather perilous dynamic.

You pivoted, hands covered in flour and heat-melted chocolate, and stared.

"...Do you need something?"

"You are strange," was the scourge of Hyrule's apparent realization of the morning, and it was so out of left field that you couldn't help but level him with another stare that couldn't help but be a bit judgmental. What was he expecting, to go deaf from all the proverbial screaming?

"So are you," you tried when he said nothing else. A gruff humph from the direction of the shadow-turned-hylian forced you to be a social person once more. "What brings you to my neck of the woods? I doubt it's my cooking."

Dark Link's brow crinkled in presumed disgust. Darn. "It's not, you vain mortal."

You shrugged, deeming it safe enough to turn your back long enough to toss the pan of half-formed cookies into the newly-roaring hearth. However terrifying the shadow-man in your home was, something told you that if he truly wanted you dead, you would have been a long time ago. Was he lonely? Carnally stunted? Unable to commit evil without sugar? The world may never know, but you sure as hell wanted to.

"You live alone," the shadow-dude observed after another painful silence.

You didn't bother with a glance, merely tossing your baking gloves off and leaning against the wall with a contemplative look at the ceiling and whatever mysteries it held. "Yup."

"Why?"

"So I don't have to interact with people," you said with a perfect deadpan. If he got the reference, Dark Link merely made another sour face and moved on with his arms-crossed viewing of your kitchen. You tried not to eye the large sword propped against his temporary seating arrangement as it dripped crimson liquid onto your floor.

The conversation was going nowhere. In what world was it acceptable to bake cookies for Hyrule's Most Wanted? Did you even care? Was this a hostage situation??

Well, you reasoned as the room began to feel a bit too small, at least he'll wait until the cookies are done before eviscerating me. You hoped. You really did.

Twenty minutes passed in the blink of an eye. Being the seasoned baker you were, it wasn't hard to notice the steady rise of the cookies, as well as the golden-browning edges and mouth-watering scent. Dark Link's eyes remained transfixed on the hearth as you pulled on your gloves once more, quickly grabbing the pan and placing it on the counter to cool, only pausing to spare him a glance in between eyeballing the validity of your creations, informing him with a vague: "They'll need about five minutes to cool."

The embodiment of evil said nothing. You didn't press; it probably wasn't a survivable encounter, anyway. With nothing else to do, you knelt and took hold of the poker resting beside the hearth. A soft sputter could be heard as you tapped at the burning embers, coaxing the fire to shrink, the action expedited by the generous dusting of ashes you gave it with the small shovel. The smell of melted chocolate filled the kitchen, wafting in the air as you stood, dusting your clothes free of any stray debris.

Another minute passed.

Your eyes flicked up to peer at the man sitting across the room.

You reached into the nearest drawer for something to scrape the cookies from the pan, landing on a wooden spatula that had definitely seen better days.

Dark Link's grip on his sword tightened. He was terribly unsubtle, but you kind of preferred it.

A soft scraaape filled the kitchen as you freed one of the outer cookies, taking the barest of moments to admire the pale gold crust and mouthwatering dollups of rich brown chocolate dotting the crumbly surface.

"Here," you crossed the kitchen in a few long steps, holding the cookie before you like an offering of peace or a particularly crummy shield.

For a moment, nothing moved. He didn't move, yet you refused to budge, leveraging the cookie with a bit more conviction until, finally, the chair squeaked lowly and a gloved hand reached to accept the gift. You watched with bated breath as a pair of beady crimson eyes regarded the creation with utmost scrutiny, so intense that you were sure his gaze alone could burn it to a crisp. Probably. You sure as hell felt heated when those blood-reds were staring you down.

Grayscale lips parted, revealing the sultry flash of pearly whites before they sunk into the sugary flesh of the cookie.

A second passed. Then two, and three, and f—

"This is..."

Your heart nearly leapt from your throat as you waited for the verdict, a bit about what it would mean for the immediate future, specifically pertaining to your life.

"...satisfactory."

Thank Hylia, you thought, shoulders falling nearly an inch as a hopeful sort of relaxation kicked in. It was the highest praise you could remember hearing, which meant a lot considering it was coming from a man who legend said liked to spend his free time desecrating villages and lives alike.

"Do you... want another?" You asked as the cookie was consumed in one large bite. Clearly, it was more than satisfactory, but there was no reason to push your luck.

A hand extended.

You immediately plopped another steaming delicacy in the center of his covered palm, which retracted at the speed of light as the demon tried and failed to hide how much he truly desired your cookie. The tension in the air seemed to lighten as the second treat was demolished, even more so when you had to foresight to scoop a third cookie and wordlessly point it in his direction.

Sacrilegiously, the legends had forgotten to mention the incarnation of evil's apparent sweet tooth.

"I have no interest in your moral frivolities," said the demon with a conviction so staunch you almost believed it.

You cocked a brow, feeling a bit more bold now that his sword was sheathed and your baking had apparently hit a soft spot. "Then... leave?"

Dark Link—the embodiment of.... evil??—haughtily shook his head and took another egregious mouthful of chocolate cookie goodness. "Nay," he said, chewing in what had to be the most obnoxious way possible. "You shall supply me with these... chunk creations."

Ah. Okay. At least he was eating something that wasn't you.

"Okay," you nodded along, not willing to entertain the risks sure to come from denying Dark Link of, well, not many people had met him and lived to tell the tale, but you were sure your end was just around the corner. It must have been a long corner, because the only violent action occurring was the crunch of his teeth against the cookie, which was hardly anything to write home about. "When do you, uh, want them?"

There was a beat as he processed your query, then a haughty sniff that had you wondering if violence really was the answer: "I shall return at midnight."

Goodie, was your first thought, followed by the haphazard wondering attributed to the supposed sleep schedule of someone like him. How many fingers would you lose at suggesting seven in the morning instead?

"...I'll be ready."

A crumb-encrusted hand patted your head in a manner that was so glaringly condescending that it nearly sent your sensibilities into a coma as the bastard shadow man grinned. "Good."

Your jaw nearly fell to the floor when he snagged two more cookies, shoved one into his mouth, and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

A blue rupee lay in his place.

You ran a hand down the center of your face.

That's a wrap! Hope y'all enjoyed my unofficial apology for the April Fool's fiasco 😭